live your life with purpose
Every year around this time we get the Christmas tree. Every year around this time we wonder why it is so big. Every year around this time we struggle getting it into the house. Today was no different. Today is Sunday, December 3, 2017. This …
It was Friday. It was the first day of December. The now. I was planning on going to the play Calendar Girls with a couple of girlfriends, after dinner and drinks. We wanted to support a friend of ours who was in the play. My …
When my dad died in 2000, it came as a total shock to us. He seemed totally fine and then he was gone. He had major health problems before that, quadruple bypass surgery at 48, and double bypass again at 58. They say it lasts about ten years, which was true in his case. He was 60 when he passed.
One of the hardest things was to watch how it affected the kids. My kids. His grandkids. It was so sad. So much time taken away. Snatched away in an instant. He loved spending time with them. They were almost 14, 12, 9 and 10 months. I struggled with the fact that Tayler would never get to know him. She would never get to know how funny he was. She would never get to see his soft side. He had one. Few people got to see that.
As I sit here and rewind the day of the funeral, my saddest memory is watching Spencer at the funeral. At that time he was 12. Such a vulnerable age. Such a fork-in-the-road age. We contemplated whether we should take them. But at the same time how can you shield them from death? How can you shield them from life? It wouldn’t be fair to do that to them. It wouldn’t be fair to not let them say goodbye. The whole situation wasn’t fair.
The rest of the funeral is kind of fuzzy. I remember walking into the church and seeing the casket. I couldn’t hold it together. I could not look at it. I couldn’t even really go near it. I watched people going to him. I watched them pay their respects. We were in a line just waiting to go sit down. So many people came up to us giving their condolences. So many people who knew him. That part I remember.
Once we sat down and the funeral started, I kind of got tunnel vision with Spencer. The only song I remember played was Amazing Grace. Standard funeral song, right? And why not, it’s a great song.
We were in one of the front pews, because that’s where family always is seated. I was trying to just be. I was trying to just get through it. I was trying to stay strong for the kids. I glanced over at Spencer and he was scooted way against the edge of the pew. He had both hands on top of the pew and was turned away from me. He had his head on his hands. He was crying. My heart was wrecked in that split second. I tried to comfort him. He pulled away from me. He was mad and sad at the same time. He was 12. The vulnerable age. The fork-in-the-road age.
He learned about death that day. He learned about losing a loved one. He learned about losing his grandpa. I can still see him, sitting there, so upset. It was so hard for me to watch. I questioned every decision we had made about taking them. But again, how could we deny that. I think I would have felt worse if they had not gone. I think the older they got, they would have regretted it if they had not gone. I was so focused on him, I can’t even remember the other kids. I feel bad I can’t remember. We all went through it, yet I can only remember Spencer’s reaction.
Kids are so vulnerable. Did we scar him. Did we scar them. Should he have learned about life and death in that moment? Should he have learned about life and death so young? So many questions, which at this point are irrelevant. At that point, they meant everything.
I realized we couldn’t shield them from life. We couldn’t shield them. We just couldn’t. Sometimes life is hard. Sometimes life sucks. But you know what, for sure life is fragile–live accordingly.
(in the pic, Spencer is on the left, the other two are my nephews, Dustin and Garrett)
Hey, fat ass! My in-my-own-head voice would look around to see who was talking. My in-my-own-head voice would berate me for being a fat ass. My in-my-own-head voice would call me that all the time. My in-my-own-head voice was an asshole. If you have read …
I watched an interview with Art Garfunkel last Sunday on that Sunday morning show. I don’t know what it’s called even. Probably just Sunday Morning. I looked it up, CBS Sunday Morning. I was close. The interview was really interesting, as he talked about his …
I was driving home from the studio. I was on the Highway, 1804, north. It was just starting to get dark. I always look for deer, so was scouting the ditches. Over to the left, I saw something that was so weird. I actually thought I was seeing things. I have never seen anything like it this close to town. There was a line of horses. Six or eight, beautiful browns and a few blacks. They were running full blast towards the road, coming from the east. All of a sudden I saw brake lights ahead of me. I was wondering if they horses were just going to keep running. I knew there was a fence at one of the houses, but it was hard to tell if they were behind the fence or in between some properties. All of a sudden they all just skidded to a stop at the fence. I slowed way down and as I drove by I could see the steamy breath coming out of their noses. I wish I would have been closer. I wish I could have heard them. Powerful, magnificent and beautiful creatures. Caged creatures. Wanting to be free creatures. I wonder where they would have run. I wonder how far they would have gone. I wonder if they felt trapped.
In our own lives what cages do we put around ourselves. What cages do others put around us. Do we feel trapped. Do we feel like we just want to run sometimes and just keep running, not knowing where we will end up.
Do you feel like you do things just because it’s the safe thing to do. The uncomplicated thing to do. The normal thing to do.
I started thinking about my life as a kid and how free we were to roam. Free range kids for sure. No cages. No fences. We played outside every single day, no matter the weather. We just had to come in when it was dark. Life was so simple back then. Nothing too complicated, luckily.
Today when I left my day job, I decided to drive through the alleys of the Euclid house, the Central house and the Prospect house. The houses I grew up in. The houses that hold so many memories.
I started with the Euclid house, since it was closest. I stopped in the alley when I got behind the house and looked into the yard. I could see us playing outside as kids. White blond hair and tan skin. I never understood why I couldn’t be like my brother and not wear a shirt. I didn’t get it. I could see the back step where I learned to do double jumps. It looked so small though. I could see the upstairs apartment door. The one my sister, Sherry, the fire starter, locked and then got chased down the alley by dad for doing it. It was not our apartment. Gravel and barefoot were a good choice for Sherry. He couldn’t catch her.
Next I went through the alley at the Central house. Again, everything looked so small. The yard that once seemed huge was not very big at all. I could see myself playing in the garage, reaching up for the Coke bottle that was filled with oil. That was not a good day. In case anyone was wondering, oil does not taste one bit like Coke. I could see the neighbor lady, who we swore was a witch. She was an old German woman with a thick German accent. If she could speak English at all, I don’t think we knew it. She had a pear tree. We decided to pick some. She was nowhere around. As soon as we picked a pear, she appeared at the tree. We never picked her pears again. I could see me running to Schrock’s house to beat to death the 45 record, Last Kiss. The label on the record was tan and orange. I bet we played it over 500 times. Not even kidding. I still love that song. Pearl Jam’s version is the best, in my opinion.
I then went to the Prospect house. That alley leads to the Zesto, the state-famous ice cream place. The house looked pretty sad and rugged. It definitely needs some TLC. I could see myself running up the alley. Dad was out watering the grass. He asked how I did. It was 4th grade. It was the jump rope contest. I remember telling him I didn’t do very well and then pulled out the championship blue ribbon from behind my back to show him. I think he was proud.
I am so grateful that we had so many fun times and got to play outside all the time. I’m grateful we didn’t have strict rules. I’m grateful we could roam and wander. I’m grateful we were given those freedoms to explore our childhood. I’m grateful we didn’t feel trapped. I’m grateful we were free.
Do you ever get sad when you look at pictures from a long time ago? Recently, a friend posted some old class pictures from grade school. I noticed my brother in them. Second grade Jeff and third grade Jeff. I instantly became emotional. I really …
The garbage can was tin. That coppery color tin, about 12 inches high. It was my sister’s. David Cassidy or Three Dog Night was featured on it. The house was the Prospect House. Green stucco was the style. The drink was sloe gin, with orange juice and …
Because sometimes I think about weird things. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. For the past week or so I have had this Hemingway quote rolling around in my brain. I can’t get it out. I actually don’t think I will get it out until I figure out my sentence. The quote:
All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know. – Ernest Hemingway
I think about things. This is one of the things I have been contemplating. I am sure I am overthinking it, but it’s what I do sometimes. I am pretty sure the quote refers to writing and getting started writing, but I am actually having a little bit of fun wading through the murky waters of its meaning.
What would your sentence be? The truest sentence that you know. What is it? Does it feel hard for you to do that or hard for you to think about that? Does it scare you? What does it mean to you?
I have been thinking about this a lot. It’s hard for me to do. I don’t know for sure what it means to me. Would it be something bad, something good, something indifferent? So hard. I don’t know why. How can writing a true sentence be so hard? I think I want to overanalyze it. I want to think too much. I want it to be something. It has to be SOMETHING. I want it to be definitive, but then I think it can’t be. It shouldn’t be. I should just be. I should just stop thinking.
I had a super weird dream the other night. That has nothing to do with my true sentence, but I didn’t want to forget it and I was too lazy to open another page, so I will get it down here. But, who knows, maybe it does have something to do with my true sentence.
In my dream, I was walking. I think I was looking for or was going to meet John somewhere. There was a bunch of water that I had to walk along. I had three cats and a duck. The cats were gray, the duck was Mallard. I kept walking, looking for John. I didn’t know where I was supposed to meet him, only that I would know when I came to the place. It seemed like we, meaning me, the cats and the duck, walked forever. We walked along the water for a long time and then the water was coming to an end and it was just land, sidewalks and a parking lot. I had to let the duck go. I had to put him back in the water. I kept the cats and then went to the parking lot. That is when I woke up. When I woke up, I felt so weird. I kept thinking about it. I knew I wanted to remember it and I wanted to get it down on paper so I wouldn’t forget it.
Bizarre? Ummm, yeah! Weird? Ummm, yeah. I wonder if it has anything to do with my true sentence. Like I said, I can’t get that phrase out of my brain. I know I am supposed to be doing something with it. I just don’t know what it is yet.
My dream must have something to do with it, but what part of my dream? The duck? The cats? Me not finding John? I wonder about things like this. I can’t help it.
So, as I finish this blog post, I will continue to contemplate my one true sentence. I will continue to think about it. I will continue to wonder about it. I will continue to think and wonder. It’s what I do.
There’s a broken bird on my deck. A robin. I can’t quite tell what is wrong with him. He has a feather stuck in his eye and his leg looks broken. He keeps trying to get up. He keeps shaking his head trying to get …