AMAZING THINGS A LOT PEOPLE DON’T SEEM TO REALIZE ARE AMAZING

 There are many amazing things depending on you to realize they are amazing. In other words, if your eyes aren’t open to how amazing things are then nothing will seem amazing to you, which reveals, unfortunately, unfortunate things about your desire to learn and grow. It can reveal how much we take for granted. It can reveal arrogance and closed mindedness. I personally find a mind that can’t be amazed any more to be a little scary.

Consider: What does it take to amaze you? Do things have to explode? Does the world have to be a brand new circus everyday, putting on a show just for you in order to get some kind of response? Perhaps you aren’t seeing things that are right in front of you.

I certainly hope this is not the case. For anyone.

If you don’t know what I mean, I hope you figure it out. And to help people along, here are just a few examples of some amazing things a lot of people don’t seem to realize are amazing. Feel free to share some of yours if you are so inclined...

1. Bass players who sing lead vocals and play bass at the same time.

Guys like Sting and Geddy Lee. Paul McCartney. I seem to remember the guy from Thin Lizzy doing this as well. But it is fairly rare to see someone sing and play bass at the same time. Even more rare is the lead singer/bass player. You know why? Because it’s, like, stinkin’ impossible, that’s why. I have tried it. I can’t really play bass, but I definitely can’t sing lead vocals and play bass at the same time. Some players get away with it by basically playing root notes, plunk plunk plunk. Like Gene Simmons of Kiss. Not the same thing. I’m talking about guys who actually, really, genuinely play complex bass parts, peddling through the chords, while singing at the same time. I don’t know why it’s so impossible, but it is. More impossible than playing drums and singing, or playing accordion and singing, which is also very difficult, or so I’m told. But I’m telling you, if you see someone playing bass and singing lead vocals at the same time, be amazed. It is amazing. Probably the only thing more amazing would be a person playing a wind instrument and singing at the same time. I’ve honestly never seen that. I assume it's impossible, but what do I know? Still, if you see this kind of thing, bass guitars or otherwise, whether you realize it or not, you are witnessing something amazing.

2. Everyone’s kids.

Everyone thinks their own kids are amazing. And yet, to other people, they are just normal kids. Therefore, the inclination is to believe that the people with kids are biased and their kids are not actually amazing. But, in fact, the kids are amazing. All of them. Every single one. And if you don’t think so, it’s because you don’t get it. But that’s okay. You’re still amazing too.

3. Empty space.

Sure, seems boring, because it’s nothing. But if it’s nothing, then how is it still “there” in any way that makes sense? And if it wasn’t “there” what would be the difference between here and the “there” beyond the "there" of empty space? Some physicists argue, like Einstein did, that there is really no such thing as “empty” space because fields, such as gravity, fill all so-called “space,” including a vacuum, which is the ultimate empty space, I suppose. And I get what they are saying.

Kind of.

But that “space” is still there, isn’t it? In other words, the space is not, itself, the gravitational field that is “in” the space, right? Even if that empty space couldn’t exist without the forces acting on it and within it, what exactly is that thing that the gravitational field is occupying? Maybe it’s not technically empty, but it’s practically empty. And it’s space.

Perhaps we should call it empty space/time?

Okay. I seriously have no idea what I’m talking about anymore.

But I still think it’s amazing.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2012

Adventures with Joe - The Bubble Edition

My buddy Joe got tickets for the kids and dads (and grandpa Joe) to see Fan Yang, the amazing bubble man, who puts on his Gazillion Bubble show. And it really was a gazillion. The kids loved it, even thought it was a little hard to see the creations because they are made out of, well, bubbles. Which are, for the most part, transparent. He did add colored lights and smoke and some other things, and it was all pretty amazing.

On the way out, Joe commented on how impressive it was that this guy had managed to make a “thing” out of bubbles. In other words, a show and a lively-hood. Most people trying this kind of thing would end up doing it at birthday parties for little kids, but this guy is the big league of bubbles.

The bubble stuff was very impressive. But what impressed me more is the amount of air this guy had to blow into those bubbles, almost all with his mouth. I would have passed out. Seriously.

If you’re at all curious, you can see him on his website here:

Gazillion Bubbles

© LW Publishing 2011

Days with Disney pt04

On almost every ride we went on at Walt Disney World, the moment we’d get off the ride, my youngest daughter would say, “Can we go again?” She had, and I think still has, no concept of the size of the parks and how many things there are to do and see. This is true of all of my kids. They had no idea of the potential, and it created a kind of tension that I didn’t handle very well. I wanted them to see as much as possible, to whiz around and laugh and try to take it all in, like the kids you see in the commercials, which makes sense when you consider the cost of the venture and the quality of the attractions. But they just wanted to do whatever struck their fancy, which doesn’t work out well. You end up crisscrossing the parks, using up their limited energy and time. And when you add in all the bathroom breaks, food breaks, and all the rest, including simply getting them up and into the parks in the morning, you wonder how you manage to see much of anything while you’re there.

The sheer size of the Walt Disney World complex is staggering. It’s about 50 square miles of stuff. Just for comparison, the suburb I live south of Detroit is only about 7 square miles, and it's considered a fair sized city around here. The city of Detroit, which is the 11th largest city in the U.S., and just north of our city, is around 140 square miles. So the Walt Disney World properties in Florida are about 1/3 the size of Detroit.

Yow.

And there was me, with my wife and my sister, trying to rush three young girls through it all in a few days.

I must be crazy.



© LW Publishing 2011

Days with Disney pt01

Me and the fam just got back from the always great Walt Disney World. Did you know that it’s very specifically “Walt Disney World,” not “Disney World.” Roy Disney, Walt’s brother, wanted to be sure Walt’s name was on it as a tribute because Walt had passed away with cancer before they could finish the park.

My sister went with us and put up with our insanity. For that she deserves a medal.

We spent a week seeing things, and I thought I’d do some posts on the experience, from my slightly twisted perspective. So that’s what you’ll see here for the next few posts. Our Days with Disney.

If you hate Walt Disney World, then you go on vacation for a while and when you get back, maybe I’ll be finished with this. Then you can post about some place I hate if you want.


Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

Progeny 2

 Went out on the town with progeny number 2. My middle daughter has always been an interesting kid. She has a strong personality and a huge heart. It was her turn, so we spent the day together, just me and her.

I try to plan something I think each kid will like when we do these daddy/daughter outings. And for her, the Detroit Science Center seemed like the right thing to do. So that’s where we went. And we had a great time too. Not that they made it easy. They wouldn’t accept my discounts, which I spent some significant time finding, for no good reason. The more you want to do, the less they’re willing to work with you on the discounts. Which is as stupid as you can get. And they have what could best be described as a lack-luster general presentation of things. Employees who reek of an “I don’t really want to be here” aura. So on and so forth.

But in the end, none of that mattered. We were there to have a good time and we did. When you’re with someone you love, that’s how it works sometimes. It’s amazing how you can be in some pretty nutty situations, but if you’re there with people you love, it just doesn’t matter as much.

So we looked at the dinosaurs and the exhibits and we watched an IMAX movie and we made these pop bottle rockets shoot up to the ceiling. It was great.

It was great because she is great.

And on the way home we ate at Applebee’s Restaurant. It’s not the greatest, but I like it. They have a tendency to way over season their food. Very salty. And if you start sending it back you’ll be there all day. But it’s better than a lot of other joints around here. And you can kind of tailor what you order a bit. They’re good about substitutions.

The Beauty had chicken strips and fries. And an ice cream with a brownie.

Then we picked up her sisters from grandma’s house and went to see a dollar show together. Mr. Popper’s Penguins. Which was okay. Not the greatest.

But who cares.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

On the Town

I had a “date night” with my youngest daughter last night. I’m trying to do at least one night out with each of them, exclusively, over the summer. Only problem is that money is so tight it’s hard to do much. I’d like to have done something a little more elaborate, but we’re saving for our vacation, so there ya go.

We went to the dollar show.

The good thing about my youngest is that she doesn’t care about any of that. She just likes hanging out with dad. We watched Kung Fu Panda 2 with her cuddled up on my arm. What could be better than that, right? I got her a popcorn and pop and we had a good time.

We talked about stuff on the way there and the way home. She’s a pretty good conversationalist. She doesn’t just ask a lot of questions, like a lot of kids do. She has ideas and things she likes to talk about. Things she likes. Things she’s done or wants to do.

She thinks she might like to be a singer some day.

In case you don’t know, I have three daughters and no sons. Which is an interesting place to find yourself in life. It is very challenging sometimes. But there is this He Man thing some guys attach to having sons, which I find to be stupid. And not just because I don’t have sons. I’ve always felt that much of what passes for “masculine” in our culture is pretty stupid. What if the truth is that a “real” man knows how to raise daughters? What if the truth is that a “real” man knows how to humble himself and serve? I have daughters and I LOVE having daughters. If I had boys I’d love that too. But, as it stands, I wouldn’t change anything. My daughters are great.

My youngest is one of the most kind, fun loving, enjoyable people you could ever meet. She is a very straightforward person. She makes me proud. Like all my kids do. And if you want to know what kind of humor she has, just look at the picture on the top of the Blog. That’s her.


Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Losses

 My youngest daughter still has a few words that she gets wrong, and we’ve learned not to make a big deal out of this kind of thing. I actually enjoy it. They get it figured out in the long run. But when they do, when the particulars of childhood are left behind, it makes me sad sometimes.

The current word that I love, that she gets wrong, is when something grosses her out. She says, “That’s exgusting.”

Frankly, I think it’s a better word than the original. It has a little more bite to it.

There are lots of things that you hate to see go with the kids as time passes on. The way you can hold them when they’re really small. The way they mangle certain words and make faces and laugh about certain things. The moments when they first try to be funny. Those cute little baby teeth, all lined up so perfectly straight and even, which get ejected and replaced by over sized, out of place teeth that are way too big for their current faces. And sometimes it seems to take forever for some of the gaps to fill in their smile.

You realize that kids lose so much as time goes by. Sweet things, like the ability to hide under small tables and watch the feet of the grown ups go by or fitting completely in the arms of your mom or dad, wrapped up with your head tucked under, feeling safe. Or the simple joy of playing with an empty card board box or the feeling of running on the grass, barefooted, with the belief that you are the fastest creature on the planet.

Sometimes we also lose trust in the people we look up to at way too young an age, which can be very hard to get back. And sometimes, unfortunately, we lose our innocence.

When I stop to consider all of the loss, all of the things we can lose as we leave childhood behind, frankly it’s kind of...

exgusting.


Matthew 18:2-4




Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

200

I just noticed that I’ve done around 200 posts. Yikes. This is getting serious. I must be really, really seriously serious about this. Which is funny because I don’t feel all that serious about it. It’s just something fun I like to do that helps a few people get to know me a little better. Seems to me that 200 is kind of a lot, considering I don't really write about anything in particular. Or non particular, for that matter. This isn't exactly what you could easily call a "definable" blog.

Like I’ve said before, I’m hoping that, someday, my kids will have this to read, and maybe even grand kids, who can say. I hope it helps them to understand me in some ways. I’m hoping it will show them my heart to some degree. There’s a lot more of me in these posts than you might guess at first.

I don’t know. Maybe my kids will find some encouragement here. Maybe they’ll be a little less critical about me when they realize I’m just a well meaning schmo doing what I can to love God and love people and make some kind of meaningful difference in this world.

Maybe.

Let me just say this to be clear.

I love you.



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

Just Another Everyday

 So, Sunday afternoon my kids had some friends over. We almost always have a lot of kids over here. There were half baked humans whirling about, laughing loudly, imagining who knows what kind of whatnot, blissfully unaware of the wider weirdness of the world.

It’s a beautiful thing.

At one point I looked outside to be sure everyone was still breathing and noticed that one of my kids and a few of the others had strange wet spots on their clothes that made it look like they’d all peed their pants. At first I thought they must have sat on a wet swing or on the ground and gotten their butts wet. But they cleared up the mystery.

Them: “We put ice cubes in our butts.”

Me: “You what?”

Them: “We put ice cubes in our butts.”

Me: “Why in the world would you put ice cubes in your butts.”

Them: “Because it’s so warm today!”

Me: “It’s not that warm.”

Them: “But it feels good!”

Me: “Well. Um. Um. Uh. Well. Just don’t take them out and lick them or anything.”

Them: “We won’t!”

But they had this look on their faces like the only reason that wasn’t happening already is because they just hadn’t thought of it yet.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Fumbling

The coach would hit the balls out to us on the field. I liked being out there. I liked the other guys. I liked the smell of the grass and the blue sky overhead.

We spread out past the bases, waiting on that ball. But I was never very good with the “I got it!” I was always a little afraid of that moment when the ball might come towards me. I wasn’t afraid of the ball. I was afraid of not catching it. There was a better chance that I’d miss it than catch it. I could get to the ball, my hand eye coordination is pretty good, but no one taught me how to set myself, to be ready for it. You had to walk in the door with certain skills or you were quickly pushed to the sidelines and simply put up with.

I caught it sometimes. But, mostly, I fumbled the ball before dropping it. There was a certain clownish aspect to the whole thing. Fumbling was normal for me. Trying to get the grip. Trying to gain some control, but failing. That kind of peace and security is elusive. At least for me.

Later, I found out that fumbling was more of a football word than a baseball word. With a football, you have your hands. No glove. And the hands either get it or they don’t. You either complete, or you don’t.

I never much went for football either.

I’m just kind of a fumbler. I’ve fumbled a lot of things over the years. Goals. Dreams. Hopes. Ambitions. Friendships. Moments that could have mattered a lot more than they did. I just couldn’t get a grip. A lot has slipped through my fingers.

But while I still struggle with this, while I still fumble all the time, I have some peace because I know I’m held for eternity by hands that never fumble. Ever.



Jude 1:24-25
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Getting There

I recently saw this picture of a family driving together on a motor cycle:

The baby in a bucket is obviously fake, but it gave me a flash back:

When I was a kid, we went on a few vacations. Nothing fancy, but they were still vacations. We went south to visit my dad’s family, and sometimes we would hit some other places on the way there or back. The Smokies or King’s Island, that kind of thing. We usually had enough money to get in the door and drink out of whatever water fountains we could find. Dad would do everything in his power to direct us away from gift shops and food stands.

By the time I was six or seven, my oldest sister had passed away and my oldest brother was on his own. Which still left four kids at home. Four little kids who had to fit in a car with two parents and a lot of luggage. We didn’t have a station wagon or a mini van. Did they even make mini vans back then? What we had was as big a car as my dad could find and afford. Dad packed the trunk as tight as he could and we headed out.

Seat belts? They were safely tucked up into the long bench seat, out of our way. People didn’t wear them back then. I didn’t wear a seat belt until I was in my twenties. And air conditioning? That was for rich people. My parents didn’t even get air in their house until long after I moved out.

I distinctly remember one trip, driving at night to avoid traffic. We all slept while dad drove. My younger brother was in the front between mom and dad, and I was on the floor of the back seat, with my older brother and my sister sharing the seat. I was slumped over the hump on the floor that covered the drive shaft, hearing and feeling the wheels on the road, humming beneath me. Somehow it was soothing.

It was good when we were asleep, because when we were awake, someone was usually fighting. It was mostly my older brother and younger sister, but we all got into the action. It’s what happens when you pack people into a car like sardines.

Now I have my own family. We have a mini van which, no matter what anyone tells you, is the greatest vehicle ever created by mankind. We only have three kids, but we’re still packed like sardines when we go on a trip. The kids manage to fill every square inch of the van. And they manage to fight about pretty much everything. But we have a great time, just like back in the day.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

But we do make them wear those newfangled seat belt thingamajimminies.

Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Feeling Prudish

So this is what 2011 looks like.

I thought it would look, you know, different somehow.

Well, maybe we should just give it a little time.

Last night we were watching the Dick Clark countdown thing. We like watching to see how Dick Clark is doing each year. But we've become wary. Dick Clark is a class act, but ABC doesn't have a clue. This is the one night when young kids are trying to stay up until midnight with their folks to watch the countdown. And ABC treats the time slot with the reckless abandon they have come to be known for. Trying to keep up with FOX on the cool meter, I guess. So we're down to watching the last ten or fifteen minutes before midnight, because it's so out of hand. It makes you wish fervently that John Lasseter would be put in charge of the entire empire, top to bottom, simply to inject a little common sense into the enterprise.

And last night was the same deal as always. A few people on there are trying to do it right, trying to show a little class, like Dick Clark and even Ryan Seacrest. But they are surrounded by "celebrities" and singers and whatnot who don't have a clue. They are only on there because they are popular at the moment, or because their agent thought it would be good for their image. But they can't manage to get through a three minute segment of live television without saying something completely stupid and inappropriate.

Seconds before midnight, someone who is clearly completely self absorbed and immature was on the show, and they said something that demonstrated very clearly how self absorbed and immature they are. Stupid stuff, which left us with a seven year old asking us to explain things to them that they are not ready to even begin thinking about.

I don't blame the people on the show. The self absorbed ones. At least not completely. They are what they are. You wish better from them, and for them, but the people at ABC know what they are getting when they put them on the show. Most Americans, as well as people all over the world, don't really know much about these celebrities. We don't really know who they are. Most of us aren't interested in their exploits. So they are trotted out on these broadcast shows to expose them to a wider audience, which they don't deserve. They are not wider audience material. And one wonders why the programmers at ABC don't know this? Or maybe they do, and they just don't care?

I'm thinking that's it.

But don't worry, it won't happen again. Not in our house anyway. We'll check up on Dick Clark some other way.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Bittersweet

 

My youngest progeny is turning seven. She’s having a great time with it. One of her favorite gifts so far is an Elvis Jukebox ornament that plays the first section of “Blue Christmas.” We’ve been listening to it all morning. All. Morning. I will officially be sick of it in about fifteen seconds from now...

Yep. I'm there.

This daughter was our “Christmas Baby.” She is a kid's kid. She loves to play. She has a great nature about her. She likes to joke and have fun. She forgives quickly and loves to give hugs. She's really a joy to be around, unless you’re trying to brush her hair when it’s all tangled and messed up. This is when she turns into an irrational and whiny shadow of her former kinder, gentler self.

She’s got a lot of kid time left, and I treasure every minute of it, but we understand the reality that when this child leaves her childhood behind, our whole household leaves it behind (Until grand-kids, that is. Yikes.). She’s the end of the line. Which is bittersweet.

That word, “bittersweet,” really describes how I’m feeling lately.

I’m not having a blue Christmas, but I am having a bittersweet one so far. It’s like a birthday where too many people at the party are hurting and having a hard time. You want to have fun, but the mood isn’t right. As Dickens said, Christmas is a time “when want is more keenly felt.” I deal with a lot of hurting people, and it just gets to me sometimes.

I’m working hard, for myself and my church, to remember the holiness of this Holy Day and the season that leads up to it. What really sets it apart isn’t all the stuff we hang on it, like cheap ornaments on a beautiful tree. What really sets it apart, makes it holy, is what God has done in Christ.

I actually enjoy a lot of the kitschy elements of Christmas time. I like the lights and the gifts, the TV specials and the songs and the whole thing. Still, because I’m tired and worn, there are times when the whole thing seems tired and worn. And I don’t blame the kitsch. I know it’s my heart that is the issue. How I feel during the holidays is usually about how I feel going into them. All that’s happening is that my heart is being exposed to me. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

A bittersweet Christmas can be good for the soul. When I feel this way, I find myself a little more sensitive to the people around me who are hurting. And it helps me to remember that, while the kitsch is fun, it’s not the point.

As always, with all things, at all times: Jesus is the point.


Colossians 3:11
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Nyuck Nyuck Nyuck

I have been doing an “All Night Sleepover Party” with my kids every Friday night (with a few rare exceptions here and there) for 10 years straight now. I started this with my oldest when she was 2 years old and we have continued through the addition of the other two kids. We get carryout dinner and snacks and set up the basement with sleeping bags and all that. Sometimes we play some games. Currently we are playing Blokus a lot. Sometimes we play the wii. I’m not much good at that, but who cares. And then we watch movies until everyone passes out.

This is an important ritual for us. The kids look forward to it. And we try to keep this night a family night, so having friends over and all that kind of thing usually happens on Saturday night. I have to sleep on the couch, which is a little hard on the back, and it aggravates the carpal tunnel, but it’s worth it.

Last night I decided to do the old school movie routine of showing some short films first and then going with the movie, like they did in theaters years ago. So we made our popcorn and we watched a Disney short called “Pluto’s Christmas Tree.” It was excellent. And our main attraction was a Patrick Swayze Christmas movie called “Christmas In Wonderland,” maybe one of the last things he did before his death. It was a Canadian film, good for the family, funny in parts, but not exactly what you would call a great movie. Weak editing, slow pace, all that. But the kids liked it a lot and it goes into our collection of Christmas movies.

In between these two exciting film experiences, I inserted a classic Three Stooges short called “Men In Black.” Why it’s called “Men In Black” I have no idea. They play three freshly graduated doctors working at a hospital, wearing white smocks, running around with twice the energy and half the jokes of a Marx Brothers movie. And it works. At least, for me it works. As we’re watching the Stooges, here’s what I get....

6 year old: “Why are they doing that!”

9 year old: “Why is it all so random!”

12 year old: “Is this supposed to be funny?”

Sometimes it’s a lonely thing being the only man in the house.


Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Masculinectomy

You need to understand: I was not overly blessed with manliness to begin with.

I have never been good at or much interested in team sports. And don’t get me started on the game of golf. What is it with watching golf on TV? How do people do this? I’m sorry, but I will never understand it. And I have a hard time relating to guys who can’t look you in the eye while they talk about how everything is “okay” all the time. I’m not big on hunting, though I do like to go fishing on occasion. But I’m not good at it. And I don’t like pickup trucks. I actually, honestly, really do like my mini van...

I think you get my point. If you don’t get my point by now, I’m sorry, but I can’t keep going with that. Suffice it to say, I’m troubled by the fact that I’m just not in a very good position to turn my lack of manliness around because I have been blessed.

With three daughters. Three. T-h-r-e-e. And no sons. I’m all alone here, people.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my daughters like crazy. I wouldn’t trade them for anything or anyone. They are light in my life. They are beautiful and amazing. But these three daughters are growing up into three teenage girls who will, God willing, become three grown women. And if you add their growing estrogen factories to my wife’s fully developed and highly functional estrogen output, what you have is a prescription for my ending up with a complete masculinectomy.

Example: I get in the shower. Can I find a bar of soap? Not a chance. Do they even make bars of soap anymore? I haven’t seen one in years. So what do I have to choose from? Cucumber melon sparkle something or other body wash with Jojoba and rice juice extract? Something nutty like that. And shampoo? Watermelon lime whatsit whatever with maximizer this and volumizer that.

You say, “Okay, grown man, go to the store and get your own bar of soap.” I say, “Oh yeah! And where would I put it? Every nook and cranny is filled with odd concoctions, scented in every conceivable way.

I get out of the shower smelling like the fruit drawer in our refrigerator.

I sense that my testosterone levels are progressively decreasing, day by day, due to environmental influences, and I may be reaching a crisis point where all that’s left is a shell of a man who should have prepared himself by playing a little sports now and then and maybe chewing some tobacco or learning how to grunt out expletives while fixing my car. That is, I mean, my truck. Pickup truck. With a gun rack on it, right? Something. Anything. I don’t know.

What I do know: I don’t stand a chance.



Philippians 4:13
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

100th Post

Woo hoop dee do dah day. This is officially my 100th post – though a few of the posts along the way were technical things I had to do, so they probably don’t really count, but I’m counting them anyway. As if it matters.

I have to say: I’ve really enjoyed this ride so far.

My friend, Zombie, encouraged me, along with a few others, to start this Blog. He set me up, showed me the ropes. So, if you think this Blog stinks, you can blame him. Not really. But he said it would be good for people to get to know me a little better, and I hope it has accomplished that to some degree. I realize my writing can be somewhat of an acquired taste...

But when I first started this, one of the things that inspired me was the idea that I could leave a bit of a record for my kids, a way to look back and remember their dad and maybe understand me a little better, to get a feel for what makes me . . . me.

I want them to know that I love God in Christ and I love their mom and I love them with all my heart. I want them to know that I'm a person, just like them, with hopes and dreams and weaknesses and challenges. I want them to know a little bit about what I like and enjoy, so maybe they can relate a bit when they get older. And that’s always in the back of my mind when I post things. I treat it all as a letter to my kids, so they can still hang with me a bit after my time is up. If others want to join in with me along the way, that’s cool. This is meant to be fun. And I’m glad you’re here with me. But my kids are my main motivation.

I talked to my 8 year old about this and she explained it to her sisters. She said: "Dad's doing his Blog for us for when he's dead."

Isn't that charming?

She gets it from me.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Laugh

My six year old daughter was getting dressed to go play at her grandmother’s house. Normal summer clothes and such. When she finished, she put on this clear, thin, shower cap thing. I have no idea where she got it from, but she was determined to get all of her hair up into it, so I helped her. Finally, I thought to ask...

Me: Why do you want to wear that thing?

Her (very seriously): I want to be the lunch lady.

Slight pause. Then we both laughed hysterically. Which I find myself doing a lot with her. She says things, she seems serious, but then we lock eyes and we realize it’s funny and we laugh. I don’t even know why it was funny. It just was.

Maybe you had to be there.

I don’t laugh as much as I used to, and I miss it. I’ve been made a more serious person by the responsibilities I’ve embraced and the experiences I’ve endured. I’ve seen hard things, witnessed moments of death and the heart breaking struggle of disillusionment and powerlessness in people’s lives. I’ve been victimized by people who dehumanize me for their own selfish reasons while they wallow in self righteousness. I’ve shared in the deep mourning of those who have suffered great loss, and I’ve suffered great loss myself.

Such is life.

But because of all these things, laughter is a greater treasure to me now than it’s ever been before. I really value it. But it’s hard to figure what will bring it on. You never know when it’s going to sneak up on you, and it’s quick to go hide again.

I don’t live for it, but I do hope to make people laugh. On a regular basis. They can laugh with me or even at me (sometimes). Maybe I can help them to laugh at themselves when it’s needed. But I want to laugh with the freedom of a six year old. I want to laugh with others at the nuttiness of life as we try to cope in a broken world. I think that as long as we laugh without arrogance or cruelty, it can be a healing thing.



Psalm 126:2; Ecclesiastes 3:4
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Tonsils

My brother and I had our tonsils removed at the same time. This was common practice back in the day. One kid gets tonsilitis, so we better just put them all in the hospital and get it taken care of and the parents can have a night to themselves. I was very young and very nervous about the whole thing.

Yes, they really did put us in the hospital for a whole night back then, and I can still picture that room in my mind. It was kind of dark and creepy, late sixties style. But we got to eat a lot of ice cream afterwards. A LOT. These days, I’m sure, the insurance companies probably force you to get your tonsils cut out of your head as you drive by the hospital in your car. Come to think of it, you just don’t hear about people getting their tonsils out much anymore. Is it no longer en vogue? It used to be a rite of passage.

I still sometimes wonder where my tonsils are. If anywhere. Did they burn them up or did they just throw them in the trash? Are my dried up little tonsils still laying in a plastic bag in some dump somewhere under 500,000 pounds of who knows what? Or did a creepy doctor surreptitiously take them home and put them in a glass case as some kind of strange trophy? Perhaps he had them for dinner, Hannibal Lecter style? I’m thinking, if he mixed them up with chicken gizzards, he could have served them to guests, none the wiser...

Hey. You go ahead to the bathroom and puke. I’ll wait for you. La di da di dum dum dum. La di da di doooooooooo...

So, anyway. What I wish sometimes is: I wish they had given my tonsils back to me in a glass jar full of formaldehyde so I could bring them out and sit them on the table whenever conversations started to lag. I imagine that being a good way to get things going again. The thing is, I don’t remember giving anyone permission to take them from me in the first place. It’s not like there was a tonsil fairy to recompense me for my loss.

Here’s something nice that happened: Before we went home, the pastor of my church came and visited us at the hospital. He didn’t make it to everything, because he couldn’t, but this time he came, and I remember it very specifically. He gave both of us one of those drawing boards with the plastic sheet on it. A Magic Slate. You draw your picture, look at it, consider how fleeting life is, then pull up the plastic to erase the picture. Ta daaaah.

Okay, I admit it. We didn’t really consider how fleeting life is. But it was fun and it was a kindness. It was a small grace that made a kid feel a little better. And I hope my life is that way for others. Small graces are all I have to give most of the time.

By the way. If you see my tonsils laying around anywhere, would you please contact me so I can retrieve them? Thanks. And....

Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Hoax

When I was a child, I was sitting in my Grandfather’s living room. He lived in the city of Detroit, where he had come to find work many years before. All of my memories of my grandfather are from after he retired. We would visit my grandparents at their house in Detroit constantly. I would watch my grandpa drink Maalox right out of the bottle, constantly sipping it all day long, to keep his stomach in check.

This same grandfather, so the story goes, was once asked to play banjo and fiddle (that’s “violin” for you arteests) for the Grand Ole Opry in Tennessee, but he refused because it didn’t pay enough to support his large family. But he still pulled out his fiddle and banjo on occasion and played a little something for us kids, which I absolutely loved. But it was hard to get him to do it. He’d say, “My author-rye-tiss is given me trouble,” and that was the end of it.

So. I was sitting with Grandpa, watching TV, and a commercial came on for the brand new Disney World in Florida. I was transfixed. I wanted to head out there immediately and take up permanent residence. But when the commercial was over, Grandpa turned to me to say something, which he didn’t do very often. He just didn’t talk much. But he turned to me and said, “I don’t believe it! It’s a bunch a nonsense! Cain’t be no such thing as that Disney World! They’s a bunch of liars!”

For a moment I was startled, shaken up by the idea that I had somehow been duped by “The Powers That Be.” For a moment I took the word of my grandpa that Disney World wasn’t there and we were all being cruelly misguided by someone higher up than us. Considering that my life’s goal at that moment was to get to the fabled Land of Disney, this was quite disturbing.

But then I settled down and realized, for the first time, that my grandpa was just wrong.

I was not foolhardy enough to try and correct him. But years later I tried to make sense of what he said, and what I think is that Disney World was just too much for him. He had been born in 1899. He had been through the Great Depression. The world he grew up in was just so far removed from the images on the TV of Disney World that he simply could not even imagine a place like that existing. All of the colors and rides and music. All of those smiling people. It was just too much. So he dismissed it.

It seems to me that a lot of us do this with a lot of things. Some people dismiss joy and peace because it’s too far from their experience. Some people dismiss love and hope and forgiveness for the same reason. But just because we can’t imagine something doesn’t mean it’s not possible or true.

I have been to Disney World. It’s really there. Honest. And it’s amazing.

I just wish my grandfather could have seen it.

Ephesians 3:20-21
Peace to you.

And yes, that really is a guy from Kiss singing "When You Wish Upon A Star."


© LW Publishing 2010

Small Talk (Circa 07.18.2010)

The other night the better half and myself watched Cirque Du Soleil’s “Quidam” with our kids on DVD. If you aren’t familiar with Cirque, you should try to see them sometime. It’s a circus that was started by some French Canadians in Quebec, and has since become a worldwide thing. The songs are in mixed languages, sometimes with words completely made up, as the “story” of the show is conveyed more through pantomime, imagery and movement than concrete thoughts. The composers seem more interested in the sounds of the words than the meanings of the words. You will hear English, French, German, etc., sometimes all in a single sentence. But it doesn’t keep you from enjoying it at all. It’s kind of just the flavor of Cirque. My wife and I saw a live performance of their show “Mystere” around ten years ago and it was amazing.

Quidam was pretty cool, with the usual mix of acrobatic circus acts, performance art and music. For some reason it made me feel like I was watching a Jim Henson movie, like Labyrinth or The Dark Crystal. But our movie night with Quidam led to a short conversation the next day with two of my kids. It went something like this...

6 Year Old: Dad, can we watch the circus again? What’s it called?

Me: You mean Quidam?

6 Year Old: Can we watch it again?

8 Year Old: If we do, I’m going upstairs!

Me: Why would you go upstairs?

8 Year Old: Because it was freaky!

Me: It’s just a circus. It’s meant to be different to keep it interesting.

6 Year Old: Yeah! And it teaches you to speak Chinese!

Me: Well, yes, I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it, but learning Chinese is certainly a plus.

8 Year Old: But it was freaky!

Experimental mosaic by Greek Artist Charis Tevis,
inspired by Cirque Du Soleil.
You can see some of his work on Flikr.

Peace to you.





© LW Publishing 2010