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High Times

So, as I was driving up to the coffeehouse today, I passed an exit (as I do every time I drive up here) and the names of the two towns at said exit gave me (not literally) pause, as they often do, making me wonder how people choose to name places. In this instance the two towns are Climax and High Point. Now, as far as I’m concerned, climax IS the high point, amirite? But, in addition to these two towns, there are also towns named Apex and Pinnacle out here. I haven’t bothered to look for an Acme, NC or a Zenith, NC or an… well you can probably guess where I’m going with that one. But it wouldn’t surprise me if either existed. Except that last one. I’m pretty sure there’s no town out here named that.

Speaking of altitude (I crack myself up sometimes) I spent a recent weekend in suburban Denver, CO. The youngest son of The Great Vincenzo, my long-time partner at the firehouse, got married out there and they asked me to perform the ceremony. Long time readers may recall from this post that I got myself an online ordination a while back so that I could be the officiant for my niece/goddaughter’s wedding. Which, of course, sounds better than saying I officiated the wedding since I don’t wear Zebra stripes and a whistle as part of my ensemble. Although that might be something to consider moving forward…

I followed up the wedding weekend five days later with a trip to Lexington, KY where I attended the first ever Railbird Festival. Thirty bands over two days headlined by the Raconteurs, Brandi Carlile, Gary Clark Jr. and St. Paul and the Broken Bones, the weekend did not disappoint musically. I also got the chance to listen to a handful of bands I’d never heard of (or hadn’t paid much attention to) before and decided as they come to my area I’ll definitely check out Ona, Futurebirds, and Drew Holcomb and the Neighbors. I had pretty decent food too, including something called Burgoo which is a kind of stew. I must say it was pretty tasty even though the weather wasn’t exactly what I’d call stew weather. 90º and humid both days is typically not weather I’d eat something like that, as it feels more like a cool weather meal. However, as I think I pointed out here, the fact that I am becoming more repulsed by the thought of waiting in line as I get older, when I saw the Burgoo line was basically nonexistent I stepped right up. And was rewarded with a lovely, reasonably priced meal I might add. As an added bonus I found not one, but two wonderful little locally owned doughnut shops very close to my hotel. I also picked up some sunblock since my newly-shorn dome would be more susceptible to burning. Yes, you read that right, I went back to shaving my head. The novelty had pretty much worn off after letting it go for as long as I have. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized the time was right. I didn’t want Drew and Ang to be showing someone their wedding pictures ten years from now and have that person ask them how in the world they got Doc Brown to marry them. So, yeah, it was time.

Getting back to the weather, I know there are some (you know who you are) that might feel the urge to make a comment about the weather I experienced in Kentucky. I will just say this about that. If I have to lose my derriere, I’d rather sweat it off than freeze it off.

Random side note; as I was leaving Lexington the morning after the festival I noticed a sign in front of a law firm- Somebody, Somebody, Somebody, Mains and I thought, well that’s not something you see every day. Between my self, my siblings, and my cousins, there’s not a lawyer in the lot of us. Just sayin’.

Ok, I started this several days ago, but the 21st being what it is, I decided to push this back a bit so I could pay attention to that particular day and produced this one. As it turns out the titles are similar-ish but thanks, of course, to Colorado, have totally different meanings, if you smell what I’m burnin…

Hey if you can’t make yourself laugh then what the heck good are you, ya know?

So to take this thing to its conclusion, last night I went to (cue the Andy Griffith voiceover) Raleigh to see Judah and The Lion. I’d never heard of them before last year’s road trip to the Moon River Festival in Chattanooga and I really enjoyed their set. They recently went back out on tour to support a new album and yeah, if they’re coming by you, check them out. So, last night’s tour was in an outdoor amphitheater in downtown Raleigh. Nice place. The openers had recurring technical issues, but whatevs. Judah and The Lion came out and just. lit. it. up. for the first five or so songs. And then Mother Nature did the same and the show got cancelled.

Sigh.

Like I said the last time I had an epic fail concert experience– ya pays your money and ya takes your chances. Especially at an outdoor venue. At least this time there was no hotel expense and only a one hour vs a four hour drive each way. My fails are getting less fail-y maybe. Here’s hoping.

Peace

PS. etc, etc. In the time between wrapping up this post and making time to actually, ya know, post it, I got an email from the promoter regarding the above-mentioned concert. It’s been rescheduled to September 4th, so yay me!

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Time

As I looked back through some of my posts over the last couple years, and thinking about some that I put up on the old site, I realized that so many have titles relating to the passing of time. This is, of course, a recognition on my part of the course my family’s lives have taken over the last 16+ years. As I was chatting with the Oldest One on our daily phone call as she makes her way home from work, we talked about today (since we talked yesterday, it was actually tomorrow then…) and, as I’ve written before, today is unalterably the most bittersweet of days. We celebrate the birthday of the youngest grandchild while acknowledging another year since Diane died.

To be honest, when I sat down yesterday to work on this, my first thought was to just do some cursory introduction-type thing and then put in an excerpt from what I’ve previously written about Diane and Caitlin. After I ruled that out I thought maybe I’d just re-post a piece I’d written on an earlier August 21st.

Neither of those things felt right as I looked at them (the posts) more closely, and the more I considered it, the more I knew the day deserved its own post.

So here goes.

As the Little Diamond gets older, I want to make sure she knows the Grandma she never got the chance to know. I mean, obviously, I want all of the grandkids to know her; the Reigning Princess shares some of her personality traits after all. The Heir To the Throne and the Boy Genius, while maybe not remembering her, at least had moments with her. Moments saved on film (or, you know, digitally) that the three younger ones never will have. So, while I don’t want to gloss over the other littles, because of the connection inherent in their “shared” date, it’s important to me that LD knows her Grandma. I know they would’ve been fast friends, LD has some of Ellie’s personality and she and Diane had a pretty solid relationship, after a time. I think, Diane would’ve been in on the Jojo Siwa phenomenon too. Maybe not to the point of wearing bows and/or unicorn headbands herself but, yeah, she would’ve loved taking LD shopping for Jojo-wear at the drop of a hat. I know her heart would have been so full watching the first dance recital last spring too, just for one example.

Quick side story, one of my favorite Diane/Grandma Ellie stories at that. When the Boy Child was in the Army he bought his first new car; a Jeep Wrangler. He really enjoyed driving it with the doors off and the top down. As you might imagine, this made for a pretty windy trip wherever you were going. Diane was pretty particular about her hair. I don’t mean to say she was obsessive about it or anything, but she always looked pretty dialed in before she left the house. One day, while I was at the firehouse, the two of them got in his Jeep and went for a ride. Someone else was with them, but I’m drawing a blank on who it was. And since that part isn’t germane to the story, I’ll leave it at that. Since it was a forty-five-ish minute drive from the house in Wondertucky (not the town’s real name) to the Greater Burlington Metropolitan (all 500 citizens) area to say they were a little windblown is an understatement of epic proportions. To further set the scene, Mom’s eyesight wasn’t stellar by this point in her life. As I wrote about on the old site after her passing, it wasn’t so bad that she wouldn’t point out (real or imagined) road hazards; other cars, dogs, deer, tractors, you get the idea, but it was bad enough that she wouldn’t always see faces clearly unless they got really close. So, when they stopped in for a visit, and the Boy Child greeted her with a typical “Hi Gram!” her response was an enthusiastic “Hi Ryan! Who’s your friend?”

We all had a good laugh about that one, and reminded Ellie about it from time to time. And it’s actually memories like that one that have helped soften the loss as the years have passed. It also feels a lot healthier mentally to laugh about our past than it does to weep over it. Kind of a celebrate what you had versus mourning what you lost perspective. I’ll always be able to connect with the last days. But I try really hard not to tap into that. Especially since I’m no longer doing VIP’s. I felt like ripping open that particular vein and bleeding on the stage helped get my point across. Now that I’m done with that part of my life, my grief can finally mellow. It will never go away completely but it allows me to live a normal-ish life.

Well this is starting to take a turn on me, so let me try and get back to where I was originally headed with this thing. I FaceTimed with the Little Diamond and her Daddy this morning, and she told me they were going to the coffeehouse and then the play place. I’m fairly certain there are (were) bunny cookies and a cupcake in her future. As there should be on a birthday, amirite?

Sweetie, I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. But one day I’ll sit you down and show you pictures of an amazing woman. I’ll explain to you how she was the life of every party she attended. I’ll explain to you how much she meant to, not just our family, but through her advocacy work, to people she barely knew. I’ll explain to you how much she would have loved spoiling you, and your big brother, and your cousins if she’d had the chance. And maybe one day you’ll understand why sometimes, on your birthday, I get a little tear in my eye.

Happy birthday sweetie, I love you!

Peace

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Keep Moving Forward

So, for this post, I’m doing very little of the writing. Allow me to explain. A couple hours ago, I got a text from my son, asking me to proofread something before he posted it to his social media accounts. I did, and after making a couple minor suggestions, asked him if I could put it up here. He graciously agreed. I’m not gonna lie, once I took off the proofreader hat and put on the Dad hat, I cried as I read it. It’s very powerful and in addition to illuminating the ongoing struggles he and his immediate family face down, it’s a sobering reminder of how close we came to losing him.

And not even knowing he was in pain.

That’s it for me, for now. I’ll probably put a little bit at the end. But the rest of what you read will be his words…

This is going to be a bit of a long and personal post. I pre-apologize for that. I don’t usually read them myself so I can understand if you keep scrolling. But if you’ve stayed this long maybe you’ll read a little further.                                                           

This is what PTSD and anxiety looks like for me today. I’m not having a particularly great morning. I had a triggering (I hate the buzzwords, but I don’t know how else to label it) day yesterday. Some work related, some not. I was on edge most of the day yesterday. I felt depressed. I tried to work through it. I tossed and turned most of the night. I came home from work this morning thinking that I was fine. But I wasn’t. I promptly snapped at Danielle when she asked me a simple question. I didn’t even realize I had done it until I noticed her change in demeanor. Then I could feel it coming back in the pit of my stomach. That awful feeling of guilt, shame, self doubt.

“Why did you snap at her?”

“What’s your problem”

“Pull your shit together”. 

After I took the kids to daycare I laid in bed for an hour and felt bad for myself. I really beat myself up about it. I tried to talk to Danielle about it but she was at work already and wasn’t really in a place where she could have that kind of cPonversation. So there I laid. Catastrophizing. 

I started to run. I hated every step. I ran too hard at the start and bonked a few miles in. So I took a lot of walk breaks. So many walk breaks. But I just kept moving forward. I wanted to quit so much. I started breaking it down into more digestible segments. “Run to that fire hydrant and then walk for 5 seconds” I did that over the last 4 miles. It sucked. But I eventually finished. My first long run training up for what will culminate in my longest run ever. Next spring. 

Today was my first long run as a part of my training plan. I didn’t want to do it. The thought of getting out of bed was too much. So I laid there some more. Then through a series of thoughts I remembered the fundraiser I’m working on (more on that shortly) I couldn’t give in to my feelings. I had to get up. So I did. 

Late spring of 2020 I am going to run a kilometer for every firefighter that commits suicide in 2019. As of this moment that number is north of 60. It’s been over 100 for the last several years. I almost contributed to that number. I’m doing this run to raise money for Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support. The organization that helped me get to a place where I could get the help that I needed. I will be getting a link to donate directly to them. I’m not sure how successful this fundraiser will be. But I’m going to try to make it big. It needs to be big. People need to know there’s help. 

As a part of the build up to this event, and the run itself, Danielle is going to be documenting my story and my struggles. She’s a phenomenal storyteller & I think with her help we can really make a difference in people’s lives. 

If you made it all the way through, thank you. And stay tuned for details on next springs fundraiser.

There you have it. I’m so proud of the transparency he’s willing to show, baring his soul on the page like this. I can’t think of a better way to remove the stigma than to get this out in the open so people in need are more willing to talk about it without feeling they’re showing weakness. As I said, I’ll publicize the shit out of his efforts, and this is the first of what I hope will be many reminders.

One last thing, and this holds true with anything I post here, if you feel so inclined, please share the post. Hopefully someone that may need to see the message my son is sharing, will see it that way.

Peace

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What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Ok, I’ve got to get a couple things out of the way first… A.) Thanks so much for the overwhelming response to my last post. The sheer volume of readers was overwhelming as were the comments both on this site as well as on the various social media platforms I use to get this stuff out there. It was one of the most viewed posts and THE most shared post I’ve had in the (almost) ten years (side note, Holy Crap! Ten years?) I’ve been doing this. So from the bottom of my heart, and on behalf of my family, thanks!

Oh yeah, I mentioned “a couple things” didn’t I? Brief senior moment… So, B.) Often times the title I choose is a tad bit misleading. Sometimes they make perfect sense to me, sometimes they don’t and sometimes I just like the sound of it even though it doesn’t remotely fit what I wrote that day. Such is the case today, since what I’m about to put down for you here is neither about summer nor vacation. Rather, I’m going to attempt to put a literary bow on my trip back to Illinois.

Life is about discovery.  It starts at an early age, really. Toddlers discover new skills regularly and, as we grow, more discoveries, both similar and brand new come to our consciousness.  With a little luck, discovery is a part of our lives for the duration. 

For example, while I was home I made a very important discovery.  At the Heir To The Throne’s graduation party the Reigning Princess and the Little Diamond were seated next to me at one point and each was enjoying a lovely cupcake. A lovely homemade cupcake at that. Some wonderful human being made several dozen of these small delights, and I, for one, was grateful as you might imagine. I asked the Little Diamond if I could have one. She looked at me sweetly, and said simply, “No.”

I said “Wait a minute, who took you to the cupcake place and bought you cupcakes?” She pointed at me. “And who took you to the park to play all those times?” She pointed at me. “And who took you to the coffeehouse and got you juice and bunny cookies?” With a mouthful of cupcake frosting, she pointed at me.   “So, now can I get a cupcake?”

Her reply, again, was a resolute “No.”  With an impish grin for added emphasis.

Now what, you might ask, did I discover?  Simply this.  When I’ve lost control of the things that make me me and it comes time for the family to make decisions on my behalf, I want that kid nowhere near the process or I’ll end up living in some rat-infested dump of a nursing home.  And if my room has a window, (and I feel like that’s a big IF) it’ll probably be overlooking a bakery that specializes in cupcakes that are bigger than your head.

I’m joking, of course. Mostly. I’m fairly confident she’ll get out-voted anyway. So far.

Ok, I’m gonna keep this one a little on the shorter side than the last one was. But I want to end it with a question and I’d really like to hear from some of the faithful on this. Honest opinions, at that. I think I’ve talked about this before here, at least in passing, but I’m thinking about it again. Specifically, I’m thinking about selling ad space on the site. Tbh, I haven’t really dug deep into that yet, so I don’t know what kind of revenue would be generated. I’m fairly confident it wouldn’t be huge, based on the volume of “clicks” I generate, and a part of me kind of enjoys providing you with content that, while it may not be Pulitzer material, is at least also not clubbing you over the head with ads for E.D. meds or whatever Godawful fashion bit is trending at any given moment. I recognize that Godawful fashion is probably not the kind of thing advertisers want their website typing, but hey, I’mma speak my truth. So think about some of the other websites you peruse, and tell me what you think about having ads alongside whatever it is you may be viewing.

Like I said, I really want to hear some opinions on this from those of you that read me. So please comment, either here or on whatever social media platform drove you here. Thanks in advance for your input, and, as always, thanks for reading the stuff I put out here.

Peace

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PTSD

You may have noticed I haven’t produced any content here in, oh, almost two months. There are many reasons for this, and I’m not about to bore you with any of them. Instead, I’d like to do this. Devote today’s post to something different from my typical light-hearted fare and dive right into the topic I’ve chosen to come back here with.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Last fall I wrote about the way we (mis)treat our veterans and I included some statistics I found on the interwebz along with some nonprofits that provide essential services to vets in need. I had no idea how close to home any of this was at the time. I found out just how close it was this past April.

I had already planned a trip back to Illinois for various grandkids events. What I hadn’t planned for was finding out my son had been diagnosed with PTSD as a result, not only of his time in the Army, but that service coupled with coming home from Baghdad to the immediate aftermath of Caitlin’s death with a topper of the often times life and death (emphasis on the death part) of our chosen career.

For some background, after he graduated high school he knew he wanted to make the fire service his career. The fly in the ointment was that he was too young to test for FD jobs at that point. I had told him, probably several times, that I thought the military would be a good experience for him. As I’ve said numerous times, both here and IRL, he was never a bad kid by any means, but I felt that the self-discipline the military would teach him would serve him well as an adult.

Then September 11th happened.

And, of course, everything changed.

In January 2003 he was sent to Kuwait for the second time. His unit had spent several months there in 2002, but this time they prepped in earnest for what would become Operation Iraqi Freedom. In March of 2003 his unit was among the first into Iraq. They were in country for about eight weeks when Caitlin was killed and I contacted the Red Cross to get him home, ultimately too late to say good bye to her.

Due to his short-timer status (he only had a few months left in his enlistment) he was allowed to stay stateside after Caitlin’s funeral. I don’t recall exactly how long he was able to stay with Diane and I but it seems as though it was several weeks, maybe a month, before he had to go back to Fort Benning, GA to finish out his enlistment. We didn’t talk much about his time overseas in these days. The only conversations I remember having with him were that it took him about two weeks of being home to stop scanning the rooflines for snipers for one; and that one day, as he cut the grass for me, a couple neighborhood kids innocently lit off some firecrackers. It was a week or two before July 4th, so that wasn’t unusual. His response to the sound of the firecrackers was to hit the ditch. That’s the environment he had come from, so I understood it and wasn’t too alarmed when he told me. I figured as he reacclimated to civilian life, he’d get a better handle on things.

I had no clue how wrong I was.

We had always been able to talk about any number of topics, he and I. But, looking back, few of the topics were of a serious nature. And I don’t say that to throw stones at either of us, more as matter-of-fact. I don’t believe for a second that either of us feared difficult conversations. Maybe more that by our nature we each tend to put off the difficult conversations.

So now, flash forward to April 2019. A got a text from my daughter-in-law one morning asking if I had a few minutes to talk. I did and she called me a moment or two later.

As I listened to her tell me my son had been diagnosed with PTSD I felt all the air in my lungs leave me. I had had no clue. And as the realization that I’d had no clue washed over me, I felt an almost instant sense of failure. How could I have missed something like this? How could I never once have a conversation with him about this? And, almost as quickly, I recognized the same behavior in myself. I mean, after all, I chose the name of this blog due to my own ability to hide personal struggles from the general public. Again, this is not me pointing fingers, this is me trying to lay this out as matter-of-factly as I can. These were the thoughts that went through my head. And they rocked my world like it hadn’t been rocked in a very long time.

Since I had planned on coming home in about ten days anyway, I told her I’d pack up my stuff and be there as quickly as I could. So while they made arrangements to find in-patient counseling for him, I made arrangements to get out of town and on the road home. 48 hours after finding out, I was on the road back to Illinois to help out however I was needed. I figured, at the very least, I could provide some sense of normalcy for their two littles, since we soon found out Daddy would gone for around a month, maybe more, depending on how it went. He ended up getting admitted into a behavioral health center founded by our union, the International Association of Fire Fighters (IAFF) in suburban Baltimore, MD.

Just a few weeks prior to all this we had both attended a legislative conference for the union in Springfield and one of the speakers was a young woman from the center. I remembered something she had mentioned, it was something I’d heard before, but this time, it stuck. She said, if you encounter a friend or coworker that was struggling emotionally, you need to ask them if they’d had any thoughts about harming themself or others. And I mentioned that to my D-I-L and told her if she hadn’t asked him that, specifically, she needed to. She texted me back a little while later and said she asked him and he said that he had not. So that was a small sigh of relief. After he had been at the center for a few days we found out that he’d lied to her. He had, in fact, given thoughts to harming himself, the stress had gotten so bad. He said he couldn’t handle seeing anymore dead people. It goes without saying that’s a part of our job.

We were able to speak with him pretty much every day right from the start. And as his time there went on (he was in for 30ish days) and he made more progress the frequency of his calls increased. In all honesty, I worried that he was pushing to get released too soon. But he assured me that wasn’t the case, that he was truly ready. To say there were no bumps in the road after he returned would be a lie. There were, without question. To the point that he and I went for a drive one night so we could vent at each other, and, while in the car he gave me, for the first time since he came back from Iraq in 2003, an example of what he’d been dealing with since then, unbeknownst to all of us. And I’m not going to describe it for you other than to say it was pretty horrific. And I can’t imagine carrying it with me for any amount of time, let alone for sixteen years. But it really helped illuminate for me what he’d lived through and with for all those years.

The plan laid out for him to return from the center was; his first week was off work, to get back into the flow of home life. Then back on the job for a week of light-duty. Followed by a return to full duty. His time on light-duty was pretty helpful for him as he went to each of his firehouses on each shift to explain to them what he’d been through and what the center had done for him. Talking about it helped. His return to full duty came at him like a young Mike Tyson. Relentlessly. Each shift, for his first four shifts back, his crew had a cardiac arrest call. Karma gave no fucks, clearly.

But he continued, and continues, making baby steps forward. It helped a lot once the people that lived in the town he works stopped trying to die every day he worked, but more than that, the things he learned at the center helped him keep upright and moving in the right direction. Which is, of course, the best outcome we could have hoped for, all things considered.

I’ve tried over the years, and I think I’ve done an ok job, of telling him that I’m proud of him, proud of the man he’s become. He’s got a good heart, an empathetic soul, and he truly cares about others. I think he’s on the right track to caring equally about himself and his own well-being. To that end, he’s working on a fundraiser with the proceeds to support an organization that benefits firefighters- Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support . Imma tell you right now, as he figures out what he’s going to do on this front I’ll be publicizing the shit outta this.

Before I wrap this up I want to get a couple things out here. I’m usually hesitant to name people for fear of forgetting someone. Today, I’m going to take that chance. I need to thank in no particular order; the guys from my union, Local 3234 for offering support in any way needed and with no hesitation. The men and women from my son’s local, Local 4813 for truly displaying brotherhood and sisterhood in his time of need. Matt Olson, the driving force behind ILFFPS, for answering every question I threw at him and also taking the time to ask me if I was processing everything ok. Thanks to Wendy, Vin, Carey, and Laura for letting me unload on you when I needed someone to talk to because, of course, I still have a hard time showing weakness in front of my own kids, especially when I feel like they’re looking at me for strength. I need to thank my rock star of a daughter-in-law for, well, pretty much everything. You kept the wheels on at the house when we were struggling to understand the changes coming our way, all while putting up with the quirks Lilly and I brought. We’re truly blessed to have you in our family. And if there is anyone I forgot to mention, I’m so very sorry.

Lastly, if you’re reading this and you’re struggling with whatever personal demons you may face, please remember you’re not alone. Talk to someone, seek help, recognize your value as a human being and how important you are to someone else. Please.

Peace.

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Random Conversations With A Three Year Old – Wrapping Up

In order to wrap this up, I’ve got two updates on my time hanging out with the 3 year-old. I mentioned in an earlier post that after our stop at the coffeehouse we head to a local park for play time. Unless it’s raining, in which case (the first time anyway) we went to a well known, franchised, hamburger place. She got a meal that made her “Happy” (lulz) and played for quite a while on the indoor playground. The next time it rained, as I GTS’d a somewhat less Golden Arch-y place to go, she very helpfully suggested we might try visiting Disney World. Taking that advice under consideration (not really) I continued my interwebz search and found a spot, very close by called Kinderland. Can I just say that this little indoor playground is right in the wheelhouse for three year-old grandchildren of mine? Slides, a ball pit, swings, stuff to climb on, a plethora of options all geared to preschool aged kids. And to top it off they have Nutella To Go packs! As I mentioned in my first post about hanging with a three year-old, she’s a big fan of Nutella, so this place is like pure win for her.

And since we’re talking about food (can I segue like a boss or what?) let me just say the Little Diamond is a confirmed grazer. Like three breakfasts, two lunches, a dinner and a snack is not an uncommon day. She’s got a good appetite and eats a variety of good, healthy, things. With the occasional exception, because the apples in our orchard often stay close to the tree… Case in point, the other day for breakfast 2.0 she wanted grapes and mango slices. Healthy, right? I asked what else she wanted and she pointed innocently at the fudge stripe cookies. You know the type, they’re made by elves, I believe. In an incredible display of discipline, I told her she could only have one and she had to have something else healthy. So she chose carrots. Now, we’re good here, right? 75% healthy stuff with one cookie, especially a cookie as irresistible as one with stripes of fudge, feels like the best of both worlds. I figured this would be kept on a need-to-know basis; between LD and Grandpa. That lasted until Daddy walked into the kitchen to refresh his coffee.

“Daddy I had a stripe cookie for breakfast!”

Ratted out by a 3 year-old. We went through a similar exchange when her brother came into the kitchen a few minutes later, at which point I asked her if she’d like to go out on the front porch and shout it out to the neighborhood. She demurred. A little while later, when Mommy came into the kitchen and commented on the fruit LD had chosen for breakfast, I asked LD if she’d like to add any further comment aaaannnd she helpfully told her Mom she’d started her breakfast with a stripe cookie.

I’m perfectly fine with all this too, btw. If a Grampa can’t feed possibly inappropriate breakfast foods, well then, we’ve let the terrorists win, haven’t we?

I’ve been sitting here, intermittently staring at the computer screen for about 30 minutes now, trying to decide which direction I want to go as I try to finish this post. We had a couple of larger events the last couple days and either of them would be perfectly fitting ways to close this out. Ok, I picked one so here goes. The other one may surface soon or it may float off into the ether of my brain, time will tell.

A couple posts back I pondered whether there was anything more adorbs than a three year-old in a tutu. I can now say that there is, in fact. A dance floor full of three year-olds in tutus may well be the highest score to be obtained on the Adorbs Gradient Rating System (not a real thing) ever. Blasting past puppies, kittens, bunnies, laughing babies, you name it.

This was confirmed yesterday afternoon at the Little Diamonds first ever (and possibly last ever) dance recital, as her “troupe” gave their interpretation of “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” as sung by Judy Garland. The miniature prima ballerinas all did great although I must admit the LD was by far (no bias on my part, nope, not a bit) the best of the show. She really did do great, in all seriousness, and it was truly a joy to watch. Of course it’s far too early to say if she has a future in dance or not, but the fact that, when asked by her Mom what she wanted to do next, her reply was an emphatic “KARATE!” leads me to believe her debut may have also been her swan song.

Such is the temperament of an artistè.

Fun fact – I just GTS’d artiste and the proper spelling shows no accent mark, but I like it so I’mma keep it there. You don’t like it, write your own damn blog. Seriously, some of you should. You know who you are.

Peace

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Dates

I know I’ve written about this before, I’m not sure if it was here or on my old site, maybe both, but once again the calendar has managed to tie a wonderful moment in the history of our family with a horrible moment.

Regular readers, or people that know me (us) IRL might recognize May 24th as the anniversary of the day Caitlin died from her injuries after being struck by a drunk driver in 2003. From this point forward we can add May 24th as the date the oldest grandchild graduated from high school.

There’s no small amount of irony to me here, as Caitlin was one week shy of her own high school graduation when she was killed. This whole senior year for the Heir To The Throne has been filled with bittersweet memories. As I’ve watched his accomplishments in this final year of high school; from Honor Rolls, to FFA Banquets, going to three different Proms, to Senior Night, to walk-off home runs, to being named All-Conference catcher, I find it’s almost impossible to not think about how thrilled Diane and Caitlin would have been to watch this year unfold.

I haven’t had that conversation with him, but a couple of the offspring and I have talked about how proud Diane would be, not just about HTTT, of course, but of all five of the littles. But she loved baseball. We went to as many of her nephews games as we could and she was always yelling her encouragement to them. And she always told them how well she thought they played whether they had an 0-fer or got a hit every at bat. The Oldest One tends to be a wee bit vocal at HTTT’s sporting events. That’s an understatement, btw. On par with saying the Titanic had a mishap with an iceberg. And I don’t say that to make fun of OO (well, maybe a little) but rather as a point of reference, because I’m fairly certain Diane would have boosted the decibel level significantly above that produced by OO. Had she been in attendance at the walk-off she may well have jumped the fence to greet him at home plate with his team. And to hear he made All-Conference? I truly believe she would roll down her car window in traffic to tell random strangers about her grandson’s accomplishment. For real for real. As I wrote that I got a vivid image of her doing that very thing. And I laughed a little (I try really hard not to literally lol when I’m writing in a coffeehouse) when that popped into my head.

So yeah, tonight will be another in the line of bittersweet days for us all. I mean, we’ll get through it alright, we always do, but it’s just another example of the ripple effect. They never stop coming, it seems. There may be lapses between them, but they’re always lurking. At least it seems like it.

Before I let this devolve into anything darker, I’m going to wrap the post up with a couple pictures

The first is the HTTT with his (unanimous) All-Conference pitcher, the second is the HTTT with Caitlin taken Mother’s Day weekend in 2003. I felt like they were a far better way to end this post.

And so I am.

Peace

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Time Does What It Does

Marches on, that is. Monday marked the 12th birthday for the Reigning Princess. I still remember when the Quiet Child told me she was expecting, shortly after Diane died. I have never been more certain of the gender of a baby than I was that day. I knew, with 100% confidence, that this baby would be a girl. What I didn’t know, was that she would combine the best traits of her Grandmother, Aunt, and Mother. She has the vivacious personality of Diane and Caitlin, and the Quiet Child’s natural beauty. She grabbed my heart and wrapped it firmly around her tiny fingers from the very first moment I saw her and has never loosened that hold. Whether she’s sending me a random “Hi Papa, I love you, I miss you!” text or, when she sees me in person and launches herself into my arms for a ginormous hug from as far away as she can possibly leap and still stick the landing, she’s got a constrictor-like grip.

As it should be.

Without question, the most difficult part of my decision to move 800 miles away from the cold-ass environs (the week started with 4frickin5 degrees here. On May 20th and 21st. WTF? btw W in this case stands for weather) of northern Illinois, was the knowledge I’d see less of my favorite small humans than I had been accustomed to. Of course I see less of my favorite larger humans too, but that’s a different thing altogether.

I consider myself pretty fortunate to be able to be a part of so much that’s happened with the family littles this spring, from Heir To The Throne’s last baseball games, to the Former Beatle Baby’s first ever baseball game, with the Reigning Princess’s games sprinkled into the mix. From the Little Diamond’s first ever dance recital (a 3 year-old in a tutu, is there really anything on the planet more adorbs than that?) to HTTT’s high school graduation. Oh, just to complete the sweep, I got to try out the Boy Genius’ virtual reality rig while I’ve been back. That was pretty incredible. It also made me feel like a dinosaur as I thought back to the first ever “computer” we had back in the day. And I use the quotation marks, because while it was technically a computer, as compared to today, it really wasn’t. Oh, here’s a thing. Last night Went to the Spring Sports Awards Night at the Heir To The Throne’s school. He got a medal as the leading Run Producer (Runs Scored plus RBI’s) so that was cool. My favorite part of the evening came after, as the Oldest One and I were chatting with the family of HTTT’s pitcher. These two have played ball together for 12 years, and almost from Day 1 the were pitcher and catcher. As we chatted there in the almost empty auditorium, we found out both boys had made the All-Conference baseball team. It was an incredibly cool moment and showed the amount of respect they had earned from the other coaches in the conference, since coaches made up the voting body.

So, yeah, it has been a pretty cool (Ha! See what I did there?) spring here in northern Illinois.

Oh, here’s a random side note. You wanna know how you know when you’ve found a great coffeehouse? When you bring in your (teetering on the brink of a mini meltdown) three year-old granddaughter immediately post hair-braid-tie-thingy (I’m pretty sure that’s not what they’re actually called, but you know what I mean) malfunction and one of the baristas not only has a spare hair-braid-tie-thingy but also rebraids the part of the three year-olds braid that unraveled due to said malfunction. AND gives her extra bunny cookies. Yup, that place is a keeper. As much as I enjoyed the place I used to frequent when I lived here, this coffeehouse is now, solidly, my go-to place when I’m back in Illinois.

Getting back to the theme I had intended with this; I’m down to less than two weeks before I head back to central North Carolina. I know there have been a bunch of people I haven’t seen on this trip, that I had intended to. So, if you’re on that list, I apologize. However, I should have a wee bit more disposable time for the remainder of my stay, so I’m hopeful I can still see many of the people I had planned on seeing. Fingers crossed, right?

Peace

PS- Sixteen years ago tonight our world turned upside down. And I’m learning we’re still dealing with the waves as they ripple through the years. No profound message, no heart rending pleas, and I’m not looking for thoughts, prayers, or sympathy. Just thinking back on sixteen years.

Again, Peace

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Senior Moments…

So, from the title it should be pretty much obvs where I’m going with this. And while I did have to correct the Oldest One when she tried to stick a label on one of my foibles (More on that later. Probably. Maybe.) that’s not where I’m going with this one.

Tonight is Senior Night at the Heir To The Throne’s baseball game. These aren’t a new phenomena, I remember mine (Although in my case it was Senior Day since the football field didn’t have lights back then. And to the smart asses that might be reading this, it wasn’t because it pre-dated Edison’s invention. The school just didn’t have lights back then) from mumble-mumble years ago, standing out on the football field flanked by my parents, as were all of the other senior football players and cheerleaders. I also remember being alongside the Boy Child at his Senior Night mumble years ago. So I figured my time for this stuff was gone.

Wrong.

I was talking to the Oldest One the other day and she told me the HTTT wanted me to join them on the field. Of course I’m honored to do it. I’m also incredibly thankful she gave me a heads up, otherwise I might’ve gotten some dust, or something, in my eyes. She said she wasn’t sure if he wanted to surprise me or not so I should act surprised. Ok then. I’m not positive, I may still lose my shit tonight. As I’ve written here lately, this is his last year of playing baseball, and I don’t know if he feels any emotion on that front yet, but I sure do. I know the OO does too. I’ll let you know how it goes…

So, I wrote everything you just read yesterday. And, as it turns out, the Oldest One and I both made it through Senior Night unscathed. I can’t however, say the same about my truck. Top of the 4th inning, one of the batters lifted a high pop up into foul territory behind home plate. And as I watched it drift back, high overhead, arcing up and then back down, the thought occurred to me that it would land very near my vehicle. In fact, it landed this near-

I guess if I’d been thinking I could have taken a close-up so you could have seen the little remnants of the thread from the baseball embedded in the glass. As aggravating as this was, I almost instantly realized there was nothing I could do after the fact. I also recognized there was no little irony that, after all these years of going to his baseball games and parking in roughly the same spot for each and every one of his home games, that on this, his final home game, I “caught” a foul ball. I suppose the perfect irony would’ve been if he’d been the batter, but hey, nobody’s perfect amirite? The only thing more aggravating came when, after about 30 minutes on the phone with a nationwide auto glass repair/replacement company that promises on their website “Broken glass? We’ll fix it fast.” See, here’s the thing about that; my definition of fast is worlds away from theirs. According to this company, eight days is a perfectly acceptable answer to the question “How quickly can you get me in for a replacement?”

Needless to say, I’m waiting to hear from another auto glass repair/replacement company to see if they can get me in faster and for less than the $750.00 I was quoted. Sigh.

So, back to the Oldest One and her failed attempt at maligning my mental faculties. I’ll admit, I tend to say things like “I was just going to tell you something but whatever it was vaporized…” I tend to say things like that because things like that tend to happen to me. Typically the thought returns in due time, although not always. My Mom was well known in the family for cycling through about five or six names when talking to any of her grandkids before she’d land on the correct name. We lovingly and laughingly referred to it as a “Grandma Ellie moment”. So, the other night, when good old OO experienced a lapse of what she wanted to say, she tried to pass it off as a “Dad” moment. Now, I’mma tell you something right now. This will not fly. And I told her that in no uncertain terms. Laughingly, of course. Still, things like these must be nipped in the bud.

Lastly, before I leave you with the impression nothing good came of yesterday, it was really a wonderful day. To be able to share this moment-

with these two meant the world to me. And I can’t wait to see what the future brings for him.

Ok, one last thing. Since I’ve been back I’ve done, basically all of my writing at a lovely coffeehouse in Algonquin. And one recent day, one of the baristas and I were chatting and the topic came to this humble little blog. So, when I ordered my Daily (not a typo btw) vanilla latte, she told me she would craft a duck into the foam. Lo and behold, I give you the I Can Relate To Ducks (not its real name) latte –

Pretty cool, no?

Peace

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Pride

It goes without saying, I’m proud of my kids and grandkids. For any number of reasons. In the case of the adults, for example, they’ve all grown to be loving. caring, human beings, the type I’m glad to spend time with, and I would even if they weren’t my kids.

In the case of the littles, I’m proud of the traits they’ve started to exhibit, which leads me to believe they, too, will become amazing adult human beings. But this particular post isn’t about the littlest ones. Instead, it’s about the biggest of the littles. Number 18 in your scorecard, number 1 in your heart, yes, this post is about the Heir To The Throne.

This season marks the end of his baseball career. That saddens me. But I get it. Much as I’d like to believe otherwise, I don’t think he’s quite good enough for the MLB draft and he has no desire to continue his education in college. He wants to get into the trades, specifically he’s taken an interest in welding. I’m ok with that btw. One of the things I’ve learned over the years was that going through an apprentice program in one of the trades is roughly equivalent to getting a four-year degree from college. The difference is that, in approximate numbers, in college roughly 90% of the learning takes place in the classroom and 10% takes place in the field whereas in an apprentice program those numbers are reversed. But the total amount of time spent learning your craft is (again, roughly) equivalent. And on an even bigger plus, he won’t come out of the education phase with a huge college loan debt hanging over his head, rather he’ll come out of it at close to top of grade pay.

So, I’m proud of him for that decision, and I’ll do all I can to support him, just as I will with the four younger littles, whatever they choose to do when their time comes.

But this post isn’t about that. This post is all about memories. Specifically the ones I’ll carry with me in HTTT’s post baseball days. Like for instance four years ago, in his first season of high school baseball when, after delivering a couple of key, run scoring hits, the guys on the bench started chanting “He’s a freshman!”. That will always make me smile. So, I’m not sure I’m as ready for this end to come as he is, but I’ll say this. The lessons he’s learned from baseball will be useful in his future, wherever he may end up. He’s learned leadership skills, as evidenced by watching him give pre-game pep talks to the team after the coach has said his piece. I’ve watched him call time to go out and settle down his pitcher (he plays catcher) countless times. I’ve seen him interact with numerous plate umpires and opposing players and I’ve seen him, almost without fail, represent his team honorably. We won’t talk about the rare occasions where the family “red ass” rears it’s head, but it has happened a couple times, almost always directed at himself. I also won’t mention the family foot speed, other than to make a blanket apology for bestowing it upon him via the gene pool.

One of the things I tried to teach him over the years about hitting was this; don’t step into the batters box until your head is right. You don’t have time to react to the pitch if you’re busy thinking about stuff. So think about situations; what the pitchers might throw, how many outs there are, the count, things of that nature before you step into the box. And if you find yourself thinking about, well, really, anything, ask for time and step out for a few seconds to clear your head.

So, let’s go back to last Wednesday, shall we? (I know, I know, it was almost a full week ago. It took me awhile to figure out how to embed the video) Your Hiawatha Hawks were playing in Big Rock. Due to rotten weather this spring (I know, right? Bad weather in Illinois in the spring? Who knew?) the Hawks were actually the home team in this game. They started out in a 2-0 hole after a sloppy 1st inning. The deficit grew to 3-0 after 3 innings. The Hawks fought back to 3-2 after 5 innings and going into the bottom of the 7th, found themselves down by the same score. The first two batters struck out. It wasn’t looking too promising for the good guys. Then, the leadoff batter worked a walk. So did the number two batter. That brought HTTT to the plate. He fouled off the first pitch he saw, a fastball he was a little late on. Same thing with the second pitch, fouling it almost off his foot. He stepped in for the next pitch and as the pitcher got his sign, HTTT asked for, and got, time from the plate umpire. He stepped out, got his head right, and stepped back in. The third pitch was close, especially if you were from Big Rock as they groaned when the ump called it a ball. And then, this happened-

You may have heard someone exclaim “Holyyyyyyy shit!” in that video. It may have been me. That’s what you call #sorrynotsorry in the online world. It was a pretty cool moment, definitely one I’ll remember fondly for the rest of my days. I hope he never becomes too cool to look back on it the same way. Life doesn’t give you many opportunities for walk-off homers, when you get one and are able to deliver, it should last in your personal highlights for as long as possible. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere but I’m not sure I’m clever enough to pull it into better focus.

So, yeah, I’m pretty proud of 18. I’m going to miss the heck out of watching him play ball. Senior Night is next week and I’m hopeful I can keep my shit together that night because one of us is kind of an old softie. The Reigning Princess has started her softball season, or will if the weather ever cooperates, and the Former Beatle Baby will start his first ever baseball season soon too. So there will be more fond spring sports memories in our futures, I’m sure.

I can’t wait.

Peace