Oy Vey, What a Day

There are just some days, when you pause to think about them, make you shake your head and wonder. Was that a good day or was that a bad day? Case in point, yesterday.

Starts at 6 in the morning, getting final emails out to a possible funder and producing a document to be faxed.

7 a.m. - fax won't go through, emails are completed, and now you realize you will have to hand deliver the papers to be faxed.

7:30 a.m. - answer a telephone call from a lady who wants to come and work. Money isn't a problem, just wants to work with kids. I really think she should work on not slurring all of her words so early in the morning.

8 a.m. - have papers in an envelope, heading out of town to a meeting scheduled for 10.

8:30 - papers delivered and stop to fill tank of car. Things look like they will be going smooth. Talk on cell phone to dad, daughter, scheduler, funder, director of operations, school superintendent, and a friend.

9:45 a.m. - arrive in Sweetwater. Have accomplished the following - secured a place for my daughter's wedding, rehearsal dinner, and secured necessary items for decorations. Talked to the folks who can help fund her internship in Thailand. Talked to the funder, they will participate financially in 2007 (a wonderful thing), have a plan in place for transportation for our summer programs, and heard a great story from my friend. Things are looking good.

10-noon - have an excellent meeting, tour, and discussion about a possible new club in an extremely depressed area where a Club would be a wonderful answer to some of their concerns. Everyone seems to be excited and it looks to be a win/win for everyone. Stop to talk to local Chamber of Commerce about businesses/donors and then grab a hamburger and head back to Abilene.

1 p.m. - have enjoyed the trip back and was able to chat with my best friend for awhile as I head to finish up exemption papers for licensing. Starting to feel queasy and have a headache.

2:30 p.m. - papers completed and delivered. Get a call from a local foundation, yes, we have received a 50k grant for reading programs! Yeah! Head hurts worse, stomach is doing some strange things.

3 p.m. - into the office, sort through mail, check emails, and head over to do taxes for the community.

8 p.m. - head home. Feeling really strange, weak, and head is hurting terribly.

Rest of the night I am getting to enjoy my bathroom with multiple purges from the stomach, headaches galore, freezing, sweating, and fitful sleep. Feel like someone has run me over multiple times and there is a moment or two I think death might not be so bad.

This morning I am up and still feel like I should be shopping for coffins. Oh well, another day and if it gets worse from here, I'll call it a day and go back to bed.

So was it a good day or a bad day? Hmm... maybe it was a gad day... or egads! Welp, gotta run, the ol' gut is rebelling again, #$(&$%*!)$&#!

Excuse me. Do you have a card expressing desperation?

Today is the day folks will celebrate a Saint who defied the law and secretly married couples who desperately wanted to be together. He went to prison and was later executed for his roguery but lucky for him some entreprenuer named Hallmark immortalized him in the form of a candy giving, card swapping, let's get together for a fancy meal holiday.

Think about it. It is a day for the desperate. A day when people will take a risk to express their feelings for another human being while hanging onto the slim hope the other person has recipricol feelings. It is a day when hearts are more often broken than bolstered.

I learned this the hard way. In fourth grade I had a terrible crush on Kim Storlie, a cute lass with pouty lips who could melt your heart with a demur smile. As fourth graders go, I thought myself to be a real catch since a) I made the best grades in the class, b) the teacher thought I was a heaven sent child in the midst of a bunch of rogues (especially when she was sober), and c) I had already had more than my fair share of girl friends during my illustrious school career. So on this ill fated Valentines Day as we all walked around the room and dropping our boxed set wonders of love's expressions into each others construction papered mail boxes, I slipped my biggest one into Kim's mailbox. How thrilling it was to sort through the twenty or so cards to find a nice one from Kim that actually had additional writing on the back that said, "I think you coot. Kiss me." Wow! She couldn't spell worth a darn but my oh my, I bet she could kiss!

So I go up to her during punch and cookies and with her card in hand say, "I think you are cute too and would love to give kissing a try!" She looked at the card, took it out of my hand and said, "That isn't your card, that is _____________'s card. What are you doing with it? Like I would ever want to give you a kiss." Yuppers, crush my heart you minx, I hope you get tonsilitis when you kiss _________.

Toss in a Sherry who tells me in eighth grade she is ditching me on Valentines Day because the silver tongued, velvet throated crooner Richard has smiled at her while playing his guitar and singing sappy love songs and she is pretty sure he has feelings only for her. I tell her to go and chase yon Richard and may she find happiness among the C and G chords while inwardly I thought someone was crushing my heart with a meat tenderizer. Four years later she would ask me to run away with her and to get married... Hmm, I wonder what happened to the song of the siren Richard?

In marriage I didn't fare any better with Valentines Day being a rather painful day until it was turned into a day to celebrate the kids. When that happened it became a marvelous affair as they really were the ultimate expression of what true love is; the giving of yourself for another human, or in this case four precious humans.

So it isn't any wonder that I had developed a cynical eye for this day of desperation. You find yourself wiping the tears from rejected children's eyes, listening to the heart wrenching stories of friends who suffer from unrequited love, or even worse, abusive love. You wonder just what was that guy thinking when he created a day to celebrate love, no, desperate love?

And yet... somehow we cynics find within us a glimmer of hope. A longing for all of our past pains and disappointments to become pavers on which we walk towards a carefully manicured garden where true love grows. A place where for the first time in our lives we discover tenderness instead of analytical harshness, affirmation in place of criticism, and most of all, a place where desperation has been weeded out to allow the expression of hearts to flourish in the gentle rain of shared dreams, the sunshine of celebrated victories, and deeply rooted in the belief your kindred spirits can truly meld into one.

It is that hope that suppresses the cynic in all of us and keeps us coming back, willingly exposing our hearts despite the lessons learned from our tortured pasts.

May this be the year hope wins over experience.

From the files of being an extra

Sitting around the room and waiting for three hours gives you a chance to notice several things about the fine art of making a show for television. Some are obvious, some become even more so as the night wears on.

First rule of being an extra: Don't try to mingle with the stars... they have worth, you my friend are just background (they actually refer to you as that with phrases such as "Background, you need to do this or you need to that...") They will eat before you do, eat separately from you and no, they won't have their picture taken with you so don't ask.

Second rule of being an extra: Listen to the little man who is crawling around on his knees and yelling at you. If he says to cross over in front of the camera, then get your butt across the gym floor in a hurry! Don't dawdle or the crew will look at you like you just ran over their dog and laughed while you did it.

Third rule of being an extra: Don't overact. If they ask you to make a small reaction to the "stars" walking into the gym, then your reaction should be small. If you drop your jaw, raise your eyebrows and gape, then you will bring the cursed "CUT! CUT! CUT!" down from heaven and the cute actresses will all use the "F" word in ways that will make you wonder if they have ever studied anatomy or have they even noticed you possibly couldn't bend that way.

Fourth rule of being an extra: Don't lose your voucher. No voucher, no pay and you sure wouldn't want to miss out on $5.50 an hour.

Fifth rule of being an extra: Don't tell the wardrobe lady the flower she just pinned onto your suit, that is big enough to hide a large Chihuahua, is tacky. She tends to stab you with the pins.

Sixth rule of being an extra: Try to avoid clumping up with other extras. It just makes the killer instinct of the directors come out as they start to see you as frightened sheep bunching together in terror as you wait for the wolves to descend...

Seventh rule of being an extra: Don't volunteer for the entry shots if you don't enjoy walking around for an hour in freezing temperatures. Pretend your shoes aren't made for walking up steep inclines. TGBO had this one figured out and luckily we didn't fall into that trap!

Well there are seven rules to follow. Still a fun experience and plenty of blogging material to be had, which makes me very happy! Have a great Monday everyone!

Sweet Vindication

"Women don't read the back of cards!" I grinned on that one because I had seen too many women do it but it was a fun argument full of jests, points and counterpoints, and finally an admission from me that perhaps this one on my last Thursday Thirteen was a small jab at the feminine segment of our species.

Then tonight as we ate at Red Lobster the following conversation was overheard at the table next to us.

"How long did you spend looking for this card?" There is a moment of nervous silence as the man considers an answer. I am fighting down the temptation to scream, "Don't do it man, it's a trap!" but before I can warn him he answers.

"Fifteen minutes." I know he is thinking to himself, "Fifteen minutes is ample time to find an appropriate card for Valentines Day but au contraire, mon ami, it's not.

"Were you looking in the Hallmark section or the Cheap section?" Now is there really a good answer to this question? Again, I struggle to speak with a mouthful of salad, "Man, redirect! Redirect! Choke on something, have a heart attack! Abort! Abort!" Alas, not only does he forge ahead towards a swift relationship execution, I think he is making the noose out of his napkin.

"I thought it was a Hallmark card." Oooh, bad move, my man, they read the back of the card and the back of the card does not lie...

"No, see this? This says American Greetings, not Hallmark. They make some nice cards but not like Hallmark."

"I thought the card was cool." He caught me drinking my water and before I could swallow I heard her say, "No, my card was cool. This is a card you might buy for Peanut."

Okay, I don't know who Peanut is but I'm guessing Peanut is either not human or one of this guys buddies. Either way, it is obvious purchasing a Valentines Day card for either would be a step down from buying a card for your "ahem... Valentine."

About this time I am trying hard not to laugh out loud as my date looks at me with a shocked expression and says, "If I wasn't here to hear this conversation, I would've thought you were making this all up. I want to go over there and tell her she is giving all women a bad name."

Yes my friends, sweet vindication for my Thursday Thirteen! Whoever the poor man was that sat behind us I can only offer this advice, "Take Peanut and RUN!"

EXTRA! EXTRA! Working as an Extra for Friday Night Lights

I don't have much time to post today as I am getting ready for a day long fundraiser at the Mall. I will post sometime this weekend on my being part of the "background" for the TV show, Friday Night Lights. TGBO had called me and asked me if I would work with her as an extra for the Father/Daughter dance sequence and I agreed.

A short timeline for the whole event:

Noon - Leave Abilene for Austin

3:00 - Hit Austin traffic on I-35

3:45 - Arrive at the Texas School for the Deaf Campus

4:30 - Check in, fill out I-9s and paperwork

7:00 - After waiting for three hours, we are briefed on our roles as Father/Daughter dancers

11:00 - Four hours of dancing later, we are released to go home. It takes thirty more minutes to return props to wardrobe and to turn in your vouchers.

Midnight - Heading out of Austin for home

3 a.m. - Arrive home. Collapse on bed. Set alarms to wake me up at 6:15 so I can start Saturday early enough to prepare for the Diamond Dig fundraiser for our organization. I plan to sleep well tonight (the fundraiser ends tonight at 9)!

Have a good Saturday everyone! Will post more about the fun things that happen when you are an extra!

Televison Metamorphesis

I can remember when I started my current position how nervous I would be whenever I had to get in front of a camera. The thought of the unanticipated question catching you off guard or even worse, having them take a sound bit and then slicing it where your statements are taken out of context was enough to have your stomach in knots. Those moments before live interviews would find me pacing anxiously and having to mentally calm myself down.

Now... hmm, I arrive at the station, chat with everyone, share jokes and swap stories with the studio people and feel totally at ease. Let them ask the unanticipated question, in fact, please ask it because it makes the interaction spontaneous and fun. Several I would even consider friends instead of acquaintances and can rely on them to step in and help out the Clubs for any events.

I guess time heals more than wounds, it heals fears too. That which used to twist me up now is considered fun.

A Harsh Reminder

Friday a young man is in my office discussing his future, his dreams, hashing out his options. He has such great potential and talents the only obstacle in his way is himself. The future looks extremely bright for him.

Saturday he is calling me to tell me his brother was in an accident, not expected to make it. Suddenly the future is forgotten and the here and now has his full attention.

In a blink of an eye our perspective is transformed, our priorities changed.

If you are of the praying mindset, I know he and his family would appreciate your prayers.

Two Good Flicks and a Song

Saw We Are Marshall and The Freedom Writers last night and I must say both were good movies. Since they are true stories it tends to make them even better and more uplifting.

Freedom Writers really hit home. The kids we serve aren't in as desperate of a situation as the one in the movie as the gang violence isn't anything like that of the major cities in California, but we do get our share of negativism and a sense of there is no way out for so many of the youngsters. To see someone beleive in them and help them rise above the expected failure to become literate and to develop dreams beyond "I want to live until I'm 18" gives a person hope. Like I said, it caught my attention and was just the message I needed.

Last week we had a young girl killed in her bed during a drive by shooting. 3 young men are in custody and are looking at living out lives that are now officially ruined, if they get to live them. They committed this heinous act in a culture of vengence, where no one talks to the police because it would remove their opportunity to strike back. These may not be the streets of L.A. or Long Beach, but they are still dangerous nonetheless creating a sense of angst within the communities.

Last week I suffered another cynical attack when I spent some time before a meeting working puzzles with a bright six year old. She was quick, she picked up on the word recognition almost immediately and was a true joy to listen to and to instruct. Other kids at the table were soon doing puzzles and showing me how good they were at putting them together and pronouncing the words on them. With my whole heart I want everyone of them to beat the street and become viable and contributing citizens in their community but the cynicism strikes and you start to doubt that most will graduate or even secure good jobs.

I realize such doubt and cynicism is the greatest enemy of the kids in the street. It leads to writing them off and looking to put bandaids on gaping wounds. The movie last night was a great reminder that such thoughts have no place in our world and are only good for killing the spirit and the hope of those who need us most.

Do yourself a favor and go see the movie. You won't regret it.

I wish I knew how to do the whole song bit where you can hear them while you read the post, but I don't so I will just post these appropriate lyrics.

When In Rome
performed by Nickel Creek

Where can a sick man go
When he can't choke down the medicine the old doc knows
A specialist came to town, but he stays at home
Sayin', "No one knows, so I don't"
Honey, when in Rome

Where can a teacher go
Wherever she thinks people need the things she knows
Hey those books you gave us look good on the shelves at home
And they'll burn warm in the fireplace
Teacher, when in Rome

Grab a blanket, sister
We'll make smoke signals
Bring some new blood
It feels like we're alone

Grab a blanket, brother
So we don't catch cold
From one another
I wonder if we're stuck in Rome

Where can a dead man go
The question with an answer only dead men know
But I'm gonna bet they never really feel at home
If they spent a lifetime learning
How to live in Rome

It was a good date...

Okay, I know some of you are dying to know how the date went. It was great!

I think I will leave it at that...

Engaged!

Slvr is engaged, officially! You can go to her blog and read all about it. You would think this would get easier for fathers... hmm.

A Dreary Day

This morning is one of those mornings when the temptation to crawl back under the covers is strong. The weather is miserable, the air is damp, and a dreariness is draped over the skyline, bringing me back to the desire to bury myself under the covers. If I had a fireplace, I would light a fire... if I had a chance to hop a plane to someplace where the sun was shining, I think I would.

But no. Obligations beckon me to get up, get dressed, and hit the bricks. I guess I will spend the day doing what I am supposed to but deep in my heart I will be envying some lucky sap who is waking up to a brilliant sunrise, the bright sky caressing his psyche, filling his day full of hope.

No, I'm not depressed but dreary days make me sad. Sigh.

Honoring a Gentle Giant

Today I will be officiating a memorial service for a friend who has been released from his suffering. A successful man by anyone's standards, he was able to work 40 years for the same company, climb the corporate ladder, and end his working career in a job he absolutely loved. While talking with his family and looking over the awards he received during his career, it was obvious the greatest acheivements of this man were not accomplished in the oil field, but in his life outside of the petroleum world.

He was a gentle man and a loving father. Walking and living among alcoholics, he was the refuge for so many of his family during the periods of stormy conflict. He constantly kept busy helping others, fixing up places, finding another project to keep people involved in to help them in their own personal growth.

He spent his retirement years building camps for kids, churches for poor communities, or helping out his own children and grandchildren. The kindness and gentleness he brought to so many is apparant by the happiness of so many that he was finally released from Lewisbody Disease, a long slow deterioration of the mind.

Much like its cousin Alzheimers, this disease brings on aggression, regression, and cessation of sociatal controls. For the last four years his family has watched his demeanor change, to see the frustration in his face as he realized he was slowly slipping from reality. Words he never would have spoken came from his lips, angry thoughts expressed, and for the first time in his 80+ years, a form of meaness was expressed. He ceased to be the man they knew and loved and became a victim of a terrible transforming illness.

Today we will celebrate his healthy years, the years full of warm memories from his compassionate gentleness... the years when he was the refuge, not the conflict.

The Blessing...

So there we were in the kitchen, my daughter's boyfriend and me, working on making ratones when he asked,

"Can I ask you something personal?" Hmm, now that can be a loaded question because when someone requests to ask you something personal you immediately think they are about to ask you something... well, personal.

"Sure. Fire away."

"I would like to propose to Slvr but would like to have your blessing first."

"Sure, you have my blessing."

"Do you have any reservations?"

Hmm, now another loaded question has been laid down because what father doesn't have reservations about any lad who comes to ask for his daughter's hand in marriage? Add to that list of reservations a healthy dose of cynicism and you have a roadmap to a disastrous conversation in which no one is going to come back in one piece.

"One day when you have a daughter you will understand that there will always be reservations when it comes to your child. Fortunately I trust Slvr and her decisions so we don't need to go into my reservations."

Afterwards we had a good discussion about dating, marriage, etc. I was shown the ring the next day before they left for school. He hasn't officially proposed yet but he does have my blessing, something he didn't have to ask for but I appreciate his asking anyway.

Parental Update

Welpers, my dad had ankle surgery today and it went well. He is off his feet for at least six weeks but the good news is that he will be able to recuperate and hopefully not lose any strength in his legs.

My mom, broken toes and all, will be toughing it out until they are healed. However we are thrilled they are up and alive, a true blessing.

Of Relationships and Regrets

One of the more painful experiences a parent has is watching their young enter into and exit from relationships. It doesn't matter the gender or the age, the pain they experience appears to be expotentially increased for the parental unit observing it. I have yet to feel anything burn worse than the tears of my child on my neck as I hug them close or more painful than the tortured looks brought on by their hearts breaking. Can anything stir your ire as quickly as seeing them hurt by another's insensitivity?

I would love to give them advice on how to protect their hearts, shroud their feelings, guarding against such relational inspired maiming but sadly I have nothing to give because when it comes to my past relationships... let's just say I wouldn't be batting cleanup.

Those failures of mine have been gracious enough to bring a truck load of regret along with them that keep me second guessing life, love, and relationships in general. However, to dwell in those regrets is die a rather slow inconsequential death that only lends itself to self pity and whining.

Luckily I have been blessed with a guide who has enlightened me on such matters. My mentor has shown me that when it comes to the affairs of the heart, to avoid pain through protecting and masking your own heart, you have robbed yourself of any chance to experience the best of life. Like baseball you can avoid the humiliation of striking out by never going to the plate to take a pitch... but by doing so you have cheated yourself out of the thrill of hitting one out of the park.

So I can only stand by and watch my offspring go to the plate of relationships and give it their best shot. They may strike out. They may only get to first base. They might even hit the big one and experience the euphoria of a true love, an actual soulmate.

As for the parental spectator, I guess all we can do is to be ready to applaud or comfort them when their time at the plate is through. That my friend is freakin' hard.

Plumbing Blues

So I'm putting in the kids' Christmas present to their mother and horror of horrors, the job that should take two hour max ends up taking all day. Plumbing never comes easy and sure enough, one pipe breaks, another is weak, and before you know it I am revamping all of the pipes underneath the house.

This morning I am sore from bumps, scratches, and having been in positions that would have made a yoga guru proud.

So a poem is bubbling out... I just feel it!

Why is it that projects simple
Seldom work out like we plan
And become the proverbial pimple
On the butt of frustrated man?

I offer you plumbing
As an example quaint
Cause it is quite numbing
When what should be, ain't.

Chasing one problem after another
You find your project grows
And you'll be crying "mother"
Fighting your plumbing woes.

So what is the lesson taught
As you are feeling dumber?
You should do as you ought
Spend the bucks, pay a plumber.

A Bit of Relief

My parents were in a serious wreck last night. At the time of this writing they have been checked over and my dad has a chipped ankle and a sprained wrist while my mom has six broken toes and they are running xrays of her chest.

They were the lucky ones.

The car that they hit was out of control and sliding across the bridge when they hit them broadside. One woman, not buckled in, died at the scene. Another is not expected to live through the night. The driver is in serious condition too.

The kicker. The folks they hit were heading to a drug pickup (they left messages on their cell phones) and the driver is looking at two counts of manslaughter.

As for my parents, I am so grateful they are in as good as shape as they are in. I can only imagine what thoughts are going through their minds and I know they will be hurting for some time. For the folks in the other car, I am sympathetic to their families. I hate the fact they were engaged in the activity that had them out on an icy road and that those who live will never be the same.

It just reminds that in a blink of an eye our lives can be transformed forever.

May The Man in the Red Suit be Good to Ya!

Just a quick "Merry Christmas!" to all my friends, blogging buddies, and family. May the big guy in red be kind to you!

Character Defects

The meeting tonight had us discuss Step #7 where you humbly admit your character defects and ask the Higher Power to remove them. Hoo boy, admitting to a group of people that you have character flaws... especially when I'm pretty sure I am just a shade off of that level of perfection most humans lust after. Okay, make that a whole lot of shades off that level, but still, having to expose yourself to the group is rather risky but hey, why go if you aren't in for a penny, in for a pound?

"Wulp... my character defect I'm working on is bitterness and frankly, I'm a bit bitter I am still having to work on it..."

There, I got it out in the open. Whew, my turn is over and I can just relax and listen to everyone else. Wait, they want to go around again and mention another character defect? What? My bitterness isn't good enough for you, you want more? Sheesh, what slave drivers!

"Okay, I have a fear of failure that drives me to be controlling at times..." Whew, that wasn't so bad. I hope I passed their litmus test...

Double sheesh.

Timopheus

Bright eyes, face swallowing grin, and spunky, Patrick Timothy came into the world with everything against him; the child of a raped mother, a victim of a rare disease, and a host of doctors saying he had no chance of surviving. On that December 8th the outlook for this sickly child was grim and most folks would've started to consider burial options but not the woman who was called in to be his foster mother. For her it was a chance to give a baby love even if the child's journey through this life was short.

We didn't see much of my mom the next six months as she spent every waking hour in the hospital with Tim, or "Timopheus", as she affectionately called him. He was frightening to look at; tubes running in and out of his head and he seemed so fragile but mom was confident he would be just fine. A trip to Galveston to see a specialist, a medical regimine prescribed and the little guy who shouldn't have lived through the night, much less the week, survived.

Survive doesn't seem adequate to describe his life because Tim thrived. When he finally got clear of hospital beds, he took off in his development. He walked, ran, and plunged headlong into the terrible twos. By the time he was three you couldn't seperate him from dad and for most of his life he was affectionately called "little Dale" by those of us who knew him best. He was the only brother who was brave (or should I say foolish) enough to run from dad when he was about to be punished. He could always have dad laughing so hard by the time he caught him I think the punishments were greatly diminished.

We watched him play football, work beside us, and finally find a joy in life in the form of his wife and in a career he loved. He was a great uncle, a wonderful brother, and one of the most compassionate men you would ever meet.

He enjoyed life for 32 years until the disease caught up with him and he died of adrenal failure, collapsing in a field outside of Friona, TX. He left a young widow, five brothers, two marvelous parents, a host of friends, and numerous nieces and nephews.

I know yesterday my mom wept for her "Timopheus" and I'm sure my dad went about his business with a heavy heart. He and my youngest brother Scott were such a blessing to them and even now Scott looks after them.

Speaking as a brother, I salute Tim and his short life. May we all learn to squeeze as much happiness out of life as he did in whatever time we are given upon this world.