Marching in line at different speeds

As I was rushing off, I looked back and noticed the odd visual of the remaining treadmillers all marching together out of synch, in line.

These people were running at paces between 6 and 12 kilometers per hour, yet they all lined up there all in a row, marching, at their own rhythm, yet without any harmony amongst themselves.  Together, yet all individual.

That’s a metaphor if I’ve ever seen one.

The approach over the south side of Long Island was beautiful. It has been maybe 5 years since I landed at JFK in the morning. That’s a side effect of being brand-loyal (frequent flyer loyal) to a carrier that has a hub in Newark.

I am a bit off my game today, not as sharp and on point as I normally am when I travel. That means that the likelihood of me leaving something behind is an order of magnitude higher than normal. In fact, it’s just a matter of time.

My dad met me at the airport, gave me the keys to his car and I drove us to Long Beach, my boyhood home. During the ride Dad told me stories he has told me a hundred times before, then he asked, “have I told you this before?”. I smile and told him yes, but to keep telling it.

My dad and I met our long-time friend in Long Beach for breakfast at the Laurelton Diner. The Diner as it’s known as in our family is an old-style Long Island diner, where friends meet for coffee and a meal. It’s a place to eat And talk. I remember going there as a small boy with my mom. As much as the peanut butter and banana pancake stack called to me, I had to pass. As we walked outside, I remember the movie theater that used to be next to the diner. It closed 40 years ago, but I still a faded memory to me.

After that we went down to the beach to see the progress that has ben made in repairing the devastation caused by Hurricane Sandy.There was a cleanup event scheduled that day and as much as I wanted to volunteer to help clean up this town that I hold dear, I had other priorities this day.

The beach looked much better than they did in January; clearly the tourist season was coming.

From there Dad and I went to Starbucks to do nothing. We sat for about 45 minutes and hung out, talking, laughing but without saying too much. I reorganized my carry-on bags some for my next flight. This second consecutive red-eye was going to have to go better than the first.

From there we met old family friends for pizza at Gino’s Pizzeria in Long Beach. It was good to catch up and hear the comings and goings since we last sat down. It was also wonderful to catch up with some New York style pizza with old friends. That particular pizzeria was another place I went with my Mom when I was small. I have also been there with my wife and daughter. It was nice to pile a few more family memories there.

From there we made a few shopping stops along the way to my day’s house. He laid down for a nap while I sat and caught up with my half-sister and stepmother. After a quick Facetine with my half-brother in Florida it was time to head to the airport for flight #3.

All in all, I was able to tell eight different people that I love them face to face. There are lots of things to do on New York, and on this day, nothing was more important than being with these special people.

This was a layover well spent and worth the double red eye flights.

Next Stop:

I could have flown out of LAX to get to JFK, but I i) hate LAX and ii) was not having my ladies drive to LA and back on a Friday night.

I could have flown into Newark directly as I usually do, but then I would have wasted time getting to Long Island. This semi-circuitous route to JFK gets me 12 hours on the island and maximum face time with my dad.

Time to board. Catch you all later.

She took the wheel for the first time six months ago in a little shopping mall in Palm Springs. It was terrifying. The next time behind the wheel was much worse. Then gradually she became more competent.

You do your best, you know. You teach them about 4-way stops, changing lanes, not crossing double double lines, and all the crap you can think of, but at the end of it all, you have to let go and hope that they do well.

This 20 minutes feels like forever. I think about irony of The Child taking a driving test in the vehicle that used to hold her car seat. I think back to taking my drivers test in Las Vegas back in 1981, dang that was a long time ago. I start playing with my phone, nervously; useless.

Oh wait, there they are!

They park and Steve fills out his paperwork. I just stand by. That’s what one does as the parent of sixteen year-old girl, one stands-by and watches, waits and writes painful checks. After a few minutes, they emerge from the car and The Child flashes the thumbs up. She passed.

Ironically, now that she is a licensed driver, she can’t drive until we have her insured. I get to drive us home.

As I drive home she is plugging away at her chemistry homework, moving from one task directly into the next with no waste of time. I think about the next big rite and what it will be like when moves to college and totally breaks my bank account and my heart.

The driver slowed as he approached a stop sign. The female in the car had her door open, presumably to get out of the passenger seat once the minivan stopped.

With a big “WELL FUCK YOU” the driver make a right-hand turn from the center lane and they sped out of sight, obscenities blasting.

Where there are minivans, there are probably kids. I had this feeling of sadness for that couple. I thought about calling the police, but I know what a waste of time it would be.

I felt grateful that what I witnessed wasn’t anything like my life.

Today marks 20 years since I married my wife.  My days are quiet and boring. There is no screaming there’s no crazy driving there’s no public scenes, no guns, drugs, police, hospitals or psychiatric holds. All THOSE people are dead; they burned themselves out completely decades ago.

There’s just quiet now.

Don’t under-estimate the power of quiet. Never underestimate the value of peaceful. You can’t buy peaceful when you don’t have it.

Back in the saddle again

Last summer, my bike was the unfortunate victim of my busy life. If you read my post, A Day in the Life you may recall that I keep a pair of black dress shoes at my desk so that when I ride to work, I can change from my riding boots to dress shoes. Stuck between busy and hating to go shopping, I never replaced those work shoes when the leather wore out last spring. My bike was then relinquished to only coming out on casual Fridays.

Bikes are made for riding, more than once a week and more than 2 miles to and from work.  Mechanical problems started setting in, including the old battery dying.  Even though it was on a battery charger all week, it wouldn’t keep a charge.  I had to push start it a few times last summer and after it died in the middle of the street late last summer, I got frustrated and decided to park the bike until I time magically freed itself up.

I only needed to go out, jack up the bike and replace the battery with a new one,  but I never made time.   Maybe I just didn’t want to. Eventually, Like the guy in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, I gave in and had my neighbor trailer the bike down to my mechanic. I disappointed myself in that I didn’t make time to  take care of something that so enriches my life.

When I picked up the bike at the shop, the curmudgeonly mechanic had a few words for me. He told me that he had a conversation with my bike and that it wanted to be taken on long rides. I acknowledged that I understood and that I would take care of it.  I didn’t tell him that I would soon be on the road again, but in an airplane.

It felt good to be riding again. I took the long way to work in the morning and again after lunch. I missed being undistracted and alone with my thoughts. I remembered how riding shakes up my creative juices and fills my spirit up. I feel like I have gotten a dimension of my life back that I abandoned in the garage.

I realized that there was this cascade of seemingly unrelated events: shoes wore out lead to the bike breaking down, lead to a loss of creativity which lead to a low-level of dissatisfaction with several aspects of life. All of which started with me being just too busy. It brought a new take to the Socratic warning: “Beware of the barrenness of a busy Life.”

For now I just need to find a second pair of black shoes to keep at work. Maybe when I get back from my travels?

A Moment on the Disney Fantasy

Betwixt and between the first and second dinner seatings, the atrium, the elevators and the stairs of the Disney Fantasy are packed with people in formal dress seeking the creation of mementos.

Families huddle together in one of several lines, waiting for professional portraits.

A very little boy wearing a tuxedo face-plants, but immediately bounces up unharmed.

Two singers by the staircase perform a Marvin Gaye classic accompanied by a Mac.

At the top of the staircase, after a very long wait, a Chinese family delight in taking a picture with Captain Mickey.

Servers hand out free wine, mojitos, and juice.

Before mom can snap the shutter, one of her two handsome and carefully-posed boys bolts towards Aladdin, who has just arrived on the scene.

A teenage girl is looking for wi-fi in the middle of the ocean.

A Romanian drink server claps his hands to the music as he heads backstage to reload his empty tray.

A middle-aged couple disagree about buying pictures.

The lady who was wearing huge sunglasses when she fell asleep in the Caribbean sun turns from the front desk and I force down a chuckle after the word “raccoon” came to mind.

A man in a gold-buttoned blazer walks by holding a glass of Shiraz by the base of glass.

An older couple somehow manage to take a beautiful picture together in front of the busy staircase.

A tall and husky corn-fed family of six walk by with a swagger and presence reminiscent of that scene from “The Right Stuff“.

An adorable 5-year-old princess poses in front of a paintings of Sleeping Beauties Castle.

A guy in a monkey suit watches people, jots notes and takes pictures all the while his stomach rumbles for dinner.

Bird songs rang through the living room windows drawing me into the chilly early morning air of my back yard.   I took my seat my skychair and listened to the birds open for the morning sun.   It was both peaceful and simple.

It felt good to sit and do nothing for a long while.  I sent a short piece of morning video to my sister in London and then later Facetimed with my dad in New York.

My father and I chatted about the events in Boston.  After we hung up, I thought about the polarity of opinions about whether the bomber should be read his Miranda rights or not.  I found the matter to be much adu about nothing and like my dream, I put it aside.

As the sun moved higher in the sky, my feet started to warmup.  It was good to feel the chill being driven out. If only it were always that easy. Eventually, I started to feel like I might need sunscreen.

After I uploaded the video of the sunrise, Youtube presented me of another video called Daybreak.  This one referenced the song by Barry Manilow.   I smiled as the feelings associated with this late 70′s old feel-good song washed over me and I felt inclined to include it in this post.  In case your don’t remember, the chorus goes:

Yes, and it’s daybreak
If you wanna believe, it can be daybreak
Ain’t no time to grieve
Said it’s daybreak, if you’ll only believe
And let it shine, shine, shine
All around the world (let’s sing, sing it to the world)
C’mon and let it shine, shine, shine
All around the world

Eventually, the real world caught up to me.  Laura came outside to tell me it was 8:19am and remind me that I had to be out the door at 8:30am.   Time to go.

Have a great weekend.

Don’t Lick the Minivan: And Other Things I Never Thought I’d Say to My Kids

It’s available on Amazon and in classy book-joints everywhere.

Those who have an inkling of how amazing this book will be are obliged to spread the word about its awesomeneninitude (yeah, that’s a word).

Hence, while in the Bahamas a few weeks ago, as I came across a family of millionaire Calgarians, from Briar Hill.  As they were from Leanne’s hometown, I thought I would discuss her new book.   Here’s how it went down:  [WARNING: MY IRISH/CANADIAN ACCENT CAME OUT DURING THE INTERVIEW.  DON'T LAUGH]

Clearly, the word needs to be spread a bit more. Remember, one Canadian laugh is worth about 0.98 American laughs, but hey, it’s close enough.

If you love your mother, buy the book.  Give it to Mom, grandma and anyone else who has birth-related stretch marks.

This Day begins as it will end… in cold darkness.

This day begins

As the fish doesn’t recognize water, we will effortlessly swim through This Day, most of us not realizing that it is here.

And regardless of whether This Day brings you blessings, curses or something in between, one thing is certain

This Day will pass silently like a breath from yesterday and the blink from day before.