Author: fifteenkey (Page 16 of 95)

I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. Well, not grandiose ones anyway. A simple scan of the gym in early January versus any other time of the year is the reason why. As the U2 song simply states, “Nothing changes on New Year’s Day.” If you want to quit something or start something, just do it. You don’t need the first page of your new cat calendar to tell you when. Any moment in time will do. Still, New Years Day does stimulate a personal inventory process in some, including me. Not always, but since I’m sitting here with coffee and keyboard, I’ll give it a go. “Continuous improvement” of my life is always in process, so what tweaks will I look to make, more or less, in 2011?

More: Writing. One blog post in December ties my record low from February 2005. Oh, and that’s back when I started the blog on February 28th, Megan’s 16th birthday.

Less: Chemicals/food additives. “Low fat” or “low-carb” or any other faux food concoction messes with the body’s natural metabolic processes. I’m rubbing myself with pure butter right now…

More: Face-time. More time in people’s faces is good for me and for you. Well, I mean it’s good for you to be in the faces of people that matter to you.

Less: Immersion in the US political process. The state of my country is extremely distressing to me and our broken political process doesn’t provide much hope for solutions. Last night as Joyce and I watched Hitchcock’s classic “North by Northwest,” I said there will never be another president on Mt. Rushmore because the opposition party of any potential candidate would not allow it. I’m sure I’ll be back. I care too much, so “I can’t quit you baby, but I got to put you down for a while.”

More: Work with my hands. There’s something very fulfilling about stepping back and seeing the tangible result of mental and physical effort. I’ll let you know how that feels when I finish the basement family room.

Less: Sports Talk-Radio. Really, what’s the point?

More: New music. My spectrum is too narrow. MVRadio has opened my ears to wonderful audible scents this weekend.

Less: Rumination. Be here now.

More: Caloric deficit creation. Two related, tangible goals are to 1.) successfully run the 2011 Falmouth Road Race; and 2.) not get a sunburn with white shading under my “moobs.”

Less: Time in bed. No, not that time. Reading or watching TV for 10 minutes and falling asleep at 9-ish, then re-awakening at 1 and lying awake till 3 or 4 isn’t working.

More: Travel. I’m reading a book with a collection of Ernest Hemingway’s musings on writing. About writers, he um, writes, “The more he learns from experience, the more truly he can imagine.” I hope to learn a great deal from Paris in the springtime, but also raise my awareness to learn from simply walking local streets.

Less: Procrastination. OK, maybe these are resolutions…

More: Discipline. I’ll need it to make these improvements in 2011.

Less: Being “connected.” I can probably be more productive with much of the above if I don’t update Facebook hourly…

What tweaks are you planning?

On a recent Saturday in our luxury box seats along the first base line at church, Joyce and I listened to a sermon about Advent. Father Tim said it was about “Hope, Peace, Joy and Love.” I thought, “there a blog there,” but it didn’t formulate until today.

Hope
“When are you going to come back to us? When are you going to let it go?” My questions were softened with love, but they tore open a six month wound that’s yet to even begin healing. I believe the resultant tears were cleansing and my arms protective of heart. I left with the hope my loved one will move on with the living to honor those past.

Peace
“Peace be with you.” This week someone very close to me has been robbed of it by another. It’s natural to react defensively when attacked, but often that’s just what the antagonist wants. My advice was to wish them a Merry Christmas and the hope they find peace this holiday season.

Joy
“Oh, please tell her I said ‘thank you.’” That was the joyous response of the mother of my children when she learned Joyce had baked her favorite Anise cookies. Just then Joyce got into the car and the two chatted and laughed at Gigi’s request that I NOT leave the cookies at her house without her supervision. She knew Kyle would leave no crumbs… Twenty minutes earlier, Joyce and I speaker-spoke with her ex about his new job and the joy that accompanied it. We’re thankful we can share joy across our extended families.

Love
Um, yeah.

Tonight after picking up my little blond, we sang our way home. Once we got there, Maddy agreed to share it with all of you.

Merry Christmas

Having worked out hard last night on dead weights, carving machines and the elliptical contraption, this evening I needed to give the bones a rest. I stopped for fresh things make meatballs and tortellini, and then decided a nice red would complement the meal. Kappy’s has a good wine selection, and I browsed their Italian offerings and then the Pinot’s. What I wanted was a blend I enjoyed last week with pal Alan. It’s labeled “Hook n’ Ladder,” but I can’t find a retailer that carries it. I settled for a distinctive black and blood bottle of Apothic Red. The label and description got me:

“A captivating blend of three distinct grapes, with the dark fruit flavors of Syrah, brambly spice of Zinfandel, and a smooth elegance of Merlot.

Apothic Red reveals intense fruit aromas and flavors of rhubarb and black cherry that are complemented by hints of mocha, chocolate, brown spice and vanilla. The plush, velvety mouth feel and smooth finish round out this intriguing, full-bodied red blend.”

I gently caressed the neck of the $9.99 beauty and put it on the counter to breathe while I got busy, Italian style. After balling and setting the sauce a simmer, I killed another half hour surfing for Christmas presents. The thought of sipping the three grape merger was…Well, it was apothicating. There, I said it. Well, wrote it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I gingerly removed a goblet from the cabinet and placed it down next to the… still corked bottle.

That little aggravation aside, it’s a fine Tuesday night wine.

Yesterday was a day of retail errands with Maddy and Kyle. Port for a dinner party. John Stewart’s “Earth” for a birthday present. Some new clothes for Mr. Fashionista. As we swept through the Thanksgiving parade sponsor’s space on our way to the candlestick maker, the little blond had her left hand in mine and her right extended to brush all the fabrics she passed. “Ooohh, so soft” she’d say as she swiped sweaters and other garments within reach. As we approached a woman bent over a display of scarves, I thought, “no, she won’t.” I was wrong. The little paw remained extended right across the protruding butt like it was just another clothes rack.

We kept walking, but I at once chastised baby girl and turned back to apologize to the woman. She was smiling.

Early yesterday morning I was mentally stringing words like popcorn and cranberries, but they were stale and wouldn’t stay on the thread. The red timer on my somewhat annual Thanksgiving post just wouldn’t pop. I put it aside and starting doing (Work)work.

A couple hours later I received an email that read, “(Work)Joyce’s mom just passed away.” In yesterday’s vapor-post, I had intended to use an uplifting line from a song called “A World of Hurt,” unknowing that’s where my friend would be. It’s a place many of my generation are now experiencing with their parents. On Saturday, (Play)Joyce learned her boss’s mom had also passed away.

A little over 4 years ago, my new boss greeted me in her office saying, “Hi, I’m Joyce.” I remember doing a bit of a mental eye-roll and thinking, “Of course you are.” In the years since, we’ve done some great work and we’ve laughed a lot. I first met her mom at a 4th of July party at the parents’ home in Rockport. It didn’t take long to figure out (Work)Joyce’s humor and infectious laugh was heavily influenced by the maternal X chromosome.

So my Thanksgiving post was going to be about what I’m thankful for. How about Joyce squared? “J²,” to borrow a nickname from another J-pair. They are both smart, strong, accomplished, independent and fun. My Joyce’s live life fully and in spite of incredibly busy schedules, they always make time to help others through their civic and charitable work.

I guess the lyric fits after all…

“It ain’t too late to take a deep breath and throw yourself into it with everything you’ve got.
It’s great to be alive.”

– World of Hurt by the Drive By Truckers

Happy Thanksgiving.

I do try to keep a lid on Kyle’s obsession with the Harry Potter stuff, but often I’ll engage him. On our way to the Orlando airport yesterday, the following conversation took place:

Me: “Kyle, how come the Death Eaters can turn into black smoke when they’re flying?”
Kyle: (With incredulity) “Because they’re Death Eaters.”
Me: “Oh.”
(quiet few seconds)
Kyle: “I wish I could do that.”
Me: “I know you do, my boy.”
(few more quiet seconds)
Kyle: “I’d fly to school instead of taking the bus!”
Me: “Well, then you could sleep in.”
(laughter)

Sometime in the future when I visit my Dad’s house in “the Villages,” it will be because he died. I don’t really expect that to be anytime soon. He’s pretty healthy at 77 and his mind is totally there. Physically he struggles a bit, but that’s because he spends most of his time in front of a television. A Schwinn exercise bike I bought him a few years ago is one of the things less active than Dad in the house. He tried to tell me he rides it, but I called BS on the claim, citing the overall weakness in his legs. “If you were riding that thing you wouldn’t walk like you’re 97,” I asserted. Kyle jumped to his Papa’s defense, but Dad didn’t debate me. So, with little activity and maybe even less will to live since his wife Caroline passed 3 years ago, Leo Joseph Daley still seems relatively healthy, but you just never know. Hey, he could visit my home for a similar reason. You never know.

I imagine I’ll get a call from Dad’s friend and neighbor, Dick Greene. Dick and his wife Kay live right across the street and are wonderful to Dad. They’re dragging him along to “Katie Belle’s” for Thanksgiving dinner next week. They do try to get him out of the house and they keep an eye on him for me. Sometimes Kay will drop me an email if she thinks I need to know something. Kay always types in all caps, but in person, she never shouts, and I’m not about to point our email etiquette to her. I just send her pictures of the grandkids and great-grandkids for Dad, and the occasional thank you note.

Sometimes I’m not the best at observing life around me. I think it’s an attention deficit thing. I’m not going to look it up, but I believe Matthew Broderick as Ferris Beuller said, “Life goes by pretty quickly. If you don’t stop to look around once in a while you might miss it.” The past couple days at Dad’s I looked around. I noticed things. Dad likes to use Styrofoam cups and paper plates. He’s got mugs, glasses and plates, but I just don’t think he likes doing dishes. He didn’t do any while Kyle and I were there. I also noticed the PUR water reservoir I got him is AWOL. In its place are cases of plastic water bottles, the kind made from petroleum. Again, I think he just doesn’t want to wash the glasses.

Dad hasn’t really changed anything in the house since Caroline died. Oh, a friend of hers removed all of her clothes and other personal belongings, but the décor of the house is exactly the same. Most of the prints are of Caroline’s choosing except the Degas “Jockeys” I gave Dad one Christmas. There are pictures of kids from Caroline’s side of the family in the cabinet surrounding the 27” TV. The people in those pictures don’t have any relationship with Dad. Actually, none of that family does, even those who live a few blocks away, but that’s mostly Dad’s choice, I think. As for the still faces in those frames, I believe the fading relics maintain a comforting presence of a past he still aches for. While looking for old pictures this morning as the younger and elder Daley boys slept, I opened the cabinet doors to find VHS tapes, pale yellow plastic flowers and a brown extension cord alone in a bottom cabinet. It too has nothing to do. Dad’s coffee table had the tin cased “Band of Brothers” DVD set I got him a few years ago. I forgot to ask him if he ever watched them.

There are a few things I’ll want including the gifts I’ve sent over the years and many of the photographs (I grabbed some sweet ones to scan and write about). There are even a couple monochrome wedding pictures from 1957. The photographer that day sucked, but I’ll keep them anyway. I’d also like the framed card and golf ball from Dad’s hole in one, but my brother Corey may want that. They played some golf together. Dad’s clubs are still in the garage, along with several pairs of nice golf shoes and dozens of used balls in egg cartons. I’m hoping Dad has a change of heart and decides to lose a few more of those.

Then my next trip down can be to play some golf with the old man.

“Dad, have you ever seen a midnight show?”

My son posed that innocent question seconds after we bought our tix to the Friday midnight showing of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.”

“Yeah, man. In college we went all the time. To the same show.”
“What show?” asked the now curious Syltherin lover.
“Oh, it was a rock show, my boy.”
“Dad, what the heck was it”? reiterated a now impatient boy.
‘“The Song Remains the Same” with Zep.’ I responded proudly, like that fact bought me some level of cool with Jr. It didn’t. He had no idea what I was talking about.

Too bad, because every image, note and broken bow string of that 1973 performance documentary live permanently in some dark, wet crease of my gray, and for that matter, to this day defines rock and roll for me, but that’s not important right now.

It’s fitting this father-son road vacation will culminate with a midnight show, another new experience for Kyle. This trip has again engaged Kyle with great friends and places. I’m so thankful for the love that has blanketed Kyle throughout “the Dirty South.” Georgia, Dave, Joseph, Paulie, Maddy, Michael and Margaret… Thank you all!

As for me, the road has been different than the 2,200 miles we drove in August of 2009. I’m in a much different place, and the miles have been more affirming than cathartic. There hasn’t been any solitary “Hitching Post” moment. Sharing precious moments of this life with my son, my Dad and my friends has been joyous.

Since the highly successful “South by SouthWest” road trip with Kyle in August of 2009, I’ve been looking forward to the next one. Since sauntering through hot, sticky hair-spray air wasn’t too appealing, we skipped August and opted for a fall road trip from Baltimore-Washington International Airport to Florida’s retirement capital, “The Villages.” Actually that doesn’t sound very scintillating, but we’ve got some stops in between:

Dumfries, VA – Home of Dave, the fabulous Georgia and young Joseph Klug, we’ll celebrate Kyle’s 19th birthday with one of my best friends and his family. Any reader of this space knows of Dave and our 15 year friendship from NEC to Tar Hut Records. I can’t wait to see that big, graying pomp, shit-eatin’ grin, and to hear the words, “Hey man.”

Savannah, GA – After a short visit with the Klug family, it’s a 9 hour backbreaker to lush Savannah for 2 nights, one day, and 2 sets of friends:

• “Paulie” – In April of 2000 this spider monkey of a man approached my new cubelet at Kronos and introduced himself while casting a wary, hairy, “who does this jamoke think he is” eyeball my way. We’ve been friends and racquetball enemies ever since. He falls into the rarefied category of “some of my best friends are Yankee fans,” though sadly he’s had a twitch since October of 2004 and had to retire his racquet. Paulie was my “shrink and a beer” for many of those years and I miss him, although beating a spider monkey at racquetball is a bitch, and all the smashed racquets got kinda expensive. I’ve got some catching up to do with Paulie.
• The Korn Family – Mr. Korn was a participant in the NEC wars of the mid to late 90’s with Dave and me and is a freakin’ smart dude. His wife Maddy is just as smart… um, well, she’s got the advantage of the female thing, so maybe she gets the smart nod. I’m looking forward to great conversation and catching up with them and to be amazed again by their young daughter Elizabeth who Kyle just adores.

The Wizarding World of Harry Potter – Kyle is so fired up to see Harry, Ron, Hermione, and of course Lord Voldemort. With the money Universal is making magically disappear from my wallet, it better be enchanting.

Leo Sr. – Yep, he’s like the Howard Hughes of the Villages except without the money and the freakish long fingernails. His grandson and I will pry him out into the sunlight for a couple days and once again force feed him some life beyond the couch and clicker.

I had to go to the Google to learn the meaning of that phrase my Dad says when he’s really pissed at someone, but I needed it as a title for a post on the spectacular performance of my liver recently in Las Vegas.

It all started innocently enough with a “Sambatini of the day” at SushiSamba in the Palazzo. Well, when the “tini” turned out to be a fluorescent pink with “muddled” fruits, the 11 male co-workers all took turns verbally castrating me with classics like, “Hey Leo, how’s that Vag-tini?” I smiled and said nothing in the din of erupting laughter. I just sipped my fresh, refreshing pink drink like a man. Later, when our waiter sampled us for another round, Pete, the quiet instigator sitting next to me said, “You can’t let them challenge your manhood like that. You need to have another.” I did, and then a third. There’s photographic evidence of my pink thirst quenching I expect to soon see in an email, Facebook post or Powerpoint, so I’ll share it when I get it.

From the classy SushiSamba, we rolled over to the “Carnival Court,” a dive under a big tent in the shadow of the low-rent Imperial Palace. At Carnival they’ll pour shots directly into your mouth right from the bottle while you’re seated next to a hooker with dirty clothes. We chose to remain standing. The place had a stage and the cover band was blaring “Lick it Up” by KISS when we walked in, but in spite of the rock, I passed on round 1. After initially declining a round 2 beverage a mere 90 seconds after round 1 was delivered, I moseyed up to the bar and ordered my live band beverage, a Maker’s Mark on the rocks. I dipped into my billfold and extended a $10. “Twelve dollars” send me back in for a deuce and a tip. After two more Maker’s, I made the case that I was now “even.” I contended the three Maker’s neutralized the 3 Vag-tini’s and I was once again a man. I was concerned we might have a hung jury, but it was pretty cold out there, so that wasn’t a problem and I was begrudging accepted back into the male majority. One more Maker’s and a Jaegerbomb later I was on the dance floor with the 5 remaining male cohorts and the one female who regrettably joined us. Oh, and I swear there were Marines’ in full dress blues grinding each other, but I didn’t think an inquiry on “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” to young, drunk Marines’ was a good call at 2AM.

The one rule of company tradeshows is, “No matter how much fun you have the night before, the next morning you gotta’ answer the bell.” I did and was on the Expo floor by the opening at 8:30. Yes, AM. I actually didn’t feel too bad. We did suffer one casualty, and that individual is still MIA (Missing In Alcohol). Maybe they ate some bad sushi…

Btw, Merriam-Webster provides this background on the term “lilly-livered:”

“The basis of the word “lily-livered” lies in an old belief. Years ago, people thought that health and temperament were the products of a balance or imbalance of four bodily fluids, or humors: blood, phlegm, black bile, and yellow bile. It was believed that a deficiency of yellow bile, or choler, the humor that governed anger, spirit, and courage, would leave a person’s liver colorless or white. Someone with this deficiency, and so white-livered, would be spiritless and a coward. “Lily-livered” and “white-livered” have been used synonymously since the 16th century, but “lily-livered” is now the more common expression, probably because of its alliteration.”