Saturday, December 24, 2005

Seasons Greetings




Wow, this month has slipped by so quickly. My silence on the blog has only meant that life was very full, this time. As life can be. But thankfully river rapids are known to feed into a gentle pool, which is the case here. I'm looking forward to a long weekend just breathing deeply and enjoying people. My brother is in town with his family this year, and those are always good times.

I wanted to be sure to thank all of your for your company here on the web, and wish you a very happy holiday. For me it's Christmas, and a very wonderful time of year. I didn't catch the spirit of the season full on till yesterday afternoon, but better late than never. The funny thing is that it happened when I stumbled across the cover of a Jackson 5 Christmas song, "Someday at Christmas". (iTunes link)

That Jackson 5 Christmas album is one that has inadvertently become very special to me. It all started when I was about 7 or 8. My parents one Christmas splurged for each other and went together to get a sound system. They came home with a very sleek, modern 8 track tape player. It was beautiful. And they got some tapes for each other and one for my brother and I. Mine was the Jackson 5 Christmas album. I played it every year at Christmas, so it kind of became an integral part of the season for me.

When I was in Australia some years later, I of course didn't have that tape. I mentioned it to a good friend of mine that I had made down there, lamenting that it just didn't seem quite like Christmas without it. But oh, well---I was still in Australia for goodness sake, making it excellent no matter what time of year it was.

She surprised me several weeks later with a flat square package that she wanted me to open right then. When I did, I was astounded. She had scoured the city and found a vinyl LP copy of the album so I wouldn't be without. Keep in mind that this was pre-internet and pre-Ebay, so this was no small feat. The gift was excellent, but the effort I know it required made it mean that much more.

After college when I was starting a new little family of my own and the turntable had now gone the way, but one day I came home from the supermarket triumphantly with a CD copy of my holiday favorite. It was just there at the check out on one of those vintage Christmas music displays greeting me like an ond friend with 5 happy little smiles.

Now in the digital age I've taken that CD and ripped it onto iTunes and put it on my shuffle which I have in my living room hooked to the sound system so we can have hours of seasonal music without ever having to change anything out.

So I hope that this week is special for all of you, with traditions that comfort and novelty that provides new found joys. I'll be thinking of you all.

May God Richly bless you.

Monday, December 12, 2005

Things I Think: Blog as Art


marilyn
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

Sometimes the the day to day life I live at work feels like an Andy Warhol painting series. Seemingly ordinary. Repetitive. Colored, though, to appear just a little fabulous. But repatative. Relentlessly at times. Harmlessly.

But it brings in the bucks. So who’s complaining.

I look around the office and imagine my own art installation. In it you walk into a room filled with cubicles. And inside each cubicle a cube. All unifom and indestinguishable one from the next. It’s painted entirely in beige.

Each cube inside each cubicle, though, has a hole in it---big enough to stick your head through. When you do you can see a video screen filled with wonderful images and suddenly hear delightful sounds that cheer and warm. Perhaps some, though, are filled with sound and images of peace, or sadness.

Sights and sounds of a life. The media contents of each cube totally unique from the contents of any other.

It would be simply called “The office”.

This is the world. At first glance filled with drones. But each drone is an individual. And each individual is beautifully and wonderfully made. Each life is filled with drama and importance, no matter how common it may be thought.

It is said that life is more rich when we we stop for time with roses. I believe this is true.

And we are the roses.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

It's My Bloggiversary!

Well fancy that!  I’m one blog year old today.  A milestone.

     I remember last year starting this blog just hoping that I would just be able to post regularly.  Now 207 entries, 128 photos and 3 videos later, I think I’ve met that goal.  I also remember reading an entry in Kat’s blog, DatingGod, where she spoke of her blogger friends and how much they meant to her.  How real they were even though she had never met them---and how they had found ways to contribute to her life that was profoundly meaningful.  I found that very inspiring and something I kind of yearned to be a part of, but I didn’t vest myself much in the thought that this was attainable for me.  I didn’t have the time to devote to courting and publicizing and building traffic to my site.  I wasn’t even sure about how much time I’d have to write.

But it did happen, much to my delight and constant joy ever since (and how cool that Kat is even part of my circle!).  I enjoy my online relationship with all of you, my wonderful blog friends.  This has been such a genuine enhancement to my life and I treasure it.  Some of my interactions have been brief, and some are ongoing.  All have been truly exhilarating.

It’s equally cool to have my real life friends and family reading too.  I’ve been able to be in more regular contact with distant friends and even my own brother.  It really is flattering to have even real life people reading.  It may seem natural that it would be easier to persuade folks I know in real life to stop by, but it amazes me the number of people I mention this site to again and again who never stop by.  And I’m not just assuming they don’t because the don’t leave comments or something.  I’ll ask them, “have you gotten a chance to stop by my blog”.  No—sorry.  Haven’t had a chance.  And many of them are people I know spend tons of time online.  I guess it’s just not their thing.  So even to my real life friends---thank you.

And not the least, my mom is one of my regular readers. She tells me how she finds interesting little insights into my thoughts that she’d probably never know otherwise.  She reads right before she goes to bend and she’s told me that between my brother’s blog and mine, she’s told me she either goes to bed after a good laugh or a good cry. 

So thank you all----I wish I could email you all a piece of cake or something.

Ok then---so now what?

Well, in the mode of taking it one step at a time, I’m hoping for another great year.  Since this past year has taken me so much further than I anticipated, the unidentified possibilities for the next really excite me.  And to me, that’s the best part.  I hope to continue my contact with people I’m regular with, and I wouldn’t be opposed to expanding the circle if that opportunity presents itself. 

Perhaps a better site design?  A leap off this template and onto something more personal?  Perhaps my own domain even?  Who knows.

The big thing for me is to keep adding content.  I write as much for the future as I do for the interactive benefits I get right now.  I write first for the short future knowing how much pleasure I get out of looking back at photos and videos even after 2 or 3 years and treasuring all the subtleties that would have otherwise been lost.  I enjoy the focus of the pictures or videos (usually my family), but also the little things like hair and clothes, TV. or music playing in the background, cars, or changes in a room or yard. All of these mundane things become so interesting the more time moves on.

            I also write for the further future, with my grandkids and further down the family tree in mind.  So much history and experience just evaporates when family members pass.  I’m hoping to stem the flow a little by what I add here.  I know how much the few pages my grandmother was able to write down about her life and the small booklet my uncle created about his WWII service mean to the people around them, I can only imagine how invaluable a regular journal over years could be to my progeny.

            But it goes even beyond that.  I’m not sure how many people are aware, but there is an effort working right now call the Internet Archive Project.  This is a group who is taking snapshots at regular intervals of the entire internet.  They sweep all the public material available on the internet at that moment and store it.  They archive the entire internet for posterity as a potential historical and archeological artifact.  So if you’ve ever commented on a message board, put up your own site, or made a comment on a blog----it’s in there.  And that is very compelling to me.  I kind of indulge in a fantasy that someday my words may be part of a Ken Burnsian holodeck documentary for some kind of Star Trek future grade school’s virtual field trip.  Who knows what may come of things, but I like being able to feel that I’m contributing to the documenting the human experience in some small fashion.  And so is all you who blog too.  Like we’re all working on this giant effort together as a gift to the future

At any rate, tomorrow begins my blog new year.  I’m so glad you’ll be a part of it.  Heck, I’m glad I’ll be a part of it.

And so, onward!

 

 

 

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

A moment frozen in time

So here it is. . .The beginning of the end---of 2005 that is. And I'm spending it at -25 below zero (F). Ugh.

Time to think warmer thoughts. One nice thing is that we'll be getting our family Christmas present from my folks this Saturday. It's a computer armoire. That's a computer desk built into a cabinet. We asked for that to help us complete the next step toward converting my office. This piece of furniture will enable us to move the Power Mac upstairs where it will become the family computer. That means we're one step closer to Robo having his own room.

Yes, it's true---2006 will see Dad's office going away. The boy is getting old enough. He needs a space where he can have some privacy and a place to put his stuff away that will keep little destructo brothers out. He's quite looking forward to it.

We have a few more practical steps to get through. I'll get the rest of my stuff boxed up and stored. Then I need to build him a loft bed, which should happen sometime after Christmas. Then comes the painting. He wants his room to be chartreuse. Chartreuse. We'll going from purple to chartreuse. I suppose no one can accuse us of being scared of color. I just don't know how he'll get any sleep with those walls screaming at him like that.

At any rate, there is also an emotional hurdle to get through. Seems Lemur is not too fond of the idea loosing his room mate. He and his mom talked about it at length and Lemur told her of his being scared of someone coming in the room's windows and stealing him. He feels with his brother there, he's be protected.

She explained to him that we would be there for him, and that Bear would be moving in with him so he wouldn't be alone. He liked that idea even less. He asked if we could wait a few years so he would be big enough to protect Bear.

Later that day, long after the subject had been dropped they got into a conversation about Christmas. The wife asked Lemur what he wanted for Christmas.

Lemur told her, "I want dad to have his office back".

As hard as the construction may be, it might just turn out to be the easy part.

Bear, on the other hand, seems to be prepping the new room for his occupancy. He's been in a habit for the past several weeks of kicking the covers off himself, waking up, and then crawling in bed with us.

A few days ago we woke up and the wife couldn't find Bear. She looked around and finally located him in bed with Lemur. Seems he had gotten up in the night and chosen to crawl in bed with his brother. Very cute. He spent the whole rest of the night in there, and has pretty much been going in there instead of crawling in bed with us ever since. No complaints here.

I think he might prefer that bed because he doesn't get put back.

Friday, December 02, 2005

Parental self portrait in blue

(I must apologize from the start that my first post after a little bit of an absence from the blogger world is kind of a downer. Things haven't been all gloomy. It was just this one morning when things welled up and writing helps a bit. I also realize that the tone is a bit self indulgent and wordy, but that is therapeutic for me too. Thanks for bearing with me.

If you want to have fun with it, try reading it in a British accent.)

We were afflicted with more snow again this last week. So the day began with the battle of the boots. And the scarf scuffle. These fantastically become the most paramount issues of the moment as I am trying to get out the door to get the boys to school on time.

It all degenerates to screaming and tears. "I don't want to wear my boots (or scarf) to school. They're stupid. The kids will laugh at me." And it continues to the car. We drive along in wet eyed brooding silence that the radio offends. When we finally reached the school, Lemur wouldn't even get out of the car until we found a way he could abandon the scarf. He just couldn't bring himself to step out into view, the humiliation was so overwhelming.

He would let me ground him, beat him, toss him to the dogs before he would let me make him get out of the car wearing that scarf right then.

I ask to be given one specific article of clothing they've every been laughed at for wearing. There is none. I wonder if they have even ever seen someone laughed at for something an embarrassing article of clothing. There is teasing at school I have no doubt, but our kids have never felt the pressures to wear certain types of clothes. We never shop brand names and it's never been an issue. They just get stuff from Wal-Mart and they wear what they like. And I think that is more to the issue---personal likes and dislikes. And they dislikes those winter clothes.

It's so hard and frustrating as a parent. Life has taught me that there is an apatite in the human soul that is as desperate to be filled as the one in the physical stomach. The sustenance it seeks is encouragement, satisfaction, appreciation, inspiration, validation and unconditional love. It has to know that it's been held to a standard and that it has achieved success. This gives the soul strength. But it also has to know that there is an unconditional safety net there for when it falls or it will never dare take chances for growth.

This reservoir of self must be filled continuously. But it can also be depleted. Kindness and Respect are as fragrant and filling as a well baked apple pie. When tended properly, this part of us can become a wonderful cupboard of bounty, freely and happily giving it's contents back to the world in a never ending stream of generosity. Seeming to have more the more it gives away.

But harsh words and criticism can poison the food, even as it sits in the stomach. With enough poison, like in the physical, there comes an involuntary expulsion. And like vomit in a crowded room, those with weaker constitutions who witness this purge would only do likewise. There are times when I have spewed my own anger and frustration, typically on those I cared about most, while simultaneously looking on in disgust at who I was at that moment. My Jeckel horrified at my Hyde, but equally powerless to stop him.

On mornings like this morning, all these things come into play. And I feel the depths of my parental limitations.

Through fortune or providence, my children have come into my life testing their need against my capacity in an ever increasing gradiant of challenge. My first, my daughter, is so like me that I have no problem understanding her or being understood. She seems ever filled with light, as well as receptive and responsive to my guidance and wisdom. But with the blessing of each new child came a new set of variables that would force me to relearn my role as parent from scratch each and every time.

With my first boy I began to feel the burn, and doubt my capabilities. He has a sense of style and holds himself in a way that is the epitome of cool. People are drawn to him. The young ladies have begun to notice him (even while he hasn't entirely noticed them noticing him). He's athletic and drawn to all things that seem to have an alarming correlation to those things for which I have no skill or in which I take no pleasure. But, thankfully he also has a soft heart that can generously encompass those who could be judged as "less cool" than him. I have yet to see him turn someone away on sight. This quality is evident when you look at the grouping of friends around him ---but it's equally apparent that this grace includes his father.

And he doesn't express this quality out of pity or a sense of philanthropy. In fact, I'm quite sure that most times he doesn't even realize that he's doing it. This is my saving grace. He has such an powerful desire to be with his dad that my shortcomings seem invisible to him. He doesn't see a wobbly pass or a camping partner shivering in discomfort---he just sees dad. But his limits are not endless, and there are times of discipline that he is as horrified to look over and see me on the opposite side of the line as I am to see him on his side.

With my third, my second boy, I begin to feel the strain. When I found out that we were going to have a third, I wept, as I had every time I learned we were going to have a child. I was always so overwhelmed by the fear that I would be insufficient to give these beautiful new little people everything they needed from a father. Now with Lemur I seem to feel those fears come to fruition.

Not that he's a bad kid. I would be the first adversary to anyone of that opinion. He is such a beautiful spirit, so capable of love and kindness and laughter. Such a friend to his baby brother, and so eager to meet life head on and breath deep everything the universe has to offer. Amazingly innately physical. He inspires me just to watch him. But there are also times that I'm am acutely, painfully aware that his reservoir seems rarely full, and I find my best efforts incapable of remedy. He gets just as much love and attention as any of our kids, but it would seem that while some reservoirs are made of glass or metal, holding their contents fast, other's are more permeable, made of a fabric and subject to tremendous seepage. They have to be filled faster than they leak and I can't seem to fill fast enough.

When a situation hits the sensitivity of this deficit, I see frustration well up in him like a suffocating flood. An irrepressible wave that comes over him and sucks him under, battering him like a rag doll. Then his anger flows from every pore, but his eyes look back at you desperate for rescue. Save me from myself. And even though my arms and legs have become lead, I wade out to meet him. I have to. What else can I do. I'm his father. But the further I wade, the more I feel myself drowning with him.

If this gift of a little boy was given to me to draw me closer to God, it's working. I do find myself compelled to pray more. I feel foolish when I do this as a last resort, so I've begun to pray pre-emptively. At night I tuck him in and hold him, and pray. I hold him tightly hoping that somehow there might be some spiritual osmosis that occurs to help him find his footing. I refuse to stand by and simply let him slip away. The desperation of my love for him won't allow it.

I feel like maybe I understand God more because of this little guy, too. Nothing he does can decrease my love for him, or dampen it's intensity. But I can't be satisfied with less than the best for him. Yet, the form that the best will take needs to tailored specifically for this little man, and for him alone. One size fits all will only make him appear like a orphaned begger boy in his father's clothes.

I know I haven't really mentioned it here, but this year has been a very personal spiritual journey for me in many ways. It has been a lot about realizing that finding what I'm looking for comes in a way not realized entirely from the shotgun blast of a preachers pulpit, or popular bumper sticker brand Christianity. But in a funny way it seems like every insufficiency the world offers just provides more room for the transcendent.

And now I have a little mister number four. He's only three I'm still trying to figure out who he is inside. And if I'll be enough. I suppose I'll find out sooner that I think. Just have to remember to seek my source to be the strength in my weakness.

Perhaps I'm too dramatic. Perhaps I think in too many words. But what ever it is, it doesn't take much to melt it back to contentment. In fact, it usually happens seconds after I walk through the door at night. Three little dudes look up from whatever their doing and rush in. They stampede in with a whoop and a holler and wrap me up; one at the knees, one around my chest, and one on my back, over my shoulder from a sofa launch pad.

And it's then that I think that maybe, if we have that kind of thing going on, maybe things will just turn out all right.