Thangsgiving Daily

I don't have much time, the boys are watching the Macy's Parade thingee.  I wanted to show you these quickly before things get too busy around here:

There at the top is a lovely drawing Nick did at school.  I often wonder what the schools would do without the deep and moving canon of heartwarming turkey iconography.  Do they ever make the connection that we, uh, well, er... slay them, pluck them, eviscerate them and then eat them?  I hope not.

That second image is from Zack and is, obviously, The Grinch Who Stole Thanksgiving.  At least that's all I can figure.  I think it's a rogue turkey on steroids.


Thanksgiving is easy to understand, essentially.  Things get a little mixed up when kids begin to study it, what with the Pilgrims and Native Americans and all that.  Honestly, they seem to get it, at its simplest level, and that's fine with me.  Here's the story they understand:  Dudes names Pilgrims came here, Natives accepted them and helped them and they had turkey and pie to celebrate.  Basically a party.


The other night I watched a Frontline producion on PBS called 'Poor Kids' which tells the story of hunger and need from the perspective of kids in actual poverty.  It was very difficult to watch and it wounded me in my  most vulnerable place; that place where love and honor and decency, hope and charity and duty all meet to form the walls that protect our children.  Sometimes those walls aren't built with enough integrity to stay up, sometimes they are not secured correctly and, sometimes, they have simply been forgotten.

The night after I watched it, I was doing laundry around here and was bitching in my head about how much there was to wash, eight friggin' loads to be exact.  One of the kids in the documentary said:  "If it wouldn't fit in my bookbag, I couldn't take it to the shelter."

Today Everyday I should be thankful for abundance, and pray for a day where I don't complain about it.

One of the kids on the show said he missed his cellphone because "we move all the time so it's the only way I can keep up with my friends."  I complain about how slow one of our computers is and I often wish I had a slick new iPad or a better scanner.  We actually have three working computers and yet I feel the need to want more and better.

Today Everyday I should be thankful for connections; the connectivity that computers and the internet and phones give us, thankful for the amelioration of loneliness and homesickness and sadness things like Facbook and even this blog might offer.

I watched as a Dad crouched in the cold, barehandedly working on his car, tried to decide what part of his car's brakes to fix, and what could last another few weeks, wondering what would be safest for his family.  I sometimes wish I had a better truck or a slick SUV or a new mini-van.

Today Everyday I should be thankful for safety; the relative security of knowing our two working late-model vehicles are reliable and, should they become not so, we can afford to get them fixed.

One boy, nearly a man really, marveled at the irony of sometimes having cereal and no milk and other times, having milk and no cereal.  Another girl spoke through tears about how sometimes she didn't want to get up in the morning because there was no breakfast.  Sometimes, I wish we could eat more expensive steaks and fish and such; I wish we could go out more often or order carryout.

Today Everyday I should be thankful for a full pantry and the two gallons of milk in the fridge.

A newly homeless mother walked into a rented motel room and, although apparantly promised, there was no mini-fridge or microwave, and she wept in worry about that.  The other day I went on a huge rant about how much I hated my stove and needed a new one, the very stove which was baking corn bread and cooking a nice pile of pork cutlets.

Today Everyday I should be thankful for the appliances and modern wonders which literally surround me and, honestly, embarrassingly, I take for granted.

One little girl, the same one who didn't want to get up in the morning, spoke excitedly about how much she loved to dance and hoped someday to be a dancer or a cheerleader, all on an empty stomach.  They showed some eerily moving footage of her practicing dance moves and tricks using the railroad tracks in her backyard as a makeshift balance beam.  I complain we have to many toys and the boys complain they have too few.

Today Everyday I should be thankful for the opportunity my children have to dream... with a full belly and a houseful of toys.


I am not trying to bring you down with this, it's actually an attempt to lift you up, to lift us all up.  I love Thanksgiving, not because of the turkey or the family, the memories or traditions, the pies or the Brussel sprouts.  Although I love all those things, I love even more the face slap that is the weight and responsibility we all have to give thanks, not just today but, on a daily basis.

I was talking to Zack the other day about today and he said this.  "The best part about Thanksgiving is that it reminds you what to do."

Yeah... it sure should.

"vinila and choklit"

Well, there are four now.  Four abandoned attempts at posts left, as orphans, on my list of posts here on my corner of Blogspot.com.  Four posts marked, perhaps forever, as 'drafts.'

For the last few days I have been working on a nice, scope-sweeping, heartfelt piece that was going to segue into a cute Thanksgiving thing and then that was supposed to build up to my one year blogiversary post on Friday.  Well, that ain't gonna happen.  Sometimes, when you put words in a row as I do, they just don't seem to want to line up right, pushing and shoving each other until they're basically just a confused, chaotic mob.

There is a prayer by some holy guy, St. Francis of Something or Another or Aquinus, that's not what's important, that begins 'Lord make me a channel of your peace...'  That's how this should go; I get something, then show it to you.  If it gets too hard or seems too unmanageable it probably isn't meant to be.

So, in lieu of something that is clever and heartfelt and, well, showoffy, I give you this:

 "one time after school my Dad went to U.D.f. with me and Nick to get a milk shakes  I had vinila and nick got choklit"

The boys seem to be sitting politely drinking their shakes from their groovy ergonomically designed spill-proof cups.  I, on the other hand, am inside clearly distracted by the gumballs in the gumball machine.  The clerk is shouting at me (I think I forgot to pay) and the little short dude there seems to want some snacks.

I am not at all sure what this has to do with "Making Connections" nor do I know why Z chose to use the old-timey term "soda shop" (shouldn't that be 'shoppe'?) nor do I understand why the sun is setting inside.  However, we are all wearing our ball caps.

The boys look happy enough though, don't they?


From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear form the backseat...'

"You don't know everything.  Only God knows everything.  He has a VERY BIG brain." 


At times, I think I have a very small brain...


Here's the prayer as I first encountered it:

Lord, make me a channel of thy peace;

that where there is hatred, I may bring love;

that where there is wrong, I may bring the spirit of forgiveness;

that where there is discord, I may bring harmony;

that where there is error, I may bring truth;

that where there is doubt, I may bring faith;

that where there is despair, I may bring hope;

that where there are shadows, I may bring light;

that where there is sadness, I may bring joy.

Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted;

to understand, than to be understood;

to love, than to be loved.

For it is by self-forgetting that one finds.

It is by forgiving that one is forgiven.

It is by dying that one awakens to eternal life.

Amen.

(Found in Chapter 11 (Page 99) of the "Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions", a book published by Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.)

Pirateclipse of my Heart

This is a pirate:

This is an eclipse:

This what happened to the pirate as he witnessed the eclipse:

It's weird here.

The Picture's Perfect

I wrestle around with whether or not I should use more images of the boys instead of by the boys around here.  I try not to for a couple of reasons.

I guess the obvious reason is to help maintain my, perhaps misguided, sense of comfort here on the innerwebs.  Yes, I know that I am mistaken, everyone knows that the internet = bad.  I am not so naive to think everyone around here is nice.

Another not so obvious reason for limiting the number of images I use of the boys is that that's under control.  My wife does a nice job making albums for them and the digitals are backed-up on one portable hard drive.  I feel that they are going to be available when the time comes to look back, me as an old man or them as young men, both, perhaps, still searching for answers.  On the other hand, construction paper and markers are surprisingly short-lived and even keeping them in a folder is no guarantee they'll last.

That being said, sometimes, just as with a story, there is more to a photograph (if I can I still call them that).  Some just require more explanation, back story and that sort of thing.

I had arranged a bunch of pretty words and stuff to tell you what to think of this picture but, I decided not to use them.

I do this whole bloggy thing for, well, that... not him specifically (in this case), but childhood.  This picture makes me joyful.  Growing up should be joyful.

This one is more recent.  They came home from church, took off their dress-shirts, changed from khaki pants into shorts and went about their usual nonsense.  They forgot to take off their dark socks.  The fifties called and said they wanted their little hipsters back.  I did a double take every time I saw them, it just cracked me up.  It's a cute pic and a cute story:

But there is more here, it again so iconically (for me) shows that intangible thing we call childhood; that thing called joy; that place called memory.

There are so many other photos I could put on here, telling the stories behind them, celebrating them.  But for today I won't.  If something important needs to be shown, I will.


From Marci's "... things you don't expect to hear from the backseat basement..."

N: "Zack, join me in the beer shack! Grab a beer and come in and relax!" (He literally followed this statement with glugging noises like he was drinking)
 
Bill (quickly, and hopefully, interjected): "Cool! Are you having root beer?"
 
Nick: "Yeah, Dad, want some?"


Wait, a beer shack, in the basement?  Sweet...

"Unitid Stats of Amaricka"

It is Veteran's Day:

We really need to work on our spelling around here.  And I don't think Zack quite gets the I "heart" something concept, I think he is supposed to just draw a heart, not write the word.

To all the vets out there, little boys remember you.

Turn-Around-Bob

I follow other blogs, once you get into this you sort of have to.  I mostly read Mommy and Daddy blogs (it occurs to me that just calling them that practically negates their validity, maybe parent blogs would be better).  I sometimes get discouraged that there are so many people doing this and so few people reading this.

Now, mind you, there are blogs on everything under the sun and amongst the inexplicable madness of the blogarena are blogs about blogging.  Blogs that review blogs, blogs that explain how to get a blog started.  Blogs on how to make your blog a better blog.  Bloggity-bloggity-blog-blog.

One of the former offered these three essentials; be honest, remain true to your purpose and open yourself up.

I am honest here.  I decided that at the outset, I mean I might jigger a timeline here or there, perhaps change the names and, well, personalities of some of the ancillary characters.  Sometimes I might nuance a narrative to go where I want it to but, I keep it relatively true.  Yeah, I'll work on it...

Seriously though, I do remain true to my purpose which I so eloquently stated in this meandering post.  That is once I figured that out - about a month ago - before that I was trying to do another thing - which was different than what I started out with...  I'll work on that too.

Finally, open yourself up.  I can only guess that means make myself vulnerable.  Wait, I don't do that.  I was raised in the Midwest where stoicism and uptightedness meet in a silent, noble, unstable balance (in my opinion).


So, an honest, purposeful and touchy-feely post.  Ah, jeez, I dunno...  I'll try it.


I am in a funk.  It is easy sometimes for me to get down on myself.  I especially wrestle with feelings of inadequacy, specifically  the notion that I am not doing enough.  I do a lot, any parent does.  I serve the children well, I try to show my wife and the boys I love them, I honor my mom.  It just never seems like enough.  I wonder what I am doing wrong.

I anger too quickly; I cry too readily; I fear too often; I feel sorry for myself too easily.

I have no right to, none at all.

You might wonder what that has to do with ihopeiwinatoaster, and so might I.  My most recently stated purpose here, and I quote is:  "I blog to remember."  I need to remember these times, these, dare I say it, feelings.  I need to let the boys see, some day, that everything seems at times difficult or pointless or sad or just plain shitty.

I consider a post in my head for a while before I begin it here.  I make an occasional note like this one:

I jotted it down on some weird drawing by some weird kid. Down on the corner it says:  "Turn Around Bob I owe them more than this mood I'm in."  (It also says "problems that this way/challenge this that way" clearly not as inspired.)

And I do I owe them more than this mood I'm in.

Here is where it gets wonky.  Literally, just now, I went upstairs to get some coffee.  I wondered into the dining room as the brewer finished gurgling.  I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

Do you remember Bob from a couple posts back, The Elements of a Post?  Here he is again.

Bob had an unusual quest:

"Bob has to get out of the middle of the racetrack, swim across the pond cross over the racetrack again and exit through the green door of safety."

Now that you are up to speed, this is what I noticed, as the coffee pot gurgled away, in the "maybe-keep bin" crumpled up and in sorry shape:

It's Bob!  And he turned around.  And he is happy.

There's more.  On the reverse side of Happy Bob is this depiction of Bob practicing for his quest.  I believe those are circling piranha and, yes, I believe that is a limb flying through the air.  Oh, and Bob is Happy.

I'll tell you the truth here, I sort of felt sorry Bob when I thought he was faceless.  He seemed sad and unfulfilled and his quest seemed arduous and fraught with danger.  It turns out I underestimated Bob.

It turns out, that was Bob's back.

It would also seem that Bob is well-prepared for his quest.

I'll bet he is a knight.


You know what?  I am going to face some challenges in the future; challenges to my time and energy; challenges to my patience and tolerance; challenges to my faith and spirituality; challenges to my integrity and character.

You know what else?  We all are.

So, I am pulling a Turn-Around-Bob.

My boys do deserve more than this mood I am in.  They deserve the happy determination of Bob. They deserve his style of silliness.  They deserve his serenity.  They deserve bright buttons and red vests.  They deserve wide embraces and relentless joy.  They deserve his hope.

They deserve all that I can give them.

The Bob abides.


So there you go.  I was honest.  I served my purpose.  I opened up.

Tomorrow back to the nonsense, that I've got a handle on.


From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear form the backseat...'

N: "I am a human spy. Zack thinks I am a dog spy, which is really obnoxious."
Z: "Then why are you barking?"
N: "I make imitations of things. I am. a. spy."

What part of 'spy' don't you get...?

Not a Post-Election Post

I considered it, really, I did.  I have some opinions about politics, but they are naive and idealistic, chronically romantic even.  Basically I think people should help and respect others.  I believe that end has been served in this election.

That being said, the whole thing still affects (or is it effects, damnit, I don't feel like looking it up right now) our household.  We don't really watch TV live, but, occasionally some of the ads are seen; some of the vitriol and cowardly accusations witnessed; liars are seen calling liars liars; moody Wagneresque music is heard swelling as images of doom and sadness flash on the screen.

And guess what?  Yeah.  I get to explain it.  N actually asked me if we'd be okay if so-and-so was elected.  He said, as an ad showed closed businesses and shuttered factories, "Dad, I don't want it to be like that."

"I don't want it to be like that."

I want you to think about that with me.  A kid, in second grade watching a presidential political ad while he is trying to enjoy AFV, says that to his his parent.

"I don't want it to be like that."

That is messed up folks.

He should see this process as the hopeful right so many have defended and celebrated over the years.

He should see this process as an honor.

He should see earnest debates, charitable candidates, men and women of decency running for office as representatives of the interests of the constituents they serve.

He should see a happy future, a safe future, a peaceful future.

He should see a worthy future where he has a role.

Z was watching that same night and a similar ad came on.  It was quickly cut, fast, and the music was all minor key and doomsday.  I looked over at him as he sat on the couch, hugging his bear tightly, cowering down.

"What's wrong?"

"This scares me," he answered.

Again I say:  That is messed up folks.

None of this crap is serving our children very well, is it?

(I told you I was naive.)


Now, I turn the page and I offer you this, the most baffling jester ever:

And this wonderful bit of confused whimsy:

"The witch was speeding on the Beach while eating two ham and chease (cheese) sandwishis (sandwiches)."

He did not draw the pumpkin, but he nailed that hat, didn't he.

I love anything absurd.  I love non-sequiturs.  A love abstractionism and anything odd.  In my estimation, it doesn't get any better than these.

Seriously, why was the witch on the beach?  Is she a beachwitch, you know, the surfing kind?  Why two sandwiches?  Why ham and cheese?  And, how exactly does a witch speed?

Why is the jester holding a baby mummy?  Is there a "spiter" (spider) crawling up his leg or, is his leg being accuse of spitefulness?  Why is he ranked there on the bottom right?  Are those good numbers?  What are the rectangles about?  Is his hat named "tree man?"

I love this stuff, I really do.  It is a great pleasure to share it with you; to keep it here for the boys; to reflect on and revere and cherish it.  You see, that is not going to change.  I promise.


From Marci's '...things you don't expect to hear from the backseat in a phone call home to say goodnight to your kids..."

I was helping with a retreat away from home and called the boys to tell them goodnight. Nick answered. I asked him what he was doing ...

"Oh, just hanging out. Playing some foosball. Listening to The Beatles."
 
My 7 year old is now 17.  (I edited out a smiley face here, they irritate me.) 

It's all true.  I was there, spinnin' the vinyl...