hard times and hard wood

I am deeply touched by the many heartfelt and genuine offers I have received to help me beat my
"depression" (probably more of a recession, or to put a finer point on it, an economic downturn).
Like most Americans, I don't need a bailout;
I need to get out there and get a job. Don't give me fish; give me a fishing pole. You get the idea.
Well, maybe the Democrats don't.....

I had noted that I needed to feed my psyche with some positive feelings of productive projects, and accomplishments. And while I can certainly feel good about painting farm houses, mucking stalls, or hanging basement drywall, I am reminded that there is work to be done much closer to home.
Specifically, Debbie's home.

Just in case there is anyone outside the Gibson, Foust, or Horn family reading this, Debbie's house in Lapel is at least 120 years old, and we are currently walking on the original floor joists, as well as some original hardwood flooring, at least in the main front room. It has been professionally noted that the floor joists are rotted and sagging, and need to be replaced. This means that, in all but one added-on room, and the bathroom we will be deconstructing the hardwood floors, attempting to salvage the hardwood as we go, and stripping the house down to the crawlspace dirt, before reconstructing new treated floor joists, replacing sub-flooring, and then, hopefully, recycling the original hardwood flooring, as much as possible.

Now, when I saw we, what I mean is, Debbie has contracted a professional builder to do the job, but he's a family friend, and we are going to help along the way. Maybe defray some costs by doing the deconstruction. Or I can bring him sandwiches.

All that to say that, when I'm not working on getting a job, I will be busy working on Debbie's house, which someday, I hope to share. Call it sweat equity. Or love.

By the way, Debbie's son, David, has put forth the brilliant idea of installing an in-floor spiral wine cellar, as long as we're down to the crawlspace dirt. Not surprisingly, there is a company, Spiral Cellars, that specializes in such extravagance. We aren't so much wine drinkers as beer snobs, so we could keep an ample supply of good Hacker-Pschorr Weisse Bier, and Deb's favorite Sam Adams White Ale down there. Least we could do, since it is her house. I suppose we should ask her, before we start excavating.....

Then again, it's not cheap to dig out, and build a wine/beer cellar for your kitchen.

Maybe we should wait until the Recession passes. I'll drink to that.

five stages

I might be depressed.

I really thought I had been handling my holiday losses pretty well, after losing my job, and my Mom in an eight day stretch, from December 22, 2008 to January 2nd, 2009. And then, we postponed our February 14th wedding.

But I think I had a breakthrough last week, that may have pushed me out of the Denial I was in denial about feeling, and straight into a brief episode of Anger. Not a violent, raging anger, but more of a pouty, "Take my ball, and go home" anger.

I'm not really sure how the Bargaining phase works, but I've probably been there.

And now a triple whammy of Life is revealing the truths of reality, guilt, and insecurities, and these truths have rendered me a bit wobbly. And I may be depressed. Not desperately, or clinically depressed, but certainly sluggish.

But the good news is that I have identified this in myself, and I recognize that I must create positive activity for myself, and re-energize myself through positive and productive behaviors.

I suppose that one positive behavior would be to not stay up until 1:00am, and sleep in until 9:00am, even if the sleep math adds up to 8 hours. So I'm going to go to bed, and pray in thankfulness for all my blessings, and the promise and expectations of a new day.

birth day

I had a bit of a cry last night.

I wasn't really surprised, since I knew I'd been pushing this one down since my 48th birthday
earlier this week.

Debbie and I were at her house watching "Braveheart". No, I wasn't crying over "Braveheart", although it does have one of my all time favorite quotable lines;
"They may take our lives, but they will never take...OUR FREEDOM!!"

We had actually paused the movie, because it was late, especially on a school night for a teacher, and I was getting ready to leave. Debbie commented on the red cotton cardigan she was
hugging around her, and reminded me unnecessarily that it was one of several I had cleared out of my mom's closet after she died earlier this year.

I started to say that I had thought of Mom on my recent birthday, but I couldn't get the words out, and got choked up. It took me a little while on Debbie's shoulder to gather myself, but when I did, I was able to explain to Debbie what a mother of four probably already knew.

Whatever I've thought of birthdays for the past 48 years, I always thought of them as mine alone. I could choose to share them, or allow others to celebrate for and with me, but it was always a personal day. Until this year.

On my birthday, I remembered thinking that it would be the first one without my mom, but I was initially thinking selfishly that it would be the first that my mom wouldn't be there to wish me a Happy Birthday. It took me another day for it to sink in that my birthday was her day, as well, because there is no one else in this world more intimately involved and responsible for my birth day than my Mom. She was there. For all of it, but certainly at the actual moment of my birth into this world.

So while I had been celebrating 47 birthdays of my own, it had never occurred to me that I should have been more consciously thanking my mom, not for the new blue sweater, or the Tonka Toys, or the Cubs cap, but rather, I should have been thanking her for my birth, and for being the only one from this world who was there at my first one. And every one after.

After all, we had always shared it, and been in it together. Until this year.

So even though I couldn't bring myself to face it on the 10th of March, I did face it on the 11th.
And last night, as I laid my head down to sleep, and prayed the Lord, my soul to keep, I also thanked God for my Mom, and I thanked Mom for being my Mom.

And I wished her a belated Happy Birthday, for both of us.

cake

Well, it's nearly my birthday. Twenty minutes from when I started typing this. Maybe well into it, by the time I finish. I suppose at 48, I'm not as excited or expectant about birthdays as I used to be. I think that part of that could correlate with the notion that, as we get older, we tend to enjoy the giving more than the receiving. At least it really seems that way at Christmas time.

Many adults do not embrace birthdays, because it is a mortal reminder of getting older.
I do not share this sentiment. Or lack of sentiment. I suppose the biggest factor is simply that,
birthdays are days for cake, ice cream, party hats, games, and colorful and fun presents.
These don't really seem like adult pleasures, but even the "adult pleasures" from young adult birthdays, like going out to the bars, begin to seem childish, or at least uninteresting, once you reach a certain age. And I have.

And presents.....How many people are really insightful enough to purchase a gift that the receiver
really wants, and will really enjoy? I'll speak for myself, and say that this is why I give away gift cards for most of my gifts these days. Then again, the right gift card can provide a quality experience for the receiver. Like a Target gift card for a child. The Mom creates a shopping experience, that includes the child getting to actually, with some filtration, pick out their gift.
Or a good restaurant gift card can provide the impetus for a date night of shared quality time.

But we do like people to remember our birthday. I don't care how old you get, there is a feeling you get as you leave the house on your birthday, that everyone must know that this is your day,
and as you pass friends and co-workers in the hall, you sub-consciously brace yourself, and nearly expect people to wish you a Happy Birthday. There is an involuntary expectation, but sadly, it never lives up to the hype in your psyche. Ok, I'll admit that maybe it's just me.

I remember one year managing a Starbucks in Grosse Pointe, I had it in my head that it wasn't for me to tell anyone that it was my birthday, because telling would be self-serving. And I somehow believed that someone must know, so word would get out, and then, of course there would eventually be cake. So I didn't tell anyone all day. And there was no cake.
I seem to remember putting my coat on to leave, and on the way out telling a co-working that I couldn't believe nobody remembered my birthday. (I'm so weak...).

I think there was make-up cake the next day.

In the morning, as my birthday begins, my dad is taking me out for breakfast at The Toast.
I'm sure it will hit me that this will be my first birthday since my Mom died. So I'm glad I'll be with Dad. I told Debbie that we'll save a birthday outing at a favorite restaurant for the weekend, when we can relax and enjoy it. Last year, we went to the Outback.
Then again, I did get a gift card to Red Lobster from my sister. And Debbie really likes that.
I'll have to tell Kim that she did very good in the gifting department.

So now it's 22 minutes into my birthday. I have myself convinced that I'll have no expectations about it, and treat it like any other day.

Aw, who am I kidding. I may as well write "Birthday!!" on my forehead, and get it over with.

Happy Birthday to me. And I miss you, Mom....

Paul Harvey..........................Good Day!

(group photo from 1951 Lafayette Jeff HS yearbook...
my mom at right in white sweater and corsage.)


Saturday was not a "Good Day".
Legendary and iconic radio news-guy Paul Harvey died at age 90.
It couldn't have come as a surprise at his age, but it is still an irreplaceable loss.

And, like many things this year, it brought back some fond memories of my mom.

My mom introduced me to Paul Harvey when I was a small boy.
Not literally. She introduced us through his long-running noon news broadcast on the radio.

In 1988, I had been living and working in Chicago for a few years, and I traveled back to my hometown to spend the weekend with my parents. On Saturday, as the noon hour approached, I told mom that it was almost time for Paul Harvey. I headed for the kitchen, sat down at our kitchen table, and I turned on the trusty family AM radio I had remembered so well, and I was hit with a wave of nostalgia, as I heard those familiar words that took me back so many years...
"Hello Americans....This is Paul Harvey....Stand by for NEWS!!"



I was instantly reminded of my childhood days, circa 1967, when mom would pick me up from kindergarten, bring me home, and fix my favorite peanut butter & jelly sandwich, just in time to hear that familiar voice. Although she did not realize it at the time, she had created a diehard Paul Harvey fan, just as my dad had molded a young Hoosier boy into a diehard Cubs fan.

After listening to Paul Harvey that day, mom mentioned that she had met him once in high school, when he had visited and spoken at Lafayette Jeff in 1951. She even pulled out her old high school yearbook, and showed me the picture of her waiting in a crowd to get his autograph.
I thought this was pretty cool, and took the yearbook to the library, and photocopied the picture.

After I returned to Chicago, I wrote Paul Harvey a letter, relating how I had listened to him on the radio with my mom as a child, and now as an adult. I even requested an updated autographed 8 x 10 photo of himself, signed for Mom. Within two weeks, he answered my letter,
with a note of his own, accompanied by an autographed photo for Mom, who had been known as "Jess" in high school. I was probably more excited than Mom, when I mailed these to her.

As sit typing in the "computer room" that was once my boyhood bedroom, I notice the "clock" in the lower right corner of my computer monitor, and I see that it is 11:52 am.

Less than ten minutes until Paul Harvey.

I want to tell this to Mom, but she is no longer here.
And I want to turn on my radio at noon to hear his comforting words.
But, for the first time in nearly 60 years, they won't be there.

But what I do have is a shared memory between the three of us that will never go away.

I am thankful for these memories that warm my soul, and I am encouraged that today will
in fact turn out to be a........................................................Good Day!