200 Need Our Help

I wanted to reach out to thank you again for helping to spread the word over the past few months about the Fresh Air Fund's need for host families. With your help, we've been able to find 650 of the 850 host families we need. Right now there is just one week left for us to place the remaining 200 children with a loving host family for a Fresh Air experience that can change lives.

I'm posting the link here again on Horton Hollow to help keep the issue alive in everyone's minds.  For those of you who read here, and want to consider getting the word out, even a Tweet or Facebook post could help.

http://freshairfundhost.org


Thanks for taking the time to consider helping these kids in need.  Make it a great day!

What is the Fresh Air Fund?

What is the Fresh Air Fund?

From time to time these folks contact me, asking me to post on my blog and I'm always willing to help out.  Small effort indeed to get the word out about a worthy cause.  Read on to find out more about the Fresh Air Fund or simply click here to learn about being a host.


"We made s'mores and hot dogs over the fire. I've never cooked outside before!"

Fresh Air children are boys and girls, six to 18 years old, who live in New York City. Children on first-time visits are six to 12 years old and stay for either one or two weeks. Youngsters who are re-invited by the same family may continue with The Fund through age 18, and many enjoy longer summertime visits, year after year. A visit to the home of a warm and loving volunteer host family can make all the difference in the world to an inner-city child. All it takes to create lifelong memories is laughing in the sunshine and making new friends.

The majority of Fresh Air children are from low-income communities. These are often families without the resources to send their children on summer vacations. Most inner-city youngsters grow up in towering apartment buildings without large, open, outdoor play spaces. Concrete playgrounds cannot replace the freedom of running barefoot through the grass or riding bikes down country lanes.

Fresh Air children are registered by more than 90 participating social service and community organizations located in disadvantaged neighborhoods in the five boroughs of New York City. These community-based agencies are in close contact with children in need of summer experiences in rural and suburban areas. Each agency is responsible for registering children for the program.


What do Fresh Air children enjoy?

• Playing in the backyard

• Laughing in the sunshine
• Catching fireflies
• Riding bicycles
• Learning to swim
• Running barefoot through the grass
• Gazing at the stars on moonlit nights
• Building sandcastles
• Making new friends
• Simple pleasures of life away from the inner-city

Wandering away .. OR .. Leaving the Reservations to Others

I'm leaving for good and not coming back.  I've had enough of this.  I've had enough of living under the weight of other's perceptions.  I'm tired.  Too tired for my age and I can't keep up with this any longer.

To what am I referring?

Not blogging.  Never fear.  Though my writing of late has been sporadic to be sure, I'd keep serving up medium-rare ramblings even if there weren't readers to consume them.  And I'm truly thankful for those that do.

So dear readers you won't be abandoned .. or well .. you shall have to put up with me a bit longer - depending on your viewpoint there.

No I'm referring to eating, quite actually.

What is this Rob?  You're no longer going to eat?  Ah but that would be the ultimate weight-loss plan eh?  However, I think I'll continue to eat - and it's step one of my plan!  Brilliant yes?  I mean so much more promises to be accomplished if my plan doesn't involved self-starvation.

Given that encouraging first step, I think I'll add another to it and see where it goes.

I'm leaving the reservation of dieters, etc.  For far too long I've been enamored by the "next great thing".  I've been so caught up in the "tools" of losing weight that I end up studying them too much and not accomplishing my goals.  They end up as a mental crutch while the physical suffers.

In 2009, I didn't meet my weight loss goals.  I made strides but not nearly close enough for my critical self to call it a successfull year.  I wasn't faithful to myself.  The ultimate form of betrayal.

See I had a good plan.  But I just didn't execute it well. I didn't keep my focus unwaveringly until total success was achieved.

No more.

What shall I be doing in 2010?

Well I mentioned leaving the reservation as mentioned.  What does that mean?  Simply this.  I'm done with powders, pills, magic concoctions, thinking that some ultimate secret weapon made by someone else will help me hobble over the finish line.

Let me ask you something.

What was the last time you ever saw a champion hobble across the finish line to win a race?  A winner, someone who completes what they set out to perform doesn't depend on something else to carry them there.

They get up and do it themselves.

Yes they use tools to help them train and accomplish their goals.  But those tools don't help unless the champion has a burning desire to succeed.  The champion never looks at the tools as a crutch.  Thus they never get carried across the goal line by their tools.

So there is no magic pill.

There is no secret way.

The belief that I can do this "while I sleep" is a lie.

The reality?

It will hurt.  I will sacrifice.  There will be times I want to quit.  There will be temptations.  And on some days, I will fail.

But ...

The hurt will turn into strength.  The sacrifice will birth success.  I will go on.  When I have failures I will get up again, and again ... and again.  I will keep getting up until, sometime during this year, I will look at myself and say, "You did this.  You did it without a crutch.  Nobody carried you through this."

How will I do this?

Can't tell ya.  The last thing anybody needs is someone else telling them "another cool thing".  It just breeds what the diet industry is getting rich from.  I'm done with that.  I won't propogate that type of thinking anymore.

I've found what I know will work for me.  It's based by large amount on instincts I've had since childhood.  Yes I did stumble across a plan and happens to line up with those instincts exactly.  It's given me the final sprout of confidence I needed in order to move forward with this.

But Rob how do you know it will work?  Actually, I've seen it work in my life before but I didn't stick with it because honestly I caved to outside pressures.  I let negative external things influence my thinking.  I should have trusted my instincts.

This time I will.

Just like you've seen in the movies, where someone finally has had enough, they cut off all their ties to popular thinking and just wander off to find a new life, because they are driven by instinct to change for the better.

That's how this feels.

Here I go.

P.S. - Big news coming soon on Horton Hollow.  Stay tuned for several exciting things coming up.  Hey, things aren't exciting for me that often .. so I thought I'd milk that fact a bit by some pre-excitement tease.  :)

Ode to a dude ... OR ... A post for my son

Son I want to dedicate this post to you.  The following is a description of "a boy" by Alan Beck.  It made me think of you when I read it today.

Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood, we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and colors, but all boys have the same creed: to enjoy every second of every minute of every hour of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night.


Boys are found everywhere—on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.


When you are busy a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly or else he becomes a savage, sadistic, jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.


A boy is a composite—he has the appetite of a horse, the digestion of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket-size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel trap, the enthusiasm of a fire cracker, and when he makes something he has five thumbs on each hand.


He likes ice cream, knives, saws, Christmas, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water (in its natural habitat), large animals, Dad, trains, Saturday mornings and fire engines.


He is not much for Sunday school, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults, or bedtime.


Nobody else is so early to rise or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs and breezes. Nobody else can cram into one pocket-a rusty knife, a half eaten apple, three feet of string, an empty Bull Durham sack, two gum drops, six cents, a sling shot, a chunk of unknown substance and a genuine supersonic code ring with a secret compartment.


A boy is a magical creature—you can lock him out of your workshop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but you can’t get him out of your mind.


Might as well give up—he is your captor, your jailer, your boss and your master–a freckled-faced, pint-sized, cat-chasing, bundle of noise.


But when you come home at night with only the shattered pieces of your hopes and dreams—he can mend them like new with the two magic words—”Hi Dad!

Well man, I'm not the wordsmith that Mr Beck is and probably can't say things as well.

But let me start by saying ... I'm so proud of you.

When I look at you, I don't see just a kid who likes video games.  I see a young man who is passionate, and good at things that other folks aren't.  I see someone who is a bit like his Dad and hard-headed at times.  But you'll find that hard-hardheadedness will get you through more trouble in life than it causes.  :)

I see a guy who is sensitive and will someday treat a woman with the respect she deserves and, if you end up having kids, I have complete confidence you'll be a good father.

How do I know that?  Simple.  You have a great big heart that is full of love.

When I look at you, I also see a guy who is shy sometimes but that's not all bad either.  I know it seems like it at times though.  But being shy just sometimes makes you cautious.  That's a good thing.  It all gets better as you grow.

So give yourself time to grow and for my sake, don't grow up too fast huh?  I like having you around.  :)

One last thing before I end this post.

Everybody has their passion.  Find yours and never let it go.  Sometimes folks around you will criticize you for following your dreams, especially if they don't benefit from it.

But never be ashamed to be who you are.  And always remember, no matter what ...

I believe in you.  I always have.  I always will.

Forgive an old man for being sentimental around the holidays will ya?  I love you son :)  Sure I'm your Dad but, know too that I'll be here for you as a friend when you need it.

Always.
Love Dad

NaNoWriMo: Giving it a go ...

For those of you who may not be aware, this month is National Write a Novel in a Month. Here is the link to the super-official spectacular website.

NaNoWriMo

The goal is to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days and 30 nights. I with some of my other blog-buddies have taken up the challenge. The idea of writing a novel, of pushing through that process, has always intrigued me. So off I go to write and see what comes of it all.

Though I'm more than slightly certain this won't be the "next big bestseller", for me, this is all about the process and the thrill of finishing what I've set out to do.

I have no plan. Very unlike me. I'm going to write a pure stream of thought and treat this journey as though I'm driving from point A to point B which is only 50,000 words away.

So yeah, it'll probably suck :) But I intend to have fun with it. Wish me luck!

Dream on .. OR .. Jello makes a poor conversationalist

Let me start this post with a pre-ps .. if I may.

Pre-P.S. - I do apologize for the severity of this post dear readers. I promise to get back on track and bring the funny and whimsical back to the Hollow. Just needed to share. Thanks to those of you who come here to read my ramblings.

Onward.

I had a dream the other night. In it, there were these two guys from high school and we three were playing basketball on the beach.

[I may be the only guy who is nearing forty that still dreams about stuff from high school. I'm odd. Never let it be said that I'm not.]

The reason this was a dream is two-fold. I never hung out with these guys. I wasn't in their crowd or on their radar for a friend.

I certainly wasn't cool enough. Not a lot has changed really in that regard. Just being honest.

Growing up I didn't make a lot of friends. For those of you who don't know, I grew up in the country with not a lot of other folks around.

Sure I went to school and saw kids there. But most times, real friends are made during summer vacation, not on the playground. On the playground, the groups of kids who are ALREADY friends get together and hang out. That's how it was in my school at least. A new friend is a rare thing to be crafted on the playground. Kids choose sides, group up and mingle very quickly. If you aren't already in a group when that happens, well then you are left out.

It's kinda like being picked last for kick-ball but with the lovely option of not being picked at all.

And that was my world. Left out. Cause I'm not a real go-getter at making new friends. I still remember things like going home from school on the last day before summer break.

Everyone else would be making big plans ... talking with their groups of friends ... wallowing in all that companionship. I always wanted to be a part of that scene.

But for me, during that last day of school as I watched those other kids, I was thinking how that I had no big plans. Nothing great to do and no one with whom to hang out. Nobody really asked either. And I was far too shy to offer any talk.

That's how each Summer began for me.

So Summer would come and go. Those kids I wanted to be friends with all lived "in town" and not far from each other at that. So every night, during school, they got to hang out. Play basketball in the street, or baseball at a local field, or soccer or a million other things. And during summer they even vacationed together sometimes.

They literally grew up together.

I had no chance of being part of that. I grew up for the most part, alone. I got used to it. But distance somehow has always been a factor in my life when making friends.

Now kids, listen carefully. Distance blows.

To be fair, I can't entirely blame distance for my lack of friends. A lot of it was me.

So, after I woke up from my dream, I was thinking about that fact and how that in real life, I never would have played basketball with those guys.

I was cripplingly shy as I may have mentioned on here before.

My fear that they would have laughed at me when I missed a shot would have kept me from trying.

And so it went.

Then I realized a way to describe my broken socialization growing up. Well at least how it felt.

It was as if, between me and those other kids, there was this maleable yet tough, crystal clear wall. A clear-jello-wall if you will. But not as though you could just tear it down with your hands.

No that wouldn't do.

At least on my side of the wall it was strong as steel. I felt trapped by it. It frustrated my attempts to scrabble through it. From my perspective I felt as if there were no tools with which I could penetrate the wall. I felt helpless. Oh sure, I know now what would have worked.

Putting myself out there, not being afraid to fail, living large, just stop being shy ... you know all those things that parents tell kids which is a cover-up for "I'm too busy to get involved with your whining, just figure it out on your own".

And I couldn't figure out how to get through that wall. I didn't. It was simply beyond my ken.

But someone could reach through from their side to me. I knew that much was true.

I also knew that they would need some convincing. So there I was. Living the great land of helpless fear, swimming in tormenting hope.

Like that word-picture? Yeah well you shoulda tried it. Easier to read than to live, let me assure you.

Trapped behind my wall, with no way to reach through from my side, other than put on some display in hope of enticing a potential friend to open up a channel in that wall from them to me.

I never really got any takers. None that lasted.

I also thought of this great line this morning but I couldn't think of where to use it in this post. So in an effort to share it, here you go:

"The wind of regret echos in the hollows of my aging bones."

Kinda cool huh?

And perhaps in some ways, I'm still that kid that is putting on a show trying to get friendly-someone to reach through that wall.

That darn wall is tough. In all my talent to make things, I've yet to devise a lasting way through it. Yeah remember the old saying, "if walls could talk" ... there you go. If that wall could talk, we could be pals. Its been my longest companion.

The Great Escape .. OR .. Sleep Takes a Vacation

Can't sleep. Brain is full I suppose. Thought I'd write a quick haiku to capture my thoughts; perhaps help quiet my mind.

The loom worked by doubt
Soft threads with booming whispers
Uncertainty's cloth.

And now back to bed for another attempt at sleep.

A Friend in Need

I received a message earlier today from a person in my blog-guild to which I belong. I don't personally know either the blogger who notified me of this or the lady who is in need of help. But I don't have to. Getting the word out about her situation is the right thing to do. Your thoughts and prayers are appreciated for her.

And now, I'll let Michelle's words speak for themselves ...


Fellow bloggers,

I have a neighbor who is fighting for her life after delivering triplets 3 weeks ago. (And things are not looking good). I wrote about it here and here. If any of you are so inclined, we would very much appreciate you posting this information on your blogs, as well. We also have a Facebook page here.

Obviously, it is our hope that word about Debbie Goff and her triplets will "go viral." Please accept my thanks for any help you can give toward that end!

Some quick writing ...

Repeat Performance

The antics of the clown, bring the crowd joy
create feelings to entertain and forget their hurts.

The storm of intentional mistakes made for all
rains happy moments on the worried souls.

Each stumble of the clown, creates a giggle
jars away all else save the spectacle of silliness.

Slices of dignity are peeled away, offered for approval
traded to see others guffawing, wiping away laughing tears.

For hours the music of humor plays on, for an orchestra of applause
hitting each practiced note for seats full of critical composers.

Finally the waiting night, descends when the lights go down
rushing in to make up for the time lost while humor held sway.

Throngs of people, rush to leave, flee back to their havens
abadon the clown they loved only moments ago.

The entertainer, swipes away the makeup with each practiced movement,
removes the folly and reveals the would-be friend.

The colorless face, sits alone at the mirror and stares
seeing now, only another visage from the crowd.

The laughter is gone, like the lights,
shut down until someone else needs it.

The humor, is packed away like floppy shoes
unable to be worn until someone else needs a laugh.

The sight gags, are stored away, neatly stacked
not to be taken down until another's applause calls for them.

The dreams of sharing a true laugh, of being understood, are locked away
inside the lonely heart of a misfit.

The clown's tired face, rests on supporting hands
looks for answers in an empty, silent, endless mirror.

On the Seventh Day: Genesis of a Sandwich

San 1:1 - And after the Lord God had laboured for six days, creating the Earth and all therein; every creeping thing upon the land and every thing under the sea had he made. All things what did swim and things that did creep did God create in those six days.

San 1:2 - And on the Seventh day he rested and had a sandwich.

San 1:3 - In the beginning, the sandwich was without form and void. Darkness was upon the face of the table. And God said, let there be bread. And it was 9-grain Oat Bread.

San 1:4 - Then taking the flesh of a fowl, the lettuce leaves of Lamentations, hot banana peppers of Sheol, red onions of Gideon, and the pepper and salt of the Earth - God brought it together and assembled it.

San 1:5 - And he made the breadth thereof one eighth of one cubit and the length thereof three fourths of one cubit. The height he just let whatever happened happen - but know ye this - thou shalt not overstuff thy sandwich.

San 1:6 - Stretching forth his hand, near the Light of the Day, the Lord God toasted the bread. He saw that it was good.

San 1:7 - And seeing the good work of His hands he bestowed upon the sandwich a Nameless Condiment of Heaven. A sauce so filling, creamy and good, as to never be equaled by any sandwich topping.

San 1:8 - And God said, I love my Creation and they must have this as well. It would not be good to keep this from the Earth and its inhabitants. For this condiment is versatile as well as filling. It shall have a name they may speak.

San 1:9 - Taking his Creation to Adam, who had named everything thus far, he tasked Adam to name this Heavenly addition to Earth's flavors. And Adam called it Ranch Dressing and was immediately inspired to create Buffalo Chicken Wings. He left to attend his gas grill.

San 1:10 - God returned with the Ranch Dressing and placed a dollop atop his Sandwich. And God saw that it was good. And God took Michael the Archangel's sword and smote the Sandwich, cutting it in half.

San 1:11 - And the right half and the left half were the first Sandwich. And it was very good. Thus was born what would eventually become the Subway $5 footlong. Amen.

Rare spawn Saturday: When the Movies Come Out

Yes here I am on the weekend. As my post title implies this is a rare thing. For the next few posts I have a little plan of telling several funny stories - starring yours truly - woven around really dumb things my friends have caught me in at work. Oh yeah, I realize it's hard to believe that I'm not always Mr Cool. However if you believe I'm Mr Cool then clearly you'd never gotten to know me yet :)

Now on with our first story.

When the Movies Come Out

(The front cover of our storybook opens, the first page turns ..)

A few years back my friends Tom, Fred, Frank and I were discussing new movies that were coming out soon which we wanted to see. Although I can't really remember which movie it was that someone mentioned, I believe it was Tom, that asked, "Oh yeah when does that one come out?" It was a movie we all desperately wanted to see.

There was a pause, a palpable anticipation as we all searched for the answer. The tension mounted as each of us sensed that whosoever held the answer to that innocently posed question, took not only credit as holding the title of "Movie Guru" but the rest of would hold that other friend in high regard for all time. Clearly, the balance of power was precarious situated on the edge of knife - the slightest shift forever affecting the fate of all - by the words of one.

Emboldened I spoke with confidence that can only be born of the combination of pure ignorance and an overestimation of the importance of the situation. "C'mon guys, all movies are released on Wednesdays."

However stupid, that in and of itself wasn't so bad, however a ridiculous statement it may have been. It was what happened next that morphed my goofy answer from unusual to epic in it's proportions of wrongness.

My friends turned as one to tease me and laugh at that pathetic answer. Grabbing the only tool I had as a defense, I latched onto my Golden Shovel of Stubbornness and begin to dig myself such as hole, as to never be equaled again. Yes in my desperate attempt to know all about all things movies, I ... defended ... that ... ridiculous .. answer .. I'd .. just ... given.

Sigh.

You can imagine how the situation devolved after that. It really was the classic situation of the pack turning to consume the weak. In other words it was just us guys having fun. And to this day, whenever a movie release date is mentioned, I'm the "guru" they turn to .. not so much for a real answer .. but just to rend me again.

And no, our hero did not learn his lesson in this story. There are others to come in the following days. Tales of intrigue and subterfuge - nah dorkiness - that only yours truly can pull off.

(And the final page turns, the back cover of our storybook closes.)

The End.

What am I/Where am I doing?

Mondays are confusing for computer nerds. Having briefly tasted the freedom of life outside the cubicle, we sit, slumped surreptitiously in our cubicles, hiding in the solace of our MP3 players looking, despite all our techno-brilliance, dazed and confused.

I mention confusion because after the bombardment of a week of user requirements, programming updates, team meetings, database issues and then – BAM – The Weekend.

Total and complete freedom.

Unfettered and unordered after a week of nothing but schedules, order, and SOPs.

For you see, true nerds, true geeks, do not shift gears very fast. We thrive on the order of the day, things being in the same place each time. These are the building blocks of our world. When 71.4% of your week is set in a certain way it is easy to get stuck in that gear. And for people of our personality type, the type that keeps the world’s technology running, it’s actually a comfort. For us analytical types, regardless of our ability to project plan, it’s difficult to change gears from ‘order’ to ‘freedom’. We thrive on an ordered schedule.

It is an irony of note, that even though we employ great powers of programming all the week long, the one computer we cannot restructure, the one code-base we cannot rewrite and recompile is … ourselves. Thus we are left with the issue of our continued need for structure, which we cannot change.

So going from The Weekend .. the ability to be outdoors, experience sunshine, fresh air … back to Geekdom .. a large province containing Nerdtopia, the high capitol of all of Code-tasia … well you never get used to it.

You’d think you would but you don’t.

And it’s why I blogged as such. As I look around this morning it really is much like my post title implies. For a time, each Monday morning, everything is mixed up. That is until we realize – all of us little square pegs, back in our little square holes – are right where we need to be. Back in the familiarity of our databases, web pages, requirements documents, and yes even meetings we dislike attending - tis all part of who we are, what we do.

We are computer nerds.

And occasionally, just occasionally, during the 71.4% of our living week … we even make time to save the world.

Creative writing: Yet another blog link

I've started doing some separate creative writing on another blog of mine. Since I wrote a lot today (for me), I'm kinda tapped out and using that post's link here on this post, having the other pull double-duty for me. Yep I'm all kinds of lazy today.

Here is a link in case you might be interested in reading it - twas just something thats been rattling around in my brain since night before last. It is important to note this isn't intended to be *perfect* writing but rather a learning experience for me. So no fair noting spelling errors! I heard you out there sharpening your red pencils! Vultures! :)

Ok, see me later!

Thighs Wide Shut - A Vasectomy Story

Yesterday was the big 15 minutes of fame for Rob-junior and his sidekicks. Honestly I was a nervous wreck the day *before* this shin-dig and I remember thinking then, "dear god what will it be like for me tomorrow?".


Then the day of the surgery came. Shockingly, I was cool as a cucumber - all previous thoughts of finding some excuse to not go through with this procedure were gone ... faking a heart attack and running off the road? .. nah ... saying I wasn't feeling well with the flu or some such nonsense and needing to put this off ... uh huh .. not me. I was resolute. Determined to see this through. And so ...

... straight into the jaws of the doctor .. wait, that sounded way wrong ...
... standing erect I marched ahead ... um no, that *certainly* didn't happen ...

All right ... all right ... I took my Valium like a good 39 year old and let my wife drive me to the doc, while my son mocked me from the backseat. There you made me say it. To this end has my life come. How the once mighty have fallen :)

And now we interrupt this blog post for a departure to ... Valium.

Dear Valium how I miss thee. Though our time together yesterday was short, I will remember fondly the feelings with which you filled me. In your presence I knew a calm and peace unparalleled by Tylenol .... or Ibuprofen ... they don't compare to you my sweet Valium. Always will your memory haunt me - your selfless caress of mood-altering chemicals - ah, tis the stuff of which a "sigh" is made. A shield of serenity against the emotional storms at life's fragile door.

Ahem. The Valium really did the trick. Good stuff. Harumph!

So a short van ride later and we were there. I could nearly hear the sharp instruments in the next room, cackling maniacally - however quietly - so as not to be heard by anyone other than me.

Scalpel: Remember that last guy in here, how he squirmed when the doc cut a bit "too soon" before the anesthesia had time to take effect?
Clamp 1: Hahaha, that was great! I loved it when he tried not to jump when I "slipped" off the Vas Deferens and poked him.
Clamp 2: Dude I know - I so wanted to try that but you beat me to it! Maybe I can try with this next guy coming in, right? C'mon you never let me go first!

It's amazing what you can hear in a doctor's waiting room if you really, really try hard enough.

Well Josh was sufficiently set up with a cell phone for txting his mom and a dvd to watch. We waited a few mins and then the executioner's assistant ... er nurse ... came to the door and announced in super slow motion ... "Rooooooooob Hoooooortonnnnnnnn?" I swear she sounded JUST like Darth Vaders long lost chain-smoking sister.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

The testicular version of a funeral dirge played through my head as the short hallway to the torture ... er exam ... room suddenly expanded before us like one of those shots in a horror movie - the hallway lengthening to nightmarish distances while the floor tilted crazily. And onward Darth's sister marched. Directing me to the appropriate Chamber of Decimation wherein she immediately instructed me in how to take off my clothes and cover up with an "exam blanket".

Yeah thanks Igor - I can handle this part.

Finally seated in the exam room, having disrobed and covered my loins in an oversize paper napkin which I KNEW they'd whisk off of me once the doc was in arm's reach ... I began to make jokes with Heather - who if you remember, came along to watch. So we chatted on for a bit.

I noticed the Implements of Snippage, the ones I'd heard mocking a former "patient" ... they were hiding beneath a folded towel on a tray not far from their soon to be victims. My napkin suddenly seemed even worse defense than before. I could see the syringe which would numb me up- and oddly enough THAT was the one implement for which I was rooting .. I wanted 110% effort outta that guy. Mr Syringe needed to bring his "A" game today.

Then suddenly, outta nowhere, the song "Peaceful, Easy Feeling" by The Eagles came on the speakers. I nearly died laughing right then.

It wasn't long before the doc and his assistant arrived. And of course he brought a female assistant. Ah the shame was to be complete today.

The doc said hi, asked me to lay back and proceeded to immediately throw away the napkin which had covered me. So I'm thinking .... is it some kind of strange etiquette that we even need that thing to begin with ... suddenly hoping he's not thinking the same kinds of thoughts when looking at my "groinal" region.

After swabbing me from what seemed like my chest to ankles in idoine, the doc armed himself with the syringe and unceremoniously jabbed it into my nether-regions with barely a "brace yourself, here it comes".

At this point, I went into "root canal at the dentist mode". I figured there would be some waiting for the shot to take effect before the slicing and dicing began. However, the doc and nurse immediately began talking, still standing right over my most personal of areas, and were moving instruments around. I assumed they were just laying out things, using me as a table, getting ready for the main event. Heck the dentist does that, why not a urologist right?

Then I heard snipping. The click, click of scissor-like cutting. The snick ... snick .. of metal doing its very sharp and accurate business. HEY there's no reason to hear that yet right? Could I be numb yet? Its only been SECONDS since the shot! Do I ask them? Do I look down there ... um NO .... on that point.

So I ask at the risk of looking ridiculous.

Which when you think about it - how much more silly could I look right? Half naked, very white programmer body, and covered in iodine ... just to shake things up a bit. Yeah you don't want to look ridiculously when you're working THAT much cool.

So I ask em.

Turns out they were half done already. Wowsers. Soon they finished with the left side. Then the doc and nurse switched sides, jabbed me with Mr Syringe (for whom I was doing cartwheels on the inside) ... and proceeded to my right side.

I never felt a thing other than the two needle jabs.

Soon it was over. The doc was smiling at me, saying his goodbyes, giving me advice to manage the pain for later that night. We shook hands, I loaded myself and the copious amounts of gauze into my undies and sweats - and hobbled out.

The rest of my night was spent in front of the TV for it was my turn to pick for Family Night ... and my very closest inanimate pal for the next 8 hours was Mr Ice Pack - he must be related to Mr Syringe, cause the icepack was wonderful too.

So it was good. I'm glad I did it and glad it's over too.

As much silliness as I've put into this - it was actually a big bunch of nothing. The procedure was. Ahem.

I highly recommend this doc I have. If you're in my area, in Missouri near St Louis, and looking to have something like this done - shoot me an email. I've certainly got a doc to recommend. He's worth every second of the visit and without him doing such a good job, I wouldn't have been able to joke about this like I have.

See me later! I gotta go take some Tylenol. But Valium .. I still miss you.

It has BEGUN! ... Mortallll Kombaaaaat!

Remember that line from the movie Mortal Kombat? Shang Tsung said it not long before all hell broke loose on the would-be-heroes.

Now that we have a teenager living in the midst of our heroic parenting efforts, I think of this line quite, QUITE often. I've realized that Shang Tsung has moved in with us while I wasn't looking. And as a Dad I don't really compare very well to Liu Kang, the hero in Mortal Kombat.

The thing is, when I perform my "fatherly advice" attacks, generally our resident Shang sloughs it off by performing "eyeroll", using my own movements against me to leave me staggering, trying to regain balance. The frustrating thing is that he somehow manages to do all this while simultaneously playing a video game. So it doesn't even take Shang's full attention to defeat me. Oh he's good.

But age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill.

If you're not up on these video game references, stick with me anyway. We'll do algebra in a bit. There is something in this post for everybody ;)

Ok, I realize that I'm not the only Dad out there that feels like he's not listened to, or getting through to his kid, from time to time. And certainly I'm not the only Dad who's even blogged about it. I follow several other Dad's blogs and read them everytime they post just to help me keep my sanity or realize that I'm not alone. Plus they are really, really funny.

Finally, I'm quite positive that I'm not the only Dad who feels as though the proverbial "window of listening" with my teenager is fast closing. I do admit that I may be the only nerd-dad on the planet who is geeky enough to compare all this to the final showdown between Liu Kang and Shang Tsung though. But I'm ok with that.

So yes Heather and I both regularly get lots of eyerolls, sighs of exasperation, tones of voice I could do without, etc etc - at our house. So I'm pretty sure the "window" if its still open at all is open only but a crack. (I NEARLY said butt-crack there ... oh come, that was funny!)

I suppose I really should go out and get some books on the subject of raising a teen. I feel ill-prepared. And for those of who you actually know me IRL, you KNOWS I likes me some preparedness. Boooooy do I!

As of right now, at times it feels as if I'm talking through that aforementioned window to my teenager, my face pressed to the edge of the opening as the window slides inexorably down ... with me speaking as fast as I can ... hoping to get my final few words in ... desperately and frantically trying to think of all the stuff I may have missed ... things I needed to say - before that window is shut ... before I'm left looking through the glass into another house and my voice becomes muffled by the barrier.

Yes there is a dark side of me, the curse that all fathers get if you will, similar to the one mothers use on their children, and it whispers ...

"when he's older he'll regret not listening now" ... and ...
"when that happens, he'll come back and want to listen to you when his kids start behaving like this".

I have to darkly chuckle as I try so very hard NOT to become good friends with this voice.

All of this then raises the question, is this something all parents go through? Are we all just so lambasted by raising teens that we get this fruity? Most likely I'm just a misfit. It's a typical tale.

But for all my weird writing above, I know in my heart of hearts everything generally works out. I do live by a motto of "I always win" ... and I do. I don't mean to sound pretentious either.

Tis a self-slogan that I use to remind me that eventually "it all works out". While things may seem confusing/frustrating at times it really will be okay in the long run. Raising kids into teens, then into men and women isn't easy. But we all have it in us to do this very thing.

And now let me try and close this circle.

Josh is growing up. I need to remember how it was, how I felt when I was that age. Yes I thought my mom and step dad were both idiots, and I thought it quite often. But I still loved them. He probably has similar feelings as I did back then.

Now I have seemingly been slingshotted around to the other side of the equation ... the parenting side. I'm seeing the same equation but from the other side of the "equals symbol". Mrs Collier, my high school algebra teacher taught me a great lesson once. I remember her exact quote.

"What thou doest to one side of the equals, thou must also doest to the other". (She didn't always talk like this but rather did this to get our attention and it stuck with me).

So now, what once worked for solving an algebraic equation, I get to apply to parenting.
Incoming supernerdiness ... beware ...
When you balance the equation x + 7 = 10, solving for x, you have to subtract 7 from both sides, coming up with x = 3. You have to do the same thing to both sides of the equation to find your answer.

(I think I actually HEAR people leaving my blog at this point, lol)

In parenting its very similar. But you now have x + teenager = adult.

Balancing THAT equation is the actual problem we all have at times. And we need to do the same things to both side of the equation to get our answer. So .... what indeed do you get when you subtract teenager from adult?

The answer is easy: experience. See? And you thought you'd never use algebra again?

So its my son's lack of experience and my abundance of it, that provides that communication gap. Its what he lacks in order to relate to me on my "level" and what I forget I have sometime and it keeps me from relating to him on his. The burden falls to me as the experienced to teach the one who isn't. So actually its all very simple. The answer usually is simple. However its the implementation that eludes me at times.

And it doesn't fix the fact that he drives me nuts by not listening :)

Someday yes, Josh and I will laugh about all this. I'll rib him for not listening "now" when we laugh about it "then". It will be fun and I do look forward to it.

Parenting. Algebra. Mortal Kombat - oh yeah, it's how we roll here at Castle Horton, in the midst of Horton Hollow.

By the way, Liu Kang did eventually kick Shang's butt.

Liu always wins.

Wow what a dream(s)

Ok it's Thurs, my Friday for this week, and I'm excited for this workday to be over. Wow I slept super great last night! And when I sleep great I dream. When I sleep extra great, like last night, I dream that I dream. And sometimes there are more levels. And that dear reader is exactly what happened.

This one started out with me already knowing that I was dreaming. Now there are sometimes that I have to pull myself out of a dream if it gets intense, making myself realize that I'm dreaming. However, this one started me right out with that knowledge. Bonus right? And for a nightmare, that's odd. Here we go.

First off, there was a very wide and overly steep set of stairs set at the end of a dark street, or perhaps an alley, I couldn't really tell. There was no sense of anything solid behind me but a presence lingered there, a pressure against my own personal space if you will, informing me of a great mass in the darkness preventing my escape completely. I never turned to look though for there before me was the staircase leading up to an immense, ancient hotel and it drew my attention, nearly calling out to me.

How I knew it was a hotel is beyond me. There were no signs, no vacancy advertisements. Some how it was clear to me though. I could feel a pull from the building, as if by a dare, to come forward to spend the night inside its lightless rooms. No warm glow spilled out from any windows or visible doorways. No distant warmth shown from within, all being cold, overlaid in inky blackness. The shades all were drawn and the dark, heavy double doors with ornate carvings were shut tight. I knew as I looked at them that they would be easy to open from this side but also knew that once shut and inside the building, they'd be difficult if not impossible to open again. I started toward the stairs as I noticed the first movement.

There was a child standing on the landing off to the right from the door. I hadn't noticed it before and by that I was unnerved. The clothes were old but the little child seemed solid enough. Boy or girl I could not tell, either from dress or hairstyle with the distance being too great to make out features of any kind that would lend clues to the gender.

By size the child appeared to be around 7 years old, perhaps slightly younger having blonde very curly hair that followed the roundness of its skull closely so that none draped down but stayed very neat. The child stepped forth giving no visual cue that it had noticed me but I knew it had. And somehow I dreaded to hear the words that would be spoken. I could feel them coming, the moment I wished to avoid. As his/her footsteps drew near the top of the first stair where I knew they would stop to speak, my mind though I knew this to be dream, briefly screamed for the words from this odd young one to never be uttered. But come they did.

In a high sing-song voice I was welcomed to spend the night. An airy, light invitation filled with dread wrapped in the promise of horrors untold delivered by the lips of innonence.

I don't remember ascending the stairs but there I was alongside this young oddity. Even being so near to me the gender of the child was still a mystery. So rather than expend more thought I decided to think of it as a boy since that was the strongest impression I had. I also knew that we'd most likely not become the best of friends so there was little chance of offending him later in pleasant dinner conversation.

Looking down I noticed I had some overnight luggage which I didn't remember having at the bottom of the stairs. As I realized this I thought of the hotel, knowing that somehow it had provided me the means by which to stay, removing all excuses to decline any invitations given, no matter how threatening the undercurrents.

A wrinkle occurred then and we were in my room rather suddenly, me with the knowledge that we were many floors up in the hotel. But no walk had occurred, no check-in and no elevator ride. This place seemed too old for elevators. As I thought about it an image of the front desk came to mind with behind it, cubby holes full of cards and keys. Maybe I'd checked in after all?

I could tell my new young *friend* was about to speak. The dread had returned.

With arms loosely held at his sides, in a somehow simultaneously stiff manner, he turned squarely to face me. An odd pose to strike when the next thing to come is conversation. No other movement preceded his mouth opening. Although I knew what to expect since this was after all a dream, I was still taken somewhat aback by his mouth when finally it moved to form words.

Rather than the expected motions one would look for, his mouth rather yawned open as though someone was tearing wide a cloth. The edges were jagged forming a circular space from which he spoke. As he became more agitated, as children sometimes do when speaking, there were times that most of the front of his skull was open revealing nothing but a swirling darkness inside. There was no other movement than his mouth. No facial muscles to draw up the lips. The absence of that, along with a hundred of other things one expects to happen, made him very disconcerting. His other features were simply consumed, their space being negated, as his mouth formed words.

I wish I could remember what he said but the dream fades now. It was more instructions for the night than anything. I recall an irresistible desire to go to bed as soon as possible.

As I lay down on my right side in the bed to sleep, in this most odd of places to rest, another dream came quickly. And the nightmare began, although within it I remember that I knew where I was, that this nightmare within my dream wasn't real either. Its an odd sensation.

The other nightmare was vivid, filled with truly frightening images and violence of which I'm unaccustomed. Splashed of color, gore and tangled masses of matter punctuated by shrieks in the distance it was like a glimpse into hell itself. After only a short time of that I pulled myself from it and woke back up to my original dream. The feeling of relief was intense. To be safe back within the nightmarishly old hotel felt soothing now.

The pull of the nightmare from which I'd awakened was still strong in the room. It wanted me back. Tempting me to lay down; slumber.

I felt as though however, that I'd answered the challenge which at first I'd not even understood. I'd lain down in what seemed to be a horrible place and dared to sleep, facing the true nightmare this place offered. The hotel held no more threat for me. And the child was gone. His presence remainded though. I sensed his quickly dancing eyes watching me as from some great distance.

A sense of leaving the hotel overtook me. Although I don't remember exiting the building, I was suddenly back with my friends, telling them that I'd dreamed about being in this old hotel and then of the dream I'd had within in it.

There were some other things that continued on with talking to my friends, having some lighthearted fun with them; stuff like that.

Then it was time to go to work and blog all about it :)

Wistful Wednesdays: Circle of thought

It snowed a lot today.

Snow.
It makes me think of childhood.

Childhood.
It makes me think of carefree days.

Carefree days.
Those make me think of school.

School.
That makes me think of friends.

Friends.
That makes me think I miss them.

Missing them.
That makes me think of fun we had.

Fun.
That makes me think of playing in the snow.

Snow.
It snowed a lot today.

Something Special

My mom is up for a visit this weekend. I do so enjoy that. She always brings good stories and I never feel like I'm paying close enough attention but I enjoy them all very much.

This trip one piece of news she brought had a big impact on me. One of those voices from the past that you never see coming. Something that I'd completely forgotten about. What was it you might ask?

She got a call earlier this past week from the wife of the pastor who preached at the very first church I ever attended. Twenty-two years ago, our youth group created a time-capsule and it's time to open it. I'd completely forgotten it to be sure. I'd not forgotten her (Roberta) or my orginal pastor (Lee). See they were like my spritual parents and that church was where my whole experience with faith really began. Those two people will always hold a special place in my heart and I'd fight and die for them alongside anyone else that I love.

I remember as a deacon in that church that Lee used to let me "preach" from time to time. He trusted me enough to turn over his pulpit and teach those people that attended that church. And I was like 17 years old, tops. Its a tremendous honor and one really only offered in small country churches. In the summertime, we used to have special services and bbq out in the back lot and play games, do crafts and all that good stuff. It really was a "Mayberry" kind of place. I miss them.

And to hear about this time capsule really got me to thinking.

It's been 22 years after all. I have no idea what I put in there or what predictions I made. But I"m definitely going to go see about this when they open it. It's worth the long drive back home and to that place to see those folks again and reminsice about how things turned out. It's very, very cool.

I know you're reading this thinking, sheesh dude, it's not that big of a deal. And from the outside looking in, I get that.

But with how I'm wired this is like a top 10 life moment for me :) Going back to where my life really opened up to the rest of the world, where I had my first girlfriend, my first real friends, where I learned to be a smart alec, and finally, where I started to learn to talk to people and realize (on a small scale) that it's okay to be me.

Took me 22 years to learn the lesson but it all started in a small country church in Fredericktown, MO.

Intellectual Inhibitions

After a good title like that, I'll be hard pressed to match it with a post that is worthy; however I will try nonetheless.

Many bloggers are probably out there today, pondering how to close out their blogs for the year while thinking about what changes they'd like to make in the coming year. I’m sure the blog writers, along with the blog readers (that’s starting to sound all Dr Seuss, right?) are also considering the same sorts of things in regards to their personal lives.

Looking inward during this time of year is very common and we all know that. Much like a hobbit, nothing new really ever happens to me and generally speaking I’ve liked it that way. Now you, being probably one of the “big folk”, likely think that sounds awfully boring. And sometimes it is.

Well if nothing had changed for me this year, chances are I wouldn’t be blogging about it. So slide down from thine high horse and pull up a bean bag chair (c’mon admit you like those) and I’ll tell you a tale, a tale of a fateful trip, that started from this Midwest port, aboard this life, my ship :)

Did you ever go through one of those times in your life when you stood back to observe yourself; one of those rare moments of introspection in which you saw you and the way you’re living and truly, honestly questioned things that you’d previously considered unshakeable? Tis powerful medicine to do this from time to time, believe me.

There are several things that can trigger this sort of self reflection for people. Some folks like me just naturally do that from time to time because that’s how you’re wired. For others, it takes a major life event to shake you up, whether moving to a new location, discovering a new friend, finding a new job, getting married, etc. Sometimes several of those things happen at once.

But on the rare occasion that even one of them happens to someone like me, being a person who is naturally inward-looking and unafraid of it, well I’m very much affected. It sends me to very deep places within myself, diving to the pilings of the bridge, if you will, to inspect what I’ve built there and to see if the plans I’m living now match the foundation laid in the past.

I encourage to you take a similar dive. If you’ve never done it, it can be scary. Oftentimes you’ll find a surprise there to outmatch all others. I’ve recently taken such a plunge and I certainly found a surprise this time.

What did I discover waiting for me there with that foundation I’d built long ago?

It was the autograph of a different “me” etched in the cornerstone. Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re probably like most people and you honestly believe you’re always improving yourself, adding on layers to cover up the imperfections, and thus hiding the things that others find unacceptable, ever molding yourself to societal satisfactoriness. Tis very easy to slip into. Everyone has done it and from me, you’ll find no judgment towards you in that regard, or any other, at all.

And I have no problem with true self improvement. But that’s not always as it appears to be. It can lead to ignoring who you really are.

So on my dive what I rediscovered was the “me” that was unblemished by society, the attitude of my heart that I’d chained to those pilings and left there in that cold dark place. I left it there because I was afraid to take it with me.

Oh now and again, I’d show flashes of the oddities that make me, “me”. Those are generally speaking the things that people like best about me. I’m a pretty funny guy but over the years I’ve learned to hide it and many other things, sending down pieces to the depths for my abandoned soul to catch and hold until someday I might remember who I am and gather them back to myself.

Sometimes if you listen closely you can hear the murmurs from the deep, a pleading gurgle begging you to live again; to not forget what makes you, you. Most of us ignore it. We are literally trained to do so sometimes. Silly childish thoughts we say, my mortgage payment is due. I’ve grown up we reason within, new me has no time for old you. You can bury that “you” very deep down but honestly you can never kill it.

So for people like me who very close to being a true empath; they can never ever be truly comfortable until they face themselves. There is always a niggling at the back of your brain and on the inside you feel like a handle is half-turned, ready to be latched in place, but your hands keep slipping from it when you try to turn it.

To go back to my diving example, you hear the cry from the deep and you want to answer but you’ve forgotten how to sail. In other words, you can’t make that dive on your own anymore, although you see the necessity of it being made. Perhaps like me, the water too was a source of fear and even if you could still sail, you no longer had the strength to face the waves.

But there is always a way back.

So how did I get there? I had to have help. I was fortunate enough that I found other people to be around, who were willing to “share their boat” even if at times they didn’t realize the magnitude of what they did.

So who let me in their boat, willing to sail until I realized … “this is the spot and from here I have to go alone”? Who got me around the water again to begin with?

Over the course of the last several years I’ve met different people who have reintroduced me to the “water”. Reminded me that I knew how to swim after all. Awakened in me a new desire to dunk my head under and look all goofy-haired from time to time. And finally some that even breathed in me new breath as I learned to dive again.

There is always a last step though. A final domino to fall.

So until you meet somebody that reminds you who were really and that you need to find yourself again, you’ll never make that dive.

And that's happened to me this year. I met that person and they know who they are. And chances are if you're reading this and feel as though you identify, something similar will have to happen to you too.

And even after you meet someone to help you, even if you’re no longer afraid; you have to come to a place that you miss “you” so badly, you’re willing to do something you weren’t before. You have to find that deep place within; swimming guided only by instinct long forgotten, and finally dive until, there in the midst of the unyielding pressure you …

Face who you are. But even harder is facing whatever else that brings. And living honestly again.

Now please hear me when I say that on a trip like this one, a trip of this intensity, you’re not going to come back up “alone”. Well you can actually but if you do come up alone, it will be for the last time. This isn’t a pleasure dive.

There is muck down there, squishing through your toes, lapping at the foundation of your life and a version of yourself who’ve you’ve long forgotten that you’ll wrestle with until; through fatigue and lack of air you have to make a decision to leave that person behind once and for all or swim back up together.

So again, it’s about facing who you are.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about who the world thinks you are. I’m talking about the “kid”, if you will, that you used to be. The “you” that you were before society and life in general got a hold of you. Who you were before you gave it up, leaving things behind that you shouldn't have for version of yourself that you only thought you wanted. You have to find who are you again. Remember.

For me it was the person that wasn’t afraid to be “strange” or “goofy”, who really is much much smarter than I let on, who watches everyone else with a playful intelligence that sometimes puts people (in a good way) on edge thinking “when is he gonna get me next” .. that last part is hard to explain and you really have to be around me awhile to “get” that about me.

But now we’ve come full circle back to my post title. The cause of all this, in me and others, really is the intellectual inhibitions we place on ourselves by our acceptance that society always is the best judge of our character. Layer by layer, we cover up the child in order to construct an adult who is ultimately but a shell for others to approve. And we end up living, although sometimes inadvertently, for their approval.

Don’t live for others. Give to them, yes, be a giver of your time and efforts. But don’t live for other’s approval. Find the water. Find someone to help you get in it. Learn to open your eyes under it again. And then finally when that voice is near enough that you swear you can hear it, take one big breathe for the trip and, dive, dive dive.

You’ll be glad you did. I came back up holding hands with someone I’d missed very much. Me.

Worth Knowing

Anybody got any good friends out there?
Bet you do. Me too.

This time of year they are especially good to have and its a good time to show them your appreciation.

Last night I was talking to a new friend of mine. Haven't known him long. Although we're probably not what you'd call "good friends" yet, the guy is cool. And I'm hoping to know him for a long time. He's a person I admire for many reasons. (And he never reads this blog I'm pretty sure so I can brag on him without embarrassing him, lol) Anyway he was telling me about a good friend of his and he described him this way .... "a good friend, known him for years. very solid. worth knowing".

It was those last words that struck me. "Worth knowing". It spoke volumes to me. I think the reason this said so much to me is that this friend of mine is around a lot of people in his job. He's a good judge of character I think. So for him to say that about someone, I took it as a big deal.

But have you ever thought about that? Are YOU worth knowing?
You are, honest you are.

Ever felt like you're NOT "worth knowing" or that you don't fit in? I have.
You probably have too.

The truth is we are all worth knowing to someone in our lives. Someone out there can't picture themselves without you in their life. And along the way we will all meet new people and some of them will think you and me are worth knowing too.

Ok and some of the people we know and some we'll meet don't and won't think we're worth knowing but hey those people are wrong and just don't take the time to get to know us well, right? :)

Now if you're having a bad day; you remember, you're important to someone. They really think you're "worth knowing". You have "life changing value" to them and if you're hurting or confused they WANT help you out. Trust me they'll gladly give of their time and their talents, anything you need, in order to help YOU ... although I know sometimes it's hard to ask for that help.

So if you have something buggin you, get around those folks that think that way about you. It's powerful medicine.

It's worth ... a lot.