Peace

Charle Haughey's Vietnam War Photo

It was last month.  I don’t recall the day.  Just another weekday.

Off to work.  Barreling down I-95. Same route.  Each day.  Autopilot.  Not Kabat-Zinn’s Mindfulness.  Simple Mindlessness.

Flicking through iPod.  Can’t settle on a band or a tune.  Restless.

Foot heavy on accelerator.  Glance at speedometer.  Pushing your luck Pal.  Only a matter of time.  And you’ll earn it. (Again.)

Traffic backs up at Stamford exits as morning rush hour builds.

A black Chevrolet pick-up swings into my lane.

The iconic orange, white and black Harley logo on rear window.

Left hand bumper is adorned with a frayed sticker: 1968-1972: Marines. Vietnam Vet.

I stare.

Connecticut Plate 123JAR.

What does JAR stand for? [Read more...]

Lie to me

lunch seaside

It’s lunch. It’s a small informal gathering. Light conversation.

Discussion turns to summer vacations. And rolls around the table clockwise. One is going to the Far East with family. Another to the Cape. A third to Montreal.

The must see art exibits. The lazy days at the beach. Late afternoon cappucinos at the outdoor cafes on the cobblestone streets. Evenings spent people watching from the hotel veranda. The concerts on the grass.

I feign a glance at my watch and look right. I can sense the uneasiness. She’s shifting uncomfortably. Rubbing her hands. Her forehead is glistening. (Dr. Cal Lighman, Lie to Me, flashes up.)

It’s her turn. Everyone’s eyes shift and wait. An uncomfortable silence. A pause in the discussion of the world tours. There’s a surge in my chest. [Read more...]

Moments. Hold them.

baby-and-dad-sleeping-590x410

Zeke’s paws are scratching. He’s dreaming.  His body twitching.  I steal a glance at the clock.  1:15 am.  I smile. You go from refusing a dog for 20 years, to the animal taking center stage on your bed. Every night.  What a tough guy.

He knows.  Dogs have a second sense.  Even when he’s sleeping, he hears.

Car door shuts.  It’s Rachel.  Rolling in from her evening out.

I lumber down to her room.  Bathroom door is closed.  Water is running.  I lie down on her bed.  Stare at the ceiling.  And wait.

Mind whirs back to a moment during the week.  I’m driving into Manhattan.  Rush hour.  Traffic stalled.  GPS flashes a 3-mile backup to the Triboro bridge.  Beach Avenue and Bruckner.  Young girl is holding her Dad’s hand.  They are crossing the walkway over I-278.  Her passion pink backpack sharply contrasting with the streaks of graffiti.  The pair offering up a burst of illumination against the grey of the housing projects and the trash lining the freeway.  Their hands and arms sway in unison.  Dad smiling.    She’s skipping to keep up.

That day, Mind was crocheting stitches of a majestic tapestry. One of family.  Of warm spring days.  Of light breezes.  All storm clouds pushed way south.  And the Moment hovered.  All week.

Why this moment?  This was not an impressionist by Monet.  Not a intricate passage by Joyce or a dreamy segue by Murakami. No deep existential words here by Kierkegaard.  Not  a big win at Work.  A Father. A daughter.  A pink backpack.  Walking over a dilapidated bridge in the Projects.

[Read more...]

Riding Metro North. A break in rush hour.

MetroNorth Train
It’s a brisk morning. 45F.

I board the 5:59 am Metro North train to Grand Central.

I settle in with the morning news. Rifling through the papers. Eyes scanning headlines. Going no deeper. Distracted. Then annoyed at my lack of focus. I turn to my work papers to prep for my late morning meeting. Mind wanders again.  I toss them in my bag in frustration.  I lean my head against the window. Close my eyes. And listen.

There’s no conversation. No disturbance of the clickety clack except for the periodic rough jostling of the rail cars on uneven rails. This being no high-speed train.

Conductor breaks the rhythm.

Tickets. Tickets please.”

I pull the ticket out of my shirt pocket.

Conductor stops five rows up.

Sir, these tickets are for non-peak rides.”

Soft voice responds but words are undecipherable.

No, sir. You will need to purchase Peak ride tickets.”

Other riders now rubbernecking to check out the break in morning routine. [Read more...]

She’s coming home…

Lady in Moon Light Illustration

The image has been
a counterweight to darkness.
Pitch Black.
Every Father’s nightmare.
I call it up. The image.
To block. To deflect.
Her sinewy silhouette shimmering against the moonlight.
Waves lapping her toes on the shore line.
Her eyes closed.
Wind gently rustling her hair.
A need to believe.
No.
A longing to feel.
Her at Peace.
That she is safe.
Today.
She’s coming home.


“Parental love, I think, is infinite…Not infinitely good, or infinitely ennobling, or infinitely beautiful. Just infinite…”
~ Adam Gopnik


Hero

Jeff Bauman Boston Marathon victim

“As I sat with my son at the Bruins Playoff game Saturday night, the Boston Garden went dark. A spot light came on as someone wheeled out Jeff Bauman, a 27 year old Boston man who while watching his girlfriend run the Boston Marathon, looked in the eyes of a young man walking past him near the finish line, something did not seem right about him he thought.  A few minutes later the first bomb went off resulting in Jeff losing both his legs.
As Jeff lay in his hospital bed, still in intensive care, a day after the attacks, in so much pain he could not speak, he signaled to his mother for a paper and pen. He wrote “Bag, saw the guy, looked right at me”
This 27 year old ,  days after losing his legs in a horrific tragedy thought about others… The FBI later said his description of the suspects was instrumental in the early identification of the two men.
The human spirit to overcome… Hero defined.”
   ~ Ed O.

Credits: Story – Thank you Ed O for sharing this amazing story.  Image  of Jeff Bauman at Game 2 of the Stanley Cup Playoffs in Boston on Saturday: Dailymail.co.uk

Related Posts:

Autonoman

black and white, photography,hand,portrait

4am bell. I work till 1pm. Late jump to beat Friday afternoon traffic. We’re rumbling down I-95. I rub my eyes. Not looking forward to a grueling 11-hour marathon. Eye lids are heavy and the horse ain’t out of the gate.

Two stop-and-go hours to get to New Jersey. Two hours to traverse 45 miles. Ominous start. I grit my teeth. Ten hours to go. Still ahead – - more construction zones. Friday rush hour through the Baltimore-D.C. corridor. Dodging testosterone-fired teens, drunks and white tail deer seeking warmth on the highway. Yes, rumbling down the Road to Perdition.

Pilot is Autonoman. Actions speak the Autonoman, not words.

Co-pilot (aka Susan) is governed by Words. Words. Words.

“I had the best poached eggs for breakfast.” I catch something about sliced avocados. Dash of salt and pepper.

“I spoke to Julia….” I catch words on Dinner. Next weekend. And apparently missed the follow-on question.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“You’d drive 11 hours without saying a word.”

Autonoman feels the glare to his right…the heat emanating from Words.

[Read more...]

I would just go love on him

Man’s Best Friend from Chris Neal on Vimeo.

Tug-o-War

bears, cubs, bear cubs, photography,

4:00am.
Each day?
Every day.
Every day?
+ Saturday. Sunday morning.
Insomnia?
No.
On. Always On.
Not sustainable he says.
It’s been sustained.
For what?
Family.
Really?
OK. Maybe Not.
But, I’m in fine company.
Really?
Sure.
Edison. Rogoff. Lombardi. Waters. King.
Who? What? Need more.

[Read more...]

Running. With Shodo.

art, painting, illustration, rain, drops, color

5:25 am.  Headline machines spewing darkness: “Curled up on a bloody boat.” (CNN) “A Grim Day for a Small Town. Bodies recovered after blast. (WSJ)  ”Raped.  Delhi 5 year old in serious condition.” (BBC News)  This last one too much for me.  I shudder.  Evil.  Mimi describes her contrasting realities this morning.  And I’m in search for a contrast to my mental image reality.  I turn away from the gloom.

5:55 am. 47F.  Drizzling. I’m out the door.  Need a new route.  Need a change.  A new path. I’m determined to run long.  Man looking for accomplishment.  Looking for my body to ache.  The kind of ache deep in your bones.  A soreness that hurts – - the achy hurt – - your body telling you that you pushed it today.  That’s it.

19-year old boy shivering under tarp in the boat. Curled up. Lying is his own blood.  Chopper circling..spot lights illuminating the darkness.  Is his Mother watching? [Read more...]

Running. Besting 100-year Old Men.

teeter totter, elephants, gif, see-saw

5:50 am. I’m off.  100-year old men running marathons and I’ve been filling the couch.  Now there’s inspiration.

45F according to Weather Channel. Walk outside.  Feels like 60F.  Strip off running jacket.  Fat man goin’ to fly.

Feeling HEAVY.  Thanks to my enabler friend Lori.  She sent a can’t miss recipe after last week’s Spaghetti Bolognese post.  Zeke (dog) and I were sniffing around like crack addicts for 10 hours while the bolognese simmered in the slow cooker…with the aroma from the meat sauce oozing into every pore of the house.  When the 6pm dinner bell rang, I was at the table with fork, salt shaker, large plate.  Salad? NO.  Bread?  NO.  Vegetables? NO. Keep all distractions out of the way.  I told Zeke to stand back, I needed room to feed.  Four plates later (at least I stopped counting at 4), I was licking my plate…and telling myself, maybe it’s time to stop.  Bliss.  Peace.  10 years from today, new FDA research will find that eating Spaghetti Bolognese extends life.  And you’re going to think back and say that crazy man was right.  You read it here first.

Back to the run.  So, here we are.  The day after.  A DIRIGIBLE. LARGE AND BLOATED.  On the road again trying to knock out some lbs.  100-year old running man drifting in an out.  I’m half his age and can’t get the pistons firing.  Wonder if he lied about his age. (That’s not nice. But something seems off. He looks better than 100. Hell, he looks better than I do.)

On February 23, 2013, 101 year-old Fauja Singh finished the Hong Kong 10km (6.25 mile) event in one hour, 32 minutes and 28 seconds. (That’s it!  I’m going to kick his a** today. I’m sick of being embarrassed by 100 year old men. It’s sad. Really it is.) [Read more...]

Reading. On Metro North.

reading

It’s Tuesday.
I’m on the 6:22 am train to Grand Central.
One of few trips a month taking me back to Manhattan.
I drift away for a moment.
It has been six years.
Six years since I’ve changed Company. Changed routine. Changed my life.

Two hours a day of uninterrupted reading time.
To, near zero.
Churning through three books a week. 150 books a year.
To, near zero.
Lost. In a character. In a story. In another place. In another time. [Read more...]

Running. Like a Hippo.

drip gif

6 am. I’m off.  No slackin’ today.
32F. Feels like 27F according to Weather Channel.
Spring?  Laughable.

Snarky Man is on the move.
Black wind breaker. Blue sweat pants. Red shoes. Black Chargers Tuk.
(How do you spell C-L-A-S-H?)

Reach for draw string to synch up sweats. Only find one end. The other end is buried in hole about an inch back. Are you kidding me?  Paused for 1 second – - no chance I’m going back to change.  Veer way wide of the Man today. He going gangster.  Let his sweatpants hang off his a**.

THE MOOD.

It all started yesterday.  3 am.

Morning ritual of stepping on the scale.  Followed by Morning Delusion. LED flashing. Flashing. Flashing. (Think 10 pm on Christmas Eve as a Child .)

And then BAM.

Followed by SHOCK.

The scale reports a new 5-year high.

“Hope has two beautiful daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.” — Augustine of Hippo

I don’t know who Mr. Augustine is.  But I’m looking like a Hippo. I have one daughter and not two.  And her name is Anger.

I get off the scale.  Inhale.  Exhale.

Technology!  Has to be that I jumped on the scale too quickly.  It didn’t find its equilibrium.  It needs to set itself.

I gently step back on. (Like, if I treat it more kindly, I might get a better outcome.)

Flashing. Flashing. Flashing. Flashing. Flashing.

DAMN IT!

Enough.  We enter Day 1 of my new weight reduction program.

And as I reach Post Road on my run this morning, I recall my first day…

[Read more...]

Running. In Confessional.

blue, photography,sun,light

I’m off.  35F. Feeling good.
It’s the day after Good Friday.
The title of LaDona’s post banging around in my head like a 50 Cent Rap song – - the tricked up Chevy heaving up and down to the beat:

This Place Was Made By God.
This Place Was Made By God.
This Place Was Made By God.

I look around.  Trees reflecting on the still waters of the Long Island Sound.  Sun’s up in its full magnificence.  Sky is a brilliant blue.  Who else could have made this?

She goes on.  This place was made by God, a priceless sacrament; it is without reproach.
(She’s so d*mn sure.)

And on.  The most sacred day in the Christian calendar, and indeed, in Christianity itself. Inspiration for stunning, poignant music across the centuries. Even if you don’t believe, or if you do and God seems far away, the music speaks. And touches. And heals.
(I’m right there with you Sister on the far away part.  And right there with you that the music speaks, touches and heals)

Then the mind, faster than a switchback on a BC mountain highway, turns to a conversation with a colleague on Thursday: [Read more...]

Driving. With Mellencamp.

Shut down PC.
Stuff my briefcase with weekend reading. I Smile.
Another form of Exercise in futility.
I won’t get to it.
Slump into car. Spent.
4-day week. Felt like six.
Pre Good Friday weekend traffic backed up on 95.
Stealing glances at blackberry.
Flicking through iTunes list.
Land on Mellencamp. John Mellencamp.

Hurts So Good.

When I was a young boy
Said put away those young boy ways
Now that I’m gettin’ older
So much older
I love all those young boy days

Memories flood. Awed.
How? How a mere few bars can take you back.
To a moment. In 1982. A technicolor and edited version. [Read more...]

I couldn’t tell you…

grandpa, photograph

My Grandfather. Deda. Walter Cecil Kanigan.

He was born on March 22nd. Yesterday.  In 1909. 103 years ago.

I couldn’t tell you with certainty where he was born. Believe it was in the Ukraine. In a hospital? Home delivery?

I couldn’t tell you what he did as a child. Who were his friends? Did he have toys? A bike? A cat?

I couldn’t tell you of his journey to Canada. Where did he land? Did he ride the rails to get cross country? Was it Spring time?

I couldn’t tell you if he attended high school. Did he learn “his figures?”  Did he know how to write?

I couldn’t tell you how he met Grandma. Baba. Did he ask her Father for permission to marry? Was she his first choice?

I couldn’t tell you his dreams. He mentioned that he wished he could fly. Just once. I couldn’t tell you if he ever flew in a commercial airliner.

I can’t tell you much about Deda.

But, I have moments.

He mixed different cereals for breakfast.

He slurped vegetable soup off his spoon.

[Read more...]

Saturday Morning Work-Out Inspiration: “I wanted to fit in so badly”

wrestler,inspirational,inspiring,wrestling, sport

A goose bump story from Deadspin.  Anthony Robles was born poor and one-legged in Mesa, Arizona. Anthony never met his biological father.  He longed for acceptance from his stepfather who wouldn’t forgive him for the color of his skin.  He criticized his step-son mercilessly and physically abused his Mother in his presence.  Anthony was bullied at school and he chose wrestling to toughen up. He lost every match at first. Then he found the key… Opponents were baffled. Four years later he was a national champion. And now he planned to quit a sport just as he had come to dominate.

Whether you love, hate or are indifferent about sports or wrestling, this is one of the most powerful human interest stories that I’ve read. Some excerpts:

“The day Robles entered the world, doctors whisked him from the delivery room, to spare his mother, 16 years old and single, the shock of seeing her one-legged child. He was what’s known as a congenital amputee, and the cause of his condition remains unknown. When the doctors finally returned him to his mother, she looked her boy over carefully and predicted that the smooth declivity where his right leg should have been marked the end of her freedom forever.”

“Three years later, another doctor thought Robles would walk better with a prosthesis and fitted him with a heavy artificial leg. The boy promptly took it off when he got home and hid it behind a piece of furniture. At five, he shinnied 50 feet up a pole outside his house.”

“But if Robles was willful and assured by nature, a childhood of being stared at and taunted eventually saddled him with terrible self-consciousness. ‘I wanted to fit in so badly,’ he later said of his elementary and junior high school years. ‘For a while I tried to hide … to be camouflaged.’ But the bullies were not put off, and Robles gave up trying to disguise his differences.”

[Read more...]

Great Expectations

wind, beach, birds, ocean,

Spring officially begins tomorrow at 11:02 am.  In his novel Great Expectations, Charles Dickens said:

“It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.”

Charles, you are a wee bit off this morning.

I stepped out the door.  The Earth is covered with a six inch blanket of wet snow. The Wind is gusting up to 20 mph.  It is 28F. I shiver.  And think…

  • Where’s my Sun with a spring kiss of warmth?
  • Where are my cherry blossoms?
  • Where are my bubbling brooks?
  • Where are my budding trees?

[Read more...]

Saturday Morning Work-Out Inspiration: Our Killer

exercise, fitness, diet,fit

I share exercise inspirations on Saturday mornings to get me off the couch and out the door. This share by Steve Layman may be the most powerful story and research that I’ve read on this topic.  A few excerpts…

The story starts with a Phil Bruno “super-sizing again…He was only a mile from his house, where his wife, Susan, was cooking the usual big Italian dinner for their family of five, but he was hungry now. The urge was automatic…Ten minutes later, with a bag of burgers steaming on the seat beside him, he pulled into a McDonald’s and ordered a Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese, an apple pie, and a chocolate shake to wash it all down…Phil had always loved food, which was part of the fabric of his tight-knit Sicilian-American family: Grandma and her lasagna were right down the street. But he’d been athletic in his youth, playing high school football and carrying a robust but reasonable 215 pounds on a six-foot-three-inch frame. Then, in his mid-twenties, he’d stopped working out, as many of us do when life starts to chew up our time. Over the years, his regular meals and high-calorie bingeing had turned him into a physical and emotional wreck. His joints ached whenever he used the stairs, his heart hammered, and he was possessed by a strange, burning thirst that no amount of ice water could quench. “I was 47 years old,” he says, “but I felt like I was 80.” [Read more...]

Running. With Galileo.

bird, nature, fly,wings,inspirational

Late (LATE) start. Galileo’s Sun is up. I look up and bask in its warmth. I start my run into a cold headwind. Fingertips tingling. My eyes, fill with water. Like mist on cold air over warm waters. This will clear.

Run by the corner of Noroton and Post Roads. Church Corner. Ascension Episcopal. Noroton Presbyterian. Christ Scientist. Churchgoers are filing in. Man cradling baby in a papoose. Families striding briskly, holding hands with their children. Lady holding kerchief in place from wind gusts. Elderly couple shifts right to let me pass. Community. Peace be with you too.

I usually run too early to see churchgoers. Not today. Guilt washes over me. Eric joined his friends in attending a eulogy yesterday. “Weird,” he described it. “Awkward not having been to church in years.” He lights my fuse using less than 10 words. Jung scolds: “Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.” Then Robert Fulghum piles on: “Don’t worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.” How quickly this has escalated. Yes, “my” Son – - he’s been watching. And now I’m irritated, here on Galileo’s beautiful Sunday. NO, gentlemen. Not today. You won’t get under my skin today. No sir.

[Read more...]

Experiencing euphoria. Slopping around like a gopher in soft dirt.

recipe, cookie, dessert,craving, sweet,pistachio,

What do you get when you cross chocolate chips, pistachios, brown sugar and sea salt?  Hit this link.  It about captures the scene 30 minutes ago.

Lori @ Donna & Diablo shared the recipe with me for “Dark Chocolate, Pistachio & Hickory Sea Salt Cookies.”

Lori’s email: ”Sounds like you had a tough week Dave.  These will help…but be forewarned, you’ll find it difficult to stop at one.”

Really Lori.  Ya think? My hands were trembling after I cleared one plate of cookies.  I had to pull up and walk away.

Scorecard:

  • Estimated Calorie consumption in 8 minutes: 640 cal. consumed.
  • This morning’s 50 minute Elliptical work-out: 540 cal. burn. (It’s a bloody losing battle!)
  • Cookie Rank: Top 3 lifetime.  (And this is coming from a professional cookie inhaler.)
  • Overall experience: Priceless.

Recipe below. (Warning: No substitutions, replacements or alterations to ingredients and baking instructions.  Perfection is not to be messed with.)

[Read more...]

Three Drops*

dry eyes, eyes,

Three drops.*
Fall asleep wondering if this is the solve. (Please.)
Amygdala firing up on ailment. (See.)
Doc said there may be issues later in life because of trauma. (Has it arrived?)
One month of angst. (Eradicated. With three drops.)
One could ask why did you wait so long. (Or, one could avoid asking.)
And one wouldn’t have a good answer.


* Disclosure:  Turn your eyelids inside out? Heresy.  Wear contacts? Nothing touches my eyes.  LASIK surgery to correct nearsightedness?  Don’t come near me with your surgery solution.  Apply your own eyedrops?  Can’t do it.  Keep eye open so drops can be applied for you?  Impossible.  Squeal like a baby when drop splashes on eye?  Absolutely.


Image Source: LetsBeConnor

See

eye blinking gif

Start your day with anxiety. First thing. Every morning for last month. Sharp pain for 75 seconds.  Then poof. Gone.  Until the next morning.  I google it.  Up pops Just Answer. Eye with a customer question describing the identical experience:

I wake up every morning with a sharp pain in what I believe is my optic nerve. The pain is so bad that it sometimes makes my eye water when I try to open it wide. It is also painful to press on my eye when closed.  The pain is always in my left eye and there are some days that I wake up without pain. My eye does not seem to be more red or bloodshot than normal. The pain does subside as the day goes on and I haven’t experienced any vision problems.

I quickly close my eye and pain subsides. Water fills the vacuum.  (The human body is.  All on its own. Repairing.  Soothing. A miracle.)

I open and close several times. Blinking.   (The body is a miracle.  The mind, my mind, on the other hand, can be a torture chamber.  I need to see.  I need to read. Heart begins to race. Relax pal.  Just Answer Doc said it’s just dry eyes.  Yes, that was the first line.  And the rest? What about the rest?  This will right itself by itself.)

What if?

Mind quickly shifts gears to Sunday’s paper.

You are four years old.  You run to answer the door bell.  Life from that moment on changes. For you.  For your family. Forever.

Josh Miel, you define courage.  You define perseverance.  You are an inspiration.

(On the other hand, you pal, have dry eyes.)

[Read more...]

Happy Birthday Eric!

Happy 19th Birthday Son.

Your Mother and I were looking at your baby pictures last night.  We came across the shot below.  You were two months old.

You and I have debated this point.  (On Head Size.)  Yet, the truth is now inconvertible upon reflection.

  1. Despite your impressive academic achievements, your head size remains disproportionately large compared to your body.  (Yes, the photo is shocking.  Your Mother had to sit down as she looked at the photo – I saw her shudder as she recalled the memories of the birthing process.  BTW, I checked out Einstein’s head, it was normal size.)
  2. See the position of your head in the shot.  Your neck was straining to support your head.  All of your photos have you in the same profile: leaning and tilting.  (Again, the cranium cargo load is daunting.)
  3. All 10 lbs 3 oz of you were delivered via c-section – - because you wouldn’t come out the traditional way.  (Resisting parental guidance starting early – at birth.  And Head size.  Simply Massive.  And yet your Mother still coddles you even after that trauma.)

Have a great day Eric. Big Head and All…We love you.

Baby pictures, baby


Related Posts on Eric:

You’ve Still Got A Friend

Thursday.  He was running late for lunch.  My college roommate.  Just like him to be late.  My mind whirring back to college…

Short (very) and stocky build.  Permanently attired in University of Minnesota Gopher sweatpants and an oversized sweat shirt with hoody. Everything hung large.  Everything rumpled.  “Unkempt, having an untidy or disheveled appearance.”  Webster’s should have added his name.  He was the magnetic center – the beating heart – of every college party.  Quarter-bounce champ into Pabst Blue Ribbon at the Alibi.  Ringleader for late night games of Hearts. Out late. (Very)  Up late. (Very)  Blessed with a quick wit and quicker on the ice.  Selected easiest path to graduation: Art. Sculpture. Sociology. Physical Education. And even this was a struggle. Yet, he was never late for hockey practice.  Vote never taken, but most likely to end up next to the curb.

He walked in. Hair salt and peppered grey. Blazer. Blue open collar shirt. Tropical skin tone. (He’s got it together.)

[Read more...]

Running. With Shirley MacLaine.

birds, flock, nature, whooper swans, swans, birds, flock, white, yellow

Late start. (LATE) Aspirational intentions at 5:23 a.m. not converted into action until late morning. Chopping through a mountain of Emails. Tumbling. Reading. Cat videos. (How many of these can I watch?)  Find myself in workmanlike mode. Stress notched up a few clicks. And racing again – like mid-day on a workday treadmill at the office.

And then, I come across Terry’s post and Yellow lights are flashing…

I’m in a hurry to get things done
Oh I rush and rush until life’s no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I’m in a hurry and don’t know why
~Alabama, I’m in a hurry

Oddly enough, my immediate concern is not why I am in such a rush on a Saturday morning. But, synchronicity. Why is Country Music around every turn. (Now Country music, this is something to be concerned about. Then the mind goes back to HURRY. What’s the Rush?) [Read more...]

Clarke’s Pool

Clarkes Pool

The photographs of Clarke’s Pool are described as a walk down memory lane for “three generations of Castlegar kids who learned how to swim.”  Well he’s partially right.  It was also the training ground for the suburban kids like my brother Rich and me who hailed from Ootischenia (pop. 856).

Rich’s recollection of the pool was that it was “one of the scariest places he’d ever seen.”  Ominous.  Large.  Deep.  Dark.  Intimidating.  With a “giant” slide coming down high above from the rooftop.  My memories were frighteningly similar.  Yet, the picture today certainly doesn’t align with the Stephen King-like depiction of the darkness banging around our heads.  The pool was smaller.  And shallower.  And brighter.  With a kiddy slide jutting off the side of the garage.

The prize? [Read more...]

Running. With Wolf Pack.

dog, running, vizsla,rescue,winter, exercise

Here’s my Wolf Pack. Our Zeke on the left.  Anya, the neighbor’s dog on the right.  Zeke, a pure bred Hungarian bird hunting Vizsla.  Anya, a rescue mix with herding in her DNA.

Zeke was acquired five years ago for hundreds (many) of dollars. (The King’s list of demands in dog selection included a sporting/running breed.  It didn’t include acquiring someone else’s problems.)  Anya was acquired from a shelter with no cash outlay.  (*Hold this thought on dog profile differences.)

Trail running (and all running outside) has largely been suspended this winter season. Weekend exercise has taken the form of intermittent stabs on the elliptical machine in the attic…remote control in the right cup holder and water bottle in the left.  Air temperature constant at 67F.  No snow. No slush.  No uneven surfaces.  (And No Running Posts.  Zero inspiration running on an elliptical.)

Weather warming this weekend.  It was time to GET OUTSIDE.  So, I prep.  Ugg’s on.  Strap Garmin on wrist. Grab iPhone. Earphones. Doggie treats. Two Dog leashes.  Dog tags.  Poop bags. Car keys. And stuff it all into a fanny pack. (Black manly style fanny pack.)  Put on down coat.  Pull on hat. (38F.  Hat not needed but run will be arduous.  No need to display thinning/receding and matted hair.)  Jam running gloves in pocket.  Grab Driver’s license and wallet and head out the door.  (With the exception of dry food, ropes, crampons and ice axes, I’d be ready for climb up McKinley.  Heavy load for a trail run in snow.  Pulse quickens and I haven’t even left the car.) [Read more...]

Like, A Horse with No Name.

lost, confused, don't understand, poetry, poem

In 7th grade, a substitute teacher introduced us to poetry.  Well, sort of.  He circulated a copy of the lyrics for America’s hit song: A Horse With No Name.  The class lit up like fireflies offering up their interpretations.  DK, shoulders slumped, head down, was pretending to be reading the lyrics – - sat nervously hoping he wouldn’t be called on.  The 30 minutes of inadequacy never vacated short term memory.  (Samuel Beckett: I’m like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget.“)  I came across the poem below by George MacDonald and I found it moving me…Spring fever perhaps….and as my eyes slowly worked down one line and then the next, I found my spirits lifting…Hey! I understand this.  I get it. I like it.  No, I love it.  And, then. Reality.  I reached the last line and was stoned.

Through all the fog, through all earth’s wintery sighs,
I scent Thy spring, I feel the eternal air,
Warm, soft, and dewy, filled with flowery eyes,
And gentle, murmuring motions everywhere—
Of life in heart, and tree, and brook, and moss;
Thy breath wakes beauty, love, and bliss, and prayer,
And strength to hang with nails upon thy cross.

- George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul

So Sensei.  My wise readers.  Help me out.  Explain what the last line means.  So, I can get to sleep. Or, better yet, tell me you have no idea either. And I’ll sleep like a baby. :)


Source of Beckett quote and MacDonald Poem:  journalofanobody

Running. Against the Wind.

rainy-days-running-man

Out the door. 6:30am.
Driving to a team meeting in Manhattan.
Freezing rain. Tap tap tapping on hood of car.
Passenger side wiper banging on an ice chunk. Curse. In a hurry. Again.
Fwap. Fwap. Tap. Tap. Fwap. (You could stop and clear it pal. You could. Or you could keep watching and listening to this show. Show plays on.)
I fan through playlist.
Dreary day. Fog. Rain. Icy conditions.
Feels like, looks like, Detroit. I rifle through playlist hunting for Bob Seger.
And, land on “Against the Wind

Traffic slowing. Yellow caution lights frenetically flashing.
Salt truck scattering its melting magic on I-95.
I turn my attention to the lyrics.


↓ click for audio (Bob Seger – “Against the Wind”)



It seems like yesterday
But it was long ago…
We were young and strong, we were runnin’
Against the Wind

Running. To get on travel teams. To get grades. To get out of high school. To get the girl. (No one would have me!) To get to college. To get to adulthood. To get. To acquire. To, To, To, something else… [Read more...]

Nemo no match for my Uggs

ugg-2-snow

Here are my Uggs. Pictured on Nemo’s 19-inch snowfall. The mounds of wet snow on the driveway were no match for the King and his Uggs this morning.

While I was shoveling, I took a walk down memory lane.

Four years ago, Susan and Rachel dragged me to Lord & Taylor and asked me to try them on. (Ugg Sheepskin boots originated in Australia and New Zealand. This brand is headquartered in Flagstaff, Arizona.)

I pulled them on.  And, trudged around the Ugg display.

My rant commenced. “What do Australians, New Zealanders and Arizonians know about winter and snow? Have you forgotten I’m Canadian? This is amateur hour.” [Read more...]

Going South to Go North

airport screening

February 8, 2013. 6:15am
Orlando international Airport

A mere 22,000 miles away from 2,000,000 miles and Lifetime Platinum status on American. Delta could have taken me home non-stop. Instead, here I am. Going South to go North. Trying to claw over the top of the mileage fence. I will arrive in NY via Miami four hours later. And, I’ve been told, squarely into the teeth of a winter blast. USA Today’s Headline: TRAVEL ADVISORY: REBOOK. TRAVEL NIGHTMARE AS BLIZZARD HITS THE NORTHEAST.

REBOOK? Not a chance.

The security line is snaking around the corner. And I’m in the PRIORITY LINE. (Snaking. Snake. 2013. Chinese New Year of the Snake. The Snake. The Snake is keen and cunning, quite intelligent and wise. Not this snake. What a Putz.) [Read more...]

Hanging it up after 45 years…

family, photograph

Here’s my Aunt Olga.

She grew up as the only girl among four brothers. Tall. A striking blond. Remarkable blue eyes. A warm and infectious smile.

She left our rural home town more than 45 years ago to strike it out on her own. The Rebel. A young, single woman. Moving to the big city. Leaving behind a Mother who worried about her welfare. A Mother who took every opportunity to remind her daughter about her angst.

As a professional stylist, she built a deep and loyal roster of clients. Several times over. Her practice supported her love of travel. We’d know because she’d bring back gifts. A “Babuska doll” from Moscow. Maracas from Mexico. A flaming red scarf from Spain. A miniature Statue of Liberty or Eiffel Tower.

She’d come back home to a three generation pile-up of freeloading customers. We’d move a kitchen chair into the garage and she would mow down the Kanigan mullets one by one. Never a complaint. The line stretching around the corner.  Yep, Olga came home for a few days of R&R.

My Auntie. Independent. Industrious. A positive spirit. A generous, big-hearted soul. And, a lady who has suffered through some of life’s deepest disappointments. Yet, those sparkling blue eyes and hearty smile keep it all rooted deep down, with no evidence of flotsam bubbling to the surface.  She’s since found happiness. And a good Man. And no one deserves it more.

Here was her email to clients and friends on her last day of work yesterday: [Read more...]

Welcome Home

City Skyline, San Francisco
Here it comes again.
The heaviness in the chest.
And, in the shoulders.
It lifts.
It drips away.
Why does it show in flight? In the heavens.
Happiness?
No. Bigger.
He’s right. It’s Joy. [Read more...]

Yup. That’s me.

After a tough day like today, GIVE it to me.

  • Regular spaghetti.  Thin noodles. Angel Hair.  Or a combo.  Doesn’t matter.
  • Fetuccini. Linguini.  Tortellini. Anything with “ini” works.  Not discriminating.
  • Bow Tie. Corkscrew. Elbow. Lasagna. You pick it.  Just be sure you have enough for 3-4 helpings.
  • Red sauce.  White sauce.  Butter Sauce.  Makes no difference. Put the pot down.  Hand me the spoon.

Roll it in front of me.

Give me a stick of butter, a salt shaker and a fork.

And stand back.

I need ten minutes of quiet time…with me and my pasta.

love pasta, pasta, true, funny, craving, quotes, italian, spaghetti, noodles


Image Source: anarchy camp

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Snowman

driving, winter, snow, highway

Wednesday.  January 16, 2013.  5:35am.

I flip on the weather channel for a read on the highway conditions. (Like it matters, right?)

The weather woman warns that roads will be treacherous – - wet and slippery with snow accumulation.  (A call to arms for the Snowman. Need to get to the office to get a jump on God’s work.)

I’m out the door. Dark. Gloomy. Damp. Shivering. Seats are cold.  Steering wheel is frigid.  Frozen ice on windshield.  (Where are my gloves? I miss Miami. Soft, warm, gentle breezes.  Palm tree fronds rustling.)

No point sitting here, let’s get this engine firing so we can blow heat into this beast.  I back out of the driveway, skidding backwards.  (Not a good sign. I’m a mere 20 yards from the house.)

I arrive at I-95.  Early morning traffic trying to beat rush hour and the interminable snarls later in the day. Cars, SUVs, hulking Semi-trailers – all lurching ahead in a conga line. (It’s looking a lot like Gotham City, except I’m 40 miles away from Gotham.) [Read more...]

Let there be light…

child, bicycle, sad, bike, child riding bike, illustration, black and white

5:45am.

I’m in the car off to work.

It’s dark.

It’s cold.

It’s wet.

I’m scanning my playlist to find a match to my mood.  I’m challenged.  Nothing seems to fit.  Nothing that is, except the weather.

Mind pans back ten years. A sunny day in Miami.  A lazy Sunday afternoon.  She loves car rides.  The sun roof is open.  Andrea Bocelli is crooning on the cd player.  We’re crossing the Rickenbacker Causeway.  The City center is on our left.  Biscayne Bay’s shimmering aquamarine blues are on the right.  A warm tropical breeze is gushing through the windows.  I look over and her eyes are closed and her hair is blowing in the wind.  A portrait of youthful bliss.  An indelible image that can be pulled up at will.  [Read more...]

I am here on purpose…

Boy Running in Water on Beach Gif

Six days back at work…after a two week vacation.

Tension. Decompression. Recharge.  Ramp-up.  Escalation. Full engagement. Tension.

Full loop restored.

And, cycle time is compressing year over year.

Meetings. Emails. 2013 Planning.  Events. Phone calls. Problems. Opportunities.  Running. Faster.

In a momentary gap in my schedule…a mental image of this photo flickers by…a photo tripped into during the recharging phase of vacation.  Image darts in and out for days. Pulling me back to a time when life was simpler. When picking sweet, juicy Bing cherries and filling the bucket was the task of the day.

I am here on purpose... [Read more...]

Trees. Home is within you.

Trees Forest in winter

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. [Read more...]

A Man Named Pearl

Here’s some help to clear your cob webs from last night.  Pearl Fryar, in a “A Man Named Pearl“, is a 68-year old man with no education in horticulture.  He creates an astonishing topiary garden in an economically depressed Bishopville, S.C. He infects his entire community and thousands of visitors who come to visit each year.  Pearl is a soft-spoken, humble, hard-working and self-made man.  An inspiration like no other.  Here is a 2-minute trailer to wet your appetite.

  • They really didn’t want him in this neighborhood because he wouldn’t keep up his yard
  • There will always be obstacles in life.  You can’t let those obstacles determine where you are going to go
  • The man can tame trees
  • The garden feels like it has a spirit within it
  • I wanted to create a feel that when you walked through, you felt differently than when you started

This 75-minute “Sunday-morning” feeling documentary is available instantly on Netflix or at Amazon here.  I watched this film 18-months ago. This man, his work and the feeling of his garden are still close…


Sources: Background and bio from Amazon

It’s going to be a wonderful day…

  • Q: Are you going to exercise today?
  • A: Nope.  My tummy is a wee bit swollen and hurts.  Prodigious over indulgence in chocolate and an assortment of baked goods.  I’m going to sit right here and enjoy the day.
  • Q: Are you going to Return/exchange gifts today?
  • A: In that madness?*!*  Absolutely not, I’m going to sit right here and enjoy the day.
  • Q: You seem at Peace today.  Are you practicing your sutras and deep breathing?
  • A: Ahhh. So you noticed.  Yes.
  • Q: So, what’s the plan for today?
  • A: After I’m through here, I’m going for a swim and then back inside to watch movies.
  • Q: All day?
  • A: All Day!
  • Q: Enjoy!

Merry Christmas

Good morning and Merry Christmas!  As I was getting up this morning, I crossed paths with the kids who were just going to bed.  Instead of the kids hovering around the tree at 5am waiting for Mom and Dad to get up, there was Zeke…locked in on his Christmas stocking.  (Of course, Zeke has to have his own stocking.  Of course it’s monogrammed with his name.) Our bird hunting dog won’t hunt birds, he won’t retrieve tennis balls, he’s scared of cats and the dark, but that nose knows precisely where his treats are.  He wouldn’t break his stare for the first photo.  And after telling him that he had to wait for Rachel and Eric to get up before he could get at his stocking, his shoulders slumped, he dropped to the floor and cried “no fair.”

So, Zeke and I played loops of Sean Quiqley’s Little Drummer Boy at a HIGH decibel level.  Hoping that the kids would eventually roll out of bed and we can get this party rollin’.

[Read more...]

Running. With Newtown.

black-and-white-love-sad-sweet-true-love-Favim.com-244215

Off to a late start today.  Could not fire the engines.  Or the head.  Temperature: Brisk 35F. Not a trace of wind.  And gloriously sunny.  Sunny but dark.

I skip the hat.  Skip the gloves. Skip the extra sweatshirt.  I needed cold.  Needed to feel alive. Needed a new path.  A fresh 5-mile route.  Away from the familiar.

9:45 am: I’m heading North. (It’s quiet out. Eerily quiet. I don’t hear birds. Traffic seems to be moving slower.  Everyone mourning? Newtown is North.  Sandy Hook Elementary School is 39 miles due North. TV images flicker by: Mother holding phone, screaming.  Children being marched out of the building. “Close your eyes.  Hold your hands.“)

[Read more...]

Running. And Chafing.

weight loss, diet, exercise, health, eat, craving, running, run, walk, walking, chart

It all started at around 8pm last night.  Susan asked: “Do you really need that?“…this in response to my complaining earlier in the day about hitting new record highs for weight gain. And after my 4th trip to the fridge since dinner time.  The “that” was a peanut butter (Jiffy Creamy) and blueberry jelly sandwich.  Yes, I needed it. Badly.  And I didn’t need someone, anyone, scolding me. (Am I a child?) I continued lapping the peanut butter on the bread – jabbing the knife into the jar – spreading on a few extra layers.  I don’t lift my head.  She continues on from the other side of the room.  ”You know, you should read this book on life style changes in what you eat.  You can lose weight by just eating healthier.  You are not getting enough proteins.  This is causing you to crave potato chips, sugars and salty foods.”  Blueberry jam dribbles out of the corner of my mouth.  I look up.  Fat man’s blood pressure building…readying himself for counterpunching.  I glance up and glare.  She continues: “You know that I’m just trying to help.”  I take the last remaining bite and jam dribbles down my shirt…well doesn’t that about capture it.  Enough!  My turn…trade a boulder for a pebble.  ”I don’t need to read a bloody book to tell me that I eat junk and too much of it.  And I certainly don’t need you haranguing me about it.”  Now, if I had just stopped there.  Trade the ocean for a drop of water.  ”So tell me.  If this book is so good.  How’s it working out for you?”  Nearing 30 years of marriage you know exactly where the nerve endings are and where to jab.  Yep, direct hit.  Then regret washes over me.  But not enough to apologize.  She knows I didn’t really mean it.  Right. [Read more...]

Still Standing.

The Cove, Stamford, CT

The stone walkway may be 2.5 feet at its narrowest point.  The shore line is 7-8 feet down from the walkway.  It’s narrow, it is a ways down and I’m always wary.  I must have been daydreaming.  Or better stated, distracted by day-work-worrying.

I’m on my morning run.

My right forearm slams into the end of the steel I-beam guard rail.  Here it comes. A car crash in slow motion.  A Bruce Lee flick.  With much less grace.  The I-beam doesn’t move.  But it moves me.  It spins me around.  Full Stop. Drop.  Roll.  Air explodes out of my chest.  I’m gasping for air.  More stunned than hurt.  I’m down flat on my back for a few seconds, grateful that I didn’t plunge into the mud and frigid waters in the bay.  I look around to see if anyone caught the show.  No one is yelling “Man Down.  Man Down.”  We’re clear.  Pride intact. [Read more...]

Zeke. The Paper Boy…

dog, animal, cute, pet, family

  • Each morning.  Up at 6am.
  • Grabs newspaper.
  • Runs like a crazy man thundering up the stairs.
  • Arrives.  Applies his 4-wheel brakes.  Sits proudly. Tail swishing wildly back and forth.
  • “Here’s your paper Dad!”

A person can learn a lot from a dog, even a loopy one like ours. Marley taught me about living each day with unbridled exuberance and joy, about seizing the moment and following your heart. He taught me to appreciate the simple things-a walk in the woods, a fresh snowfall, a nap in a shaft of winter sunlight. And as he grew old and achy, he taught me about optimism in the face of adversity. Mostly, he taught me about friendship and selflessness and, above all else, unwavering loyalty.”
  ~ John Grogan, Marley and Me

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Oh my God…look at the fishies!


Queensland, Australia. Father. Daughter. In a canoe. Have encounter with two Humpback whales which can measure up to 50 feet and weight up to 40 tons. Apparently Humpbacks are “famously” curious toward boaters. This is a WOW.  Here’s the direct link.

Running. With Nature.

6:15 am. I finish up my blog posts.  Finish bantering with Mimi.  I pan through the Weather app on my iPhone for a temperature report on my set locations: Miami 61 F/78 F.  Sunny.  Sydney 67/81.  San Diego 54/65.  Home: 29 F/41 F.  (Brrrrrrr.  I shiver.  Do I really want to do this?  Maybe I should wait until later this afternoon when temps climb.  Come on.  Who are you kidding?  If it doesn’t happen RIGHT NOW, it’s not going to happen pal…you know that.)

6:20 am: I put on sweatpants, sweatshirt and grab baseball cap.  (Mind is chattering… should I drape myself in layers…thermal underwear and thermal undershirt…and Tuke/Beanie.  Are you kidding?  A mere 29°.  A Canadian, last time I checked. Man-up.)

6:24 am: Grab headphones, iPhone and Garmin GPS watch. (Notice that I have 1 bar of power left on Garmin and 2 bars on iPhone.  Irritated. Irritating.  Hundreds of dollars of e-equipment and they can’t hold a charge for more than a few hours.  Yep, good one - Gadget Man is blaming battery life.  Be grateful.  Thanksgiving.  Day of Sabbath.  And I’m sniping.) [Read more...]

Billion a Second…

black and white, girl, freckles, eye, close-up, portrait, face

This meeting was no different than any other.  No different from the hundreds of meetings in the days, the months before.  Where I’m on to the next meeting while attending the one in front of me.  Meetings with a replicated loop.  Mind whirring…processing.  Me pushing. Me prodding. Agitating.  Me wanting and needing more. Extraction. Creating discomfort.  Manufacturing urgency.  I’m not looking for you to love me.  That’s what your dog is for.  This morning, my level of consciousness had been ratcheted up by a few lines from Daniel Bor the night before.  And, I roll into the first meeting of the day.  I’m listening.  I’m watching.

[Read more...]

Hi Daddy…

Rachel:   Hi Daddy!

Dad:          Hi Honey.  What’s up?

Rachel:   Daddy, I scored an 88 on a brutal Managerial Accounting Test!

Dad:          Wow, that’s amazing Rachel.  Well done!  I’m proud of you.

Rachel:   OK Daddy.  Just wanted to let you know.  Gotta run.

Self:           “Daddy.”

45 second phone conversation with daughter on car ride home from work.  Priceless.


Image Credit: Thank you abirdeyeview

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