Ok, ok, ok...Just ONE More

Subtitle: The First 100 Miles

Several divergent thoughts came into my head as I was waxing eloquent about summer, but they didn't fit the flow of that writing.  So before I take a break from blogging in favor of preparing for school, I'll jot them down here.

As you can see, I purchased a motorcycle this summer.  I really didn't intend to.  I took a class in the late spring to get my license, and it was a blast.  I got my license in order to take an autumn trip to Maine, during which I would ride a motorcycle along the coast.  The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to ride here, now.  So When I found a good deal on a bike I really like I jumped at it.  It came slightly used, and in a short period of time I put one hundred miles on the bike.

I'm also thinking of a metaphorical "first one hundred miles."  I have been "on my own" now for just over a year.  Heather moved out last July, and although I earnest hoped to be reconciled, by the beginning of the new year it was obvious that was not going to happen.  After that realization set it, and after the pain of the events surrounding the separation began to lessen, it was a bit like emerging from a bomb shelter.  True, when I first picked my head up and looked around, the world seemed barren and charred.  But as my eyes adjusted to the new landscape, the lack of houses and trees and the discernible world that I knew, I saw opportunity.  I actually feel guilty saying this.  I feel like I should still be sad that I am divorced, but I am not.  I feel like I should lament the loss of a very real and very large dream for my life, but I have done that and I don't particularly want to go back.  Call it looking on the bright side, call it moving on, call it whatever you want....I'm living again.

This new life is a curious one.  I'm sad I don't always have my kids.  The house can be lonely at times.  But (I believe I've written about this before) there is a certain joy and liberty in not having to care if "she" likes my clothes, or my motorcycle, or my hair, or my beard.  There is greater flexibility to run off to a new, far away destination or hang out with friends when it is "her" week with the boys.  This summer with my sons, without relational drama or being in a one-sided marriage, has been one of the most enjoyable in recent memory.  And true, a lot of that has to do with another perk of not being married: a new relationship.  I understand that many will consider that I am moving too fast or I am in denial of what has happened, but I'm happy to be dating my wonderful friend Brandi and we have really enjoyed the summer together.  As my friend Michael would say, "It makes a big difference to go from having someone in your life who doesn't really like you that much to someone who really appreciates everything about you."  It is true, and for that I'm thankful.

So there it is.  The first one hundred miles has been a bit bumpy, but the road has emerged onto a coastal route with what looks to be a magnificent view.  Time to start a new school year and see where the road leads.

A Season Comes and Goes

(I was unable to create my fourth post yesterday, but here is my annual meditation on summer.)

Each year, when this point comes, I start thinking that I need to capture my thoughts about summer.  Each year I forget that I have already done this (as in here and here).  But that's not necessarily a bad thing, because each year I feel something slightly different about the summer months.  

One thing that surprises me about my forgetfulness is what has become an annual climax to summertime: the Perseid meteor shower.  If you read the posts from the links above, you'll noticed I started trying to observe this phenomenon in 2009.  My memory is sketchy, but according to the posts there have been good times and bad times.  I didn't write it down, but there was one year when I took a piece of rhubarb pie and a Lienkugel's Berryweiss to the hill in Bear Creek Park and had the greatest star-gazing experience ever.  It was probably a combination of the (relative) cool of the night, the celestial activity, and the delicious food and beverage, but I recall it quite fondly.  Even if there are no shooting stars to be seen (like last night), it's an important ritual that I like to observe.  It brings a punctuation mark of the paragraph entitled "Summer" in each year of my life.  

But I digress.  The main theme of my writing this year centers on how absolutely fantastic summer is, and how the songwriters get it exactly right.  I'm thinking here of the line from "Summer Lovin'" in "Grease," "summer days drifting away...", or the Beach Boys "won't be long 'til summer time is through" from "All Summer Long."  Can you think of another moment/season in your life that brings such enjoyment and yet while you are enjoying it you are aware that it will soon be over?  I don't think it's the same with Advent or Easter, because with each there is build-up and a culmination.  For some reason most people long for the rains of spring to blow away, or the frost of winter to retreat.  No, summer is special, and I think it is precisely because it is so sweet and so fleeting.  Shouldn't every experience in life be lived like summer?  "Let's enjoy it now, because soon it will be gone."  Summer is a seasonal reminder to savor each lick of ice cream, to embrace your children every chance you get, to smile and thank God for his blessings, because each will be gone before we realize it.  We don't like to think that.  We want to enjoy the good things in life as much as possible, and so we block from our minds the fact that it won't always be as it is now.  Saints of old employed the "Memento Mori" to meditate on death and remind themselves to live.  I love summer for its slowness--days that stretch forever, filled ease and recreation--and yet it is also often noted for its swiftness as it speeds away.  The beauty of that has really hit me this year.  

This is the perfect song for this post, I think.  My first memory of really engaging with this song is from my Grandma Asp's funeral.  We were driving back from her gravesite to where we were staying and I played this on my ipod as I watched the golden Minnesota landscape slide past in that beautiful and sacred hour of dusk.  The song is beautiful and melancholy.  It is an ode to summer's end.

Each summer is bound to end.  The best we can do is not to cram it full of activity, or waste it away, but to live with its end in mind.  Savor the slow, sweaty, golden moments.  And when the meteors begin to shoot through the Perseids, look up, smile a thoughtful smile, and agree with the Beach Boys: "we've been having fun all summer long."

A Tour of Texas Lakes

This is my third post of the day.  In a previous post I mentioned hurting my arm while throwing the boys into the water of the lake/pool.  This post builds on that memory by taking you, faithful reader, through the last week with my sons and I as we toured the aquatic wonders of the Lonestar State.
(A fourth and final post should be forthcoming, with my meditation on the close of summer.)

Lake 1: Grapevine

This was not actually a part of the scheduled tour, but it is one of our most frequented and favorite lakes in Texas.  This shot shows Brennan dragging me by my now injured arm.  But really, it's more a picture of the fun we had at the lake that day, as we so often do at this beloved spot.  

Lake 2: Eagle Mountain

Another short trip away, we struggled to find a public access point for Eagle Mountain Lake.  Once we found this park, though, we were on our way.  (Next to Aydan is Nick, a friend staying with us for the week while his parents are out of town.  Next to Brennan is his best friend Justen.)

The lake was about a mile hike from the entrance to the park.  It was a beautiful trail, and we had it all to ourselves.  Even better, it was overcast, so it wasn't mercilessly hot.

 Within our first ten minutes of arrival, Nick caught a sizable bass.  Aydan handled the dirty work of unhooking it, since Nick doesn't like to touch the fish.

 Lake 3: Texoma

 Two hours north, on the Oklahoma border, is Lake Texoma.  It is known for its excellent striped bass fishing.  This destination was entirely the brainchild of the boys, as was the pontoon boat we rented (with the financial backing of money saved from their allowance).

 I am not a fisherman at all, but I did enough research to know that we needed live shad or shiners to have a chance of catching a bass.  Even with this bait we were unsuccessful.  Still, the boys had a great time.  Their favorite activity was to jump off the boat while running at top speed.

Lake 4: Whitney

Two hours to the south is Lake Whitney.  We went there with one purpose in mind: to jump off the cliffs.  The lake was created by the Army Corps of Engineers, and therefore has dramatic drop-offs into substantial depths.  In the picture you see, the kids jump from approximately 20 feet up into water that is 80 feet deep.  I could post more pictures, but it was pretty much more of the same for hour after hour.  It was a blast, and perhaps my favorite trip.

But how can you have a favorite when you get to enjoy so much beauty and fun with your favorite people in the world?  I love my boys, and we had a great time.  It was the perfect end to a very enjoyable summer.

A Chasing After the Wind

When you get older...

That's how I wanted to begin, but I feel it's necessary to stop there and let that statement speak for itself.  

I am getting older.  

Now that the depressing facts have been acknowledged, allow me to proceed.  

When you get older your body begins to fail you.  I'm a firm believer in the "use it or lose it" philosophy that encourages activity and continued use of all your faculties, but I'm starting to see that even if you don't let yourself go completely to pot, nevertheless your body will betray you.  I consider myself an active, healthy 33-year-old, but I'm not 18 anymore.  My body doesn't bounce back.  

Part of being active involves me being there for my sons.  I love to play basketball with them, wrestle, and toss them around at the lake or the pool.  Two weekends ago I did too much of that, it seems.  After a day at the lake followed by a day at the pool, with the second day filled with launch after launch from a perch above the water level, the anterior portion of my shoulder began to hurt.  It made sense.  After throwing kids above my head for hours I would expect my shoulder to be sore.  But then the fun began.  The pain also started in my forearm.  And for all the non-Anatomy majors out there, the muscle that originates in the shoulder and inserts in the forearm is the bicep.  So despite a year of heavy working out, I was not prepared for a day of throwing children.  My body couldn't cope.  My bicep tore (the assessment seems to be that I have strained the tendons of my bicep).  And after a couple weeks of moderate usage (I haven't lifted for quite a long time), it has not gotten better.  Now I'm wearing it in a sling, just to remind myself not to use it.  Being left-handed isn't al that fun, but it's not the worst thing.  

No, the worst thing is realizing the futility of lifting.  What is the point of all this "body building" over the course of the last year?  I have tracked my progress (you can hear about it here and here) and hit some goals, but ultimately what was gained?  In the picture above you can see my "progress" from 160 lbs, post-surgery skeleton, to 195 lbs weight lifter, to 185 lbs regular guy.  But in all actuality, how much difference is there?  It's all so futile.  And the futility is exaggerated by this injury.  Even if I had maintained my eating regimen and continued working out hard the whole summer, I would have come to this point and been unable to work out and I would have lost a great deal of any gains I might have made.  When you get right down to it, this body is breaking down and starting it's decline to ultimate decay.  This skin is not eternal.  I knew this all along, of course, but it gives me greater pause to recall it as I'm reminded of my own mortality.

Will I stop lifting?  Probably not.  It has been a part of my life for the better part of fifteen years.  Plus, I do believe that if I stop "using it" I will only decline and "lose it" that much more quickly.  Perhaps I will simply return to living a more balanced life, with a healthy acknowledgement of the physical aspect, but a greater emphasis on the spiritual.

When Auto-Correct Just Won't Help You

It is now customary for me to peruse Facebook and see what friends and family are up to.  It is also common to receive countless text messages each day.  With all the typing that goes on these days, and with the help of auto-correct when texting or uploading via mobile, one would think that messages would be transmitted perfectly.  However, I have begun to notice several grammatical errors that are quite common and have become particularly irksome to me.
1) Your
For example, "Your lucky that you didn't get hurt more seriously in that accident."  What the author means is "you're".  Your is possessive, and should be used when describing the object of another person...not when talking to the other person himself.  The solution is simple (and I always employ this trick, perhaps just because I'm obsessive about such things): when typing you must speak your (correct usage!) thoughts, and if your (INCORRECT!!) wanting to talk about another person, speak to them (for me I almost mispronounce "you're" when I'm typing, making it sound in my head like "yew-er", so that it stresses the "you" to whom I am speaking) while at the same time typing the contraction "you're."  Maybe it doesn't work for everyone.  I'm not sure I can explain it well, but it works for me.
2) To
A preposition.  Not an intensifier, which is how it is commonly misused, as in "I like that band to!"  Here's another little trick: if you mean you enjoy it just like I do, then there are two (ah...to, too, and two) of us who enjoy it.  So then there should be two "o's" in the "too" you use.  So when "to" should mean "also", there should also be a second "o."  Again, that's a convoluted way to remember it, perhaps, but it is my little trick.
3) Word substitution
If you type "quite" when you mean "quiet" then the computer/mobile device you are using won't tell you that an error has been made because "quite" is a real word.  There's no trick for this one; you simply have to be less lazy and take the time to proof-read before you click "Send" or "Post."

There's still a little bit of the fourth grade English teacher in me, it seems.

Summer in Texas

It is currently 105 degrees outside.  In the past I have complained about Texas weather, and while it does present certain challenges I have realized that I need to embrace what will likely be my "home" climate for the foreseeable future.  So although I am inside now, I will be going swimming in a little bit.  And while the Texas sun, which beats mercilessly upon us, is unbearably hot, it IS good for some things.  

Namely, bleaching bones.  The boys and I found a groundhog skull while we were in Ohio.  I have just now gotten around the cleaning it up, and so while the house "airs out" (I boiled the skull on the stove in the kitchen.  Not a great idea smell-wise.  And since it is super hot outside, I can't really open the windows...I just have to wait for the noxious smell to dissipate.) the skull is being bleached on the roof.  

 On the art front, I just completed a painting I started last summer.  Also while we were in Ohio, Aydan remembered that I was working on this painting and, when the opportunity presented itself while riding the Mansfield Carousel, he posed for his version of my version of David's painting.

It isn't a perfect painting--far from good enough to be a forgery--but I'm glad that at least it is done.  

Finally, I feel like I must address something I have observed while watching the Olympics.  I must give this disclaimer: I have a wedding ring tattoo and I am no longer married.  That alone should be enough of a statement on the folly of tattoos, but I feel like I need to comment on what I view to be a particularly ludicrous decision on the part of Olympic athletes.  

Why, dear athletes, WHY do you insist on having the Olympic rings emblazoned upon your bodies?  Please do not take this as a critique of the athletes themselves.  Their feats of athletic prowess are beyond remarkable, and by and large they do a great job of representing our nation.  Nor am I demeaning the Olympics themselves.  In fact, I love the logo itself for it's depiction of the unity of the continents and mankind during the time of the Olympics.  I won't even comment on the aesthetics of the majority of the tattoos.  No, my beef is with the notion itself: "I am an Olympic athlete, therefore I will tattoo the Olympic rings on my body."  This is, in short, stupid. 

It's not just Olympians who do this.  Basketball players do it as well.  In their case it is often MUCH more hideous to look at, and therefore is doubly wrong.

I get that these athletes are proud of what they do and proud of their accomplishment.  They are elite.  They are an extremely small minority of excellence.  Good.  Be proud of that.  But don't print it on your body.  THAT is dumb.

For further support, I call upon the scene from "City Slickers."  As the guests are just arriving at the dude ranch, Mitch (Billy Crystal) teases Ed (Bruno Kirby) about his jacket.
"Are you really wearing this?"
"Why?"
"It's hideous.  It has your name AND your face on it."
"Hey, I'm proud of what I do."
(Phil, played by Daniel Stern, inserts) "So's the president, but he doesn't put his face on a suit."

And that's really it, right there.  As I teacher, I'm very proud of what I do.  I also value being able to call myself an "artist."  However, you don't see me getting all tatted up about it, do you?  You know what...nevermind...