As I mentioned in my previous post, if you spend enough time online and reading blogs you’ll learn some interesting things. For example, February 15th is Blog about your Cat day. News to me, but I obligingly linked to a post I’d written about my cat awhile back, and felt satisfaction in being Part of a Movement.
I’ve recently learned of a blogging thing called Half Nekkid Thursdays. I’d actually come across the term a couple of times before but paid it no mind.
That it, until last Thursday, when I happened upon this post.
Marie used to link to and visit this blog. Not anymore. If you visit her site, you’ll learn that she is everything I’m not – she’s young and single - I’m old and married. She is attractive, articulate and has lots of interesting friends – I’m old and married. She blogs about her social activities, going out with friends, having the occasional cocktail, living a fun and exciting life – I’m old and married. Read a few of her posts, and then re-read this one of mine – you’ll see why she no longer visits or links to this blog. She clearly has a better idea of a good time and, as a result, has far more interesting things to blog about than I do.
But after seeing this post it occurred to me that despite being old and married, ordinary, and with a warped sense of living large on Saturday night, I do have a Half Nekkid Thursday story.
Now before you get up and run from your computer toward the bathroom, prepared to lose your lunch at the thought of seeing a half-nekkid photo of The Family Man, I promise there are no pictures of me in this post. The closest you’ll get of seeing me in any stage of dress (or undress), was here. So calm down.
On the other hand, you also won’t be seeing any half-nekkid photos of MBW either. Much to your dismay, if you’re male. Trust me, photos of MBW would rival these, but I’m not sharing.
In fact, there are no photos whatsoever in this post.
So how can it be a Half Nekkid Thursday post?
Well, technically I guess it can’t. I’ve learned there are rules of a sort for this.
You can read them here.
But I thought, in my own boring, family-oriented way, that this post was worth trying to sneak in under the Half Nekkid Thursday banner.
It was bath night and Tommy was throwing one of his periodic fits. He didn’t want to get out of the tub; he didn’t want to get dried off and into his pajamas. In his maddeningly defiant way, he was being obstinate and ornery. MBW turned to me and said, “You deal with him.”
I went into the bathroom and there he was, sitting in the tub, arms crossed. “I’m not getting out,” he said.
For some reason I have a connection with Tommy that MBW doesn’t. I’m often able to work him out of situations like this with less angst and anguish than she is. But this one was looking pretty grim.
He didn’t respond to my smile. “I’m not getting out,” he repeated.
I smiled more. “Okay, Tommy. Whatever you say.” And before he could respond, I reached in and scooped him out of the tub, wrapping him up in a towel so big he was, in effect, immobilized.
He screamed a muffled protest as I toweled him off. His head popped out from under the thick blue towel and he glowered at me. He took in a deep breath, prepared to let out a string of three-year-old curse words – but before he could get them out, I pulled the towel off him and said loudly, “It’s time for The Naked Flyer!”
With that, I lifted him up over my head, one hand under his chest and the other holding his legs, holding him horizontally up near the ceiling. I left the bathroom and ran around the house, from room to room, holding Tommy over my head shouting, “It’s The Naked Flyer! Here he comes!”
Tommy, having gotten over his initial shock, is by now no longer angry; in fact, he’s laughing and having a great time. “I’m The Naked Flyer! I’m The Naked Flyer! Look at me!” he shouted.
All around the house I ran, flying him from room to room. Finally I set him down in his bedroom. “Time to get your jammies on,” I said. Just then, Chris comes running in, taking his jammies off. “I want to be The Naked Flyer, Dad!” he said. “Do it to me!”
So of course I had to do The Naked Flyer with Chris. He enjoyed it as much as Tommy did. So much so, in fact, that The Naked Flyer has become a once-or-twice weekly pre-bedtime ritual in our house for both boys.
A footnote to this story.
We’re at the grocery store the other evening, Chris, Tommy and me. The boys are both in the shopping cart with the half-dozen things we’re waiting to buy. Standing in the crowded checkout line, Chris asks me, “Dad, is it bath night tonight?”
“It is,” I answer.
He says, loudly, “Can we do The Naked Flyer tonight? Can we?”
Tommy pipes up, “Yeah, Dad, I want to do The Naked Flyer! Let’s go home and do The Naked Flyer!”
Two women looked over at me with strange expressions.
“I love The Naked Flyer!” Tommy says.
The women are horrified.
I’m expecting a visit from Child Protective Services any day now.
So there it is, my Half-Nekkid Thursday story. I know if doesn’t hold a candle to this, but hey, I am The Family Man.
Speaking of this, for the record, If I’d been blogging 15 years ago, this blog would be called The Single Man and it would include the type of stories found here. I did have my fun, back in the day.
But now I’m just an old married guy, those days fading quickly in the rearview mirror. Half-Nekkid Thursday for me is nothing like it is for Marie and other young, single exciting people. No doubt Half-Nekkid Thursday leads into Having Fun Friday and Swinging Saturday.
It sounds fun.
For me, Half-Nekkid Thursday just means that is only about 48 hours and change until Saturday Night, Family Man Style.
I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Yeah, baby.
It’s GREAT to be The Family Man.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Blogging about your cat
According to Lefty Grrrl, today is Blog about your Cat day.
Who knew? It's amazing what you learn online.
Anyway, I did that some time ago.
If you're interested, you can re-read it here.
Tomorrow I'll talk about something called Half-nekkid Thursday, another interesting thing I learned about online.
Who knew? It's amazing what you learn online.
Anyway, I did that some time ago.
If you're interested, you can re-read it here.
Tomorrow I'll talk about something called Half-nekkid Thursday, another interesting thing I learned about online.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Snow Men
On a cold winter morning in central New York State, early February 1969, a father and son are in their car just before 7:00 am. As they do most Sundays during the winter, they are on their way to a morning of skiing. It’s a long ride from their home in the Onondaga Hill area just outside Syracuse to their destination – Labrador Mountain.
The father has a steaming cup of coffee; his son, hot chocolate. They drive along the familiar route, out of their neighborhood, skirting downtown Syracuse, picking up Interstate 81 south. Gazing out the window, the son notices the landmarks they pass as they drive along; familiar, comforting, part of the routine. The conversation between the two is varied, usually beginning with talk of the hockey game the day before – the father is the coach, the son a player. This time alone in the car with his father is cherished by the son, partly for the opportunity to talk, partly for the anticipation of the activity yet to come.
They arrive at the ski hill just before 8:00 am. It’s very cold, but the sun is shining. Crowds are already forming at the lifts – side-by-side T-bars that will, in minutes begin dragging skiers up the hill. The car is parked, coats zipped tightly, and the father and son carry skies and poles across the parking lot of frozen mud toward the mountain.
It was called Dawn Patrol.
I still remember the color of the lift tickets – bright red. Dawn Patrol was the name of the half day ticket my dad would buy for us nearly very Sunday. Although I’m sure we skied in all kinds of weather, the memories I have are of sunny mornings – cold, but clear and sunny. We’d ski together, take some runs, hit the lodge for a cup of hot chocolate and warm up by one of the two large fireplaces, then go back out and ski again. We always seemed to time it just right to get our last ride up the T-Bar just before noon. We’d ski down; take our gear back to the car and drive home, arriving just in time to catch the start of the football game at 1:00 pm.
My memories of skiing with my dad are of his encouragement as he taught me to ski. In my memories, I’m already past the snowplow stage, able to ski blue runs with confidence, working on my technique.
I have no memories of just learning to ski. In recent conversations with my dad I’ve learned he did, in fact, teach me himself. There were few professional lessons.
I bring all this up because I am now trying, with MBWs help, to teach Chris and Tommy to ski. And in the course of this, I’ve learned something.
My dad was a saint.
Teaching your own kids to ski is a challenge to say the least. Just getting them dressed is an event – then schlepping them from the parking lot to the lodge, getting them to the lift, getting them to actually stand up on the skis and agreeing to a quick run or two up the rope tow would try the patience of any parent. It’s certainly trying ours.
Chris is usually game to go. He’s good about trying to do what we tell him, and he gives it a good effort. He’ll only last for a few runs before he wants to go home. But on the way home he always talks about how much fun he has and that he can’t wait to go again. He’ll get there, but it’s going to take some time.
Tommy, on the other hand, poses a greater challenge. If you’ve read this blog for awhile, you know his temperament. Need a refresher? Try this.
He refuses to wear the ‘Racer Chaser,’ the vest with a leash on the back that allows us to guide Chris down the hill, yet letting him get the feel of really skiing on his own. He’ll want to go up the lift with me one time, MBW another time, and he has to go up ahead of Chris or he won’t go at all. When he wants to go to the lodge, everyone on the mountain knows it. He refuses to listen to suggestions on how to get better.
In all of this, remember, skiing is relatively expensive, especially with kids. We have to rent gear for them every time, and even though the ski lift is free for them, the costs still add up. On top of the effort to get everyone up the mountain, ski for half an hour, fight with Tommy almost the whole time, you wonder if it’s all worth it.
Then I remember the mornings so long ago with my dad.
That’s why we’re doing this.
I want my boys to have memories like I have. Those memories are priceless. I now understand what it takes to create them. I understand what my dad went through to create them for me. I’m so grateful that he did, and I’m determined to do them for my kids as well.
My dad always wanted to give my sister and me the opportunity to participate in what he called ‘lifetime’ sports – those activities you can do you’re whole life. If Chris and/or Tommy choose to play football, basketball or other organized sports and they go through school, we’ll certainly support them as far as they want to go.
But I want them to have to opportunity to learn, at an early age, those activities they can enjoy their whole life outside of structured, competitive arenas. While I want them to have the memories I have of myself at age 9, I also want them to have the opportunity to ski as adults, with friends, as I do now – with skill, confidence and grace.
So we schlep ourselves up the mountain yet again.
That afternoon, we participated in a different winter sport.
Guess which one they enjoyed more?
It’s great to be The Family Man.
The father has a steaming cup of coffee; his son, hot chocolate. They drive along the familiar route, out of their neighborhood, skirting downtown Syracuse, picking up Interstate 81 south. Gazing out the window, the son notices the landmarks they pass as they drive along; familiar, comforting, part of the routine. The conversation between the two is varied, usually beginning with talk of the hockey game the day before – the father is the coach, the son a player. This time alone in the car with his father is cherished by the son, partly for the opportunity to talk, partly for the anticipation of the activity yet to come.
They arrive at the ski hill just before 8:00 am. It’s very cold, but the sun is shining. Crowds are already forming at the lifts – side-by-side T-bars that will, in minutes begin dragging skiers up the hill. The car is parked, coats zipped tightly, and the father and son carry skies and poles across the parking lot of frozen mud toward the mountain.
It was called Dawn Patrol.
I still remember the color of the lift tickets – bright red. Dawn Patrol was the name of the half day ticket my dad would buy for us nearly very Sunday. Although I’m sure we skied in all kinds of weather, the memories I have are of sunny mornings – cold, but clear and sunny. We’d ski together, take some runs, hit the lodge for a cup of hot chocolate and warm up by one of the two large fireplaces, then go back out and ski again. We always seemed to time it just right to get our last ride up the T-Bar just before noon. We’d ski down; take our gear back to the car and drive home, arriving just in time to catch the start of the football game at 1:00 pm.
My memories of skiing with my dad are of his encouragement as he taught me to ski. In my memories, I’m already past the snowplow stage, able to ski blue runs with confidence, working on my technique.
I have no memories of just learning to ski. In recent conversations with my dad I’ve learned he did, in fact, teach me himself. There were few professional lessons.
I bring all this up because I am now trying, with MBWs help, to teach Chris and Tommy to ski. And in the course of this, I’ve learned something.
My dad was a saint.
Teaching your own kids to ski is a challenge to say the least. Just getting them dressed is an event – then schlepping them from the parking lot to the lodge, getting them to the lift, getting them to actually stand up on the skis and agreeing to a quick run or two up the rope tow would try the patience of any parent. It’s certainly trying ours.
Chris is usually game to go. He’s good about trying to do what we tell him, and he gives it a good effort. He’ll only last for a few runs before he wants to go home. But on the way home he always talks about how much fun he has and that he can’t wait to go again. He’ll get there, but it’s going to take some time.
Tommy, on the other hand, poses a greater challenge. If you’ve read this blog for awhile, you know his temperament. Need a refresher? Try this.
He refuses to wear the ‘Racer Chaser,’ the vest with a leash on the back that allows us to guide Chris down the hill, yet letting him get the feel of really skiing on his own. He’ll want to go up the lift with me one time, MBW another time, and he has to go up ahead of Chris or he won’t go at all. When he wants to go to the lodge, everyone on the mountain knows it. He refuses to listen to suggestions on how to get better.
In all of this, remember, skiing is relatively expensive, especially with kids. We have to rent gear for them every time, and even though the ski lift is free for them, the costs still add up. On top of the effort to get everyone up the mountain, ski for half an hour, fight with Tommy almost the whole time, you wonder if it’s all worth it.
Then I remember the mornings so long ago with my dad.
That’s why we’re doing this.
I want my boys to have memories like I have. Those memories are priceless. I now understand what it takes to create them. I understand what my dad went through to create them for me. I’m so grateful that he did, and I’m determined to do them for my kids as well.
My dad always wanted to give my sister and me the opportunity to participate in what he called ‘lifetime’ sports – those activities you can do you’re whole life. If Chris and/or Tommy choose to play football, basketball or other organized sports and they go through school, we’ll certainly support them as far as they want to go.
But I want them to have to opportunity to learn, at an early age, those activities they can enjoy their whole life outside of structured, competitive arenas. While I want them to have the memories I have of myself at age 9, I also want them to have the opportunity to ski as adults, with friends, as I do now – with skill, confidence and grace.
So we schlep ourselves up the mountain yet again.
That afternoon, we participated in a different winter sport.
Guess which one they enjoyed more?
It’s great to be The Family Man.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Staying Tuned
To all of you who have continued to check in even as I said I would be posting less frequently, thank you. I had intended to post more often than this, but things at work have been somewhat unsettled. My boss suddenly 'resigned' and our team is a bit in flux as we try to figure out how things are going to operate under the new regime. I don't mean that as an excuse, but it is reality. It's been a bit stressful, and I've put in some late nights to make sure I have all my ducks in a row, so to speak.
With that said, I should have a new Chris and Tommy post in the next couple of days, certainly by the end of the week - with pictures.
Thanks again for continuing to check in.
It's great to be The Family Man.
With that said, I should have a new Chris and Tommy post in the next couple of days, certainly by the end of the week - with pictures.
Thanks again for continuing to check in.
It's great to be The Family Man.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Desperately not Lost
Normally I don't take the time to post links that I'm sure you can find yourself. But this supports one of my recent posts.
Spend less time in front of the tube, and get a hot tub.
Why?
Read the post below.
Spend less time in front of the tube, and get a hot tub.
Why?
Read the post below.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
A walk on the wild side
You know me by now – aging, boring father of two. Slowly but surely graying, fighting the good fight against waistline creep. Overall a generally ordinary, responsible husband and father. Corporate worker bee, closeted in the industrial gray cubicle world much of the week. Watches little TV, therefore socially disadvantaged. Reads too much.
It would be understandable for you to be thinking, “ah yes, the Family Man. Probably a good guy, but let’s face it; he’s boring. If I’m throwing a party, I’m not sure I want to invite him. I already have a very nice houseplant.”
And I would not blame for having that impression.
But…you’d be wrong.
Little do you know that once a week I break out, cut loose, let my hair down and go absolutely wild. Bust out of the boring shell that is me and, temporarily, become a true Party Animal.
Mayhem in the streets!
During the week, if not exactly a model citizen, I am an image of predictable respectability. Get up each morning, shower, put on my starched white collar corporate-dress uniform, eat oatmeal for breakfast. Drive to work with every other cloned drone on the freeway, listening to news radio. Arrive at The Suburban Office Park, shuffle inside and toe the Corporate Line, striving to achieve maximum output. Lunch at my desk, always a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread. A cup of yogurt. Meetings, conference calls, reports and spreadsheets. Drive home with the crowd, late for dinner. Play with Chris and Tommy, help with baths, reading books, the tuck-in ritual. A few minutes to exchange pleasantries with MBW. Change into gym clothes, head to the gym. Sweat profusely with little gain. Return home, wash up, go through the mail, pay bills, get organized for tomorrow. Maybe read a few pages of a magazine. Go upstairs, check on Chris and Tommy, kiss each softly on the forehead, crawl into bed. Asleep within two minutes.
Do it all over again.
Saturday is errands – banking, post office, hardware store. Household responsibilities. Perhaps a visit to Krispy Kreme with the boys. Playing with Chris and Tommy, the best part of the day – skiing, sledding, snowball fights in winter. Bikes, parks, soccer, hiking in other seasons. Other things as they come up, mostly family related.
Sunday is church, then much of the same as Saturday, again depending upon the season and whatever else needs to be done. Sunday night –get ready for Monday.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
“So, Family Man, ‘Mr. Excitement,’ when exactly do you ‘bust out?’”
Saturday night, my friend. Saturday night.
It goes like this.
You know how the day goes. The bedtime ritual for Chris and Tommy is sacred. Inviolate. But once they are properly tucked in, it’s that much closer.
MBW is soon to bed after that. For one so lovely, she still insists on getting plenty of what she calls Beauty Sleep.
The house is now quiet. The day’s responsibilities complete. The rest of the evening is mine. All mine.
Party Time!
I head to the kitchen to mix a drink. We have a reasonably well-stocked beverage cabinet. After carefully considering all the choices, I go straight for the hard stuff. Diet Coke on the rocks. Shaken, not stirred. Feeling especially frisky, I make it a double. Next, I hit the pantry for a bag of microwave popcorn. While it’s popping, I gather the rest of my party materials – The Wall Street Journal, the latest issue of Business Week, and whatever novel I happen to be reading at the time.
The popcorn complete, the party is about to begin. I load everything up, step out the backdoor, place my supplies on the deck and lift the cover off my hot tub. Ease into the bubbling pool of paradise, take a sip of my dangerously strong Diet Coke, and give myself over to the wild side.
It’s winter here, so it’s dark and cold outside. I’ve turned on the light so I can read while I soak. I’ve mentioned before that despite living in subdivision suburbia, our back yard is reasonably private. The hot tub is even more so, thanks to strategically planted trees that are now somewhat mature. Private enough that, even with the light on, I can soak au natural.
I told you – Saturday nights I am a crazy man!
The bubbles and jets of the hot tub begin to work their magic. That warm, relaxing feeling begins to emerge. Unable to restrain myself I turn immediately to the Wall Street Journal. Have you ever spent quality time with the Wall Street Journal? It’s compelling stuff! Stocks, Bonds, Economic Reports – now that’s what I call a good time.
Next I turn to Business Week. This party is really jumping now! The cover story is about the new autos coming out this year, along with stories about high finance and strategic marketing. It’s enough to send shivers down my spine!
Finally I turn to the novel I’m reading. This week it is historical fiction, The Scourge of God, some account of Attila the Hun. What could be better than barbarians battling Romans? Extremely entertaining!
Suddenly the light goes out.
I begin to consider whether or not I want to get out of the tub and change the light bulb so I can continue to read, or simply sit in the darkness and look at the stars. Before I reach a decision, the back door opens. MBW is sanding there, wearing, well, not much.
Just by looking at her I can tell it is, in fact, a cold winter evening.
Silently she steps forward toward the tub. It appears that she, too, has made a visit to the beverage cabinet and has chosen a drink a bit stronger than my Diet Coke. Thoughtful woman that she is, she has two glasses.
She sets down the beverages, casts a furtive glance toward the dark homes partially visible from our deck, and slips out of her cover-up. She gracefully enters the tub, her long, slender leg barely making a ripple in the water. She moves like a dancer. The water parts as if the tub is honored to receive her, barely rippling – unlike when I enter, splashing and sloshing like a walrus falling off a rock.
I reach back for the drinks she brought as she slides into the tub next to me.
No words need to be said as we sit there silently in the warm, soothing waters of the hot tub. The night is dark and still, the stars brilliant on this chilly winter night. Gently we clink glasses, a silent toast to this evening, this life we have made together.
For the record, I have done what many of you did this past Saturday night. I’ve done my share of pub crawls. I’ve come home as the sun was coming up and my dad was coming out the door on his way to work. I was thrown out of a nightclub during my college days, my hand a bloody mess from some ridiculous altercation. I woke up more than once on a Sunday morning not knowing where I was or who I was with, how I got there or what I did. I’ve slept on the beach rather than try to go home.
I’m glad I’ve had those experiences. Because they make what I’m doing right now even more special, more meaningful. Say what you will – while this technically may not be a party, it is a celebration. A celebration of what we have together. And right now, there is nowhere else I’d rather be, no one else I’d rather be with. And there is absolutely no better way to spend a Saturday night than to sit in our hot tub, under a beautiful starry sky on a cool winter evening, sharing a beverage and each other’s company.
By and by we’ll finish our drinks, wrap up in warm, thirsty towels, dry off and go to bed.
About an hour after that, we’ll go to sleep.
And come Sunday morning I’ll begin counting the days until Saturday night once again.
It’s great to be The Family Man!
It would be understandable for you to be thinking, “ah yes, the Family Man. Probably a good guy, but let’s face it; he’s boring. If I’m throwing a party, I’m not sure I want to invite him. I already have a very nice houseplant.”
And I would not blame for having that impression.
But…you’d be wrong.
Little do you know that once a week I break out, cut loose, let my hair down and go absolutely wild. Bust out of the boring shell that is me and, temporarily, become a true Party Animal.
Mayhem in the streets!
During the week, if not exactly a model citizen, I am an image of predictable respectability. Get up each morning, shower, put on my starched white collar corporate-dress uniform, eat oatmeal for breakfast. Drive to work with every other cloned drone on the freeway, listening to news radio. Arrive at The Suburban Office Park, shuffle inside and toe the Corporate Line, striving to achieve maximum output. Lunch at my desk, always a turkey sandwich on whole grain bread. A cup of yogurt. Meetings, conference calls, reports and spreadsheets. Drive home with the crowd, late for dinner. Play with Chris and Tommy, help with baths, reading books, the tuck-in ritual. A few minutes to exchange pleasantries with MBW. Change into gym clothes, head to the gym. Sweat profusely with little gain. Return home, wash up, go through the mail, pay bills, get organized for tomorrow. Maybe read a few pages of a magazine. Go upstairs, check on Chris and Tommy, kiss each softly on the forehead, crawl into bed. Asleep within two minutes.
Do it all over again.
Saturday is errands – banking, post office, hardware store. Household responsibilities. Perhaps a visit to Krispy Kreme with the boys. Playing with Chris and Tommy, the best part of the day – skiing, sledding, snowball fights in winter. Bikes, parks, soccer, hiking in other seasons. Other things as they come up, mostly family related.
Sunday is church, then much of the same as Saturday, again depending upon the season and whatever else needs to be done. Sunday night –get ready for Monday.
Wash, rinse, repeat.
“So, Family Man, ‘Mr. Excitement,’ when exactly do you ‘bust out?’”
Saturday night, my friend. Saturday night.
It goes like this.
You know how the day goes. The bedtime ritual for Chris and Tommy is sacred. Inviolate. But once they are properly tucked in, it’s that much closer.
MBW is soon to bed after that. For one so lovely, she still insists on getting plenty of what she calls Beauty Sleep.
The house is now quiet. The day’s responsibilities complete. The rest of the evening is mine. All mine.
Party Time!
I head to the kitchen to mix a drink. We have a reasonably well-stocked beverage cabinet. After carefully considering all the choices, I go straight for the hard stuff. Diet Coke on the rocks. Shaken, not stirred. Feeling especially frisky, I make it a double. Next, I hit the pantry for a bag of microwave popcorn. While it’s popping, I gather the rest of my party materials – The Wall Street Journal, the latest issue of Business Week, and whatever novel I happen to be reading at the time.
The popcorn complete, the party is about to begin. I load everything up, step out the backdoor, place my supplies on the deck and lift the cover off my hot tub. Ease into the bubbling pool of paradise, take a sip of my dangerously strong Diet Coke, and give myself over to the wild side.
It’s winter here, so it’s dark and cold outside. I’ve turned on the light so I can read while I soak. I’ve mentioned before that despite living in subdivision suburbia, our back yard is reasonably private. The hot tub is even more so, thanks to strategically planted trees that are now somewhat mature. Private enough that, even with the light on, I can soak au natural.
I told you – Saturday nights I am a crazy man!
The bubbles and jets of the hot tub begin to work their magic. That warm, relaxing feeling begins to emerge. Unable to restrain myself I turn immediately to the Wall Street Journal. Have you ever spent quality time with the Wall Street Journal? It’s compelling stuff! Stocks, Bonds, Economic Reports – now that’s what I call a good time.
Next I turn to Business Week. This party is really jumping now! The cover story is about the new autos coming out this year, along with stories about high finance and strategic marketing. It’s enough to send shivers down my spine!
Finally I turn to the novel I’m reading. This week it is historical fiction, The Scourge of God, some account of Attila the Hun. What could be better than barbarians battling Romans? Extremely entertaining!
Suddenly the light goes out.
I begin to consider whether or not I want to get out of the tub and change the light bulb so I can continue to read, or simply sit in the darkness and look at the stars. Before I reach a decision, the back door opens. MBW is sanding there, wearing, well, not much.
Just by looking at her I can tell it is, in fact, a cold winter evening.
Silently she steps forward toward the tub. It appears that she, too, has made a visit to the beverage cabinet and has chosen a drink a bit stronger than my Diet Coke. Thoughtful woman that she is, she has two glasses.
She sets down the beverages, casts a furtive glance toward the dark homes partially visible from our deck, and slips out of her cover-up. She gracefully enters the tub, her long, slender leg barely making a ripple in the water. She moves like a dancer. The water parts as if the tub is honored to receive her, barely rippling – unlike when I enter, splashing and sloshing like a walrus falling off a rock.
I reach back for the drinks she brought as she slides into the tub next to me.
No words need to be said as we sit there silently in the warm, soothing waters of the hot tub. The night is dark and still, the stars brilliant on this chilly winter night. Gently we clink glasses, a silent toast to this evening, this life we have made together.
For the record, I have done what many of you did this past Saturday night. I’ve done my share of pub crawls. I’ve come home as the sun was coming up and my dad was coming out the door on his way to work. I was thrown out of a nightclub during my college days, my hand a bloody mess from some ridiculous altercation. I woke up more than once on a Sunday morning not knowing where I was or who I was with, how I got there or what I did. I’ve slept on the beach rather than try to go home.
I’m glad I’ve had those experiences. Because they make what I’m doing right now even more special, more meaningful. Say what you will – while this technically may not be a party, it is a celebration. A celebration of what we have together. And right now, there is nowhere else I’d rather be, no one else I’d rather be with. And there is absolutely no better way to spend a Saturday night than to sit in our hot tub, under a beautiful starry sky on a cool winter evening, sharing a beverage and each other’s company.
By and by we’ll finish our drinks, wrap up in warm, thirsty towels, dry off and go to bed.
About an hour after that, we’ll go to sleep.
And come Sunday morning I’ll begin counting the days until Saturday night once again.
It’s great to be The Family Man!
Monday, January 09, 2006
Return
It was a dark and stormy night (I’ve always wanted to use that line, haven’t you?). He stood outside the building, looking from across the street. It was a large building, emanating light, warmth and sound into the cold, dark night. Collar pulled up tight around his neck, his breath visible in the frigid air, he wondered how he would be received when he knocked on the door.
He had been inside the building before, of course. A part of the club. At one time he had many friends inside the building. He would come and go, as did all the others, and was welcomed back every time. He enjoyed his time inside, mingling and exchanging stories and comments with others. Generally he was well received by most of the people inside. Rarely did he offend.
But one day he visited the building, made the rounds, told his story and left. And never came back.
He wasn’t missed initially, at first. The nature of the building was such that short absences were hardly noticed, even expected. But over time his absence was noted, by some, particularly since he had been somewhat of a regular in the building.
These memories went through his mind as he stepped off the curb, crossed the street and made his way, slowly, up to the front door.
He approached the large door and paused, seeing once again the sign that he remembered so well from his first visit.
‘Welcome to the Blogosphere,’ it read.
He smiled as he remembered his first entry through this portal.
The building was crowded then, as he entered that first time, along with several thousand others. Hard to imagine how he could feel so lonely, surrounded by millions of people. Yet alone he was, or felt, as he made his first tentative forays into sharing his thoughts and ideas with others.
As with most of the new entrants, it took time for him to find others who were interested in what he had to say. Still, believing in himself, enamored with the forum and, as always, excited by new things, he continued to enter the building, often several times a week. And over time he found people; or more correctly, people found him – people who were interested in his thoughts and ideas.
Then, abruptly, he left. And didn’t return.
What would those same people say now, as he stood at the threshold once again?
He cleared these thought from his mind. He stepped up to the door and rang the bell.
She came to the door almost immediately and flung it open. It was her - The Reader. Just as he knew it would be. She was one of many Readers, to be sure, but representational in his mind of them all.
The nature of the community is such that one rarely knows those his or her thoughts and ideas are shared with. The nature of his thoughts and ideas, being based upon family, he felt tended to be read more often by women. For him, as he prepared his thoughts, he visualized his readers and formed an image of one to represent the many. In his case, it was a woman. An intelligent, strikingly beautiful woman.
Who now, standing before him, was prepared to give him hell.
“Mann,” she said. “Family Mann. Somehow I new you’d walk back through my door someday.”
He smiled, started to say something, when she swung her fist and cold-cocked him across the jaw, nearly dropping him.
“That’s for leaving us high and dry,” she said.
He wryly appreciated the Indiana Jones moment.
“I can explain,” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care.”
She glowered at him.
“What I want to know is why? Why stop visiting us and sharing your thoughts? Why, after being such a regular visitor, did you just go away and not even leave a note saying what was going on?”
He started to answer, but she cut him off again.
“You don’t owe us anything. That’s how it is in here, we all know that. People come, people go, some stay longer than others. We all accept that.”
“But there are some people here who enjoyed what you had to say. Even if you are pompous, pretentious and full of yourself, some of us enjoyed hearing about your kids. Some of us liked hearing about Chris and Tommy. We liked to hear about the birthday party, about the hardware store, the sledding.”
She went on, "I can't speak for others, but I missed your wierd dreams, your back to the future moments, your back to the past moments."
“Even when you made me cry,” she said, “I still liked your contributions.”
He understood her. He could imagine how she felt. He did, in his own way, feel bad for not returning. And as she pointed out, it is the nature of the building – people come, people go, and there are no long-term commitments required.
Still, he had his reasons. Though he knew didn’t have to justify his actions to anyone, he wanted to clear up some things, to bring closure to it, if you will.
Plus, he’s not the type to let someone browbeat him over anything.
Not to mention the fact that his jaw hurt from her punch.
“Not that I owe you an explanation,’ he said, “but because I like you, I’ll tell you. I stayed away for a number of reasons.”
“First, it was the holidays. I got very busy. I have kids, remember? When you’re five years old, Christmas is a pretty big deal. Chris and Tommy were so excited, and I wanted to spend the time with them and make sure they had a great Christmas.”
“Could I have written about that? I guess. But I didn’t. I was having too much fun to sit down at the computer and try to recreate everything we did. There aren’t going to be too many Christmases left where someone in my house still believes in Santa Claus. This was important, and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it.”
“We also got sick, all of us, in my house. Tommy still is sick. You may not know this, but if you are three years old and have asthma, a cold is a pretty miserable thing. I have a cough and runny nose for a few days, it’s an inconvenience. For Tommy, it’s a Medical Situation. He went to the doctor three times over a two-week period, once at 9:30 an night when he woke up coughing so hard he threw up phlegm. So I had other things to think about than stopping by to say hello.”
She said, “Don’t you think we all have personal issues? Is that an excuse?”
He was getting worked up now.
“I don’t need an excuse, remember? None of us do. I’m flattered that you even seem to care whether I visit or not– that’s why I’m here now. But here’s another ‘excuse’. You may remember that in addition to my visits here, I keep a journal for each of my boys – a detailed journal about the things that happen in their lives. I started when we first found out that MBW was pregnant with Chris. I’ve kept a journal from Chris now for over six years, and over four for Tommy. I’ve included photos. Chris’s journal is up to nearly 300 pages now, and Tommy’s is approaching 200. But I’ve been neglecting these journals since I started coming by this place, and I realized over Christmas that I needed to devote more time to those journals, even at the expense of coming here. When I look back on things in 20 years, those journals will mean a lot more to my boys, and to me, than the time I spent here.”
“Not to mention that I’d like to spend a bit more quality time with MBW in 2006. Perhaps you’ve heard me talk about how hot she is? She’s all that! More time with her, and less with you, might be a better use of my time as well.”
She glowered sullenly. She didn’t care for the MBW reference.
“And there’s this,” he added. “My Mom died last year. I talked about how much she loved Christmas, how she loved to spoil the boys and hear about what they did over Christmas. It was hard to go through the holidays and not be able to share that with her. Despite the fun and joy we had over the holidays, at night, when everyone else was in bed asleep, I sat alone by the fire and cried.”
“But here’s the kicker. Guess what? I couldn’t think of anything to say. The one thing about his place is that you get punished if you have nothing to say. Show up here with nothing and you get ignored. If you don’t have something to say here you might as well stay home. It just so happens that I’m not a fan of putting something out there and having it fall flat. I’ve done that before and don’t want to do it again. So when I don’t have something to say, I’m going to stay away until I do.”
He stopped, having said his piece.
They glowered at each other – she, The Reader, and Mann.
She broke the silence. “So what is it going to be? Are you back?”
He paused for a moment.
“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I just don’t know. I want to come back, but it’s going to have to be on my terms. I don’t think I’ll be back as often as I once was. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do what I did before. I may want to try some new things. We’ll just have to see.’
“That’s fair,” she said. “I can’t speak for everyone. I’m sure some people who once looked forward to your visits won’t welcome you when you return.”
She hesitated.
“But I will,” she said softly. “I like your words.”
He was touched. At the end of the day that’s why he visited this place. The opportunity to communicate, on a very basic, human level, with people from across the world, people he would never meet or share ideas with if it were not for this place.
“What do you think you’ll say, if you come back?” she asked.
He pondered this for a moment. “We’ll of course I’ll talk about Chris and Tommy. I have a few ideas. I may go out on a limb once in a while. But when I don’t, I’ll stay away. And in doing so, if you or others choose not to welcome me or visit with me when I do come back, well, that’s how it goes. I can live with that.”
She looked at him, wondering whether to believe him. Could she trust him? Would he come back? She didn’t want to continue to make time for him if she wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he said.
But as she thought about it, she had to admit he’d been honest with her. And that was all she could ask of anyone.
He turned to leave. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. One thing you may not know about me is that I hate to disappoint people. I have some history in my life in that area, and I’ve always been sensitive to it. But as I get older I realize that sometimes it’s unavoidable. It wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t lessen your disappointment. Hopefully now I’ve clarified, apologized, and set realistic expectations for all of us.”
She smiled wanly.
“Thanks for coming back,” she said. “I hope to see you soon.”
“You will,” he said, as he walked out into the dark, cold night.
And as he did, he thought once again about how great it is to be The Family Man.
He had been inside the building before, of course. A part of the club. At one time he had many friends inside the building. He would come and go, as did all the others, and was welcomed back every time. He enjoyed his time inside, mingling and exchanging stories and comments with others. Generally he was well received by most of the people inside. Rarely did he offend.
But one day he visited the building, made the rounds, told his story and left. And never came back.
He wasn’t missed initially, at first. The nature of the building was such that short absences were hardly noticed, even expected. But over time his absence was noted, by some, particularly since he had been somewhat of a regular in the building.
These memories went through his mind as he stepped off the curb, crossed the street and made his way, slowly, up to the front door.
He approached the large door and paused, seeing once again the sign that he remembered so well from his first visit.
‘Welcome to the Blogosphere,’ it read.
He smiled as he remembered his first entry through this portal.
The building was crowded then, as he entered that first time, along with several thousand others. Hard to imagine how he could feel so lonely, surrounded by millions of people. Yet alone he was, or felt, as he made his first tentative forays into sharing his thoughts and ideas with others.
As with most of the new entrants, it took time for him to find others who were interested in what he had to say. Still, believing in himself, enamored with the forum and, as always, excited by new things, he continued to enter the building, often several times a week. And over time he found people; or more correctly, people found him – people who were interested in his thoughts and ideas.
Then, abruptly, he left. And didn’t return.
What would those same people say now, as he stood at the threshold once again?
He cleared these thought from his mind. He stepped up to the door and rang the bell.
She came to the door almost immediately and flung it open. It was her - The Reader. Just as he knew it would be. She was one of many Readers, to be sure, but representational in his mind of them all.
The nature of the community is such that one rarely knows those his or her thoughts and ideas are shared with. The nature of his thoughts and ideas, being based upon family, he felt tended to be read more often by women. For him, as he prepared his thoughts, he visualized his readers and formed an image of one to represent the many. In his case, it was a woman. An intelligent, strikingly beautiful woman.
Who now, standing before him, was prepared to give him hell.
“Mann,” she said. “Family Mann. Somehow I new you’d walk back through my door someday.”
He smiled, started to say something, when she swung her fist and cold-cocked him across the jaw, nearly dropping him.
“That’s for leaving us high and dry,” she said.
He wryly appreciated the Indiana Jones moment.
“I can explain,” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asked. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t care.”
She glowered at him.
“What I want to know is why? Why stop visiting us and sharing your thoughts? Why, after being such a regular visitor, did you just go away and not even leave a note saying what was going on?”
He started to answer, but she cut him off again.
“You don’t owe us anything. That’s how it is in here, we all know that. People come, people go, some stay longer than others. We all accept that.”
“But there are some people here who enjoyed what you had to say. Even if you are pompous, pretentious and full of yourself, some of us enjoyed hearing about your kids. Some of us liked hearing about Chris and Tommy. We liked to hear about the birthday party, about the hardware store, the sledding.”
She went on, "I can't speak for others, but I missed your wierd dreams, your back to the future moments, your back to the past moments."
“Even when you made me cry,” she said, “I still liked your contributions.”
He understood her. He could imagine how she felt. He did, in his own way, feel bad for not returning. And as she pointed out, it is the nature of the building – people come, people go, and there are no long-term commitments required.
Still, he had his reasons. Though he knew didn’t have to justify his actions to anyone, he wanted to clear up some things, to bring closure to it, if you will.
Plus, he’s not the type to let someone browbeat him over anything.
Not to mention the fact that his jaw hurt from her punch.
“Not that I owe you an explanation,’ he said, “but because I like you, I’ll tell you. I stayed away for a number of reasons.”
“First, it was the holidays. I got very busy. I have kids, remember? When you’re five years old, Christmas is a pretty big deal. Chris and Tommy were so excited, and I wanted to spend the time with them and make sure they had a great Christmas.”
“Could I have written about that? I guess. But I didn’t. I was having too much fun to sit down at the computer and try to recreate everything we did. There aren’t going to be too many Christmases left where someone in my house still believes in Santa Claus. This was important, and I didn’t want to miss a moment of it.”
“We also got sick, all of us, in my house. Tommy still is sick. You may not know this, but if you are three years old and have asthma, a cold is a pretty miserable thing. I have a cough and runny nose for a few days, it’s an inconvenience. For Tommy, it’s a Medical Situation. He went to the doctor three times over a two-week period, once at 9:30 an night when he woke up coughing so hard he threw up phlegm. So I had other things to think about than stopping by to say hello.”
She said, “Don’t you think we all have personal issues? Is that an excuse?”
He was getting worked up now.
“I don’t need an excuse, remember? None of us do. I’m flattered that you even seem to care whether I visit or not– that’s why I’m here now. But here’s another ‘excuse’. You may remember that in addition to my visits here, I keep a journal for each of my boys – a detailed journal about the things that happen in their lives. I started when we first found out that MBW was pregnant with Chris. I’ve kept a journal from Chris now for over six years, and over four for Tommy. I’ve included photos. Chris’s journal is up to nearly 300 pages now, and Tommy’s is approaching 200. But I’ve been neglecting these journals since I started coming by this place, and I realized over Christmas that I needed to devote more time to those journals, even at the expense of coming here. When I look back on things in 20 years, those journals will mean a lot more to my boys, and to me, than the time I spent here.”
“Not to mention that I’d like to spend a bit more quality time with MBW in 2006. Perhaps you’ve heard me talk about how hot she is? She’s all that! More time with her, and less with you, might be a better use of my time as well.”
She glowered sullenly. She didn’t care for the MBW reference.
“And there’s this,” he added. “My Mom died last year. I talked about how much she loved Christmas, how she loved to spoil the boys and hear about what they did over Christmas. It was hard to go through the holidays and not be able to share that with her. Despite the fun and joy we had over the holidays, at night, when everyone else was in bed asleep, I sat alone by the fire and cried.”
“But here’s the kicker. Guess what? I couldn’t think of anything to say. The one thing about his place is that you get punished if you have nothing to say. Show up here with nothing and you get ignored. If you don’t have something to say here you might as well stay home. It just so happens that I’m not a fan of putting something out there and having it fall flat. I’ve done that before and don’t want to do it again. So when I don’t have something to say, I’m going to stay away until I do.”
He stopped, having said his piece.
They glowered at each other – she, The Reader, and Mann.
She broke the silence. “So what is it going to be? Are you back?”
He paused for a moment.
“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I just don’t know. I want to come back, but it’s going to have to be on my terms. I don’t think I’ll be back as often as I once was. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do what I did before. I may want to try some new things. We’ll just have to see.’
“That’s fair,” she said. “I can’t speak for everyone. I’m sure some people who once looked forward to your visits won’t welcome you when you return.”
She hesitated.
“But I will,” she said softly. “I like your words.”
He was touched. At the end of the day that’s why he visited this place. The opportunity to communicate, on a very basic, human level, with people from across the world, people he would never meet or share ideas with if it were not for this place.
“What do you think you’ll say, if you come back?” she asked.
He pondered this for a moment. “We’ll of course I’ll talk about Chris and Tommy. I have a few ideas. I may go out on a limb once in a while. But when I don’t, I’ll stay away. And in doing so, if you or others choose not to welcome me or visit with me when I do come back, well, that’s how it goes. I can live with that.”
She looked at him, wondering whether to believe him. Could she trust him? Would he come back? She didn’t want to continue to make time for him if she wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he said.
But as she thought about it, she had to admit he’d been honest with her. And that was all she could ask of anyone.
He turned to leave. “Thank you for your time,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. One thing you may not know about me is that I hate to disappoint people. I have some history in my life in that area, and I’ve always been sensitive to it. But as I get older I realize that sometimes it’s unavoidable. It wasn’t intentional, but that doesn’t lessen your disappointment. Hopefully now I’ve clarified, apologized, and set realistic expectations for all of us.”
She smiled wanly.
“Thanks for coming back,” she said. “I hope to see you soon.”
“You will,” he said, as he walked out into the dark, cold night.
And as he did, he thought once again about how great it is to be The Family Man.
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