Old Man and the Poop

REMEMBER WHEN

2012-02-11T12:19:00.000-08:00

Remember when you could kiss the owie and make it all better?

One of the most powerful forces in the universe is the parent of a toddler. Whenever there is a pinched finger, a stubbed toe, or a bonked head, a parent can provide an instant cure. A simple kiss on the owie eases the pain. A little cuddling in mom or dad’s arms with blankie in hand seals the cure. Sometimes a cartoon character Band-Aid is added for that cherry on top feeling of satisfaction. Wipe a few tears away, kiss the owie and the child is ready to take on the world yet again.

As a parent, you cannot be more powerful, compassionate or wise. All in a simple act. King Solomon has nothing on the parent of a toddler.

But one day, that all ends. Somehow the days have passed and your toddler is no longer. Your child moves into adolescence and then into adulthood. Somewhere around the fourth grade your child learned that you are not invincible and all wise. You learned that you can’t cure all that ails your child.

The only problem with that passage of time is that the owies continue into adulthood. If only the adult owies were as easy to fix as the childhood owies. The adult owies are more dramatic and rarely involve a pinched finger or stubbed toe. What ails your adult child is life, adult decisions, problems and issues that hurt the ego and the psyche. As a parent you can’t fix those things. You can only listen, offer a shoulder to cry on when needed and shed a few tears with your child. You ache when your child aches.

If only the adult owies were as easy to fix as the childhood owies. If only you could kiss the owie and make it all better.

A MAN'S HOME IS HIS CASTLE

2012-01-19T22:10:00.000-08:00

There was a time when that was true. Not any more.

A man in his home would have a place of refuge from the world. He could hide from the worries of life, safe and secure with his wife and children by his side. His home provided a place to ward off the marauding hordes of Visigoths and Huns, Barbarians and Mongols, Indians and desperados, traveling missionaries and cable TV representatives.

But not all dangers are outside the walls of a man’s castle. Some rise up unexpectedly from within. Thanks to the Internet and Facebook there are dangers that can separate a man from his family; from his wife, from his son, and from his daughter who has her own castle.

My wife is on Facebook and some friend invited her to play a game on the net. That in itself is not bad but my wife has shared that interest with others. Now our daughter is playing the game. But worse than that, right here in my so called castle, our son has joined in.

I am not part of the group. I am an outcast in my own castle. My wife and son sit on the couch playing the game and discussing strategies, sending information and game pieces filled with energies and potions to other gamers. While my wife and son are bonding in their shared love of the game, and my daughter is joining in from the other side of town, I wonder if this digital intruder can be driven from my castle.

I don’t know that the intruder, this game they play, can be defeated. All I can do is sit in the living room and listen to the plotting and planning as they build whatever they are building.

The website for the game they are playing has this promotion:

Create your Happy Ending
Build your very own Kingdom in a magical land.
Banish the Gloom and nasty Beasties while you’re at it.

While they are building their CastleVille, my castle walls are crumbling around me. John Wayne and Fess Parker had a better chance of defeating Santa Anna at the Alamo than I do in banishing the Gloom and nasty Beasties from my castle.

Bring on the marauding hordes! The enemy I can see…

DO YOUR EARS HANG LOW?

2011-07-06T20:26:00.000-07:00

Almost three months have passed since I got my hearing aids. Time flies when you’re having fun? Or maybe it flies because now I can hear.

The morning of the 19th of April I went to the audiologist for my new ears. The first 45 minutes were spent learning about the devices, proper maintenance and how to insert them. “Stick it in your ear!”, takes on a whole new meaning.

Once I had shown the audiologist that I could insert and remove the hearing aids without asking for help, he hooked me up to his computer.

He clipped a transmitter, with a blinking red light, around my neck. It links to the hearing aids and sends the signal to the computer. While the transmitter is operational, the audiologist has complete control over my hearing aids. So I am sitting in the chair with a transmitter hanging from my neck feeling like I was one of the androids in the Star Trek episode, “I, Mudd”. “Harcourt Fenton Mudd!”

Once the transmitter, hearing aids and computer were linked, the audiologist started pushing buttons on his computer and sound came into my ears. Magically. All sorts of beeps and blips and burps. When the audiologist was satisfied that I was hearing and that the sound was balanced I was free to take on the world of those who hear. He promised me that I would hate him for the next two weeks as I tried to get used to the hearing aids. (I made it until 4 that afternoon. I was back at the audiologist’s office to have him turn the volume down. It was too loud and he had set it at 80% of full volume. He turned it down to 75%.)

When I left the audiologist that morning I headed to my wife’s school to see her. I figured I owed her the first hearing. She saw me coming to the front door of the school and met me there. “What are you doing here? Oh! Your hearing aids!” She checked out my new ears and gave her approval. Then, just to make sure that the hearing aids were working in the real world, I had my wife say something to me at a close distance and again at about 15 feet away. I closed my eyes and she spoke in a quiet voice. I heard her!

I didn’t respond with, “What?” I answered her statement. She said, “It is sunny outside.” I said, “Yes, it is.” I should have repeated her statement to just prove that I heard her exact words. It turned out okay, though. I scored big points by going to see, and hear, her first.

My daughter, always a person of great insight, had this to say on her Facebook page, “My Dad is getting hearing aids today. Somehow I think this makes him terribly adorable. He'll hate hearing that.” Her cousin responded with, “At least he will be able to hear it.”

The two most important women in my life are pleased with my having hearing aids. My wife thinks I’m sweet and my daughter thinks I am terribly adorable. Life is good.

I have been back to the audiologist several times to get my ears tweaked. The hearing is better each time and I have graduated to Remote Control Operator: Level IV. I have the basic volume control and three new buttons for controlling range, direction and effects of the sounds coming at me. This means I get to listen to whomever and whatever I want!

Learning to hear again is an interesting experience. I had forgotten so many sounds. They are coming back to me now and they are wonderful. Birds really do sing pretty in the early morning hours!

EARS TWO

2011-04-19T07:03:00.001-07:00

I went out for my morning constitutional about 5 o’clock. The air is finally full of that early morning springtime crisp, cool air that allows sounds to travel well. The birds are singing to greet the day. It is, as Neil diamond says, a beautiful noise.

I wonder though, “What I am missing?” Since my visit to the audiologist last week I have been more aware of what I have missed from the high frequency sounds of life. Tomorrow morning will be different as I will have my new ears in then. Will there be more beautiful noises from the birds? Or will there be all sorts of background sounds that I haven’t heard from some time? It is all unknown.

Sleep last night consisted of a lot of tossing and turning. Worry about the visit to the audiologist this morning kept me from useful slumber. I am sitting here now, yawning up a storm I cannot hear. Maybe tomorrow I will be more alert, not yawning and hearing more. I have been told that I will sleep tonight. I will be exhausted from the work of listening to all those noises and sounds I have forgotten that existed.

In a few more hours I will have my new ears. The sounds I am looking to hearing the most are the ones from my wife. I will be able to have a conversation with her that doesn’t begin with my asking, “What?!”

'EARS TO YOU!

2011-04-13T07:48:00.000-07:00

“You have ears to hear but you hear not!,” Father Ignatius would tell us in English class when we asked what the assignment for tomorrow was just moments after he had told us what the assignment for tomorrow was.

My wife thinks like Father Ignatius. She believes I can’t hear; that I am losing my hearing. My children will tell you that I just don’t listen.

It doesn’t matter. I get my new ears next Tuesday. A new one for each side of my head.

I spent two hours at the audiologist this morning. I was there to keep my wife happy and to prove to her that my hearing is fine and that she needs to speak up. She is right, I am wrong.

The testing proves that I can hear lower frequencies. It is the higher frequencies that I do not hear. Female voices. No wonder my wife thinks I can’t hear her. I can’t.

When the audiologist said he had a variety of hearing aids for me to choose from I immediately thought of the huge, flesh colored molds that fit in your ear and have size ‘D’ batteries attached to the back of your ears. A passing thought, fortunately. Analog is dead! I am getting the top of the line digital hearing aids. The particular model I am getting will best suit what I am doing work wise as well as listening to my wife wise. And it comes with a remote. I can casually slip my hand into my pocket and turn the hearing aids, and the speaker, off.

The audiologist is giving me (supplying, at a nominal cost) hearing aids that go into the ear tube but do not block it. My ability to hear the lower frequencies is fine and he doesn't want to interfere with that. And, with all these new techno things, he can adjust for all sorts of gain and frequency and hertz. The only real hurts that he can't fix will be how my pocketbook hurts.

My wife says she is excited for me. She says I won’t be so cranky because I can’t hear her. I figure she won’t be so cranky that I’m cranky because I can’t hear her.

I asked my wife if she would still love me with my hearing aids. She said she would love me even more. Gee, if I had known that…

BREAKFAST OUT

2011-04-12T16:57:00.001-07:00

This morning, just to have some fun by myself, for myself, I went out for breakfast that I didn’t have to fix at a local old-fashioned restaurant, one with a counter. I decided to sit at the counter, just to be old-fashioned. There are six stools and I chose on from the end of the counter. That put stools between me and the patron at the other end of the counter.

My wife doesn’t know I went out to breakfast without her.

After I had ordered, an older gentleman in his eighties sat down on the stool next to me. So much for creating my own little space.

He was all by himself. I began to wonder. Was he out for breakfast without his wife? Was his wife was still alive. I soon found out.

The man’s cell phone rang. I heard his side of the conversation.

“Hello?”
“No, she isn’t in right now.”
“Can I take a message?”
“Then I will have her call you.”

Ain’t technology grand? I found out that his wife is alive and she definitely wasn’t in right now. The gentleman was telling the truth.

INSTRUCTION MANUALS

2011-03-24T19:33:00.000-07:00

My son and I were walking home from a trip to the coffee shop yesterday. We were talking about nothing in particular when he asks, “Did God give you instructions for me when you got me?”

I thought a moment before I answered. “No. We didn’t get instructions for your sister either.” After a few moments of silence, I added, “Love ‘em, feed ‘em, change their diapers until they don’t need their diapers changed anymore.” Beyond that, it is one adventure after another.

Children don’t come with instruction manuals or trouble shooting guides. They should. That way when your child says, “You ruined my whole life!” you can refer them to the manual God gave you. It will be his fault.

CAR SHOPPING

2011-01-03T20:26:00.000-08:00

I spent a good part of the last week of the old year car shopping with my daughter. Car shopping is rarely a time of great fun. It takes work. Traveling across town, taking test drives, talking with owners and salespeople and trying to make sense out of a process you don’t want to partake in to begin with.

It all began with an email. “Daddy, I need your help…

...and maybe Uncle Johnny’s too. I need to buy a car. I'm thinking a Subaru station wagon. Used, cheap, etc...

But where do I begin? and even more importantly end.”

When my daughter says she needs my help, I listen. When she starts off with, “Daddy,…” I am done for. I have no choice but to help. She knows what works. She always has. From the first moment I held her in my arms, she was in charge.

The car shopping began in the usual way. There was lots of looking on the internet in dealer inventories and craigslist. There were cars that met some of her criteria, but not all. When she finally found a car that really interested her, it was Christmas Eve Eve. The used car dealer said he would be closed on Friday but would open the shop if we wanted to look at the car. She made arrangements for the Monday after Christmas.

We looked at the car, a VW Golf, and made an appointment to have our mechanic look it over. The mechanic didn’t have great news for us. While the car looked cute and was practical for a landscape designer to haul some plants, it had some mechanical problems. So we kept looking.

A Toyota Matrix was on the agenda for the next day. Another trip to the mechanic for evaluation followed. While the car is dependable, this vehicle had some body damage that was beyond cosmetic.

Frustration was setting in for both of us. Especially for my daughter. Buying a car goes against her grain and not finding one that was right for her business needs made the experience an ordeal. The only reason she was looking for a car was because her business coach told her she needed one to grow her business.

She has been looking for a car that will be economical to operate, reliable, practical and cheap. The last item was hard to meet. The cars in her planned spending amount were not reliable and wouldn’t be cheap in the long run.

Taking one on the chin for the American economy, my daughter expanded her price range. Her uncle helped convince her of the need to do that.

The next day we were looking at several cars in the higher price range. This time we were at new car dealer and looking at their used cars. No luck. The feel of the first car we drove wasn’t right. You knew it in your bones as you took the bumps but the car didn’t. So we tried another car and it didn’t feel right either. In fact, both vehicles had something in common: Lots of moisture on the inside of the windshield. The defrosters didn’t do much to eliminate the problem. A resounding ‘No!’ to both cars got us a different salesman.

The first salesman was at the end of his work day and was very tired. The sales manager jumped in to help and said he was off to check his inventory for us. What arrived was a second salesman who was not as tired as the first and was the high-pressure specialist/sales leader. New cars, bigger cars, pick-up trucks masquerading as vans and SUVs’. He showed them all. None of them met the criteria.

It was time to go home. On the way to my daughter’s apartment I told her my schedule for the next few days. This was Wednesday before New Year’s. “I can go tomorrow and then I can go out on Sunday afternoon.” Her response was short and to the point. “I am going to have a car by Friday.”

Thursday morning she had found several more cars to look at. Two cars were in her price range and they were on a used car lot. Neither was acceptable. There were too many obvious problems. One wouldn’t even start without the dealer hooking up the battery charger.

Both of those cars were Subaru wagons and I made a phone call to our mechanic while we were looking at them. The mechanic had good things to say about the Subaru Outback wagons. That helped even though those two particular cars were not in the best of shape. There was, however, one car on the lot that met the criteria. A 2004 Subaru Outback that is in good shape, with a defroster that works. It cost more than my daughter wanted to spend but it did fall within the prices given in the Kelley Blue Book.

So my daughter has her first car. An adventure in shopping? Probably not near as much fun as when she goes clothes shopping with her mother. It was certainly a more expensive shopping experience. Throw in a phone call to the insurance agent and a trip to DEQ and you have an excuse to celebrate with lunch at Burgerville. On the menu? A Tillamook Cheeseburger and a chocolate shake. A hazelnut chocolate shake for my daughter. With whip cream!

Fortunately, my daughter sees a car for what it is. A tool for her business. She has begrudgingly accepted the car into her lifestyle. I think she is beginning to like the car and feeling good about her purchase. It is a practical vehicle for a landscape designer to haul plants to the client’s site. Her words on her Face book page say it all:

“She'll hold 3 five gal pots, 10 one gal pots, 4 flats of 4" pots and some garden gloves. She'll do.”

WE GOT A TORNADO

2010-12-15T06:45:00.000-08:00

in Aumsville, 12 miles southeast of Salem.

No one died. Yea!

The local plumbing store is no more. It was in the center of town and the center of the story.

And the damned news people from Portland are beside themselves with reporting on this exciting event.

I was trying to watch a Perry Mason episode while enjoying my lunch and "Breaking News" interrupted the show. For the rest of the day, tornado reporting was the show of choice on all the local channels.

The reporters were handling the crisis just fine, until they started talking. One guy said that tornadoes in Oregon were very rare. What wasn't rare was that he told us that at least five times in a three minute segment.

My son and I sat here making fun of the reports and the people giving them. It was the only way we could tolerate the traditional weather crisis reporting of the local media. They tell you the obvious and then tell you again. Just in case, you missed the first five times they told you.

One point that came up over and over again was that no one had died. Rather than a "Thank God" for that fact, the anchors on the various stations sounded disappointed. One even went so far as to talk about how many deaths in similar situations were caused, not by the winds themselves, but flying debris. There just wasn’t enough tragedy to report. And yet, it is wonderful that no one died!

Later in the day, the stations were all doing their evening news from Aumsville. Lots of reporters in town and now the anchor desk folks had arrived. The local ABC channel had their anchors doing their shtick across the street from the remains of the plumbing store. In the background, a local teenage girl made sure she got on TV. Walking behind the anchors and acting as if she was headed someplace important, she suddenly stopped, turned toward the camera with a big smile on her face and waved. Then reverted to her important walk. At that point the anchors were turning the story over to one of their reporters. From what we saw, it looked as if the reporter was in another part of town. But, no! Who should appear in the background? The teenage girl, on a walk to someplace important. She stopped, turned and waved. Yep, the reporter was probably ten feet away from the anchors. Clear across town. Aumsville is small, but it ain't that small.

And now, the day after, on the early morning news we have more from Aumsville. Fortunately the stories are a bit more thought out and the rambling reports are gone. Except for the commercials for the stations telling how well they handled this crisis and got the news to us right away. What do they use for highlights? Clips of reporters telling us the obvious once again.

I don’t know how the Perry Mason episode turned out. That is no big deal. I regularly fall asleep during the last fifteen minutes of the show and still don’t know who done it. I know it wasn’t Perry’s client. The client was not guilty of murder or murdering the news.

HERD OF CATTLE?

2010-06-24T19:12:00.001-07:00

“Yeah, I’ve heard of cattle.”

Or so the punch line of the joke goes. As I remember it.

What about a herd of worms? I heard of that too. In fact, we have taken up worm herding at our house. We bought a compost bin that works on worm power.

You put the food scraps in and the worms turn them into compost.

We are worm wranchers!

Much like real ranchers, we have to herd the worms. Initially, the two sides of the cedar box are empty. One side is filled with food scraps, shredded paper, compost and redworms. The other side is empty until the worms complete their work on the first side. With new materials on the empty side, the worms can migrate. Until that time, you have to herd the worms back to the starter side.

We lost a few head of worms during the first three days. The other strays I was able to move back to the working side. I thought about branding the little critters but they won’t get too far and the chance of rustlers coming through town is very slim. Besides, how do you know which end of the worm to brand?

BOGO and the grocery store

2010-06-15T21:05:00.000-07:00

BOGO! or B1G1!

A marvelous marketing gimmick found mostly in grocery store aisles. Buy One! Get One! Buy one item and get an identical item for free. Two cans of chicken noodle soup for the price of one. Or, my favorite, buy one pork loin and get the second one free. Of course, the second one of the meat products is always the smaller size.

It is a good deal for the consumer, unless you do as I do and decide that by saving the money on the two items you now have money to spend on something else. The BOGO is a good deal for the retailer because they move product out the door and your money in the door.

There is a local area car dealer who has, in the past, run a BOGO on new cars. The ultimate loss leader deal. You get two very basic automobiles for the price of one. Not bad if you need two cars exactly alike.

My candidate for the world's best BOGO award is a merchant in Marysville, Washington. The merchant was in tune with the big Memorial Day weekend sales pitch. As we drove through town on 88th Street, we saw the perfect sign in the perfect location. With Old Glory waving in the gentle Sunday morning breeze, the sign stood out among the lush greenery on the property.

Memorial Day Sale!
This weekend only!
Two plots for the price of one!
Welcome to Marysville Cemetery.

OLD MAN AND THE POPE?

2010-06-09T20:24:00.000-07:00

After a year and half, an appropriate amount of time given the age group I have been working with, I have changed jobs.

My friend Mike said that God dropped a helicopter in my front yard and I better get on it. I have. Today was the first day on the job as sacristan/sacramental assistant at our parish. Our current sacristan had resigned and the deacon asked my wife if I might be interested. The helicopter landed in the front yard and I got on.

No diapers to change, not one whine or the cheese to go with it, and a new commute to work (five minutes one way).

The pay is better than the daycare job. It would take me another two years working with the toddlers to get to the pay of the new job.

I will miss the kids but I was ready for a change. There is no way I will be greeted at church in the morning like I was at daycare. “Mr. Tom’s here!” Lots of hugs then, “Read a book!” and “Sit down! Sit Down!” and “Row, Row?”, all followed by more hugs. Just won’t happen with a bunch of adults. That experience with the kids will be hard to match.

That’s okay, though. On my way into the church office I met two of the parishioners who frequent daily Mass. Both of them said hello and then congratulated me on my new job. Just about as good as all the hugs from the little ones.

All I have to do now is live up to the expectations that people have of me in this new setting.

I have gone from taking care of babies to taking care of God’s flock and their churchgoing. This means I should change the title of my blog. My daughter came up with the original title and with the definitive replacement. Instead of “Old Man and the Poop” it should be called “Old Man and the Pope”. I don’t know what Benedict XVI thinks of the title but I like it.

HALLO, BUDDY

2010-05-17T09:54:00.000-07:00

A new twist on the Nigerian money scammers. At least for me, it is. The usual message is in broken English from a supposedly highly educated individual. Misspellings and punctuation and grammar errors abound. This new version is in German, I believe, complete with the requisite misspellings and punctuation and grammar errors. I left most of the message in the delete file but if you wish to contact Sgt. Felix M. I am sure he will try to contact you in the near future.

Hallo Buddy,
Ich hoffe, meine E-Mail genьgt Ihnen alles Gute. Mein Name ist Sgt. Felix M. Ich bin
Engineering in der militдrischen Einheit hier in Bagdad im Irak, mit
Speiserцhrenkrebs, die alle Formen der medizinischen Behandlung verunreinigt hat,
und jetzt habe ich nur ьber ein paar Wochen / Monate zu leben, nach
medizinischer Sachverstдndiger. Mein verstorbener 2 Kollegen, die letzte Woche in einer Bombe gestorben
Explosion und ich fand eine riesige Summe von 75 Millionen Dollar USD in Bagdad Nachbarschaft

Klicken Sie auf den folgenden Link, um weitere Informationen:

Regards.
Sgt.Felix

SPRING BALL

2010-05-04T06:00:00.000-07:00

My daughter spent the weekend with us. She reminded me that we needed to get the softball and mitts out and play some catch. It is that time of year. The only problem: Neither of us have played catch in two years. She ran off to Germany for a year and that is just too far for a pick up game. But now she is home and we can play catch again. Both of us admitted that we better get our throwing arms in shape or it was going to be a painful time enjoying this father-daughter rite of Spring.

I am looking forward to the game of catch as it is something for just the two of us. We forget about the problems of the world and just enjoy the time together, the fresh air and the marvelous sound of the ball as it hits the mitt.

GOING GREAT

2010-05-02T08:10:00.000-07:00

The other day, one of our little charges needed to use the bathroom. “I gotta go potty!” One of the teachers took the kid down the hall to the bathroom. Oops! False alarm. The girl didn’t have to go potty. She came back to the classroom and within one minute announced to me that there was a problem by the book corner where she was standing. Oops! She did need to use the potty. Soaked pants, soaked shoes and some cleaning to do.

The next morning the girl made the same statement, “I gotta go potty!” I took her down the hall with admonitions to her from all of the adults to make sure she used the potty. We arrived at the potty; she unbuttoned her pants and lowered them and her panties. Then she says, “I have panties just like my daddy.” All I could say to myself was, “God, I hope not.” As she is situating herself on the potty she says, “My daddy has a penis. I don’t have a penis. But I have a bottom.” And dry pants!

APRIL FOOLIN'

2010-04-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

On the 2nd of April, the day after April Fools’ Day, I am at daycare, sitting on a couple of large pillows and leaning against the wall. Two kids are sitting on my lap as we read a book. They tire of the reading and run off to another part of the room to play.

Another child, Miss J. comes up to me and says, “Tom! Tom!” She is trying to get my hand and have me stand up. She has a good vocabulary so I try to get her to tell me what she wants. She is pointing to the other end of the room where the big foam blocks are. I presume that is her intended destination and that she wants to play with the blocks. She keeps grabbing at my hand and pointing to the block area.

I become more determined to get her to tell me what she wants. Miss J. keeps repeating my name and grabbing at my hand. I finally give up on the verbal communication and say, “Okay, I’ll get up.” Miss J. backs away so I can stand up. I start to walk toward the block area and then turn around to make sure Miss J. is with me, figuring she will want to hold my hand as we walk across the room.

She is not with me. She is sitting on the pillows and looking quite pleased with herself. Smug. Content. A woman wise beyond her years, all two of them.

There’s no fool like an old fool.

ζητώ

2010-03-07T20:51:00.000-08:00

Try this word ζητώ

This Third Saturday of Lent was spent with about 30 other old men. Some a lot older, some not so much older and probably three other men who are still in their forties. We were all at church for the annual men’s retreat.

It was really a Day of Recollection as it started Friday evening and ended on Saturday at noon. We got to go home to our own beds at night. Just a partial escape from daily life.

It was a good time as the priest presiding over the activities was excellent. His name is Rick Ganz, SJ, a highly educated Jesuit with a great innate skill of relating stories about faith, tradition and life. He is glad to be a Catholic and it shows.

The theme of the retreat was simply “How do I know what is God’s will for me?” It is a more complicated answer that is made up of more questions. What is God’s will? What is my will? How do I know the difference? Why won’t God just tell me what to do? Did I miss what God told me to do? And on and on.

One of the words Father Rick referred to in the discussion is the Greek word ζητώ. The pronunciation as best I could find online: zito. It means ‘to seek’. Father embellished the meaning to ‘seek ardently’.

As Father talked about ‘seeking ardently’, I thought of my children and where they are in their lives. Each of them is seeking ardently but from different stages in life and with different views of the world.

My daughter is busy reestablishing herself in America after a year in Germany and also starting her own business in landscape design. A lot of changes in her life over the last year and half have caused her great joy, challenged her beyond her wildest dreams and helped her become an ardent seeker of… God knows what and soon my daughter will know too as each day unfolds.

My son is near the end of that wonderful time in his life where he realizes that his dad has learned a lot in the last eight years, ala Mark Twain. Not to mention the fact that he has learned a lot. He is seeking what we all seek at some point in our youth, the answer to “Who am I?” And he is getting closer each day. Looking for work in a slow economy is no fun and often disheartening. But he continues and is checking into the JobCorps as a viable route for schooling and job skills that make sense to him.

So Father Rick uses the word ζητώas a beautiful description of our seeking. Whatever my children are seeking or what I am seeking, it all comes down to "How do I know what is God’s will for me?”

FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST

2010-03-02T17:51:00.000-08:00

Free at last! Free at Last!…
(With all due apologies to Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

I disconnected my Facebook account recently. I am no longer friends with my friends. Sure feels good not having that to look at, get messages from folks I do not know, etc.

I feel better about disconnecting from Facebook than I did joining it. The only reason I joined Facebook was to try to find a friend from my Air Force days. Facebook served its purpose. I have his email address now so I don’t need the Facebook connection.

The only people I told about my disconnect from Facebook are two friends from high school, Mike and Peter. Mike is not on Facebook. Peter is and we became friends on Facebook. Somehow that is different than becoming friends over 40 years ago.

Peter responded to my declaration of freedom.
“Good for you. I was thinking the same thing about Facebook today -- but how do you "disconnect"? Do you send out one last message to everyone? Is there a protocol? Will your "friends" miss you?”

I took some time to find it, but there is a button to disconnect. You go to the help section and type 'disconnect' (Facebook talk for "get me out of this crap!"). They give you directions to the right spot to hit the disconnect button. Of course, if you aren't sure, they ask you if you aren't sure and then give you the opportunity to disconnect or disconnect permanently. Much like stopping the newspaper delivery while you are on vacation. You can always start up again where you left off. If you decide for the permanent disconnect, it goes into effect immediately but stays available for 14 days. At that time you will be disconnected permanently and your friends will be forever gone.

If you opt for the not so permanent disconnect, your profile and friend connections hang around longer than the 14 days of permanent disconnect.

There is probably a twelve-step program in this. You would have to join it online, but what the heck. One vice for another.

I don't know if there is a protocol to quitting Facebook. I quit. The friends haven't noticed. They weren't really my friends after all.

My wife didn’t know I had quit Facebook and she is my best friend. But, as she was going through her Facebook page after we got home the other night, she asks, "You quit Facebook?'

"Yep, how did you know?"

"Nancy says you dumped her." We hadn't seen Nancy in over 30 years. She was the adult altar minister at Barb's aunt's funeral. Nancy comes up to us after Mass and says, “You probably don't remember me but I remember you."

My wife and I had been in college with Nancy and were involved in campus ministry with her. Her Facebook note to Barb was something about not seeing us for over 30 years and then just days after my becoming her friend on Facebook, I dumped her. (Yet another woman scorned.)

So at least one friend missed me. Otherwise, Barb hasn't heard anything from any of our mutual friends. Your friends will only miss you if they happen to look at their list of friends and don’t find you there.

Mike responded to my notice of disconnect with the wisdom of a computer geek:

“Good man, punch that Facebook in the... Well you know. That is such a vector for malware. I love it. Security issues are my main source of business nowadays. But I don't want to get bit myself so I stay away from those nasty social sites.”

And the next day, Mike says,

“Since your Facebook withdrawal, thought you might like to know that you are not alone. Check out http://tinyurl.com/ydkf6fj.”

I did check it out and, according to the article; I have committed social networking suicide. This sounds terrible. But then I remembered that I live in Oregon and physician-assisted suicide is legal here so I can be free of guilt (social, moral or otherwise). My doctor told me to get off Facebook for health reasons. Or he would have, had I talked to him about it. Close enough.

So I am off Facebook, Mike has stayed away from it and Peter says,

“I just got added as a Friend by my baby sister. I can't quit now.”

Peter is right, of course. If your younger sibling wants to be your friend, you can’t say no. I have a younger brother who is on Facebook. He never responded to my request to be his friend. The request is probably still pending.

I don’t miss Facebook even more.

AUNTIE FRAN

2010-02-07T20:08:00.000-08:00

We sent another aunt on my wife’s side of the family to back to God last week.

When my wife was 15 years old, her mother died. Auntie Fran stepped in as a mother substitute for my wife and her siblings. She lived to the ripe old age of 88.

Auntie Fran comes from a long line of strong women. Something she passed on to, her daughter, her nieces, her great-nieces, her daughter-in-law and her granddaughter through the years. They learned so much about becoming a woman, and more importantly, about becoming a lady: strength and grace, compassion and joy, love and respect, stubbornness and determination, and faith. All qualities of a woman, of a lady, who has figured out God’s plan for her in creation and giving life and love to those she meets.

I married into this family of strong women and I, like the other men in the family, have been blessed by Auntie Fran’s influence. Through our wives, our daughters, our nieces, our cousins we know what they learned at the feet of Auntie Fran.

OLD MAN! Oh, poop!

2010-01-25T11:33:00.000-08:00

Now that I am in my 61st year, I just had the 60th anniversary of my birth, this “Old Man” stuff has become very real. There are daily reminders of the onset of old age, starting with the morning glance into the mirror. Where did my hair go? And why is the little I have left so gray?

The normal aches and pains are more so. Recovery time is certainly taking longer, whether it is a pulled muscle or the common cold.

It is easier to get down on the floor than it is to get up. This happens everyday with the little ones I work with when we play ‘Ring Around the Rosie’. “Ashes, Ashes, We all fall down!” I make sure that I just kneel down. The kids are falling all around me in various dramatic poses. I have no desire to outperform them. I just try to get back up gracefully.

I have a reminder from my son as well. He is 22 and all wise in the ways of the world. After giving me directions on the freeway for taking the 9th street exit, he proceeded to get frustrated with me when I missed Exit 9. On that particular freeway there are several exits with street numbers as the identifier. He said ‘street’ and I have learned to take him at his word, after all, he knows best. Later, at home, while we were discussing my error in driving and following his directions I was told, “This is the problem, Dad. Your generation would only think 9th street when I told you 9th street. Jaime and me, we’re younger and we know 9th street means Exit 9 on the freeway.”

And the memory fades. While talking with my brother-in-law at Christmas Eve dinner about our trip to Europe, we were discussing Heidelberg, Germany. He had been to Heidelberg times years ago and was talking about different places in town to visit, most specifically, the castle on the hill. I could not remember anything about the castle or Heidelberg at all. I knew we had been there but it wasn’t in my memory. My wife and daughter assured me that we had seen the castle while in Heidelberg. I told my brother-in-law we had been to the castle. But I still didn’t remember it. A few days later my wife graciously and patiently refreshed my memory. My daughter absolved my forgetfulness by telling me that it was our first day in Germany and we were in a daze from the nine hour flight from Seattle and trying to adapt to Germany time. Yeah, right.

There is a good thing about being 60. I got the senior discount at Burgerville! Okay, it was only $3.60 off of the bill, but I’ll take it. The cashier asked me if I wanted the senior discount. I said, “Sure.” He said that he is reluctant to ask people as some folks have their pride hurt. I have some pride but not enough to turn down the discount. Burgerville, even though it is “inconvenient for most of America”, will be visited again by this old man.

THE DECADE AIN’T OVER, FOLKS!

2009-12-27T18:09:00.000-08:00

Once again the American education system has failed our children and their parents. And the American media has perpetuated the problem.

On the local ABC station evening news they ran a three minute synopsis of the last decade, starting with the year 2000. 2000 just happens to be the last year of the last decade.

2001 is the first year of this decade and 2010 will be the last year. But not according to ABC TV. Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve will be the first party of the new decade. I bet even Dick Clark knows that isn’t correct.

Where did these people learn to count? Or did they? Ask a person to count to ten and they will start with the number one, not with zero. Except when it comes to years. It makes no sense. Someone didn’t pay attention in math class or the teacher led them astray when tallying years.

And then these same people wonder why time passes so quickly, why the years just fly by.

The answer is simple. Y’all can’t count!

SAINTS BE PRAISED!

2009-11-23T13:10:00.000-08:00

On November 5, 2009, Sister Fidelis Kreutzer, SSMO, passed from this world. This grand lady was my wife's aunt. I have known Sister Fidelis since my wife and I were first married. While 'Sister' is her formal title, my wife called Sister Fidelis 'Auntie Fid', a name I took to using as well when speaking with her.

The passing of Auntie Fid was a sadness for her family and friends. But we all rejoice knowing she is in God's loving embrace. It should be noted that one sector of the American economy will suffer terribly because of Auntie Fid's going home to God. The Wrigley Chewing Gum Company has lost its best customer.

Over the years, thousands of children, young and old, have come to know Sister through the endless supply of gum that she carried in her pockets. It was through that simple gesture of a pack of gum being placed in our hands that many of us were reminded of God's unconditional love.

My two youngest nieces, when they first met Sister, pointed at Sister Fidelis and asked their aunt, "Who is that?" Sister quickly responded with, "God."

Auntie Fid was right. Through her so many of us met God face to face when she gave us some gum and said, "Bless your heart!" We were blessed indeed!

WHIRLWIND TOUR

2009-11-22T06:40:00.000-08:00

Our trip to Germany and Italy is almost over. We have seen Salzburg, Venice, Rome, Assisi, Siena and Florence. We are in Florence until tomorrow morning when we head back to Uberlingen for a restful last week and a Thanksgiving dinner with Jaime's friends on Wednesday night. All sorts of German food to go along with our turkey and noodles(English family style) and some Chinese food from a coworker from Kansas. An interesting dinner to be sure.

Florence is a city I do not need to visit again. Not my favorite place in Italy. Assisi is my favorite city of the entire trip. A quiet hillside to rest and retreat from the hustle and bustle of the big cities. We did get to see the pope in Rome. The general audience with the Holy Father is a hoot. People from all over the world cheering for him when he enters the room and groups aknowledging him in their own way as they are introduced to him. All the prayers and introductions are done in several languauges and by time the audience was over, I felt that Pope Benedict is indeed OUR pope, not just mine.

My favorite parts of the trip have nothing to do with sights and sounds that could be overwhelming at times. It was the simple, quiet moments that filled me with the greatest joy.

Just as I expected, getting off the plane at Frankfurt was the best. Walking through that last hallway and seeing Jaime there put a joy in my heart I had not felt for a long time. And holding her close, not letting go of her for those few seconds is a feeling only a father can understand when he has his daughter in his arms again. Later in our travels, on one of our many train rides, I was sitting with Barb and Jaime in a small cabin for four. Barb and I were on one side of the compartment, Jaime on the other. Barb had fallen asleep. Jaime looks at me and says, "Dad, you can sit over here by me, if you want." I moved right away, knowing what would happen. In an instant, as soon as I sat down, Jaime had her head on my shoulder. Oh, how I have missed those moments over the last ten months. It is so good to be Jaime's dad in person, once again!

OFF TO GERMANY

2009-11-05T20:42:00.000-08:00

Only two days left before my wife and I take off for Germany and seeing our daughter again after ten months of Skype visits. We are getting more anxious to leave as each day passes.

When we tell people we are going to travel to Germany and Italy we get all sorts of advice and recommendations. The usual ones include “Have a great time!”, “Have a safe trip!”, “Oh, Italy! Enjoy the food! Enjoy the people!”, and so on.

Two comments have stood out not for their enthusiasm but for their approach. One, from a well traveled friend of mine: “Trim your toenails before you leave. Your feet will swell from lots of walking and that extra bit of toe room makes a difference.”

The second from a parent at my wife’s school after my wife sent an email to parents saying she will be gone for a while and that we will meeting our daughter who has been working in Germany for the past year. Before our daughter returns home to start her own business, we are going to go explore Italy with her. We have never taken a trip like this before, (We have been to Canada and the East coast) and can’t pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity. The parent responded to my wife with,

“Good for you. Have a wonderful trip, we have never done anything like this either, so I will hold out hope that our daughter or son create the opportunity for us one day.”

If you can’t travel when you are young, maybe your children will make it possible for you when they are young adults. Bring your own toenail clippers.

IT IS FOOTBALL SEASON ONCE AGAIN

2009-10-20T22:06:00.000-07:00

And there are some things about football, college and professional, which I still don’t understand. Every year I ponder the same mysteries.

Why, on a pass play to the tight end, do the announcers always say the quarterback “completes a pass to the big tight end.” Have you ever seen a tight end in football who isn’t big? I checked statistics on tight ends in the pros. A sampling of five shows that the average weight is 250 lbs. and the average height is 6’ 4”. Do the announcers think we can’t tell that the tight end is big? Just once I would like to hear an announcer say, “The quarterback completes a pass to the little tight end.” That won’t happen, but the use of the phrase ‘big tight end’ is far better than “the quarterback completes a pass to his tight end.”

Another call by announcers that always intrigues me is the one about the running back who has broken through the line for a 20 or 30 yard run for a touch down. “And No. 22 scampers 30 yards for the touchdown!”

Only football players “scamper”. Baseball players don’t scamper as they run the bases. A basketball player doesn’t scamper after stealing the ball and running down the floor for a slam dunk.

And yet I cannot imagine telling a 6’, 210 lbs. running back named Bubba that he ran ‘nimbly and playfully about’ as he scored the touchdown.

Bambi scampers. Bubba barreled his way through to the end zone.

AWARDS?

2009-10-12T10:19:00.000-07:00

President Barack Hussein Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize last week. Quite an honor. An interesting choice given that the man has only been in office nine months and has only given speeches about things the prize committee deems important in its selection process. But the President has to be proud.

What should make him more proud is that just a few months ago he was given an honor not afforded to other presidents, except for Washington and Jefferson. Just in time for Christmas gift giving, Joseph Enterprises is again promoting its Chia Pet of President Obama. The Nobel Peace Prize pales in comparison to the Chia Pet award. Or does it?

MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DO! Part II

2009-10-11T20:39:00.000-07:00

I root for the University of Oregon Ducks. My reasons for doing so are plentiful. My daughter is a Duck. Three of her uncles are Ducks, as are three first-cousins, several first-cousins once removed and her great-grandfather. There are some Oregon State Beavers in the family and come football season we have great fun cheering on our respective schools.

This carries over into my work. The boss is a Beaver Believer. She hired me even though on the day of my interview I was wearing my Duck hat and Duck Dad t-shirt.

I do not miss an opportunity to have the toddler kids yell out, “Go Ducks!” when the boss is in the room. She plays along with the kids and responds with a “Go Beavs!” and then gives me a look that lets me know she is on to my tricks.

My monkey see monkey do kid joins right in with the “Go Ducks!” even though he has no idea what the fun is all about.

Or maybe he does. The other day the cheering started for the boss’ benefit. The young man joined in and proceeded to use a plastic carrot he was holding as a club. He was hitting another child on the head while he was chanting “Go Ducks!” over and over.

None of the other kids were hitting anybody as they chanted so I wondered where my monkey see monkey do kid got the idea to hit somebody on the head. Then I remembered the Boise State game in September. The power of television…

JUSTIFYING TIME OFF FROM WORK IN NOVEMBER

2009-08-26T21:16:00.000-07:00

The boss at the daycare wants to know people's schedule for fall term. This makes her job of scheduling people for work a lot easier.

I will be gone for three weeks in November. This is my way of telling the boss why I am going to be gone.

November 9, 2009 through November 27, 2009: International Studies Program

This will be an intensive study of parent and child relationships in Germany, Austria and Italy with an emphasis on the public transportation options available in Europe today and the effect on families utilizing those options.

Two days and one night will be spent in Salzburg, Austria analyzing transportation options available to Austrian families under the Nazi regime during World War II. A highlight of the visit to Strasburg will be a guided tour of the local countryside with a discussion of the role of music during those years.

Three days of study in Germany on the Bodensee (Lake Constance) will be followed by thirteen days in Italy with stops in Venice, Rome, Assisi, Sienna, and Florence. Studies in both countries will focus on the history of those cities and the influence of religion on the culture of the region.

The final days of the program will be spent traveling through Switzerland on board the Golden Pass train. The train is made up of panoramic cars that provide a spectacular view of the landscape and the Swiss Alps. An in-depth study comparing the geography of the valleys and the mountains will be conducted on board the train.

While the knowledge gained and the experiences from the course are priceless, this is a non-credit class. Thus no exams or summary papers will be required.

MONKEY SEE, MONKEY DO!

2009-08-02T19:07:00.000-07:00

This place where I am working with 1-2 year old kids has “size appropriate tables and chairs”. That’s fancy early childhood education lingo for “kiddie chairs and tables”. This is a good thing for the kids. Easier for them to sit down and eat. One of the drawbacks is that occasionally we have to tell a child to put his or her feet on the floor and to get off the table. Mostly they start to climb on the table and we catch them. Sometimes they will be lying on the table. That has been the extent of their misdirected behavior (another fancy bit of ECE lingo that means “misbehaving”).

Recently, however, we had a new child enter the group. This child is a climber. One of the first things the child did was climb on a table. In a flash, the child was standing on the table, grinning back at us. “Hey, look at me!”

This wouldn’t be so bad except that this event happens at least five times a day. To make matters worse, all the kids who only started to climb have learned from the master and are now full fledged climbers. And kids, who would not have even thought about climbing, are joining in. We now have a room full of toddlers who are table dancers! Every one of them with a big smile on the face, “Hey, look at me!”

Not to be deterred by the climbing restrictions, the new child has another trick that occurred on the playground the other day. I saw that familiar grin on the kid’s face but this time it was accompanied by a wood chip about the size of a cotton swab. Yes, the wood chip was being used to clean the ear. I broke all the new rules about talking to the child about what is happening (“I see you are jamming a piece of wood into your eardrum while you think you are mimicking your mom cleaning her own ear.”) and I pulled the hand away, tossed the chip to the ground and breathed a sigh of relief. Thinking that was enough excitement for the morning recess, I found out otherwise. When I turned around, the number one monkey see, monkey do kid in the class was standing there, looking at me, with wood chip in hand. And the grin on the face.

LIFE GOES ON

2009-06-26T06:33:00.001-07:00

Or more appropriately, “Life is what happens when you are making other plans”.

Thirty three years ago today on June 26, 1976, I entered into a lifelong commitment with Barbara Ann (cue the Beach Boys here). More properly called a covenant relationship known as marriage.

Nothing has turned out as I thought it would. We talked of four children, we have three. Two here, one in heaven. The first two children are beautiful girls. Our oldest child is thriving in her own right, living and working in Germany and growing wiser every day. Our second daughter died in the seventh month of pregnancy from trisome 18 (everything a Downs Syndrome child has and more). Our youngest, a son, came to us in the second month of his life through adoption, or as my brother calls it, “the paperwork method”. He too is growing wiser every day but he lives at home and like many folks today, is looking for work.

It was always our intention to be married “until death do you part”. However, I have been taking it in stages based on my heroes in marriage, our parents. The first step was to be married as long as Barb’s parents before her mother died. We made that a few years ago. Then it was to be married as long as my parents before my father died. We make that mark today! Next up is being married as long as my father-in-law and mother-in-law. They were both widowed and found love again for 35 years before death once again did part. After that goal is reached, the magic number is 50. A number of our aunts and uncles have attained that mark so we look to their lives for inspiration and reason for matching their accomplishments.

This anniversary time is always bittersweet. Today we celebrate being married. Tomorrow we celebrate our second daughter’s feast day. While the pain of losing her will never go away, the joy of knowing she is resting comfortably in God’s loving embrace and the pleasure of her six grandparents sustains us.

Despite all the ups and downs through the years, Barbara Ann still loves me. Life is good.

Baptisms

2009-06-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

At Mass this morning we had five children being baptized. Three infants and two siblings, ages three and five. Quite a crowd with all the parents, grandparents and Godparents and other family in attendance.

My wife and I were altar ministers and we had a great view of the Baptisms. As I was watching the action, I was busy guessing which children would be coming through the line where I would be giving Communion.

As the congregation comes through the communion line, I give a blessing to the children who are not old enough to receive the Body of Christ. I enjoy this because the parents love it and the children who are old enough, watch with great fascination as I make the sign of the cross on their forehead. Baptism days are even better because there is chance one of the new Christians will be coming through my line. And when they do, I get to be one of the first members of the church to give them a blessing.

In the midst of my elation this morning, I realized that my hero, Walt, wasn’t in line. Walt is an older, retired gentleman who is usually in the second pew and about the fourth person to receive communion. Walt has that look of wisdom and age about him. He also has a glint in his eye when he receives the bread that tells you he knows there is something very special happening.

I look forward to giving communion to Walt because his smile and that glint in his eye reminds me of the importance of what I am doing and that we are, indeed, the Body of Christ when we receive.

Pecking Order

2009-06-05T10:38:00.000-07:00

There is a yearly phenomenon (occurrence) in grade school and high school. An eighth grader is finally at the top of the heap, king of the hill, top dog and no longer the little kid in school. “I am somebody!” as Jesse J. would say. The same is true for seniors in high school. But then, reality sets in the following school year and you start all over at the bottom. While I have seen this for years with my children and others as they went from junior high to high school and high school to college, it was brought up again at a new level in my current job.

I work with these wonderful little kids who range from infancy to three years old. They are in age groups of infant, wobbler, toddler and transition. The toddlers and transition kids are just like the eighth graders and high school seniors. They finally get to the status of top dog and then one day, they start all over in the next class room.

I remember eighth graders being real butt heads when I was in seventh grade. Of course, when my class became the eighth graders we were wonderful human beings. We didn’t pick on the younger kids nor do anything mean to them, unlike the classes before us.

With the toddlers, and this holds true for the transition kids, the older kids are very much into pushing and shoving and taking toys and attention away from the younger kids. But there is a God and this June, three of the toddlers reached the ripe old age of two and moved up to the transition class. Back to the bottom of the pile they go.

What I enjoyed about this discovery of the cyclical pecking order was listening to the teachers as they analyzed the kids last week while we were watching them on the playground. It was a consensus that a particular child was ready to move up and that doing so would put him in his place. There is another child who is already in the older class and she will be put in her place because of a younger child moving up. Already the class dynamics have changed. The cliques and groupings are different at two and three years old. It is not surprising then, that as kids enter junior high and high school that they are well versed in the art of taking charge.

Murphy's Law?

2009-05-12T09:15:00.000-07:00

It seems inevitable. I go to the grocery store and grab a cart. Even if I carefully select a cart to make sure the wheels aren't bent or wobbly or whatever, I get a cart that immediately becomes a nuisance once I am inside the store. The cart steers to the right or a wheel is locked or the cart frame is bent and one wheel never touches the ground.

A few weeks ago I went to the grocery store and the cart rack was full of brand new carts. I thought I had a change of luck. Took the very first cart as there was no way I would be able to get a bad cart when they are all brand new.

Once inside the door, the inevitable happened. The right rear wheel went into spin mode. It never touched the ground and the cart steered to the right. What are the odds? I think that somewhere, out there, at a grocery cart manufacturing plant, there is a worker laughing heartily, knowing that a piece of his handiwork is causing someone a less than perfect shopping trip.

A new day

2009-04-21T10:18:00.000-07:00

Working in a day care (early childhood education center) has been a change from years at a desk. Changing diapers, wiping tears and runny noses, and going for walks around the room with my two favorite girls is a new way of looking at life. The paperwork I left behind is not important any more, the kids are.

When I walk into the classroom for my shift, my two favorite girls, both of whom are almost two years old, come running over and give me hugs and grab my hands. We proceed to walk around the room several times. It has become a ritual and I can't tell them no. The unconditional love is just wonderful to receive from these ladies.

On my first day at the new job, I was sitting on the floor and leaning over to pick up something (toys or the like) and there was one of my girls standing by me. All of a sudden I feel this very light brushing of a hand on my bald head. I am the only bald guy there. She was just trying to figure out what happened to my hair. Bald may not always be beautiful, but it certainly can be a novelty. The next day, in a different classroom with other kids, I found my bald head being the center of attention again as the kids drove several toy cars and trucks over my head.

All this serves to remind me that I am the oldest person at the center, my coworkers are about the same age as my children and I have more fun with the kids than with any of the adults in the building.

2009-04-14T10:09:00.000-07:00

This blog started out at the request/urging of my daughter and a friend from highschool. I left a desk job at the end of the year and ventured into what my daughter calls "twilight retirement".
In January, I started a new job working part-time at a childcare center.

There have been some advantages to this change. The biggest being that I am enjoying work for the first time in about 30 years. And my blood pressure is down. That pleases my doctor. I also have some time to write. Something I have been meaning to do for about 30 years as well.

While this blog was going to be stories about childcare adventures, it is really about being in my 60th year and trying to figure out what I am going to be when, or if, I grow up. It is going to be the place for me to voice my opinions and thoughts about life in general. Random thoughts from a meandering mind, without interruptions from people who know more than I.

I do not know if anyone will read this blog. Probably my daughter and my friend will because they want to see if I am doing what they encouraged me to do. At the very least, I can read what I wrote and wonder if it makes sense.