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| For the past three years I have been greeted with "Hey Scotty!" almost every time that I got to see Don. "Papa Don" as I like to call him. After he started that, I noticed other people calling me Scotty all the time too. I haven't been "Scotty" since I was a kid. Don on the other hand, has been "Donny" all his life. In fact his wife of 58 years, Arlene calls him Donny all the time. |  |
The circumstances under which I met Don were less than ideal to say the least. Kris and I moved in together just before Thanksgiving in 2012 and Thanksgiving is when I met Don for the first time.
Like all guys whose object of affection is another mans daughter, I was a bit nervous. I shouldn't have been. It didn't last very long.
Don only knew about me what Kris had told him.
When he came to the house that Thanksgiving, there were no real introductions. Don acted like we had always known each other and the next thing you know we were out in the garage getting tools and working on things he wanted to get done. I think he was gauging my value as a man by my ability to use tools and solve problems.
Don knew nothing about me, other than his daughter was happy, and that was all that mattered to him.
As it turned out, we have quite a bit in common, Don & I, in our way of thinking and doing things.
Don was a proud man, but not afraid to admit that age had slowed him down a bit. It was always a pleasure for me to do some little thing for him that he could have done himself, that he just didn't need to do.
I was pretty proud every time I'd do something and he'd say "that's the way I'd do it!"
Perhaps Don's similarities with me were more similarities with my father and perhaps that's why we got along so well and had a mutual respect for each other.
He was always happy to see me and almost always said "Heeeyyy Scotty!" It always made me smile. Men will not call men by childhood nicknames unless there is a great deal of respect involved. We're weird like that.
Papa Don was a very unique individual. In the end, Alzheimer's had taken a bunch of his memories, but was kind enough to allow them to return from time to time. When I met Don it was already starting. His wife & daughters knew. They saw the forgetfulness and everything that came with it, but it was comparatively mild in the beginning.
Don knew it too. Also like me, Don was a practical joker.
So while his family worried about his failing memory and his occasional slips and falls, Don would pretend to be worse than he was.
He would act completely serious like he had no clue what someone was talking about. Then he'd look at me, smile and wink.
I don't know how many times I told Kris that Don was playing with them. And he most assuredly was, much of the time.
In the past nine months Don's condition worsened and his failing memory was more real and less acting for reaction.
He really got a kick out of making a joke out of this thing he didn't understand. I'm not sure anyone but me actually saw that he was screwing around. Nobody else saw him smile & wink after saying something a little out there.
I think he knew the seriousness of the situation, even though he didn't know then what it was.
When the jokes about losing it stopped, Don really started to forget.
There were days he didn't know his wife or daughters.
He had no idea when to eat, sleep or go to the bathroom because in his mind the clocks were just spinning in circles. Sometimes backwards. 6:00AM, now 3:00AM, now 10:00AM.
He would yell at people, call them names and generally be pretty mean spirited. Which was not Don. Which made it excruciating for his family that loves him.
Then he'd snap back and be ok.
Then people would be trying to poison him. He wanted his guns. There were strange men in black suits milling about.
He became threatening and was capable of weak attempts at violence and had to be put in a place that could handle his ever changing mood swings, paranoia and slipping lucidity.
I believe scientifically that the reason Don never forgot me or who I was is directly related to the fact that I was the last new person to become a regular part of his life.
Even when Kris said he didn't know her and called her "that girl", I could walk in and he'd say "Heeeyyy Scotty!".
It felt kind of odd being the one person he could remember all the time. But it was nice too. Kind of like that smile & wink. He was ok, but he wasn't.
The first time I went to see him at the nursing home, he was in the dining room with his new friends. The first thing he did was introduce "my son-in-law, Scotty". Don didn't care about marriage certificates. It damn near made me cry when he did that.
While Alzheimer's was stealing his 84 years of memories, while 84 years had weakened his heart to barely operating, Don continued being Don when he could. Having known about the smile and wink, I knew Don was initially aware of what was going on.
Could his life and memory have been extended had he acknowledged these things and asked for help earlier on? We'll never know. Whether he was too proud to acknowledge it or whether he believed there would be no choice in the end, Don chose to just keep doing the best he could. In hindsight it becomes obvious how long and how hard he fought losing himself.
I have been blessed with many a great man in my life and Don is certainly a top shelf keeper in my world.
The pride and love he had for his family just knocked me out.
Sure, Don was also a man. Human, flawed, issues like the rest of us.
Also like the rest of us, the inherent good far outweighs any character flaws Don might have had.
When Kris would come home from seeing him, in tears because he had yelled at her, called her names or determined she was working with the enemy, all I could think and say was "that's not your Dad. He would be mortified if he knew he had done that". Don on his worst day would not do that to his family.
Kris learned when to let go and not pay attention. She found the courage to leave him to nap when she could see he was stuck in anger and hostility. She learned it was more important to remember her Dad than Donny, the guy who sometimes didn't remember his little girl.
The last conversation I had with Don was the only one that Don was not Don. He was always himself with me except that last time. He told me about the people watching him. There was somebody in room 7 that was bad news. Of course there was no room number 7.
He was shutting down then and two days later he passed with his daughters Kris and Sue at his side, holding him close.
The last 48 hours of Don's life were the hardest for his daughters who watched as he struggled to let go.
Today, while I'm grateful Don found his way, it still seems unreal that I will never walk into a room and see Don napping only to awake and say "Heeyyy Scotty!".
Hey Donny! Thanks for everything! I sure would have loved to meet you earlier in life and tackled more projects together, but I'm endlessly grateful for the time we did get.
That wink and smile will remain with me.
Always.
Like all guys whose object of affection is another mans daughter, I was a bit nervous. I shouldn't have been. It didn't last very long.
Don only knew about me what Kris had told him.
When he came to the house that Thanksgiving, there were no real introductions. Don acted like we had always known each other and the next thing you know we were out in the garage getting tools and working on things he wanted to get done. I think he was gauging my value as a man by my ability to use tools and solve problems.
Don knew nothing about me, other than his daughter was happy, and that was all that mattered to him.
As it turned out, we have quite a bit in common, Don & I, in our way of thinking and doing things.
Don was a proud man, but not afraid to admit that age had slowed him down a bit. It was always a pleasure for me to do some little thing for him that he could have done himself, that he just didn't need to do.
I was pretty proud every time I'd do something and he'd say "that's the way I'd do it!"
Perhaps Don's similarities with me were more similarities with my father and perhaps that's why we got along so well and had a mutual respect for each other.
He was always happy to see me and almost always said "Heeeyyy Scotty!" It always made me smile. Men will not call men by childhood nicknames unless there is a great deal of respect involved. We're weird like that.
Papa Don was a very unique individual. In the end, Alzheimer's had taken a bunch of his memories, but was kind enough to allow them to return from time to time. When I met Don it was already starting. His wife & daughters knew. They saw the forgetfulness and everything that came with it, but it was comparatively mild in the beginning.
Don knew it too. Also like me, Don was a practical joker.
So while his family worried about his failing memory and his occasional slips and falls, Don would pretend to be worse than he was.
He would act completely serious like he had no clue what someone was talking about. Then he'd look at me, smile and wink.
I don't know how many times I told Kris that Don was playing with them. And he most assuredly was, much of the time.
In the past nine months Don's condition worsened and his failing memory was more real and less acting for reaction.
He really got a kick out of making a joke out of this thing he didn't understand. I'm not sure anyone but me actually saw that he was screwing around. Nobody else saw him smile & wink after saying something a little out there.
I think he knew the seriousness of the situation, even though he didn't know then what it was.
When the jokes about losing it stopped, Don really started to forget.
There were days he didn't know his wife or daughters.
He had no idea when to eat, sleep or go to the bathroom because in his mind the clocks were just spinning in circles. Sometimes backwards. 6:00AM, now 3:00AM, now 10:00AM.
He would yell at people, call them names and generally be pretty mean spirited. Which was not Don. Which made it excruciating for his family that loves him.
Then he'd snap back and be ok.
Then people would be trying to poison him. He wanted his guns. There were strange men in black suits milling about.
He became threatening and was capable of weak attempts at violence and had to be put in a place that could handle his ever changing mood swings, paranoia and slipping lucidity.
I believe scientifically that the reason Don never forgot me or who I was is directly related to the fact that I was the last new person to become a regular part of his life.
Even when Kris said he didn't know her and called her "that girl", I could walk in and he'd say "Heeeyyy Scotty!".
It felt kind of odd being the one person he could remember all the time. But it was nice too. Kind of like that smile & wink. He was ok, but he wasn't.
The first time I went to see him at the nursing home, he was in the dining room with his new friends. The first thing he did was introduce "my son-in-law, Scotty". Don didn't care about marriage certificates. It damn near made me cry when he did that.
While Alzheimer's was stealing his 84 years of memories, while 84 years had weakened his heart to barely operating, Don continued being Don when he could. Having known about the smile and wink, I knew Don was initially aware of what was going on.
Could his life and memory have been extended had he acknowledged these things and asked for help earlier on? We'll never know. Whether he was too proud to acknowledge it or whether he believed there would be no choice in the end, Don chose to just keep doing the best he could. In hindsight it becomes obvious how long and how hard he fought losing himself.
I have been blessed with many a great man in my life and Don is certainly a top shelf keeper in my world.
The pride and love he had for his family just knocked me out.
Sure, Don was also a man. Human, flawed, issues like the rest of us.
Also like the rest of us, the inherent good far outweighs any character flaws Don might have had.
When Kris would come home from seeing him, in tears because he had yelled at her, called her names or determined she was working with the enemy, all I could think and say was "that's not your Dad. He would be mortified if he knew he had done that". Don on his worst day would not do that to his family.
Kris learned when to let go and not pay attention. She found the courage to leave him to nap when she could see he was stuck in anger and hostility. She learned it was more important to remember her Dad than Donny, the guy who sometimes didn't remember his little girl.
The last conversation I had with Don was the only one that Don was not Don. He was always himself with me except that last time. He told me about the people watching him. There was somebody in room 7 that was bad news. Of course there was no room number 7.
He was shutting down then and two days later he passed with his daughters Kris and Sue at his side, holding him close.
The last 48 hours of Don's life were the hardest for his daughters who watched as he struggled to let go.
Today, while I'm grateful Don found his way, it still seems unreal that I will never walk into a room and see Don napping only to awake and say "Heeyyy Scotty!".
Hey Donny! Thanks for everything! I sure would have loved to meet you earlier in life and tackled more projects together, but I'm endlessly grateful for the time we did get.
That wink and smile will remain with me.
Always.
If you haven't read the rest of my band stories yet, go read them first and come back.
I'll wait. Just click Music over there on the left of your screen.
After reading of my experience in a few bands (there are a couple more that I haven't written about yet) the title of this story will make sense.
For the past 5+ years I have had the honor and joy of playing and making music with an unlikely trio that I can say without exception has been the high point of my music career. Indeed this experience surpasses even my days as a full time bass player with Michael Murphy & The MOB.
It started back in 2009 when, while my head was still shaking from The 10-2-1 Experience, I found that the desire to play again was still boogying right along.
I didn't want any old band to play in. I wanted to go back to what I know, what I'm good at, what I love: Blues and classic blues derived rock with a hint of jazz & Motown in mix.
Headed over to Craigslist I did. Came across an ad from a guy that was looking to test the waters and see if he could put together a blues band.
Of course I responded.
And Fate said "thank you".
Turns out that Mark hadn't played in many years either, for many of the same reasons.
So we talked and decided we'd see if any drummers responded to Mark's ad and we'd see what happened.
Some time went by, Mark and I both had business on the table, but a couple months later he had found a drummer!
We arranged to meet at Mark's house and just jam and see how it went. Jamming did ensue.
Well, Fate wouldn't have said "thank you" if it wasn't going to go good!
Mark and I gelled easily due to our love of a lot of the same music, and the drummer was great!
We practiced together a few times and the drummer was really more into country and things and decided to go back to his old band.
Mark & I were on our own until Pete's name was given to Mark. Then Gideon's Radio came together like Mark and I were originally looking for.
Well, that's not exactly true.
There were two more drummers. They were both very good drummers but they both had issues. The one that was best just lived too far away. The other one, let's just say he had too many issues for me to remember honestly. What I do remember was I LOVED the way he counted off a song! "One, two, three, GO!"
Oh, and a singer/keyboardist/sax player. He was a decent singer, ok keyboardist and a great sax player. He preferred them in the opposite order of his talents. He also liked to drink up to a twelve pack during a three hour practice.
Then there was that female singer! She could sing! She could also drink wine and she also thought Mark ( a long happily married man) was REALLY cute. Something about talking about music in the moonlight under a tree got the best of her and she decided she really needed to kiss Mark on the cheek.
That wasn't why she got fired. Mark is pretty easy going and laughed it off. It was going to be hard to have a singer who would most likely be laying on the floor by the end of the night.
I'll wait. Just click Music over there on the left of your screen.
After reading of my experience in a few bands (there are a couple more that I haven't written about yet) the title of this story will make sense.
For the past 5+ years I have had the honor and joy of playing and making music with an unlikely trio that I can say without exception has been the high point of my music career. Indeed this experience surpasses even my days as a full time bass player with Michael Murphy & The MOB.
It started back in 2009 when, while my head was still shaking from The 10-2-1 Experience, I found that the desire to play again was still boogying right along.
I didn't want any old band to play in. I wanted to go back to what I know, what I'm good at, what I love: Blues and classic blues derived rock with a hint of jazz & Motown in mix.
Headed over to Craigslist I did. Came across an ad from a guy that was looking to test the waters and see if he could put together a blues band.
Of course I responded.
And Fate said "thank you".
Turns out that Mark hadn't played in many years either, for many of the same reasons.
So we talked and decided we'd see if any drummers responded to Mark's ad and we'd see what happened.
Some time went by, Mark and I both had business on the table, but a couple months later he had found a drummer!
We arranged to meet at Mark's house and just jam and see how it went. Jamming did ensue.
Well, Fate wouldn't have said "thank you" if it wasn't going to go good!
Mark and I gelled easily due to our love of a lot of the same music, and the drummer was great!
We practiced together a few times and the drummer was really more into country and things and decided to go back to his old band.
Mark & I were on our own until Pete's name was given to Mark. Then Gideon's Radio came together like Mark and I were originally looking for.
Well, that's not exactly true.
There were two more drummers. They were both very good drummers but they both had issues. The one that was best just lived too far away. The other one, let's just say he had too many issues for me to remember honestly. What I do remember was I LOVED the way he counted off a song! "One, two, three, GO!"
Oh, and a singer/keyboardist/sax player. He was a decent singer, ok keyboardist and a great sax player. He preferred them in the opposite order of his talents. He also liked to drink up to a twelve pack during a three hour practice.
Then there was that female singer! She could sing! She could also drink wine and she also thought Mark ( a long happily married man) was REALLY cute. Something about talking about music in the moonlight under a tree got the best of her and she decided she really needed to kiss Mark on the cheek.
That wasn't why she got fired. Mark is pretty easy going and laughed it off. It was going to be hard to have a singer who would most likely be laying on the floor by the end of the night.
| Shortly before she had to go, we had agreed to play a quick set for a fundraiser. We needed to test the waters. She wasn't there for that show. That show went great. It was after that when we let "GO! Boy" and "Sax Boy" be on their merry ways. Which they were none to pleased about. I think I told Mark to make it my fault because I lived the furthest away and wouldn't have to possibly run into them at any given moment in time. |  |
Did I mention Mark is an easy going guy? Everything about the guy says the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt someone's feelings. But, he not only made the calls, he shouldered the decision himself. And did have to have a couple of chance encounters.
Then along came Pete.
Then along came Pete.
 | And John. Shortly after Mark was given Pete's name & number, John somehow came into the picture. John & Pete's first time playing with Mark & I happened the same night. John sang (which is what we were looking for since neither Mark nor I relished the idea of singing very much). |
John also played a mean keyboard and could blow a harmonica like nobodies business.
After practice when Pete & John had left, Mark and I sat around in his driveway talking. Finally we have a band. Mark and I were excited.
A few practices and we think we're ready to test the waters. Pete gets us a short set with a bunch of other bands playing a Christmas party. We were really excited. Well, except Mark who was really nervous instead.
We ramped up the practice schedule a bit. John missed a couple because of this reason or that. No biggy.
December 3rd 2010 rolls around and it's show time!
We're the second or third band on the bill. We've got our families and friends in attendance. We're ready to show off what we've been working on!
The first band plays. We talk. Mark paces and tells us how nervous he is. We wait for John.
Apparently John had a business trip a few days prior and had to fly to Colorado. He was supposed to be back in plenty of time.
I see you think you see where this is going. Shut up & let me tell the story.
Sorry I blew up.
So we wait, and we pace and we make phone calls. There's no way we can NOT play when we're there and all these people, many specifically there to see us, are waiting for us.
And waiting they are because, we have no singer and it's our turn.
We set up embarrassingly slowly trying to kill time.
Somebody comes and tells us that John's girlfriend called and he would not be attending the evenings festivities as he was stuck in the airport in Colorado due to a blizzard going on.
There's no doubt there was a blizzard going on. We were getting it too. In fact, I drove home 60 miles at 30 miles per hour that night.
Now what?
We've proven our resiliency in tough situations many times over the years, but this was the first time.
We rationally decided to have each of us pick which songs on the set list we thought we could sing. We quickly scribbled names on our set lists so we knew who'd be singing what.
We had a plan.
Jamming did ensue.
We start almost every show with a Stevie Ray Vaughan instrumental. Why? 1.) It's cool. 2.) It helps get the body warmed up for the physicality that comes with passionate music making. 3.) Because of doing it at our first show. 4.) It gives the audience a second to warm up to us which then allows Mark's nervousness a moment to subside.
Yes, Mark is nervous before every show no matter what. Except when he says "Surprisingly fellas, I'm not feeling very nervous" and then gets nervous because he just realized he wasn't nervous! Mark and I also share a neurotic nature- Pete on the other hand is cool as a cucumber about anything and everything. For instance; if Pete's drums got stolen from his car before set up here's how Pete would respond:
"Well, that's crap. I'll have to call the insurance company Monday. Ok, um, I can probably use that big tub there for a bass drum. I'll need something to hold it in place because I'll have to actually kick it. Some beer pitchers will make decent toms. Grab me some of those Mardi Gras beads and a milk jug and that'll take care of the snare. For cymbals..."
Yeah, you can't really phase Pete at all.
Up on that tiny stage, Pete sang the first song which was the great Buddy Guy tune "Mary Ann".
Mark and I took our turns.
And we nailed it. Dead to the floor.
Nobody had a clue that wasn't the show they were supposed to see. As we were taking our stuff down, guys in the bands playing next were telling us that they didn't want to follow what we just did.
THAT was cool. I mean to have other musicians actually tell you that is rare. Funny thing is, ever since, we have always preferred opening slots. Because we know we're going to make it hard for the next band!.
So, show is a success! We plan to regroup for practice the following Monday. We do. John comes, apologizes, explains the situation away (other than the part about not letting us know some time before we were supposed to go on stage!).
We schedule the next practice.
I had to work late so I arrived late and John was not there yet and he lived only a few blocks away.
We talked and decided right then that John was out and we would not look for another singer. We could do this ourselves.
Do it we did.
We now have probably over 100 songs that we can play with one or the other of us singing.
We've been together for over 5 years and have never had an argument, not even a disagreement over song choices. Each one of us plays songs we don't really like or like to play because somebody in the band does like it or it's something an audience will like.
We're a band in the classic romantic sense that non-musicians believe a band is. Which is rarely ever reality.
We're bandmates and we're friends.
Not like we're friends with our other friends. Sort of like that but different.
I now live 70 miles away from Mark & Pete and all three of us travel in different circles outside of the band.
However, we in this band have known more and shared more of the ups and downs and gains and loses in life than we have probably shared with our regular friends.
I said we were an unlikely trio and we are. While we're in the same age range and grew up at the same time, and listened to mostly the same music growing up, we come from three very different backgrounds.
Yet, we have the time of our lives when we're together.
We've developed a relationship of mutual respect and complete "as is" acceptance of each other. Not to brag, but, the world could learn a little something from this band.
Then there's the music!
We play together like it ain't nobodies bidness. We're probably the second tightest band I've ever heard. There was a band we opened for called Loomis. They were so tight there were creases in the freaking air and I sh*t you not.
98% of the stuff we play is stuff we love and love playing. The other two percent is the stuff you play just for the audience. Before we did it, none of us would have probably thought "Tub-Thumping" was a song we wanted to play. Audiences love it and now, we love closing our shows with it.
We play and feed off of each other. In the past five years, each of us have become far better musicians than we were before we met.
Together we wrote and recorded an album of 11 songs that are as varied as our influences. It's called "Solid State" if you're interested.
When that album was completed (yes! You CAN buy it on I-Tunes, Amazon, Rhapsody and wherever fine digital music is sold!) when I listened to it the first time I was impressed. The songs are good, the recording is excellent and it is a true representation of this band.
Except that on the album Mark does all the singing. We thought for the sake of continuity on the album it would be better to have one voice represent us and his is quite frankly, the best of the three.
The other thing that happened was I knocked myself out. Not literally of course, but I listened intently to myself and I was just amazed at the bass player I had become over the years.
More than once I asked myself "did I really come up with that?". More than once I wondered "did Mark overdub my crap?" Of course I know he didn't. That's me on that record.
Many musicians I've played with have pushed me further, but none even close to these guys.
I think the three of us actually try to get better solely to impress each other so we can have more fun doing it!
Because that's really what this band is about.
Making that music that we love together and having fun doing it.
We're just as happy practicing in Mark's basement as we are on the stage of Famous Dave's Blues Club.
We're just as happy to play for a fundraiser as to play for a venue that puts money in our pockets.
We have played so many benefits and fundraisers. A lot of bands don't like lugging their gear and playing for free and it's some times hard for these things to get good bands because of it. For us it's a chance to play for people and none of us mind helping out where we can. I'll admit at one point there had gotten to be so many that it was getting frustrating to be the go to band if you needed guys who'd donate their time, but we never said no to a single fundraiser or benefit unless we already had something booked at the time.
We've shared so many stages, so many memories, so many stories, so many personal triumphs and tragedies, that we have ingrained ourselves in the fabric of each others lives.
What the hell more could you want from being a member of a band?
Perhaps that redemption?
Redemption: deliverance, rescue. Atonement.
Gideon's Radio delivered me from a life devoid of the music I love to play. It rescued me from settling for playing music I didn't want to play in bands I didn't want to play in.
Atonement? Let's break that down: at-one-ment.
Gideon's Radio led me to being at one with the musical passion within me. It made every bad band, every High & Mighty Mike (NOT MIchael!), every DipStick Dave, every note for note English guy with a superiority complex worth it.
Gideon's Radio has also been a huge part of helping me become at one with myself.
Mark and Pete's complete and total acceptance of me exactly as I am has helped me offer myself that same acceptance. I am a better, broader, happier person because of my membership in this band.
What this band has done for me musically and personally is beyond anything I ever imagined a band could be. By far.
A lawyer, a political right hand man and Harley salesman walk into a bar...
After practice when Pete & John had left, Mark and I sat around in his driveway talking. Finally we have a band. Mark and I were excited.
A few practices and we think we're ready to test the waters. Pete gets us a short set with a bunch of other bands playing a Christmas party. We were really excited. Well, except Mark who was really nervous instead.
We ramped up the practice schedule a bit. John missed a couple because of this reason or that. No biggy.
December 3rd 2010 rolls around and it's show time!
We're the second or third band on the bill. We've got our families and friends in attendance. We're ready to show off what we've been working on!
The first band plays. We talk. Mark paces and tells us how nervous he is. We wait for John.
Apparently John had a business trip a few days prior and had to fly to Colorado. He was supposed to be back in plenty of time.
I see you think you see where this is going. Shut up & let me tell the story.
Sorry I blew up.
So we wait, and we pace and we make phone calls. There's no way we can NOT play when we're there and all these people, many specifically there to see us, are waiting for us.
And waiting they are because, we have no singer and it's our turn.
We set up embarrassingly slowly trying to kill time.
Somebody comes and tells us that John's girlfriend called and he would not be attending the evenings festivities as he was stuck in the airport in Colorado due to a blizzard going on.
There's no doubt there was a blizzard going on. We were getting it too. In fact, I drove home 60 miles at 30 miles per hour that night.
Now what?
We've proven our resiliency in tough situations many times over the years, but this was the first time.
We rationally decided to have each of us pick which songs on the set list we thought we could sing. We quickly scribbled names on our set lists so we knew who'd be singing what.
We had a plan.
Jamming did ensue.
We start almost every show with a Stevie Ray Vaughan instrumental. Why? 1.) It's cool. 2.) It helps get the body warmed up for the physicality that comes with passionate music making. 3.) Because of doing it at our first show. 4.) It gives the audience a second to warm up to us which then allows Mark's nervousness a moment to subside.
Yes, Mark is nervous before every show no matter what. Except when he says "Surprisingly fellas, I'm not feeling very nervous" and then gets nervous because he just realized he wasn't nervous! Mark and I also share a neurotic nature- Pete on the other hand is cool as a cucumber about anything and everything. For instance; if Pete's drums got stolen from his car before set up here's how Pete would respond:
"Well, that's crap. I'll have to call the insurance company Monday. Ok, um, I can probably use that big tub there for a bass drum. I'll need something to hold it in place because I'll have to actually kick it. Some beer pitchers will make decent toms. Grab me some of those Mardi Gras beads and a milk jug and that'll take care of the snare. For cymbals..."
Yeah, you can't really phase Pete at all.
Up on that tiny stage, Pete sang the first song which was the great Buddy Guy tune "Mary Ann".
Mark and I took our turns.
And we nailed it. Dead to the floor.
Nobody had a clue that wasn't the show they were supposed to see. As we were taking our stuff down, guys in the bands playing next were telling us that they didn't want to follow what we just did.
THAT was cool. I mean to have other musicians actually tell you that is rare. Funny thing is, ever since, we have always preferred opening slots. Because we know we're going to make it hard for the next band!.
So, show is a success! We plan to regroup for practice the following Monday. We do. John comes, apologizes, explains the situation away (other than the part about not letting us know some time before we were supposed to go on stage!).
We schedule the next practice.
I had to work late so I arrived late and John was not there yet and he lived only a few blocks away.
We talked and decided right then that John was out and we would not look for another singer. We could do this ourselves.
Do it we did.
We now have probably over 100 songs that we can play with one or the other of us singing.
We've been together for over 5 years and have never had an argument, not even a disagreement over song choices. Each one of us plays songs we don't really like or like to play because somebody in the band does like it or it's something an audience will like.
We're a band in the classic romantic sense that non-musicians believe a band is. Which is rarely ever reality.
We're bandmates and we're friends.
Not like we're friends with our other friends. Sort of like that but different.
I now live 70 miles away from Mark & Pete and all three of us travel in different circles outside of the band.
However, we in this band have known more and shared more of the ups and downs and gains and loses in life than we have probably shared with our regular friends.
I said we were an unlikely trio and we are. While we're in the same age range and grew up at the same time, and listened to mostly the same music growing up, we come from three very different backgrounds.
Yet, we have the time of our lives when we're together.
We've developed a relationship of mutual respect and complete "as is" acceptance of each other. Not to brag, but, the world could learn a little something from this band.
Then there's the music!
We play together like it ain't nobodies bidness. We're probably the second tightest band I've ever heard. There was a band we opened for called Loomis. They were so tight there were creases in the freaking air and I sh*t you not.
98% of the stuff we play is stuff we love and love playing. The other two percent is the stuff you play just for the audience. Before we did it, none of us would have probably thought "Tub-Thumping" was a song we wanted to play. Audiences love it and now, we love closing our shows with it.
We play and feed off of each other. In the past five years, each of us have become far better musicians than we were before we met.
Together we wrote and recorded an album of 11 songs that are as varied as our influences. It's called "Solid State" if you're interested.
When that album was completed (yes! You CAN buy it on I-Tunes, Amazon, Rhapsody and wherever fine digital music is sold!) when I listened to it the first time I was impressed. The songs are good, the recording is excellent and it is a true representation of this band.
Except that on the album Mark does all the singing. We thought for the sake of continuity on the album it would be better to have one voice represent us and his is quite frankly, the best of the three.
The other thing that happened was I knocked myself out. Not literally of course, but I listened intently to myself and I was just amazed at the bass player I had become over the years.
More than once I asked myself "did I really come up with that?". More than once I wondered "did Mark overdub my crap?" Of course I know he didn't. That's me on that record.
Many musicians I've played with have pushed me further, but none even close to these guys.
I think the three of us actually try to get better solely to impress each other so we can have more fun doing it!
Because that's really what this band is about.
Making that music that we love together and having fun doing it.
We're just as happy practicing in Mark's basement as we are on the stage of Famous Dave's Blues Club.
We're just as happy to play for a fundraiser as to play for a venue that puts money in our pockets.
We have played so many benefits and fundraisers. A lot of bands don't like lugging their gear and playing for free and it's some times hard for these things to get good bands because of it. For us it's a chance to play for people and none of us mind helping out where we can. I'll admit at one point there had gotten to be so many that it was getting frustrating to be the go to band if you needed guys who'd donate their time, but we never said no to a single fundraiser or benefit unless we already had something booked at the time.
We've shared so many stages, so many memories, so many stories, so many personal triumphs and tragedies, that we have ingrained ourselves in the fabric of each others lives.
What the hell more could you want from being a member of a band?
Perhaps that redemption?
Redemption: deliverance, rescue. Atonement.
Gideon's Radio delivered me from a life devoid of the music I love to play. It rescued me from settling for playing music I didn't want to play in bands I didn't want to play in.
Atonement? Let's break that down: at-one-ment.
Gideon's Radio led me to being at one with the musical passion within me. It made every bad band, every High & Mighty Mike (NOT MIchael!), every DipStick Dave, every note for note English guy with a superiority complex worth it.
Gideon's Radio has also been a huge part of helping me become at one with myself.
Mark and Pete's complete and total acceptance of me exactly as I am has helped me offer myself that same acceptance. I am a better, broader, happier person because of my membership in this band.
What this band has done for me musically and personally is beyond anything I ever imagined a band could be. By far.
A lawyer, a political right hand man and Harley salesman walk into a bar...
| ...nuns, more nuns. Bonus points to those who recognized the song lyric hidden in my pithy title/introduction. I'm serious too. About the nuns that is. When was the last time you saw a nun? Would you know if you did? I'm not sure when it happened but somewhere a long the line, for good or bad, the nuns were able to liberate themselves from their habits. |  |
You can't tell a nun from any other woman any more.
There are far less nuns than their used to be. There's any number of closed convents all around the country. The world for that matter.
Now mind you, the fact that this world needs more nuns is not affected by anyone's belief (or disbelief) in God, particular religion (or disbelief in religion) or sincere belief that we evolved from tadpoles. It has nothing to do with Catholicism or the fact that we currently share air with the most interesting Pope in eon's. (Don't hate; you don't have to agree with him or his action's to admit that he is interesting).
It has to do with nuns. or in my opinion: "Nuns".
Nuns never cared about our religion. They care about THEIR religion, but they don't care about ours.
They love us anyway.
They pray for us even if we believe God is a big fat fairytale in the vein of Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny and that cheapskate Tooth Fairy.
The Atheist, the Agnostic, the people who disagree with the Catholic Church on every level may say "well, I don't need some nun to pray to her imaginary God for me. What good is that? They aren't doing anything for me.".
Sure they are.
Whether we believe or not, Nuns do. They pray for each and every one of us. They sacrifice the type of life we enjoy because they love us and because they believe their prayers are for our benefit.
Nuns exemplify almost the rarest form of selflessness. They believe with all their being that their existence is to serve their God by serving His children. That being said, it still doesn't matter if YOU believe in God. Nuns do.
Many of us are old enough to remember when there was an abundance of Nuns. To my knowledge (and I admit I haven't researched deeply) prior to modern times, the last 20 years or so, there's never been a shortage of Nuns.
You could walk downtown and see a couple habit clad Sisters waiting for a bus, collecting coin' for charity work, assisting an elderly person with grocery shopping.
That still happens today. We just don't realize what we're seeing are Nuns.
Here's the thing; When there were more Nuns, when they were visible and recognizable where ever we went, the world was a better place.
Even an Atheist would be touched by a smile or blessing from a Nun. Everyone always respected the Nuns, jokes aside.
When they were in front of us we were always reminded to be on our best behavior. We were always reminded to be kind to each other. Many times a Nuns presence alone could give a feeling of being loved and cared for.
My Mom & my Aunt Donna went to Catholic school for awhile in their youth and told stories of wicked Nuns slapping their hands with rulers and things of that nature.
I'm sure there were some. There is no avocation whose participants have reached perfection.
My experience was much different than my Mom & my aunts.
I started young in the Catholic church but was also removed quite early by my Mom as well, due to issues she had with the Church.
My experience with Nuns during my Catechism were always nice in my memory. I think Priests were scarier- and not because of the crude joke you just remembered either.
During my teenage years I did however end up under the care and supervision of a group of Nuns in Green Bay. Long story.
That group of Nuns was incredible. Available any time. Talk about anything. Reassuring. Comforting.
It was a Nun who first taught me how to saddle a horse.
She also taught me the importance of extracting horse poo from the stall and gave me a lesson.
Another taught me the Nuns Secret To Non-Bitter Coffee- little bit of salt mixed in the ground coffee.
I look at what's happening in Baltimore today (and what's been happening all over the country) and I wonder: Would it have gotten that bad, would people have behaved that way if there were Nuns standing on the corner waiting for a bus or collecting coins?
Obviously Nuns did not stop the riots and protest's of the '60's & 70's.
But there's a difference in those riots and protests. Back then people knew what they were protesting. Before they protested, before the riots (just as criminally wrong as those today) they KNEW why they were protesting and rioting. They weren't doing it because MAYBE something was worthy of protest or riot.
They took a minute.
I could be wrong but I think that strong presence of Nuns caused people to stop and think for just a moment before acting.
Or maybe I'm full of crap.
I know the world seemed like a nicer place back then.
At this point, anything is worth a shot right?
Bring on the Nuns. (Note to Dad's of daughters: if you encourage your daughters to become Nuns you will NEVER have to worry about boyfriends AND you can rest easy knowing you have helped provide a service to mankind).
Whether you think I'm nuts or not, know this: At this very moment (and I do not care what moment you happen to read this in), whether you believe in God or not, there are two Nuns- Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration to be exact- praying for you.
For over 135 years, at all times, 24/7 there have been two Nuns praying for us around the clock. They're in La Crosse, WI. I'm sure there's more all over the world. Think of the depth of that commitment and service to the souls of people they will never know.
What the world needs now is more Nuns.
Short of that, more of us have to learn to love, respect and value our fellow human beings as the Nuns have done for centuries.
Either way I'm confident the world would be a better place.
There are far less nuns than their used to be. There's any number of closed convents all around the country. The world for that matter.
Now mind you, the fact that this world needs more nuns is not affected by anyone's belief (or disbelief) in God, particular religion (or disbelief in religion) or sincere belief that we evolved from tadpoles. It has nothing to do with Catholicism or the fact that we currently share air with the most interesting Pope in eon's. (Don't hate; you don't have to agree with him or his action's to admit that he is interesting).
It has to do with nuns. or in my opinion: "Nuns".
Nuns never cared about our religion. They care about THEIR religion, but they don't care about ours.
They love us anyway.
They pray for us even if we believe God is a big fat fairytale in the vein of Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny and that cheapskate Tooth Fairy.
The Atheist, the Agnostic, the people who disagree with the Catholic Church on every level may say "well, I don't need some nun to pray to her imaginary God for me. What good is that? They aren't doing anything for me.".
Sure they are.
Whether we believe or not, Nuns do. They pray for each and every one of us. They sacrifice the type of life we enjoy because they love us and because they believe their prayers are for our benefit.
Nuns exemplify almost the rarest form of selflessness. They believe with all their being that their existence is to serve their God by serving His children. That being said, it still doesn't matter if YOU believe in God. Nuns do.
Many of us are old enough to remember when there was an abundance of Nuns. To my knowledge (and I admit I haven't researched deeply) prior to modern times, the last 20 years or so, there's never been a shortage of Nuns.
You could walk downtown and see a couple habit clad Sisters waiting for a bus, collecting coin' for charity work, assisting an elderly person with grocery shopping.
That still happens today. We just don't realize what we're seeing are Nuns.
Here's the thing; When there were more Nuns, when they were visible and recognizable where ever we went, the world was a better place.
Even an Atheist would be touched by a smile or blessing from a Nun. Everyone always respected the Nuns, jokes aside.
When they were in front of us we were always reminded to be on our best behavior. We were always reminded to be kind to each other. Many times a Nuns presence alone could give a feeling of being loved and cared for.
My Mom & my Aunt Donna went to Catholic school for awhile in their youth and told stories of wicked Nuns slapping their hands with rulers and things of that nature.
I'm sure there were some. There is no avocation whose participants have reached perfection.
My experience was much different than my Mom & my aunts.
I started young in the Catholic church but was also removed quite early by my Mom as well, due to issues she had with the Church.
My experience with Nuns during my Catechism were always nice in my memory. I think Priests were scarier- and not because of the crude joke you just remembered either.
During my teenage years I did however end up under the care and supervision of a group of Nuns in Green Bay. Long story.
That group of Nuns was incredible. Available any time. Talk about anything. Reassuring. Comforting.
It was a Nun who first taught me how to saddle a horse.
She also taught me the importance of extracting horse poo from the stall and gave me a lesson.
Another taught me the Nuns Secret To Non-Bitter Coffee- little bit of salt mixed in the ground coffee.
I look at what's happening in Baltimore today (and what's been happening all over the country) and I wonder: Would it have gotten that bad, would people have behaved that way if there were Nuns standing on the corner waiting for a bus or collecting coins?
Obviously Nuns did not stop the riots and protest's of the '60's & 70's.
But there's a difference in those riots and protests. Back then people knew what they were protesting. Before they protested, before the riots (just as criminally wrong as those today) they KNEW why they were protesting and rioting. They weren't doing it because MAYBE something was worthy of protest or riot.
They took a minute.
I could be wrong but I think that strong presence of Nuns caused people to stop and think for just a moment before acting.
Or maybe I'm full of crap.
I know the world seemed like a nicer place back then.
At this point, anything is worth a shot right?
Bring on the Nuns. (Note to Dad's of daughters: if you encourage your daughters to become Nuns you will NEVER have to worry about boyfriends AND you can rest easy knowing you have helped provide a service to mankind).
Whether you think I'm nuts or not, know this: At this very moment (and I do not care what moment you happen to read this in), whether you believe in God or not, there are two Nuns- Franciscan Sisters of Perpetual Adoration to be exact- praying for you.
For over 135 years, at all times, 24/7 there have been two Nuns praying for us around the clock. They're in La Crosse, WI. I'm sure there's more all over the world. Think of the depth of that commitment and service to the souls of people they will never know.
What the world needs now is more Nuns.
Short of that, more of us have to learn to love, respect and value our fellow human beings as the Nuns have done for centuries.
Either way I'm confident the world would be a better place.
| To the casual observer it may appear that I have not written since my birthday. That would be untrue. At the end of the post on my birthday I had mentioned that I had entered a writing contest, and that was my birthday present. It really was. There was a $125 entry fee, plus the prize is so incredible it'd be the birthday present to end all birthday presents. The more I think about it, the more astounding the potential of a win becomes. It will change everything forever and make everything make sense and would also solve the remaining personal issues I've yet been able to conquer. However, that's another story. Which was my point to begin with. I haven't been writing here, but I HAVE been writing over THERE. THERE being another collection of thoughts & stories related specifically to this essay contest I entered. For my birthday present. For a prize that would be a mind blowing miracle. But enough about that. That's over there and we're HERE. So I just saw a picture and story about Jack Cassady who is a rather well accomplished rock bass player from the beginnings of classic rock. Jefferson Airplane. Seeing him with his hollow body bass guitar reminded me that he has a signature model that I entertained when considering hollow bodies myself. I'm just not a fan of "Signature Model's" for some reason. Which is neither here nor there. Especially when you consider that I, until recently owned an Allen Woody Signature Model, which I did indeed love. Back on point (if there is one), when I saw Jack Cassady I thought (and I feel bad) "I thought he was dead?" Then I remembered that was Jack Bruce. He was the bass player for Cream with Eric Clapton & Ginger Baker (how freaking cool of a name is THAT for a rock drummer? Ginger Baker!). Now, while I'm unaware of any specific influence from them in regards to my bass playing, I'm sure it exists from the countless times I've listened to their music and bass lines in particular on the radio as a kid. That's not the point either. Thinking about Jack Bruce being gone reminded me of something that has been bothering me for awhile. Most of this year thus far I believe. Maybe even earlier. The point is that with each passing day we lose more and more people that have helped make up life as we know it. Or knew it to be more precise. Most of the actors from the TV shows we watched as kids are now gone. Some entire casts have moved on. The musicians who made the music that was the sound track of our lives. While it's amazing how many are still around and still making music (Aerosmith, the Rolling Stones, Dylan, AC/DC and a bunch more) there's quite a few that are all gone. The Ramones. Mick & Keith are 70 something. They can't keep touring forever. The same thing applies to the elder members of our family who, while most have lived long and happy lives are nonetheless leaving us with less connections to our past everyday. Places and things are also taking their place on the list of things that used to be and will unfortunately be forgotten. How many times have you driven through the old neighborhoods and noticed houses and buildings gone? Some will always remain in our memories for one reason or another, but how many times have you found that you just couldn't quite remember what the building was or who lived in that house that used to be there? All these things pass by with the passing of time. I suppose it's the natural order of things; I mean, it's obviously been happening since the beginning. Whenever & whatever the beginning was. Even though it is the natural order of things, it doesn't make it any less sad to experience. Driving through my home town and seeing everything that's gone and everything that's new just blows my mind. My Mom would get lost if she could come back for a drive around town. The memories of what was and is no more are just strange. I remember the days when men wore suits and fedora's as daily attire. Barely, but I remember it. Football coaches too. Why should it even matter that fashion has changed that much? I don't know. As a guy who rarely wears suits and doesn't own a fedora (though I have a pork pie I'm rather fond of) I'm cool with the casual comfort I move around in. I guess it's because everything in this life makes up what it is, for each of us. As the things that shaped us and were the life we lived pass into yesterday, the people, places and things that have guided us gone, we're left looking at an unknown future without the guidance and influence that has got us this far. But we're also left with today. Today is the day we can do things. Today we can plan. Today we can dream. Today we can execute. Tomorrow? Who knows if we'll be able to do anything tomorrow? I believe there are lessons in all of this but it just seems scarier the more the familiar departs and the future becomes now. All too soon. |
My last two birthdays were great. Phenomenal in fact. Great things happened and I couldn't imagine being happier.
This year? Meh.
Technically I don't KNOW what my birthday is going to be like this year since it's a few hours away yet.
What I DO know is that I'm indeed feeling pretty meh about it.
There's something very disconcerting about reaching the age at which your mother passed from this world. You know, had my Mom been 95 or something I don't think I'd mind it so much. 95, I'd sure as hell be happy and celebrating.
But my Mom wasn't 95.
She was 49. Forty-nine years, two months and twenty days to be exact.
The next time I wake up, provided I'm blessed to do so, I too will be 49 years old.
How did that happen? It snuck up on me. Partially in the way it sneaks up on most I imagine. For me though, there's the added element of being the age my mother was when all of a sudden, she wasn't.
I've been dreading it for I don't know how long. It may even have started the day she died. I don't know.
For all I know, you're probably already thinking I'm nuts and that being the same age as my mother was has nothing to do with anything. And you may well be right. That's because you are a normal person with rational thinking.
Me? Not so much.
I have irrational thinking. In this case, being that I'm the age my mother was, I need to "get my house in order" because I'm not long for this world.
No shit. That's serious business.
It's been incessant since last year. Thinking about this year.
I've dreaded it so much that when asked about my age I've skipped 49 entirely and told people "I'm gonna be 50." Really? I'm going to age myself a year to avoid the year that is the age that my mother passed at? Who does that?
Me. That's who.
That's just one example of how deeply messed up I am. It's literally been incessant. I don't remember a time I wasn't at least partially thinking about it.
It's also been a rough year in the real world. You know, the one where you rational thinking people live.
I'm not even going to bore you or myself to tears detailing the particulars of 2014 being Murphy's Year; I'll just do a quick Wambulance run by: On my birthday I decided to open a business. Opened business. Kris' Mom got sick. Stuff broke. Extra kids in the house. My aunt (my Mom's only sister) gets sick. With Kris traveling to Racine regularly and me traveling to Appleton, money went flying out the windows. Lasted till fall. My aunt died. Kris Mom got better. Then worse. Then her Dad started having problems. Things were getting behind. Closed business. Took care of my aunt's funeral and probate. Blah, blah and blah-bitty blah. Worked, plotted, planned and fortunately got the windows closed on the money mobile.
So I deal with that stuff on top of my irrational thinking and well, it's been a rough year. But, not without it's good moments that actually made the bad one's worth it. But the presumed 49 curse has continued to loom.
Now all of a sudden it's here.
49.
In all it's grim-reapery glory.
I am an irrational thinker. Not an idiot. I know the odds of that are like 1 in some number we haven't even counted to yet. Tell that to an irrational mind.
All year long the old "get your house in order" crap tormenting me.
Especially while I was doing it.
Oh yeah. I've been getting sh*t in order. Scaling things down, getting rid of things I didn't need, eliminating debt, making the budget manageable and all of it.
Thinking of all the places I'd like to see, things I'd like to do, things I've done and would like to do again.
49 has paralyzed me. I can't find time to do anything, I avoid things that aren't important. I am aware of every single ache and pain and what it could be. Keep in mind, I don't have an irrational fear that 49'll get me in the same manner as my Mom. That's easy. I could just quit driving.
Nope, I've got a preliminary list of, ah, two, three things based on different symptoms that I have experienced. It's reliable information. See, I use the Mayo Symptom Checker. Not WebMD. That's garbage. More ad's than information. Very poor platform their website is running on also. Nobody even knows who these people are. The guys that pop up and offer to chat about your ailment with the big banner that says "I'm a doctor, ask me a question!", yeah they mostly look like doctors, but so did Marcus Welby.
If you want good, reliable information you have to go to the Mayo Symptom Checker. This is a class operation. Real medical facility. Rated quite well as a matter of fact. Nice campus too I might add.
It starts off just like a doctor. What's the trouble? Well then it keeps getting symptoms from you until it narrows it down to one or two completely innocuous things it could be and maybe three or four "hey get your ass to a doctor" things it could be.
Ok, now some will argue that 99% of the time it's only showing the serious stuff because you have one minor thing that could indicate that. That's rational thinking.
Me? Nope. One symptom of anything that shows up under "could be deadly" and I'm a freakin' goner.
Now guess what? 49 didn't do this to me.
I've thought like this everyday of my life as long as I can remember and I swear it is maddening.
So if 49 didn't do that maybe the rest is all BS too?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
Maybe I have been "getting my house in order" just because the older I get the less clutter I like? Maybe I'm just becoming simpler in what I need and want?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
I can't tell you how happy I was when my band played the other night and I had very little to haul. When we started 5 years ago I had a Suburban packed front to back with gear. A couple years later I could get it all in a mini-van. Then half a mini-van.
I've been downsizing for years. Maybe I was subconsciously preparing to let myself take it easy as I get a bit older?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
Maybe the Mayo Symptom Checkers first guess is the right one? Gas.
Nah. Then I'd have been scared to death of a fart.
Maybe I just think too much?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
It occurs to me as I write that, life makes us think about death. Death makes us think about life.
Maybe, just maybe, 49 is the place where those two schools of thought intersect for a moment in time.
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
**UPDATE** My birthday went great, nice and low key just like I wanted. But that's not say there was nothing great or phenomenal. Indeed there was.
I, me- the hack writer- entered a writing contest.
That's my birthday present.
I'll keep you posted.
This year? Meh.
Technically I don't KNOW what my birthday is going to be like this year since it's a few hours away yet.
What I DO know is that I'm indeed feeling pretty meh about it.
There's something very disconcerting about reaching the age at which your mother passed from this world. You know, had my Mom been 95 or something I don't think I'd mind it so much. 95, I'd sure as hell be happy and celebrating.
But my Mom wasn't 95.
She was 49. Forty-nine years, two months and twenty days to be exact.
The next time I wake up, provided I'm blessed to do so, I too will be 49 years old.
How did that happen? It snuck up on me. Partially in the way it sneaks up on most I imagine. For me though, there's the added element of being the age my mother was when all of a sudden, she wasn't.
I've been dreading it for I don't know how long. It may even have started the day she died. I don't know.
For all I know, you're probably already thinking I'm nuts and that being the same age as my mother was has nothing to do with anything. And you may well be right. That's because you are a normal person with rational thinking.
Me? Not so much.
I have irrational thinking. In this case, being that I'm the age my mother was, I need to "get my house in order" because I'm not long for this world.
No shit. That's serious business.
It's been incessant since last year. Thinking about this year.
I've dreaded it so much that when asked about my age I've skipped 49 entirely and told people "I'm gonna be 50." Really? I'm going to age myself a year to avoid the year that is the age that my mother passed at? Who does that?
Me. That's who.
That's just one example of how deeply messed up I am. It's literally been incessant. I don't remember a time I wasn't at least partially thinking about it.
It's also been a rough year in the real world. You know, the one where you rational thinking people live.
I'm not even going to bore you or myself to tears detailing the particulars of 2014 being Murphy's Year; I'll just do a quick Wambulance run by: On my birthday I decided to open a business. Opened business. Kris' Mom got sick. Stuff broke. Extra kids in the house. My aunt (my Mom's only sister) gets sick. With Kris traveling to Racine regularly and me traveling to Appleton, money went flying out the windows. Lasted till fall. My aunt died. Kris Mom got better. Then worse. Then her Dad started having problems. Things were getting behind. Closed business. Took care of my aunt's funeral and probate. Blah, blah and blah-bitty blah. Worked, plotted, planned and fortunately got the windows closed on the money mobile.
So I deal with that stuff on top of my irrational thinking and well, it's been a rough year. But, not without it's good moments that actually made the bad one's worth it. But the presumed 49 curse has continued to loom.
Now all of a sudden it's here.
49.
In all it's grim-reapery glory.
I am an irrational thinker. Not an idiot. I know the odds of that are like 1 in some number we haven't even counted to yet. Tell that to an irrational mind.
All year long the old "get your house in order" crap tormenting me.
Especially while I was doing it.
Oh yeah. I've been getting sh*t in order. Scaling things down, getting rid of things I didn't need, eliminating debt, making the budget manageable and all of it.
Thinking of all the places I'd like to see, things I'd like to do, things I've done and would like to do again.
49 has paralyzed me. I can't find time to do anything, I avoid things that aren't important. I am aware of every single ache and pain and what it could be. Keep in mind, I don't have an irrational fear that 49'll get me in the same manner as my Mom. That's easy. I could just quit driving.
Nope, I've got a preliminary list of, ah, two, three things based on different symptoms that I have experienced. It's reliable information. See, I use the Mayo Symptom Checker. Not WebMD. That's garbage. More ad's than information. Very poor platform their website is running on also. Nobody even knows who these people are. The guys that pop up and offer to chat about your ailment with the big banner that says "I'm a doctor, ask me a question!", yeah they mostly look like doctors, but so did Marcus Welby.
If you want good, reliable information you have to go to the Mayo Symptom Checker. This is a class operation. Real medical facility. Rated quite well as a matter of fact. Nice campus too I might add.
It starts off just like a doctor. What's the trouble? Well then it keeps getting symptoms from you until it narrows it down to one or two completely innocuous things it could be and maybe three or four "hey get your ass to a doctor" things it could be.
Ok, now some will argue that 99% of the time it's only showing the serious stuff because you have one minor thing that could indicate that. That's rational thinking.
Me? Nope. One symptom of anything that shows up under "could be deadly" and I'm a freakin' goner.
Now guess what? 49 didn't do this to me.
I've thought like this everyday of my life as long as I can remember and I swear it is maddening.
So if 49 didn't do that maybe the rest is all BS too?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
Maybe I have been "getting my house in order" just because the older I get the less clutter I like? Maybe I'm just becoming simpler in what I need and want?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
I can't tell you how happy I was when my band played the other night and I had very little to haul. When we started 5 years ago I had a Suburban packed front to back with gear. A couple years later I could get it all in a mini-van. Then half a mini-van.
I've been downsizing for years. Maybe I was subconsciously preparing to let myself take it easy as I get a bit older?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
Maybe the Mayo Symptom Checkers first guess is the right one? Gas.
Nah. Then I'd have been scared to death of a fart.
Maybe I just think too much?
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
It occurs to me as I write that, life makes us think about death. Death makes us think about life.
Maybe, just maybe, 49 is the place where those two schools of thought intersect for a moment in time.
Nah. That'd be rational thinking.
**UPDATE** My birthday went great, nice and low key just like I wanted. But that's not say there was nothing great or phenomenal. Indeed there was.
I, me- the hack writer- entered a writing contest.
That's my birthday present.
I'll keep you posted.
| Back around Christmas I was talking to my Dad and mentioned something that happened in a story I had written. For this little website. I didn't think my Dad knew about this little website. Apparently he did because he was curious about why I'd spend my time writing about these old stories from the past. | |
I really didn't have an answer. I've asked myself the same question a thousand times and have never found an answer.
I think the story I'm about to write may contain the answer.
Generally I write about people, places & things that meant something to me and generally something that was experienced by others as well.
For me, I know I like to write things to remember. But what's the point? I have my memories. I don't need to write them down or share them. But I do.
One the one hand I think it may be just that I like to share my take on life's experiences. Many of which are kind of universal, some kind of unique. We all have them. Maybe reading my memories & idea's makes somebody remember theirs? Maybe somebody who was directly involved in my experiences have their stories and they like to remember but just don't feel comfortable writing or talking about things.
I really have no idea, but there were a lot of people involved in this story who still live with it everyday. Especially today.
Five years ago tonight my sister Toni lost her fight to recover from injuries she received in a very serious car accident five days prior. An accident that also took the life of her friend and co-worker Karen.
The accident also took pieces of the lives of countless others.
Not just Toni's family & friends and children and co-workers. All of Karen's too.
Put the pieces weren't taken from just them either.
The two truck drivers involved in the crash lost pieces of their lives. Their family and friends lost pieces of their lives.
Even emergency personnel at the scene, the doctors and nurses who worked to save Toni and got to know her family during her time in the hospital lost little pieces of their lives. You cannot serve in that capacity and not develop a vested interest in the person you are trying to help.
The children who spent their days at the day care center that Karen owned and Toni managed, lost pieces of their lives. For many of those children, Toni and Karen's deaths was their first firsthand experience with death. We all have that experience at some point and when it happens we all lose a big part of our lives.
We lose the ability to live, completely unaware of our own mortality. It's a sad day for all of us, but I just see it being so much sadder the younger a person is when it happens. Regardless of when we become aware we're going to spend too much time worrying about what we have no control over anyway.
Five years gone and I find myself reflecting differently than I have the past few years.
The first couple years it was pretty angry crazy reflecting. Then mostly just sad and somber.
This year I feel, I don't know. Ok?
I know the people involved closest to me are all ok. We all have our moments, but we're ok.
Life has went on.
I have whole days I don't even think about the accident and Toni being gone. We all do.
And most of us have tended to take this day sort of hard. Not just the day Toni died, but anyone close to us we've lost. You probably have somebody you lost and the day they passed is just difficult for you.
Since it happens to all of us, obviously there is a place for it. There's something we get from it. How long should our loved ones last day on earth be a terrible memory for us that makes that day something to dread? Better yet, why should it be at all?
There's really only one indisputable fact in this life. That is that it's going to end. For each and every person who ever gives life a spin. The end may come at one second old, it may come at a hundred and fifteen years old, but it's going to come.
Whether the time, date and circumstances are all predestined or just happen as a matter of course doesn't really matter, since there's no way to know. But the end comes. Knowing that, wouldn't it be more logical for us to look at that day without dread? Without sadness for circumstances neither we nor our loved ones had control over? Wouldn't our loved ones, if they are aware of our continuing life, feel better seeing us happily and fondly remembering them than being sad and cursing the circumstances and people and things we had no control over?
Many peoples funeral services contain words to the affect of "do not remember me in sadness but in joy for the life I lived and the moments I shared with you". Or something like that.
Well, even though we get those instructions we sure don't live by them. At least not right away.
But if we're lucky, if we're open to letting go of something we wish we had control over but didn't, we can ease up a bit on the harsh words and thoughts for those days we don't like. We can be ok again.
There's no way to forget, and no reason to. But there's plenty of reason to remember our loved ones and our time with them with fondness and joy on that day rather than sadness and dread.
And I think that's why today, I feel "ok". I'm not having bouts of anger, moments of uncontrollable emotion.
Time moves on and thinking about it now, it seems that there always comes a time where it doesn't hurt as much, where it doesn't interfere with your life as much for each person that you lose. Over time you have more pleasant feelings and happy memories that day instead of focusing on what you didn't have control over in the first place.
Wouldn't it be great if we could speed up getting to that point? Those we lost would probably be happier with us. If they get to have a chat with us about how much time we wasted feeling miserable about their passing and letting it affect our lives in bad ways, well, my Grandfather is going to have some words for me, and my brother will definitely be hearing it from my Mom.
That won't happen though. We all go through, over, under or around losing those close to us in different ways at our own pace.
But here's the thing: Part of that sadness and misery we bring upon ourselves because we feel like "that day" is supposed to bother us. We've trained ourselves to believe it's a sad day, a miserable day, a day we wish we didn't have to live through every year.
Nobody told us that's to be a bad day forever and anon. It's not even in the Rule Book of Life which doesn't even exist.
So, like a lot of other things we're not aware are choices, we have a choice whether to be miserable on "that day" or to remember a life that was part of ours and appreciate what we had.
I will never forget what happened. At around this time in the evening every March 3rd for however long I'm aware of March 3rd's, I'll remember my sister Angie and I singing Toni to sleep through our tears while "Arms of an Angel" played through my little I-pod speaker.
But the rest of the day I'll think about things like stealing each others records, calling her up at 2:30 in the morning like a raving lunatic and have her sit on the phone with me for who knows how long till I calmed down, wrestling in the basement and for some strange reason playing pool at our mutual friend Janines house in 7th grade. We thought Janines Dad was rich.
There's so many memories like that. Too many to waste time reflecting too much on the couple of bad ones.
Today isn't a memory of what was lost.
It's remembrance of a life lived till it's unstoppable end.
A life that intertwined with mine and many others. A life that took pieces of ours with it when it was over.
While pieces of our lives left with Toni, many pieces of hers remain with us.
And that's certainly a better way for me to feel about this day.
If this day were not "that day" this day wouldn't even have a story for me and a lot of others.
Hey Toni! Not only do I have the Bay City Rollers record, I also have the Dick Clark record and a record player now.
Thanks for making that mean something to me.
Thanks for all the pieces you left behind that day.
**What this has to do with the answer to why I write these stories is this; I like to remember, but writing I think also helps me figure out where I am and how I got there. Why I let people read them is because maybe some of the leg work I've done on figuring out different life experiences can help someone else get to a better place with their own things.
Ok, I'm BS-ing. I just write because I write.
I think the story I'm about to write may contain the answer.
Generally I write about people, places & things that meant something to me and generally something that was experienced by others as well.
For me, I know I like to write things to remember. But what's the point? I have my memories. I don't need to write them down or share them. But I do.
One the one hand I think it may be just that I like to share my take on life's experiences. Many of which are kind of universal, some kind of unique. We all have them. Maybe reading my memories & idea's makes somebody remember theirs? Maybe somebody who was directly involved in my experiences have their stories and they like to remember but just don't feel comfortable writing or talking about things.
I really have no idea, but there were a lot of people involved in this story who still live with it everyday. Especially today.
Five years ago tonight my sister Toni lost her fight to recover from injuries she received in a very serious car accident five days prior. An accident that also took the life of her friend and co-worker Karen.
The accident also took pieces of the lives of countless others.
Not just Toni's family & friends and children and co-workers. All of Karen's too.
Put the pieces weren't taken from just them either.
The two truck drivers involved in the crash lost pieces of their lives. Their family and friends lost pieces of their lives.
Even emergency personnel at the scene, the doctors and nurses who worked to save Toni and got to know her family during her time in the hospital lost little pieces of their lives. You cannot serve in that capacity and not develop a vested interest in the person you are trying to help.
The children who spent their days at the day care center that Karen owned and Toni managed, lost pieces of their lives. For many of those children, Toni and Karen's deaths was their first firsthand experience with death. We all have that experience at some point and when it happens we all lose a big part of our lives.
We lose the ability to live, completely unaware of our own mortality. It's a sad day for all of us, but I just see it being so much sadder the younger a person is when it happens. Regardless of when we become aware we're going to spend too much time worrying about what we have no control over anyway.
Five years gone and I find myself reflecting differently than I have the past few years.
The first couple years it was pretty angry crazy reflecting. Then mostly just sad and somber.
This year I feel, I don't know. Ok?
I know the people involved closest to me are all ok. We all have our moments, but we're ok.
Life has went on.
I have whole days I don't even think about the accident and Toni being gone. We all do.
And most of us have tended to take this day sort of hard. Not just the day Toni died, but anyone close to us we've lost. You probably have somebody you lost and the day they passed is just difficult for you.
Since it happens to all of us, obviously there is a place for it. There's something we get from it. How long should our loved ones last day on earth be a terrible memory for us that makes that day something to dread? Better yet, why should it be at all?
There's really only one indisputable fact in this life. That is that it's going to end. For each and every person who ever gives life a spin. The end may come at one second old, it may come at a hundred and fifteen years old, but it's going to come.
Whether the time, date and circumstances are all predestined or just happen as a matter of course doesn't really matter, since there's no way to know. But the end comes. Knowing that, wouldn't it be more logical for us to look at that day without dread? Without sadness for circumstances neither we nor our loved ones had control over? Wouldn't our loved ones, if they are aware of our continuing life, feel better seeing us happily and fondly remembering them than being sad and cursing the circumstances and people and things we had no control over?
Many peoples funeral services contain words to the affect of "do not remember me in sadness but in joy for the life I lived and the moments I shared with you". Or something like that.
Well, even though we get those instructions we sure don't live by them. At least not right away.
But if we're lucky, if we're open to letting go of something we wish we had control over but didn't, we can ease up a bit on the harsh words and thoughts for those days we don't like. We can be ok again.
There's no way to forget, and no reason to. But there's plenty of reason to remember our loved ones and our time with them with fondness and joy on that day rather than sadness and dread.
And I think that's why today, I feel "ok". I'm not having bouts of anger, moments of uncontrollable emotion.
Time moves on and thinking about it now, it seems that there always comes a time where it doesn't hurt as much, where it doesn't interfere with your life as much for each person that you lose. Over time you have more pleasant feelings and happy memories that day instead of focusing on what you didn't have control over in the first place.
Wouldn't it be great if we could speed up getting to that point? Those we lost would probably be happier with us. If they get to have a chat with us about how much time we wasted feeling miserable about their passing and letting it affect our lives in bad ways, well, my Grandfather is going to have some words for me, and my brother will definitely be hearing it from my Mom.
That won't happen though. We all go through, over, under or around losing those close to us in different ways at our own pace.
But here's the thing: Part of that sadness and misery we bring upon ourselves because we feel like "that day" is supposed to bother us. We've trained ourselves to believe it's a sad day, a miserable day, a day we wish we didn't have to live through every year.
Nobody told us that's to be a bad day forever and anon. It's not even in the Rule Book of Life which doesn't even exist.
So, like a lot of other things we're not aware are choices, we have a choice whether to be miserable on "that day" or to remember a life that was part of ours and appreciate what we had.
I will never forget what happened. At around this time in the evening every March 3rd for however long I'm aware of March 3rd's, I'll remember my sister Angie and I singing Toni to sleep through our tears while "Arms of an Angel" played through my little I-pod speaker.
But the rest of the day I'll think about things like stealing each others records, calling her up at 2:30 in the morning like a raving lunatic and have her sit on the phone with me for who knows how long till I calmed down, wrestling in the basement and for some strange reason playing pool at our mutual friend Janines house in 7th grade. We thought Janines Dad was rich.
There's so many memories like that. Too many to waste time reflecting too much on the couple of bad ones.
Today isn't a memory of what was lost.
It's remembrance of a life lived till it's unstoppable end.
A life that intertwined with mine and many others. A life that took pieces of ours with it when it was over.
While pieces of our lives left with Toni, many pieces of hers remain with us.
And that's certainly a better way for me to feel about this day.
If this day were not "that day" this day wouldn't even have a story for me and a lot of others.
Hey Toni! Not only do I have the Bay City Rollers record, I also have the Dick Clark record and a record player now.
Thanks for making that mean something to me.
Thanks for all the pieces you left behind that day.
**What this has to do with the answer to why I write these stories is this; I like to remember, but writing I think also helps me figure out where I am and how I got there. Why I let people read them is because maybe some of the leg work I've done on figuring out different life experiences can help someone else get to a better place with their own things.
Ok, I'm BS-ing. I just write because I write.
If I'm honest, which I am, I have to tell you my son Scott W got new glasses today. He broke his well over 6 months ago. I didn't get him new ones because even though he wore them all the time, they were only supposed to be for reading.
Well, when my Dean's list 4.0 son went from a 4.0 GPA to 2.8 in the span of no time at all I had to wonder.
Especially when it's time to spend money on drivers ed and things.
Turns out, contrary to his last eye exam when he got his last glasses four years ago, he doesn't need them just for reading. He can't see without them. He squints to watch TV. He needs them all the time. Bad Dad. I should have seen that.
So today Kris takes him to the optician and he gets new glasses.
So I come home and he's not wearing them.
I ask him why not because he used to wear them all the time and now he finally had them again and he's not wearing them.
Turns out he's got his first official girlfriend who has never seen him with glasses and he's a little nervous about it. I tell him to R-E-L-A-X and let me explain how to play things of that nature with women. He starts laughing. Hysteric's.
So I tell him to put them on. I tell him he's still damn good looking thanks to being my son. More hysteric's.
I say: "Dude! Here's how you play this" (more hysteric's) "you get on the bus with the glasses off. Sit next to her and talk like you normally do and somewhere on the way to school tell her 'hey, I have these glasses for reading can you tell me how you think they look?'" (more hysteric's). I say "Scotty! This is how you find out how to proceed! Put them on. If she says you look good, you can wear them all the time. If she says she doesn't like them you know to keep them off when you're around her". (More hysteric's). Then he suddenly get's it.
Now I feel like I taught him a key lesson in how to find out what will make a girlfriend, wife or even female friend happy. And know how to proceed. Good Dad.
Just the other day I told him I wanted a hug because it's been awhile. He sat next to me, I put my arm around him and said "Son, there comes a time in every young boys life when he and Dad start having a relationship that they don't talk about with anyone else". He started laughing so hard he got me to break and then I couldn't stop. All the time when he was younger I always told him to tell me instantly if anyone ever asked him to do something and not tell anyone. He's always been aware of that potentially weird stuff. So now being older he can joke around about it with me while still realizing it's an important thing to be aware of.
As much as I used to think I wasn't father material, I love the relationship we have and how he shares in my twisted sense of humor, our love of food, particularly pizza and for all the arguments against being friends with your child, I have to tell you when it comes to a parent-child moment (bad grades for example) he instantly knows and respects the father/son part of our relationship. And he's fun to go to concerts with!
Of course we can always do better as parents, but right now I'm feeling pretty good about the balance Scott W and I have found and the relationship we have.
Well, when my Dean's list 4.0 son went from a 4.0 GPA to 2.8 in the span of no time at all I had to wonder.
Especially when it's time to spend money on drivers ed and things.
Turns out, contrary to his last eye exam when he got his last glasses four years ago, he doesn't need them just for reading. He can't see without them. He squints to watch TV. He needs them all the time. Bad Dad. I should have seen that.
So today Kris takes him to the optician and he gets new glasses.
So I come home and he's not wearing them.
I ask him why not because he used to wear them all the time and now he finally had them again and he's not wearing them.
Turns out he's got his first official girlfriend who has never seen him with glasses and he's a little nervous about it. I tell him to R-E-L-A-X and let me explain how to play things of that nature with women. He starts laughing. Hysteric's.
So I tell him to put them on. I tell him he's still damn good looking thanks to being my son. More hysteric's.
I say: "Dude! Here's how you play this" (more hysteric's) "you get on the bus with the glasses off. Sit next to her and talk like you normally do and somewhere on the way to school tell her 'hey, I have these glasses for reading can you tell me how you think they look?'" (more hysteric's). I say "Scotty! This is how you find out how to proceed! Put them on. If she says you look good, you can wear them all the time. If she says she doesn't like them you know to keep them off when you're around her". (More hysteric's). Then he suddenly get's it.
Now I feel like I taught him a key lesson in how to find out what will make a girlfriend, wife or even female friend happy. And know how to proceed. Good Dad.
Just the other day I told him I wanted a hug because it's been awhile. He sat next to me, I put my arm around him and said "Son, there comes a time in every young boys life when he and Dad start having a relationship that they don't talk about with anyone else". He started laughing so hard he got me to break and then I couldn't stop. All the time when he was younger I always told him to tell me instantly if anyone ever asked him to do something and not tell anyone. He's always been aware of that potentially weird stuff. So now being older he can joke around about it with me while still realizing it's an important thing to be aware of.
As much as I used to think I wasn't father material, I love the relationship we have and how he shares in my twisted sense of humor, our love of food, particularly pizza and for all the arguments against being friends with your child, I have to tell you when it comes to a parent-child moment (bad grades for example) he instantly knows and respects the father/son part of our relationship. And he's fun to go to concerts with!
Of course we can always do better as parents, but right now I'm feeling pretty good about the balance Scott W and I have found and the relationship we have.
| Kris would (and will) probably smack me for putting this picture out into the webosphere, but it's worth it. It's one of my favorite pictures of her and the one that looks at me on my phone whenever I want to, or feel the need to- look. The picture is from this past Christmas and just absolutely captures everything I love about Kris, and love her for. |
I intentionally made this picture black & white. It's black and white yet it still shines because she's in it.
I don't know if Kris is an old soul, but I know she's a good soul. In this picture I see her strength, her weakness, her willingness, and her love. I see the little girl who has always went home to the house that she grew up in (she no sh*t giggled the first time we stayed over and slept together-because she'd never had a boy up stairs there ever), and the woman she's become. I see her struggle to be an adult because that inner child has a big appetite for life.
In this picture I see what I just can't fathom deserving.
I have never been so taken care of. It's almost embarrassing how she's always thinking of me, always anticipating my needs. She works hard all day, comes home works some more, makes dinner takes care of the pets and does it all with a smile on her face (most of the time anyway). And I get to come home and see her smile and be treated like a king for no reason whatsoever except that Kris is just that way.
She's a paradox. On the one hand she's almost a pre-60's stereo type woman who dutifully does that which dutiful women did back then.
On the other hand she's the exact opposite. She's independent, much stronger than she thinks, can stand on her own two feet any time and anywhere. AND she rides her own damn Harley, thank you very much.
She can make me laugh just about any time. And I can pick on her to make us both laugh.
The way she takes care of me, you'd think she'd have no time for anything else.
Somehow she manages to keep up with me & the house, the animals, the kids, helping take care of her parents and doing whatever she can wherever she's needed.
She's an incredible woman.
She get's me.
And she's cute as a button!
Happy Valentine's Day Krissypie.
I love you.
I don't know if Kris is an old soul, but I know she's a good soul. In this picture I see her strength, her weakness, her willingness, and her love. I see the little girl who has always went home to the house that she grew up in (she no sh*t giggled the first time we stayed over and slept together-because she'd never had a boy up stairs there ever), and the woman she's become. I see her struggle to be an adult because that inner child has a big appetite for life.
In this picture I see what I just can't fathom deserving.
I have never been so taken care of. It's almost embarrassing how she's always thinking of me, always anticipating my needs. She works hard all day, comes home works some more, makes dinner takes care of the pets and does it all with a smile on her face (most of the time anyway). And I get to come home and see her smile and be treated like a king for no reason whatsoever except that Kris is just that way.
She's a paradox. On the one hand she's almost a pre-60's stereo type woman who dutifully does that which dutiful women did back then.
On the other hand she's the exact opposite. She's independent, much stronger than she thinks, can stand on her own two feet any time and anywhere. AND she rides her own damn Harley, thank you very much.
She can make me laugh just about any time. And I can pick on her to make us both laugh.
The way she takes care of me, you'd think she'd have no time for anything else.
Somehow she manages to keep up with me & the house, the animals, the kids, helping take care of her parents and doing whatever she can wherever she's needed.
She's an incredible woman.
She get's me.
And she's cute as a button!
Happy Valentine's Day Krissypie.
I love you.
Could I have picked a better day to write this story? No, no I could not.
I usually try to write something at Christmas, even if it's just a Facebook post. This year I've had some things on my mind and was concocting this whole story about Christmas wishes, Peace on Earth, Martin Luther King, dreamers and the things going on in the world around us this 24th day of December, year 2014.
Actually started it. And then one more incident of the world around us being completely screwed up and I'm just not in the mood. Because anything hopeful at this point seems like, as Dr. Evil recently said so eloquently; "two bald guy's fighting over a comb. What's the point?" World peace isn't going to happen while we're on the verge a new age race war, perhaps even civil war.
Sure that's maybe a little far fetched at this point, but looks possible on paper.
And that's not anything that I want to write about on Christmas Eve.
So, because I still need to pick up chocolate covered cherries for my Mom, which is a tradition I keep, I got to thinking about how Christmas Traditions have changed for me and my family over the years. And then I wondered how many families have gone through how many tradition changes, evolving to where they are, and how many haven't had many changes.
I think weird things once in awhile. If I didn't you wouldn't have this website to look at.
So I decided I'd write about Christmas Traditions in my family and how they've evolved over the years.
When I was a child we had three sets of grandparents because my Dad's parents had divorced and remarried.
All three had different traditions.
And we, as in my immediate family, had a tradition of attending all three of those traditions.
Christmas Eve was at my Mom's parents. Grandma ran a deli for her day job but that did not stop her from insisting on homemade food at home. So Grandma would always make a big dinner Christmas Eve, we'd be there all day, open presents at night. Cheese, sausage,& crackers before , during and after presents. Including a variety of Kaukauna Cheese spreads. Yum. Maybe some Lawrence Welk or other Christmas Special that was actually on ON Christmas. Unlike these days.
When we'd get home, Randy & I and Toni when she was there would get to open one present from our parents.
Christmas morning Santa had stopped by, us kids lost our minds, Mom made breakfast while Dad tormented us about getting to open our presents.
Christmas Day we would head over to Mauston to my Dad's father & step-mothers. Big Christmas dinner, open presents, stay over night, next day head to Berlin to my Dad's mother & her husbands. We'd stay there all day open presents later in the evening. Grandma Jo ALWAYS had pickled herring and every year I would cautiously try just a little bit. I haven't had it since childhood and to be honest, I can no longer remember whether I liked it or not.
Grandma Jo also always had a flashy, silver, fake Christmas tree that was brighter than the Vegas strip. In her trailer house. It could blind the uninitiated. She also had a breakfast bar with cabinets that was always lit up too, but somehow the counter under the cabinets remained dark as hell when you were reaching for a snack.
From there it'd be the trip back to Appleton. Now, (long, long pause), I'm going to tell you about the trip home and some may curse me for this but screw it, my family, my story, I'll tell it if I want.
So every year on the way home us kids would be in the back seat of whatever vehicle we were driving in at the time. Dad driving. Staring off into space and nodding from time to time.
Mom kind of complaining up & down about Grandma Jo or Grandpa Cliff. Grandma Jo was a cheap you know what "B" word, and Grandpa Cliff was a mean, curmudgeonly letch. Bear in mind that Grandma Jo and Grandpa Cliff are my Dads parents. My Mom got along FINE with his step parent's on each side, Grandma Lee & Grandpa Vern. (By the way, my Moms parents names were Cliff and Marion, but they were ONLY Grandma & Grandpa to us- seriously, they were so rock star they only had one name, like Elvis & Cher).
I usually try to write something at Christmas, even if it's just a Facebook post. This year I've had some things on my mind and was concocting this whole story about Christmas wishes, Peace on Earth, Martin Luther King, dreamers and the things going on in the world around us this 24th day of December, year 2014.
Actually started it. And then one more incident of the world around us being completely screwed up and I'm just not in the mood. Because anything hopeful at this point seems like, as Dr. Evil recently said so eloquently; "two bald guy's fighting over a comb. What's the point?" World peace isn't going to happen while we're on the verge a new age race war, perhaps even civil war.
Sure that's maybe a little far fetched at this point, but looks possible on paper.
And that's not anything that I want to write about on Christmas Eve.
So, because I still need to pick up chocolate covered cherries for my Mom, which is a tradition I keep, I got to thinking about how Christmas Traditions have changed for me and my family over the years. And then I wondered how many families have gone through how many tradition changes, evolving to where they are, and how many haven't had many changes.
I think weird things once in awhile. If I didn't you wouldn't have this website to look at.
So I decided I'd write about Christmas Traditions in my family and how they've evolved over the years.
When I was a child we had three sets of grandparents because my Dad's parents had divorced and remarried.
All three had different traditions.
And we, as in my immediate family, had a tradition of attending all three of those traditions.
Christmas Eve was at my Mom's parents. Grandma ran a deli for her day job but that did not stop her from insisting on homemade food at home. So Grandma would always make a big dinner Christmas Eve, we'd be there all day, open presents at night. Cheese, sausage,& crackers before , during and after presents. Including a variety of Kaukauna Cheese spreads. Yum. Maybe some Lawrence Welk or other Christmas Special that was actually on ON Christmas. Unlike these days.
When we'd get home, Randy & I and Toni when she was there would get to open one present from our parents.
Christmas morning Santa had stopped by, us kids lost our minds, Mom made breakfast while Dad tormented us about getting to open our presents.
Christmas Day we would head over to Mauston to my Dad's father & step-mothers. Big Christmas dinner, open presents, stay over night, next day head to Berlin to my Dad's mother & her husbands. We'd stay there all day open presents later in the evening. Grandma Jo ALWAYS had pickled herring and every year I would cautiously try just a little bit. I haven't had it since childhood and to be honest, I can no longer remember whether I liked it or not.
Grandma Jo also always had a flashy, silver, fake Christmas tree that was brighter than the Vegas strip. In her trailer house. It could blind the uninitiated. She also had a breakfast bar with cabinets that was always lit up too, but somehow the counter under the cabinets remained dark as hell when you were reaching for a snack.
From there it'd be the trip back to Appleton. Now, (long, long pause), I'm going to tell you about the trip home and some may curse me for this but screw it, my family, my story, I'll tell it if I want.
So every year on the way home us kids would be in the back seat of whatever vehicle we were driving in at the time. Dad driving. Staring off into space and nodding from time to time.
Mom kind of complaining up & down about Grandma Jo or Grandpa Cliff. Grandma Jo was a cheap you know what "B" word, and Grandpa Cliff was a mean, curmudgeonly letch. Bear in mind that Grandma Jo and Grandpa Cliff are my Dads parents. My Mom got along FINE with his step parent's on each side, Grandma Lee & Grandpa Vern. (By the way, my Moms parents names were Cliff and Marion, but they were ONLY Grandma & Grandpa to us- seriously, they were so rock star they only had one name, like Elvis & Cher).
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Mom was opinionated in some things. And about some people. She was a sweet woman most of the time and when Grandma Jo passed she never said anything bad about her again, and eventually she even started to get along with Grandpa Cliff until she passed.
The first big change came when my Grandma died. My Grandpa had died two years before and even though he was gone, Christmas Eve and Christmas itself didn't change much other than that.
When Grandma died, my Mom became the matriarch of the family and Christmas Eve moved to our house out on Sandra Drive.
Mom's approach was different than Grandma's. Grandma would always make the big dinner, while Mom's thing was snacks. Cheese, sausage & crackers remained, but added were fried foods, mushrooms, cheese curds et al, pizza and whatever else she thought looked good, quick and easy.
When my Mom died my Aunt Donna became the matriarch but didn't necessarily host Christmas Eve. Donna was more of a free spirit adventurer than my Mom & she always had us go from house to house in no particular order, a different one each year. Hers, mine or Randy's.
Meanwhile in my own home I carried on my Mom's snack tradition. The cheese, sausage & crackers are a staple. However while I mix it up yearly like Mom, there are some constants. My liver sausage & cream cheese spread for one, which is right now distributing it's goodness throughout while I write. The other thing is I also mix whatever looks good, quick & easy with good, not so quick homemade stuff too.
This year I started a new tradition. Scotty's Grandma used to make him dried beef dip and he loved it. It's been a couple years so I got the stuff. Then I had him find a recipe & make it.
Over the years developed the Christmas morning breakfast. Scotty & I both get stuffed. We get frozen bread dough, hard salami, Swiss cheese & boiled eggs. Mmm. Do not spare the butter. No. This one breakfast of the year, slather it nice & thick on that hot bread.
This will be the first year for Kris. She shall become initiated tomorrow morning.
However I'm changing the eggs from boiled to poached or baked. I haven't decided which yet. I'm liking the idea of yolk running over the whole works.
And tonight the three of us will enjoy an array of snacks, both homemade and good quick & easy. We'll watch Christmas cartoons and a Christmas movie. Perhaps A Christmas Story. Home Alone? We'll decide. Tomorrow at some point a It's A Wonderful Life will make an appearance.
And in all of the decisions we've created our own Christmas Traditions.
Just like you.
If you look at your Christmas Traditions, look back over the years and see how many of yours have been incorporated from your past.
Now wasn't that better than writing about wishing the world would just quit hating each other & get on with the business of living?
When this story is done, close your browser and go spend time with your family. Don't watch the news. Watch Rudolph.
All those things going on will still be going on tomorrow and the next day, and the next. If we can't have world peace, let us all have this one evening of peace without the world's troubles in front of us.
Merry Christmas & may the fat guy be good to you!
Now where are those chocolate covered cherries?
The first big change came when my Grandma died. My Grandpa had died two years before and even though he was gone, Christmas Eve and Christmas itself didn't change much other than that.
When Grandma died, my Mom became the matriarch of the family and Christmas Eve moved to our house out on Sandra Drive.
Mom's approach was different than Grandma's. Grandma would always make the big dinner, while Mom's thing was snacks. Cheese, sausage & crackers remained, but added were fried foods, mushrooms, cheese curds et al, pizza and whatever else she thought looked good, quick and easy.
When my Mom died my Aunt Donna became the matriarch but didn't necessarily host Christmas Eve. Donna was more of a free spirit adventurer than my Mom & she always had us go from house to house in no particular order, a different one each year. Hers, mine or Randy's.
Meanwhile in my own home I carried on my Mom's snack tradition. The cheese, sausage & crackers are a staple. However while I mix it up yearly like Mom, there are some constants. My liver sausage & cream cheese spread for one, which is right now distributing it's goodness throughout while I write. The other thing is I also mix whatever looks good, quick & easy with good, not so quick homemade stuff too.
This year I started a new tradition. Scotty's Grandma used to make him dried beef dip and he loved it. It's been a couple years so I got the stuff. Then I had him find a recipe & make it.
Over the years developed the Christmas morning breakfast. Scotty & I both get stuffed. We get frozen bread dough, hard salami, Swiss cheese & boiled eggs. Mmm. Do not spare the butter. No. This one breakfast of the year, slather it nice & thick on that hot bread.
This will be the first year for Kris. She shall become initiated tomorrow morning.
However I'm changing the eggs from boiled to poached or baked. I haven't decided which yet. I'm liking the idea of yolk running over the whole works.
And tonight the three of us will enjoy an array of snacks, both homemade and good quick & easy. We'll watch Christmas cartoons and a Christmas movie. Perhaps A Christmas Story. Home Alone? We'll decide. Tomorrow at some point a It's A Wonderful Life will make an appearance.
And in all of the decisions we've created our own Christmas Traditions.
Just like you.
If you look at your Christmas Traditions, look back over the years and see how many of yours have been incorporated from your past.
Now wasn't that better than writing about wishing the world would just quit hating each other & get on with the business of living?
When this story is done, close your browser and go spend time with your family. Don't watch the news. Watch Rudolph.
All those things going on will still be going on tomorrow and the next day, and the next. If we can't have world peace, let us all have this one evening of peace without the world's troubles in front of us.
Merry Christmas & may the fat guy be good to you!
Now where are those chocolate covered cherries?
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The mad ramblings of a would be writer short on skills, but long on random.
If you're looking for typo's and grammar faux pas' they're here!
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