When he got tired, Mom asked Deuce if he wanted to take his nap under the tree. He said, "No, it might fall on me, but I will sleep next to the tree."
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Friday, December 22, 2006
Sleepy
Mom watched Deuce today while I was at work. We're trying to make sure that Mrs. JK-1 takes it easy so that Little Rose does not come too early.
When he got tired, Mom asked Deuce if he wanted to take his nap under the tree. He said, "No, it might fall on me, but I will sleep next to the tree."
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When he got tired, Mom asked Deuce if he wanted to take his nap under the tree. He said, "No, it might fall on me, but I will sleep next to the tree."
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
A Banner Day for Phoenix Sports
Yesterday, the ASU women's hoops team played at Chase Field with the dome open and got rained out. A rain-out at a basketball game! They stopped the game at half-time, with the Lady Devils up by 15 or so. There were over 8,000 fans and players in windbreakers.
No, that's not it.
The Suns set a franchise record 15-game win streak today. Somewhere, Sir Charles is very sad.
No, that's not it.
Quickly, before I go much farther. Everyone, make sure to vote for AI for an Eastern All-Star. Let's just see what happens.
The game of the week occurred in our very own Washed-Up World Cup. Enbraz USA faced off against the Pyros earlier tonight. Enbraz had no subsitutes and was missing its team captian due to food posioning (most likely sabotage by the Pyros). But then again, he's really only the captain because he has everyone's email address; but we missed him!
Pyros also had a full second line to match up against the battered and depleted Enbraz team. Enbraz was also missing one of its leading scorers due to an injury from last week's match.
Early in the first half, about 4 minutes in, Enbraz' star defenseman, JK-1, was maliciously boarded. For the rest of the night, he could not put much weight on his right leg due to a twisted knee. Stay tuned for MRI reports in the morning. Knowing that his team needed him, JK-1 refused to stop playing.
Enbraz went down 3-0, but refused to stop playing. JK-1, hobbling on one leg, played stellar defense, saving two goals right off the line.
By halftime, the score was 4-3. JK-1 continued to struggle, infuriating several Pyros players in a Raja Bell like manner. One frustrated Pyro went so far as to do the chest-bump-thingy and exclaim that JK-1 was "all over him!" JK-1 calmly replied, "You're just pissed because I took the ball away and then dribbled around you on one leg."
With three minutes left in the match and the score tied 5-5, JK-1 decided it was time to make his move. After dispossessing a Pyro at midfield, JK-1 sent a through pass to his striker and ran to the open spot in a classic give-and-go manuever. The pass was too strong and into the corner. Drat the inferior passing skills of JK-1's teammates!
Chasing the ball into the corner as fast as his disabled leg would take him, JK-1 regained possession of the ball and carried it back to the middle of the attacking third -- right into two defensemen! With a clever shoulder drop, followed by a fake shot (kind of like a deke, for you hockey fans), he split the two defenders. With precious little time to spare, he scanned the goal to ascertain the goaltender's position.
Fortunately, the goaltender was out of position! Instead of coverin the near post, he was smack in the middle of the goal. "Fool!" thought JK-1. JK-1 leaned heavy on his left (plant) foot as if to go far post, but put left-english on the ball to curve it into the near post. Gooooooaaaaaallllll!!!
Victory.
Now, at m wife's suggestion, I plan to take about two weeks off to rehab my aching knee.
No, that's not it.
The Suns set a franchise record 15-game win streak today. Somewhere, Sir Charles is very sad.
No, that's not it.
Quickly, before I go much farther. Everyone, make sure to vote for AI for an Eastern All-Star. Let's just see what happens.
The game of the week occurred in our very own Washed-Up World Cup. Enbraz USA faced off against the Pyros earlier tonight. Enbraz had no subsitutes and was missing its team captian due to food posioning (most likely sabotage by the Pyros). But then again, he's really only the captain because he has everyone's email address; but we missed him!
Pyros also had a full second line to match up against the battered and depleted Enbraz team. Enbraz was also missing one of its leading scorers due to an injury from last week's match.
Early in the first half, about 4 minutes in, Enbraz' star defenseman, JK-1, was maliciously boarded. For the rest of the night, he could not put much weight on his right leg due to a twisted knee. Stay tuned for MRI reports in the morning. Knowing that his team needed him, JK-1 refused to stop playing.
Enbraz went down 3-0, but refused to stop playing. JK-1, hobbling on one leg, played stellar defense, saving two goals right off the line.
By halftime, the score was 4-3. JK-1 continued to struggle, infuriating several Pyros players in a Raja Bell like manner. One frustrated Pyro went so far as to do the chest-bump-thingy and exclaim that JK-1 was "all over him!" JK-1 calmly replied, "You're just pissed because I took the ball away and then dribbled around you on one leg."
With three minutes left in the match and the score tied 5-5, JK-1 decided it was time to make his move. After dispossessing a Pyro at midfield, JK-1 sent a through pass to his striker and ran to the open spot in a classic give-and-go manuever. The pass was too strong and into the corner. Drat the inferior passing skills of JK-1's teammates!
Chasing the ball into the corner as fast as his disabled leg would take him, JK-1 regained possession of the ball and carried it back to the middle of the attacking third -- right into two defensemen! With a clever shoulder drop, followed by a fake shot (kind of like a deke, for you hockey fans), he split the two defenders. With precious little time to spare, he scanned the goal to ascertain the goaltender's position.
Fortunately, the goaltender was out of position! Instead of coverin the near post, he was smack in the middle of the goal. "Fool!" thought JK-1. JK-1 leaned heavy on his left (plant) foot as if to go far post, but put left-english on the ball to curve it into the near post. Gooooooaaaaaallllll!!!
Victory.
Now, at m wife's suggestion, I plan to take about two weeks off to rehab my aching knee.
Darth Guinness
Ahhh, my two loves in one name.
Part of the reason I’m writing this is because I want to see if any of the members of the Blue Milk Cult ever visit. I will now know who is truly loyal.
One of the things, though, that’s always got me thinking is how chemicals influence thought – not just beer, but all sorts of stuff. Endorphins. Lithium. Dopamine. Caffeine.
Yes, caffeine. Sometimes, I get up early just to be groggy and take a hit of coffee. That groggy-kind-of-awake feeling. Then, the crash; you’re kind of sleepy around mid-day and get a really deep, comfortable nap. Ahhh, napping – my boy still takes an afternoon nap and that’s what I do on Sunday afternoons after my “Washed Up World Cup” game.
Right now, though, I’m on the straight-and-narrow with the pregnant wife and all. She’s going to pop any day. Can’t be drunk for that, now. So, I’m down to a couple in the morning to stop the shakes and a few at night to get to sleep.
No … but it will be a good night out on St. Patrick’s Day because (hopefully) that’ll be about the time jk-3 is sleeping more than 2 hours at a time and we’ll be rollicking at the O’Ceallaigh’s Second Annual St. Patrick’s Day party. It’s a Saturday, so I think we’ll order a Jumping Castle for the kids.
This has been kind of a pointless entry.
Part of the reason I’m writing this is because I want to see if any of the members of the Blue Milk Cult ever visit. I will now know who is truly loyal.
One of the things, though, that’s always got me thinking is how chemicals influence thought – not just beer, but all sorts of stuff. Endorphins. Lithium. Dopamine. Caffeine.
Yes, caffeine. Sometimes, I get up early just to be groggy and take a hit of coffee. That groggy-kind-of-awake feeling. Then, the crash; you’re kind of sleepy around mid-day and get a really deep, comfortable nap. Ahhh, napping – my boy still takes an afternoon nap and that’s what I do on Sunday afternoons after my “Washed Up World Cup” game.
Right now, though, I’m on the straight-and-narrow with the pregnant wife and all. She’s going to pop any day. Can’t be drunk for that, now. So, I’m down to a couple in the morning to stop the shakes and a few at night to get to sleep.
No … but it will be a good night out on St. Patrick’s Day because (hopefully) that’ll be about the time jk-3 is sleeping more than 2 hours at a time and we’ll be rollicking at the O’Ceallaigh’s Second Annual St. Patrick’s Day party. It’s a Saturday, so I think we’ll order a Jumping Castle for the kids.
This has been kind of a pointless entry.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
A Family Tradition
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Notes from Deuce’s first Suns’ Game.
I was really only hoping to make it to half time, but we made it the whole game.
When we walked into the arena, he was in awe. He loved the lights, the big pictures of basketballs (he pointed them out to me), but, most of all, the evegators (his word for both elevators and escalators – since we’re in the nosebleed section, we need to take the escalators up).
He also likes tickets, due to Polar Express. He likes to give his ticket to the ticket-taker like in the movie. He gave his ticket to the ticket-taker-man – an older fellow either working part-time for fun or for his wife’s prescription co-pay. The fellow said, “I like your light-up shoes.” So, the boy, did his Happy Feet dance (like the penguin in the movie) to show the old fellow the lights.
He loved the introductions. According to him, “It got a little dark, then there was fire. The players did not get too close because it is very hot. You cannot touch the fire. After that, the game started.”
He’s a big fan of the Gorilla. Isn’t everyone? After the game, when I asked him, “What did the Gorilla do?” He says, “The Gorilla plays basketball.” During the game, he informed me that the Gorilla does not play soccer, nor does the Gorilla play football. Good to know.
He enjoys chanting, “De-Fense! De-Fense!” while pumping his fist in the air. He did it most of the car ride home.
As some of you may already know, he’s a big Steve Nash fan. Golden State was doing well and we needed a shot, so good old MV3 dribbles up and takes a SuperShot. He hits it and the fans jump out of their seats and cheer. Deuce jumps up, throws his hands in the air, and yells, “Yay! Steve Nash!” I’m not sure he knew it was Nash, but he knows to cheer for Nash. He could also tell that something good happened.
We’ve also been working on some of the other players’ names. Sometimes, when he knows the answer to a question, he’ll ask that question. For example, when he knows he’s going to Target (he loves that store), he says, “Where are we going?” I answer, “I don’t know. Where are we going?” and he responds, “We’re going to Target.”
So, on the ride home, he asked, “Who did we see play basketball?” I said, “I don’t know.” And, he started rattling off players’ names.
They included:
Steve Nash
Amamire (which, I believe, is supposed to be Amare Stoudemire)
Boris Diaw (easy to pronounce)
Shawn Airion (he just forget the “M”)
And, for some reason, he thought he saw Pat Burke played tonight
After hitting the concessions stand (the first time), we picked up some napkins. While there, a young (25 or so) couple saw us. The man said to the woman, “When we have kids, I’m going to get them a Steve Nash jersey like he [Deuce] has.”
I hope they get to have a boy who loves to wear his Steve Nash jersey.
I was really only hoping to make it to half time, but we made it the whole game.
When we walked into the arena, he was in awe. He loved the lights, the big pictures of basketballs (he pointed them out to me), but, most of all, the evegators (his word for both elevators and escalators – since we’re in the nosebleed section, we need to take the escalators up).
He also likes tickets, due to Polar Express. He likes to give his ticket to the ticket-taker like in the movie. He gave his ticket to the ticket-taker-man – an older fellow either working part-time for fun or for his wife’s prescription co-pay. The fellow said, “I like your light-up shoes.” So, the boy, did his Happy Feet dance (like the penguin in the movie) to show the old fellow the lights.
He loved the introductions. According to him, “It got a little dark, then there was fire. The players did not get too close because it is very hot. You cannot touch the fire. After that, the game started.”
He’s a big fan of the Gorilla. Isn’t everyone? After the game, when I asked him, “What did the Gorilla do?” He says, “The Gorilla plays basketball.” During the game, he informed me that the Gorilla does not play soccer, nor does the Gorilla play football. Good to know.
He enjoys chanting, “De-Fense! De-Fense!” while pumping his fist in the air. He did it most of the car ride home.
As some of you may already know, he’s a big Steve Nash fan. Golden State was doing well and we needed a shot, so good old MV3 dribbles up and takes a SuperShot. He hits it and the fans jump out of their seats and cheer. Deuce jumps up, throws his hands in the air, and yells, “Yay! Steve Nash!” I’m not sure he knew it was Nash, but he knows to cheer for Nash. He could also tell that something good happened.
We’ve also been working on some of the other players’ names. Sometimes, when he knows the answer to a question, he’ll ask that question. For example, when he knows he’s going to Target (he loves that store), he says, “Where are we going?” I answer, “I don’t know. Where are we going?” and he responds, “We’re going to Target.”
So, on the ride home, he asked, “Who did we see play basketball?” I said, “I don’t know.” And, he started rattling off players’ names.
They included:
Steve Nash
Amamire (which, I believe, is supposed to be Amare Stoudemire)
Boris Diaw (easy to pronounce)
Shawn Airion (he just forget the “M”)
And, for some reason, he thought he saw Pat Burke played tonight
After hitting the concessions stand (the first time), we picked up some napkins. While there, a young (25 or so) couple saw us. The man said to the woman, “When we have kids, I’m going to get them a Steve Nash jersey like he [Deuce] has.”
I hope they get to have a boy who loves to wear his Steve Nash jersey.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
A Third Way
Don't fight, don't give in, but win.
I learned this stuff in high school. If anyone's got further clarification, it would be appreciated.
Walk the Extra Mile
Roman law only allowed soldiers to force a non-citizen to carry the soldier's armor for one mile. Recall that there were mile markers on every road -- the Romans found that stuff very important. Anyway, the law was there to make sure that the Romans didn't entirely piss off the subjugated populations. Recall that one of the Colonists' beefs with the English was the law allowing the British Army to sleep in a colonist's house, i.e., "quartering" -- there is even an amendment forbidding quartering (the third, if memory serves).
So, imagine this: A Roman soldier forces a Jew to carry his armor for a mile. They hit the mile marker and the Roman says, "Okay, you're free to go," but the Jew keeps walking with the solder's armor. Now, imagine the soldier chasing the Jew down the road so as not to get in trouble with his superior officer.
Turn the Other Cheek
Back in the day, there were "norms" about whom you could slap and how you could slap them. A back-handed, aka "bitch slap" was reserved for those giving the worst of insults to the worst of society. For some reason, you could open-hand slap a peer or an okay guy.
So, you get slapped on one cheek (which causes your face to move) and you immediately turn so that the guy can bitch-slap your other cheek. "Come on, I dare you."
There are alternatives to fighting. Kill'em with kindness.
I learned this stuff in high school. If anyone's got further clarification, it would be appreciated.
Walk the Extra Mile
Roman law only allowed soldiers to force a non-citizen to carry the soldier's armor for one mile. Recall that there were mile markers on every road -- the Romans found that stuff very important. Anyway, the law was there to make sure that the Romans didn't entirely piss off the subjugated populations. Recall that one of the Colonists' beefs with the English was the law allowing the British Army to sleep in a colonist's house, i.e., "quartering" -- there is even an amendment forbidding quartering (the third, if memory serves).
So, imagine this: A Roman soldier forces a Jew to carry his armor for a mile. They hit the mile marker and the Roman says, "Okay, you're free to go," but the Jew keeps walking with the solder's armor. Now, imagine the soldier chasing the Jew down the road so as not to get in trouble with his superior officer.
Turn the Other Cheek
Back in the day, there were "norms" about whom you could slap and how you could slap them. A back-handed, aka "bitch slap" was reserved for those giving the worst of insults to the worst of society. For some reason, you could open-hand slap a peer or an okay guy.
So, you get slapped on one cheek (which causes your face to move) and you immediately turn so that the guy can bitch-slap your other cheek. "Come on, I dare you."
There are alternatives to fighting. Kill'em with kindness.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Oh, no! They're Flandersesses!
Just because I don't want to forget.
There's a Simpsons episode where Ned Flanders almost baptizes Maggie. Of course, Marge and Homer don't want Maggie to be a Flanders in God's eye. So, Homer goes to save her. Right now, I could use Homer's help.
I took Deuce shopping today. When the automatic door opened, he walked through and said, "Thank you, door." Just like Rod and Tod walking into the Kwik-E-Mart.
Save me, Homer!
There's a Simpsons episode where Ned Flanders almost baptizes Maggie. Of course, Marge and Homer don't want Maggie to be a Flanders in God's eye. So, Homer goes to save her. Right now, I could use Homer's help.
I took Deuce shopping today. When the automatic door opened, he walked through and said, "Thank you, door." Just like Rod and Tod walking into the Kwik-E-Mart.
Save me, Homer!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Rock the Boat
I’ve often said that it’s hard to rock the boat when you’re rowing it.
This is the basis of my fundamental opposition to voter-driven initiatives. They’re just issues that legislators wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Why should we – the uneducated, ignorant and mis-informed masses – make such important decisions as multi-billion dollar trolley systems going through downtown?
We, the masses, should go to work, do our jobs, and let our elected representatives make these types of policy decisions. If you don’t like your representative, then vote him/ her out and/ or run for office yourself. Everyone has his or her role. Go row your boat and don’t worry about whether the other guy is doing his job.
As long as you keep rowing, things tend to work themselves out. Not always, but on the average. All we can really ask for is that, on average, things work out. That’s what we do with life.
Take child rearing as an example:
Kids that grow up in a loving home are less likely to engage in disruptive behavior like substance abuse or promiscuity. Kids that grow up with two parents in the home are less likely to commit crimes and less likely to commit serious crime. Now, we all know of the exceptions that prove the rule, but these are the simple statistics.
Have your kids brush their teeth twice a day and they’re less likely to get cavities. Keep your kids in sports, and they are less likely to have self-esteem issues and more likely to be physically healthy.
Again – odds, not certainties. That’s why I like to say that good luck is the intersection of hard work and opportunity. Get yourself prepared – do the best preparation you can – then jump into it. This is what every successful person does. Well, at least those “self-made” successes.
Things usually do work themselves out. I don’t know whether the glass is half-empty or half full, I’m just pissed that someone keeps drinking half my beer! How the devil do they keep doing that!? You’ve got to have priorities.
When I say that, I have to constantly remind myself not to get complacent. Things stop working themselves out when I stop rowing. I work on what I can, and I try to fix what I can, but I have to know when and how to act. I can only surmise that the decision-making process in this regard takes wisdom, experience and sound advice. It also takes a self-assuredness that can only come from hard work.
Talking about something and doing it are two different things. This is why I’m such a big advocate of athletic activity. You can feel pain, strain, doubt and anxiety in your training. Then, you get nervous before the performance. During the performance, you win or loose. Then you start over again. Eventually, you gain some proficiency in your athletic endeavor. You get better. You see results. You gain confidence. Then, your confidence begins to grow exponentially. At that point, you’re self-assured enough to take some chances and experiment a little. Sometimes you fail, but most experiments, on the average, give you good results.
It’s the same thing at work, the same progression. But, in local sports teams, you get to learn some lessons without the major consequences that go along with a merger, a lawsuit, a marketing campaign, or publication.
Wait around ... wait around ... wait around ... and, then move! Same as giving advice. Same as sticking your foot out.
There’s an old Chinese proverb (or something) that goes something like this, “Fortune favors the bold.” It may have been from Sun Tzu, or a paraphrase of something he said (if he really existed). I’m also not sure if I’ve got it quite right, but I like it the way it is.
Notice that fortune does not favor the “brave,” the “foolhardy,” the “brash,” the “outspoken,” or the “fearless.” Here’s a link for “bold” on dictionary.com. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/bold
Words used to define “bold” include courageous, daring, or beyond the limits of conventional thought. Einstein is used as an example.
There are some negative connotations to it, but I’d rather be bold than many other things. You need to be bold when hard work and preparation crosses paths with opportunity …
This is the basis of my fundamental opposition to voter-driven initiatives. They’re just issues that legislators wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Why should we – the uneducated, ignorant and mis-informed masses – make such important decisions as multi-billion dollar trolley systems going through downtown?
We, the masses, should go to work, do our jobs, and let our elected representatives make these types of policy decisions. If you don’t like your representative, then vote him/ her out and/ or run for office yourself. Everyone has his or her role. Go row your boat and don’t worry about whether the other guy is doing his job.
As long as you keep rowing, things tend to work themselves out. Not always, but on the average. All we can really ask for is that, on average, things work out. That’s what we do with life.
Take child rearing as an example:
Kids that grow up in a loving home are less likely to engage in disruptive behavior like substance abuse or promiscuity. Kids that grow up with two parents in the home are less likely to commit crimes and less likely to commit serious crime. Now, we all know of the exceptions that prove the rule, but these are the simple statistics.
Have your kids brush their teeth twice a day and they’re less likely to get cavities. Keep your kids in sports, and they are less likely to have self-esteem issues and more likely to be physically healthy.
Again – odds, not certainties. That’s why I like to say that good luck is the intersection of hard work and opportunity. Get yourself prepared – do the best preparation you can – then jump into it. This is what every successful person does. Well, at least those “self-made” successes.
Things usually do work themselves out. I don’t know whether the glass is half-empty or half full, I’m just pissed that someone keeps drinking half my beer! How the devil do they keep doing that!? You’ve got to have priorities.
When I say that, I have to constantly remind myself not to get complacent. Things stop working themselves out when I stop rowing. I work on what I can, and I try to fix what I can, but I have to know when and how to act. I can only surmise that the decision-making process in this regard takes wisdom, experience and sound advice. It also takes a self-assuredness that can only come from hard work.
Talking about something and doing it are two different things. This is why I’m such a big advocate of athletic activity. You can feel pain, strain, doubt and anxiety in your training. Then, you get nervous before the performance. During the performance, you win or loose. Then you start over again. Eventually, you gain some proficiency in your athletic endeavor. You get better. You see results. You gain confidence. Then, your confidence begins to grow exponentially. At that point, you’re self-assured enough to take some chances and experiment a little. Sometimes you fail, but most experiments, on the average, give you good results.
It’s the same thing at work, the same progression. But, in local sports teams, you get to learn some lessons without the major consequences that go along with a merger, a lawsuit, a marketing campaign, or publication.
Wait around ... wait around ... wait around ... and, then move! Same as giving advice. Same as sticking your foot out.
There’s an old Chinese proverb (or something) that goes something like this, “Fortune favors the bold.” It may have been from Sun Tzu, or a paraphrase of something he said (if he really existed). I’m also not sure if I’ve got it quite right, but I like it the way it is.
Notice that fortune does not favor the “brave,” the “foolhardy,” the “brash,” the “outspoken,” or the “fearless.” Here’s a link for “bold” on dictionary.com. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/bold
Words used to define “bold” include courageous, daring, or beyond the limits of conventional thought. Einstein is used as an example.
There are some negative connotations to it, but I’d rather be bold than many other things. You need to be bold when hard work and preparation crosses paths with opportunity …
Monday, November 13, 2006
Abraham Re-Visited
When the rich man asked Jesus what he needed to do to see the Kingdom of Heaven, Jesus told him to “leave all behind and follow me.” Isn’t this the same thing that Yahweh asked Abraham to do?
Yahweh told Abraham that he would be the “Father of Nations” and have multitudes of children descendants. After many barren decades, Abraham finally had a son, Isaac, through whom God’s promise to Abraham would be fulfilled. Then, suddenly, God told Abraham to give it back – to leave it behind.
St. Paul writes that a man leaves his family behind to marry his wife. Jesus, the church’s bridegroom, leaves his life behind for his love – the church (people) on earth.
There’s a story about two monks (Hindu or Buddhist – I can’t remember) that are walking along a river. A woman is having stuck on a rock (or a log, or something) in the middle of the raging water. She is stuck and cannot get across.
The monks have taken a vow of chastity.
The older monk reaches out and helps the damsel in distress (an occidental term, but we’ll go with it). She thanks him and they all go on their way.
Ashen, the younger monk is troubled by the encounter. He asks the older monk something like, “How could you have done that and put your vow of chastity in danger?”
The older monk replies, “I left the woman at the river. Apparently, you have not.”
The lesson is not about resisting temptation (as I used to think), but it is about living in your moment – not the past, not the future, but where you are. It’s easy to resist temptation when you don’t dwell on it. You already know it’s wrong.
Jesus, in His occidental way, is teaching us about the dangers of attachment and how it detracts from Salvation. That’s why it’s so hard for a rich man to get to Heaven. Alec Baldwin did a very funny SNL skit where the rich people have invested billions to try to fit a camel through the eye of a needle – I think they turned the camel into a liquid to get it through. Going to a Catholic school with many rich kids (not me – yet), the teachers had to be clear that it was just “really hard” not impossible.
So, how do you do it? Faith. Simple, yet profound and difficult to understand. Kind of like E=mc2.
There aren’t that many good answers. But I do know this:
The simplest way to live is in the moment. The most rewarding way to live is in the moment. The least stressful way to live is in the moment. The most enjoyable way to live is in the moment. The way to get the most of your life is to live in the moment, because you may not get another one.
Maybe that’s why we’re supposed to have Abraham’s great faith in ourselves and in our Lord.
Yahweh told Abraham that he would be the “Father of Nations” and have multitudes of children descendants. After many barren decades, Abraham finally had a son, Isaac, through whom God’s promise to Abraham would be fulfilled. Then, suddenly, God told Abraham to give it back – to leave it behind.
St. Paul writes that a man leaves his family behind to marry his wife. Jesus, the church’s bridegroom, leaves his life behind for his love – the church (people) on earth.
There’s a story about two monks (Hindu or Buddhist – I can’t remember) that are walking along a river. A woman is having stuck on a rock (or a log, or something) in the middle of the raging water. She is stuck and cannot get across.
The monks have taken a vow of chastity.
The older monk reaches out and helps the damsel in distress (an occidental term, but we’ll go with it). She thanks him and they all go on their way.
Ashen, the younger monk is troubled by the encounter. He asks the older monk something like, “How could you have done that and put your vow of chastity in danger?”
The older monk replies, “I left the woman at the river. Apparently, you have not.”
The lesson is not about resisting temptation (as I used to think), but it is about living in your moment – not the past, not the future, but where you are. It’s easy to resist temptation when you don’t dwell on it. You already know it’s wrong.
Jesus, in His occidental way, is teaching us about the dangers of attachment and how it detracts from Salvation. That’s why it’s so hard for a rich man to get to Heaven. Alec Baldwin did a very funny SNL skit where the rich people have invested billions to try to fit a camel through the eye of a needle – I think they turned the camel into a liquid to get it through. Going to a Catholic school with many rich kids (not me – yet), the teachers had to be clear that it was just “really hard” not impossible.
So, how do you do it? Faith. Simple, yet profound and difficult to understand. Kind of like E=mc2.
There aren’t that many good answers. But I do know this:
The simplest way to live is in the moment. The most rewarding way to live is in the moment. The least stressful way to live is in the moment. The most enjoyable way to live is in the moment. The way to get the most of your life is to live in the moment, because you may not get another one.
Maybe that’s why we’re supposed to have Abraham’s great faith in ourselves and in our Lord.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Native Sun
I'm relatively certain that my first memory was Game 5 of the 1976 Boston series.
I still have the ticket from the first Suns game I went to. I was a little over 3 years old and I got to go because I stood on a stool and peed into the potty.
Deuce is now urinating exclusively in the toilet, but we're having problems getting him to drop his namesake in there just yet. I've seen "Elmo's Potty Time" at least 8 times now. As the song it tells him to do, he just keeps trying. I'm thinking that maybe if I entice him with a Suns ticket, he'll go in there. He likes basketball, too. He's pretty good at the little hoop in his room.
But this entry is supposed to be about my Suns tickets.
My brother and I were at Game 5 of the Clipper series last year. You know, the one where Raja Bell hit the three in the corner. The Suns also had a great Game 5 in Chicago in 1993 (triple-overtime there, too). After the game, Charles told the citizens of Chicago to sleep well and take the boards off the windows because he personally saved them from the inevitable rioting that a Bulls championship would produce. Some great triple-overtime Game 5s, but no rings yet.
After that game, we decided we needed to get season tickets. We knew we needed to be in line for playoff tickets, too. Getting Amare back was probably the best off-season move of any team. More on him later.
We split a half-season package. My understanding is that we are entitled to buy tickets for half of the home season playoffs in our same spot and that we are able to get first crack at any other tickets for the other games. There's a good chance we'll have tickets for all of the playoffs at home. There's no way in hell I'm scalping anything but first round tickets.
Our tickets are the second-cheapest in the building (we went to a preseason game last night). We are center court, but two rows from the top of the building. The only cheaper tickets are at the same level in the curves.
My brother and I took 5 games that we wanted to go to and decided to go together. We each took the tickets for 8 other games (21 total regular season games -- its technically a little more than half; I wonder how that works out?). I took games that were before January and starting in March so that I'd be around when Little Rose pops out. I almost bought her a pink Suns shirt at the Team Shop. Maybe next time.
Maybe I've got romanticized memories of Amare two years ago, but he sure looked a lot more like Tom Chambers than Amare Stoudemire. Nothing against Chambers, and Chambers in his prime would be a great addition to this team, but I really wanted to see the old Amare. Maybe he'll get there, and maybe he won't.
I'm thinking that as long as Thomas or Amare makes it into the postseason, we're going to have a great shot at the championship. I also like the addition of a true backup point guard for Nash. It was so mish-mash last year. Banks looked sluggish, but at least he's not a square peg (Eddie House, Leandro Barbosa) in a circular hole.
And the future looks great.
Pat Burke, the only Irish-born NBA player, hit a three at the end of the game (try to remember Teen Wolf -- "Put it up, fat-boy!"). We went to the Team Shop in the arena afterward. Oddly enough, there were not No. 11 Burke jerseys for sale. You can get one with your name on it there; maybe I'll get a Burke one specially made.
Diaw, the only Frenchman I can stand, just signed a five-year extension.
With the exceptions of Nash, Thomas, and Piatkowski (who?), none of the players have been in the league more than 7 years and none (other than Pat Burke) were born before 1976. Marion is 28, Amare is 23, Barbosa is 23, and Diaw is 24. Even when Nash leaves (in a few years, I'd suppose) after 2 or 3 rings, the team is still young and strong. Next year I'll probably spring for tickets closer to the floor.
I still have the ticket from the first Suns game I went to. I was a little over 3 years old and I got to go because I stood on a stool and peed into the potty.
Deuce is now urinating exclusively in the toilet, but we're having problems getting him to drop his namesake in there just yet. I've seen "Elmo's Potty Time" at least 8 times now. As the song it tells him to do, he just keeps trying. I'm thinking that maybe if I entice him with a Suns ticket, he'll go in there. He likes basketball, too. He's pretty good at the little hoop in his room.
But this entry is supposed to be about my Suns tickets.
My brother and I were at Game 5 of the Clipper series last year. You know, the one where Raja Bell hit the three in the corner. The Suns also had a great Game 5 in Chicago in 1993 (triple-overtime there, too). After the game, Charles told the citizens of Chicago to sleep well and take the boards off the windows because he personally saved them from the inevitable rioting that a Bulls championship would produce. Some great triple-overtime Game 5s, but no rings yet.
After that game, we decided we needed to get season tickets. We knew we needed to be in line for playoff tickets, too. Getting Amare back was probably the best off-season move of any team. More on him later.
We split a half-season package. My understanding is that we are entitled to buy tickets for half of the home season playoffs in our same spot and that we are able to get first crack at any other tickets for the other games. There's a good chance we'll have tickets for all of the playoffs at home. There's no way in hell I'm scalping anything but first round tickets.
Our tickets are the second-cheapest in the building (we went to a preseason game last night). We are center court, but two rows from the top of the building. The only cheaper tickets are at the same level in the curves.
My brother and I took 5 games that we wanted to go to and decided to go together. We each took the tickets for 8 other games (21 total regular season games -- its technically a little more than half; I wonder how that works out?). I took games that were before January and starting in March so that I'd be around when Little Rose pops out. I almost bought her a pink Suns shirt at the Team Shop. Maybe next time.
Maybe I've got romanticized memories of Amare two years ago, but he sure looked a lot more like Tom Chambers than Amare Stoudemire. Nothing against Chambers, and Chambers in his prime would be a great addition to this team, but I really wanted to see the old Amare. Maybe he'll get there, and maybe he won't.
I'm thinking that as long as Thomas or Amare makes it into the postseason, we're going to have a great shot at the championship. I also like the addition of a true backup point guard for Nash. It was so mish-mash last year. Banks looked sluggish, but at least he's not a square peg (Eddie House, Leandro Barbosa) in a circular hole.
And the future looks great.
Pat Burke, the only Irish-born NBA player, hit a three at the end of the game (try to remember Teen Wolf -- "Put it up, fat-boy!"). We went to the Team Shop in the arena afterward. Oddly enough, there were not No. 11 Burke jerseys for sale. You can get one with your name on it there; maybe I'll get a Burke one specially made.
Diaw, the only Frenchman I can stand, just signed a five-year extension.
With the exceptions of Nash, Thomas, and Piatkowski (who?), none of the players have been in the league more than 7 years and none (other than Pat Burke) were born before 1976. Marion is 28, Amare is 23, Barbosa is 23, and Diaw is 24. Even when Nash leaves (in a few years, I'd suppose) after 2 or 3 rings, the team is still young and strong. Next year I'll probably spring for tickets closer to the floor.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
How Adam Sandler Has Replaced John Hughes
A while back, I wrote about how I though John Hughes was the greatest philosopher of the late 20th Century. If you’re interested, go look through the old entries. If anything makes sense or raises a question, please comment on that “old” entry and I will respond.
The Valentine’s Day before I married my wife we went to see The Wedding Singer. Funny thing is that before and after that viewing, we’ve never been big “move goers.” We go, just not that often, but we wanted to see this movie.
Now that we’ve decided on a name for our daughter, we laugh about “Julia Goulia.”
We bought the VHS tape (yes, this predated our DVD era) from Blockbuster on a “pre-viewed” basis. Kind of like the two cars we own now (we’ve bought into the CPO hype). I still like the previews for Jackie Chan’s Mr. Nice Guy.
Anyway, we like to watch that film. Every time I watch that, I have the incredible urge to “just” be a good person.
One complaint I’ve had about films like Nic Cage’s Family Man is that he gets both the money and the family in the end. That didn’t happen in this film. Adam chose the family and went back to his “poor” state of life. That’s a little more “real world” for me. You can’t have it all.
I’ve been trying to bring my entries about Abraham’s Faith to a conclusion, but I keep getting sidetracked. In Click, Adam gets his goals but misses out on all the things that happen in between. I kept thinking about the 3-hour playdough party I had with J2 a few weeks back. I’m relatively certain he will never do that with me again. What else have I been missing?
Oh, and Adam Sandler knows what he's doing. Next time you watch The Wedding Singer, listen to the music. The final love ballad plays throughout the flick at the appropriate times. In Click, the "first song" that plays when he kisses his wife-to-be is "Linger." In a story about fast-forwarding through life, lingering during the first kiss is important. Reminisce sometime.
Is Abraham’s faith a symbol of his strength or a gift of Grace?
Going back to earlier chapters, it is my position/ belief (at least right now) that Abraham’s faith is what allowed him to become the “Father of Nations.” That gift, though, is not something borne of his character, but it is Grace.
The Greeks believed that a hero was a hero because he was selected to be one. This likely had something to do with the way they viewed comedy versus tragedy. Anyway ... Odysseus was not special due to anything other than the fact that certain gods favored him. He was “chosen” to be special.
Most of what I’ve read and studied introduce this as a dichotomy, a fundamental shift from pantheism to monotheism. But is it really? Isn’t the ability to love the moment a gift? Isn’t the ability to be “special” a gift?
The “fundamental” shift is not that we cannot achieve it without divine intervention. The “fundamental” shift is that we’ve all been given the gift, but that we need to embrace it. here are not a "selected" few who have been "chosen" to receive the gift. It is there for the taking.
It’s here. The Kingdom of Heaven is upon us. Take that plank out of your eye and look around.
One of the great criticisms come from the little green man in my living room: “Never his mind on where he was. Eh. What he was doing. Eh.”
If you just hit fast-forward to where you wanted to be, imagine how much you would loose.
The Valentine’s Day before I married my wife we went to see The Wedding Singer. Funny thing is that before and after that viewing, we’ve never been big “move goers.” We go, just not that often, but we wanted to see this movie.
Now that we’ve decided on a name for our daughter, we laugh about “Julia Goulia.”
We bought the VHS tape (yes, this predated our DVD era) from Blockbuster on a “pre-viewed” basis. Kind of like the two cars we own now (we’ve bought into the CPO hype). I still like the previews for Jackie Chan’s Mr. Nice Guy.
Anyway, we like to watch that film. Every time I watch that, I have the incredible urge to “just” be a good person.
One complaint I’ve had about films like Nic Cage’s Family Man is that he gets both the money and the family in the end. That didn’t happen in this film. Adam chose the family and went back to his “poor” state of life. That’s a little more “real world” for me. You can’t have it all.
I’ve been trying to bring my entries about Abraham’s Faith to a conclusion, but I keep getting sidetracked. In Click, Adam gets his goals but misses out on all the things that happen in between. I kept thinking about the 3-hour playdough party I had with J2 a few weeks back. I’m relatively certain he will never do that with me again. What else have I been missing?
Oh, and Adam Sandler knows what he's doing. Next time you watch The Wedding Singer, listen to the music. The final love ballad plays throughout the flick at the appropriate times. In Click, the "first song" that plays when he kisses his wife-to-be is "Linger." In a story about fast-forwarding through life, lingering during the first kiss is important. Reminisce sometime.
Is Abraham’s faith a symbol of his strength or a gift of Grace?
Going back to earlier chapters, it is my position/ belief (at least right now) that Abraham’s faith is what allowed him to become the “Father of Nations.” That gift, though, is not something borne of his character, but it is Grace.
The Greeks believed that a hero was a hero because he was selected to be one. This likely had something to do with the way they viewed comedy versus tragedy. Anyway ... Odysseus was not special due to anything other than the fact that certain gods favored him. He was “chosen” to be special.
Most of what I’ve read and studied introduce this as a dichotomy, a fundamental shift from pantheism to monotheism. But is it really? Isn’t the ability to love the moment a gift? Isn’t the ability to be “special” a gift?
The “fundamental” shift is not that we cannot achieve it without divine intervention. The “fundamental” shift is that we’ve all been given the gift, but that we need to embrace it. here are not a "selected" few who have been "chosen" to receive the gift. It is there for the taking.
It’s here. The Kingdom of Heaven is upon us. Take that plank out of your eye and look around.
One of the great criticisms come from the little green man in my living room: “Never his mind on where he was. Eh. What he was doing. Eh.”
If you just hit fast-forward to where you wanted to be, imagine how much you would loose.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
My Little Rose
We’ve decided on Julia Rosaleen Kelly. Rosaleen is (allegedly) an Anglicized version of the Irish Roisin (pronounced “ro-sheen”). I’m not so sure about that, though. The name Rosaleen first appeared in Ireland in the sixteenth century – about the same time as the English poet Spenser first mentioned his aloof love, Rosalind. From what I’ve read, Rosalind was a name first used by Spenser.
Before going much further, I need to confess that I ended my Guinness boycott. I played soccer tonight. After the games, I like “two Guinness and a whiskey.” As I’ve said before, I’m going to write a song about it someday.
I need to do some more research, and maybe someday I’ll post an update, but, interestingly the patriotic poem “Dark Rosaleen” (allegedly translated from the Gaelic in the 19th century) mentions Spanish ale and Spenser spent time in Ireland in the sixteenth century at a time when the Spanish were funding the Irish in an effort to wreak havoc on their mutual enemy, the British. Someday, I’ll do some research on primary materials and have something to back up this.
Until then, we’re going with Julia Rosaleen. Personally, I don’t care for Julia. I like it. It’s nice. It’s okay. My wife loves it. She is the one with a huge stomach and sore feet, after all.
Rosaleen means “little rose.” It's a good nickname. With my son, he's got "the boy" (ala Bart and Homer Simpson) or "Deuce." I really felt uncomfortabe calling my daughter, "the girl." My "little rose" is pretty, don't you think?
My grandmother’s middle name was Rose. One of my first entries here was about my grandmother’s funeral.
This is the first Kelly girl in something like 90 years. My dad had a brother and his brother had three boys. I have two brothers. My grandfather (my Dad’s dad) had one sister. My grandfather just had nephews (as far as I know – there’s some sort of “black sheep” back there that I’m going to figure out someday).
My grandmother desperately wanted a girl. I was the first (and one of only two) grandsons (she has six total) to get married. She was thrilled to get a daughter-in-law. I think my Grammy may be my wife’s favorite family member simply because of the reception into the family.
Grammy’s great desire for a girl is what gave me hesitation in naming my daughter after her. A little background is necessary.
When I was born, my Grammy was still working as a secretary for Woodmen of the World. Someone gave her a wooden picture frame that consisted of letters spelling “Pride & Joy.” There was a baby picture of me in that frame. When I was at her house during the funeral time, that picture frame was still in the den.
I’m pretty sure I was her favorite. She told me as much. It’s okay for grandparents to have favorites. My brother was Grandpa Lunden’s favorite (at least of us 3 boys). Grandpa Lunden was my mother’s sister’s father-in-law. Technically not a grandparent, but we were fortunate enough to have three sets of grandparents.
When she was in the hospital, I sent her some roses. Her good friend, a Jesuit priest, visited her after she left the hospital. When I saw him at the funeral, he told me that his last conversation with her was about me. She said her “Pride and Joy” sent her those roses, and “it must have set him back $75 and he shouldn’t have done that.” It was only about $55 including delivery – oh, well.
When she got out of the hospital, Dad, her first-born, went to be with her. I had a bad feeling about that trip. I thought the bad feeling was simply that Dad would be faced with putting her in a care-home or something like that. She died a couple of days after he got there. She asked him to come earlier than he was planning to go. If he had gone with his original plan, he would have not been there for her. She always said she wanted to go in her home and that she did not want to go alone. She got both her wishes.
Pretty touching, right? What’s the problem? Why did you hesitate to name the first Kelly girl in 90 years after the woman that called you her “Pride & Joy?”
After we got out of the ultrasound for Deuce, we started calling family members. She was the third person we called – after my parents and my wife’s parents. When I told her I was having a boy she said, “Oh, honey, I was really wishing for a girl.”
I wanted to reach through the phone and slap her.
My first child and instead of being excited, she expressed disappointment. Looking back, part of my shock and anger was that this was the first time I really saw some of her flaws. No need to go into her flaws now, but the point is that I think she knocked herself off the pedestal I had put her on.
She had died about two weeks before we found out we were having a girl. Before Dad left for Kentucky to be with his mom, I told my wife that Grammy would stick around to see if we were having a girl. I thought she’d pass over some time after she’d seen this Kelly girl.
Last week, Dad brought back a pink afghan that she had knitted. She has, over the years, knitted many comfortable afghans for me and for her grandsons. She gave Deuce one, too. It was a little bit old – she had been holding on to it for a while.
I’m still mad at her for that phone call. It’s probably the worst thing she ever said to me. It is also probably the only negative thing that I can ever recall her doing to me. Because of that, it was probably one of the meanest things anyone’s ever said to me. And I don’t “see” where she was coming from. It was awful, it was selfish, and it was not borne out of love.
So she was flawed. She’s human. It still hurts me. But she’s my Prodigal Grammy, and I’m her “Pride & Joy.”
Before going much further, I need to confess that I ended my Guinness boycott. I played soccer tonight. After the games, I like “two Guinness and a whiskey.” As I’ve said before, I’m going to write a song about it someday.
I need to do some more research, and maybe someday I’ll post an update, but, interestingly the patriotic poem “Dark Rosaleen” (allegedly translated from the Gaelic in the 19th century) mentions Spanish ale and Spenser spent time in Ireland in the sixteenth century at a time when the Spanish were funding the Irish in an effort to wreak havoc on their mutual enemy, the British. Someday, I’ll do some research on primary materials and have something to back up this.
Until then, we’re going with Julia Rosaleen. Personally, I don’t care for Julia. I like it. It’s nice. It’s okay. My wife loves it. She is the one with a huge stomach and sore feet, after all.
Rosaleen means “little rose.” It's a good nickname. With my son, he's got "the boy" (ala Bart and Homer Simpson) or "Deuce." I really felt uncomfortabe calling my daughter, "the girl." My "little rose" is pretty, don't you think?
My grandmother’s middle name was Rose. One of my first entries here was about my grandmother’s funeral.
This is the first Kelly girl in something like 90 years. My dad had a brother and his brother had three boys. I have two brothers. My grandfather (my Dad’s dad) had one sister. My grandfather just had nephews (as far as I know – there’s some sort of “black sheep” back there that I’m going to figure out someday).
My grandmother desperately wanted a girl. I was the first (and one of only two) grandsons (she has six total) to get married. She was thrilled to get a daughter-in-law. I think my Grammy may be my wife’s favorite family member simply because of the reception into the family.
Grammy’s great desire for a girl is what gave me hesitation in naming my daughter after her. A little background is necessary.
When I was born, my Grammy was still working as a secretary for Woodmen of the World. Someone gave her a wooden picture frame that consisted of letters spelling “Pride & Joy.” There was a baby picture of me in that frame. When I was at her house during the funeral time, that picture frame was still in the den.
I’m pretty sure I was her favorite. She told me as much. It’s okay for grandparents to have favorites. My brother was Grandpa Lunden’s favorite (at least of us 3 boys). Grandpa Lunden was my mother’s sister’s father-in-law. Technically not a grandparent, but we were fortunate enough to have three sets of grandparents.
When she was in the hospital, I sent her some roses. Her good friend, a Jesuit priest, visited her after she left the hospital. When I saw him at the funeral, he told me that his last conversation with her was about me. She said her “Pride and Joy” sent her those roses, and “it must have set him back $75 and he shouldn’t have done that.” It was only about $55 including delivery – oh, well.
When she got out of the hospital, Dad, her first-born, went to be with her. I had a bad feeling about that trip. I thought the bad feeling was simply that Dad would be faced with putting her in a care-home or something like that. She died a couple of days after he got there. She asked him to come earlier than he was planning to go. If he had gone with his original plan, he would have not been there for her. She always said she wanted to go in her home and that she did not want to go alone. She got both her wishes.
Pretty touching, right? What’s the problem? Why did you hesitate to name the first Kelly girl in 90 years after the woman that called you her “Pride & Joy?”
After we got out of the ultrasound for Deuce, we started calling family members. She was the third person we called – after my parents and my wife’s parents. When I told her I was having a boy she said, “Oh, honey, I was really wishing for a girl.”
I wanted to reach through the phone and slap her.
My first child and instead of being excited, she expressed disappointment. Looking back, part of my shock and anger was that this was the first time I really saw some of her flaws. No need to go into her flaws now, but the point is that I think she knocked herself off the pedestal I had put her on.
She had died about two weeks before we found out we were having a girl. Before Dad left for Kentucky to be with his mom, I told my wife that Grammy would stick around to see if we were having a girl. I thought she’d pass over some time after she’d seen this Kelly girl.
Last week, Dad brought back a pink afghan that she had knitted. She has, over the years, knitted many comfortable afghans for me and for her grandsons. She gave Deuce one, too. It was a little bit old – she had been holding on to it for a while.
I’m still mad at her for that phone call. It’s probably the worst thing she ever said to me. It is also probably the only negative thing that I can ever recall her doing to me. Because of that, it was probably one of the meanest things anyone’s ever said to me. And I don’t “see” where she was coming from. It was awful, it was selfish, and it was not borne out of love.
So she was flawed. She’s human. It still hurts me. But she’s my Prodigal Grammy, and I’m her “Pride & Joy.”
Monday, October 02, 2006
Ronaldo's Doppleganger
I'll get back to Abraham sometime, but today I'm living in the moment and the moment is taking me somewhere else. I've also got an entry about my un-born daughter's new name, but I'll get to that later. I've got a couple things on my mind right now.
One good and one bad. Bad first.
I think I got screwed on the Guinness Bar Contest. They were supposed to come out with a winner's list by now. I requested a winner's list and never got one -- I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't getting screwed and someone actually won. And I always wanted to grouse about how the "other guy" shouldn't have been the winner. I've emailed four times and received no response. Not even a, "Hey, sorry, we discontinued that contest because all the entries (your's included) sucked." Nothing. I'm thinking about staging a boycott (a term that originated in Ireland). I am not buying or drinking Guinness again ... until Friday, or maybe Thursday ...
The good news is that I played relatively well on the soccer field yesterday. It's been one of my better outings in a while. We won 4-3 and I was 100% of our scoring. You know it's a tight game when they're relying on me.
I won't lie. Part of it was the competition. However, the goaltender was very good and made two very good saves on my shots (I only took 6 shots). And there was one defender I had trouble getting around. Fortunately, old age and treachery overcame youth and skill (well, he has some skill and was slightly younger than me). Here's how the third goal went down:
I had my back to the goal, off to the keeper's right side, with the ball, and this guy (who may have been slightly younger but didn't have so much skill) on me. He had been giving me trouble. So, when the opportunity presented itself I stepped on his left foot with my left foot so I could turn without his following me. Once around him, I focused on the back post and when I saw the goaltender leaning to his left, I shot to the near post and scored. It was quite magical if I do say so myself.
How do I resemble Ronaldo in all of this? My stomach, my unwillingness to run, and my willingness to kinda cheat a little.
No one would ever really call me a "ringer." But, in this league, I sort of am one. Sort of. There are a lot of guys in this division that are just good enough athletes and just good enough at soccer to beat girls and run around a lot. Many of them are faster and stronger than I, but none of them are better players than I. I'm good enough to beat all the guys when I really want to. I also try to take it easy on the gals. Some of the ladies are good; when I try to take it easy on them they beat me. I have to remember to identify those to be nice to and those that cause me trouble.
I like this division, though, because it is now my firm belief that the only persons permitted to be intense on Sunday afternoons are in the NFL. If I played in the higher division, I might have to intensify my play so as not to look so bad. I can do it (I played in that league for a while), but intensity has no place on a Sunday afternoon. And, I've got my mens' league during the week for intensity. I also like my teammates. Among others that I like, my brother plays on the team. He never went as far with soccer as I did and I think the last time we had played on a team together I was something like 8 years old. That's nice, too.
Of course, maybe if I played with more intensity, I'd get rid of that Ronaldo-gut.
One good and one bad. Bad first.
I think I got screwed on the Guinness Bar Contest. They were supposed to come out with a winner's list by now. I requested a winner's list and never got one -- I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't getting screwed and someone actually won. And I always wanted to grouse about how the "other guy" shouldn't have been the winner. I've emailed four times and received no response. Not even a, "Hey, sorry, we discontinued that contest because all the entries (your's included) sucked." Nothing. I'm thinking about staging a boycott (a term that originated in Ireland). I am not buying or drinking Guinness again ... until Friday, or maybe Thursday ...
The good news is that I played relatively well on the soccer field yesterday. It's been one of my better outings in a while. We won 4-3 and I was 100% of our scoring. You know it's a tight game when they're relying on me.
I won't lie. Part of it was the competition. However, the goaltender was very good and made two very good saves on my shots (I only took 6 shots). And there was one defender I had trouble getting around. Fortunately, old age and treachery overcame youth and skill (well, he has some skill and was slightly younger than me). Here's how the third goal went down:
I had my back to the goal, off to the keeper's right side, with the ball, and this guy (who may have been slightly younger but didn't have so much skill) on me. He had been giving me trouble. So, when the opportunity presented itself I stepped on his left foot with my left foot so I could turn without his following me. Once around him, I focused on the back post and when I saw the goaltender leaning to his left, I shot to the near post and scored. It was quite magical if I do say so myself.
How do I resemble Ronaldo in all of this? My stomach, my unwillingness to run, and my willingness to kinda cheat a little.
No one would ever really call me a "ringer." But, in this league, I sort of am one. Sort of. There are a lot of guys in this division that are just good enough athletes and just good enough at soccer to beat girls and run around a lot. Many of them are faster and stronger than I, but none of them are better players than I. I'm good enough to beat all the guys when I really want to. I also try to take it easy on the gals. Some of the ladies are good; when I try to take it easy on them they beat me. I have to remember to identify those to be nice to and those that cause me trouble.
I like this division, though, because it is now my firm belief that the only persons permitted to be intense on Sunday afternoons are in the NFL. If I played in the higher division, I might have to intensify my play so as not to look so bad. I can do it (I played in that league for a while), but intensity has no place on a Sunday afternoon. And, I've got my mens' league during the week for intensity. I also like my teammates. Among others that I like, my brother plays on the team. He never went as far with soccer as I did and I think the last time we had played on a team together I was something like 8 years old. That's nice, too.
Of course, maybe if I played with more intensity, I'd get rid of that Ronaldo-gut.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Psalm 23
I had the weirdest dream last week. Before I get into it, though, a little philosophizing.
I've always had the sneaking suspicion that spirituality and psychology are inter-mixed. I've read a little of Jung's stuff, and that is something I take away from it (whether that's right or wrong, I don't know). I've always had a very active "dream life" -- I don't know that I'm different that others, but I recognize it.
For example, primitive religions believed that if a loved one did not have a proper burial, his/ her soul was restless and would "haunt" you. Nowadays, psychologists say we need "closure." I think it's related; if not the same thing. And I'm not so sure it's not just psychology.
One night last week, I woke up with chills down my spine. It' happened before, too. I felt as if something "evil" (it's the best word I can think of right now) had, literally, touched me. I thought something was in the room.
Recalling Job, I reminded myself that God wouldn't give me something I couldn't handle. I calmed myself and went to sleep about a half-hour later.
The next thing I remember, I was standing on top of a summit -- perhaps near a volcano. Kind of like Mount Doom in Lord of the Rings. I was looking up into the eyes of something ... sinister, and I was praying:
"Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I fear no evil. The Lord is my shepherd."
When I woke up, I immediately thought of Tarot Cards. In that the "Death" card is seen as change, and not necessarily a negative. Things are changing in my life.
One interpretation is that I am being presented with challenges. I have been challenged to change, to move, to grow. In response, my dream-self chose to put my faith in the Lord. Are your psychological "demons" only in your head? Isn't there an old saying about perception being reality?
I've always had the sneaking suspicion that spirituality and psychology are inter-mixed. I've read a little of Jung's stuff, and that is something I take away from it (whether that's right or wrong, I don't know). I've always had a very active "dream life" -- I don't know that I'm different that others, but I recognize it.
For example, primitive religions believed that if a loved one did not have a proper burial, his/ her soul was restless and would "haunt" you. Nowadays, psychologists say we need "closure." I think it's related; if not the same thing. And I'm not so sure it's not just psychology.
One night last week, I woke up with chills down my spine. It' happened before, too. I felt as if something "evil" (it's the best word I can think of right now) had, literally, touched me. I thought something was in the room.
Recalling Job, I reminded myself that God wouldn't give me something I couldn't handle. I calmed myself and went to sleep about a half-hour later.
The next thing I remember, I was standing on top of a summit -- perhaps near a volcano. Kind of like Mount Doom in Lord of the Rings. I was looking up into the eyes of something ... sinister, and I was praying:
"Yea, though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death, I fear no evil. The Lord is my shepherd."
When I woke up, I immediately thought of Tarot Cards. In that the "Death" card is seen as change, and not necessarily a negative. Things are changing in my life.
One interpretation is that I am being presented with challenges. I have been challenged to change, to move, to grow. In response, my dream-self chose to put my faith in the Lord. Are your psychological "demons" only in your head? Isn't there an old saying about perception being reality?
Thursday, September 21, 2006
I'm Offended
I'm offended and it doesn't really happen all that often.
This is the first year of preschool for my first (and, currently, only) child. In a couple of weeks, the preschool is having a "Special Man in My Life" Night. What?! When I was in school, it was "Dad's Night."
I like to think that Dads are important. It's also the title that I take most seriously. Now, I've been relegated to "special man." There aren't many more options. Even for those who may not have chosen a mate of the opposite sex, they're still both "dads" -- I've heard of the books, you know: Why Billy Has Two Daddies (or Mommies). I'm not knocking those guys; in fact, they should be upset, too! Unless there's a kid with a dead dad, there's no reason for this.
Now, instead of being given the respect due to a dad, I've been put on par with that "special" "uncle" who's shacking up with Billy's mom. Fuck him. This is insulting.
This is the first year of preschool for my first (and, currently, only) child. In a couple of weeks, the preschool is having a "Special Man in My Life" Night. What?! When I was in school, it was "Dad's Night."
I like to think that Dads are important. It's also the title that I take most seriously. Now, I've been relegated to "special man." There aren't many more options. Even for those who may not have chosen a mate of the opposite sex, they're still both "dads" -- I've heard of the books, you know: Why Billy Has Two Daddies (or Mommies). I'm not knocking those guys; in fact, they should be upset, too! Unless there's a kid with a dead dad, there's no reason for this.
Now, instead of being given the respect due to a dad, I've been put on par with that "special" "uncle" who's shacking up with Billy's mom. Fuck him. This is insulting.
All I Want is You
First, I need to answer a question. “What does U2 have to do with Abraham?” I’m not exactly sure (well, I’m pretty sure), but let me start with a story.
In early 2001, I surprised my wife with U2 concert tickets. I think it was some time in February. Anyway, while at the concert, Bono introduced The Edge as, “The man with as many children as Abraham.” Abraham had a handful of wives, too, didn’t he? Only Bono would call a player by a biblical name.
Here is one of my favorite passages about living in the moment. I think Abraham knew this to be true, too.
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is no life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do no sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span? Why are you anxious about clothes? Learn from the way the wild flowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is gone tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith? So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is it own evil.”
Matthew 6:25-34
Taking this a little further, it applies not only to “today” but to this “moment” – however long the moment may be. A day, a night, an hour, a minute, a week, whatever.
What we’ve got now, what we’re doing right now, is a divine gift. Make no mistake about it.
At our wedding, my wife and I read from this Gospel passage:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls. When he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.”
Matthew 13:44-46
We also played a U2 song at our wedding. To date, I don’t have nearly as many children as Abraham, though.
“You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your stories to remain untold
…
All I want is you …”
U2
Rattle and Hum
When you find a treasure, you hold onto it. God gives us valuable treasure in each moment and it's there for the taking.
In early 2001, I surprised my wife with U2 concert tickets. I think it was some time in February. Anyway, while at the concert, Bono introduced The Edge as, “The man with as many children as Abraham.” Abraham had a handful of wives, too, didn’t he? Only Bono would call a player by a biblical name.
Here is one of my favorite passages about living in the moment. I think Abraham knew this to be true, too.
“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is no life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do no sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span? Why are you anxious about clothes? Learn from the way the wild flowers grow. They do not work or spin. But I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of them. If God so clothes the grass of the field, which grows today and is gone tomorrow, will he not much more provide for you, O you of little faith? So do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to wear?’ All these things the pagans seek. Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides. Do not worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will take care of itself. Sufficient for a day is it own evil.”
Matthew 6:25-34
Taking this a little further, it applies not only to “today” but to this “moment” – however long the moment may be. A day, a night, an hour, a minute, a week, whatever.
What we’ve got now, what we’re doing right now, is a divine gift. Make no mistake about it.
At our wedding, my wife and I read from this Gospel passage:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls. When he finds a pearl of great price, he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.”
Matthew 13:44-46
We also played a U2 song at our wedding. To date, I don’t have nearly as many children as Abraham, though.
“You say you want
Diamonds on a ring of gold
You say you want
Your stories to remain untold
…
All I want is you …”
U2
Rattle and Hum
When you find a treasure, you hold onto it. God gives us valuable treasure in each moment and it's there for the taking.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Stuck in a Moment
I thought I was having a bad day yesterday. I’ve been working my tail off without respite or reward. Yesterday afternoon I went into a mediation session that was nothing more than legalized extortion. My client had been sued, but he truly was not at fault. The plaintiff had legitimate problems with his air conditioning system at his office, but my client was the architect not the engineer who designed the bad plans. The problem? It was cheaper for my client to settle the lawsuit than pay me to fight it – and no one can guarantee success.
He made the proper decision, from a certain point of view. What did he gain? Certainty as to how much he’d pay to get out of the lawsuit. It was the sounder economic decision. It was a good pragmatic decision. Now he does not have to live with the lawsuit for the next 18 months.
Still, it stuck in my craw and I was not proud to be a part of the process. Having a self-regulating bar is kind of like having a Senate Ethics Committee. Just one example of the macrocosm of my world right now.
So, I get home about 7:00 in order to hustle over to my 7:50 soccer game. I had to get over to my Washed-Up World Cup of the Northwest Valley. While getting dressed, I turned on my Virtual DJ (the Bose Lifestyle 48 – so sweet) in my bedroom. On comes an interesting song.
Here is the chorus:
“You’ve got to get yourself together
You’ve got stuck in a moment
And you can’t get out of it.
Don’t say that later will be better
Now you’re stuck in a moment
And you can’t get out of it”
Here is the last line:
“It’s just a moment,
This time will pass”
U2
“Stuck In a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of”
All That You Can’t Leave Behind
So, I figure, that seems appropriate. I’ll go to my soccer game and see what happens. I’m the “back up” goaltender on our team, but our first-stringers keep going down to injury. Anyway …
We got walloped. We were down 9 to 1 in the first half. At halftime, I told the team that the other side was better, but not 9 to 1 better. We tied the second half 2 to 2. Minor moral victory, I suppose.
I got a call this morning from another client. His dad had moved in with him about 3 years ago. His dad suffered a spinal cord injury in 1986 and was confined to a wheelchair. His dad moved in with him to help with the family business in about 2003. When he moved in, a contractor was hired to make the house handicapped accessible. In 2004, there was an accident on the ramp. It was our position that the negligent construction of the ramp was the cause of the accident and that the accident caused a severe neurological disorder in the dad’s right shoulder. The poor guy only had two limbs, and then one was taken away.
Last night, the dad died.
The dad didn’t let his situation get the better of him. In the 1990s he was a deep sea fisherman in Hawaii and Florida. When he wasn’t fishing off a boat, he would run up and down the pier with two dozen fishing lines in the water. He’d camp out in his van and fish.
Word is that he was also a pool shark. I suppose he could have been very un-assuming.
When he moved in to help his son run the business, they would go out to rivers and lakes to fish and swim. They’d take the son’s off-road vehicles off the beaten path. Once there, the son would carry his dad into position and the old man would float on the water, play in the sand, and throw out his fishing line. When the son went hunting with his friends, the old man would plink cans his gun.
When he wasn’t out enjoying himself, the old man would work in the motor yard in the family business. He would remove and replace the brakes on the vehicles, change the oil, and make sure the vehicles kept running. He’d go out on jobs and lend his advice to the workers.
When I talked to the son today, he told me, “My dad hasn’t died yet, so I figured he’d never die.” I have to admit, I had the same feelings about the old man. He was an interesting character, and I enjoyed knowing him.
If I remember correctly, that song was written upon the death of Bono’s father. It seems to fit a lot of situations in many ways.
You’re given a finite amount of moments to live. It’s part of life, and life is a good thing. Don’t look to the future and day-dream about what may never happen. When you’re in one of those finite moments – good or bad – that’s simply where you are. Your life is defined is through these discrete moments and what you do in them and not much else. Good or bad, that moment will pass. Then you will receive another moment. It doesn’t do much good to dwell on it or look past it. There’s nothing you can do, and you don’t want to miss out on life.
He made the proper decision, from a certain point of view. What did he gain? Certainty as to how much he’d pay to get out of the lawsuit. It was the sounder economic decision. It was a good pragmatic decision. Now he does not have to live with the lawsuit for the next 18 months.
Still, it stuck in my craw and I was not proud to be a part of the process. Having a self-regulating bar is kind of like having a Senate Ethics Committee. Just one example of the macrocosm of my world right now.
So, I get home about 7:00 in order to hustle over to my 7:50 soccer game. I had to get over to my Washed-Up World Cup of the Northwest Valley. While getting dressed, I turned on my Virtual DJ (the Bose Lifestyle 48 – so sweet) in my bedroom. On comes an interesting song.
Here is the chorus:
“You’ve got to get yourself together
You’ve got stuck in a moment
And you can’t get out of it.
Don’t say that later will be better
Now you’re stuck in a moment
And you can’t get out of it”
Here is the last line:
“It’s just a moment,
This time will pass”
U2
“Stuck In a Moment You Can’t Get Out Of”
All That You Can’t Leave Behind
So, I figure, that seems appropriate. I’ll go to my soccer game and see what happens. I’m the “back up” goaltender on our team, but our first-stringers keep going down to injury. Anyway …
We got walloped. We were down 9 to 1 in the first half. At halftime, I told the team that the other side was better, but not 9 to 1 better. We tied the second half 2 to 2. Minor moral victory, I suppose.
I got a call this morning from another client. His dad had moved in with him about 3 years ago. His dad suffered a spinal cord injury in 1986 and was confined to a wheelchair. His dad moved in with him to help with the family business in about 2003. When he moved in, a contractor was hired to make the house handicapped accessible. In 2004, there was an accident on the ramp. It was our position that the negligent construction of the ramp was the cause of the accident and that the accident caused a severe neurological disorder in the dad’s right shoulder. The poor guy only had two limbs, and then one was taken away.
Last night, the dad died.
The dad didn’t let his situation get the better of him. In the 1990s he was a deep sea fisherman in Hawaii and Florida. When he wasn’t fishing off a boat, he would run up and down the pier with two dozen fishing lines in the water. He’d camp out in his van and fish.
Word is that he was also a pool shark. I suppose he could have been very un-assuming.
When he moved in to help his son run the business, they would go out to rivers and lakes to fish and swim. They’d take the son’s off-road vehicles off the beaten path. Once there, the son would carry his dad into position and the old man would float on the water, play in the sand, and throw out his fishing line. When the son went hunting with his friends, the old man would plink cans his gun.
When he wasn’t out enjoying himself, the old man would work in the motor yard in the family business. He would remove and replace the brakes on the vehicles, change the oil, and make sure the vehicles kept running. He’d go out on jobs and lend his advice to the workers.
When I talked to the son today, he told me, “My dad hasn’t died yet, so I figured he’d never die.” I have to admit, I had the same feelings about the old man. He was an interesting character, and I enjoyed knowing him.
If I remember correctly, that song was written upon the death of Bono’s father. It seems to fit a lot of situations in many ways.
You’re given a finite amount of moments to live. It’s part of life, and life is a good thing. Don’t look to the future and day-dream about what may never happen. When you’re in one of those finite moments – good or bad – that’s simply where you are. Your life is defined is through these discrete moments and what you do in them and not much else. Good or bad, that moment will pass. Then you will receive another moment. It doesn’t do much good to dwell on it or look past it. There’s nothing you can do, and you don’t want to miss out on life.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Bad Haggis All Around
I'm going to get more into this later, but I wanted to post what I was thinking at the time. Also, I still owe myself at least two more entries on Abraham.
I've been informed that Bad Haggis will be at the Irish Festival:
http://festival.azirish.org/ Did I spell that right? My favorite band, though, is the Blackwood Band: http://blackwoodband.com/ Maybe they'll show up.
I've always like Bluegrass music -- the banjos, the rhythmic bass, the jug (yes, the one you blow into). The Ulster Irish spread much Irish culture into the colonies before the Catholics came over during the Famine. Growing up, I always thought it was fun music.
Of course, when I told my schoolyard friends it was fun, they did not give me reciprocal good will. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they turned me on to Van Halen (and Van Hagar -- which is better), the Crue, and Ozzy (Ozzy's got some Welsh, or Celtic, in him). Good stuff. For some reason, when I was in junior high, U2 was pretty "cool" too.
I liked that stuff. Without any prompting, and I don't know why.
I also like Guinness. Sometimes it's just good for an afternoon snack. Instead of cookies, have some Guinness -- after all, there's a loaf of bread in every beer. Bushmills, too, is good. Jameson is good, but not as good. Jack Daniels, Cutty Sark, and a lot of these other brown liquors really make me sick. Glenfiddich (or however the hell you spell it) isn't really that good, either. There are some members of the Kelly clan that like Maker's Mark, a good Kentucky bourbon, but the stuff is just too sweet for me.
Whoa, I just wrote a lot about booze.
From day one, I've always been the type of person who "jumps in." I've learned to temper my enthusiasm, but I've still got some impetuousness in me.
In Thomas Cahill's How the Irish Saved Civilization, he explores the Irish mindset. I can relate to it. Something about a lot of sound an fury, with a loud explosion, that really signifies nothing. You only live once, right?
My bones hurt (mainly my knees and ankles), but I'm only 32. I never went into any sort of pro athletics. I was never even close to talented enough. I can hold my own in some "full contact" martial arts (I use quotes because when rules apply, there's not such thing as "full contact") only because my nerve endings don't seem to fully connect. I have had asthma since my pre-teens but never knew it. I never stopped, though. I just kept going. Probably to the detriment of me in the future, if I ever made it into the future.
So what if you live to 90, if you make it to 80 having a lot of fun? 90 years on a planet that's 4.5 billion years old isn't that much time, is it?
I once told someone that you should live like it's your last day, but plan for the future in case it isn't.
What does this rambling mean? I don't know.
I think it has something to do with enjoying your life, enjoying your world. Yesterday I played with jkelly2's new firetruck for almost 2 hours. Last week, we played with play-dough for almost three hours (6 am to 9 am). It sounds crazy to somone who's never had a child, but very soon he's going to be driving and leaving for college.
Enjoy life while you can. Drink beer. Play pool. Dance. Sing. Love.
If this sounds like Hedonism, you're wrong. I'll try to clarify later. In the meantime, remember that Christ's first miracle was to turn water into wine.
I've been informed that Bad Haggis will be at the Irish Festival:
http://festival.azirish.org/ Did I spell that right? My favorite band, though, is the Blackwood Band: http://blackwoodband.com/ Maybe they'll show up.
I've always like Bluegrass music -- the banjos, the rhythmic bass, the jug (yes, the one you blow into). The Ulster Irish spread much Irish culture into the colonies before the Catholics came over during the Famine. Growing up, I always thought it was fun music.
Of course, when I told my schoolyard friends it was fun, they did not give me reciprocal good will. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they turned me on to Van Halen (and Van Hagar -- which is better), the Crue, and Ozzy (Ozzy's got some Welsh, or Celtic, in him). Good stuff. For some reason, when I was in junior high, U2 was pretty "cool" too.
I liked that stuff. Without any prompting, and I don't know why.
I also like Guinness. Sometimes it's just good for an afternoon snack. Instead of cookies, have some Guinness -- after all, there's a loaf of bread in every beer. Bushmills, too, is good. Jameson is good, but not as good. Jack Daniels, Cutty Sark, and a lot of these other brown liquors really make me sick. Glenfiddich (or however the hell you spell it) isn't really that good, either. There are some members of the Kelly clan that like Maker's Mark, a good Kentucky bourbon, but the stuff is just too sweet for me.
Whoa, I just wrote a lot about booze.
From day one, I've always been the type of person who "jumps in." I've learned to temper my enthusiasm, but I've still got some impetuousness in me.
In Thomas Cahill's How the Irish Saved Civilization, he explores the Irish mindset. I can relate to it. Something about a lot of sound an fury, with a loud explosion, that really signifies nothing. You only live once, right?
My bones hurt (mainly my knees and ankles), but I'm only 32. I never went into any sort of pro athletics. I was never even close to talented enough. I can hold my own in some "full contact" martial arts (I use quotes because when rules apply, there's not such thing as "full contact") only because my nerve endings don't seem to fully connect. I have had asthma since my pre-teens but never knew it. I never stopped, though. I just kept going. Probably to the detriment of me in the future, if I ever made it into the future.
So what if you live to 90, if you make it to 80 having a lot of fun? 90 years on a planet that's 4.5 billion years old isn't that much time, is it?
I once told someone that you should live like it's your last day, but plan for the future in case it isn't.
What does this rambling mean? I don't know.
I think it has something to do with enjoying your life, enjoying your world. Yesterday I played with jkelly2's new firetruck for almost 2 hours. Last week, we played with play-dough for almost three hours (6 am to 9 am). It sounds crazy to somone who's never had a child, but very soon he's going to be driving and leaving for college.
Enjoy life while you can. Drink beer. Play pool. Dance. Sing. Love.
If this sounds like Hedonism, you're wrong. I'll try to clarify later. In the meantime, remember that Christ's first miracle was to turn water into wine.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
A Rose By Any Other Name
The name dispute is almost over. It looks like there will be a "jkelly3" because my wife is winning out with Julia. We've been mulling over a middle name.
We have it narrowed down to 2 -- one really, with 2 different spellings.Either Rosaleen or Roisin (pronounced "ro-sheen"). It means "little rose."
Here is a link to the name meaning. You can turn up the volume and hear the meaning read to you: http://www.babynamesofireland.com/pages/girl-names-n-z.html
Also, here is a link to the poem mentioned:
http://www.bartleby.com/101/664.html
I like the Irish pronunciation, so does my wife. However, the concern is pronunciation. How often will she have to correct someone? But then again, how often would she be called by her middle name when not in trouble?
We have it narrowed down to 2 -- one really, with 2 different spellings.Either Rosaleen or Roisin (pronounced "ro-sheen"). It means "little rose."
Here is a link to the name meaning. You can turn up the volume and hear the meaning read to you: http://www.babynamesofireland.com/pages/girl-names-n-z.html
Also, here is a link to the poem mentioned:
http://www.bartleby.com/101/664.html
I like the Irish pronunciation, so does my wife. However, the concern is pronunciation. How often will she have to correct someone? But then again, how often would she be called by her middle name when not in trouble?
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
God's Faith
God doesn't ask us to do anything that God wouldn't do for us. God has shown great faith in humankind. Let's give ourselves a little more credit. If you do that, it will give you sense of empowerment, joy, and love for life.
The Faith of Abraham is a continuing issue here at the E-Tavern. Abraham's faith in the Lord was so great that he agreed to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. Recall that Yahweh had told Abraham that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. However, Abraham had only one son, Isaac, at this point in time. Then, at the last moment, a ram was substituted for Isaac. Tangentially, I read somewhere this was also a mythic re-telling of history where human sacrifice was abandaned.
Sound familiar? Sacrificing your only Son?
God isn't asking us to do anything that wouldn't be done for us. Talk about an incredible amount of faith.
On the one hand, God asks us to believe in an ominpotent and omniscient Creator of the Universe. It is, after all, one valid explanation for the creation of the universe. While some may eventually conclude it is not the "true" explanation, it is at least one which deserves discussion and attention. So, it is something that is at least palatable to humans. Abraham's faith is symbolizes in his willingness to sacrifice his only son.
On the other hand, God actually sacrificed his only Son. And God's faith was not in a "greater" power but in a "lesser" power. This is an incredible amount of faith and love.
Why was God so cocky? Trusting that we would accept the gifts of Grace and Love? How can you trust such flawed creatures? I can only conclude that God was confident in God's handiwork. "Hey, I made these humans, and I think I did a pretty good job. They'll pull through."
You've got God's "seal of approval" so go live your life that way.
The Faith of Abraham is a continuing issue here at the E-Tavern. Abraham's faith in the Lord was so great that he agreed to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. Recall that Yahweh had told Abraham that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars. However, Abraham had only one son, Isaac, at this point in time. Then, at the last moment, a ram was substituted for Isaac. Tangentially, I read somewhere this was also a mythic re-telling of history where human sacrifice was abandaned.
Sound familiar? Sacrificing your only Son?
God isn't asking us to do anything that wouldn't be done for us. Talk about an incredible amount of faith.
On the one hand, God asks us to believe in an ominpotent and omniscient Creator of the Universe. It is, after all, one valid explanation for the creation of the universe. While some may eventually conclude it is not the "true" explanation, it is at least one which deserves discussion and attention. So, it is something that is at least palatable to humans. Abraham's faith is symbolizes in his willingness to sacrifice his only son.
On the other hand, God actually sacrificed his only Son. And God's faith was not in a "greater" power but in a "lesser" power. This is an incredible amount of faith and love.
Why was God so cocky? Trusting that we would accept the gifts of Grace and Love? How can you trust such flawed creatures? I can only conclude that God was confident in God's handiwork. "Hey, I made these humans, and I think I did a pretty good job. They'll pull through."
You've got God's "seal of approval" so go live your life that way.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Don't blame Thomas. It wasn't his falt.
I wanted to say something about the Abraham and Isaac story. First, though, I wanted to talk about “Doubting” Thomas. Was Thomas’ faith somehow inadequate? Somehow inferior to Abraham’s faith? I think not.
My next entry will be about Abraham, but first I will address Thomas. Abraham was about to sacrifice his son (more about that later). Is there any indication that Thomas would not have made a similar sacrifice? Weren’t the 12 disciples told that they needed to leave all behind and follow Jesus? Didn’t Thomas do that? Didn’t he sacrifice his family?
He “doubted” Jesus because he didn’t believe that a dead man could roll away a large stone, walk out of a tomb, descend upon the disciples, and talk to them. He probably also didn’t believe that if someone destroyed Herod’s Temple it could be re-built within 3 days. Is that really so shocking?
Probably not.
Now, this is not my explanation, but it’s a good one.
Did you ever stop to think about why Thomas doubted the disciples? How come the other 10 couldn’t convince Thomas? Were they ineloquent? Or were they impassionate?
Ever notice that you tend to believe those who tell their stories with fervor and passion? Have you ever said, “He can’t be lying because he’s so convinced.”? You have.
Why didn’t Thomas think those same things? I submit that it was because the other 10 (and the Mary’s) couldn’t convince him. They lacked faith. Thomas was the only one with the nuts to stand up and question it all. He led them to faith. Sometimes, transgression (here, doubt) is a gift that can lead one to the divine.
My next entry will be about Abraham, but first I will address Thomas. Abraham was about to sacrifice his son (more about that later). Is there any indication that Thomas would not have made a similar sacrifice? Weren’t the 12 disciples told that they needed to leave all behind and follow Jesus? Didn’t Thomas do that? Didn’t he sacrifice his family?
He “doubted” Jesus because he didn’t believe that a dead man could roll away a large stone, walk out of a tomb, descend upon the disciples, and talk to them. He probably also didn’t believe that if someone destroyed Herod’s Temple it could be re-built within 3 days. Is that really so shocking?
Probably not.
Now, this is not my explanation, but it’s a good one.
Did you ever stop to think about why Thomas doubted the disciples? How come the other 10 couldn’t convince Thomas? Were they ineloquent? Or were they impassionate?
Ever notice that you tend to believe those who tell their stories with fervor and passion? Have you ever said, “He can’t be lying because he’s so convinced.”? You have.
Why didn’t Thomas think those same things? I submit that it was because the other 10 (and the Mary’s) couldn’t convince him. They lacked faith. Thomas was the only one with the nuts to stand up and question it all. He led them to faith. Sometimes, transgression (here, doubt) is a gift that can lead one to the divine.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Why I Like Duff
I saw this article http://men.msn.com/articlees.aspx?cp-documentid=760907>1=8572 and had to post it so everyone could take at look at the words of wisdom.
Really, though, the reason I Duff is because he's an Irish soccer player named after Homer's favorite beer. For the latest, go to www.premierleague.com and so who's just paid millions for him.
As you'll see, Duff had a great 2002 World Cup. This was the first time he got on my radar screen. As I understand it, he wasn't a starter until the captain, Keane, was kicked off the team for dissent with the manager.
I have his Irish National jersey (its not the same one now, though). It's got a huge orange Eircom symbol on it that my son thinks is a pumpkin. He often tries to eat the pumpkin and then laughs at his own joke.
This Christmas, I got his Chelsea jersey. It is a good looking shirt. Now that I've taken off almost 30 pounds, it looks pretty good on me.
Now, I suppose I'll need his Newcastle shirt.
Back to the words of wisdom. I think my favorite come from Bart. At a religious revival event, the preacher tells Bart to change his ways. Bart indicates that he's banking on a wild life and a death-bed repetance. The preacher asks him, "What if you die early." Bart is thrilled by the idea of "full coverage," repents and becomes a preacher. Kind of like Ned Flanders staying kosher, just in case.
Really, though, the reason I Duff is because he's an Irish soccer player named after Homer's favorite beer. For the latest, go to www.premierleague.com and so who's just paid millions for him.
As you'll see, Duff had a great 2002 World Cup. This was the first time he got on my radar screen. As I understand it, he wasn't a starter until the captain, Keane, was kicked off the team for dissent with the manager.
I have his Irish National jersey (its not the same one now, though). It's got a huge orange Eircom symbol on it that my son thinks is a pumpkin. He often tries to eat the pumpkin and then laughs at his own joke.
This Christmas, I got his Chelsea jersey. It is a good looking shirt. Now that I've taken off almost 30 pounds, it looks pretty good on me.
Now, I suppose I'll need his Newcastle shirt.
Back to the words of wisdom. I think my favorite come from Bart. At a religious revival event, the preacher tells Bart to change his ways. Bart indicates that he's banking on a wild life and a death-bed repetance. The preacher asks him, "What if you die early." Bart is thrilled by the idea of "full coverage," repents and becomes a preacher. Kind of like Ned Flanders staying kosher, just in case.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Why John Hughes is the Greatest Philosopher of the Late 20th Century
First, I’d like to make an observation. How important are philosophers, really? There are some that the “general public” knows about. There are some that have influenced culture, regardless of whether the “general public” realizes it. But, for the most part, philosophers go un-noticed. Even the “great” ones. Shouldn’t the “great” ones be the ones that influence society? Shouldn’t society recognize it?
Let’s put religious leaders aside. Everyone knows that Jesus, the Buddha, Mohammed, Gandhi, and Mother Theresa have had a great influence. Let’s talk about philosophers. Ask the average person on the street about Pascal’s Wager or Cartesian Logic or Plato’s Forms. Some have influenced society without society knowing it. Augustine's view that the earthly body is inherently inferior to the soul has plagued the Christian Church to this day. The Transcendalitsts of New England have been taken the the extreme in an effor to block progress. However, those two are issues for another entry.
In juxtaposition, ask the "general public" about The Force or The Ring or John Cusack holding up a boom box playing a Peter Cetera song.
The members of the Breakfast Club had a great knack for pointing out hypocrisy. They saw how their “elders” and their parents acted hypocritically. Hughes tapped into this, much in the same manner that Salinger had a feel for the youth of his decade. I don’t know if Hughes hung out in soda shops like Salinger did, but, nonetheless, he had a bead on the teenage culture of the time.
His films should have been required viewing for the “adults” of the 1980s. He pointed out their flaws. He pointed out the hypocrisy. Oddly enough, the hypocrites didn’t listen.
When I was growing up, the youth were considered the great “truth detectors.” Kids had an innate sense of fairness that could put adults to shame. Sure, the kids didn’t understand the “intricacies” of adult life, but, like Jesus teaches, one needs to be able to view the world through the eyes of a child.
There’s always been some validity to the children’s cries of hypocrisy. Ask yourself this: although you consider extra-marital sex wrong, you probably consider it “more wrong” for a sixteen-year-old than a thirty-five-year-old. Truth be told, the older person is likely more equipped for the consequences (good and bad) and more likely to be responsible. However, when you’re sixteen, all you see is the hypocrisy. When you have your girlfriend/ boyfriend sleep over, what are you telling your child?
So, what children were taught is that it’s okay to segment your life. To lead double, triple, and quadruple lives. The younger generations have learned that segmentation is okay from the older generations. For example, the kid does well in school, has extra-curricular activities, goes to church (or temple or whatever), and on Friday night has sex with whomever and drinks like a fish. It’s all compatible when it’s all segmented. Hypocrisy has gone by the wayside.
John Hughes pointed this out, but the adults didn’t listen. Instead, the children listened, and they came to this conclusion: “Fuck you, I’m going to do it, too.”
Back in the day, kids used to watch movies to see adults having sex. Now, adults watch movies to see kids having sex.
It is not okay. When one wears more than one mask, that person often becomes confused as to his/ her true self. What role am I playing today? And what message it that sending?
It can be difficult to stay honest with yourself, but if you look at your children, it can be a lot easier.
Let’s put religious leaders aside. Everyone knows that Jesus, the Buddha, Mohammed, Gandhi, and Mother Theresa have had a great influence. Let’s talk about philosophers. Ask the average person on the street about Pascal’s Wager or Cartesian Logic or Plato’s Forms. Some have influenced society without society knowing it. Augustine's view that the earthly body is inherently inferior to the soul has plagued the Christian Church to this day. The Transcendalitsts of New England have been taken the the extreme in an effor to block progress. However, those two are issues for another entry.
In juxtaposition, ask the "general public" about The Force or The Ring or John Cusack holding up a boom box playing a Peter Cetera song.
The members of the Breakfast Club had a great knack for pointing out hypocrisy. They saw how their “elders” and their parents acted hypocritically. Hughes tapped into this, much in the same manner that Salinger had a feel for the youth of his decade. I don’t know if Hughes hung out in soda shops like Salinger did, but, nonetheless, he had a bead on the teenage culture of the time.
His films should have been required viewing for the “adults” of the 1980s. He pointed out their flaws. He pointed out the hypocrisy. Oddly enough, the hypocrites didn’t listen.
When I was growing up, the youth were considered the great “truth detectors.” Kids had an innate sense of fairness that could put adults to shame. Sure, the kids didn’t understand the “intricacies” of adult life, but, like Jesus teaches, one needs to be able to view the world through the eyes of a child.
There’s always been some validity to the children’s cries of hypocrisy. Ask yourself this: although you consider extra-marital sex wrong, you probably consider it “more wrong” for a sixteen-year-old than a thirty-five-year-old. Truth be told, the older person is likely more equipped for the consequences (good and bad) and more likely to be responsible. However, when you’re sixteen, all you see is the hypocrisy. When you have your girlfriend/ boyfriend sleep over, what are you telling your child?
So, what children were taught is that it’s okay to segment your life. To lead double, triple, and quadruple lives. The younger generations have learned that segmentation is okay from the older generations. For example, the kid does well in school, has extra-curricular activities, goes to church (or temple or whatever), and on Friday night has sex with whomever and drinks like a fish. It’s all compatible when it’s all segmented. Hypocrisy has gone by the wayside.
John Hughes pointed this out, but the adults didn’t listen. Instead, the children listened, and they came to this conclusion: “Fuck you, I’m going to do it, too.”
Back in the day, kids used to watch movies to see adults having sex. Now, adults watch movies to see kids having sex.
It is not okay. When one wears more than one mask, that person often becomes confused as to his/ her true self. What role am I playing today? And what message it that sending?
It can be difficult to stay honest with yourself, but if you look at your children, it can be a lot easier.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
What's in a Name?
Now that we know we're having a girl, we need to pick a name. Here's what is in the running so far. We're not set on any of these, so things may change and suggestions are appreciated.
First Names:
Julia
Abigail
Tara
Middle Names:
Michelle
Christine
Rose
My wife likes Julia. She thinks that it is a powerful and classic name. It means "youthful" and is a classically Roman name.
My son likes Abigail. He really likes "Abby." He has already named the baby "Abby" after the character in his favorite movie, Chicken Little. Abigail mean's "father's joy." I was Grammy Kelly's first grandson, and she called me her "Pride and Joy." As some of you may know from my SW blog, she died 8 days before we found out we were having a girl. She had 2 sons, 6 grandsons, and 2 great-grandsons, and she was very much hoping for a girl in the Kelly family.
I like Tara. Tara is the hill in Ireland from which the King of Kings reigned. It is also the site of some of St. Patrick's most famous sermons -- allegedly. Before you say, "But it has different pronunciations and that will make things difficult for your daughter" I have a question for you. Pronounce this word: "T-A-R" Now, add a short "a" to the end of it. No problems.
Michelle is the feminine of my middle name. If we named her Julia Michelle Kelly, her initials would be the same as mine and my son's. When I was born, there were no ultrasound machines, and my "girl name" would have been Leia Michelle. My sister-in-law, though, is already Leah.
Christine is a family name from my wife's side of the family (and her middle name). If we named her Abigail Christine Kelly, her initials would be the same as my wife's.
Rose is my grandmother's middle name. As discussed above, she was hoping for a girl.
I'd appreciate any input.
First Names:
Julia
Abigail
Tara
Middle Names:
Michelle
Christine
Rose
My wife likes Julia. She thinks that it is a powerful and classic name. It means "youthful" and is a classically Roman name.
My son likes Abigail. He really likes "Abby." He has already named the baby "Abby" after the character in his favorite movie, Chicken Little. Abigail mean's "father's joy." I was Grammy Kelly's first grandson, and she called me her "Pride and Joy." As some of you may know from my SW blog, she died 8 days before we found out we were having a girl. She had 2 sons, 6 grandsons, and 2 great-grandsons, and she was very much hoping for a girl in the Kelly family.
I like Tara. Tara is the hill in Ireland from which the King of Kings reigned. It is also the site of some of St. Patrick's most famous sermons -- allegedly. Before you say, "But it has different pronunciations and that will make things difficult for your daughter" I have a question for you. Pronounce this word: "T-A-R" Now, add a short "a" to the end of it. No problems.
Michelle is the feminine of my middle name. If we named her Julia Michelle Kelly, her initials would be the same as mine and my son's. When I was born, there were no ultrasound machines, and my "girl name" would have been Leia Michelle. My sister-in-law, though, is already Leah.
Christine is a family name from my wife's side of the family (and her middle name). If we named her Abigail Christine Kelly, her initials would be the same as my wife's.
Rose is my grandmother's middle name. As discussed above, she was hoping for a girl.
I'd appreciate any input.
Thursday, August 24, 2006
In Requiem: Teresa R. Kelly; December 12, 1914 to August 17, 2006
My grandmother came into the world a “Kraus” (an Austrian) but she has the soul of an Irish bard. I suspect that she is descended from the White Martyrs of the early medieval period. When she traveled to Ireland, she scoffed at the Blarney Stone, claiming that it was unsanitary and difficult to reach. For those of us who knew her, we know she had no need for the Stone’s purported gifts.
I recall sitting at her feet, fascinated by her stories. Only later did I realize they were the same stories over and over again. Only after that did I realize my misgivings were misplaced. You see, historical accuracy and facts do not drive a good story. Truth drives a good story. The two are not always the same.
The “gift of gab” is truly a gift because it has several unique features. First, the gift gives the storyteller an intense passion for her story. This gift allows the listener to be enthralled by the strength and personality of the storyteller. Next, the gift gives the storyteller a vibrancy that ensnares the audience. Then, the gift provides the storyteller a love for her story. Finally, the gift gives the story itself meaning and resonance for the audience.
Now is the time for a few stories. First, I will tell you my story about her. Next, I will tell you two of Grammy Kelly’s stories.
After the Kellys return from Ireland, Grandpa and Grammy were in Phoenix for Christmas. For as long as I can remember, we have had a Christmas Eve party at my Aunt Marsha’s and Uncle Carl’s house. While there, she was regaling us with her stories of Ireland. As you may imagine, she had quite a few to tell. One of those stories was the Blarney Stone story I related above. Another was about a competing bard on the journey.
This was a church-organized trip, so several other parishioners were in the group. One lady had, apparently, kissed the Blarney Stone several times. When Teresa complained that the woman talked too much, Aunt Marsh fell out of her chair – literally, I think she still limps today because of it. The truth in this story? There’s always a bigger fish in the sea, I suppose.
Let me relate one story she told about my dad. One evening while in college, my dad was sitting on the porch talking to one of his buddies. My grandmother was eavesdropping. My dad, being a fraternity prankster, was probably building up some liquid courage to unleash a goat into the botanical gardens; or, maybe, he was getting ready to add an “F” to the sign out in front of the “Fine Arts” building. In any event, she does not remember that part of his conversation.
She remembers him talking about his parents. He told his friend that, one day, he wanted to have a house like his parents and a family like his. At the risk of sounding immodest, he does have a great family and some great children. I think he probably did receive that which he sought.
Dad is retired now, after working for over 50 years. He still tells us the story of the TV Guide route he had at age 10. He, too, told us a lot of stories. This is a subject for another day, but I think he inherited his mother’s ability to exaggerate. He used to tell us about how he trudged along to school in the snow, raced home to eat lunch, then raced back to school. What he didn’t tell us was that his childhood house was about 1/10 of a mile away. We only learned that by visiting his old neighborhood.
The truth in this story (regardless of whether it's accurate) is that my grandparents set a great example for my father. Through their example, I reaped the rewards of loving parents and a stable home. Through their example, my father learned the values of hard work, loyalty, honesty, and family.
She told another story about my Uncle Dennis. She was always impressed with how studious Dennis could be. She told me that, when he was writing his dissertations (yes, plural), she would stay up all night with him, providing him food and drink to sustain his activities. In my mind’s eye, she would literally slip food and water underneath the crack in the door to keep Dennis nourished.
Uncle Dennis did pass the bar and practice as a lawyer, but I’m not sure he engaged in writing and studying until 5 am on a regular basis. I could be wrong, I suppose. Maybe law school has become a lot easier since his day.
The truth of the story is that Uncle Dennis, like my dad, also inherited strong values from his parents. The truth is that my grandmother would stay up all night, making sure all of her children’s needs were taken care of so that they could accomplish their goals. I do not doubt for a minute that she made sure Dad and Uncle Dennis were able to complete their studies with minimal distraction.
What I will remember most about her, though, is Grandpa Kelly. He loved that woman with an intensity and ferocity that cannot be explained with mere words. They married a little bit young (about 22 years old) and stayed deeply in love throughout their marriage. Above all, they truly were an example of unconditional love and great role models for their children and grandchildren. We are taught that a husband’s love for his bride is (or, at least, should be) an earthly manifestation of God’s love for us. If their love is similar to God’s love, we are all in very good hands.
In January of 1998, Grandpa Kelly died. Now the two have been reunited.
When I sat in their house a few days ago, it was quiet. It was empty. They were both gone. It was merely a shell, and nobody lived there. I thought I would be upset that the house would be sold to someone else. They had lived in this house for nearly 50 years, and I had visited several times on my trips to Lexington. I was not upset. I am not upset. I was, however, taken aback by the lack of life in the house – very different from my past trips.
No one lives in that earthly house anymore. From now on, George and Teresa Kelly live in the House of the Lord.
I recall sitting at her feet, fascinated by her stories. Only later did I realize they were the same stories over and over again. Only after that did I realize my misgivings were misplaced. You see, historical accuracy and facts do not drive a good story. Truth drives a good story. The two are not always the same.
The “gift of gab” is truly a gift because it has several unique features. First, the gift gives the storyteller an intense passion for her story. This gift allows the listener to be enthralled by the strength and personality of the storyteller. Next, the gift gives the storyteller a vibrancy that ensnares the audience. Then, the gift provides the storyteller a love for her story. Finally, the gift gives the story itself meaning and resonance for the audience.
Now is the time for a few stories. First, I will tell you my story about her. Next, I will tell you two of Grammy Kelly’s stories.
After the Kellys return from Ireland, Grandpa and Grammy were in Phoenix for Christmas. For as long as I can remember, we have had a Christmas Eve party at my Aunt Marsha’s and Uncle Carl’s house. While there, she was regaling us with her stories of Ireland. As you may imagine, she had quite a few to tell. One of those stories was the Blarney Stone story I related above. Another was about a competing bard on the journey.
This was a church-organized trip, so several other parishioners were in the group. One lady had, apparently, kissed the Blarney Stone several times. When Teresa complained that the woman talked too much, Aunt Marsh fell out of her chair – literally, I think she still limps today because of it. The truth in this story? There’s always a bigger fish in the sea, I suppose.
Let me relate one story she told about my dad. One evening while in college, my dad was sitting on the porch talking to one of his buddies. My grandmother was eavesdropping. My dad, being a fraternity prankster, was probably building up some liquid courage to unleash a goat into the botanical gardens; or, maybe, he was getting ready to add an “F” to the sign out in front of the “Fine Arts” building. In any event, she does not remember that part of his conversation.
She remembers him talking about his parents. He told his friend that, one day, he wanted to have a house like his parents and a family like his. At the risk of sounding immodest, he does have a great family and some great children. I think he probably did receive that which he sought.
Dad is retired now, after working for over 50 years. He still tells us the story of the TV Guide route he had at age 10. He, too, told us a lot of stories. This is a subject for another day, but I think he inherited his mother’s ability to exaggerate. He used to tell us about how he trudged along to school in the snow, raced home to eat lunch, then raced back to school. What he didn’t tell us was that his childhood house was about 1/10 of a mile away. We only learned that by visiting his old neighborhood.
The truth in this story (regardless of whether it's accurate) is that my grandparents set a great example for my father. Through their example, I reaped the rewards of loving parents and a stable home. Through their example, my father learned the values of hard work, loyalty, honesty, and family.
She told another story about my Uncle Dennis. She was always impressed with how studious Dennis could be. She told me that, when he was writing his dissertations (yes, plural), she would stay up all night with him, providing him food and drink to sustain his activities. In my mind’s eye, she would literally slip food and water underneath the crack in the door to keep Dennis nourished.
Uncle Dennis did pass the bar and practice as a lawyer, but I’m not sure he engaged in writing and studying until 5 am on a regular basis. I could be wrong, I suppose. Maybe law school has become a lot easier since his day.
The truth of the story is that Uncle Dennis, like my dad, also inherited strong values from his parents. The truth is that my grandmother would stay up all night, making sure all of her children’s needs were taken care of so that they could accomplish their goals. I do not doubt for a minute that she made sure Dad and Uncle Dennis were able to complete their studies with minimal distraction.
What I will remember most about her, though, is Grandpa Kelly. He loved that woman with an intensity and ferocity that cannot be explained with mere words. They married a little bit young (about 22 years old) and stayed deeply in love throughout their marriage. Above all, they truly were an example of unconditional love and great role models for their children and grandchildren. We are taught that a husband’s love for his bride is (or, at least, should be) an earthly manifestation of God’s love for us. If their love is similar to God’s love, we are all in very good hands.
In January of 1998, Grandpa Kelly died. Now the two have been reunited.
When I sat in their house a few days ago, it was quiet. It was empty. They were both gone. It was merely a shell, and nobody lived there. I thought I would be upset that the house would be sold to someone else. They had lived in this house for nearly 50 years, and I had visited several times on my trips to Lexington. I was not upset. I am not upset. I was, however, taken aback by the lack of life in the house – very different from my past trips.
No one lives in that earthly house anymore. From now on, George and Teresa Kelly live in the House of the Lord.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Kelly's Tavern is Now Open
Here's my first post -- a picture of the actual Kelly's Tavern. I've entered a contest on Guinness.com to win a Guinness bar in my house. I think the winner will be picked by mid-September. Keep your fingers crossed!
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