Photographs and Memories

With an estate sale at my mom's house approaching, Tracy, Alice, and I have been doing our best to sift through 50 + years of photographs, mementos, papers, and keepsakes.  It's an arduous, painstaking, and, for me, emotional task.

It's sad when you really think about it.  Someone spends a lifetime accumulating, well, stuff.  Sure, some of it is utilitarian but the majority of it is useful or has value only to the owner.  Furniture my mom sat on every day and photographs of us, as children, she walked by and maybe looked at every day - if we don't take those items, they will inevitably end up in a landfill.  That's hard to take, especially for someone as nostalgic as I am.

Do I save old family photographs lying loose in a shoebox?  My report cards from elementary school at David Lipscomb?  Notes and cards I wrote to my mom as a teenager?  Christmas cards my mom's best friends sent to her 25 years ago that she saved?  Lists and notes in my mom's handwriting that literally have no use to me now other than to possess something she touched and wrote?  Old stuffed animals that belonged to one of us that she kept for reasons known only to her?

What about all of my dad's stuff that my mom saved?  His flight manual? (he was an avid pilot) His undergraduate and medical school degrees?  Photographs of him, alone, and him with us?  Plaques given to him?  

If I keep some of this stuff, what will I do with it?  Maybe, and I mean maybe, I'll open a box sometime in the next decade, look at an old photograph or read an old note, then close the box and put it away.  After the sudden, visceral feeling of, what . . . nostalgia, sadness, longing . . . I'll return to the reality.  Boys to raise, bills to pay, and a life to live.  Is it worth it to keep those things?

Am I just leaving a mess for my boys to clean up, someday, when I die?  A ton of stuff to go through, like we're doing now and like my mom did when my grandmother died years ago.

In the past couple of weeks, I've found things I had no idea my mom had kept or I had completely forgotten about.  Some were mine or about me (report cards, playbills, scrapbooks) and some were not (cards and notes from her friends).  It's like an archeological dig through my family's history.  I could spend hours - days, really - at my mom's house just sifting through, I guess, her life.  

Not that I ever doubted it, but when I see all that my mom saved, I'm reminded - more than ever - of how much she loved  us.  And, also, of how important her family and friends were to her.  Family and friends were the most important things in her life.

Her birthday is next week, January 9.  She would have been 80.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

(Pinewood Social.  Opened today at 2:00 p.m., including the Creme coffee bar.  The place is rocking, as I drink my coffee at the community table directly across from the bar.)

Every year, I plan on taking time off from work leading up to Christmas and in between Christmas and New Year's Day.  And, every year, it seems like something comes up that prevents me from doing so.

This year was no different.  A legitimate emergency arose in a case I have with a new client, so it was all hands on deck leading up to Monday, December 23.  I also had an emergency hearing set on Monday afternoon at 2:30 p.m.  Fortunately, we were able to work out an agreement and avoid the Monday afternoon hearing.  Although the judge approved our agreement in court when I announced it Monday morning, I found myself at my desk, crossing items off my "to do list" as mid-morning turned into early afternoon.

I closed the office - or at least my part of it - around 2:00 p.m. and what remained of my staff practically ran out the front door.  They turned out the lights as they left and I found myself, alone, sitting in my office gazing at what was, for me, a reasonably clean desk.  Still, I couldn't really bring myself to leave.

Why?

I'll tell you why.  Because I knew that the minute I got up to leave, I would be walking right up to the Ghost of Christmas Past.

My mom loved the holidays.  She especially loved Christmas.  The decorations.  The music.  Church.  The basketball and football games on television.

Most of all, she loved getting together with family on Christmas Day.  Cooking.  Sharing a meal together.  Watching the kids and, later, grandkids, play in the backyard.  And, of course, the opening of presents, which can only be described as pure chaos.

Every family has its holiday traditions and every family does Christmas a little bit differently.  

When it comes to opening presents, some families - like Jude's - typically open one present at a time while everyone else looks on and murmurs with approval as each present is opened.  It's a very deliberate process.  

That's not the way it was at my mom's house, however.  Not by a long shot.  First, we ate lunch, usually in the mid-afternoon.  Scattered throughout the playroom, den, and kitchen, we sat together as an extended family and shared a meal together.  Always, we had to remind my mom to make a plate for herself, because she was here and there, making sure everyone else had enough to eat.  After we finished eating, the real fun began.

The youngest children - David Clark and Alice in the early days - delivered the gifts to the recipients, usually gathered int the playroom, from under the Christmas tree in the living room.  In later years, Kaitlyn and Matthew took over until, finally, they passed the delivery responsibilities on to J.P. and Joe.

After all of the presents were delivered, everyone began opening them.  At the same time.  So, in roughly 10 minutes, all of the presents had been opened amidst a cacophony of "thank you's" and "I love it's".  Balled up wads of wrapping paper flew everywhere in the playroom, as we (well, usually I) tried to peg any unsuspecting or unaware relative.  The key, of course, was to look innocent after pegging someone, so they didn't know who had hit them with the wrapping paper ball.  Predictably, it was a game I invented, and perfected.

I passed my skills along to all of the grandkids, of course.  And especially to my boys, J.P. and Joe.

Always and I mean always, my mom feigned anger and irritation when she was hit by a wrapping paper ball.  "Stop it," she would growl at us.  Secretly, though, she loved it.  At least that's what I told myself then, and that's what I'm telling myself now.

It was pure pandemonium and my mom loved every minute of it.  No formality.  Just fun.  She was in her element on Christmas Day, presiding over the festivities.

I can see my mom, right now, sitting on the couch in the playroom, probably wearing a Christmas sweater of some sort, with her presents piled all around her, watching contentedly as everyone else open up their presents.  Tracy, Alice, and I always had to nag and cajole her to open up her presents rather than simply watching others open up theirs.

But, see, that's who my mom was in a nutshell.  She couldn't have cared less about what presents she received.  That was an afterthought to her.  Christmas, for her, like so many other things in her life, was about everyone else.  Their happiness.  Their joy.  That's simply who my mom was.  I can't describe her any better than that.

This Christmas, of course, is different.  The last two or three have been different, too, but this one is really different because buy mom is not here.  I've found myself slipping away to be alone more than normal - at church yesterday after communion, I walked outside and watched the sun set.  Last night, as we sat down to eat dinner with Jude's family at our house, I walked out onto the back deck with a drink and sat quietly and, well, just remembered.

It's been a difficult holiday season for me, as I suspected it would be.  I hate it, too, because it's my favorite time of the year.  I've tried to be present, as much as possible, for Jude and the boys, but it's been hard, at times.

Merry Christmas, Mom.  I miss you.

   

 

Running the Table

As I've mentioned, I changed by diet about a year and a half ago.  No bread, no potatoes of any sort, no pasta, very little sweets and, as it turns out, very little beer.  My plan was to try it for 30 days and see how I felt.  Now, here I am, almost 18 months later, still at it.  It shouldn't be surprising, I guess, since I gave up meat and chicken on a lark - for almost five years - in my mid to late 20's.

It seems I have that kinds of personality - stubborn, obsessive, maybe a little disciplined (about some things, anyway).

I didn't change my diet to lose weight.  Not really.  I was curious if I could do it.  The challenge of it, you know?  Also, I wanted to see if I felt better.  I do, by the way.  I did think, though, that as I head into my mid-50's and beyond, my knees, back, and hips might feel better if I was a little higher.

I didn't weigh myself until I got a physical last May.  And, of course, I had lost a significant amount of weight.  More than 20 pounds.  I had needed some new suits for work, anyway, but dropping so much weight made buying new suits a necessity.  Actually, it was kind of fun to step up my wardrobe game, so to speak.

People have notice, which for the mosts part is nice.  I laughed, of course (sort of), when a friend's legal assistant - whom I've known for years - asked me if I was okay.  She was worried I was sick.  I had to laugh.

For me, thought, the biggest difference I've seen has been my running.  I've run consistently, with discipline, for more than 30 years.  At times, I've run more yearly mileage than others but I've always run.  There's never been a time in my adult life when I've gotten away from running, absent a significant injury (torn iliopsoas, plantar fasciitis, low back/hip pain, etc.).  Even when I've been injured, I've been in physical therapy.  Why?  So I could get back to running.  It's just what I do and who I am.

Running, for me, is like an old friend whom I've known and been close to for as long as I can remember.  Always there for me.  Always.  Steady and dependable.  Never fails to make me feel better about myself.  Happier.  More self-confident.  Always the best listener.

So, what made me want to write this today was the neighborhood run I had yesterday afternoon, just after Jude's brother, James, and his family arrived for the Christmas holiday.

5 miles in my neighborhood - Belmont - 12South - an old route by the house we used to live in on Elliott Avenue.  A route I've run countless times.  The kicker is that I ran the 5 miles at a 7:48 pace.  Comfortably, without pushing myself in any way.

And that's the really cool thing, for me.  My runs as of late are almost all 5 or 6 miles and they're almost all under 8 minutes per mile, or right at 8 minutes per mile.  Having dropped some weight, I'm training at a pace I hadn't run comfortably in 20, maybe 25, years.  I've gone from causing at 8:30 or 8:40 minutes per mile to 8 minutes per mile, or less.  And, again, at a cruising, conversational speed.

I haven't raced in ages.  Right now, just getting out there and running, pain free, almost effortlessly, at age 53, at under 8 minute miles, is enough.

I'm thankful for good health.  I'm going to ride this wave as long as I can.

Running the table.  

Oh, Christmas Tree

Last night, we decorated our Christmas tree.  It's a beautiful blue spruce we picked out last weekend at Santa's trees.  Tall and thick, with lots of branches.  Almost a perfect tree, really.  Jude strung lights - white ones, this year - on it a few nights ago.  Last night, a Friday, was the first time this week we had a couple of hours free with nothing else going on.

As we unpacked our Christmas decorations, a wave of nostalgia almost knocked me down as I looked at all of our Christmas ornaments.  Many of them are ornaments from my childhood that my mom gave me over the years.  So many memories tied up in so many of the ornaments.  Some she had given as a child and we had hung them together on our Christmas trees at our house growing up.  Some she had given the boys when they were younger.

Damn.  I had no idea how hard it would be to see those Christmas ornaments again.  I hung a few of my favorites on the tree but, for the most part, I sat and watched Jude and the boys decorate our tree.  The intensity of the moment caught me off guard.  It stunned me, really.  Parts of this deal - the grieving process, I suppose - are so hard for me, even now.

My mom loved decorating the Christmas tree, especially when we were young.  I gave her such a hard time when she switched to an artificial tree after we were older and had families of our own.  Our tree always would be haphazardly packed with ornaments on nearly every branch.  There were no rules.  Just hang the ornaments wherever they would fit.  It was the ultimate family event for us.

On occasion, my friend and next door neighbor, Warren Lee Gilley and his sister, Terri, walked over and helped us decorate out Christmas tree.  There mother, Sandra, insisted on decorating her tree just so, with little or no help from her children.  It had to be just so.  At our house, everyone was welcome to decorate the Christmas tree and to hang ornaments wherever they would fit.  It was such a happy time every year.   So much laughter.  So much love.  

And you know what?  Our Christmas tree was beautiful every single year.  A sight to behold, lit up with the lights in the living room turned off, heavy laden with our family's Christmas ornaments.

When I think of it now, as I finish my coffee at Red Bicycle in the Nations, I realize that the way we decorated our Christmas tree when I was a child - and the way my family decorates our Christmas tree - perfectly encapsulates the essence of my mom as a person.

No pretense or formality.  What you see is what you get.  Happiness and laughter.  An openness to others.  And a love for family stronger than steel.

It's going to be hard but I'm going to try to remember that, this year and in years to come.  

      

Thanksgiving Without Mom

I love the fall holidays most of all but this year, my enthusiasm has been tempered by the fact that for the first time in my life, I won't celebrate them with my mom.

It's strange but I don't know how I'm supposed to feel this holiday season.  

I feel guilty if I unabashedly enjoy myself because to do so is to necessarily ignore the fact that my mom isn't here with us.  However, if I dwell on how much I miss my mom, my spirit will descend into the familiar abyss of sadness and, yes, depression, and those closest to me will suffer the ill effects of my emotional decline.  My mom wouldn't want that.  This I know.

What would she want?  

She would want me to smile and laugh.  To enjoy spending time with Jude, J.P. and Joe.  To watch football all weekend long.  To enjoy a Thanksgiving meal with Jude's extended family at Anne and David Walker's house in Franklin (something my mom did with Jude and me on more than one occasion).  

She would want me to watch football all weekend long.  To tease my boys, and tease her, about the Tennessee - Vanderbilt football game tomorrow.  To have family over tomorrow night to laugh, reminisce and spend time together.  

She would want my heart to fill with pride as I watch J.P. and Joe shoot basketball together, with me, at Christ the King or Sevier Park.  To have 4-way Connect Four tournaments with Jude, J.P. and Joe.  She would want me to lose to one of the boys, of course.  

She would want me to enjoy the beginning of the college basketball season.  To enjoy taking the boys to the Battle of the Boulevard (Belmont vs. Lipscomb) on Tuesday.  To enjoy following the Titans as they make a late season run for the playoffs.  To worry about the Predators and early season swoon.  

She would want me to enjoy the fact that I'm healthy and running like I did 25 +  years ago.  To enjoy the fact that, at age 53, I've had a bit of a running renaissance.  Not racing but effortlessly running 4, 5 or 6 miles at the same training pace I ran in my late 20's.  To enjoy running 10 miles in Shelby Bottoms last weekend.  To simply enjoy doing something I love.  Running.

I think - no, I know - she would want me to slow down just a little bit this holiday season.  To worry a little bit less about work and my immediate and extended family, and my friends.  To be still, to be quiet and to be thankful, truly and deeply thankful, for the life I have right now.  To be present in this moment and appreciate it for it's singularity, not thinking about the past or worrying about the future.

She would want all of those things for me, and many, many more.

I miss you mom.  The holidays aren't going to be easy for me, I know.  But I'm going to try to honor your memory over the holidays by living the way you would want me to live.  

I have so much.  Today, Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for all of it.  My life, the sad parts, the hard parts, the happy parts.  All of it.  

  

      

   

LeBron, the Lakers and the Bucket List

I've been a Los Angeles Lakers fan for as long as I can remember.  When I was a toddler and we lived in California, my mom used to listen to Chick Hearn - the venerable one - call the Lakers' games on the radio.  For a season or two - or so I was told by my mom - my parents shared season tickets to the Lakers' games with three other couples, in the days of Elgin Baylor, Jerry West, Gail Goodrich and Wilt Chamberlain (probably 1969 or 1970 would be my guess).

This part is hazy, but I've always had a memory of attending a Lakers' game with my dad.  I remember watching Wilt Chamberlain play.  It's funny, now that I think about it, I never asked my mom if that memory was true or a dream.  I never confirmed that my dad took me to a Lakers' game.  I wish I had asked her about it but maybe I wanted to continue to believe it.

I've always been a huge Jerry West fan, probably because my mom was, as well.  

In the early 1980's, with the arrival of Earvin "Magic" Johnson, my Lakers' fandom increased tenfold.  I watched the Lakers on television whenever I could - which wasn't often during the regular season, since cable television hadn't arrived yet - and I lived and died by how they did in the playoffs.  I mean, lived and died!

Most importantly, I hated the Boston Celtics.  Really, really hated them, like all good Laker fans.

In college and in my fraternity, same way.  None of my friends, save one - Eddie Messer - were Laker fans.  Most of them pulled for the Celtics.  

In some ways, my obsession with the Lakers, and the NBA, was an oddity in the pre-internet days.  It was harder to follow the NBA because information wasn't readily available as it is now and there were so many few games on television.  Today, of course, it's totally different.  The NBA is hip and, in reality, trails only the NFL in terms of popularity in the U.S.  Worldwide, however, the NBA dwarfs the NFL in popularity.

For me, it's always been MLB, followed closely by baseball.  But, in terms of my favorite team, it may well have been the Lakers.  Probably trading places, from time to time, with the Dodgers.

The cool thing about having boys - my boys - is that, for the most part, they've adopted my sports' allegiances.  The notable exception, of course, is the the fact that they're Vanderbilt fans and I'm a Tennessee fan.  I smile as I write that, though, because it's a lasting legacy from my mom.  Her parting shot to me, if you will, and something that I believe still makes her chuckle wherever she is now.  My sons, the Vandy fans.

The boys - and I - love the Dodgers and Lakers.  

Saturday afternoon, we drove to Memphis of then Grizzlies - Lakers game Saturday night.  JP rode with my friends, Russ and Chris, and their sons (and his basketball teammates), Cooper and Wes.  Joe rode with me, as his basketball game finished later.

Because the Lakers played Friday night in Oklahoma City, I was worried LeBron James might sit in Memphis.  You know, load management.  Fortunately, that wasn't the case, as LeBron and Anthony Davis played.  

As it turned out, we stayed at the Westin - the same hotel in which the Lakers stayed.  In fact, the players were checking out when we arrived.  The boys saw Lebron, Anthony Davis, Alex Caruso and Kyle Kouzma, which thrilled them to no end.  

Before the game, we walked .3 of mile to Central BBQ for some slow cooked, Memphis style BBQ.  As advertised, the BBQ was awesome, especially the brisket.  Then, back to the hotel to change clothes, and a quick walk across the street to the game.

We had good seats in the Pinnacle Club section.  I loved watching the boys watching the Lakers, standing and cheering in the their LeBron James (No. 23) Lakers' jerseys.  Joe was so into the game that I had to ask him - several times in the first half - to calm down.  The Lakers weren't playing particularly well and the Grizzlies hit their first 8 (!) 3-pointers.  Joe was despondent.  JP and couldn't help but laugh and - I thought - like father, like son.  

The Grizzlies cooled off in the second half, predictably, and the Lakers got hot.  It was an exciting finish and the Lakers won by 1 point, much to our delight.  I bought the boys some swag in the team shop and we walked across the street, back to the hotel.  

Overall, bucket list night.  I got to watch LeBron James play, with my sons alongside, cheering the whole game.  For me, it doesn't get much better than that.

   

Fall Baseball Season Finales

Sunday marked the end of the boys fall baseball season.

It's rare that we play into November but the previous weekend's games were rained out the fields were too wet on Saturday to play.  It was a beautiful, fall Sunday afternoon, though, and I was grateful to get the play the season finale for the Junior Dodgers (Joe) and the Dodgers (J.P.).

The Junior Dodgers played first, at 1 p.m., vs. the Red Cobras (Hi, August!), a team we had split with earlier in the fall season.  The pitching machine was dialed up a bit and the boys on both teams had a difficult time hitting.  Early on, the score was tied 1-1, then the Junior Dodgers took a 2-1 lead and later, a 5-1 lead.

The play, or plays, of the day, came mid-game when I had Bennett at pitcher and Joe at first base.  Bennett made a fairly routine play on a ground ball for the first out, throwing the ball to Joe at first in time to get the runner.  A couple of Red Cobras scratched out hits, then one boy struck out for the second out.  With two runners on base, the next batter ripped a ground ball up the middle.  Bennett reacted instantly, backhanded the ball cleanly, and threw a strike to Joe at first base for the third out.

It was a bang-bang play and for a split second, everyone sat in stunned silence.  Then, our fans, coaches and players erupted in cheers as the Junior Dodgers ran off the field to bat.  I stormed out of the dugout and Bennett greeted me with a huge smile on his face as I picked him up and hugged him. It was a helluva play!

Although the Red Cobras rallied for a pair of runs in the bottom of the last inning, the Junior Dodgers held on to win 5-3.  The boys made must enough routine defensive plays and had just enough hitting to win the game.  George, one of my personal projects the past year or so, had three hits.  Andrew, filling in because we were short on players, and Trey, had triples to the outfield.  Big, big hits.  A fitting end to the fall season for the Junior Dodgers.

The Dodgers played our longtime rival, the Dirtbags, in the 3 p.m. game after the team we really wanted - Pennington's team - couldn't get enough players to play us.  We've had the Dirtbags number as of late.  The boys followed up a 13-1 win over the Dirtbags Tuesday night (in a game the I missed b/c I was stuck mediating a case) with a 12-4 win that was never in doubt.

Although I thought about pitching some boys who don't normally pitch, I decided a win would be important to the team so I started our horse, Porter.  He pitched well over three innings and gave up only a single run as we pulled away.  Timely hits, walks and a lot of stolen bases led to the Dodgers taking a big lead early and coasting home.

In the lasts inning, I brought in Ethan to pitch.  He'd been asking to pitch and he deserved a shot.  When he's on he's unhittable but when he's struggling with his control, anything can happen.  It's usually feast or famine when he's on the mound.  Still, I wanted him to get the experience of being out there because he's got real talent and just needs to learn to manage his emotions.  He's got unrivaled competitiveness but is so hard on himself when he struggles the slightest bit.  Great, great kid.

I caught J.P., which I knew would be a challenge for him because Ethan can be a bit wild when hit pitches.

After an early strikeout, Ethan's control wavered and he walked a few batters and allowed a run or two on wild pitches.  J.P. did reasonably well, but struggled a bit with balls in the dirt, allowing them to get past him and roll to the backstop.  Nothing some repetitions at catcher won't correct because he really can play back there, I think.  I've said it before but one of the things I'm proudest of when it comes to J.P. and baseball is his versatility.  He field at least 3 grounders flawlessly at shortstop early in the game and threw the batters out at first, then was competent at catcher.

The Dirtbags did what the Dirtbags do when the scored a couple of runs.  Their players started chanting, quietly at first, then louder and louder.  Although I think that stuff is bush league, I had to laugh when they started humming the Jeopardy theme song when I walked to the mound to settle Ethan down.  Settle down he did and he struck a batter out for the last out with the bases loaded.  A good moment for him.

Overall, again, the Dodgers played very solid defensively.  I've seen so much improvement there.  we had timely hitting and there's a lot of room for improvement, for sure.  But he defense has been outstanding as the fall season progressed.

A great way to end the fall season - wins against rivals of the Junior Dodgers and the Dodgers - and two teams' worth of happy boys on a beautiful fall afternoon.

Baseball is life.  All the rest is just details.