This weekend, Jude and the boys are in Charlotte to see her brother, James, and his wife (Megan) and their children.
One of my oldest and best friends, Doug B., is driving to Nashville and is going to stay with me. One of my other oldest and best friends, Mike M., is going to come up from Franklin. We're going to watch football today - probably in East Nashville - drink a lot of beer, and just spend time together. Tomorrow night, we've got reservations for dinner in Germantown.
The three of us had planned to go away for the weekend but we never put it all together. It was important to us to get together, in large part because we've all had a difficult year.
I lost my mom, of course. Doug had major back surgery. Mike lost his stepmother, who actually was in the Courtyard at NHC Place, where my mom was before she died. Also, Mike recently helped move his mom into a assisted living and memory care facility.
The three of us have been there for each other forever, or so it seems. Through a terrible car accident that took the life of Doug's mother when we were in high school, weddings, divorces, illnesses, struggles with our children and the deaths of our parents, we've supported each other. Sometimes, we drive each other crazy, but when life happens, we're together, the three of us.
So many happy times and good memories with these guys over, I guess, four decades. Crazy.
This weekend, we'll laugh. Boy, will we laugh. I think we'll reflect, too. And listen and give advice. We'll watch football. We'll drink beer together. Then, we'll laugh some more.
Recently, it occurred to me that perhaps a measure of success in a man's life is how many people he has in his circle who can make him laugh. I mean, really laugh. I have these two guys and, luckily, several others.
And that's a good thing. A special thing.
Saturday, August 31, 2019
Dreams, etc.
I had a dream about my mom a couple of nights ago.
Unfortunately, it was one of those dreams that's hard to remember with any detail or clarity after the fact. Maybe more will come to me later. I do know, however, that in my dream, my mom was happy and laughing.
I miss her terribly. It's not as bad when I'm covered up at work, like I have been lately, or when I'm on the go all weekend with the boys' baseball and soccer games. When things quiet down and aren't as hectic, though, even for a moment, my sadness is like a sudden, loud noise in an echo chamber. There's the sound, then the reverberations of the sound, all bouncing off each other and off the walls of the echo chamber. And it lasts for a while, gets quieter, then goes away. That's the only way I know how to describe it.
I have a little down time and, suddenly, I am hit with a sharp pang of grief. It recedes to a dull ache but continues to bounce around inside my head, my heart and, I guess, my soul for a little while until I get a grip on things or get busy again. It comes and goes, but when it comes, it comes suddenly and it comes hard.
It's been almost seven months, I know. Still, it's there. My professional life often drains my mental and emotional energy. Almost every day, I deal with people, couples and families in crisis. I try to solve their problems. When do I try to solve my problems? I don't know the answer to that one.
I worry about my extended family and how they're handling my mom's death and the other stressors in their lives. I worry about that a lot. Am I doing enough to help? Am I doing enough to support them? I hope so but I'm not sure.
One thing I have learned is that everyone handles grief - heavy, suffocating grief - differently. Why that is, I don't know, other than that we're all different people and none of us is wired the same. There's not a right or wrong way. Not a better way. Just your and my way, or so it seems to me.
I think there are objectively deleterious ways to process grief. Self-medicating with alcohol. Avoidance. Burying oneself in work - that sounds familiar to me. Withdrawing from family and friends.
Objectively positive ways exist, too. Counseling. Prayer. Sharing - that's probably a hard one for me. Self-help, I guess, through meditation or exercising. Running for me, of course, has been a godsend. An outlet for me.
I guess I'm a little worried that in trying to be stoic, in being present for others and in being busy professionally and personally, I may not have properly dealt with my grief. I don't think that's the case but it's hard to know.
I have questions but I don't have the answers. And that's frustrating to me.
How long will I feel this dull ache of sadness? Will it ever go away completely?
Is it normal to feel this way after seven months?
Will I ever stop missing my mom? Will I ever stop wishing I could talk to her or go see her, just one more time?
Maybe I know the answers but I wish I didn't.
Unfortunately, it was one of those dreams that's hard to remember with any detail or clarity after the fact. Maybe more will come to me later. I do know, however, that in my dream, my mom was happy and laughing.
I miss her terribly. It's not as bad when I'm covered up at work, like I have been lately, or when I'm on the go all weekend with the boys' baseball and soccer games. When things quiet down and aren't as hectic, though, even for a moment, my sadness is like a sudden, loud noise in an echo chamber. There's the sound, then the reverberations of the sound, all bouncing off each other and off the walls of the echo chamber. And it lasts for a while, gets quieter, then goes away. That's the only way I know how to describe it.
I have a little down time and, suddenly, I am hit with a sharp pang of grief. It recedes to a dull ache but continues to bounce around inside my head, my heart and, I guess, my soul for a little while until I get a grip on things or get busy again. It comes and goes, but when it comes, it comes suddenly and it comes hard.
It's been almost seven months, I know. Still, it's there. My professional life often drains my mental and emotional energy. Almost every day, I deal with people, couples and families in crisis. I try to solve their problems. When do I try to solve my problems? I don't know the answer to that one.
I worry about my extended family and how they're handling my mom's death and the other stressors in their lives. I worry about that a lot. Am I doing enough to help? Am I doing enough to support them? I hope so but I'm not sure.
One thing I have learned is that everyone handles grief - heavy, suffocating grief - differently. Why that is, I don't know, other than that we're all different people and none of us is wired the same. There's not a right or wrong way. Not a better way. Just your and my way, or so it seems to me.
I think there are objectively deleterious ways to process grief. Self-medicating with alcohol. Avoidance. Burying oneself in work - that sounds familiar to me. Withdrawing from family and friends.
Objectively positive ways exist, too. Counseling. Prayer. Sharing - that's probably a hard one for me. Self-help, I guess, through meditation or exercising. Running for me, of course, has been a godsend. An outlet for me.
I guess I'm a little worried that in trying to be stoic, in being present for others and in being busy professionally and personally, I may not have properly dealt with my grief. I don't think that's the case but it's hard to know.
I have questions but I don't have the answers. And that's frustrating to me.
How long will I feel this dull ache of sadness? Will it ever go away completely?
Is it normal to feel this way after seven months?
Will I ever stop missing my mom? Will I ever stop wishing I could talk to her or go see her, just one more time?
Maybe I know the answers but I wish I didn't.
Sunday, August 18, 2019
Santa Rosa Beach (2019) Wrap Up
(Forthy Monkey, 12south)
My week back at the office after my week out of the office, in Santa Rosa Beach, was jam packed. Work was busy, stressful, challenging, relentless and emotionally demanding. I grinded all week long and even had a mediation yesterday, on Saturday.
Today, a day of rest, sort of. Soccer for JP in Murfreesboro. Baseball practice for JP later in they day. Soccer practice for Joe. Divide and conquer for Jude and me.
I haven't had time until now to reflect, really, or write about our time in Santa Rosa Beach. The highlights, if you will. I've tried to post about our beach vacation every year and it's fun to go back and read the posts from past years and look at photographs.
Here goes.
My week back at the office after my week out of the office, in Santa Rosa Beach, was jam packed. Work was busy, stressful, challenging, relentless and emotionally demanding. I grinded all week long and even had a mediation yesterday, on Saturday.
Today, a day of rest, sort of. Soccer for JP in Murfreesboro. Baseball practice for JP later in they day. Soccer practice for Joe. Divide and conquer for Jude and me.
I haven't had time until now to reflect, really, or write about our time in Santa Rosa Beach. The highlights, if you will. I've tried to post about our beach vacation every year and it's fun to go back and read the posts from past years and look at photographs.
Here goes.
- Hooking up with the Allen's (Russ, Susanna, Ella, Cooper and cousin Tyler) might have been the best part of the trip for the boys. Monday, we went to their place at the WaterSound Beach Club at St. Joe, as we have in the past. We hung out at the pool all afternoon - resort style - and played Spike Ball. Then, we walked down to the ocean. That evening, dinner at Greyson Beer Brewpub, then Cooper came to our place for a sleepover.
- Tuesday morning, Jude and I took all of the boys to the beach. Cooper, JP and Joe played and played and played in the ocean, all morning long. It was windy, so the waves were uncharacteristically big for the Gulf, though not out of control. Cooper fits so well with our boys. It's almost like he's the middle brother. He plays with JP and he plays with Joe and they both love him dearly. I met Susanna later in the afternoon at Sun Dog Books in Seaside, where I dropped Cooper off and picked up some books for JP and Joe. Cooper and I had a great talk on the way down about sports, baseball, soccer and life. As I've said and written before about the Allen's, it's so nice to have friends that fit.
- Tuesday afternoon or evening, Joe told Jude that the morning at the beach was his best day yet at the beach. "Actually," he said, "it's my best day ever at the beach." That made Jude and me smile.
- The waves, especially the first few days. The weather was a bit iffy, but we got to the beach every day. The boys loved - and I mean loved - the ocean. We couldn't get them out of it. We played with the Waboba ball and made up some games but mostly they just wanted to be in the waves. It made me want to take them, soon, to a beach on the Atlantic side or on the Pacific where there are actual, real waves they could body surf in. They would love that.
- Running on the Longleaf Greenway Trail. I'm so glad I found this trail several years ago. It's one street over from Old Florida Village and I love running on it, although it was very hot and humid even fairly early in the mornings.
- Ama Vida for coffee in Seaside. Good coffee and good coffee house, although Ama Vida (and several other merchants) changed locations at the town square in Seaside.
- Lunch with Jude and the boys at Bud and Alley's. JP was insistent he wanted to eat lunch there, like he and I had done two summers ago. It was worth it, for sure. JP loved his shrimp Po 'Boy.
- Lots of pool time in one of the two pools at Old Florida Village. It's a weird, nostalgic feeling to see JP and Joe swimming in the same pool we had them in when they were toddlers.
- Watching "All or Nothing: Manchester City" on Amazon Prime. It was almost as good as First Team Juventus on Netflix. So well made and such an interesting inside look at the Premier League and professional soccer in England and Europe. Yes, I'm watching documentary series about professional soccer. Crazy.
- Watching Joe devour Hardy Boys books. That's close to my heart, as I was a devoted Hardy Boys fan when I was his age. JP and I read a few of them together and Joe and I have, too, but Joe reads them on his own more than JP ever did. Joe is an amazing reader which makes me very, very happy.
- Reading Where the Crawdads Sing (Delia Owens) and Chances Are (Richard Russo). If Russo writes it, I read it. Both great books. Perfect beach reads. Chances Are hit home in some ways, as it involves 3 college friends reuniting for a weekend as they approach their mid-60's. Doug, Mike and I were planning Labor Day weekend together as I was reading it. Early 50's for us, so we're not that far off.
- The drive down and back was so much easier than it ever has been. One stop and JP didn't get car sick. We played the name game for hours with professional athletes. You know, JP says Russell Westbrooks, I say Willie Mays, JP says Marvin Hagler and so forth and so on. Mostly, I played against Jude, JP and Joe. At one point, Jude slid in Boris Yeltsin (and meant Boris Becker) and didn't catch it at first. When she said Boris Becker a few minutes later, I busted her and she got tickled. Jude doesn't laugh - I mean, really laugh uncontrollably very often - and it's a beautiful thing when it happens. Joe remarked about it to me later, about how funny it was to see her laughing like that. I couldn't agree more.
- The golf cart I rented. Top 10 vacation decision all time, in part because it kept my truck free from sand. We drove the golf cart to the beach and to dinner a few times. The boys loved it and JP loved driving it in the neighborhood.
- Throwing the baseball with JP one afternoon in one of the grassy overflow parking lots in Old Florida Village. Nothing beats playing catch with your son, for me, anyway.
- Watching the Dodgers rally for a win at Shunk Gulley Oyster Bar while we were eating dinner. Crazy game and crazy rally for a walk off win. The same thing happened while we were watching the Dodgers a couple of nights later. It's that kind of season for the Dodgers and the boys are way into it, as am I.
- Hanging with Jed at Blue Mountain Beach Creamery. We've known Jed since he opened the Creamery with his family a decade ago, at age 15 or 16. We've watched him grow up, year to year, one our visits. He's grown closer and closer to our family and we keep in touch in the offseason through Instagram. He lost his dad this year and I lost my mom and we visited about that a little bit. It's funny but seeing him is one of things our boys look forward to the most on our trips to Santa Rosa Beach.
That's about it, I think. Next summer, it looks like we're going to Oregon with Jude's college friends, which will be fun. We may try to get back to Santa Rosa Beach for fall break.
It had been a minute, as the kids say, and I had forgotten how much I love going to the beach.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
Beached
(Ama Vida - Seaside, FL)
After a year off last summer to go to Zion National Park - a once a lifetime trip - I'm happy to be back in Santa Rosa Beach for our last week of summer vacation. I'd forgotten how much I missed this place, our summer home away from home, where we've vacationed almost annually for a decade.
We don't own a home, obviously, in Old Florida Village, but it feels like we do since we stay there every year. Another Happy Day, A Slice of Paradise, Good to Go, Cracker Jack and this year, Beach Gnome. All houses in Old Florida Village where we've stayed over the years. I probably left one or two out, too.
We've graduated, so to speak, from the early years with J.P., when we searched out a playground behind an elementary school on 30A near Elmo's (an early favorite restaurant). Now, it's as much beach time with the boys as we can handle, with pool time mixed into the schedule in the mornings. JP is bicycling on his own through Old Florida Village, which is really just a couple of small loops since the housing development is on the small side.
The cool thing, for now, is that the boys still want to hang out with us. I realize as I write this that soon enough - too soon, really - JP will want to be on his own, exploring, when we vacation here, as opposed to wanting to spend time with us. And in some ways that will break my heart, although I know that's how it's supposed to go.
This morning, at the beach, the boys (J.P. and his friend, Cooper) couldn't wait for me to get in the ocean with them, so they could go out a little father in rough surf. Then, we threw the Waboba ball back and forth, skimming it off the waves and trying to catch it before it bounced past us. That involved into a made up game we called "Nutshot." Use your imagination and you can figure out the point of the game. Actually, the real point of the game was laughing at each other, as we dodged the incoming Waboba ball.
I got a 5 mile trail run in yesterday morning not the Longleaf Pine trail, whose trailhead is right around the corner from Old Florida Village. I've been running that trail, out and back, for so many years. It was nice to get back out there yesterday, although my aching right foot afterwards was discouraging. Stress fracture? I hope not.
Joe and I slipped down to Seaside (where I am right now) Sunday morning for a cup of coffee - hot chocolate for Joe - at Ama Vida while Jude and J.P. walked on the beach and looked for shells. It was "Joe Time," just like the old days when he was still at Children's House and we had a hour or so together almost every morning. We picked up some donuts at 5 Daughters before we headed back to Santa Rose Beach.
The boys love the beach and so do I. Maybe it's the California blood in me, since I spent my early years going to the Pacific Ocean with some regularity before we moved back to Tennessee after my father's death. Being her relaxes me and I'd kind of forgotten that feeling.
Dinner at Shunk Gulley Oyster Bar, one of the new developments along our part of 30A in Santa Rosa Beach.
Ice cream at Blue Mountain Beach Creamery on Sunday night. Our friend, Jed, and his family own the Creamery and it's always great to see him.
Boys being boys in the pool at Old Florida Village.
After a year off last summer to go to Zion National Park - a once a lifetime trip - I'm happy to be back in Santa Rosa Beach for our last week of summer vacation. I'd forgotten how much I missed this place, our summer home away from home, where we've vacationed almost annually for a decade.
We don't own a home, obviously, in Old Florida Village, but it feels like we do since we stay there every year. Another Happy Day, A Slice of Paradise, Good to Go, Cracker Jack and this year, Beach Gnome. All houses in Old Florida Village where we've stayed over the years. I probably left one or two out, too.
We've graduated, so to speak, from the early years with J.P., when we searched out a playground behind an elementary school on 30A near Elmo's (an early favorite restaurant). Now, it's as much beach time with the boys as we can handle, with pool time mixed into the schedule in the mornings. JP is bicycling on his own through Old Florida Village, which is really just a couple of small loops since the housing development is on the small side.
The cool thing, for now, is that the boys still want to hang out with us. I realize as I write this that soon enough - too soon, really - JP will want to be on his own, exploring, when we vacation here, as opposed to wanting to spend time with us. And in some ways that will break my heart, although I know that's how it's supposed to go.
This morning, at the beach, the boys (J.P. and his friend, Cooper) couldn't wait for me to get in the ocean with them, so they could go out a little father in rough surf. Then, we threw the Waboba ball back and forth, skimming it off the waves and trying to catch it before it bounced past us. That involved into a made up game we called "Nutshot." Use your imagination and you can figure out the point of the game. Actually, the real point of the game was laughing at each other, as we dodged the incoming Waboba ball.
I got a 5 mile trail run in yesterday morning not the Longleaf Pine trail, whose trailhead is right around the corner from Old Florida Village. I've been running that trail, out and back, for so many years. It was nice to get back out there yesterday, although my aching right foot afterwards was discouraging. Stress fracture? I hope not.
Joe and I slipped down to Seaside (where I am right now) Sunday morning for a cup of coffee - hot chocolate for Joe - at Ama Vida while Jude and J.P. walked on the beach and looked for shells. It was "Joe Time," just like the old days when he was still at Children's House and we had a hour or so together almost every morning. We picked up some donuts at 5 Daughters before we headed back to Santa Rose Beach.
The boys love the beach and so do I. Maybe it's the California blood in me, since I spent my early years going to the Pacific Ocean with some regularity before we moved back to Tennessee after my father's death. Being her relaxes me and I'd kind of forgotten that feeling.
Dinner at Shunk Gulley Oyster Bar, one of the new developments along our part of 30A in Santa Rosa Beach.
Ice cream at Blue Mountain Beach Creamery on Sunday night. Our friend, Jed, and his family own the Creamery and it's always great to see him.
Boys being boys in the pool at Old Florida Village.
Tuesday, July 30, 2019
Saying Goodbye to Screen Time
(Creme, Friday morning.)
Last Friday evening, Jude and I planned to take the boys to Seven Hills to swim after work. She was running late and I was running late. When she got home, she learned Joe hadn't had a particularly good afternoon with Katie, our summer nanny. Then, J.P. had a bad attitude - one that went from bad to worse - when she told him they would be late getting to the pool. In the end, J.P ended up in his room and Jude and I canceled the trip to the pool.
I had a long talk with J.P. when I got home, then we had a family meeting at dinner. I was disappointed in the boys' behavior, especially J.P.'s. I expect more of him because he's the oldest and he sets the example for Joe. As I told him, when he loses his temper and raises his voice or yells at Jude, Joe sees it and thinks it's okay to act like that. I can't have Joe thinking that at 7 years of age.
At dinner, Jude and I talked with the boys about gratitude and entitlement, common themes around our house. I talked about being selfless, and not selfish. Selfish = me. Selfless = we. That's what I told them, anyway.
We're blessed to have two good sons. They're rarely much trouble. But they're normal, young boys trying to figure out life and they need guidance. They're going to occasionally get off track and it's our job to get them back on track.
To emphasize the importance of behaving, with us and especially with babysitters or nannies (including Grandma and Jimdad), Jude and I decided to take away all of the boys' screens for a while. No television. No iPads. No looking at videos on or cell phones. No Xbox. No screens at all.
Now, we're not big on screen time as it is. I suspect we're in the bottom 10% of all of our peer group families when it comes to allowing the boys to have screen time, for better or worse. They only get to use their iPads on Saturday and Sunday mornings, for an hour at most. Xbox is a rarity, maybe once a week on weekends. No Fortnite. They do watch a fair amount of television, though it's mostly sports at dinner or on weekends.
Although I worry sometimes that we're sheltering the boys, it's a joy to see them reading, on their own, as opposed to watching television or videos. That's our focus. Still, the boys love their screen time, perhaps because they don't get a lot of it. Thus, taking away all of their screen time was a pretty draconian disciplinary measure by their way of thinking.
(Honest Coffee Roasters, Tuesday at noon)
What's been a pleasant surprise, I think, is how well it's gone - for us, anyway - for the boys to be without screens.
We've eaten dinner at the dining room table every night, which is something we had gotten away from. So many night - maybe most nights - we have "sports picnics" and watch television while we're eating dinner. Yes, we're together but it's in front of the television and the reality is that our conversation likely is a reaction to whatever we're watching. When we're eating at the dining room table, our conversation involves how our day went, what went well, what didn't go well. We interact more with each other, it seems.
Also, and I may be wrong about his, but the boys seem happier and less fussy with no screen time. Now, maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part but it sure seems that way.
Since I started this post, we eased up a bit and let the boys watch Apollo 13 with us on Saturday night. Still, no iPads for them, though, and no sports on television. We'll see where it goes the next few days, as Jude is in Washington, D.C. and I have the boys on my own for "Guytown."
Last Friday evening, Jude and I planned to take the boys to Seven Hills to swim after work. She was running late and I was running late. When she got home, she learned Joe hadn't had a particularly good afternoon with Katie, our summer nanny. Then, J.P. had a bad attitude - one that went from bad to worse - when she told him they would be late getting to the pool. In the end, J.P ended up in his room and Jude and I canceled the trip to the pool.
I had a long talk with J.P. when I got home, then we had a family meeting at dinner. I was disappointed in the boys' behavior, especially J.P.'s. I expect more of him because he's the oldest and he sets the example for Joe. As I told him, when he loses his temper and raises his voice or yells at Jude, Joe sees it and thinks it's okay to act like that. I can't have Joe thinking that at 7 years of age.
At dinner, Jude and I talked with the boys about gratitude and entitlement, common themes around our house. I talked about being selfless, and not selfish. Selfish = me. Selfless = we. That's what I told them, anyway.
We're blessed to have two good sons. They're rarely much trouble. But they're normal, young boys trying to figure out life and they need guidance. They're going to occasionally get off track and it's our job to get them back on track.
To emphasize the importance of behaving, with us and especially with babysitters or nannies (including Grandma and Jimdad), Jude and I decided to take away all of the boys' screens for a while. No television. No iPads. No looking at videos on or cell phones. No Xbox. No screens at all.
Now, we're not big on screen time as it is. I suspect we're in the bottom 10% of all of our peer group families when it comes to allowing the boys to have screen time, for better or worse. They only get to use their iPads on Saturday and Sunday mornings, for an hour at most. Xbox is a rarity, maybe once a week on weekends. No Fortnite. They do watch a fair amount of television, though it's mostly sports at dinner or on weekends.
Although I worry sometimes that we're sheltering the boys, it's a joy to see them reading, on their own, as opposed to watching television or videos. That's our focus. Still, the boys love their screen time, perhaps because they don't get a lot of it. Thus, taking away all of their screen time was a pretty draconian disciplinary measure by their way of thinking.
(Honest Coffee Roasters, Tuesday at noon)
What's been a pleasant surprise, I think, is how well it's gone - for us, anyway - for the boys to be without screens.
We've eaten dinner at the dining room table every night, which is something we had gotten away from. So many night - maybe most nights - we have "sports picnics" and watch television while we're eating dinner. Yes, we're together but it's in front of the television and the reality is that our conversation likely is a reaction to whatever we're watching. When we're eating at the dining room table, our conversation involves how our day went, what went well, what didn't go well. We interact more with each other, it seems.
Also, and I may be wrong about his, but the boys seem happier and less fussy with no screen time. Now, maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part but it sure seems that way.
Since I started this post, we eased up a bit and let the boys watch Apollo 13 with us on Saturday night. Still, no iPads for them, though, and no sports on television. We'll see where it goes the next few days, as Jude is in Washington, D.C. and I have the boys on my own for "Guytown."
Monday, July 15, 2019
The Return of the Hot Wheels Cars
(Portland Brew, 7:15 a.m.)
Friday night, Joe had a friend and classmate from school sleep over. Caldwell is a boy I've coached for the past three seasons, fall and spring, on Joe's baseball team. Sweet kid and a gamer. Loves to play catcher. Hockey player, too. He's younger than Joe by almost a year, I'm guessing. It was Caldwell's first sleepover, so I was curious how it would go.
Well, it went great and the boys had a blast. It's cool to see Joe having boys sleep over, since for so many years he's been a part of J.P.'s sleep overs with Cooper, J.D., etc. I had never been around Caldwell for an extended period of time, so I was amazed at how talkative and outgoing he was. Confident, too, which is a good and probably why he and Joe are a good fit. Joe is almost always confident and sure of himself, sometimes a little too much so.
After dinner and watching part of a hockey documentary called "Pond Hockey" - very good, by the way - Caldwell and Joe went upstairs to play. We gave them some space but after 20 minutes or so, I went upstairs to check on them. To my surprise and delight, they were playing with the Hot Wheels cars.
Now, J.P. was probably more into the Hot Wheels cars than Joe ever was, probably because J.P. had to entertain himself more than Joe ever did. Also, Joe has always tagged along with J.P. and wanted to play whatever he was playing. By the time Joe was old enough to walk comfortably, J.P. was into sports and playing outside. Joe simply followed him wherever he went.
Caldwell and Joe had put together a long stretch of Hot Wheels track with a loop near the middle. They were sitting at both ends of the track, taking turns pulling cars (and trucks and ambulances) out of the Hot Wheels suitcase/storage box and seeing which cars (and trucks and ambulances) could make it through the loop and to the other end of the track. Kind of like a Hot Wheels test kitchen.
As a kid, I loved my Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, and I bought a ton of them for J.P. when he was little. Joe kind of inherited them. I immediately sat down in the floor and joined them. And, damn, it was fun to see them so excited to play with Hot Wheels cars - not Xbox, not iPad - Hot Wheels cars. I couldn't stop smiling.
I guess there's a bit of Toy Story in this, although my sentimental streak has prevented me from watching Toy Story 2, 3 and 4. The Hot Wheels cars and track, unused for years, suddenly experience a renaissance and are played with for a weekend, first by Joe and Caldwell, then by Joe and J.P. last night. A trip back to a more innocent time.
My mom used to buy me Matchbox cars when I was a child, one at a time, that I think actually came in what looked like a matchbox. I brought a ton of Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars with me from California when we moved to Brentwood, TN, after my father died. The story - and I don't think it's apocryphal - is that when we moved into our house on Brenthaven Drive in 1972, my next door neighbor (who became my best friend) came home from school and saw me sitting in the floor of his den, playing with my cars, while our moms talked. He joined me and a friendship that lasted throughout my youth was born.
That's one of the first things that made me really feel like a father - buying Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars for J.P. and playing with them with him. Full circle, you know.
Now, off to begin an incredibly busy and likely stressful week at work.
Friday night, Joe had a friend and classmate from school sleep over. Caldwell is a boy I've coached for the past three seasons, fall and spring, on Joe's baseball team. Sweet kid and a gamer. Loves to play catcher. Hockey player, too. He's younger than Joe by almost a year, I'm guessing. It was Caldwell's first sleepover, so I was curious how it would go.
Well, it went great and the boys had a blast. It's cool to see Joe having boys sleep over, since for so many years he's been a part of J.P.'s sleep overs with Cooper, J.D., etc. I had never been around Caldwell for an extended period of time, so I was amazed at how talkative and outgoing he was. Confident, too, which is a good and probably why he and Joe are a good fit. Joe is almost always confident and sure of himself, sometimes a little too much so.
After dinner and watching part of a hockey documentary called "Pond Hockey" - very good, by the way - Caldwell and Joe went upstairs to play. We gave them some space but after 20 minutes or so, I went upstairs to check on them. To my surprise and delight, they were playing with the Hot Wheels cars.
Now, J.P. was probably more into the Hot Wheels cars than Joe ever was, probably because J.P. had to entertain himself more than Joe ever did. Also, Joe has always tagged along with J.P. and wanted to play whatever he was playing. By the time Joe was old enough to walk comfortably, J.P. was into sports and playing outside. Joe simply followed him wherever he went.
Caldwell and Joe had put together a long stretch of Hot Wheels track with a loop near the middle. They were sitting at both ends of the track, taking turns pulling cars (and trucks and ambulances) out of the Hot Wheels suitcase/storage box and seeing which cars (and trucks and ambulances) could make it through the loop and to the other end of the track. Kind of like a Hot Wheels test kitchen.
As a kid, I loved my Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars, and I bought a ton of them for J.P. when he was little. Joe kind of inherited them. I immediately sat down in the floor and joined them. And, damn, it was fun to see them so excited to play with Hot Wheels cars - not Xbox, not iPad - Hot Wheels cars. I couldn't stop smiling.
I guess there's a bit of Toy Story in this, although my sentimental streak has prevented me from watching Toy Story 2, 3 and 4. The Hot Wheels cars and track, unused for years, suddenly experience a renaissance and are played with for a weekend, first by Joe and Caldwell, then by Joe and J.P. last night. A trip back to a more innocent time.
My mom used to buy me Matchbox cars when I was a child, one at a time, that I think actually came in what looked like a matchbox. I brought a ton of Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars with me from California when we moved to Brentwood, TN, after my father died. The story - and I don't think it's apocryphal - is that when we moved into our house on Brenthaven Drive in 1972, my next door neighbor (who became my best friend) came home from school and saw me sitting in the floor of his den, playing with my cars, while our moms talked. He joined me and a friendship that lasted throughout my youth was born.
That's one of the first things that made me really feel like a father - buying Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars for J.P. and playing with them with him. Full circle, you know.
Now, off to begin an incredibly busy and likely stressful week at work.
Sunday, July 14, 2019
A Pirate Looks at 53
I turned 53 years old this week rather uneventfully. J.P. was away at golf camp - his first sleep away camp albeit in Franklin. It was Jude, Joe and me and by my request, we had a quiet dinner at home and watched the MLB All Star Game. The National League lost, as usual.
It was a strange birthday, melancholy, as I found myself preoccupied with the idea that it was my first birthday without my mom. Lately I've slipped into a bit of a funk again, thinking about my mom a lot and really missing her. I guess that's normal - or maybe it's not, I don't know - it's been five and half months since she died.
Things happy, in my life or in real life, and I get lost in my mind thinking about how much my mom would have enjoyed this or that event or how much fun it would have been to talk to her about it. Tiger winning the Masters. Vanderbilt winning the College World Series. The Predators trading PK Subban. Bonnaroo. J.P.'s WNSL Dodgers winning the 11U State Championship. My 53rd birthday.
All of those events, to me, are slightly less meaningful or special because my mom isn't here to share them. It's weird, I know, because it's not like she could enjoy those kind of events, anyway, the last three years or so. Alzheimer's disease robbed her of that. Still, somehow, she was here and would have been a part of all of those events in an odd way. I don't know.
Often times in my conversations or interactions with others, my mom spontaneously comes up. For example, I ran into Dr. White the other day, her former primary care physician (and my grandmother's, too). We were talking, getting caught up and he mentioned attending an event with his mother, who is 86. Apropos of nothing or, perhaps everything, he told me he was sorry to hear about my mom's death. He told me how much he had enjoyed knowing her over the years, how much fun she was, how much they laughed together and how opinionated she was. Yep, that's her.
He didn't know the details of her death. I shared with him that I was blessed to have visited with her the Wednesday afternoon before she had a stroke. Describing the telephone call I got from Tracy Thursday morning while I was having coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters to tell me that the nurse at NHC was looking for me - that something was wrong with mom - brought it all back home again, like a scab opening up and bleeding.
Dr. White was a good listener. When I described what the neurosurgeon at St. Thomas Hospital advised me about our options, Thursday morning after my mom arrived there in an ambulance, he agreed we made the right decision not to proceed with any type of cranial surgery. My mom wouldn't have wanted that. He knows it and I do, too.
He didn't realize we were at the hospital with her for a week before she died on the night of January 31st. Recounting that part of the story made me think about that week again and wonder if I've done it justice by writing about it. I'm torn between wanting to remember every detail of my last week with my mom and wanting to forget all of it, because it was so hard. By the end of the week, I was hollowed out and my emotions had been wrung out like water from a sponge. I was numb and it was . . . just . . . hard to feel. Anything.
It was such an intense week and unlike anything I had ever imagined. Everything was so raw and real yet so unbelievable, too. It's hard to describe it. Again, part of me wants to remember every detail vividly and part of me wants to forget it happened.
So I find myself at 53, with good days and bad days and some in between. I miss my mom and I think about her almost every day. Well, probably every day, actually. Her laugh and her smile, before and after Alzheimer's disease ravaged her mind and body.
I suppose it will get easier. I hope so.
It was a strange birthday, melancholy, as I found myself preoccupied with the idea that it was my first birthday without my mom. Lately I've slipped into a bit of a funk again, thinking about my mom a lot and really missing her. I guess that's normal - or maybe it's not, I don't know - it's been five and half months since she died.
Things happy, in my life or in real life, and I get lost in my mind thinking about how much my mom would have enjoyed this or that event or how much fun it would have been to talk to her about it. Tiger winning the Masters. Vanderbilt winning the College World Series. The Predators trading PK Subban. Bonnaroo. J.P.'s WNSL Dodgers winning the 11U State Championship. My 53rd birthday.
All of those events, to me, are slightly less meaningful or special because my mom isn't here to share them. It's weird, I know, because it's not like she could enjoy those kind of events, anyway, the last three years or so. Alzheimer's disease robbed her of that. Still, somehow, she was here and would have been a part of all of those events in an odd way. I don't know.
Often times in my conversations or interactions with others, my mom spontaneously comes up. For example, I ran into Dr. White the other day, her former primary care physician (and my grandmother's, too). We were talking, getting caught up and he mentioned attending an event with his mother, who is 86. Apropos of nothing or, perhaps everything, he told me he was sorry to hear about my mom's death. He told me how much he had enjoyed knowing her over the years, how much fun she was, how much they laughed together and how opinionated she was. Yep, that's her.
He didn't know the details of her death. I shared with him that I was blessed to have visited with her the Wednesday afternoon before she had a stroke. Describing the telephone call I got from Tracy Thursday morning while I was having coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters to tell me that the nurse at NHC was looking for me - that something was wrong with mom - brought it all back home again, like a scab opening up and bleeding.
Dr. White was a good listener. When I described what the neurosurgeon at St. Thomas Hospital advised me about our options, Thursday morning after my mom arrived there in an ambulance, he agreed we made the right decision not to proceed with any type of cranial surgery. My mom wouldn't have wanted that. He knows it and I do, too.
He didn't realize we were at the hospital with her for a week before she died on the night of January 31st. Recounting that part of the story made me think about that week again and wonder if I've done it justice by writing about it. I'm torn between wanting to remember every detail of my last week with my mom and wanting to forget all of it, because it was so hard. By the end of the week, I was hollowed out and my emotions had been wrung out like water from a sponge. I was numb and it was . . . just . . . hard to feel. Anything.
It was such an intense week and unlike anything I had ever imagined. Everything was so raw and real yet so unbelievable, too. It's hard to describe it. Again, part of me wants to remember every detail vividly and part of me wants to forget it happened.
So I find myself at 53, with good days and bad days and some in between. I miss my mom and I think about her almost every day. Well, probably every day, actually. Her laugh and her smile, before and after Alzheimer's disease ravaged her mind and body.
I suppose it will get easier. I hope so.
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