The Private Collection

I have an art museum in my kitchen. It is disguised as a cantankerous over sized eyesore. If it wasn't for all of the artwork that it holds, I would have replaced it with a smaller unit months ago. Some of you may have guessed this is my refrigerator that came with the co-op. The last owner felt that a family of eight should be able to eat comfortably for a month without ever having to go shopping. I have two issues with this. First, he was one person and second there are two supermarkets less than a half mile up the road.

Originally the refrigerator was semi-tucked into my utility area, but since I had a new heater/air conditioner installed, it has been moved into the middle of the floor. Everyone who comes to my place asks, when I am going to find a spot for it? Fortunately, it is not so big as to obstruct the pathway through the kitchen, unfortunately it is too big to fit anywhere practical. Replacing it will have to wait until my kitchen goes through a major redesign next year.

I look at it this way, you wouldn't tear down the Louvre or MOMA just because they were in the way of something else and until I have to, the Frigidaire Museum of Budding Artist stays. I don't mind it so much, I like museums and being able to visit one every time I go into my kitchen is damn convenient. The exhibit consists of everything from sketches done in the car to home made Father's Day cards.

The works evoke feelings in me and give me insight to my daughters and how they were feeling when they created them. These snapshots of their emotions poured out onto paper in crayon, pencil, foam letters and ink, comfort me. I know as time goes on, less artwork will need to be displayed, but the artists still have a few more years of adding pieces to the current exhibit.

If an ugly refrigerator ruining the look of my kitchen is a sacrifice I have to make for my kids, so be it. It will not be the biggest, the first, or the last. So for now, the artwork is safe hiding behind it's magnets and surviving the opening and closing of the gallery door.

When I Grow Up

My youngest daughter wants to be an artist when she grows up. My eldest also wanted to be an artist at seven, but now at twelve thinks she wants to be a teacher. At seven, I wanted to be a writer. With the advent of home computers, I was programming by eleven. Got my first job in computers at my dads business when I was fourteen, worked as a stock boy from fifteen to eighteen, started programming again at nineteen, became a deli manager at twenty two, got back into programming at twenty three, held computer jobs(SA,SSA,DBA,BADM,etc.) until I was thirty six, then til now am a partner in a software business. I look back at all the jobs and careers I had and am astonished. I've never had more than two weeks consecutive off since I started working.

It's funny thinking that I wanted to be a writer when I was seven. I thought I'd have a novel published by the time I was twenty one. I did have graphics design credits on a nationally published science text book when I was eighteen and now one of the responsibilities I've taken on at my company is writing documentation, but as of yet, no great American novel.

Back to my point. It is amazing to me that the majority of people I know have the jobs you would have picked for them when they were younger. There are a few exceptions, but early life talents seem to dictate future endeavor.

That being said, I have started 'kid projects' for my children. Every other week we will have a new task. I'll start it with them and then they will have two weeks to complete it. Most will be fun, the current one being photography, the next drawing then painting, etc.. These projects will hopefully inspire us to find things that we will want to pursue. Awaken a sleeping artistic side, so to speak. I reflect back now on all the things I wished I'd tried as a kid and hope at my age, my kids will not have to do the same.

Inspiration begets motivation beget inspiration.

Art Credits: One of Lizzy's creature drawings from when she was six.

Back Home

Sitting on my back stoop working on my laptop in the warm summer air, I look out over my back yard and watch the fireflies dance in hopes of finding a mate. Their wings beating through the silence. The faint sound of "Taps" can be heard from a lone bugler at the local army base and my thoughts are carried on a breeze that is slightly annoying the trees. The green hues of foliage are hinted by the moon's light.

As much as I love the city lights and night time harmony. It is not hard to trade them in for the gentle starlit skies of home.

Wampum Brook

I am into the whole photo safari kick, so I decided with the current heat I would go to Wampum Brook. The brook is located about a half mile from my house and though I've lived within five miles of it most of my life, have never formally ventured to the park there. I pull into the small parking area, the park is green, the trees are lush, the grass is spectacularly uniform, this looks like a photo safari dream. When I get out of the car the brook speaks to me in whispered tones. The air is different. Though I can see the highway and the houses that surround it, the water shimmers magically imprinting serenity on my thoughts.

Instinctually, I search for a trail that will take me upstream, but there are only trees and brush. The parts of the brook I can get to are by cement walkway and grass paths. I picked the wrong day to wear shorts and sneakers, next time I'll need pants and hikers. I walk and shoot around the easily accessible points. A sea monster size turtle pops it's head up out of the water and easily challenges the sparkling bead lined currents only to slide back beneath it's cover as I readied my camera. Rainbows lurk gently in the shallows, just beneath the surface. Birds and dragonflies play tag in a gentle breeze, momentarily stopping to land on a branch or blade of grass or a Lilly pad floating above it's tether.

My clothes are not the only thing I would have changed on this trip. I also did not bring the right camera lens, but none the less, it did the job. While walking back towards the car I take the bridge in front of the overflow-falls and notice a duck casually standing at the bottom. It is looking up at me and occasionally taking a quick bath under the narrow rushing water. There is a huddled mass next to it that my eye can not catch but my lens does. Seven ducklings converged into one form. The duck family has chosen an ideal home, it is cool at the bottom of the falls and provides food as the smaller fish are drawn past. When I start taking pictures, the proud parent begins to pose. In this small, city-surrounded acreage, magic is afoot.

I continue walking back to the car and think I notice a trail. At further inspection, it appears to be just a break in some of the undergrowth. I slowly turn, and see a unicorn out of the corner of my eye, it shies from my full glance as I take one more look before leaving this amazing realm.

Long Live Skull!!!

My children are on vacation with their mother this week. They left for Long Beach Island today. It's already turning out to be a great vacation, at least for Lizzy. I received a call from her telling me that she was getting a new pet. It was a hermit crab, she named it, what else, Skull. She described in great detail the 'skull with a crack in it' design on it's shell.

To understand and appreciate the name, you have to understand my daughters. As much as Emily is going to be the pink dress high heeled shoes and designer bag, Lizzy is going to be the torn jeans, rocker T-shirt and old sneakers. After telling me excitedly that she got the pet, she asked me, “Daddy, if I put a little ball in there will he play with it?”, I explained to her the fact that hermit crabs do not play with toys.
She told me how she would do all the maintenance on it. I didn't have the heart to tell her the fragility of the creature. With a, "Love you daddy.", we hung up.

A few hours later my phone rings again, it was Lizzy. She is not allowed to keep Skull in the house, and is worried that he won't make it through the night. I explain to her that hermit crabs need temperatures between 70 and 85, so through the night, it should be fine, but in the morning she will need to put him in the outdoor shower where it will be cooler and more humid. She starts asking the dreaded question. "How long is Skull going to last daddy?", I can't give that answer, so I give her the best response I can muster, "Enjoy the time you have with him Lizzy, I can't guarantee he'll live, but if you don't take care of him I can guarantee he will die.". She asks a couple more times If the weather will be OK for him to be left out overnight. I assure her it will and this conversation ends with the usual, "Love you daddy."

That hermit crab is a big step for Lizzy. For the first time in her life, she will need to be responsible for another creature's well being. We have had fish, but they haven't been her sole responsibility, so it hasn't been the same.
What is Skull's fate? The same as the rest of ours. No guarantees. If we are taken care of we may live, but if we are not, we will surely die.

Good Luck Skull, I wish you many shells.

Head In The Clouds

As I sit watching the clouds slide accross the skyline, I realize I have been out here for almost an hour. I am in a zen mood and start reflecting on life. The first thing I realize while sitting alone is that alone is not so bad. I have friends and family and access to them whenever I choose. As far as finding that, someone special, in my life, I'm on coast right now. Watching the white whisks slowly drift by, reminds me of the fact that life is never as long as you want or as short as you think. Even the heat that has been plaguing the city is beginning to subside.

I made a list, for a friend, of things I would be looking for in a potential mate. The list has been slowly building in my head over the years, I just never put it to paper before. The list will be the topic for another blog.

The point I am trying to get across is the fact that things happen in life when you are ready, you can plan them as much as you want, but when you are ready, you will make them happen. I always claim to be a fatalist and a positive thinker, but 98 and 3/4s percent of the time, fate is what you make of it and attitude is determined from within.

Last Night Of The Business Trip

Ah, finally the last night of my business trip. The only thing I like more than coming to stay in New York on vacation, is leaving New York after staying on business. Last week was lots of fun and I got to see “11 Heavy Things” and travel the parks. This week was all work. When I wasn't at the clients office, I was at the apartment transcribing notes and preparing the system for the next day's class. I wanted to go to the Museum of Natural History, but just couldn't seem to find the time. Maybe tomorrow morning if I'm lucky.

The heat this week, really put a damper on my plans. The air was thick with moisture, you did not perspire, you simply went from dry to humidified in mere seconds. I did decide to venture out last night to take some photos for a project and to shop. I made the mistake of taking my point and shoot camera, so the pictures did not come out that well. The camera is designed to work under water though and the moisture in the air was that thick. I also stopped at the Japanese market for some tea and the Cheese Shop for some cheese.

People are always amazed when I tell them one of my premiere stops, while in the city, is a cheese shop, but this isn't just any cheese shop, it is The East Village Cheese Shop. It's a small shop a couple of blocks from the building where I used to work. It once only sold cheeses, but now it has also become a small specialty food store.

Walking into the small shop awakens my nose to a palette of unbridled colors, the strong blue of Roquefort and the subtle white of Regatta Salata caress my nostrils The other cheeses begin to creep into my brain stimulating me into a buying frenzy. The smell is not cheesy as you would suspect, it is an 'air of sophistication'. Their selection of cheeses is more impressive internationally than a role call at the UN and every animal from every country has sacrificed nursing it's young for me to savor these mystical delights. Three Pounds of cheese later, I embarked on my journey back to the apartment the outside air had seemed to solidify, but with my bounty in hand I was willing to take it on.

You would think I was some kind of cheese snob, but I'm really not. One of my passions is cooking though and as of late I have learned to enjoy good food. I've realized there is nothing in boxes (cereal is my one exception) or cans, that I can not make better with fresh ingredients.

If you ever are in New York stop by the East Village Cheese Shop, your nose and your taste buds will thank you.

imagination-gravity.

Did you ever have one of those days where you forget a piece of clothing? I'm not talking like shirt or pants(though, I am not excluding them), I'm talking accessory. For me it's usually and today was, my belt.

I was in a rush to the clients when I realized it was missing. Thank god I'm a guy. I un-tucked my collared shirt and tried pulling off the casual Friday look. I think I did it pretty well, except for the fact that today was Tuesday.

I really don't need a belt for the pants I was wearing, but was pulling them up all day as a side effect of imagination-gravity, that, in my mind was pulling them down.

This incident reminds me of a co-worker/ friend who came to work with two different colored shoes on. Let me start by saying he or his wife put his clothes out the night before because he had to catch a 6a.m. train and got up before the sun. Well on this particular morning, he had forgotten to lay out his clothes the night before. He came walking into the office and announced to me that he had grabbed the two shoes by feel and one was very brown and one was very black. The whole day he explained to everyone how the mix up occurred and why he was wearing two very different colored shoes.
I noticed how his preemptive strike on the situation had backfired. Instead of stopping questions and attention, the mere mention of the two odd shoes created a discussion point.

That's when I realized sometimes it is better to overlook your flaws, not point them out. Most of what we perceive as personal flaws are no more than imagination-gravity.

Stream of Consciousness Moment.

We interrupt this blog for a stream of consciousness moment.
I listen to a motorcycle roar stories below as I sit on the terrace. A horn honks as a baby cries, the symphony of the city envelops me. I look up from my laptop as a tree on the terrace tells a secret to the neighboring plants in the voice of a gentle breeze. I am in harmony with the city. An ever present hum is the chorus while distant laughter is the refrain. It is night time, the Empire State Building points to the stars in a lighted spiral. Man has become a god and can touch the sky. I close my laptop and let my eyes adjust to the contrast of the skyline. Was that a shooting star? The universe penetrating man's inner sanctum? Another hope and dream dashing down to the people filled streets below? I do not worry, there are plenty of stars hiding behind the city lights.

Never let your Memories be greater than your Dreams

I found this saying on a garden tile, at where else, but Dollar Tree. It was one week after I moved into my new place and I didn't even know where I was going to put it. The saying itself was worth more than a dollar so I bought it. When I laid the stone next to the walkway leading to my door, I was surprised at how many people had missed it coming into the house. Looking down at it now with it's newness being just a memory, it looks, and is, more appropriate than the day I bought it. Going through my memory boxes is fun and helpful, and I do understand my youth from a new perspective. Is my past important as to who I am and what I've become? Of course, but compared to what's in store for me and my children, it is just a shadow of dreams gone by.

Did I phone this one in , well yes and no, I wrote it a couple of weeks ago. I never had a picture for it though and this weekend My kid project was to have the girls take 10 good photos with their respective cameras. The kid projects will be a topic for a future blog. The photo is one of Emily's ten.

My Happiest Father's Day

If you told me what it was going to be like being a father thirteen years ago, It would have been as foreign a concept to me as setting a digital clock is to a senior citizen. My now ex-wife and I were trying to conceive and after one month succeeded. As expectant parents, we were anxious, excited, conquering the unknown together and we were happy.

It was nine months of struggle, but we did it together. The morning of my daughter's birth, I was supposed to go and play golf, I was sleeping on the couch, so as not to disturb when I woke up for my early tee time.

I was awaken abruptly by a frantic Lisa, she proclaimed, "My water broke!", I groggily replied, "I'll fix it after the golf game.". She tapped me on th shoulder and said "It's time!".
We timed the contractions as we got into the car, damn they were close. We flew down the Parkway to the hospital. Thoughts of being pulled over and getting a police escort in bad tv style rolled through my ape brain, how cool would that have been? I was slapped back to reality as Lisa yelled, "Another one (contraction) and it was big!"
I punched the gas and when we got to the hospital, dropped my wife off, parked the car and grabbed my bag of change. (Pay phones, not Cel phones in the hospital.)

I thought we were totally prepared (naïveté of a first timer). We had taken Lamaze courses, we read all the books and watched all of the videos. The scene I arrived to in the hospital was pure chaos. Lisa was asking the orderly for an epidural in a demonic tone. The orderly was explaining in vane, that she would need the anesthesiologist. When we got to the room, I told her, “Just breath!”, she told me, “Shut up.”. Now my ape brain realizes those breathing classes are for the father not the mother and as my mother-in-law and I try comforting Lisa, I catch myself going hoo hoo hee, to keep from hyperventilating. After 5 hours of labor and several walks around the hospital corridors, it was time. As a thick black head of hair began to crown, I realized my life was about to change forever, hoo hoo hee.

Within a short period of time and some suction later, the head was out. A creature had emerged from my wife's body and it appeared reptilian in nature. The doctor proclaimed it was a girl. As I cut the cord, I knew this would be the least painless time for me to do so.
The placenta came next and it looked like an alien life pod that resembled something from the fifties Blob movie. As the nurse wiped the baby, our baby off, she handed it to me and my whole life became meaningless for myself, but more important because of the small human being, my little girl, that was now looking at me. As I handed our daughter to my wife, I realized she had never been more beautiful, Lisa wore the struggle and strength of the delivery well. I found a strange comfort in my daughter's tears, she was healthy and she was born.

Emily was an easy child, she cried very little and at 6lbs, 13 (actually 12.7) ounces, was a true joy. We were very lucky to have her as a first child.
Now thirteen years later (in August), I can't let go of the image of that little baby and watching her grow up. I know she is now a young woman. I wish I could freeze time and keep her young forever, but alas only memories stay frozen, and we age together. I'll stop here before going into Lizzy's birth, I'll save that for next Father's Day. Lizzy seems to get the Lion's share of my blog time now anyway. She is still young enough to believe daddy is superman and I still foolish enough to believe that she will always be my baby girl. I fear before I realize it, both of our perceptions will be lost.

Now my childless friends tell me of the things I missed out on; the parties, the vacations, the money. They do not understand, the parties I went to had goody bags when I left, my vacations were the places I saw in my childrens' eyes and the money that was spent was not wasted, but paid for the dreams of my children that my parents never could have afforded to have me realize.

Make memories with your children whenever you can, before you know it, they'll no longer be children and adult memories aren't nearly as magical.

The Butter Knife Ninja

Apparently tonight, I found out I have a secret identity. I'm a butter knife ninja. I know it sounds odd, but while my daughters and I were out eating dinner at the local pizza place, my identity was revealed.

While getting a hot piece of pizza for Lizzy, the gooey cheese began an attack on the helpless, round silver tray beneath. By sheer instincts alone I grabbed the butter knife and with one swift, katana-like, upward slice, the cheese subsided and snapped back to the forts of crust they had previously occupied. The round silver pan was saved the humiliation of a hot cheese attack.

I'm not saying I could do it again, I'm just saying it was pretty amazing. After self proclaiming myself the butter knife ninja (Who else would have done it?) Lizzy asked, Daddy, can you kill someone with a butter knife?". Not knowing how to answer, I used my butter knife stealthiness and exclaimed, "That pizza looks good, let's eat.". For now, my secret is safe.

Beware evilgooers, the butter knife ninja is on the job!

Eat At This Junction

I went to Satay junction last night, it's a quaint (read little) approx 25'x6' restaurant in NYC. It is on the corner of Tenth and Greenwich, A few doors down from where Village Paper was, before the fire. The fare is Indonesian and Malaysian. This is one of those truly unique, city places. The largest table seats four any more than that and you block the way from the front to back of the restaurant. It is a byob. The uniqueness of this restaurant is not what it doesn't have, rather what it does. Amazing Indonesian food. I have yet to try their Malaysian food, maybe next week. The food is fresh, the portions deceivingly large and the 'chips' with dipping sauces they give you before hand are all interestingly refreshing. If you ask for the food hot or extra hot, beware! I am a jalapeño, habenero, kind a guy and the food is pushing my heat threshold. The medium would probably be considered hot by most northeast tongues and the mild would probably be just right. I usually order the noodle dishes(I'm a sucker for glass noodles), but am amazed at the food that goes by to other tables. If ambiance is your thing, don't stop at this junction. They used to have banana wood menus that were really cool, but they have been replaced by paper, now that they also serve Malaysian dishes. It has high ceilings and the white painted brick walls have two paintings on the left and one on the right, all Indonesian in theme. The tables are nice and the retro 90's square plates do the job. The waitress (had a waiter before) is pleasant and will take the time to explain the different items and tastes on the menu. It's not often I recommend a restaurant, but this one is a hit. Seating is limited, but if your looking for a great, reasonable dinner in The Village look no further.

The Energy of Life.

I roped my business partner into going with me to see the art Exhibit of “11 Heavy Things” by Miranda July, last night. As far as interactive art, this is a really cool idea. It is eleven 'objects' scattered around Union Square park in NYC. I call them 'objects' because though interconnected by a common thread, some are very different from the others. As Al and I began to pose with, on and under them, other people saw what we were doing and started doing the same.








The objects are meant to be interacted with and we enjoyed finishing with one and walking to the next discovery that the exhibit was waiting to offer us. This is one of the things I love about the city. You can literally go out and be part of an art exhibit any time.






I was glad to see Union Square Park, really hopping. The farmers market was going on, dancers were dancing, musicians were 'musicianing', and people were flooding the area. I used to go to Union Square Park when I worked in the city, but by the end of my tenure, the park was starting to lose it's life. The energy there last night was spectacular, it was intoxicating-ly contagious and we stayed there until around 9:30p.m. when Al headed home uptown and I headed back to my uncle's apartment.



While walking down University Place, I decided to go to Washington Square Park, I hadn't been there at night in a long time and with camera in hand inspiration took hold. A short while later, I was there. The Arch has never looked better, a Saxophone player sat underneath plying his trade in the hopes that people would pay admission to his one man concert.
The fountain hypnotically whispered, inviting visitors to take a closer look, listen and feel. Once again, people were enjoying themselves and their surroundings, relaxing in a city known for the hustle and bustle of everyday life. I took the long way back to the apartment. My feet drank in the different road textures. I stopped momentarily to take pictures of objects not as common elsewhere. The irony of so many phone booths in a city where everyone carries a phone, was not lost on me. The residents know, NYC has an energy that can sometimes drain you, but on warm friendly nights like last, the energy of the city and it's people can impress even the greatest skeptics with a cool breeze and a warmness for all mankind.

Friendship Between The Lines

I have reconnected with many friends as of late, thanks to the internet. One, a dear friend, who I hadn't talked to in 19 years. We have begun communicating back and forth via email, she is free in words but not in tongue and has never liked to talk over the phone. I email her day-to-day funny things that happen to me and we are starting a project together. She is very inspirational and has gotten me back into writing, (the reason I started this blog is because I read hers.) She's gotten me to take photography seriously again (I'm on a photo scavenger hunt while in the city). She has revived an artistic passion that was more a casualty of my marriage than my divorce.
Right now, she is going through a very tough time in her life. She keeps saying she is going to write a letter to fill me on the years we have missed together. I originally said the same, but realized, I just got through a tough time in my life and if I had to write about the last 19 years, It would not only conjure up the happy times, but the shadows of severely sad ones.
I have come to the conclusion when finding old friends, we don't need to relive bad times and sorrow filled moments.
There will always be times like that in life and we can support each other in those moments of the present. To really reconnect, we need to move forward and talk in the present. The details of our past will always be in our words and the words that we know are hiding somewhere between the lines. I'm sure she will read this blog, hopefully it will make her realize, I'm here to comfort her, not make her relive the things she is so desperately trying to move beyond. The past does not need to be brought up, the past will bring up itself, in words and actions going forward.

98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.

I wasn't feeling so brainy and footsy today. As I walked down the streets that were not marked towards the PATH train, I realized I was headed for the waiting place. Today I beat up on myself because of somethings I couldn't control and some that I could.

“But on you will go though the weather be foul. On you will go though your enemies prowl. On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl. Onward up many a frightening creek, though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak. On and on you will hike. And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.”

I thought to myself, “ No That's Not for You.” I continued to walk towards my uncle's apartment, where I'm staying while in New York. Getting there, a knot formed in my neck and I realized business trips can be lonely.

“All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.”

The knot in my neck became worse and I started to feeling down.

“You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know. You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go. So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact and remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act. Just never forget to be dexterous and deft. And never mix up your right foot with your left.”

I thought of posting one of my canned blogs or reposting an old one. (Only been blogging for one month though,)

Then the book my Step Mother gave me when I was 18 rang into my head and I realized,
“You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.”

So after writing an email to a friend and realizing I was starting to feel better, decided to write my blog tonight. The knot in my neck is still there, but slowly drifting away.

“You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.”

I'm sitting on my uncle's terrace in the greatest city in the world. The air is cool, the sky is clear and the “Empire State Building is shining white light down upon me. I'm almost done with the blog, why should I be upset? From where I'm sitting, the world looks pretty damn good!

“And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)
Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea, you’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!”

The book the quotes are from is “Oh The Places You'll Go” by Dr. Seuss and everyone should read it. I think I'll go buy a copy tomorrow for my kids and write the inscription,
“Remember these words, they will guide you through your life!
Love,
Dad.”.
Why not just give them my copy? Mine's signed. Not by Dr. Seuss, but by someone whose advice I treasure and try to follow everyday, my Step Mom.

Self Discovery Vacation.

I always hate when people say they have to find themselves. What irks me is that they always find someone they like. No one ever goes searching for themselves and finds a douche, even though those are generally the people who go “finding themselves”.

What makes the process even more amazing is that they usually have to go to a foreign local. Nope, I couldn't find myself in front of the mirror, that wouldn't require a vacation. So next time someone says they went to Boola Boola to find themselves and they found out they are incredible, scream to them, "You found the wrong person, keep looking."

I've ranted enough. Now I have to go to NYC on a journey of personal discovery.

Just F-ing with you, it's a business trip.

In A Father's Eyes

I just got done watching The Blind Side and I'll admit it, I was misty eyed. In my youth, I never would have allowed myself to get emotional over TV or movies. All that changes. I think it has to do with becoming a dad. Women (not the ones that let their kids run like animals in the supermarket) have an instinctual ability to relate to babies and children. As men our instincts are more towards making the babies with the women.

When I witnessed (watched is just not strong enough of a word) the birth of my first child, My world changed. I gained a whole new respect for my now ex-wife. In the squinting eyes of my little girl I saw the wall around my heart begin to crumble. I realized for the first time that I was a giver of life, a life I would need to protect and nourish until it could fend for itself. A life, like all others in the universe, precious and fragile. I no longer had the male stigma about emotions, I couldn't afford it now. This little creature would need me to teach it right from wrong, but most important, empathy. Empathy the key to survival and the understanding of it's world and those around it. I would have to try and let go of the veil of suppression covering my naked emotions in order to set the example that this child, my child would need.

That being said, I've never, cried in front of my children. It is my last facade of male ego. I remember the first time I saw my dad cry. It was when my sister and I left our vacation in St. Martin early because we were home sick. I'm not sure how old I was, but I must have been somewhere around my eldest daughter's age. I remember feeling the sorrow as the tears streamed from his eyes and he said goodbye. Looking back I now realize there was also a little pride in those tears. His children were getting old enough to make their own decisions. I'll pause this thought, for now, to interject that my dad was not around much when I was younger, he had a new family that received most of his attention. My mom deserves the lions share of the credit for my sister's and my upbringing. Sometimes I wonder if that made it tougher on my dad to see us reach that stage in life. My sister and I had become young adults and his last chance of seeing our childhood was flying away on a plane.

I am thankful I had and have the opportunity to watch and help my children grow up. My youngest Lizzy, now seven, is testing her boundaries and finding her place in the world. Her ability to take the world head on has caused her to become independent earlier than her sister had. Emily, at twelve, is gaining the teen attitude (the initial longing for adulthood through seeking independence) and is more self sufficient every day. She no longer has questions about the world around her, but questions the world around her.

Even now as I finish writing, the pride for my girls slowly makes it's way down my cheeks and though I will constantly tell them, a false pride will not let me show them.

How To Waste A Perfectly Nice Day.

My mom had a garage sale at her house today. Or as I like to call it sit outside with mom all day with a bunch of crap on her front lawn watching people pick through it. I had some stuff to throw out on the yard too. moving to the co-op has forced me to take a minimalist approach on life.

Not a lot of people came and some even practiced a gang style maneuver of drive by garage saling. Their cars would slowly pull up to the curb, they would roll their windows down and shout, "Do you have fill obscure item name in here?", I would then answer, "No!", they would roll up the window and peel off.

Luckily none of my daughters' childhoods were strewn on the ground and this was not a sale of memories, just junk accumulated. I sold a lot, but didn't make a lot. I didn't plan on it, my plan was to get rid of as much crap as possible. At that, I succeeded. In a few weeks, my kids want to have a yard sale at the co-op. I'm sure to see various memories and moments of our lives shear off then .

Autumnal Hair

Ok, so how cool is a hair salon? Where else can you go and have somebody cut a part of your body off without any medical training? I made my monthly trip to the the hair salon today. I love going to get my hair cut, which is ironic, when I had a thick head of hair I used to put off cutting it as long as possible.

I went to a chain because I didn't feel like driving to my normal stylist(fancy word for hair cutter) and I hadn't made an appointment. So I get in the seat and the girl asks me the same thing they do every time, “How would you like it?”, now I'm thinking cross between Shia LaBeouf and Harrison Ford, but in reality it's going to be somewhere between Bob Newheart and Rodney Dangerfield. So I tell her my usual response, “Do whatever you think will look good.”, honestly if a young cute girl thinks it looks good then who am I to argue? So she goes right for the meat of the matter with straining trimmer in hand she attacks the jungle to the east, to the west, to the south. Now she is perplexed. She looks at the grassland to the north and asks, "Trimmer or scissors?", I don't know, so I tell her, “I've given up on my hair a long time ago you choose.” Let me stop here and explain my hairline, it starts at my feet and thins out somewhere around my eyeballs, there is a patch of sea grass from a little over my eyebrows which eventually turns into a mane somewhere above my neck and continues back down to my ankles. I look like god grabbed me by the top of my head and dipped me in rogaine, but never thought about the spot under his hand. I never really cared about losing my hair and am not so vain as to use any assanine measure to make it look like I have more than I do. In fact if I were taller most people would probably not even notice I was thinning(denial).

I'm not writing this blog to complain where I don't have hair, though, I'm doing it to complain about the amazing distribution and colors of the hair on my body. My arms and legs have a light coating of blondish shrub. My shoulders are barren plains. My Torso is a two inch tall, light brown, forest of man fur and I'm convinced, when I die, a crazy designer is going to skin me and make some kind of freaky coat. My beard comes in red or brown or a mixture at any given time. I used to let my beard grow, just so I could shave it and get a new color to come in. Of course waiting for my beard does not take long. I'm the type guy who can go from 0 to beard in 2.5 days. I envy people who do not have to shave every day. Hell, I even envy somebody who doesn't get a 2 o'clock shadow.

Lines of Friendship.

I've been going through my memory box and as I read the letters and look through the pictures I'm shocked at the blindness I had as a teenager. What shocks me even more are the item that are not in there. The intangibles. The everyday conversation whose only memory box is the memory of moments that contain them. I think about the unbelievable friends I have now. The ones that have gravitated towards me over the years, the ones that have been here for my latest plight. I then think about the phone call I had last night with a friend who, to my regret, I lost touch with for the last several years.

This guy and I go far back, we met when we were just 4 years old. He's one of the best friends I'll ever have in my life. This is not the first time we've lost touch for a while, but he has always been there when I needed him and in return I have always tried to do the same. Our conversation last night, was another typical moment for us, comfortable dialog between two friends who tend to know each other better than they know themselves. I did the lions share of the talking, but in any given conversation, it could easily be one of us as it is the other. What makes our relationship so special isn't what it has, but what it doesn't. There are no expectations, we never judge, never condemn, never need to apologize. We listen, really listen and things not said are generally understood. These are the treasures that do not fit in our memory boxes, do not yellow with age, they are kept fresh in the moments of our lives.

We've been through a lot in 36 years, he now lives in NC and I'm still in Jersey, he's married with kids, I have kids. Distance and time haven't dulled our friendship, we still find time and topic again and again. Friends like these are far and few between and I am extremely grateful to have them.

I started writing this blog, calling it “parallel lives”, but as it progressed I realized parallel would mean they never touched. Many people in my life, tend to stay on the same line, only veering off for seemingly brief moments and when our lives converge, I am touched.

Living In That In-Between Stage

I've been slowly getting my stuff, that I stored during the divorce, and am bringing it to my place. I found a plastic file box where I keep all my poems(hundreds if not more) that I wrote when I was younger(much younger.). I wish I had gotten them before, they are quite healing. I read of love and loss and the ramblings of my younger mind. I looked at pictures of friends that I had. I realized looking at these items, I had many dark points in my life and that those points will inevitably come and go; they seemed to do so at a more rapid rate when I was younger. One poem that I wrote on a particularly sad night, when I was just short of eighteen years old, stood out.

Reflections
When a crystal heart shatters,
The reflections are not of light,
But of the past
And the pain
Of that which shall Not be Again.

Strangely, now this poem calms me. The night I wrote it was shortly before my heart had been shattered worse than ever before or ever since. Was this a foreshadowing for my heart from my head? I thought I would never heal. It took some time, but not only did my heart heal, it moved on, I had survived. Each lesser break thereafter also healed with time. My heart wasn't bitter, it did not become defensive. It always remembered, 'That Love' and wanted to love again; blindly, innocently. It had taken the worst and realized the rewards far outweighed the pain. As I write this, I know there are lots of sad hearts out there, remember the heart heals in time and though you may not have, 'that which shall not be again', there are plenty of loves to light a crystal heart.

Red Shirt Day

OK, I hate putting out Star Trek references, because I'm not a Trekie. I've never been to a Trek conference or dressed up like a Star Trek character, except maybe for Halloween when I was like 5 and even then it was in a red shirt(way to build confidence mom and dad.) I have watched all the Star Trek Episodes (in reruns, I'm not that old) and have seen all of the movies.

For those who don't know Star Trek and are wondering what I am talking about, the guy in the red shirt always dies when they go down to a planet. I remember as a kid watching the show and thinking, don't these red shirts realize they are going to certain death?

If it was me The scenario would probably go something like this.
“Ensign Page, you are on the away team.”
“Captain can I borrow one of your gold shirts”
“No, those are reserved for the High ranking officers and the Captain”
“How about a snazzy blue shirt?”
“No, those are for technical officers.”
“Can I be on the no shirts team”
“Ensign, that is against protocol”
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DON'T MAKE ME WEAR THE RED SHIRT, I WANT TO LIVE!!!”
I often wondered why, after every red shirt that left the ship got killed, the captain wouldn't make a mandate saying all away team members are banned from wearing red on missions.

Anyway getting back to today. It is a red shirt day for me, everything I do is coming out wrong . I bet the gold shirts are having a good day. Maybe tomorrow, I'll change the color of my shirt.

That Which Defines Us, Is That Which We Define Ourselves By.

The sad truth is that we label ourselves based on that which we have done, not on our emotions, our dream, the moments of our lives. You never hear someone say "Hi, my names Fred, I love butterflies and share deep thoughts with my dog", people would probably lock him up. It's usually more like, "Hi I'm Fred, I'm a fireman, I'm married with a son.". I never really thought too much about this until I started reconnecting with old friends and realized I was writing them more about my job, kids and divorce than I was about myself. My description of my life looked like a poorly written resumé. It's hard baring your emotions and even harder putting to words who you are without doing it through titles.

It can take a lifetime to truly describe a moment and yet we try to take a moment to describe a lifetime.

Hi, my name is Reed, I'm a small business owner, am divorced, have two children and live in a co-op.

Dealing With The Devil

I have come to the conclusion that the Dollar Tree is the most evil corporation in America. They lure me in with the apple of low prices and banish me from regular shopping by planting the thought that makes my brain say, “Hey, I bet I can get this for a dollar at the Dollar Tree. If that's not bad enough, I go there to buy one simple item and thanks to their great selection am like hey, I could use another silicon spatula in the kitchen, a 5th bottle of disinfectant or a spirally thing that spins, to hang in my new yard. Twenty or so dollars later, I bring home my treasures and realize, it would have been cheaper to go to the supermarket for the one item I actually needed.

That being said, I'll see you there this weekend when I need a bag of pretzels.

Leaving Oz Behind

The kids and I went to a school sponsored yard sale this weekend. I love yard sales, rummaging through memories and little bits of real life helps you connect. It was towards the end of the day, so they were offering a dollar a bag special. We gave my seven year old the bag and sent her on her way. My soon to be teen saw her friends and darted off.

Looking at the memory strewn tables, I tried to imagine the lives these items had.

Kitchen appliances, some beaten to death and others still in their original boxes were on the first table. I looked at some of the gadgets and quickly thought of my over-gadgeted kitchen. I was not the only one who bought a doughnut maker in a Homer Simpson frenzy only to realize Dunkin Donuts was down the street.

Table two, glassware. The designs were pretty scary, but remembering back to getting my first apartment and begging my dad for a set of dishes he had bought at a garage sale, brought a smile to my face. I even remembered selling ,at a yard sale, my first set of 'new' dishes that my sister bought for me at a department store. They wouldn't be so in fashion today either.

To the Chachka table. I always wonder if the previous owners of the of these items, that are purely raw emotion sculpted in plastic, glass, clay, etc., are still alive. The soul purpose for buying these items is the feelings they evoke in the purchaser, how many ceramic toads really serve any other purpose in this world?

Sporting goods were strewn on the ground. Here's where my geek comes out. I think back to when roller skates had four chunky wheels, golf clubs were designed by players and a push button Zebco meant you were a 13 year old fishing king.

I saved the best for last and met up with my 7 year old, Lizzy. She was holding a barely filled bag and sauntering over some childrens' books. There was a bittersweet sadness to childrens' items. They were footprints of childhood left behind in the quest for adulthood. I looked around for my twelve year old and quickly saw her talking to her friends. She was nervously looking at me as if I were some ticking time bomb that would explode in her embarrassment. I wanted to scream, "You are my little girl, don't let that time pass so easily.", but knew I was helpless in slowing down the changes that were already occurring; her memories would suffer the same fate at our future yard sales. Lizzy grabbed my hand and said daddy, I think I'm ready to go. I smiled at her and the half filled bag, her precious youth still intact.

I grabbed a couple more books and a set of glasses. I then called to Emily, trying to do so in a tone that would not raise notice by her friends. She met up with Lizzy and me as I was paying and talking to the ladies who were running the sale. The business done, we slowly walked back to the truck leaving the memories of other peoples lives out on display behind us.

The Dark Knight Arrested!

'
OK, now I've seen it all, Batman arrested in Los Angeles. I'm 40 and traumatized, imagine how a nine year old watching this would feel.
The excuse for the law is that some costumed heroes who pose for pictures are asking for money and a few are being pushy. I'm confused. So because some people are abusing the system, we have to arrest all of these people. These people are just trying to make an honest living in California, a state with one of the highest unemployment rates and countless financial problems. Why not arrest the ones causing problems and let the honest ones make some money?.

By using the logic of this law, we should arrest all the politicians, just because most of them are corrupt(actually that would probably help and was not my best example). How about closing all of the banks because some were irresponsible (OK, maybe I'm making this law sound better, not worse.) Would you be upset if your chosen profession was made illegal because of a few bad apples?

The people in Los Angeles, please vote your politicians out. With the perception of Los Angeles by the rest of the country, you should be hiring super heroes, not arresting them.

The 400 Napkin Joke...

My dad is now back in TX, but while he was visiting he came up with this joke.

Torn ADO, get it, tornado. He'd be glad to show it again and again, so I took pictures of him doing it before the Torn ADO blew away all my napkins.
For those of you that wonder where I get my macabre sense of humor, I think we've found the source.

The D-word (Divorce)

Before everyone starts cringing and feeling somehow apologetic that I went through a divorce, the end result was not terrible. I'll agree, the day your marriage legally ends, you walk out of the courthouse the worst you have ever felt in life. The love you had, your most important emotion, though masked in other emotions, has been invalidated in front of society and the world.

To the good part; after divorce, you feel a new sense of purpose, you realize the reasons for your divorce and you begin to heal and start your new life. I consider my ex a good friend, I realize we made terrible husband and wife, but really do get along at the friend level quite well and did before the whole marriage thing. There was no infidelity, in our marriage and neither or both of us could be blamed for the action.

The biggest fear we had was the kids. My daughters, 6 and 11, at the time, were our top concern. When we broke the news to them, the younger did not quite understand, but the elder summed up how the rest of us were feeling, ”It's about time!”, she blurted out. I actually think the children have a better relationship with my ex and me since the divorce, they get twice the vacations and much more quality time with each parent.

So now I've been single for a year. Been on several dates and realize moving on was the best course of action. I've learned to like myself again. I've found my inner poet(and he's not very good.) I've reentered society, appreciate my friends more and enjoy the simpler things in life. Next time you hear a friend is getting divorced, offer them support, not sympathy. Sometimes starting fresh needs the helpful hand, not a sorrow filled face of a friend.

People ask, if I could go back in time, would I have changed things. The answer is a resounding NO! I have two beautiful children that I love more than anything and memories that the court can not nullify.

Every footprint from a journey, leads to where you are standing today.

Speed Dating Part deux : The Date (singular)

Let me preface before I go any further, that the events from the last blog and this one took place at least a year ago.
So, my friend, the one from the speed dating calls me and asks which women I sent an invite to. I tell him none, he tells me I'm doing it all wrong, “Always pick three, that way at least one will go on a date with you.”. Now about my friend; he is a doctor who is not bad looking, has a full head of hair, is over 6” tall, works out and wreaks of doctor machismo. Going to a bar with him is like competing in a swim competition with Michael Phelps, sorry ladies, he's engaged now, and not to any of the women we met that night. So I figure I should probably follow his advice. I send an invite to the first three women. Now is the waiting game to see which ones picked me.

One, Two and Four picked me, holy crap. I don't know what I said, but it worked. I call my friend and he only had two hits. I can't let this opportunity pass me up, I bust his balls mercilessly. It's the only chance I'll ever get.

I contact two of the three ladies. Number one never gets back to me. O.K. Doc, you win. The second lady gets in touch with me and I think, should I be myself or prey upon the information I know about her? I decide if I'm going to start a relationship, it should be based on truth(yes, I really am that naive to believe it will work.)

We meet at a bar that I go to once in a while and we talk for a good 4 hours. She seems really nice, hey maybe this will work out. We kiss on the cheek goodbye and I tell her I'll talk to her the next day. I call and tell her it was a really nice “date”, she agrees we should do it again. That Saturday, I have the kid's softball game and her kid's have sports too. We communicate back and forth trying to schedule something, but our lives are too filled with kid's activities or she is being polite and not wanting to crush me, either way after three weeks, nothing comes of it.

Lessons learned:
1: I would probably try speed dating again, but would not run out to do it.
2: There are a lot of nice single women out there looking for someone
3. Some of them will even give me a shot.
4: Even though I've been out of the game for a while, I can overcome my fears, and should I choose, take on the dating scene.
5: I got more hits than Doc (Had to throw that in, just as a parting shot)

Speed Dating...

So after my divorce, a friend took me to a speed dating thing. I don't know what else to call it. The formula is basically an even number of men and women meet in the back room of a restaurant, armed only with a small, provided notepad and a pen. Goal find out as much as possible about each other in 8 mins or less. It looks more like a party game of Clue than a serious way to meet people..

The night we went their were four women and four men. Looking around I figure, hey I'm not the worst looking guy here. I was in the top 25% (Only my buddy was a better looking guy, but more about that later.). That means, hey I pass the looks portion of the evening. The ladies at this event were all in their 30's the men in their upper 30's. I'm a little nervous, haven't dated since Devo. So now it's time for us to start, I get lucky number one and am paired off with a pretty young woman with a great accent. I quickly formulate my strategy, play the wounded pup. I'll explain this is my first time and I have no idea what to do(basically the truth.). Sounded like a good strategy until I realized everybody uses that strategy whether they've been there before or not. Now we sit at a table and the whole thing begins.

I'll pause here to say that I am pretty open and honest to people about my life. I found out early it is too difficult to keep lies straight, especially as they increase in number and complexity. After asking her how the whole thing works, she throws me a softball, “So, you dance?”, I know the answer to this one. “No, but I am not afraid to learn and am thinking of taking up martial arts.”, in the back of my head, I hear a game show host blurting, “Wrong answer, what Reed should have said was, “dances like the wind, Yep, correct answer was dances like the wind. No points awarded this round, Johnny.”

Her response is, “I am here to find a dance partner and someone I can hang out with.”, I realize now, this may not be as easy at it seems. The next question she fires at me is, “What do you do for a living?”, “My partners and I own a software company.”, I say, her eyes tell a new story now, a spark of interest, she turns back with, “I own my own business too, I'm a masseuse.”. O.K. Ladies, if you want to snag a guy, and completely Fuck up his concentration, that is probably one of the best things you can ever say to him. The interview went on for another 4 min., but I'll be damned as to what was said, I had visions of this beautiful young woman in her chosen profession(damn you ape brain.).

Bell rings, my mind comes back to attention and I realize I did not take any notes. I switch to the next woman, also younger than me. She seems really interesting and is telling me about her kids, her job, her life. I'm taking notes on her and the first woman simultaneously. We are just starting to warm up the conversation and ding, as if by Pavlovian response, the guys change seats.

The next woman is an accountant. I have nothing against accountants, but this lady had a gestapo like attitude with the questions, “How much do you make? How much are you worth? How big is your schlong? Should the man or woman “O” first?”, I felt like a boxer getting the piss beaten out of him and all I could think of is,WHERE IS THAT DAMN BELL?

I've made it to the last one, beaten up and a little bruised, I hope this goes well. This woman seems nice and friendly, YAY! She commutes on the train, I commuted on the train for 12 years. She grew up in Jersey, I grew up in Jersey. 4mins. To go and SILENCE. Everyone is talking around us, but the silence is killing me. I can talk to anyone for eight days straight, I can't talk to this woman for 8mins straight. Damn, I thought I found a match. 3mins 48secs to go. I hate the bell, I loathe the bell. 3mins 44secs to go. Now my mind wanders to the big picture of the situation and I do what I never should, but always do. I start deconstructing each of the women. I write things in the little notebook like:
Name 1 : Way hot, great accent, looking for dance partner, pretty eyes, masseuse.(Mind wanders for a second.)
Name 2 : Very nice, very confident, fun loving, looking for attention, her kids are her life.
Name 3: Calculating and precise, knows what she is looking for, more instinctual than emotional.
Name 4: Older, almost perfect match, can't talk to, commutes, doesn't have time to meet people traditionally.

I then calculate strategies to which I could exploit all the information I know to start a relationship and realize that would make me a dick.

The bell finally rings and my friend and I meet up. He asks "What did you think?", I tell him, "It kind of sucked." "Now", he says, "it's time to go online and pick the women you think are a match." Greeeeaaaat.