Christmas 2021

Christmas has come and gone, again, in this strangest of years.  

Sipping my coffee at Barista Parlor Golden Sound on a cold Saturday morning, listening to music (Bon Iver, maybe) on their turntable, I feel a bit melancholy.  

With the pandemic raging and people dying in our city, and across the country, in record numbers, we hunkered down and stayed home for Christmas.  As much as I hate it, we decided not to get together with Jude's parents, because we didn't want to risk - somewhere - getting them sick.

I especially hate it because I know how much Christmas means to Jude's mom, Jane.  She reminds me, a lot, of my mom in that way, which made it all the harder to celebrate Christmas apart.  We made the best of a difficult situation, though and "Zoomed" with Jude's parents, on my laptop and Joe's iPad, while we opened presents.  It wasn't he same as having them at our house Christmas morning, as has been the case for more than a decade.

When is this all going to end?  Will things get back to normal?  

One of the many tragedies of the pandemic - and it's certainly not unique to our family - is that the time we've lost with Jude's parents, well, we won't ever get that back.  As I know firsthand, those times spent together are precious and to be treasured, for sure.  I don't like to think about all of the shares times, events, and occasions we've missed with Jim and Jane.  Sundays at St. Patrick's and, often times, lunch afterwards.  Birthday parties.  The boys' baseball and basketball games.  Holidays, like Christmas.

It seems unfair and it pissed me off that so many others, including several members of Jude's family, are traveling over the holidays, Covid-19 be damned, at putting others at risk, while we play by the rules and keep to ourselves.  I went to bed, I guess, angry about this and, later,  I dreamt I was arguing with visiting attorneys in my office who refused to wear a mask.  It's crazy how the pandemic permeates every waking, and sleeping, moment of our lives.

I can't help but wonder about the short-term and long-term effects of the pandemic on J.P. and Joe.  Thank God they're in school, in person.  At least they're around their friends - albeit distanced and wearing masks - every day.  Metro Nashville's students have been in school remotely all year long and they're not returning to in person learning anytime soon.  That's tragic for those children.  

So many families have pulled their children out of Metro Nashville public schools and enrolled them in private schools.  Metro Nashville public school already were struggling and things are likely to get worse with so many good families leaving.  

So, here I am, the day after Christmas, trying to figure it all out.  I'm enjoying the time off - God knows I need it - but I'm anxious about how bad it's going to get in Nashville, and everywhere, the next couple of months.  Worse than anyone imagines, I fear, particularly with all of the idiots ignoring the warnings from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) against traveling over the holidays.  There will be a big spike in cases - and deaths - in mid-January, I bet.  I don't think many people realize how bad it's going to get.  

Well, I guess, for me, it's been a blue Christmas.   

Crossing the Rubicon with J.P.

Jude and I are crossing the rubicon with J.P. this Christmas.

At long last and with more than a little trepidation, J.P. is going to get a cell phone.  I can't believe it.  My constant companion from so many walks in the stroller only yesterday is turning 13 years old in a few months and he's getting a cell phone.

He's getting a cell phone.  

How can that be possible?  

One of the few areas of child rearing that Jude and I are in compete agreement on is technology.  Even as the boys have grown older - 12 1/2 (J.P.) and 8 1/2 (Joe) - we've limited their time on the iPad to weekends only when school is in session, and then just 30 or 45 minutes in the morning when they wake up.  

Our approach is generally the same with the X-box.  During school, they might play for 30 minutes or an hour, on weekends, only sports games.  Madden.  NBA2K.  FIFA.  NHL.  No shooter games.  No Fortnite.  No Call of Duty.  Nothing violent.  And, there are strings attached to X-box play.

On weekend afternoons, the boys have 30 for 30 or 40 for 40.  30 or 40 minutes of reading and 30 or 40 minutes of X-box.

I'm not sure if that's the right approach but it's our approach.

Gradually, over the past year or so, most if not all of J.P.'s friends have gotten cell phones.  That, of course, doesn't influence Jude and me, one way or the other, and J.P. realizes that.  Pretty quickly, he stopped reminding us who had cell phones and who didn't.  Lately, he's seemed resigned to the fact that he's not likely to get a cell phone until his 13th birthday in March, at the earliest. 

What changed our minds?  

This fall, he started walking home from school with a friend or two from the neighborhood, and sometimes by himself.  It's not far, maybe a mile, but still.  Jude and I agreed that if he's going to walk home from school, he probably needs a cell phone in case there's a problem of some sort.

Also, J.P. stays home, by himself, more frequently, when Jude and I are running errands on weekends or taking Joe to a practice or birthday party.  Normally, Jude leaves her personal cell phone with him, in case he needs to use it.  That's not the most practical solution but it's worked for the most part. 

I'd thought about getting a house phone - a land line - something we haven't had in many years.  That seemed like an unnecessary expense, though, and I had visions of a barrage of telemarketing calls during dinner.  

I'm thinking about sitting down with Jude and drafting a contract for J.P. to sign, one that contains the conditions under which we will allow him to have a cell phone.  Surely, two lawyers could turn that kind of document around pretty quickly.  

To whom much is given, much is expected, or something like that.

Or, much like with Peter Parker, the Amazing Spiderman, with great power comes great responsibility.

A friend of mine - someone I see when I get coffee every morning at Honest Coffee Roasters - briefly showed me how he monitors and controls his daughter's cell phone usage through his Apple account.  He can block particular apps or websites - like Instagram or Facebook - and he can control the hours she uses it and, I think, when she uses it.  I'm going to have to bone up on that, for sure.

I think J.P. is ready for a cell phone of his own.  I'm not sure I'm ready for J.P. to have a cell phone of his own, though.  He's a responsible, obedient kid.  He wants to please us and make us proud.  I don't think he'll misuse it or allow it to assume to prominent a place in his life.  At least, I hope he won't.

That's the thing, it all happens so fast.  One day, J.P. is a toddler, 3 or 4 years old, not a care in the world.  And, the next day, he's getting his first cell phone.  It's crazy, when you think about it.

1000 Miles in 2020

It's beautiful outside this morning.  Brilliant sunshine.  Bright blue skies.  No wind.  A perfect mid-December morning.

A perfect day, really, for me to run my 1000th mile for 2020.  Which is precisely what I did as I ran down Fairfax Avenue, toward home, this morning.  The third mile of a four mile run gave me 1,000 miles for the year.  

I've run 1,000 miles in a year before but not in a while.  I came across a photo from 2010 a few weeks ago, taken at Shelby Bottoms with me holding a sign that said "1,000 in 2010!"  I remember that morning, well, in fact.  I drank an ice cold New Castle beer in the parking let, then met Carley Meade and J.P. for lunch in East Nashville at Battered and Fried after my run.  J.P. wasn't even three years old.

I'm sure I called my mom that morning and told her I'd hit the 1,000 mile mark.  

Now, a decade letter, J.P. turns thirteen in three months and is about to get his first cell phone for Christmas, although he doesn't know that.

And my mom and Carley are gone, which in many ways still is so hard for me to believe.  I miss them both so much.

On many of my runs this year - as the miles passed - I thought of my mom an Carley.  So many times, in the solitude of my runs, or as I walked to cool down afterwards, one or both of them was in my heart and on my mind.

I joked, often, in the past year that I was going to outrun Covid-19.  In reality, though, I ran scared.  Scared I was going to catch the virus, or that it would catch me.  I wanted to be in the best shape I could be in just in case I got the virus, hoping that, somehow, there would be less of a chance I would die if I was running a lot.

I also thought, perhaps foolishly or perhaps not, that if I was running a lot, I would immediately know if I had Covid-19, because if I struggled with my breathing during a run or had a bad run, I would know I was sick.  When I'm running a lot, in general, I'm in touch with my body and aware of how I feel.  I noice the smallest muscle aches, heavy legs, or breathing issues.  Yes, that's paranoia, but to me, there's some logic to that line of thinking, too.

I ran, for sure, to keep my sanity during what was probably the strangest year of my life.  The pandemic.  The shut down of the economy last spring.  The presidential campaign.  Trump's madness before and after the election.  The election.  

The pandemic.  Always, the pandemic.  Especially today, the pandemic rages.  Twice as many people in Tennessee are testing positive on a daily basis as last spring, when the economy was shut down.  And, still, we soldier on, foolishly in many cases.  Waiting desperately for the vaccine to reach us.  

The past few weeks, I've been scared I would get the virus with less than 100 miles left and not be able to hit 1,000 miles for the year.  Sure, what I really was afraid of was getting the virus and dying, but, in my mind, I convinced myself I only was afraid of how getting the virus would affect my running. 

I ran 1,000 miles for so many reasons.   

I ran to feel better about myself.  I ran to reach a goal.  I ran to stay young, for my boys and for me.  I ran out of vanity.  I ran to say healthy.  

I ran because I am obsessive about running.  I ran because I am disciplined about running.

I ran because I am a runner.  I ran because it's what I do.  I ran because at my core, it's the very essence of who I am.  I ran because it's what I've done for 30 years.  

I ran to feel closer to God.  I ran to honor God.  I ran because God has blessed me with the ability to run and to waste that ability, that talent, would be, for me, one of the worst kind of sins.    

I ran because it makes me feel alive.  I ran to meditate.  I ran to clear my head.  I ran to think.  I ran to try, often in vain, to understand.  I ran to celebrate life.  

I ran to deal with grief and sadness that overwhelmed me and almost brought me to my knees, as I visited Carley and her family at Alive Hospice.  I ran in tears when Carley died. 

I ran because I missed my mom.  

I ran because I wanted, and needed, to be by myself.  I ran because I needed to unplug and unwind.  I ran because I needed to blow off steam.    

I ran because J.P. wanted to run with me and because I wanted to run with him.  I ran because, when I die, I'll never forget those spring and summer runs with J.P., my heart filled with pride and love to run through the neighborhood, or in Sewanee, with my son running beside me.

I ran for all of those reasons and for so many more.  I'm a runner.

I'm so thankful to have been healthy in 2020.  There were only a handful of occasions when my back was hurting or I otherwise didn't feel well enough to run.  That's a huge blessing.  

1,000 miles in 2020, at age 54.  Not bad for an old man.

 

The Innocence of a Child

It's early on a rainy Saturday morning and I'm sitting, alone, in Barista Parlor Golden Sound on Division Street, having a quiet cup of coffee.  One couple beat me here this morning but they quickly departed after getting their coffee to go.  The coffee shop - a cool one, for sure - is decorated for Christmas.  In fact, Christmas music is playing on the turntable in one corner.  In another corner, there's a small Christmas tree next to the ever present motorcycle.  

It's peaceful in here, which matches my mood this morning.  And, damn, the coffee at Barista Parlor is always good.

I've been thinking a lot about Joe lately.  He's at such a great age, 8 1/2.  There's still an innocence about him, which fills my heart and mind with a joyful wonderment, particularly since we're in the middle of the worst pandemic in modern history and facing a two or three month stretch this winter when things are going to get worse and worse.  

When I picked him up from school earlier this week, Joe was excited when I asked if he wanted to ride in the front seat for our 1 mile + trip back to the house.  His eyes lit up as he said "Yes!" and I'm certain he was smiling behind his tie dyed mask as he threw his heavy laden backpack in the back seat and climbed into the front seat on the passenger side of my truck.  

Joe didn't think to remove his mask as he excitedly began to tell me about his day.  It occurred to me how adaptable children are - and how adaptable Joe is - as he chattered away seemingly unaware he was wearing a mask.  It made me a little sad, too, as I thought about how much has changed in our world in the past nine months, with the pandemic raging.

As we pulled out of the University School parking garage, I asked Joe if he wanted to go to the Belmont - TSU basketball game.  His eyes widened as he looked at me.  "Really?" he asked.  "Sure," I replied.  He shouted "YES!!" and began pumping his fists excitedly.  

"How about we pick up Chago's for dinner?"  I asked.  "Really?" he asked, again.  "Yeah," I said.  "YES!!" he shouted, again pumping his fists.  

I thought in the moment and again, later, how special it is that even still, such small things can make Joe happy.  I wish I could keep it that way for a few more years.  He has such a goodness about him.  It's blissful and it's innocent.  And it's so pure.  

Joe does this thing that I love, when I call his name to ask him to do something.  If I call out his name when he's in another room, he always answers "Yes?" in this melodious tone of voice.  

It's hard to describe but that one word - "Yes?" - and the way he answers me when I call for him encapsulates all of the innocence of youth and a life ahead of him replete with limitless possibilities.  

I've talked about "snapshot moments" before in this space and this is one for certain.  I wish I could preserve for all time one of those indelible moments so I could replay it, again and again, when Joe is older and life become more complicated and, yes, a little bit harder.  

This horrible pandemic has me, and all of us, on edge.  People are dying every day.  Three people in my office have tested positive for Covid-19 in past three weeks, one yesterday.  I just texted an attorney friend who has the virus and whose father-in-law is in intensive care and on a ventilator.  The next two or there months - the winter months - are going to be bad.  Really bad.     

Still, in the midst of it all, Joe continues to maintain his sense of innocence and naivete.  And it's a pure and beautiful thing to behold.

Up Here on the Mountain

I know I say it every time we're up here but, for me, there's just something special about being on the Mountain, especially when we're staying on Sewanee's campus.

Our day, today.

While Jude and the boys are finishing up breakfast - scrambled eggs, fruit, and assorted pastries I brought from Meridee's Bakery, two doors down from my office in Franklin - I left to go for a run.  I ran through campus and downtown Sewanee, such as it is, an on to the Trail of Tears greenway.  Out and back for a nice 6 mile run.  Straight from the house we're staying in on Tennessee Avenue.

Jude and the boys hiked Abbo's Alley and just as they finished, I met them at the Sewanee football field.  J.P. and Joe tackled the blocking dummies while Jude and I watched, laughing.  Then, we played two-on-two football, switching up teams with every play.  Family time on the football field.

Next, back to the house.  Jude and the boys played scrabble in front of the semi-roaring - ok, not roaring - gas fire in the fireplace.  I picked up a couple of Christmas gifts at the bookstore, then ate lunch at the house with Jude and the boys.

After lunch, Jude hiked to Bridal Veil Falls, while J.P., Joe, and I went to look around at the pro shop at the Sewanee golf course (where we bought a pullover to give Jude for Christmas that she saw there yesterday).  The boys and I drove over to the baseball field and threw, then took some infield.  While we were there, the Sewanee baseball coach ambled up.  He was happy to see someone using the filed and after tinning the boys a tip or two, he and I chatted for 15 - 20 minutes.  He invited us back anytime and asked me to e-mail him next time we were coming up, so he could show us the indoor baseball facilities.

The boys and I played Blitzball on the softball field for a few minutes, then drove home.  While Jude naps, they're doing "30 for 30" - 30 minutes of reading followed by 30 minutes of iPad time.

Later, we may play tennis, under the lights, on the Sewanee tennis courts, then have dinner at the Sewanee Inn.

There's always so much to do for us here, up on the Mountain.  It's barely more than an hour away from Nashville, but it seems like a world away.

This getaway was what we needed.  Really, I think it was what Jude needed, since she's been working from home since March.  When your home becomes your office, to get away you really need to get away.

Eight Miles of Pure Bliss on the Mountain

This morning, up here on "the Mountain," I had a damn near perfect run.

We're in Sewanee for the Thanksgiving holiday, renting a house on campus on Tennessee Avenue.

As I walked outside the house into a beautiful, brisk Thanksgivng morning - temperature in the high 40's - I turned on John Hiatt on Spotify.  No playlist, just random Hiatt songs.  It turned out to be the perfect choice, for my mood and for the run.  It was cool, on my run, to hear so many of the old Hiatt songs I haven't heard for so long.  

I was a big, big John Hiatt fan a couple of decades ago - still am, really.  Saw him live several times.  I even went to his house for a wedding a lifetime ago when my friend, Sarge, married Jennifer.  As I recall, Jennifer's aunt was married to John Hiatt.  

Great songwriter and, in my mind, similar to John Price.  Great sense of humor but poignancy in his songs, too.

I wasn't sure, exactly, where I wanted to run.  I ran down to the intersection at the beginning of "downtown" Sewanee, by The Blue Chair and Shenanigan's and turned right, looking for the Trail of Tears greenway.  

What I found, instead, was a gravel road marked "private," with a purple (Sewanee's color) barrier blocking entry.  Like any good trail runner, I ran around the barrier and decided to see where the road would take me.  Boy, was I glad I did.

The gravel road narrowed pretty quickly into a large path completed covered in fallen leaves.  Orange, yellow, and red.  It was like running on a multi-colored, carpet of leaves.  Beautiful.  I loved it.

There's something special about running a route for the first time, sometimes for the only time.  I feel more alive and in the moment.  

I felt strong and fast as I ran down the trail, marveling at the beauty all around me.  The sun was shining through the trees, which made the colors of the leaves even brighter.  To my surprise, I ran by a waterfall on my left.  

In the end, I ran about three miles or so out the trail, then turned back.  My run was eight miles in all.  Maybe the best eight miles I have run all year.

It was just one of those amazing and memorable runs, the kind I chase all year long.  Perfect weather.  Perfect music.  Perfect route. 

Perfect run.   

Missing Mom

The holidays are upon me, officially.  As I left the office this afternoon, I saw that the City of Franklin had put up the giant Christmas tree on the public square.  I'm guessing it will be decorated tomorrow.  

Thanksgiving is next week.  Jude and I are renting a house in Sewanee, so our family will spend its first Thanksgiving, ever, away from home.  Given the uncertainty and, well, weirdness, surrounding the holidays because of the pandemic, it makes sense to do something different, I guess.  Hopefully, Jude's folks will be able to join us for Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday.

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about my mom and how much I miss her.  She loved the holidays so much, mostly because it brought our family together, I think.  Some of that has been lost and it makes me sad.  To be honest, the ties that bound our family together have unraveled more than a little since she died.  That makes me sad, too, because I know it would disappoint her.    

Even before her health began to fail her, so much or our lives this time of year seemed to revolve around her.  Planning for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Christmas cards and the calendar of the boys I make every year as a Christmas gift.  Christmas lists for the boys and yes, me.  Every year, she'd renew my subscription to Sports Illustrated and Jude's subscription to Southern Living.

So much has happened in the almost two years since she died.  JP and Joe have grown so much.  They're such good boys.  So funny and smart, with such great personalities.  She would have loved spending time with them.  And, damn, would they ever have loved to spend time with her back when she still had her fastball and could dish it out and take it.  They would have loved her sense of humor, especially now, as they've gotten old enough to appreciate it.  

Her love of sports, which I inherited and, of course, passed down to the boys, would have delighted them.  I wish she could have seen JP and Joe playing baseball this fall.  She would have been so into the games, so proud.  Sometimes I feel haunted, in a way, by what might have been as it relates to the boys' relationship with my mom.  

What to do?  For me, appreciate holidays, as I always do.  Take time to enjoy them.  Live in the moment, in the here and now.  Stop, for just a minute, and appreciate the little things.  

And that's what I'll do.