When Autumn Leaves Start To Fall

Fall is in the air as they say. The mornings are crisp and cool and the cobblestone streets are becoming a mix of grey and brown now as the leaves begin to cover them.  On the walk along the Quai d’Orsay yesterday we saw children and adults kicking the leaves as they walked along the banks of the Seine.  On Friday we sat outside at one of our local cafes and enjoyed the first of what we hope may be many great meals of Boeuf Bourguignon.

When we moved to Paris our Parisian friends told us to expect that the weather would either turn cold quickly or it would turn hot and we would have a great Indian Summer.  Well we had neither. The weather was quite mild, not too hot by any means and no rain. Then on Saturday evening a front moved through and we felt the beginning of autumn.  Don’t misunderstand...I love autumn.  It is my favorite time of year.  I love the foods...the stews, pot roasts, pies. I like the cool evenings, the mild days and I even like the colors of fall...that sort of Tuscan pallet of browns, reds, oranges, dusty greens, and golds.  

The tourists in Paris are different now.  Less American or European and shifting toward Asian and even Southern Hemisphere in general.  And, while the numbers are dropping a bit they are still ever present.  

The evenings are also getting a bit quieter...the restaurants on the street below seem to have a bit fewer clients late in the evening.  And today is our first rainy day in Paris.  It is cloudy and overcast a bit darker than usual and for some reason a whole lot quieter out than we are normally experience.  This quieter, softer, even slower pace made me think a bit about the seasons of life as well while sitting with a cup of tea and looking out the window.

I remember the spring of my life...my childhood as busy and exciting and always full of adventure.  When you think of childhood you rarely think of the rainy or dreary days, the memories are always of bright sunny days, playing late into the evening with your friends and all that went into that.  The summer...ah the summer.  Married life, enjoying every day together.  The arrival of kids and the excitement that brought.  The soccer games, the dance recitals...well almost anyway...the prom dances and the family vacations.  The excitement created by high school graduations, college graduations, marriages and the arrival of grand children.

Now the autumn...it too can be exciting.  The pace is a bit slower, the days a bit quieter, but there is still lots of laughter, conversations with grandchildren that remind you what you missed while your own children were growing up.  There are together times when we get to explore and have adventures as just a couple again...but they are different explorations.  The time is filled with comfortable days...with time as a couple, time as a family and time alone on occasion.  It is much more a time when we can reflect on a life well lived and yet look forward to a life of great expectation.  I enjoy the time with my wife, my children and my grandchildren and yet I also like the time alone to just walk or think or write.  All in all, life is just more comfortable.  No hurry to accomplish something, no pressure to succeed.  In fact, success is marked by different metrics now with far less concern for what others will think of your success or failure and more about how you will feel or how you measure the successes.  

For now, I am not in a hurry for winter, but I will enjoy the autumn days with great pleasure.  I can savor the falling leaves, the smells of wonderful foods cooking, and the promise of a bright life ahead.  

~V

Mondays with Emma

I know...it is not just Mondays that I spend with my granddaughter Emma, we actually spend four afternoons together each week.  But there is something special about Mondays.  We have seen each other over the weekend most weeks but sometimes not.  But, on Mondays it is my turn to pick her up at school and to walk home together for  our afternoon of Curious George and sometimes a bit of Frozen.  But, the most special time is actually the walk home together. 

It is not a long walk...10 minutes, maybe 15 if Emma is not too motivated.  But we chat all the way home.  The conversation is mostly in English and that alone gets us looks from the people on the streets of Paris.  But there are some French words mixed in and we don't always understand each other perfectly, but the time together, just the two of us, is priceless.  Our conversation is usually linked to her day at school.  Me: What did you do today Em?"  Her: I don't remember?  Me: Did you paint?  Did you have Music?  Did you have PE?  Did you enjoy recess?  Her: No or maybe yes but when we strike the right memory of the day she opens up to a long conversation about how she painted, or sang or played with somebody.  There is always the "Did you take a nap today?" question but who knows why since the answer is always the same..."just a little bit."  Naps are too time consuming for a girl of her age.

Some days we talk about her new shoes, or boots as they may be and other days we talk about menus on the tables of the restaurants we pass.  Sometimes we stop to do a bit of window shopping...we especially like the little solar powered figures that wave or dance.  If there are music boxes we need to stop and crank them around once or twice to hear them play that metallic version of La Vie en Rose...one can't help but wonder what Edith Piaf would think of this sound. 

On some days we stop for a chicken at the charcuterie or a baguette at the patisserie.  One cannot buy a baguette without sharing at least one chunk with Emma...she would rather have bread than a cookie almost anytime.  If fact, one day I bought her her own little baguette which she carried so sophisticated under her arm and she refused to share it with anybody.  She is definitely French.  

We have our rituals.  When we cross the street she makes Didi wait until she checks for cars. (I have no idea where Didi came from or why she chose that name for me but since her other grandfather is Pipi I think I will stick with Didi)  If there is a car coming she "warms" me to stop.  Then for the next half a block we talk about how she "warmed" me, which naturally warms my heart.  She is amazing.  I take her "four o'clock" with me in a small little paper bag with handles.  Always two cookies, a squeeze tube of some fruit and a bottle of water...must be Evian and sparkling is preferred though seldom delivered.  She eats cookies as we walk home. 

We are never allowed to take the elevator, or "alligator" as she calls it, always the stairs.  It doesn't matter how tired Didi might be or how much his knee might be hurting that day...it is the stairs or nothing.  She loves the echo in the stair well with its marble steps and hard plaster walls.  She climbs each of the circular steps and counts them or sometimes we, by that I mean she, sing.  She knows the words to "Let it Go" and other songs from the movie Frozen all in English.  I think that is pretty good for a 3 year old girl living in France. 

When we come in the door it is shoes off, potty time and then hand washing.  Then we can get down to the business of watching one show of Curious George.  We don't get much more time than that...Mom comes at 5:30 or so...but it is all priceless and it reminds me every time I am able to pick her up that this is the reason we came to France.  The time with grandchildren is truly priceless...simple, yes; slow, yes; repetitive, sometimes; but always priceless.

~V

Quintessentially French

There are just some things that no matter what else happens are so iconically linked to a culture that they become our expected images of what life must be like.  For most Europeans the western movies of John Wayne or even just Hollywood in general cast an image of what America must be like.  We think of Greece as white buildings with blue trim and roofs.  We, or at least I have come to think of Paris and France in general with several of these quintessential images. 

This past week has been full of them as a matter of fact.  A week ago today we went to the big farmers market that is held under the train tracks on Boulevard Rochechouart.  It was amazing.  It reminded me in many ways of the markets in Morocco or Tangiers.  It was loud, vendors constantly shouting their wares, it was crowded with people selling and buying.  But the iconic nature of the farmers' market was lost.  It was too crowded.  You could not walk.  I felt sorry for a little, actually no more than five feet tall, old, probably at least 80 years, woman who was trying to pull her shopping cart behind her through the crowd.  Not going to happen.  We were bumped, pushed, shoved, and most likely cursed at as we tried to find and buy some fresh produce.  We gave up.  Less than halfway through the market we looked at each other and said "no way" we turned around, no small feat in itself, and headed back.  We stopped to buy some peaches, nectarines, apricots, and grapes and then got out of there as fast as we could.  It might be a farmers market but it was not what we had expected based on past experiences in France. 

I was told that the farmers market that I wanted to go to was actually on Friday's.  I had been looking for it on Thursday...no wonder it was not to be found.  I had thought it must be too late in the season or something.  So this Friday I went to this market...still looking for fresh produce.  This one was quintessentially French.  It did not start until 2 in the afternoon...no point in getting up too early.  Starting about noon the vendors were beginning to set up.  The produce vendors were setting up their two tiered tables covered in artificial grass.  The fishmonger was spreading ice on the big stainless trays. The butchers were wheeling in their counters.  By 2 that afternoon it was ready for business and I was ready for it.  I bought potatoes, onions, carrots, apples, bananas, oranges, strawberries, radishes, and even some salmon from the fish monger.  I would have bought from the butcher, the beef looked great, but I had no idea how to ask for the cut of beef I wanted to make pot roast and the term pot roast brought perplexed looks and a shift down the counter from the butcher.  I will work on it for next week. 

This second market was just what i picture when I think of the French farmers markets.  Beautiful produce arranged almost artistically.  I found myself making a mental note to bring my camera next week.  The smells were amazing...the man cooking the chickens on the big rotisseries along with the potatoes and in his case a big, no huge pan of chicken gizzards and livers were cooking as well.  The woman selling flowers had everything you could imagine and all beautiful.  I even stopped and "chatted' if you can call it that with my limited French capability, with the man selling honey, nougats, and hand made soaps.  The honey was from his father's farm in Provence.  This was the iconic image I wanted.  

Why is France usually linked to food?  There is the farmers markets, the baguette of bread, the croissant, pain au chocolat and the brasserie.  Tonight we took a walk through our new hometown and had a wonderful dinner at a, here it is again, quintessential French restaurant or Brasserie.  This one has been around for decades if not centuries.  There are two levels with the upper level looking down on the rest of the establishment.  I had been here with my son years ago and sat up on top...today we sat on the main level at a shared table...another one of those weird French customs that I have not yet gotten use to.  The hostess also sat a young couple from Holland next to us to share the four seats at our table.  They were great fun and we had a lively discussion about French language, places to see in Europe, and for some reason Beyonce and JayZ...who were in concert tonight here in Paris and they had tickets...we, sadly, were not going.  Dinner itself was simple, we had the the day's special, boeuf bourguignon, which came with a pasta side and all the french baguette slices you could eat.  The wine was simply the red house wine but it was more than pleasant and we enjoyed the dinner, the company and the evening. 

On the walk home we stopped at a chocolate shop that has been in existence in this same location for almost 150 years.  We had been there before but this time we knew what we wanted...sort of.  We picked up some great chocolate to bring home for "dessert" later. 

Walking the town, checking out the pâtisseries, the fromageries, the farmers markets, even the brasseries...life is pretty good.  While all of these are iconic images of France and associated with most of the caricatures we think of for the French in general, they are also part of our lives now.  I think we may miss them more than we expected when we return to the US. 

~V

Sixty Million Frenchmen and Me

So I was recently asked how many times a day do I say Fromage...odd question but it made me stop and thing about the stereotypes we have about France and by that I really me Paris.  Even our view of France is a caricature of Paris and not actually the whole of France.  Think France and you first think of the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, or maybe even the Arc d' Triomphe.  We might think of the Champs-Elysee and almost always about the local bistrot where we sit at a table on the street and drink that very small cup of cafe.

But the reality of living in Paris is quite difference.  I actually found myself today walking down the street and thinking I was glad the majority of tourists are gone.  To be sure I live in a tourist trap part of town with the iconic Basilica of Sacre Couer and even the famed Moulin Rouge is just a short walk away so we are inundated with all kinds of tourists from all over the world and all ages.  But even so...the sheer number of tourists is down.  

I enjoy my new home...I like getting up in the morning and walking the three blocks up the street to my favorite Boulangerie for a fresh baguette and maybe if I feel indulgent and croissant or even a pain au chocolat.  But the baguette fresh out of the over is still my favorite.  It doesn't even make it home without losing at least an end to my impatience.  Last week, as I was preparing a simple dinner of pasta and salad fresh bread sounded like the perfect accompaniment but alas we had not bought any that day.  So I simply grabbed some lose change from the dresser and walked five minutes or less up the street.  

That night was special, it was the first night since my big mess with the picket pocket that I felt relaxed again.  I was living in Paris, not just visiting.  I walked up the slowly emptying streets past the art nouveau metro stop at Abesses to Coquelicot, my favorite boulangerie.  I passed the young mother who sits on the street outside the bank begging with her daughter and thought they looked kind and not despairing.  I bought two baguettes and gave one to her as I passed her on the way home....it was fresh and warm and her daughter's eyes lit up as she took the bread from my hand.  She thanked me in French, I responded in French, though probably told her that her liver looked great instead of "it is nothing."  But that night Paris was my home...I did not feel like the tourist. 

I walk these streets every day.  I am coming ominously close to making my 10,000 steps each day.  Not there yet but getting close.  And the hills, why did I choose to live on the only hill in Paris?  If you are not walking up the hill you are climbing stairs.  It is all good in more ways than I can count, but still I am walking more than anytime since my early Disney days sweeping trash in Disneyland.  And I am enjoying it.  I love that autumn is coming.  Some of the leaves are beginning to change and some are falling, just a few but enough to see the brown and gold leaves blowing in the gentle breezes on the cobblestone streets outside our apartment.  Walking there in the morning or evening just at dusk is actually romantic in a sense...a cliche of Paris from the movies. 

Tomorrow I will try that most difficult of all things in a foreign country...I am going to see if I can get a haircut.  It is full of risk...high potential for disaster...but the worse thing that can happen is it has to grow back out, which it will anyway.  If this doesn't work there are other shops and maybe next time my French will be better and I can explain the desired outcome better.  But, if it works...if I can get across my goal in this endeavour...then maybe we will be set for a while and we will know where to go next time.  If it works, I truly will be living in Paris and not just visiting. 

So from here life is looking pretty good.  We are feeling more and more at home and starting this week we become the grandparents we wanted to be as we take care of our two granddaughters while our son and daughter-in-law work.  We have missed much of their lives because of the distance but now we live here, in Paris, and we are just Nana and Didi to two beautiful little girls.  I am not French, won't ever be French, but for now Paris is my home and I am happy to be here. 

~V

Another Fine Mess...

It was like a scene from one of those weird, sad movies.  We had just had a wonderful lunch, fashionably late since we are in Paris, we walked the Champs Elysee back to the Place de Concorde to catch the Metro home.  It was quintessential Paris...the sort of thing we see in the movies and it was changed in an instant. 

We got on the Metro, no problem...we got off the metro, no problem.  We walked the short walk home without a problem but in the end there was a problem.  Somewhere between the Place de Concorde and our apartment my wallet was stolen.  You've seen in in movies or maybe in advertisements for credit cards or insurance companies.  Who knows when, the wallet was in my pocket.  I try to remember in Paris and most of Europe to put my wallet in my front pocket but habit wins out sometimes.  When I am not thinking it ends up in the traditional American male spot of the hip pocket.  But not a good idea in this environment.  It wasn't there.

OK...we can handle this.  I knew exactly what was in my wallet.  I guess this is unusual but for some reason I remember things like this.  Called the credit card companies.  American Express, no problem, they will FedEx a new card to me and I should have it in two business days.  Bank of America, Discover, likewise...they will mail them to my address in the US and I will get them FedExed to me from there.  But the Bank Debit Card that I use to access my bank accounts which is to say, get cash, was not so easy.  I spent over an hour on the phone from France to the US only to be told that it would take two to three weeks.  Why?  Well they updated my address since I moved from Chicago and for some reason I told them that today, so it would take three days to process that change.  They could not send the card to any address but the one on my account so I would have to go to a branch to get the card...what part of Paris France do they not understand.  OH...out of the country.  Well that would take three weeks to mail it.  No they won't FedEx it...not even using my FedEx account for the charges.  So after much complaining and stressing out, they finally agreed to research what could be done.  Two hours later, we can FedEx it to an address in the US but it must be the address on the account.  With an "alternative approach" they could change my address today and FedEx it out this afternoon.  But the new address still had to be in the USofA.  Glad one of our children decided to stay an American resident. 

Is all this life changing?  No not really.  I am luckier than most...only one card was attempted to be used, and it was not successful, before I got all the proper notices out.  I did lose my Social Security Card...though I suspect the person who lifted my card will not have much use for that, in the US perhaps but not here given that the most logical thief was a gypsy on the street.  Still all the agencies were notified.  It could have been much worse.  I will be fine.  But it did make me stop and wonder. 

I wonder if they targeted me because I looked American or a tourist or was it just luck that they got my cards.  I wonder what would have happened if I had had a cheat sheet in my wallet with all the pin numbers.  I wonder what might have happened if this had occurred in the US.  And then I wondered what makes a person take something from someone else's pocket.  My French son says it is likely that it was gypsies and most likely a child as this is common in Paris.  A child...really?  There was no cash in the wallet.  I'm one of those guys who uses a money clip so it was only cards.  Ironically the credit card folks were worried about fraud because my driver's license was in the wallet as well...why does this make it fraud susceptible...I'll never know and probably don't need to. 

I wondered about the child, if it was a child, that was taught to do this and where do they end up.  The UNC ran a very successful, even iconic, ad campaign for years that said "A mind is a terrible thing to waste" and somehow that keeps going through my mind tonight as I think about some child being taught to pick pockets for cash, credit cards and the like.  It has to be a spiral down from there...where does the mind go to excel if all it is taught is to steal?  I find myself thinking about who took the wallet and what did they "need" that caused them to do it?  Would I have helped them if they had asked?  Not likely, especially since I would not understand them and given the number of "gypsies" at all the tourist stops I would probably simply kept my head down and kept walking.  Could we make a difference in these lives and minds if we stopped?  Not likely.  But still...I wonder about the person anyway. 

So tonight I will go to sleep in my apartment in Paris and think about what I should have, could have, would have done if I had known.  I will go to sleep thanking all the folks who helped me out today as I tried to solve all the problems and get new cards.  I'll go to sleep thinking about where do I find a new wallet...how do I keep it safe next time. 

So the day ends...

~V

One Day In Paris

The door closed 10 minutes early.  The take off from SeaTac was 20 minutes late but the arrival  at Charles DeGaulle was 15 minutes early...so goes the joys, perils, and realities of modern travel.  But this was different.  It was the beginning of a grand adventure.  Nearly six months will be spent in Europe, most of it it France and specifically in Paris.

After an hour and a half of slow shuffling through the queue at immigration we were reminded of a major truth about Europe, they don't use air conditioning at the same rate we do in the US.  Everyone arriving on the flight from Seattle, and for that matter Chicago and Newark who were sharing the queue with us, were "glowing," perspiration was dripping off foreheads.  We finally got our five bags together and joined the second queue of the day...the taxi line. 

The driver was kind, he managed to get all the bags and us into a Peugeot 304 hatchback and we headed to our new apartment home for the next several months.  Msr.  LeDuc met us at the apartment and showed us around the place. There were instructions on how to use the washer/dryer, the cooktop, the wifi internet and then a quick survey of the apartment's condition.  What was missing was instructions on how to get the key out of the door, but that would come later.

The bags were unpacked, the clothes put away, the gifts and supplies were stored and then the suitcases and bags were stored away out of sight and traffic patterns until we need them for our return.  Then we were off to check on our son's apartment, gather up some wonderful gifts from the grandkids and then to the grocery store for much needed supplies.  It was a bit odd, we have both been in this part of Paris on numerous occasions but we remember different things about it.  Carefour is this way, I said...no this way she said.  After agreeing that she had been here more recently we went with her instructions and she was right...there was A Carefour grocery store that way afterall.  Turns out I too was right and the one I remember is closer to our apartment but the one she remembered is closer to the kids apartment.  The good news is that our memories are still intact...take that Alzheimer's. 

Paris is truly a beautiful city.  In August most of the citizens go on vacation so the city is pretty quiet and filled mostly with tourists.  We discovered if you are carrying several bags of groceries up the street people think you live here and know where things are.  Not true tourists...we know nothing, except where to buy groceries to begin to stock up the house.  None-the-less, we enjoyed the walk home and stopped a few times to check out some of the local stores.  We will be back. 

So, while the trip was uneventful and the unpacking of the suitcases and the packing of the pantry were done we were still on Pacific Daylight Time and in much need of a nap.  The apartment is quite grand in that one whole end of the living room is window wall and can be opened to allow cool breezes through to the bedroom where the window opens onto the street below.  There is some street noise at nap-time but for the most part it was good to get some much needed sleep.  Dinner was simple, some poached salmon and a simple salad, and some fresh bread.  Who doesn't like the fresh French breads?

After dinner we realized our fist day in Paris was coming to an end.  It was a quite time for reading and reflecting and just sharing our day with each other.  The adventure began pretty uneventful, the day was beautiful and quiet, the weather was magnificent.  What more could two vagabonds want...life is truly good.

~V

It Goes On

Robert Frost once said "In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: it goes on.  I've always enjoyed the poetry of Robert Frost and somehow it was no surprise I suspect that when my life got turned upside down recently and I started to wonder what was happening in my life, that I would return to his three simple words...it goes on.

I sit her writing this post as a team of packers are moving methodically through the house putting everything into boxes.  There is the constant sound of rustling papers as things are wrapped and packed. This is punctuated periodically by the scratching sounds of tape being pulled over boxes and new boxes being assembled.  Every now and again someone finds me to tell me that they can't pack things like light bulbs or matches or even ammunition, the latter I thought was all out of the house by now. 

But the real story began months ago as we started to plan for this trip.  It was overwhelming at first.  We had accumulated so much over the years.  Not all of it was our fault...we inherited much of it. With each move in our life we clean out what seems to be literally tons of stuff.  This was no exception.  The "downsizing" of possessions is in many ways painful.  What you acquire, you tend to acquire because you like it and as such it becomes a part of you or at least a part of your life. I took more than six hundred pounds of books to the thrift store and donated them.  It was painful.  I read every one of those books, they were stories that took me on adventures, piqued my emotions, taught me, encouraged me or just amused me but they all were part of the fabric of my life.  But, now they are gone.

Load after load of stuff went the way of the books.  Crock pots, rice cookers, fondue pots, clothes, tools, and so on and so on.  We had to call in a junk man to take some of the stuff, it was just too big to load up and haul away ourselves.  A 1920's era tandem bike that I have been promising to restore for the past three decades is gone. So is the treadmill that quit working after the last move, the adjustable bed that no longer adjusted and so on and so on. 

For some time it was depressing.  It felt like part of me was going away with each load.  And then the words of Robert Frost echoed.  It goes on.  The clearing out of the house was in part because we are of an age where if we don't do this our children will get stuck with it and part of it was because we are going to try to downsize our living arrangements when we finally settle down so that we can travel more and do the things we always promised we would do when we retired.  But most importantly the downsizing was important because it was in a way freeing or liberating.  There is just so much one can do with all that stuff.  It takes up space, it requires space, it takes time and in many ways it represents all the things we thought we could, would or should do that we won't do. 

I've discovered I prefer a gym to the treadmill in the basement, I prefer walks to bike rides, I prefer risotto to just cooked rice.  These are all things that I now have time to do since retiring that I couldn't do before.  I prefer time with my grandchildren to time alone in a workshop.  I prefer seeing the real world to just reading about it.  And so life does go on.  We change over time, our needs, our preferences, our likes and dislikes even reality changes over time. 

The move had me terrified for a while.  I was worried that I didn't know where we were going to live.  How could we downsize stuff without knowing how much room we would have.  I worried about the time in Paris.  Where would we live, how would we communicate.  All that is important, I know, but in the scheme of things it all works out. I am learning more about trusting and being comfortable with letting go of things knowing that in the end God will watch over us and things will work out.  This too has been a freeing experience.  And now I am not terrified of the unknowns in the future...life will go on and we will survive, God willing. 

So now we are at the point where we have nothing left to do.  The movers are packing the stuff of our lives and all we can do is answer the occasional question...yes that is old...no that does not go...label that Living Room or Bedroom or Narnia...but all in all we are now to the point where life is going on.  How it goes is the adventure. 

When all is said and done...tomorrow evening the truck will pull out of the driveway and we will be left with a bit of cleanup and then loading the car and we will drive off into the Chicago sunset and head into our next adventure.  Life will go on and for now I can't wait to see where it goes from here. 

~V

Changes

Ecclesiastes 3...we have heard it read and quoted since we were children.  I bet that just the title of the Book, Ecclesiastes, is enough to bring back memories of those oft repeated words.  A time to...fill in the blank, you know the choices.  A time for war and a time for peace, words that became an anthem of sorts for my generation when the Byrds turned it into a top selling song and album with Turn Turn Turn.  But still, it was these words written so long ago by King Solomon as he neared the end of his life that were resonating with me this past couple of weeks. 

Not to worry, I don't think I am reaching the end of my life or anything but it is simply the recognition that time moves on and that changes happen.  And I have to say, changes are happening. 

Life seemed so quiet and good and things were pretty much all in place.  Then just as I retired, one major life change, my daughter told me that they would be moving away to the Pacific Northwest.  So we made a decision to follow along, the soundness of that decision is called into account regularly but still it was and is the right decision, that makes two major life changes.  Then my mother-in-law passed away, she was 95 and a remarkable woman who lived a great life but still it was life change number three for us.  In less than a month we had the house on the market and now it appears to be sold, it took less than a week, so we have life change number four. 

Don't get me wrong, change is not bad and even major life changes are not bad.  They often bring about the best things in life.  But, they do take their toll on you.  Each one takes a big portion of your brain's processing power.  They raise havoc on your emotions and perhaps most importantly they can cause you question your decisions.  When there are four of them at once the doubts grow and they can lead to a sense of paralysis that overtakes your whole life. 

So for right now...I'm are just taking one day at a time.

Kicking Down the Cobblestones...

This winter was truly the winter of our discontent.  Almost two years ago we moved to Chicago or at least the near-by suburbs.  It was  a move made for all the right reasons.  The job change was just what I was looking for, a chance to allow my faith to influence my work and vice versa.  It was also a great opportunity to be closer to my daughter and her wonderful family...and especially a little two year old boy with a big smile and a twinkle in his eye.  All was wonderful.  We found a new home that we truly love, we made friends, found a great church home and perhaps the best part we started a new tradition of Sunday dinners as a family...an extended family.

This winter, however, brought much change.  It was a somewhat harsh winter.  The natives say it was the worst winter in more than thirty years.  We had snow of some form on the ground from before Christmas all the way to the week before Easter.  It was not the pristine white fluffy snow that one loves to see falling on Christmas Eve.  This was the dirty, icy, slushy piles of frozen debris that never seems to go away.  The week before Thanksgiving our temperatures dropped below 60 and never got above that mark until the second week of April.  Along the way we had temps below zero on several occasions and even as much as 20 below with the wind chill factored in.  

But it wasn't just the weather that turned bad.  The job that I had so loved when I started began to take a toll.  Everything I had been told about the guy I was working for turned out to be a sugar coated story about him.  It became clear that we had drastically different views on leadership and management and the value of the people we were leading.  After several challenging disagreements it became clear that the differences were more than one could reasonably overcome.  It became clear that retirement was the best option.  Don't get me wrong, I love it.  I am spending more time with that twinkly eyed little boy and thoroughly enjoying every minute.  I took a vacation, the first real vacation in many years, more years than I can remember.  We spent time with friends sitting on the beach, sipping margaritas and beer and watching some of God's most beautiful sunsets.  Retirement is definitely agreeing with me...but, it took a real struggle to get me to go there.

On the same day I retired my daughter told us that her husband was considering a position with a tech company on the west coast.  Now what?  We moved here to be close to them and our now two grandsons and they were leaving.  We have only been in the house a short while so we will need a miracle to get our money out of it given all the improvements we have made.  We will have to pack up again, we still have some boxes in the basement and attic that have not been unpacked...and it starts all over again. 

Then I remembered, late one night or more likely early one morning, that this winter was brutal.  We moved to be close to family and that the closeness was what really mattered.  I remembered that the move to Chicago was not necessarily our first choice and we had actually looked at the same city that the family is now moving to when we considered this move.  I remembered that I was now free from a job and able to live anywhere I wanted.  Everything I was worried about was not really an issue. 

Sure the winter had brought several major changes. It brought career ends, career changes, bitter cold weather.  But it had also brought a new grandson with a smile to melt your heart, it brought a new granddaughter with a face to light up a room, it brought the freedom to, for the first time, move to wherever we wanted, it brought a family closer together with meals and conversations and babysitting days and breakfasts with my grandson and excursions to the hardware store.  This winter did not go like any other...but perhaps it came and went just like it was suppose to.

So now we are looking at houses on online real estate sites and "shopping" for that new place to call home.  We are anxiously waiting to find out where the extended family ends up so that we can be close enough for Sunday dinner and babysitting, but not so close as to get in the way.  Something big enough to accommodate out of town visitors but small enough to allow us to travel and enjoy some of the sights we have been wanting to see.  Somehow the winter that was so dark is giving way to a spring that is full of hope.  

For now I will just continue looking for fun, cross over that 59th Street Bridge and feel as groovy as I can.  Life is looking up from this vantage point. 

~V

That Lost Shaker of Salt

There are few things in this world as peaceful and peace inducing as a walk on the beach.  This even more true if you can do it at sunrise or sunset. when it is not a playground for the masses.  I think my favorite time is sunrise, the beach is clean, there are undisturbed shells and those few people you see are there for the same quiet communion.  A quick, quiet hello is all the conversation one needs at that time of day.

I'm still trying to adjust to this concept of retirement, and in the end I may not quite make it and end up doing something to keep my hand in the game as it were.  But two weeks in Florida after a fairly brutal winter is enough to make anyone think that retirement is way more than it was cracked up to be.

 I'm sitting on the deck of the condo we are renting and watching the beach today.  It seems to almost breathe; the day dawns with a quiet almost empty stretch of sand and over the course of the day it gathers people; each taking their own slice of paradise, a little blue umbrella, a beach chair, a yellow and white stripped towel.  Lunch time comes and maybe there is a shallow exhale as folks leave go in and refuel for the afternoon.  Then the afternoon inhale brings back the hoards.  It will remain this way until late in the afternoon as folks leave to go inside and recover...wash off the sand and salt, put on some soothing lotion and  trying to quiet down for an evening's rest.  

I'm generally not one for crowded anythings...beaches included.  So it is not surprising, then, that I find the early mornings and late evenings to be my favorite times to go there, but, it is not just the lack of crowds that makes these times of the day special.  Somehow it is a time when it feels like God is walking on His beach too.  You can actually hear the lapping of the waves, feel the shifting of the sands beneath your feet, see the shells as they tumble in and feel the breeze coming on shore to greet you.  It is also a time when you can allow those breezes to clear your head and enjoy some quiet time, distraction free, to think, pray, or just dream.

There is a lot going on in my transitioning life.  Retirement brings its own challenges, what to do with one's self.  Then there is the potential of an upcoming move.  Not quite two years ago we moved to the midwest for a job and by luck to be closer to our family. Well, as recorded earlier the job has ended and now the family is talking about moving west.  So my quiet talks with God on the beach this morning were mostly about moving...should we, if so where to.  Don't get me wrong, staying close to family is important but moving west puts us farther from our other child and make the commute to see them in Europe even longer and more expensive.  Then there is the location, the Pacific Northwest.  It is known for its overcast, drizzly, wet  climate that produces the beautiful emerald green world for which it is also known.  

We aren't sure that the depressingly grey skies are our first choice for the golden years. But there is the strong draw of a soon-to-be three year old's smile or the twinkle in his brothers eye that makes the idea of not moving almost unbearable.  Maybe this is the time to really downsize and move to something much smaller and more manageable so that we can travel more and spend more time abroad.  Maybe it is a time to put down roots that will last the rest of our lives?  I'm not sure that really ever works in this world but maybe.  

So much to think about.  For now, the beach is a welcome retreat.  It gives us time to just slow down, think and breathe.  It also gives us time to relax with dear friends and spend some time with others who have gone down the path before us to think out loud about the decisions.  And, the beach is also giving us some time to just have fun.  So for now, I think I am just going to see if I can find my lost shaker of salt...settle into Margaritaville and maybe look into fishing some pilings.  Tonight, I'll walk the beach with the sunset.

Retirement

Well I did it...I pulled the trigger and retired.  Ironically someone I respect quite a bit sent me a note to congratulate me and added..."is this permanent or just an interim thing?"  Who knows?

Many years ago I was part of a men's small group made up of CEO's.  We met at 6:30 every Thursday morning for breakfast, fellowship, prayer and just time together to encourage and care for each other.  I miss that group more than almost anything else I've been part of but that is a story for another time.  In that group we were talking about the challenges of leading companies and I said that sometimes I just wanted to give it all up and move to Montana an buy an old hardware store. 

One of my fellow CEO's listened and then said ..."yeah right, you would buy the place, refinish all the old hardwood floors to get rid of the creaks and then automate the inventory and to be searchable via computer, take special orders, build a porch out front with rocking chairs and install an espresso machine so you could serve lattes.  Once you got it running smoothly you would franchise it and move on to the next big thing."  So who knows if this is permanent...only time will tell. 

My wife has not yet gotten tired of me around the house.  So far she likes that I am cooking more often.  I love to cook so that is not bad.  I've joined a gym...the last time I belonged to a gym Ronald Reagan was President.  But on the other hand I am enjoying the time to clear my head and maybe lose some of the stress weight I have gained over the past 25 years.  Yes you can laugh at the idea of stress weight over 25 years and say that sounds ridiculous...25 years of stress?  But most CEOs know what that is like...you worry about the company, the employees, the families of employees, the shareholders, the stakeholders, the customers.  It doesn't end at sun down, or even in the garage as you get out of the car.  It is a 24 hour a day thing.

Just to put that in perspective...I retired nearly a month ago and I am still going to bed at night thinking about the people who use to work for me.  I think about things that probably are falling through the cracks, not because I was so good but because the organization was still not structured to have someone take up what I left behind.  The website is still being build, the development plan is still not finalized, finances are still in a bit of flux.  But, I could have stayed for another five  years and those things would still be in work. They will never really be finished, or at least they shouldn't be.  But the point...even when you leave you still care.  Being in charge is more than a job...it's part of you, if you really do it right. 

Now I get to spend one day a week with my grandson...the smartest boy on the planet.  Some day I will get to spend some more time with his little brother, though for now he comes attached to his mother, if you know what I mean, but that will pass with age.  It is a joy to take him to the museum, or have lunch at the train restaurant.  Yesterday he had the biggest eyes in the world when he saw the cases at Dunkin Donuts. Grandma wanted coffee but we ended up with three donuts for the road as well.  Who knows what next week will hold...maybe a forklift at Home Depot or Costco...the world is so exciting.

I've been thinking about building a house...something one story or at least with a first floor master bedroom and a nautilus shower, something I've always wanted.  A study that has a view and good lighting so I can write.  Maybe the "Great American Novel" is buried in me somewhere, though that is unlikely.  But maybe, a good book on Christian Business Ethics or something might be there.

Maybe I will start my executive coaching firm or at least begin to mentor young executives again.  I did some of that in the past and I enjoyed the time. 

Who knows...the opportunities are limitless right now.  The horizon is far off and the time it takes to get there is passing slowly for now.  In the mean time I just know that I look forward to the night that I go to sleep and not worry about someone or something at the company.  I look forward to spending time with the world's greatest grandson and with any luck I will make a trip to Europe to visit his cousin...the world last remaining true princess.  I'm hoping she will teach me to dance. 

So for all of you who were wondering...I'm doing fine. I'm working on getting use to this retirement thing and I am not planning on franchising anything for the time being.  Stay tuned.

Agape Allelon

Agape allelon...Love one another.  

Yes, this sounds like something our grandmothers use to tell us about our siblings or something we learned in Sunday School. But I wonder if it isn't more appropriate in today's world than we might think.

Consider all the issues we are having globally...the Crimea, Sudan, the Middle East, even the US of A...it seems that the news is always about one person or group trying to take control over another, if not physically at least mentally or philosophically.  How much better would the world be or seem if we all took a step back and simply loved one another.  I know, there are some of my readers who are thinking I've gone off the deep end or at least have become a bit corny.

But, is it really all that hard.

Let's take it a bit slower and closer to home.  When you were in the grocery store last time did you take just a second to let someone else go ahead of you in an aisle or did you get frustrated by someone getting ahead of you?  What about taking the short time it takes to say hello to the produce man and acknowledge the quality of the produce.  What about greeting the checker by name...they wear name tags...or maybe just the young person, or senior adult, who is packing your groceries into those bags.  How much time does it take to just acknowledge that they are human and to show them a little love by saying "hi, how's your day going?"  The simple expression of concern for another person is lifting to both parties. 

OK...so you think that isn't so hard?  What about saying hello  to your neighbors?  I read somewhere recently that there is very high percentage, over half, of Americans who profess to not know the names of their neighbors.  Listen to the news sometime...when there is some tragedy in a neighborhood we hear the reporters ask the neighbors about the person who was affected, but what is the response?  Usually, more often than not, we hear that they were "quiet people, never caused any problems, kept to themselves.  Call me crazy, but, I would rather my neighbors said that I was a great guy who would shovel the snow for the widow next door or coach the little league, the first to help those around me, was part of the community and will be missed than that I was a quiet guy who kept to myself. 

What about at work?  What would it take to be the guy who shovels the snow off the walkway in the morning for your fellow workers, or makes the coffee, reloads the copiers whether then need it or not just so that someone else won't have to do it?  What would it really take away from us to help the person who is working overtime to get out that project even if it is just proofreading or collating or...?  What about just bringing a cup of coffee to the person in the next cubicle when we get one for ourselves?  Or, here is an even easier one...what about just saying hello in the morning to those around us by name...I'm not talking about the generic, grumbly hi as we walk by their workspace I mean a real Hi Bob or Hi Mary how's it going today.  Do anything interesting last night?  Showing someone a little love is not so hard.  It is about respecting them as human beings, God's people.  It can't be superficial and count, you have to mean what you say, but still, it isn't all that hard to invest a bit of time, a bit of yourself, a bit of love in those we meet in this world. 

It is interesting that in John 13 34:45 or in Luke 10:27 when Jesus calls us to love one another or to love our neighbors as ourselves, respectively, he doesn't say we have to like each other, or like what the other does, or like who the other likes, all He asks of is it to Love, Agape Love, one another, unconditional love.  He says that by this they will know we are his disciples.  Somehow in the world today we have this feeling that we have to like someone before we can love them. But that is not point.  The whole idea of loving someone regardless of who they are or what they do or what they believe is very empowering and freeing. 

If we would all just take the time to love those around us, to care a bit more about them, the world just might be a little bit better.  Let's accept that we are all different, that no two people will see the same thing exactly the same.  Let's take a few minutes to celebrate that the world is not made up of millions of us but by millions of individuals all of whom need to be loved a bit more.  Step outside our comfort zones a bit and just unexpectedly love one person today, let them know that they are special.  It is not hard, I promise, and it gives us as "lovers" a great feeling for making one life a little brighter. In time maybe we can change the world?  What is that expression about a butterfly in the Amazon..flap your wings and see what happens. 

Love Is In The Air

It was just a simple paper heart, but it meant all the love in the world to her.  Mothers seem to know just how to react to the simplest of gestures.  Love seemed so simple in those early days of childhood.  Then came independence, puberty, adulthood, parenthood and what ever passes for life.  Love became way to complex...or did it.

At this time of year, mid-February, everyone seems to be thinking about love or at least the idea of love.  St. Valentine's day comes along and there are some who hope for engagement rings, jewelry, flowers, candlelit dinners, and all the trappings that pass for love.  For those on the quest for love it can be a very lonely day, it can be a day of hopes and dreams and fears and doubts all at once.  But when all is said and done what is it we are looking for?

I have to admit that I am one of the blessed...I have found the love of my life.  In fact, it was 45 years ago this week that we had our first date.  Yep, I'm a guy who remembers not only the date, but where we went and what she wore even after nearly half a century.  From my vantage point there is a lot to be said about love. 

We have been married now for going on forty one years...yes there was such a thing as courtship and getting to know each other before marriage.  But even after all those years I can tell you that there is nobody in this world that means as much to me as that girl who swept me off my feet all those years ago. So just what is love?

I don't claim to be an expert on the psychology of emotions, but I think love is more than just some hyper-release of endorphins.  It is a commitment, it is a deep trust, it is putting someone else ahead of yourself.  In the words of those great collaborators Learner and Lowe..."She almost makes the day begin, like breathing out and breathing in."  It is growing so close that you can't forget the tune she whistles night and noon, her smiles, her frowns, her ups and yes even her downs.  It is the other person's voice, their smile, the constancy of their breath, breathing out and in.  I heard of a man who spent many years trying to find the cologne that his wife had worn.  She passed away and he missed her most when he went to bed at night.  He missed her smell on the pillow.  He wanted the cologne to spay on the bed to help him sleep. After many months of searching for the right scent he discovered that it was just her shampoo.  The point, it is the simple parts of a life deeply shared that are truly love.

Recently the love of my life was away...she went out of state to visit her mother as she celebrated her 95th birthday.  Momentous occasion no doubt.  But it struck me while she was gone was the realization that after 40+ years of being together, of sharing a bed, a bedroom and bathroom, or simply just a home there was a big void created by her absence.  I went to bed and realized how little of the bed I actually take up by myself.  I found that when I woke up during the night I missed her presence on the other side of the bed, I missed the cuddling the warmth, the smell of her being there.  All of that too is part of loving someone. 

Somehow in the world today there is a huge lack of understanding for something that we all crave so deeply.  The need to be loved is most assuredly craved.  I think it is the reason that couples move in together before marriage.  They don't know that they want the commitment but they know they want to be loved.  But somehow it is in the commitment of loving someone for a lifetime that we truly find the love we are looking for in our lives. 

When we got married, oh so many years ago, the ceremony was much more traditional than we see today.  The vows were almost archaic...“I take thee to be my wedded wife, To have and to hold from this day forward, For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part,  according to God’s holy ordinance; And thereto I plight thee my troth.”  I still don't know what it was exactly that I plighted but I do remember that both of us were struggling under our breath as we tried to repeat that line without laughing.  But, the  point is that it was a promise, a solemn promise that love would endure.  Who knew that it would become something that not only endured but grew and became so much a part of who I am and who we are that it is almost impossible to think about a life any other way. 

So tomorrow is St. Valentine's Day.  It is a day we celebrate love.  It is also the second biggest day for sale of candy and flowers.  But, I know that tomorrow I will wake up and roll out of bed ever so carefully so as to not wake the person I have come to love so much who will be sleeping on the other side of the bed.  Maybe if I'm lucky she will be cuddled up against me when I wake up.  I'll shower quietly, dress, go down stairs and have some breakfast all as quietly as possible to not wake her.  I will put some special song up on iTunes so that it will be playing when she comes down hours later and there will be a box of candy and a card but most importantly, she will know that beyond a shadow of a doubt she is the most loved person in the world. Not because of the candy, the card or the music.  But because of the life we share, the love we share. 

~V

Life's Illusions

As a child of the leading edge of the Baby Boomer generation I am old enough to remember when folk music was among the most popular genres of music on the radio.  Sure there was rock and roll and even some country out on the airwaves but it was the ballads of the folk musicians that made me and many others stop and listen.  One of the most influential songwriters and performers of that era was an amazing voice from Canada, Joni Mitchell. I know that many who read this will not know of her early work, may not have heard of her at all but for me she had a clarity of message that resonated with my life at the time.

Recently I was listening to some old classics on Pandora, even old people use digital music delivery, and I heard these words;

"I've looked at life from both sides now
From WIN and LOSE and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all"

When you are a teenager or an early twenty something you think you have enough experiences to say those words and have a sense of conviction.  I did anyway.  I thought, somehow, I knew enough to understand what she meant by life's illusions.  As my age tripled and my experience grew in orders of magnitude I hear those words this week and, somehow, believe I now know what she means...life's illusions. 

I have a friend...a great friend in fact...who recently concluded a divorce.  Some would say that it was amicable, based on what you see on the news about celebrity divorces it was downright peaceful.  But that does not mean there weren't some illusions that were broken by reality.  It does not mean that there was not deep pain, a sense of guilt perhaps, maybe even a bit of relief but still there had to be some sense that everything you believed about marriage is no longer true. 

I suppose in this world where half of all marriages end in divorce some would see this as the, or at least a, normal turn of events and nothing too remarkable.  But, for this particular case the story went deeper.  The decision was more than painful it was heart wrenching.  The idea that what you believed would never be put asunder by any man was somehow going to go away peaceful or not makes you want to try with all your heart to obtain a different outcome.  The decision...that idea that we can just choose to do something...is perhaps one of the truly underestimated terms in all of the English language.

I too have been dealing with my illusions.  I too have been facing a decision.  A decision that is not easy.  Like my friend I wonder if there is anything I can do to change the inevitable outcome.  Have I done everything I can to resolve the bilious situation and turn it into what my illusions had envisioned. 

I have been looking at both sides now...I've tried to give and not take and still somehow the illusion remains elusive.  I had hoped, no I had actually expected, that the situation would have been different.  I thought a partnership was possible, I thought I brought something to the table that both sides needed and that it would be a win and not a loss.  But alas, I really did not understand.

Decisions are hard sometimes for all the wrong reasons.  We know the answer, we know what the decision must be, but still, we want the elusive outcome to somehow miraculously appear, to survive the illusion.  I've laid in bed at night playing out all the options in my mind.  Could I do this, would it be better if only I could do that?  Did I try hard enough?  Is the problem inside my head, is it of my own making and not actually the disconnect between sides?  Am I truly motivated by what is right or is my own pride driving the conditions that cause the problem.  Like my friend, I want to find a solution, I am willing to do whatever it takes to make it work, but in the end there are two sides, there is give and take, and there is the illusion that what we crave will be possible, but the reality is that it's all an illusion.

Once we come to the point where we know the decision we must make, when the illusion is broken, we feel a sense of relief.  It will be so much better once we finally get this over with.  But unlike colonoscopies or tooth extractions the pain does not go away so easy.  The sense of relief that comes from knowing the resolution, the direction, only starts another set of anxieties.  How do we do what we have to do?  How do we express the issues?  How do we choose to end the relationships. 

I know what my decision must be.  I know what I need to do.  But, still I wonder about timing, about how to communicate it, how to make sure others understand why the decisions was made.  We start all over again looking at it from both sides, from win and lose.  Who will be hurt by the choices we make...and you know somebody will be hurt. 

Finally the decision itself wins out and "...they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation."  That line by the way for my friends who are not so much students of history begins with "When in the course of human events..."  So now we are truly at the point in the decision process that begins to feel like the unwanted surgical or medical procedure.  Once we declare the cause we set the course, or we make the play it will be out of our hands and then the true sense of relief can settle in. 

In my case I have spent seven months processing the problem, considering the cause, questioning the motives.  I have been angry, I have been embarrassed, I've been humiliated, and I have also been repentant, I've been humble, I have been patient but it has been seven long months coming to what was always an inevitable resolution. 

I will look back I am sure and think or wonder why it was so hard to see.  That pesky hindsight is always so much clearer than the reality we look back on. We ask how could we have not known what the answer would or should be. In truth we did know, we always knew.  We just did not want to believe.  We wanted to see our illusion live on...we wanted the illusion to be reality.

It is nearly midnight, and once again I have not been able to sleep.  I have been tossing and turning and playing out the decision.  I have been asking myself; how do I communicate the decision, when do I pull the proverbial trigger.  And perhaps most importantly I am trying with all my heart to figure out how to do what I must do without hurting anyone else unnecessarily, especially the innocent. 

So, the decision is not easy, it is going to be painful.  When we get through it there will be relief, there may even be some euphoria and the breaking of the bands that connect us to another will give a sense of freedom.  In the end, though, it will come back to Joni Mitchell "... somethings lost and somethings gained in living every day."  It is going to be OK, I am going to be OK. 

Clarence

All I want for Christmas...you fill in the blank.  Christmas is that time of year when we are suppose to turn to family, think thoughts about the closeness of our family, be reminded of the joy in the world and find comfort in being together.  But somehow it is also a time when so many find themselves facing great depression.  I'm sure that some of that depression is caused or created by the lack of the above attributes of the season, but still one has to ponder the question why.  With all that is in the world that is designed to make us happy at this time of year why are there so many looking for some shred of happiness?

There are times when I clearly understand that sense of depression.  My father died on Thanksgiving day and that day brings back some of those memories.  My mom and her family made Christmas celebrations truly fun...well actually FUN.  There was laughter, happiness, joking, playing, good-natured teasing.  There we songs....some sung with the traditional words and others with the words that only family would understand.  Deck the halls with balls of ivy instead of the traditional Deck the halls with boughs of holly...but who cares really. 

I am one of those people who like to get the Christmas shopping done early.  Usually it is all taken care of by the second week of December.  This is somewhat forced by having to ship so much overseas and to one of the coasts, but still, it is a good feeling.  Wrapping is special to me...I like to take my time and do something unexpected, unusual, and in a design sense "fresh" but it takes me almost as much time to think through the wrapping motif for the year as to gather the gifts.  Some would point out that it is all gone in 30 minutes but to them I would only say...but it looked beautiful, or fun, or whatever. 

But the real joy to me comes by going shopping on Christmas eve or the day before and when the mall is packed giving up a parking space to a frantic shopper and wishing them a Merry Christmas, or just walking down the aisle of walkways of the malls and wishing folks a Merry Christmas.  You would be amazed at the responses I get...some look at me like I am crazy, others like I was scrooge personified though I don't know why.  Yesterday I helped a funny older woman make a decision on mittens for her grandsons and grandsons-in-law.  They were all getting the same gift.  She just wanted to know if the size was big enough.  Merry Christmas and have a great time with your family I said as I left and she called back they would all be at her house tonight.  I really love it when someone smiles and says Merry Christmas back or simply says thank you...I feel like I have made their holiday a bit brighter. 

For many years I would watch "It's a Wonderful Life" during the Christmas holidays.  I used to think it was a heart warming story of how we miss the love in our lives...both given and received.  Then a few years back all I could see in the story was how hard George worked to make things better and I could in some arrogant way identify with that part of the story.  I felt his frustration, is sadness, his loneliness and that overwhelmed and overpowered the part of the story about how much he was loved.  I haven't watched the movie in four years now...I am sort of afraid to find out what part will resonate with me.  But recently I think I missed the point altogether...maybe it was Clarence that I was supposed to notice and not George Bailey at all.  Remember Clarence is the angel who comes to show George what the world would be like if he wasn't here....if his wish were true.  Clarence, if one doesn't believe in angels is at the very least our conscience, shows George what the world would have been like...how much he would have been missed and how the lives of so many would have been much worse.  Instead of focusing on George's sadness or his joy perhaps the real message I should have been noticing is that regardless of how we may feel the world is impacted by us and through Clarence George comes to see his impact was positive, joyful, uplifting, and by all means love.  Each of us needs a little Clarence now and then to remind us of our goodness, our ability to make lives better for those we love and care about. 

So when I think back on my walks through the mall on the days leading up to Christmas...I think maybe I was more Clarence than anything else.  Maybe at Christmas we should all work to be Clarence...reminding people how much they are loved and how much we feel loved by them.

So here's to Clarence...may your bell continue to ring every day.

~V

Magic....Pure Magic

And then there were eight.  There is something about being a  parent that seems to just pull at your heart when you children move away.  You know intellectually that you have been raising them to be successful, to be independent, to have great lives of their own, but when it happens it is still hard.  The young man who marries and finds that his mother feels conflicted whenever he comes over...or more accurately leaves...sometimes wonders what the issue is.  It is hard for parents, especially those who are close to their children to let go, though, we rarely want to have to hold on.    

My son married a lovely young woman who happens to be French.  We love her, she is absolutely amazing.  But, that does not explain away the feeling of losing our son.  It is hard even when your child moves out and lives just a few miles away or even a few hours away.  But thousands of miles separated by huge bodies of water and nine hours in the air is often hard to take...we miss them both so much.  But the good news is that they came to visit...arrived yesterday as a matter of fact.  And last night was magical.   

Magical not just because our granddaughter took over the house and ran off with our hearts.  For that matter the magic did not come from having just our son and daughter in law in the house to talk to and hug.  The magic came in being a family. 

Our daughter lives just a few short minutes away.  That was not always so, but after a move on our part last year we are now three minutes away and not three hours in the airplane away.  In fact, we get to see our grandson at least once every week if not more, and it is, more often than not, more.  He knows this house, thinks of it as his own or at least an extension of his own.  He knows my chair and in the evening after work will sit next to me and we will talk about our days...did I mention that he is two and a half...his day is always more exciting than mine.  They, too, came over last night for dinner. 

And now to the magic.  Two children born just months apart, who have not seen each other since they were just one, other than electronic images in Facetime or Skype, hugged each other and played like long lost friends.  They watched each other eat and copied what and when they took bites...they shared blocks, books, and even spatulas while watching Grandma cook chicken and dumplings.  One was trying to teach the other how to sneak bites of Grandma's banana bread while no one was looking.  To be sure there was also the obligatory joint bath, a bubble bath in Nana and Didi's big bath tub, photos all around. 

As much magic as there was in that, it was only a fraction of the magic in the evening.  For parents it is always hard to see their children having difficulties communicating.  There is no doubt about the love between them, but they sometimes seem to speak a different language figuratively and miss each others' intent.  Last night was PURE MAGIC.  I was smiling all evening watching my son and daughter talking and laughing.  The two moms were sharing stories...they are both expecting again...and talking about how the others' child has grown.  There was laughter in the house.  The table was full and hearts were gladdened. 

My son and his family had not been to this house so I was sharing some memorabilia and photos that we found in the move with him down in the basement when my daughter came down.  They laughed at all the photos that mom had put on the wall.  They shared memories of the times represented in the photos.  There were hugs and laughter and a father's heart was singing.  The nephew climbed up his uncle and the niece teased her aunt.  Two generations of children were playing together and the old folks were smiling from ear to ear.  It was PURE MAGIC.    

We had always sort of hoped to see our children grow up and come over for Sunday dinner...I sometimes think I must be part Italian when it comes to this.  But alas time, space and personalities have not made that a reality .  But last night we got our Italian on and it was a great time to see everyone at ease, joking, laughing, sharing, playing, and loving each others' company. My heart was singing.   

I am still smiling from ear to ear...thanks. 

 ~V

Just Dreaming

Sitting on the deck, the sun past its zenith and the beginning of the evening coolness can be felt in the gentle breeze...a quiet Sunday afternoon and a chance to spend some precious time just dreaming.  The time we get in this world to just let our minds drift and explore is so often limited by just living...these moments truly are precious.

As I sit here...scotch in a glass beside the computer...I find myself reflecting on friendship and family.  Later today I am fixing dinner, Sunday dinner for the family, and although I know what it is we will be eating and I know how to fix it I am still thinking there is something missing.  Oh, I know what it is.  I'm thinking that only half of the family will be here.  Dinner on Sunday's with my daughter, her husband, and my grandson (soon to be two grandsons) is common.  It is not an every Sunday thing but it happens often enough so as to be part of the routine of life.  My son...he will be asleep half way around the world when we "tuck in" for dinner.  His wife is, no doubt, exhausted from being pregnant too and having to take care of their two year old...the two of them will be hopefully dreaming of sugar plums as well.  I will miss having them at the table tonight.  They will be here in a couple of weeks for a visit and with luck we will all be at one table for dinner that Sunday but until then...after that as well...they will be missed. 

But then I got to thinking as I was writing that, there are others we miss at the table too.  Family is often more than just the immediate, it is an extended family, and in many ways it includes a circle of friends as well.  What is it about sharing a table of food, a bottle of wine, a cup of coffee that brings us so close, that makes us family.  I know it is not the food, the wine or the coffee that binds us.  Some would say it is the blood that streams through our veins that makes us family.  But to them I would say you have missed the best part of "family."  It is not just some twist of the Watsons and Cricks that make us family.  The ties that bind us to others are much different and much more complicated in some ways.  

Growing up my cousin had a neighbor who was as much part of the family as anyone.  I see her more often than some of my "real" cousins.  I remember her mother sitting at the table playing poker with my mom and my aunts as if she was the fourth sister.  My mom had neighbors, they came to the house and had coffee after we left for school.  They shared recipes and we kids played but they never became part of the family.  I wonder what made the difference.

I sit here feeling the breeze gently blowing across the deck and I wonder about others in that category.  Since we have grown up we had friends in our lives that became part of the family.  They became aunts and uncles and their kids became cousins to our children.  They became part of our lives.  Some remain and some have drifted apart over time because of numerous moves, changes in our lives.  Some remain...why the difference.   

I have had the chance to reconnect with my brother in the past several months.  We were estranged for more than 20 years but he reached out earlier this year and we have been having conversations via telephone every few weeks.  He called yesterday.  He is going through  a not so pleasant time in his life.  His wife packed up and moved several states away and asked for a divorce.  He is not wanting this.  She is adamant.  They had a disagreement yesterday and he reached out to me to talk.  It was a wonderful experience.  We were not close growing up...five years separate our births.  We had a "falling out" when our father died.  It was actually not either of us that caused the problem...it was his wife.  She made any connection between us difficult at best and sometimes down right impossible.  She is gone...why was it so long for us to get back together.   

Connectedness to others is more than just sharing a good thing.  It is part of who we are and how we are made.  So I am contemplating...dreaming...about sending him an airline ticket to come back to see us and the family.  A chance to reconnect...maybe just a chance to finally connect.  He lives in rural Montana, I live in the big city.  We are different, in oh so many ways, but we are family. 

So I sit here dreaming...thinking about a world that might be different.  When i think about who is sitting at the family table with me I think we need a big table.  It includes the obvious, my son, my daughter, their spouses, their children, my mother-in-law, whom I have known longer than my own mother and my brother.  I think of my cousin Windy and her family, there are probably a couple of my wife's siblings that would be at that table, though if left up to me probably only a couple of them.  There are nieces and their husbands and kids who have become close over the years and would be thought of as part of that family.  And then there is a group of people who share a common bond.  They are all friends, friends for whom I would do anything in my power, anytime and anywhere.  They know who they are...they too would be considered part of the family table in my mind.  All in it would be a table big enough for a castle, it would look like a state dinner at Buckingham Palace.  But it would be a table of great importance, at least to me. 

So I dream of a getting everyone together.  I dream about dinners like those when my mother and her sisters were alive.  I dream of a raucous party.  I dream of the laughter, the joking, the good times, the sharing, the closeness, and the love that would be in that room.  It is a dream that brings a sense of happiness, peacefulness and great joy to my heart to think about. 

I know it is just a dream.  But in my quiet, breeze filled afternoon...it is my dream.  It's what makes me happy today.

Youth

If youth knew, if age could...any guesses who said that?  I'll come to that later but the sentiment somehow resonates with me.  Oh, I don't think it is exactly true but it s worth considering.  I find it interesting that young people have this innate ability to hope for a better world...a better condition for mankind.  They see a world that could be better and don't stop to think about how...they just do.  Age, and by that I would have to include myself at this point, often knows to much. They are aware of reality.  They are limited by too much experience.  They know.  They just can't.  Age may know what needs to be done and might even share the dream for a better human condition, but knowledge sometimes gets in the way of action...especially exuberant action.  

I have the wonderful opportunity to work some of the best young people I have ever met. They are bright, they are energetic, they are committed to doing great things.  They have great ideas, they have no shortage of ideas.  But sometimes we need to just listen.  But age knows too much and can't forget and often goes back to what has been instead of going forward to what could be. 

We often frame our responses to youth's ideas with the thought that because we know more we are better. But sometimes, just maybe, the right answer is not what we have done or some derivative of what we have done.  Maybe the right answer is in the mind of someone who has no baggage of knowledge, no hesitation to try something different because to them it is not different.

This week I get to spend time with this group of brilliant people.  I get to listen to their ideas.  I pray that I listen...that I remain open to ideas, that I leave my baggage of past experience at the door and open up to seeing their views, looking at their world through their eyes. 

But I also pray that they open up and keep dreaming.  I hope that they will share ideas, views of a world that they would like to see, visions for how we can get there.  I pray that they will simply talk.  Sometimes I find that young people are either intimidated by the aged and their knowledge or just feel like it won't matter so there is no point in talking.  Part of keeping ourselves open to change is that we have to be willing to listen.  We need to not only listen but we need to allow them to try new ideas to explore their ideas and, most difficult of all, we need to remember that once upon a time we too were the ones who challenged the status quo and pushed for new ideas.  Times change and now we are the status quo and there are new challengers and through them will come great new ideas. 

So this week I have high expectations.  I am hoping for great things.  I am hoping that they will talk and I hope I listen.

Oh and thank you Dr. Freud for the opening line. 

 ~V

Peanuts and Crackerjacks

For years I have heard stories about the Chicago Cubs fans...that in spite of the "curse" they continue to have hope that is unfounded in reality.  To be clear, they have made the post season playoffs on occasion, but for some the curse of the Billy Goat remains fully in tact. 

So why the fascination for this team?  There is even a second team in town, but it is the Cubs that draw all the attention, or at least the bulk of it and certainly the notoriety as being the Chicago team that comes to mind when one thinks baseball and Chicago. I had no idea...it has baffled me.  Then I had the chance to go to Wrigley last weekend as a guest of a friend...he felt that I needed to see this stadium to understand the importance of the Cubs.  

I have been to Fenway Park, Camden Yards, Nationals Stadium, Chavez Ravine, Angels' Stadium, Chase Field...all fine ballparks.  I've enjoyed games at all those locations.  I like Camden Yards and Nationals' Stadium because they work hard to bring back the feel of the old parks with the updates that one needs to see in today's world.  Well done to both of them.  But now I have seen, felt, experienced Wrigley Field.  This is a park that did not have lights until 1988...and then under duress...the park sits in a neighborhood and people did not want the lights and noise to drift into the the evening...some thought it was the lack of lights that made the park what it was...the last bastion of "real baseball" from an era of Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb...but they would have been wrong in my opinion.  Wrigley Field does not suffer from the lights.  The charm, the feeling of a different era comes from so much more.  To be honest I went to a day game, but it is the closeness that one feels at this field that creates the feeling. 

From my recollection, Fenway was smaller in general than Wrigley...the two old men of Major League Baseball.  But Wrigley is not the shortest center field that belongs to the Padres in San Diego...but the feeling at Wrigley is unlike any park I have been to.  Maybe it is the Ivy on the outfield walls or the shorts the walls themselves.  Maybe it is the lack of a bull pen and the closeness of the warm-ups.  Maybe it is just the more gentle slope of the seating that makes one feel closer to the field...not counting the balconies of course.  Maybe it is just the age that makes it special. 

But for me it was the people around you that made the difference.  There were folks taking pictures of themselves in Cubs shirts with their kids and especially infants with the field in the background.  There were the cries of "Throw it back" when the Braves hit a home run to center field.  The crowd is passionate about their team and passionately opposed to any other team on the field.  There was not booing for a mistake by a Cubs player...there were cries of being robbed and even some sadness because of the errors but no anger against the players on a team that has not made the fall classic in 105 years. 

For me it was also the company...being with someone who cares so much for the team.  Someone who loves baseball and thinks this park is the holy grail of sorts.  It was the fellowship, the time with a friend and the chance to do something that is, for many, a "manly" recreation...not going shopping or to a movie...going out to the ball park.  It was a great time.  Perhaps more importantly, I came away a Cubs fan.  I came away feeling that any changes to Wrigley that alter the character of the field would be a mistake. This field, Wrigley, and the team, the Cubs, have a lot to say about baseball, about life, about how we use to live and even how we should.  It is simpler, it is smaller, it is closer, it is friendlier. 

Thanks for a great Sunday... 

 ~V

Feelin' Easy

Sometimes, when you least expect it life floods you with wonderful, easy feelings.  Last night I went to a concert.  Oh, that in and of itself was not reason for the easy feelings.  No, in fact, the concert made me feel quite old.  We were the guests of a young couple who I think took us solely because we were the only people they knew that were old enough to remember the group that were performing.  The crowd gathering were old enough to remember when the Beatles first invaded the Ed Sullivan show.  But, it was really a wonderful evening, a chance to sort of remember a simpler time.   

In the daily grind we frequently are not able to stop and think about all the wonderful events that have changed our lives, imprinted on our memories times and places and great feelings.  The band performing was a group from the 70's, The Eagles, and though they did make a come back of sorts when, as they said "Hell Froze Over" they will always  be part of my life for the images that flood the brain when you hear songs like Peaceful Easy Feeling or One of These Nights. 

They started out with a much more country rock sound, maybe even a bit of that folk rock that was also popular at the time.  Their early songs were ones that made me want to stop and maybe even "kick back" for a moment and listen.  I found last night that I still remember the words to most of the songs.  But I also noticed that the band itself was much older...they were really old...their voices were not quite what they once were they had physically changed and, frankly, I think I would prefer to listen to them on their remastered digital recordings than live.  But all that aside...oh the memories.

Beginning with Take it Easy, the first song of theirs that I actually went out and purchased, the seemed to speak to my young sensibilities.  They seemed to reflect the time and place in which we were living.  Now days words like "It's girl, my lord,  in a flat head Ford, slowing down to take a look at me" would at best be cute.  I doubt that anyone in the group I was with could tell you what a "flat head Ford" is or was.  But for me that evokes a lot of memories of cars, friends, and good times. 

When they sang Peaceful Easy Feeling I could feel myself relaxing and breathing slower.  It brought back so many reminders of my youth.  My wife, though we were not yet married, and I were driving across the country to New Mexico to see her sister.  Dad, a pastor, was not keen on the idea of us stopping anywhere along the way so it was one long slog through the desert to Los Alamos from Los Angeles.  Peaceful Easy Feeling had to be on its way to or already at number one and we must have heard it 30 times on the drive across the states.  We laughed at the line...I want to sleep with you in the desert tonight...if Dad only knew. 

I think my friends and I made the Tequila Sunrise the drink of choice for my entire grad school years.  We would have competitions to see who could do a better Sunrise.  Then there was Take it to the Limit and One of These Nights...both had were players on the stage of my life, perhaps not with the significance of some of their other tunes but I was surprised an being able to pull up images of where I was when I heard the individual songs.  Overall the concert was a sort of playbook or play list for my life in the early 70's. 

Then along came marriage and kids and the playlist changed but even after our son was born we would sometimes go to a little Italian place called Mione's where on Saturday evenings there was a live band...and on a good night we could hear maybe one or two of the Eagle's songs.  There were also songs from Roberta Flack, Fleetwood Mac and others all part of a rich deeper picture of memories.

I'm told that in the old castles and chateaus of Europe the tapestries that hung on the walls were there for two reasons.  First they added physical warmth to the cold rooms and cut down on the noise from the hard stone walls but they also served to tell a story.  The story of the lord of the manor.  They spoke to his conquests in battle or in the hunt or perhaps simply the story of the family history.  But it is this tapestry model that gives us the reason for calling our lives a tapestry.  But, I think that we can easily see how our tapestry is woven by memories, by friends, by places, by events, and by music.  The tapestry of my life has some Eagle's thread.  It also has a lot of Paul Simon, some Pete Seger, some Roberta Flack, and some Fleetwood Mac.  There are sections colored by Creedence Clearwater, The Who, and even some doses of such desparate singers as Barbra Streisand, Judy Garland, a bit more of her daughter Liza and some Frank Sinatra.  There are images that are composed of Puccini and Verde as well as some that are made up almost completely of Chopin, Brahms, Holst, and Mozart.

There are sections of my tapestry that are still being drawn in and the texture is found in threads of groups like U2, Coldplay, Radioheads, and the occasional Josh Groban or Il DIvo.  I guess what I am trying to say is that the tapestry is richer for the variety.  But, equally important is that each of these distinct sets of music bring back specific memories.  They can evoke thoughts of specific places, times and events...of people and lives shared. 

There are a number of stimuli that can cause these memories to come to the surface I suppose.  Scents are often used as subliminal reminders and can even help students remember information on test day.  I know the simple fragrence of gardenias brings back a quick, almost instantaneous image of a large granite fireplace with the deepest mantle that I have ever seen...it was in the living room of our first house.  The gardenias were a gift from a neighbor to help freshen a house that had been empty and sealed up for months.  I knew of a man who spent years trying to find the scent that his wife had worn before she died.  He missed her every evening and wanted to have that scent on the pillow beside his on the bed.  It turned out it was the fabric softener and not a perfume but imagine the memories that came to the surface every night once he found the source.

So...last night was an interesting, if incomplete, trip down memory lane.  The music brought back memories of old apartments, cars, friends, of happy times, of some sad times I suppose but overall it was wonderful.  Sitting next to my wife, we smiled at the shared thoughts of road trips, friends at the house, quiet dinners on the patio of a once favorite restaurant.  We thought about times together, and on occasion we thought about separate times. It was fun to be with people who were not born until fourteen years after the Eagle's first "Greatest Hits" album made the charts.  They humored us...they waited for the one or two songs that they had ever heard of came up and in between they must have been thinking who listened to this...let's find a Metalica Concert or something at least more 80's or 90's than this.  Yes I know that Metallica was early 80's but still closer than early 70's

Thanks for the memory, the new image in my tapestry.  Now songs from the Eagles will also bring back pictures of this night, we these friends, with all those "old" people.  And to the friends who took us...thanks for being part of the tapestry of our lives. 

~V