The Happy Misadventure

"I'm sure it's just right up here."

I just got back from a 35 minute walk. That is something I used to do at least 5 days a week. There is no good explanation for why I stopped and, besides, that's not the point. But I enjoyed it every bit as much as I used to and I hope I've rekindled a happy routine-- at least until the snow flies.

This past weekend I decided to take Kelsey up on an invite to see Shakespeare in the park in Ann Arbor. Much Ado About Nothing, one of my favorites.  So off I went on a Friday afternoon. The drive went well.

We decided to grab a bite at the nationally famous deli that calls Ann Arbor home, a deli that shall remain nameless. I stepped outside of my own personal dietary law and had a pastrami on rye with swiss, slaw, and russian.  I don't know, maybe I'm just a snob, but I don't go for deli's serving "rustic" rye, the kind made with a crust that leaves bruises, abrasions, and small lacerations throughout the mouth and esophagus.  And I really, really like it when you can actually taste the pastrami, especially when the sandwich is ordered with a large portion.  Shoulda been a sign.

Then, off to Shakespeare. We parked downtown because the venue didn't have onsite parking and, after all, we thought it was just up the hill from campus. So off we went, across the campus, up the hill, up the hill some more, past the cemetery-- the really big cemetery-- and, finally, after just 20 minutes or so, we were there. Well, almost. First we would have to hike across the park to the amphitheater located about 1.5 miles from where we stood at that moment. So, after a quick application of bug spray we went down the hill, across the valley, and up the hill, and down again (that's 1.5 miles as the crow flies) until we came to the amphitheater-- the vacant unstaffed amphitheater. Nope, we needed to follow the river to the parking area (the what ??). It looked like that's where one got tickets. 0.8 miles later the answer was a definite "no." This we knew because there was a sign telling us where to go to get tickets. Just another mile or so.

Exiting the jungle we finally got to pavement-- a paved pathway that climbed straight up, up, up. Finally, overheated, sticky and wet, we were within sniffing distance of the ticket office. And that's when Kels hit an uneven seam in the cement and blew her sandal apart. The good news was this happened within 50 feet of the bus stop to her apartment. We missed the bus but, first ray of sunshine, incredibly there was another just a minute or two behind the first.

Back at her apartment, with my daughter's feet looking like something out of the dustbowl migration, we realized we would never make the show. We swore we would never leave home without a map and clear directions to a destination/event we think we sorta know about.

Then again, maybe not. We had a really great time laughing about our muggy wandering up and down the forested hills of the Arboretum.  It was fun to be on a walk together. And, we learned where not to have deli. And, Kels got a couple new pairs of sandals-- missed the show but the mall was open. And, finally, I got reintroduced to the pleasure of taking a walk. Not a such a bad little excursion, after all.

A Father's Job

I've been thinking about just what it is that a dad does that's so important. Dad's teach their kids about guy stuff like how to throw a baseball, how to shoot a basketball, how to ride a bike. Our dad taught us how to collect large rocks and build a dam across the creek back of the cabin on Oregon where we spent a week each summer. He sure as heck taught me how to mow a lawn. But, of all the things my Dad did, I think the most important was to show his child how others should be regarded. And that's what I think is really a father's most important job.

By his actions a father can show that a woman is a person-- not a thing, not a servant, not less than, not a toy. By his actions a father can raise a son to know what it means to care for another person, what it means to show respect, to honor, to concern yourself with another. By his actions and expectations a father shows his child she is worthy and capable of attaining any goal-- and expected to reach far. By his actions a father shows his daughter  there is no place for using or accepting humiliation, disrespect, threats, or violence. By his actions a father shows his son there is no place for using or accepting humiliation, disrespect, threats, or violence. By his actions a father shows his child the value of industry, intellect, and motivation. By his actions a father shows his child the meaning of citizenship as a person living in a world filled with other people, of other races, preferences, and genders.

In the end, if he's done his job well, a father will live to see a child who learned from his actions, a child who is loving, caring, capable, and tolerant. And in that, he will have defined what it is to succeed in life.

I may have been a slow learner, but my father was a success.

Aged Related Anxiety

I must be aging poorly. Isn't it supposed to be that, the older you get, the more experience you acquire, the more you know, the older your kids get, the less you worry. So what's up?

I'm a pretty busy guy these days and, frankly, miss writing this blog. I realize a good portion of the time it may not offer all that much in the way of depth or insight but it sure offers a good safety valve for me. My current responsibilities find me writing almost every day, things like long letters to members of the medical staff, consultants, and administrators. And, too, I've had to make a speech or two in the past few weeks (ah, ya shoulda outta been there!). But with all that, I have a fairly steady volume of things to concern me, worry about, and keep me up at night and I miss my safety valve.

So with all that, last night my cell phone rings at 2:20AM. First, I almost never keep my cell phone within earshot of the bedroom, but I did last night.  Second, late night calls are always a wrong number, I assume someone looking for drugs or a hooker. So, even though it rang, I didn't bother to answer.

Then, this morning I checked to see who called: Kelsey at 2:20AM. Crap! At my age I'm supposed to smile and think, "that crazy kid!" Instead I'm thinking the worst.

My daughter recently got back the results of her Medical College Admission Test and she did pretty darn well. So, I'm thinking, wow, good MCAT score, got a new car last week, I hope she wasn't out drinking and driving, picked up, and spending a night in jail! I tried calling her at 7:30 this morning, a Saturday, a time when no self-respecting college kid is up. No answer. Sure hope she's not in jail, poor thing. Sent a text. Same time. No answer. Same worry.

Finally around 10:30 I got confirmation it was an accident. Probably butt dialing. She assured me she doesn't drink and drive. And that's when it struck me: Aren't I supposed to be over this?? Am I not old enough, wise enough, my daughter not proven herself careful enough, to stop with the worry already? Oh well, I'm just glad to know it was an accident. After all, worried as I was, I'm not a worrier by nature.

But wait a minute. Who was she with when that phone went off by accident, and what were they doing, and..........

My Mom's Friend Edith

This story came through yesterday, NPR's obituary of Jean Stapleton, a woman my Mom never knew but whose character, Edith Bunker, became one of her best friends. Mom spent a whole lot of Saturday nights with Edith, admiring her common sense, her resilience, her ability to fend off and stand up to her domineering and ignorant husband, Archie.

My Mom didn't have to cope with as much abuse as did her pal Edith, but she could appreciate and recognize the similarities, the common lot of so many housewives. They were the familiar assumptions and expectations so many American women had to endure for generations. To that, once a week on Saturday night, Edith Bunker took to the television airwaves to demonstrate that "simple housewives"and "dumb women" really did possess the insight and wisdom to guide the species to greater understanding, tolerance, and the value in caring.

It has been more than 40 years since I last sat in the den with my parents and watched All In The Family and it's a bit sad seeing this centerpiece pass on. For both of my parents, as well as my brother and me, watching that show let us enjoy the education of a nation. Through gut splitting laughter and tears we relished the disrobing of bigotry, sexism, and all manner of intolerance. But for the housewives of America like my Mom, I think there was truly a special bond with Edith, the "dingbat" who was just oh so smart, oh so capable, and oh so repressed by her place in this society. But she knew, my Mom did, that Edith Bunker was exactly what so many women of the time were: Trapped by norms, treated as inferior, capable well beyond what most everyone ever saw, and responsible for more than anyone knew. Friends. Sisters in Arms.

Lucky 21

My daughter turns 21 today. There are so many things to feel grateful for in just being able to write that statement: She's alive. She's healthy. She's never suffered serious illness or injury. She's bright. She's beautiful. She's ambitious.

I've been among the most fortunate of all parents: No colic. No terrible two's. No juvenile beauty pageants. No tidal wave of adolescent drama or angst. No eating disorders. No calls from the cops.

Not perfect, perhaps, but damn close. And today she gains full authority-- except at a car rental agency. For that she has another 4 years to wait. For the rest, I think she's in pretty good shape. But she's still my kid!

Happy Birthday KCS!

Momentary Opportunity

I ran out to the market the other evening to pick up a prescription for a friend. As I pulled into the parking lot I looked up to see this dramatic sunset. We're not New Mexico or Arizona but we do manage to get a spectacle like this every now and then. As I prepared to jump out of the car I thought I might grab a picture of this on the way back out or after I got home. All I had to do was run in and run out.

As it turns out my trip to the pharmacy took longer than expected and by the time I got back out to the car the scene had morphed into another phase of sundown. The spectacle that had captured my attention was gone. The light that remained had none of the color, the drama, or the beauty of the sky just minutes before.

For once I had done the smart thing and, recognizing a beautiful and fleeting opportunity, I stopped first and captured the moment. And when I later returned to the car I realized the value of my decision. Instead of racing ahead to the next thing on the list, I made a conscious decision to stop, to take in the beauty of that moment before it faded away. It cost me less than a minute.

This experience reminds me, once again, of all the beauty, all the photographs, all the opportunities in my life that I chose to place on hold. Sadly, at this point, it reminds me of too many missed opportunities.

Happily, it reminds me to be more diligent: look for things that matter. And when you see them, when they pop-up in the real or figurative sky, stop for just a moment and drink it in. When the picture is that beautiful, the person is that dear, the friendship is that precious, the experience is that powerful, stop. You won't be able to at every opportunity, but you will for more than you think. But only if you choose to stop. Only if you choose to look, to keep your eyes open. Only if you recognize the importance and just how fleeting these moments can be. Whether it's a sunset, a new baby, or a rapidly aging friend, they grace our lives for what is, or sometimes seems, just a moment. And then they're gone. Gone to sundown, gone to adulthood, sometimes just plain gone.

Caution: Objects in Mirror.....

I saw this little inspirational piece when I was searching for an image recently. I saved it because it struck me with its image and message.

I'm always interested in images that include people when it comes to choice of sex and conveying a message. In the present case, this scene wouldn't work nearly as well with a man. On the other hand, I would argue it works so very well in the present case because we know, expect, believe, that women so often are victims and so often get stuck. And, too, the woman above is most probably in her twenties, early thirties at best, and not in her fifties. Again, our perception is of those crossroads appearing earlier in life, not later.

I don't particularly like any of that. Accurate or not, classifying and stereotyping based on sex makes about as much sense as doing the same based on religion or color. But that's not what bugs me the most.

Maybe I'm alone in this, but, when I read that message the undercurrent to me is not choice or empowerment but gratification. I read this and I have to think back on all the times in my life when I stuck with something that didn't particularly make me happy but I did so because it was taking me somewhere. Likewise, I read this and I have to wonder: How does one know? How does one, especially one with limited knowledge of the world, of where they're going, of what lies ahead, how does such a person know that something no longer has value?  And finally, why does something necessarily have to serve you?

It is important to keep your eyes and ears open, your wits about you. If something hurts, if something harms, if in your heart you're just not right with it, then you probably do need to move on. Certainly far too many people stay well after they should have figured out something was wrong. In that I think mostly of relationships. But others give up simply because it's "no fun," it requires too much work, it interferes with their social life. Knowing the difference-- difficult versus dangerous-- is everything.

At it's core I'm willing to sign on and put the poster on my wall but only with the following caveats: "Caution. Things may not always be as they appear. Sometimes a bitter pill brings remarkable healing. Look both ways before crossing."

Yeah, I could maybe hang that one up. But I'd have to take the woman out of the picture.