"The internet made my husband cheat on me so I need to join a gym and make him close his Facebook account!" she said in a serious tone.
These are true words spoken to a friend of mine. It appeared that the evils of the internet had interfered with her marriage and sent her world crumbling down.The internet had struck again. It was all the fault of modern technology. Or was it? Personally I find it hard to believe that the internet alone can be blamed for every affair or evil. Is the internet a monster? Or does it reveal the monsters that already lurk?
I have had my fair share of internet incidents to swear it off for good but as luck would have it technology made miracles happen this week for me. From the depths of my keyboards through all of the servers and across different wireless routers and finally back to my screen I was able to accomplish something I haven't yet been to able to do.
I found my long lost brother who I haven't spoken to in twelve years.
While I had tried to use conventional routes to find him, none of them worked. It wasn't until I checked again on Facebook that I found him. All those years of asking around and Mark Zuckerberg had tracked him down for me. A recently opened account finally would bridge those twelve years together. Without delay I reached out with the long arm of technology.
"Hi brother!" I posted on his wall.
I paused waiting for a response knowing it had to travel 120 miles to get to him.
"Hey Brother." he stated, ending a decade long silence between us.
Just like that technology made a miracle happen. And I know I'm not the only one who technology reached this week with miracles of wonder. I read a story earlier this week about a man who had been kidnapped as a baby and was well into his 30's befpre he discovered his own likeness on a site for missing children. After several phone calls authorities were able to look into his background and discovered he was taken as 5-month old baby. His father, who had never stopped looking for him, was thunderstruck and amazed.
The power of technology bringing people together. Maybe we shouldn't be so afraid of it after all. Study after study and large blazing newspaper headlines continually try to convince us that the all of our gadgets only make us more isolated and distant from each other. Maybe the next technological horizon will bring us closer in contact than mankind has ever been before.
I was so excited and triumphant about finding my long lost brother that I began to tell a friend who walked into the room.
"I finally found my brother!" I said as I noticed my friend pull out something from his pocket.
"Oh really?" he said eyes down while I began to share the details.
"I haven't seen him in twelve years! It's just so crazy! I can't believe I was finally was able to track him down! Can you believe it! All because of the wonders of technology! What a crazy world right!" I said smiling eyes wide and looking for his equally excited response.
"Huh?" he said ,"That's nice"
I stayed silent and just stared for a sec.
"Oh what where you saying?" he asked noticing my silence ," I wasn't really listening I was trying to get my blasted phone to work."
#$%@^&% technology!
Thursday
Cat Scratch Reader
I once read an entire article on parking lots. Five pages to be exact. I would have never thought one could write five pages about a parking lot but the New York Times managed to pull it off. One of my goals this year is to find out what's going on in the world -- even if it's about parking lots.
Some stories even originate in parking lots. At least that's what I found out this week at the coffee shop. We have a group of security guards who come in at various times of the day, I have never figured out quite how many of them there are. My guess is at least a dozen but the number is probably higher than that.
We often make small talk and over the years I would think we would have exhausted every topic possible. That is until today we talked about cats.
"Can I have some cold water with ice for the cats?" ask the security guard with a smile.
"Cats?" I ask confused, "What cats?"
"The cats who live here of course! I thought everbody knew about the cats!" he said cheerily grasping the cup of water.
As it turns out a a litter of cats was found years ago near the parking lot of the mall. Some of the cats died and the mom pulled one away never to be seen again. She slinked away in the shadows, kitten in mouth.
In a strange turn of events the Humane Society had recently moved into the mall after the economy crashed and left an abnormal amount of empty store fronts in the mall. They took in the remaining kittens and found them a home.
It seemed as if the case of the cats had been resolved as quickly and quietly as it had begun.
But of course, the cat came back just not the very next day. It was several months later. The last time they saw this kitten it was being carried away...but now it had returned with no mother to be seen. It hung around a couple of days and they gave it some water. Despite the vastness of the shopping center it never strayed very far and started hunting for food around the lot. It wasn't long before they dubbed the cat 'Trouble' and the name stuck.
Trouble became useful in catching vermin and so he quickly gained the admiration of the officers. The security guards made a home for him, provided food and water, and each took turns watching out for the cat. He quickly became an honorary member of the security squad and the Humane Society agreed to neuter him for free.
Soon another cat showed up scrawny and in need of a home. He became companions with Trouble. No one could settle on a name for this new found cat so everyone just gave him a different nickname. It could be Roy one day or Charlie the next. Every one still knew who they were talking about and it wasn't long before Roy/Charlie/Tom got the old snip snip action himself.
Now there were two cats living in a mall when for all intents and purposes there should be none.
"Once they go," stated the security officer in a solemnly voice , "That will be the end of it. No more cats for us."
He seemed to mean it although I couldn't be so sure. The pair of felines seemed to be a big morale boost for the security team and I guess they were also a hit with some of the ladies at the nearby department stores. They would come in on lunch breaks to visit and have those cats brighten their day.
"Did you know about the cats?" I ask turning to the barista next to me.
"Of course," she said, "Everyone knows about the cats!"
And so they did. It felt kind of strange to realize that all this time there were cats living in corridors so close that I knew nothing about. Two little kittens found a big home. I was spending all of my time looking for unique stories about parking lots in foreign places that I forgot. Sometimes the only parking lot you need to look at is your own.
Some stories even originate in parking lots. At least that's what I found out this week at the coffee shop. We have a group of security guards who come in at various times of the day, I have never figured out quite how many of them there are. My guess is at least a dozen but the number is probably higher than that.
We often make small talk and over the years I would think we would have exhausted every topic possible. That is until today we talked about cats.
"Can I have some cold water with ice for the cats?" ask the security guard with a smile.
"Cats?" I ask confused, "What cats?"
"The cats who live here of course! I thought everbody knew about the cats!" he said cheerily grasping the cup of water.
As it turns out a a litter of cats was found years ago near the parking lot of the mall. Some of the cats died and the mom pulled one away never to be seen again. She slinked away in the shadows, kitten in mouth.
In a strange turn of events the Humane Society had recently moved into the mall after the economy crashed and left an abnormal amount of empty store fronts in the mall. They took in the remaining kittens and found them a home.
It seemed as if the case of the cats had been resolved as quickly and quietly as it had begun.
But of course, the cat came back just not the very next day. It was several months later. The last time they saw this kitten it was being carried away...but now it had returned with no mother to be seen. It hung around a couple of days and they gave it some water. Despite the vastness of the shopping center it never strayed very far and started hunting for food around the lot. It wasn't long before they dubbed the cat 'Trouble' and the name stuck.
Trouble became useful in catching vermin and so he quickly gained the admiration of the officers. The security guards made a home for him, provided food and water, and each took turns watching out for the cat. He quickly became an honorary member of the security squad and the Humane Society agreed to neuter him for free.
Soon another cat showed up scrawny and in need of a home. He became companions with Trouble. No one could settle on a name for this new found cat so everyone just gave him a different nickname. It could be Roy one day or Charlie the next. Every one still knew who they were talking about and it wasn't long before Roy/Charlie/Tom got the old snip snip action himself.
Now there were two cats living in a mall when for all intents and purposes there should be none.
"Once they go," stated the security officer in a solemnly voice , "That will be the end of it. No more cats for us."
He seemed to mean it although I couldn't be so sure. The pair of felines seemed to be a big morale boost for the security team and I guess they were also a hit with some of the ladies at the nearby department stores. They would come in on lunch breaks to visit and have those cats brighten their day.
"Did you know about the cats?" I ask turning to the barista next to me.
"Of course," she said, "Everyone knows about the cats!"
And so they did. It felt kind of strange to realize that all this time there were cats living in corridors so close that I knew nothing about. Two little kittens found a big home. I was spending all of my time looking for unique stories about parking lots in foreign places that I forgot. Sometimes the only parking lot you need to look at is your own.
Wednesday
Cinco de Psycho
Passion is the spice of life. Or you should be passionate about life and you should enjoy spices: at least that’s my take on it and a quite literally one at that. Lately I have found myself in love with my blender. Mostly because it’s a gateway to lots of great dishes that usually involve spices. In the past couple of months I find myself making a new type of salsa every week, different flavored hummus’, and soups made from pureed vegetables. As this year’s summer project, I have decided to make a different aqua fresca every week. Unfortunately, my blender couldn’t keep up with all the excitement of my creations and has slowly been giving up the ghost . It officially died Thursday April 29 2011, ruining my summer prospect of newfound creations.
I shake my fist at my fallen blender and formulate a game plan. I need a new blender. I go online (Thanks Be to the Internet) and start comparing prices and reviews. I find a KitchenAid blender with amazing reviews. It dices, it chops, it purees, it does the dishes, it holds and consoles you at night. I check the price and while not completely outrageous, it still seems more than I usually would be willing to pay for a blending machine. In this economy a man needs to make choices. Against my better judgment I convince myself that this is a smart purchase and hit the buy now button.
I wince at the screen while it processes and it prints up a neat invoice. My blender should arrive in a week: which clearly falls on Cinco de Mayo. Suddenly it’s a fiesta in my own mind. Who cares about the Ides of March when you have a blender coming in on Cinco de Mayo. I start to brainstorm immediately on what I can make when it comes in. I spend the next five days planning on what I am going to make with the new amazing device. On the third of the Mayo, I find some great deals and decide to purchase some ingredients (on sale!) for a soup I have been wanting to try. On the fourth of Mayo (aka Cinco de Mayo eve), I decide I should purchase some salsa ingredients to keep in the spirit of the holiday.
When I get home, I prep the kitchen for the soon-to-be arrived blender. I neatly organize the ingredients for quick use: first, fire roasted tomatoes, followed by red onion which goes with garlic, trailed by jalapeños and green onions, and spices aplenty set up neatly on the counter. In my mind I figure I have my ingredients set up so that I could make up a batch of salsa in less than seven minutes. (If of course the blender reviews are as accurate I am counting on them to be.)
Cinch de Mayo arrives and I as luck would have I am working before the sun comes up. All day long I have visions of jalapeños dancing in my head. I get home around one and am disappointed to find nothing at the door. I send Paul a text. Occasionally our packages get delivered to Paul’s work because it’s only half a block from our place. Paul texts back and assures that it hasn’t arrived and perhaps I should contact our office.
Good advice, I completely forgot that the office at our condo center frequently signs for packages and holds them for residents. I call and immediately get the ‘we are busy’ message machine. I hang up and dial again ,twice, until I reach a person.
“Excuse me,” I say trying to sound nonchalant, “ I am expecting a package today, by any chance did you receive anything for my place?”
I hear the manager moving to the background and unlocking the giant cabinet where they keep packages. She rummages through and asks for my name twice. No packages and there actually hasn’t been a delivery yet for the day. I thank her kindly and hang up the phone. I am exhausted . I decide to shut my eyes for a moment and wake with a start an hour later.
No knock at the door. No blender.
I accept that this Cinco might not be a fiesta after all. Angrily… poutingly, I arise and start to chop vegetables by hand. I don’t want any ingredients to spoil, and I figure if I can’t make salsa, then I will just make pico de gallo instead. Which just means here’s my chopped up vegetables because I sure as hell couldn’t have blended them without a blender. Paul gets home and we are quick out the door. It’s haircut time. On the way there, I realize that I left the pico de Gallo out on the counter. I drop Paul off and go home to refrigerate the Pico and return before my haircut.
On my way back home, I speculate the postman probably left me a notice in the mail box if he arrived while we were out. I pull in next to the mailbox and check. No post card. I get home, put the Pico in the fridge and cross the busy intersection. While I making a turn I realize the UPS guy is at an apartment complex across the street. Without realizing it, I find myself pulling into a parking spot directly behind the UPS truck. I hesitate and watch the UPS guy gather packages before walking into complex which is surround by high bushes. I figure it is better to let him work before I interrupt him so I watch while he disappears behind the iron gates.
When he comes out, he finds me leaning against the bumper, arms crossed, anticipating his arrival but still trying to maintain a certain level of cool. He looks at me quizzical and ask if I need I anything.
“Do you have my blender?” I ask.
He looks confused and I follow up with a mumbling rant “ Oh, I ordered a blender, it should come in today, I am going to make salsa.”
I don’t know if he follows me a hundred percent, so I ask him if he has delivered across the street yet. He says that he hasn’t but ask for my name so he can check his delivery invoice. I walk with him to the side of his truck and he says he is going to check. I stand in the open door of his truck. One side of the truck is empty and the other is piled high with packages. I spend the next ten minutes watching him slide the boxes from the full side to the empty side until finally the contents of the truck are completely reversed.
“Are you sure it arrives today?” he calls from the inside of the truck moving back towards the open door.
“I think so,” I shout trying to recall the email I received, “It said it would arrive 5-9 business days and today’s the 5th business day.” I hear his feet stamping as he gets closer to the driver side.
“It’s not coming today kid.” he says giving me a look and puts his keys back in the ignition.
“Oh, well if comes tomorrow, I’m working most of the day, so if it arrives I probably won’t be home, but then you could probably drop it off at….” I trail off because I can tell he is not really listening anymore. I step away from the truck while he fires up the engine. As he pulls away I start to realize that perhaps there is a fine (or fairly thick ) line between being passionate and being psychotic.
And once again I have found the way cross it.
UPDATE: The blender did arrive on Seis de Mayo!
I shake my fist at my fallen blender and formulate a game plan. I need a new blender. I go online (Thanks Be to the Internet) and start comparing prices and reviews. I find a KitchenAid blender with amazing reviews. It dices, it chops, it purees, it does the dishes, it holds and consoles you at night. I check the price and while not completely outrageous, it still seems more than I usually would be willing to pay for a blending machine. In this economy a man needs to make choices. Against my better judgment I convince myself that this is a smart purchase and hit the buy now button.
I wince at the screen while it processes and it prints up a neat invoice. My blender should arrive in a week: which clearly falls on Cinco de Mayo. Suddenly it’s a fiesta in my own mind. Who cares about the Ides of March when you have a blender coming in on Cinco de Mayo. I start to brainstorm immediately on what I can make when it comes in. I spend the next five days planning on what I am going to make with the new amazing device. On the third of the Mayo, I find some great deals and decide to purchase some ingredients (on sale!) for a soup I have been wanting to try. On the fourth of Mayo (aka Cinco de Mayo eve), I decide I should purchase some salsa ingredients to keep in the spirit of the holiday.
When I get home, I prep the kitchen for the soon-to-be arrived blender. I neatly organize the ingredients for quick use: first, fire roasted tomatoes, followed by red onion which goes with garlic, trailed by jalapeños and green onions, and spices aplenty set up neatly on the counter. In my mind I figure I have my ingredients set up so that I could make up a batch of salsa in less than seven minutes. (If of course the blender reviews are as accurate I am counting on them to be.)
Cinch de Mayo arrives and I as luck would have I am working before the sun comes up. All day long I have visions of jalapeños dancing in my head. I get home around one and am disappointed to find nothing at the door. I send Paul a text. Occasionally our packages get delivered to Paul’s work because it’s only half a block from our place. Paul texts back and assures that it hasn’t arrived and perhaps I should contact our office.
Good advice, I completely forgot that the office at our condo center frequently signs for packages and holds them for residents. I call and immediately get the ‘we are busy’ message machine. I hang up and dial again ,twice, until I reach a person.
“Excuse me,” I say trying to sound nonchalant, “ I am expecting a package today, by any chance did you receive anything for my place?”
I hear the manager moving to the background and unlocking the giant cabinet where they keep packages. She rummages through and asks for my name twice. No packages and there actually hasn’t been a delivery yet for the day. I thank her kindly and hang up the phone. I am exhausted . I decide to shut my eyes for a moment and wake with a start an hour later.
No knock at the door. No blender.
I accept that this Cinco might not be a fiesta after all. Angrily… poutingly, I arise and start to chop vegetables by hand. I don’t want any ingredients to spoil, and I figure if I can’t make salsa, then I will just make pico de gallo instead. Which just means here’s my chopped up vegetables because I sure as hell couldn’t have blended them without a blender. Paul gets home and we are quick out the door. It’s haircut time. On the way there, I realize that I left the pico de Gallo out on the counter. I drop Paul off and go home to refrigerate the Pico and return before my haircut.
On my way back home, I speculate the postman probably left me a notice in the mail box if he arrived while we were out. I pull in next to the mailbox and check. No post card. I get home, put the Pico in the fridge and cross the busy intersection. While I making a turn I realize the UPS guy is at an apartment complex across the street. Without realizing it, I find myself pulling into a parking spot directly behind the UPS truck. I hesitate and watch the UPS guy gather packages before walking into complex which is surround by high bushes. I figure it is better to let him work before I interrupt him so I watch while he disappears behind the iron gates.
When he comes out, he finds me leaning against the bumper, arms crossed, anticipating his arrival but still trying to maintain a certain level of cool. He looks at me quizzical and ask if I need I anything.
“Do you have my blender?” I ask.
He looks confused and I follow up with a mumbling rant “ Oh, I ordered a blender, it should come in today, I am going to make salsa.”
I don’t know if he follows me a hundred percent, so I ask him if he has delivered across the street yet. He says that he hasn’t but ask for my name so he can check his delivery invoice. I walk with him to the side of his truck and he says he is going to check. I stand in the open door of his truck. One side of the truck is empty and the other is piled high with packages. I spend the next ten minutes watching him slide the boxes from the full side to the empty side until finally the contents of the truck are completely reversed.
“Are you sure it arrives today?” he calls from the inside of the truck moving back towards the open door.
“I think so,” I shout trying to recall the email I received, “It said it would arrive 5-9 business days and today’s the 5th business day.” I hear his feet stamping as he gets closer to the driver side.
“It’s not coming today kid.” he says giving me a look and puts his keys back in the ignition.
“Oh, well if comes tomorrow, I’m working most of the day, so if it arrives I probably won’t be home, but then you could probably drop it off at….” I trail off because I can tell he is not really listening anymore. I step away from the truck while he fires up the engine. As he pulls away I start to realize that perhaps there is a fine (or fairly thick ) line between being passionate and being psychotic.
And once again I have found the way cross it.
UPDATE: The blender did arrive on Seis de Mayo!
Tuesday
Thirty-One
Sometimes I think I am luckier than I can have imagined being. Today is reminder of all things I have gone through this last year. It felt like one long hospital visit after another for the most mundane of injuries. I thought it was the cloak of old age pulling over me, but instead I found it was a fresh garment of compassion for others.
I think I only half listened to others before, when they described their ailments, worries or concerns. I nodded and listened and examined their stance. Since they were standing upright I assumed they were fine. I knew what I needed to know about their condition. Upright meant alright.
This past year though, my ears opened a little wider. I learned to ask more questions. I learned to ask about numbers and tests and braces and casts. I learned about people learning to walk again. I learned about mothers guiding their blind children straight into trees.
I heard about hearts that stopped beating to start up again. I heard about hair falling out and being replaced with kindness in it’s stead. I learned about struggles that people carry with them wherever they go. I learned that pain and fear is inherent in every path of life.
I also saw kindness that was previously unseen. I saw flowers plucked from gardens given as gifts. Cards with jokes inside them with an intent to lift. I saw young people and rough people, with their arms around the old. I didn’t realize that there are already so many people in tune, knowing full well the end comes for all of us soon.
The hardest of things to see was those gifts that were left behind. The material things we give to others thinking they will have it for all time. The gifts stand but the person is long gone and we have to really think about what exactly we were giving.
The gifts stand alone as reminders of times spent and laughter shared. The gifts stand empty when a person is gone and you wish you had fillled a house full of gifts for them when they were alive to let them know where they stood.
If I could translate those gifts into more time spent with those loved ones I would, like so many of us would.
Instead I will translate them into lessons. Here is where the new year begins. It doesn’t need to bring health as long as it brings in kindness. And lessons lived from loved ones lost.
I think I only half listened to others before, when they described their ailments, worries or concerns. I nodded and listened and examined their stance. Since they were standing upright I assumed they were fine. I knew what I needed to know about their condition. Upright meant alright.
This past year though, my ears opened a little wider. I learned to ask more questions. I learned to ask about numbers and tests and braces and casts. I learned about people learning to walk again. I learned about mothers guiding their blind children straight into trees.
I heard about hearts that stopped beating to start up again. I heard about hair falling out and being replaced with kindness in it’s stead. I learned about struggles that people carry with them wherever they go. I learned that pain and fear is inherent in every path of life.
I also saw kindness that was previously unseen. I saw flowers plucked from gardens given as gifts. Cards with jokes inside them with an intent to lift. I saw young people and rough people, with their arms around the old. I didn’t realize that there are already so many people in tune, knowing full well the end comes for all of us soon.
The hardest of things to see was those gifts that were left behind. The material things we give to others thinking they will have it for all time. The gifts stand but the person is long gone and we have to really think about what exactly we were giving.
The gifts stand alone as reminders of times spent and laughter shared. The gifts stand empty when a person is gone and you wish you had fillled a house full of gifts for them when they were alive to let them know where they stood.
If I could translate those gifts into more time spent with those loved ones I would, like so many of us would.
Instead I will translate them into lessons. Here is where the new year begins. It doesn’t need to bring health as long as it brings in kindness. And lessons lived from loved ones lost.
Wednesday
The Nightmare
As hard as it is to keep real life at bay, it still manages to creep up during those midnight hours.
Lately I have been obsessed with finding a new pair of shoes. It usually isn't such a production, I just pick something that I like and get it. Although after a month of searching, I still haven't found that one pair. Internally, I know what the real problem is. I am still in love with my old shoes. I know they need to be replaced...but where am I going to find new sleek black hi tops with velcro?
It comes as no surprise to me then that I find myself in the middle of a mall searching for new shoes. The great thing about a dream store is that the selection is a lot larger than most real places. I browse through the shoes trying to find the pair that I can't find in my waking hours. I find myself resting at a white table with four pairs of shoes.
I can see in my peripheral an attendant awaiting my decision. I pick up a pair of slim hi tops. They are brightly colored with handwritten designs that mimic graffiti. They are a bold golden color with black designs. I see the attendant watching me while I inspect the shoes. I check the price. (Pretty responsible for me, even in a dream!)
They are reasonably priced but I have a nagging feeling that something is wrong. The attendant frowns and casually walks over to me.
"Those shoes are bit young for you." she says with conviction. I shrug my shoulders and put the shoes down knowing she is absolutely correct.
I awake with a start. Why can't I just dream about zombies and aliens like normal people. At least those you can shoot with guns or drop with a high kick!
Lately I have been obsessed with finding a new pair of shoes. It usually isn't such a production, I just pick something that I like and get it. Although after a month of searching, I still haven't found that one pair. Internally, I know what the real problem is. I am still in love with my old shoes. I know they need to be replaced...but where am I going to find new sleek black hi tops with velcro?
It comes as no surprise to me then that I find myself in the middle of a mall searching for new shoes. The great thing about a dream store is that the selection is a lot larger than most real places. I browse through the shoes trying to find the pair that I can't find in my waking hours. I find myself resting at a white table with four pairs of shoes.
I can see in my peripheral an attendant awaiting my decision. I pick up a pair of slim hi tops. They are brightly colored with handwritten designs that mimic graffiti. They are a bold golden color with black designs. I see the attendant watching me while I inspect the shoes. I check the price. (Pretty responsible for me, even in a dream!)
They are reasonably priced but I have a nagging feeling that something is wrong. The attendant frowns and casually walks over to me.
"Those shoes are bit young for you." she says with conviction. I shrug my shoulders and put the shoes down knowing she is absolutely correct.
I awake with a start. Why can't I just dream about zombies and aliens like normal people. At least those you can shoot with guns or drop with a high kick!
Thursday
Christmas Carol Crusade
There is something about working in the retail, restaurant, or service industry that really sucks that Christmas spirit right out of you. While everyone is out shopping and sipping on lattes, you are stuck hustling making the Christmas joy happen for others. Usually by the time I have slowed down enough to remember it’s holiday time, it is already January 15th. No Christmas lights, no pine tree, no stockings hanging with care.
This year I decided to be proactive. I wanted to take the Christmas spirit, crush it in one hand and sprinkle its remains all over my face. No sitting on the sidelines this holiday. So I unpacked every Christmas CD I could find and downloaded them to my computer and made some mega Christmas plays lists. Being in the generous Christmas spirit, I wanted to share some of the highlights. Feel free to add and share some of your favorites that I might have missed. Don’t forget to check out the Noteworthy Christmas Song List at the end. Some unique and special songs are to be had. Enjoy!
Special thanks to Paul who finds a vast majority of the music that I just add to my Ipod in seconds (although it takes him hours to find).
NEW TO CHRISTMAS
Matt Belsante (White Christmas) - a 2007 release but it’s new to me. A must have. Christmas never sounded so suave, hip or sexy. With jazz backgrounds and a smooth voice, I just can’t help but picture baby Jesus in the manger with sunglasses. Quit reading and download now.
Sting (If on a Winter’s Night) - Technically this isn’t a traditional ‘Christmas CD’, it is a ‘Winter CD’. It is suppose to evoke all of the winter emotions and moments of the season. Maybe I am just not British enough but this CD just confused me and I felt like elves or dwarves might appear at any moment. More like cold porridge than holiday spirit. Skip this one.
Sarah McLachlan (Wintersong) - The is something beautiful and haunting about this CD. It makes a great background CD and you can almost hear snow falling while Sarah is singing. There is a stream of melancholy in the CD and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who is suicidal, knows someone who is suicidal, or has a neighbor who knows someone who is suicidal. Definitely add to your collection. (Unless , see above)
David Archuleta (Christmas from the Heart) - Don’t judge! I have always enjoyed David’s voice and I was excited to hear it alongside Christmas favorites. The CD is great…but it plays it very safe. Not a lot of surprises here, which I was disappointed in, but there are few noteworthy songs including one in Spanish. Check out Pat-a-pan or Riu Riu Chiu.
Michael Buble (Let it Snow!) - My biggest complaint about this CD? It just isn’t long enough! There are six tracks on the CD (technically only five, because one is a live version). Every song is fantastic but it really leaves you wanting more. It is a great buy if you can find it under seven dollars but I wouldn’t recommend it after ten.
Mariah Carey or Christina Aguilara Christmas - If you like your Christmas with a side of Diva…both of these staples are great. I am particularly impressed with Christina having so many original Christmas songs that actually sound great. I have never heard so many rifts about the birth of Christ before.
Josh Groban (Noel) - I have not taken the time to listen to this CD although I have had so many people recommend it and insist it is Christmas incarnate. Personally Josh Groban and his lovely locks have always frightened me. When the riders of the Apocalypse come to reclaim the earth, I am convinced that Josh Groban will be leading the pack with a hairbrush in one hand and a spear in another.
NOTEWORTHY CHRISTMAS TUNES
THESE ARE THE NOTEWORTHY: FOR THEIR ORIGINALITY OR HEARFELT PULL. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THESE SONGS…ALTHOUGH NOT ALL OF THEM ARE EASY TO FIND. GOOD LUCK AND ENJOY!
1. 2,000 miles by Coldplay (love this version)
2. Christmas Tree by Lady Gaga (what can’t she do right now?)
3. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by Matt Belsante (I have never heard it like this!)
4. All I want for Christmas Is Us by Jason Mraz and Tristan Prettyman (Wow! Good luck finding it)
5. Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto by James Brown (If you are feeling braver…try Snoop Dogs version)
6. Maybe Next Year by Meiko ( I can relate)
7. Last Christmas by Cascada (For those who love dance)
8. Black Christmas by Harlem Children’s Chorus (releases end of this month)
9. What Christmas Means to Me by Stevie Wonder (instant cheer!)
10. I won’t be home for Christmas by Blink 182 (anti-Christmas sentiment)
11. O come, O come Emmanuel by Enya (feels out of this world)
12. Angels We Have Heard on High by Reliant K (quickest version I have heard! Great!)
Feel Free to let me know if I missed anything or you want to add a song to the list!
Joseph
This year I decided to be proactive. I wanted to take the Christmas spirit, crush it in one hand and sprinkle its remains all over my face. No sitting on the sidelines this holiday. So I unpacked every Christmas CD I could find and downloaded them to my computer and made some mega Christmas plays lists. Being in the generous Christmas spirit, I wanted to share some of the highlights. Feel free to add and share some of your favorites that I might have missed. Don’t forget to check out the Noteworthy Christmas Song List at the end. Some unique and special songs are to be had. Enjoy!
Special thanks to Paul who finds a vast majority of the music that I just add to my Ipod in seconds (although it takes him hours to find).
NEW TO CHRISTMAS
Matt Belsante (White Christmas) - a 2007 release but it’s new to me. A must have. Christmas never sounded so suave, hip or sexy. With jazz backgrounds and a smooth voice, I just can’t help but picture baby Jesus in the manger with sunglasses. Quit reading and download now.
Sting (If on a Winter’s Night) - Technically this isn’t a traditional ‘Christmas CD’, it is a ‘Winter CD’. It is suppose to evoke all of the winter emotions and moments of the season. Maybe I am just not British enough but this CD just confused me and I felt like elves or dwarves might appear at any moment. More like cold porridge than holiday spirit. Skip this one.
Sarah McLachlan (Wintersong) - The is something beautiful and haunting about this CD. It makes a great background CD and you can almost hear snow falling while Sarah is singing. There is a stream of melancholy in the CD and I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone who is suicidal, knows someone who is suicidal, or has a neighbor who knows someone who is suicidal. Definitely add to your collection. (Unless , see above)
David Archuleta (Christmas from the Heart) - Don’t judge! I have always enjoyed David’s voice and I was excited to hear it alongside Christmas favorites. The CD is great…but it plays it very safe. Not a lot of surprises here, which I was disappointed in, but there are few noteworthy songs including one in Spanish. Check out Pat-a-pan or Riu Riu Chiu.
Michael Buble (Let it Snow!) - My biggest complaint about this CD? It just isn’t long enough! There are six tracks on the CD (technically only five, because one is a live version). Every song is fantastic but it really leaves you wanting more. It is a great buy if you can find it under seven dollars but I wouldn’t recommend it after ten.
Mariah Carey or Christina Aguilara Christmas - If you like your Christmas with a side of Diva…both of these staples are great. I am particularly impressed with Christina having so many original Christmas songs that actually sound great. I have never heard so many rifts about the birth of Christ before.
Josh Groban (Noel) - I have not taken the time to listen to this CD although I have had so many people recommend it and insist it is Christmas incarnate. Personally Josh Groban and his lovely locks have always frightened me. When the riders of the Apocalypse come to reclaim the earth, I am convinced that Josh Groban will be leading the pack with a hairbrush in one hand and a spear in another.
NOTEWORTHY CHRISTMAS TUNES
THESE ARE THE NOTEWORTHY: FOR THEIR ORIGINALITY OR HEARFELT PULL. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THESE SONGS…ALTHOUGH NOT ALL OF THEM ARE EASY TO FIND. GOOD LUCK AND ENJOY!
1. 2,000 miles by Coldplay (love this version)
2. Christmas Tree by Lady Gaga (what can’t she do right now?)
3. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by Matt Belsante (I have never heard it like this!)
4. All I want for Christmas Is Us by Jason Mraz and Tristan Prettyman (Wow! Good luck finding it)
5. Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto by James Brown (If you are feeling braver…try Snoop Dogs version)
6. Maybe Next Year by Meiko ( I can relate)
7. Last Christmas by Cascada (For those who love dance)
8. Black Christmas by Harlem Children’s Chorus (releases end of this month)
9. What Christmas Means to Me by Stevie Wonder (instant cheer!)
10. I won’t be home for Christmas by Blink 182 (anti-Christmas sentiment)
11. O come, O come Emmanuel by Enya (feels out of this world)
12. Angels We Have Heard on High by Reliant K (quickest version I have heard! Great!)
Feel Free to let me know if I missed anything or you want to add a song to the list!
Joseph
Wednesday
Cloudy with a chance of Melancholy
“Take a slow sweet sip and console your sorrow. What‘s planted this morning will wither tomorrow.”
It is a strange slow November day. It was in the fifties last week, but today the temperature is back in the eighties. The sky is clustered with clouds but they fail to temper this warm winter day. The heat drains me into laziness, but the cloudy skies make me overly contemplative. It is hard to raise my spirits and can’t help feeling a nagging downcast air. I can’t get a story out of my mind that Paul shared with me last week.
A co-worker of his had recently missed work to attend a funeral. A funeral wasn’t too surprising for me because it seems a like a long year of funerals, one after another. I know that’s an illusion though, because funerals are happening all over the world everyday, not just this year. I am just more sensitive and awake to them. This particular funeral bothered me, even though I had no connection to the deceased. I was mourning over a stranger.
Six months ago this lady was in her fifties living a life along side her husband in the semblance of your everyday happy life. Six months ago life was normal and routine until her husband passed away unexpectedly. I can’t fill in the blanks of what occurred during then and now, but what I do know is this. Last week her body was buried. She died from stopping to eat, nothing had passed her lips but alcohol and cigarettes in the months since. She died from a broken heart.
It has really been hanging in my spirit lately and it seems surprising to me that such a thing is even possible. I confided in some friends who pointed out that it was a very simple equation. Husbands death + Alcohol - Food +Cigarettes = Death. I guess I can mentally wrap my head around the fact that physically the equation is possible. I just don’t want to believe that spiritually such a story is possible.
Of all of the people I have known who have experienced loss and great loss, I have always seen such a strength and determination. I witnessed people grow through grief and assumed that this was the natural process of grieving. Love and life always conquers all. I didn’t take into account that not every story involves a happy ending. Sometimes life ends before a proper ending can be written.
In a movie or book, it always seems so poetic and proper when a spouse dies shortly after their lover. In real life it’s jarring and disturbing. I am searching for a possible ending of joy that can come from this woman’s life and final six months. I can sense it's a futile search though, and insulting to try. Only on a cloudy warm winter’s day like this, is it possible to believe that one can die from a broken heart.
It is a strange slow November day. It was in the fifties last week, but today the temperature is back in the eighties. The sky is clustered with clouds but they fail to temper this warm winter day. The heat drains me into laziness, but the cloudy skies make me overly contemplative. It is hard to raise my spirits and can’t help feeling a nagging downcast air. I can’t get a story out of my mind that Paul shared with me last week.
A co-worker of his had recently missed work to attend a funeral. A funeral wasn’t too surprising for me because it seems a like a long year of funerals, one after another. I know that’s an illusion though, because funerals are happening all over the world everyday, not just this year. I am just more sensitive and awake to them. This particular funeral bothered me, even though I had no connection to the deceased. I was mourning over a stranger.
Six months ago this lady was in her fifties living a life along side her husband in the semblance of your everyday happy life. Six months ago life was normal and routine until her husband passed away unexpectedly. I can’t fill in the blanks of what occurred during then and now, but what I do know is this. Last week her body was buried. She died from stopping to eat, nothing had passed her lips but alcohol and cigarettes in the months since. She died from a broken heart.
It has really been hanging in my spirit lately and it seems surprising to me that such a thing is even possible. I confided in some friends who pointed out that it was a very simple equation. Husbands death + Alcohol - Food +Cigarettes = Death. I guess I can mentally wrap my head around the fact that physically the equation is possible. I just don’t want to believe that spiritually such a story is possible.
Of all of the people I have known who have experienced loss and great loss, I have always seen such a strength and determination. I witnessed people grow through grief and assumed that this was the natural process of grieving. Love and life always conquers all. I didn’t take into account that not every story involves a happy ending. Sometimes life ends before a proper ending can be written.
In a movie or book, it always seems so poetic and proper when a spouse dies shortly after their lover. In real life it’s jarring and disturbing. I am searching for a possible ending of joy that can come from this woman’s life and final six months. I can sense it's a futile search though, and insulting to try. Only on a cloudy warm winter’s day like this, is it possible to believe that one can die from a broken heart.
Saturday
Backside to the Wall
Or "One Night Only"
(note: this is a repost from earlier this year, but I was reminded of the wall earlier today and wanted to the give the wall it's due)
For the past month there has been construction non-stop next door to our coffee shop. During the holidays it had been a seasonal Brookstone store. Once the holidays were over however, construction crews moved in and began hammering away at the space next to us. Something new was moving in. The new store would need an entire new setup and layout than Brookstone had. I was curious as to what would be moving in. After asking a couple of people, I had the answer. It was going to be a Chico’s.
At first I was excited because I thought Chico’s sold super nachos and breakfast burritos. How convenient would that be! Breakfast blend coffee and breakfast burritos from Chico’s! A perfect pairing! Unfortunately, someone was quick to inform me that Chico’s did not sell Mexican food, but was in fact a clothing store. A clothing store for mature fashionable women. A one stop shop for things I didn’t need. Why couldn’t it have been nachos!
The good news was that it could bring in some new customers and new faces. So I was fairly patient with the construction and the loud noises. A bookcase nearly fell on my head several times, but no one got seriously injured. The crews always started early before daylight and worked through the better part of the day.
It was Friday morning when I walked into our coffee shop and I could hear the familiar noises coming from next door. I could hear hammers working and saws cutting as I made my way to the counter to start my day. Halfway to the register, I was caught by surprise by a noise that I have never heard coming from a wall before. I stopped. The noise came again. I laughed out loud. I couldn’t believe my ears. It sounded as if our wall had eaten a weeks supply of bean burritos and had finally decided to let it all out.
There were big sounds, little sounds, elongated sounds, and several large booming sounds. It was a gasternal symphony of sounds.
Our wall had become the largest standing whooppee cushion.
I found out that they were using a special drill that day to cut holes through metal. Apparently, the drill also cuts through cheese just as well.
It was Friday morning, our busiest day of the week, so I jumped quickly behind the espresso bar and began to work. Just like clockwork, our morning rush began. Customers were used to the construction by then and ordered drinks before waiting in front of the espresso bar to receive them. At first there were two customers waiting, then five, and soon there were was a crowd of about twelve. I worked feverishly trying to get the drinks done in a reasonable amount of time.
It was about that moment when the noise started up again. I looked up in time to see a customer glance at another customer with a downward stare and then take a step away. More noises followed. Uncomfortable shifting of shoulders and looking around. More booming noises from next door and suddenly the sleepy crowd became alert and awake. Everyone could hear it, but no one was talking about it. The wall tooted away contentedly oblivious to the fact of the ever growing awkward crowd.
I decided I needed to step in.
I extended my arms as far as they could go in a diagonal fashion, with my highest hand pointing out towards the offending wall.
“MAN, “ I said loudly, determined to be heard over the offensive harmony, “ SOMEONE SHOULD REALLY GIVE THAT WALL SOME BEAN-O!”.
I flashed the largest smile I could create and wriggled my fingertips at the end of my still extended arms. I looked around the crowd searching for the first smile or laugh that would put everyone at ease and get us started on a great Friday.
Nothing. I waited five seconds. Still nothing. Ten seconds. Not one smile or laugh escaped the crowd. Blank faces stared back at me.
I quickly dropped my arms to my side and got back to making drinks. It was the longest twelve drinks of my life. As the crowd filed out, drinks in hand, I realized that my life as a stand up comic had lasted an entirety of two minutes.
(note: this is a repost from earlier this year, but I was reminded of the wall earlier today and wanted to the give the wall it's due)
For the past month there has been construction non-stop next door to our coffee shop. During the holidays it had been a seasonal Brookstone store. Once the holidays were over however, construction crews moved in and began hammering away at the space next to us. Something new was moving in. The new store would need an entire new setup and layout than Brookstone had. I was curious as to what would be moving in. After asking a couple of people, I had the answer. It was going to be a Chico’s.
At first I was excited because I thought Chico’s sold super nachos and breakfast burritos. How convenient would that be! Breakfast blend coffee and breakfast burritos from Chico’s! A perfect pairing! Unfortunately, someone was quick to inform me that Chico’s did not sell Mexican food, but was in fact a clothing store. A clothing store for mature fashionable women. A one stop shop for things I didn’t need. Why couldn’t it have been nachos!
The good news was that it could bring in some new customers and new faces. So I was fairly patient with the construction and the loud noises. A bookcase nearly fell on my head several times, but no one got seriously injured. The crews always started early before daylight and worked through the better part of the day.
It was Friday morning when I walked into our coffee shop and I could hear the familiar noises coming from next door. I could hear hammers working and saws cutting as I made my way to the counter to start my day. Halfway to the register, I was caught by surprise by a noise that I have never heard coming from a wall before. I stopped. The noise came again. I laughed out loud. I couldn’t believe my ears. It sounded as if our wall had eaten a weeks supply of bean burritos and had finally decided to let it all out.
There were big sounds, little sounds, elongated sounds, and several large booming sounds. It was a gasternal symphony of sounds.
Our wall had become the largest standing whooppee cushion.
I found out that they were using a special drill that day to cut holes through metal. Apparently, the drill also cuts through cheese just as well.
It was Friday morning, our busiest day of the week, so I jumped quickly behind the espresso bar and began to work. Just like clockwork, our morning rush began. Customers were used to the construction by then and ordered drinks before waiting in front of the espresso bar to receive them. At first there were two customers waiting, then five, and soon there were was a crowd of about twelve. I worked feverishly trying to get the drinks done in a reasonable amount of time.
It was about that moment when the noise started up again. I looked up in time to see a customer glance at another customer with a downward stare and then take a step away. More noises followed. Uncomfortable shifting of shoulders and looking around. More booming noises from next door and suddenly the sleepy crowd became alert and awake. Everyone could hear it, but no one was talking about it. The wall tooted away contentedly oblivious to the fact of the ever growing awkward crowd.
I decided I needed to step in.
I extended my arms as far as they could go in a diagonal fashion, with my highest hand pointing out towards the offending wall.
“MAN, “ I said loudly, determined to be heard over the offensive harmony, “ SOMEONE SHOULD REALLY GIVE THAT WALL SOME BEAN-O!”.
I flashed the largest smile I could create and wriggled my fingertips at the end of my still extended arms. I looked around the crowd searching for the first smile or laugh that would put everyone at ease and get us started on a great Friday.
Nothing. I waited five seconds. Still nothing. Ten seconds. Not one smile or laugh escaped the crowd. Blank faces stared back at me.
I quickly dropped my arms to my side and got back to making drinks. It was the longest twelve drinks of my life. As the crowd filed out, drinks in hand, I realized that my life as a stand up comic had lasted an entirety of two minutes.
Reaching Out
Paul and I were heading northbound on Craycroft. We probably travel this road nearly every day of the year because it is the same way to Paul’s parents house and to the gym. Our daily routine usually involves a trip to the gym and/or Paul’s parents house or a mixture of the two. The median is divided by concrete dividers that house various desert vegetation including flowers, bushes and cactus.
We are riding along when the car ahead of us catches my attention. It appears that the driver in front of us is part giant. He seems like a big fellow whose frame is barely contained in his car. It is further accented by the fact that his car seems unusually small. A big guy in a little car.
Most people usually just blend into their cars, but he sticks out and appears that any minute he is going to burst out of his car. I am trying to decide if he is actually as big as he seems or if the cars is just so small. It seems like a combination of the both. I am trying to decide his actual height, when his left arm pokes out of the car. His large arm reaches out and grabs a branch from a tree and rips it out and throws it to the ground.
Paul and I look at each other for a sec and then stare back at the car in front of us. His arms stays hanging on the left side of the car, nearly touching the ground. He continues to rip out vegetation and pull out branches as he drives along. He pulls out flowers from bushes, uproots small trees and scatters branches along the median. He is a giant of destruction leaving behind splinters of dead vegetation in his wake.
I am pretty shocked and amazed and how much he can reach and destroy from the reach of his car. Finally he comes along a part of the median which contain large cactus with prickly thorns. He hand remains out stretched and seems poised to give the cactus face a whack. I begin to flinch imagining the pain those thorns could do to a hand. He seems undeterred and is ten seconds away from contact.
I am glued to his hand awaiting the outcome. The giant or the cactus? One second from impact and he pulls his hand suddenly at the last possible second. I sigh a relief. He catches us watching him from his rearview mirror. He speeds off in a zigzag fashion never to be seen again.
That’s my adventure of the day.
We are riding along when the car ahead of us catches my attention. It appears that the driver in front of us is part giant. He seems like a big fellow whose frame is barely contained in his car. It is further accented by the fact that his car seems unusually small. A big guy in a little car.
Most people usually just blend into their cars, but he sticks out and appears that any minute he is going to burst out of his car. I am trying to decide if he is actually as big as he seems or if the cars is just so small. It seems like a combination of the both. I am trying to decide his actual height, when his left arm pokes out of the car. His large arm reaches out and grabs a branch from a tree and rips it out and throws it to the ground.
Paul and I look at each other for a sec and then stare back at the car in front of us. His arms stays hanging on the left side of the car, nearly touching the ground. He continues to rip out vegetation and pull out branches as he drives along. He pulls out flowers from bushes, uproots small trees and scatters branches along the median. He is a giant of destruction leaving behind splinters of dead vegetation in his wake.
I am pretty shocked and amazed and how much he can reach and destroy from the reach of his car. Finally he comes along a part of the median which contain large cactus with prickly thorns. He hand remains out stretched and seems poised to give the cactus face a whack. I begin to flinch imagining the pain those thorns could do to a hand. He seems undeterred and is ten seconds away from contact.
I am glued to his hand awaiting the outcome. The giant or the cactus? One second from impact and he pulls his hand suddenly at the last possible second. I sigh a relief. He catches us watching him from his rearview mirror. He speeds off in a zigzag fashion never to be seen again.
That’s my adventure of the day.
Tuesday
Knife in my Gut
or "Ocean Ommitance "
Two days after my thirtieth birthday and I find myself on a table getting cut open and put back together.
Originally, I had hoped that I might be in Brazil for my thirtieth birthday enjoying an internship, but with the economy in it’s current state, it was canceled. With no Brazil in sight, I decided to go ahead and schedule a surgery. I felt a surgery was still a notable life experience. Perhaps not as beautiful and breathtaking, but noteworthy nonetheless. I didn’t want a significant birthday to pass without a significant event. I was careful to schedule it after my actual birthday because I wanted to give myself at least a couple days of enjoying birthday gifts and friends before going under the knife.
I haven’t had a real surgery since I was seven and I was unsure about how the whole procedure worked. I was diagnosed over a year ago and I kept putting my surgery off. I felt that now that I was accomplishing thirty, it would be the first adult thing I could do. Adults were people who scheduled and had surgeries. This would be my crossing of the threshold called adulthood. Unfortunately I was still naïve about the severity of surgical procedures and gave no more thought to it than scheduling a haircut.
“I need to schedule an appointment for a surgery next week.” I told the receptionist on the other line. “Preferably sometime before Friday because I am leaving for California then. Maybe you have an appointment available Thursday? The earlier the better since I have a flight on Friday morning.”
There was a noticeable pause on the other end.
“I really don’t think it’s such a good idea,” she said sweetly,” Why don’t we reschedule when you get back? You are going to need some recovery time. There are plenty of openings three weeks from now.”
It was generous of her to suggest moving it, but I have never been known to deter from an idea once I have decided something. I think she sensed my solidity and although there were absolutely no appointments available on Tuesday, she made some magic happen. I told her that Tuesday would do and penciled it on my calendar. Tuesday gave me three days before my vacation. It seemed like an exorbitant amount of recovery time but I was sure I could find things to do.
Plenty of loved ones volunteered their presence on Tuesday , but I wasn’t having any of it. I scolded Paul and wouldn’t allow him to miss work because we were already leaving on Friday. He was generous enough to respect my request but he was insistent that his dad drive me. Paul’s dad tried to talk me out of getting the surgery before Friday‘s trip. He was making jokes but expressing his concern, during the drive over but I assured him I would be fine.
It wasn’t until after I signed the contract that I started to reconsider his advice. The contract stated that if something happened which resulted in my death that I was consenting a hundred percent. I was mulling the contract over, sitting with my lower cheeks to the wind.
“I could be wearing my last outfit on earth.” I thought rather grimly. A white polka dotted hospital gown.
I could hear an older couple through the thin sheet curtain behind me. They were being very sweet to each other and I could tell their tenderness was heightened due to their circumstances. If anything went wrong with her surgery, they wanted to make sure to say their proper goodbyes to each other. I started to sweat it a little, but before I could put my pants back on, I was lead away and put under.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later and I woke up scratching my nose. The nurse took that as a good sign and I received my walking papers with several stipulations. The first was to take it easy for a couple of days and second, I wasn’t allowed to enter the ocean. I could get my stitches wet, but the doctor didn’t think it was a good idea to enter the ocean and chance getting an infection. My uncle had just told me a story about a friend whose stitches got infected so bad that they had to operate on him three times . There would be no ocean for me in California.
It was as small price, but one I was sure I could pay. To Paul, that would be the greatest doctor order ever: to not enter the ocean. He loves going to the beach, but he hates the water. He thinks it’s unhygienic, dirty, and he believes seaweed is the mucus of the devil. He actually has never entered the ocean before and refuses to get close. He enjoys the sand and the laying about, just never the water.
It was our third day in California when we finally made some time to check out the beach. I didn’t even bother putting on swim trunks so that I wouldn’t be tempted. I just left on some basket ball shorts. It has been a couple of years since I have seen a Californian beach. We set up camp and pulled out some books and prepared to catch some sun rays. Placing the book aside though, I couldn’t help but walk to edge of the water and get my feet wet.
My recovery had been coming along fine, but for the first time I started to feel pain internally. It wasn’t my stitches so much as it was my soul. I have always associated the ocean with a form of communion with God. I stared at the ocean wistfully and decided to move in closer, at least up to my knees. I stared at the horizon and noticed everyone playing around me, splashing and riding waves. I barely even noticed the two white feet approaching next to me. It was Paul.
“The water is so cold!” he said as his feet touched the ocean for the first time. Just then a wave came in and touched the bottom of my basketball shorts. “Whoa,” said Paul, “be careful, you don’t want to get your stitches wet.”
“It’s just the waves.” I told Paul, “I don’t think it will go much higher.”
I showed Paul how I liked to play in the waves and how the sand sort of melts when the waves pull it back in. He smiled and stuck his toes in the sand and practiced catching waves with me, just to the bottom of his shorts also. This went on for awhile until a huge wave pushed to the shore and left a two foot piece of seaweed attached to Paul’s leg. His eyes widened and he shook it off faster than I thought possible.
“You still don’t like the ocean, do you?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“No.” he said giving a half smile.
“You didn’t want to touch the water, did you.” I asked smiling.
“Nope.” he answered quickly.
“You are completely done now and want to head back to our books and the sun.” I asked him, curious but confident at his response.
“Yes. Please.” he said emphatically, already moving out of the grip of the ocean.
I looked back at the vastness of water and then turned and started to follow Paul. I know the only reason he came out was to offer his solace and make my quiet misery bearable . The comforting investment about turning thirty is knowing that living doesn’t just consist of significant events but rather significant people.
BONUS PIC
Two days after my thirtieth birthday and I find myself on a table getting cut open and put back together.
Originally, I had hoped that I might be in Brazil for my thirtieth birthday enjoying an internship, but with the economy in it’s current state, it was canceled. With no Brazil in sight, I decided to go ahead and schedule a surgery. I felt a surgery was still a notable life experience. Perhaps not as beautiful and breathtaking, but noteworthy nonetheless. I didn’t want a significant birthday to pass without a significant event. I was careful to schedule it after my actual birthday because I wanted to give myself at least a couple days of enjoying birthday gifts and friends before going under the knife.
I haven’t had a real surgery since I was seven and I was unsure about how the whole procedure worked. I was diagnosed over a year ago and I kept putting my surgery off. I felt that now that I was accomplishing thirty, it would be the first adult thing I could do. Adults were people who scheduled and had surgeries. This would be my crossing of the threshold called adulthood. Unfortunately I was still naïve about the severity of surgical procedures and gave no more thought to it than scheduling a haircut.
“I need to schedule an appointment for a surgery next week.” I told the receptionist on the other line. “Preferably sometime before Friday because I am leaving for California then. Maybe you have an appointment available Thursday? The earlier the better since I have a flight on Friday morning.”
There was a noticeable pause on the other end.
“I really don’t think it’s such a good idea,” she said sweetly,” Why don’t we reschedule when you get back? You are going to need some recovery time. There are plenty of openings three weeks from now.”
It was generous of her to suggest moving it, but I have never been known to deter from an idea once I have decided something. I think she sensed my solidity and although there were absolutely no appointments available on Tuesday, she made some magic happen. I told her that Tuesday would do and penciled it on my calendar. Tuesday gave me three days before my vacation. It seemed like an exorbitant amount of recovery time but I was sure I could find things to do.
Plenty of loved ones volunteered their presence on Tuesday , but I wasn’t having any of it. I scolded Paul and wouldn’t allow him to miss work because we were already leaving on Friday. He was generous enough to respect my request but he was insistent that his dad drive me. Paul’s dad tried to talk me out of getting the surgery before Friday‘s trip. He was making jokes but expressing his concern, during the drive over but I assured him I would be fine.
It wasn’t until after I signed the contract that I started to reconsider his advice. The contract stated that if something happened which resulted in my death that I was consenting a hundred percent. I was mulling the contract over, sitting with my lower cheeks to the wind.
“I could be wearing my last outfit on earth.” I thought rather grimly. A white polka dotted hospital gown.
I could hear an older couple through the thin sheet curtain behind me. They were being very sweet to each other and I could tell their tenderness was heightened due to their circumstances. If anything went wrong with her surgery, they wanted to make sure to say their proper goodbyes to each other. I started to sweat it a little, but before I could put my pants back on, I was lead away and put under.
* * * * *
A couple of hours later and I woke up scratching my nose. The nurse took that as a good sign and I received my walking papers with several stipulations. The first was to take it easy for a couple of days and second, I wasn’t allowed to enter the ocean. I could get my stitches wet, but the doctor didn’t think it was a good idea to enter the ocean and chance getting an infection. My uncle had just told me a story about a friend whose stitches got infected so bad that they had to operate on him three times . There would be no ocean for me in California.
It was as small price, but one I was sure I could pay. To Paul, that would be the greatest doctor order ever: to not enter the ocean. He loves going to the beach, but he hates the water. He thinks it’s unhygienic, dirty, and he believes seaweed is the mucus of the devil. He actually has never entered the ocean before and refuses to get close. He enjoys the sand and the laying about, just never the water.
It was our third day in California when we finally made some time to check out the beach. I didn’t even bother putting on swim trunks so that I wouldn’t be tempted. I just left on some basket ball shorts. It has been a couple of years since I have seen a Californian beach. We set up camp and pulled out some books and prepared to catch some sun rays. Placing the book aside though, I couldn’t help but walk to edge of the water and get my feet wet.
My recovery had been coming along fine, but for the first time I started to feel pain internally. It wasn’t my stitches so much as it was my soul. I have always associated the ocean with a form of communion with God. I stared at the ocean wistfully and decided to move in closer, at least up to my knees. I stared at the horizon and noticed everyone playing around me, splashing and riding waves. I barely even noticed the two white feet approaching next to me. It was Paul.
“The water is so cold!” he said as his feet touched the ocean for the first time. Just then a wave came in and touched the bottom of my basketball shorts. “Whoa,” said Paul, “be careful, you don’t want to get your stitches wet.”
“It’s just the waves.” I told Paul, “I don’t think it will go much higher.”
I showed Paul how I liked to play in the waves and how the sand sort of melts when the waves pull it back in. He smiled and stuck his toes in the sand and practiced catching waves with me, just to the bottom of his shorts also. This went on for awhile until a huge wave pushed to the shore and left a two foot piece of seaweed attached to Paul’s leg. His eyes widened and he shook it off faster than I thought possible.
“You still don’t like the ocean, do you?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.
“No.” he said giving a half smile.
“You didn’t want to touch the water, did you.” I asked smiling.
“Nope.” he answered quickly.
“You are completely done now and want to head back to our books and the sun.” I asked him, curious but confident at his response.
“Yes. Please.” he said emphatically, already moving out of the grip of the ocean.
I looked back at the vastness of water and then turned and started to follow Paul. I know the only reason he came out was to offer his solace and make my quiet misery bearable . The comforting investment about turning thirty is knowing that living doesn’t just consist of significant events but rather significant people.
BONUS PIC
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