Performance

During the summer the university occasionally has local bands perform outdoors over the lunch hour.  Last year I would often sit and listen if I happened to be walking by.  They're doing it again this year but yesterday was the first performer I had a chance to listen to.  I was actually there early but not because I was particularly anxious to hear a band.  The area where they perform happens to be one of the more pleasant places where I can be outdoors and still get WiFi.  I was busy checking email when I noticed speakers and microphones being set up.

I started watching the setup, trying to pick out the band members and guess at the type of music.  I spotted an acoustic guitar but not much else - no drums, no bass guitar.  I found a sign promoting the day's act.  Instead of listing a band name, it just had a guy's name.  Just a guy and his acoustic guitar, I thought, probably some sort of singer-songwriter folk thing.

Eventually, the time came for the show to begin.  The stage cleared except for one fellow.  I'd pegged him as part of the crew but apparently he was the artist.  After a couple introductory remarks, he launched into his first song - well, not quite.  First, he had to turn on his "drums".  He made a point of telling us that he was using a drum machine - perhaps in the interest of full disclosure, lest we be duped into somehow thinking he was producing drum noises from his guitar.  The drum machine pounded out a loud rock beat and he joined in with guitar and vocals.  The song was fine but the ending seemed a bit awkward as the guitar and singing faded away but the drums pounded on as he fumbled for the off switch.

For the next song, he explained that it had a cool electric guitar part.  Unfortunately, his guitarist buddy couldn't make it.  Fear not, he assured us, he had a recording of the guitar, backing vocals and drums.  Again, he fired up a machine and played along.  I began to wonder if we really needed him up there at all.

For a later song, he switched back to just his guitar and his trusty drum machine.  Before starting, he informed us that the song sounded best with accompanying strings and some "really cool" vocal harmony.  Apparently this was the way he'd recorded it for an upcoming CD.  He suggested we try to imagine it that way as he performed.

I didn't feel up to the task so I went back to work.

Bike Commute

I rode my bike to work today. As I coasted down our driveway, I told myself what I always tell myself when biking to work: "Take it slow. It's only four miles. Enjoy the ride. Don't get sweaty. "

I did a fine job of heeding my advice for the first few blocks. The streets were hectic with rush hour traffic, but I managed to meander along, enjoying the fresh air. Then it happened, I was passed by another cyclist. As he rode past, I felt myself drawn along, needing to keep up. I was fully aware of what was happening - I kept thinking, "Slow down. Forget about him.".

But, I couldn't forget about him. I pedaled on, trying my best to match his pace. I stayed with him until I came to my turn and he continued straight. Even then, I imagined we could be taking different routes to the same destination. I pushed on just in case. If our paths crossed again, I wanted to be in front.

Our paths did not cross again as far as I know. I arrived at work a sweaty mess. We don't have showers at work but I did have a little hand towel packed. I changed out of my biking clothes and did my best to "pat down" a bit for settling into my cube.

Tomorrow I will ride leisurely into work - unless someone passes me.

Father's Day

I remember a Father's Day about twenty-five years ago. I was living in an apartment near Como Park in Saint Paul. I would often go for a run through the park and around the lake. On that morning, I stopped my run when I got to the lake. I found a quiet spot next to a tree near the water. It was a glorious morning, a slight breeze, a bright sun. The parking lot nearby was already beginning to fill with people out to celebrate the day. I ignored them and instead kept my focus on the water. It had been about a decade since I lost my father. I tried to remember him and what life was like back then. I also talked to him. I told him what I was doing, where I was living. I wasn't a kid on the farm anymore, I had grown up. I wanted him to know that I was okay and I hoped he could hear me. Deep inside, I hoped he was proud of me and I hoped he wasn't upset that none of us was on the farm anymore. I reflected on how much my life had changed in the past decade. I wondered how much it would change in the next ten years. Little did I know that approximately a decade later I would once again be experiencing the severing of the father son relationship as I mourned the loss of my first child. It is truly amazing how much life can be packed into a decade.

This Father's Day, our family was at the cabin with friends. Once again I found myself at the edge of a lake, staring at the water. This time I looked out, not just as a son, but also as a father and a husband. My sons are eight and twelve. A decade from now my oldest son will be about the age I was when I sat by the lake in Como Park. The decade ahead will surely be one of vast change for them and for me. I can hardly wait.

Elvis has entered the house

As we left church last Sunday, we noticed a sign for a garage sale down the street.  The boys wanted to stop but we were on our way to brunch and decided against it.  This led to much pleading and some whining on the drive to the restaurant.  We suggested that maybe, just maybe, if everyone's mood improved, perhaps we could stop at a garage sale on the way home, after brunch.

Our intention was not to return to the sale by our church.  Instead, we'd hoped to find something between the restaurant and our house.  We knew it might be difficult - Sunday is not an ideal day to find sales in our neighborhood.  Still, we managed to find one along the way home.  It was not what the boys had hoped for - light on toys and electronics, heavy on plants and romance novels.  We moved on.

The rest of the route to our home appeared to be sale-free.  We had no pressing schedule and my wife and I were feeling bad about how disappointing the last sale had been so we decided to visit the sale by church.  It claimed to be a four family sale, surely we would find at least one treasure.  The sale was attracting a small crowd, but as I parked I didn't see much of interest.  We got out and began perusing.  After a single pass, I deemed it consisted mostly of dishes, holiday decorations and clothes.  I returned to the car and waited for the others.

As I sat listening to the radio, B came running to the car window.  Apparently, N had found something but Mom didn't have any cash.  I handed over a five-dollar bill, hoping it would suffice.  B took the money and ran off without elaborating about what the item was.  A moment later he returned, followed by my wife and N.  N was hugging a pile of clothing and grinning from ear to ear.  When they got to the car, N revealed the treasure: a white jumpsuit with rhinestones on the lapels and a red stripe down the side of each leg.  The jumpsuit had an attached cape, with "Elvis" written in rhinestones across the back.  The outfit also included a black wig with sideburns.  This was a find indeed.  As he clambered into the car, N was already practicing his "Thank you.  Thank you very much." impersonation.  He put it on as soon as we got home.

After watching N jump around the house for the afternoon, I decided it might be good for the boys to see the King in action.  A quick search on YouTube revealed a number of Elvis performances.  I chose one where Elvis appeared to be wearing a white jumpsuit very similar to N's.  What we learned was that by the time Elvis hit the white jumpsuit stage of his career he wasn't moving very much.  As we watched Elvis singing "My Way", B looked at me and said, "So...this is it?  This is Elvis?"  He was noticeably underwhelmed.  I switched to a 1957 rendition of "Jailhouse Rock" - there was no white jumpsuit but the dancing was more what they were expecting.

The whole experience did not seem to dampen N's spirit.  He still loves his Elvis costume.  His only comment about the YouTube videos came as he watched the first clip.  "Oh man." he said, "There were scarves at the garage sale.  I didn't know they were part of the costume."

After The Rain

Water droplets hang from the shepherd's hook like diamonds.
The sun's early rays cause them to sparkle, drawing my attention.
Their placement looks symmetric, purposeful.
Some might see this as the work of a higher power,
A sign of some divine intervention.
Others would no doubt turn to science,
Citing the laws of physics as a reason for this splendid array.
Perhaps both views are correct,
One explaining the why, the other the how.
Rather than ponder their creation,
I prefer to appreciate them as they are.
Beautiful.

This Morning

This morning was like most mornings.  I woke up at five-thirty.  By six I was dressed, had coffee brewing and was waiting for the newspaper to be delivered.  It arrived at ten after six.  Even though I'd been waiting and I saw the delivery guy from the window, I waited until he'd left our block before retrieving the newspaper.  I don't know why, but I always wait until he's gone before I open the door.  I think this stems from an incident years ago with a different delivery person.  In that instance, I happened to check for the paper at the very moment it was being delivered.  It was startling to encounter this person standing outside my door.  Plus, I felt like by opening the door just as he arrived it looked like I'd been anxiously waiting and I wanted him to know it.  This was not true in that case.  I was not trying to passively reprimand him for his tardiness in any way, it was just an act of pure coincidence.  Nonetheless, I felt a little bad about it.  Since then, I've gone out of my way to avoid the paper guy.  I've also learned to always check the little security peephole before opening the door.  If the paper's not there, I quickly close the door and open the shade on the window a bit so I can watch for its arrival.

Once I had the newspaper, I settled in to scan it quickly.  I need to be quick because I'm never certain when N is going to come down and read the comics with me.  I like to have that section open and ready when he shows up.  He sets his alarm for six-forty but sometimes he gets up earlier.  This morning, he showed up at six-thirty.  He entered the room with a smile and a bit of a dramatic arm wave.  Once on my lap. he dozed a bit before sitting up and peering at the paper.  I like to watch his face as he reads, waiting for some change in his sleepy, stoic expression.  A tiny upturn to the corner of his mouth is the only indication he found something amusing.  He's usually quiet as he reads.  When he's finished, he lets me know which ones he likes and any he doesn't understand.  This morning there were a couple of each.  After a short discussion, I carried him to the couch in the family room, threw a blanket on him and went back to the kitchen.  I worked on the crossword puzzle while he slept.

Around ten after seven I heard movement upstairs.  I began preparing N's "coffee" and woke him.  I hate to wake him up when he's sleeping so soundly but I've learned it's the best course of action.  He takes a certain amount of pride in the fact that he and I are the early risers.  It upsets him greatly if wakes up and finds his older brother sitting at the counter eating breakfast.  I set the coffee on the counter and N crawled off the couch.  As he sat at the counter, the sounds from upstairs grew more distinct.  It was evident brother and mother were up and about.  N began taking bigger sips, gulps even.  He finished the last of it just as B appeared in the doorway.  "Ah, just in time," he quipped.  "Dad and I just finshed reading the paper and drinking our coffee!"

A good morning, indeed.

Blog maintenance

I was re-reading some old posts recently (gosh, I love reading my own stuff - it's like that guy totally gets me!).  Anyway, I stumbled across the Rod and Debbie stories and found it a little hard to read them since the order felt backward.  I added some links to hopefully help with this.  You should see them in the right margin under the heading "Rod and Debbie" if any of you are interested.

Fishing With B

We were at the cabin for part of this past weekend.  The weather was mostly beautiful and we had a pleasant time.  B and N took a net down to the end of the dock and tried catching sunfish.  They didn't have great success, but they did notice some other large fish swimming just off the dock.  B decided to try his hand at fishing.  We didn't have any bait, so he and I ran to the nearest bait shop.

I used to fish when I was young but it was mostly for bullheads.  I've had limited experience fishing for anything else and even less experience with any actually catching.  B has been fishing at the cabin for a few years now but mostly with small hooks and kernels of corn.  He's caught many sunfish and a bass or two.  As he's gotten older, the size of the hook has increased, as has his desire to land something different.

We arrived at the bait shop and I immediately realized we had no idea what we were doing.  We needed bait, but we didn't know what kind.  Thankfully, the girl helping us could sympathize.  She did not fish herself, but she pointed us towards the types of things other people were buying.  We left there with a scoop of minnows and a box of night crawlers.

Once back on the dock, we set about the business of rigging B's line.  We opted to try a minnow first.  B had never fished with anything but corn and worms.  The minnow seemed to hold the promise of unknown adventure.  As usual, I got the honor of baiting the hook.  As I skewered the minnow with the hook, I glanced a pained expression on B's face.  About that time, N appeared and declared that he didn't think what we were doing was right.  N's arrival seemed to steel B's feelings.  He explained that N just didn't understand real fishing.  N was not swayed from his initial judgement.

B fished for awhile with the minnow and got no bites.  Meanwhile, N inspected the bucket of minnows and reported on the health (or lack thereof of the population).  I suggested we allow N to release a couple of minnows back into the wild.  B agreed and, in fact, wanted to release a couple himself.  I switched B's bait to a nightcrawler and immediately he began getting bites.  A few more minnows were allowed to swim free.

By the end of the day, B and I had spent a few hours at the end of the dock.  He'd caught numerous fish, mostly rock bass.  We'd talked about fishing, the calm, smooth surface of the lake, the importance of being patient.  The minnows were all released into the lake, albeit a bit too late for most of them.  For all the fish he caught, we only used a couple of nightcrawlers.  The rest were released into the garden before we went home.

As we put the fishing gear away, B thanked me for fishing with him.  As we loaded the van for the trip home, he thanked me again.  Once home, he thanked me again as I kissed him goodnight.  I'm pleased that he enjoyed it as much as I did.