100 words a day

The scout motto “Be prepared” is something I take seriously.  I’m rarely caught off guard because I make plans and pack accordingly.  I do homework and have the right tools at hand.

I have people in my life who are entering new territories and it’s driving me crazy how ill-prepared I think they are.  Not enough money, not enough boxes, too much this and not enough that.   Why aren’t “they” prepared?

Looking at myself differently; how prepared was I for divorces, rehab, going broke and flying way too close to the sun?   No one is ever really ready for anything.

Most of what I write (aside from blog entries and social networking updates) is non-fiction, science fiction, or poetry.  However, I think my best short story is a piece of literary fiction, and it’s currently in the queue at a fairly prestigious literary magazine.  I suspect the end result will be a rejection letter; I’m prepared for the worst.

I’m okay with the prospect of rejection.   Success and its resulting reader expectations scare me, though.  How do I maintain quality output?

An alternate Me just whispered in my ear: “Trust yourself.  Satisfy your own expectations and your fears will dissolve.”

My father could always make decisions and then make those decisions work.  He’s an engineer whose thought process has always included precise calculations and utilized his vast knowledge and prior experiences.  He designed things that worked well and stood the test of time.  His decision-making didn’t take a great deal of time because he was always did his homework and was supremely confident; facts which also made him one deadly poker player.

Cancer is creeping up on him much too quickly now.  My father isn’t having a tough time making decisions; he just doesn’t seem to care about making them.  

My daughter was instrumental in forming an administration-approved Diversity Group at her school; no easy task considering she lives in Dixie’s Bible Belt where diversity is a dirty word.  Her group promotes knowledge, awareness and tolerance for individuals with different ideas and lifestyles.  I’m proud of everything she does, but this commitment is special.

Starting an organization to promote acceptance and kindness is absurd; we aren’t born mean-spirited, closed-minded and rigid.  The Diversity Group should count the entire student body as members, but it doesn’t.  Some student sheepeople are listening to their parents listening to Pat Robertson and Rush Limbaugh.

I’ve said and heard the Serenity Prayer a million times but I don’t always listen to the words as closely as I should.  Listening or reciting the prayer can become mechanical and sing-song when I don’t pay close attention; plus I have a few “issues” with prayer in general.  I found a different version of the same powerful idea from a Mother Goose poem and it works for me much easier.  

“For every ailment under the sun there is a remedy or there is none; if there be one, try to find it; if there be none never mind it.” 

Sanctuary is a word my daughter understands and has used wisely for years.  She’s been able find refuge in all the right places to keep her safe.  I on the other hand have found all the wrong places when I needed a break from the chaos I usually caused.  I searched high and low for some peace and stability and always ended up looking for daylight from the bottom of another hole I dug.

Getting some help, listening more and being aware gives me my sanctuary.  The safe place I’ve been looking for has been within me the whole time.

My father is 25 years older than me; always has been.  Throughout our lives that difference has fluctuated.  In grade school, my dad was the oldest man on earth and in high school I treated him like one of the guys.  In college he tried to treat me as an adult but I still had too much kid in me.

When I was running my life into the ground I thought my dad was out of touch and didn’t know anything.  I got better and I know he’s the smartest man alive.  My wiser voice just turned 75 years young.

Non-dessert menu items that include the words “foam” or “mousse”.

On Sunday, I told my friend I loved the pedometer she gave me, that it stayed put and never fell off.

On Monday, squeezing into a crowded subway, something flew off me and people scrambled around to see what it was.

Inside, I realized the pedometer didn’t make it.

Stepping back out and reaching down, I heard the doors close as someone kicked my pedometer, and someone else grabbed at it.   

My hand tangled around an ankle and when I stood up, the doors opened back up.    

I hopped in, looked at my dirty hand and my pedometer in it.

My son will finish fifth grade this spring and head off to middle school.  His yearbook order is due (the need for grade-school annuals baffles me) and I can celebrate this academic milestone by purchasing a dedication in this important keepsake.  Five bucks gets me 25 words and $20 gets me 50 and a picture.  A bargain price to forever let him know how proud I am.

Years from now, sitting in his CEO or Senate office, my son will pull this yearbook off a shelf with countless other yearbooks and diplomas and say to himself “Was my Dad nuts?”

A wise voice said “if you get far enough away, you’ll be on your way back home.”  That’s the best description of my own journey this past year.  I have learned most of the things I should’ve already known and I see daylight every day.

I’m aware of my place as a father, son, brother, friend and companion.  The roles I play in each of those relationships are nothing like I used to imagine.  I know everything has a consequence and cost and I’m keenly aware of my value.  On my way back home I know everything has a price.

My parents weigh heavily on my mind.  Dad turns 80 in a couple of months; he had emergency triple bypass surgery three years ago.  Mom, almost 75, fell and broke her hip in November and can’t climb the few steps to her bed.  She sleeps in a recliner.  They live two states from their nearest relatives and refuse to move any closer.  When I call them, I can hear the fatigue in Dad’s voice and the creeping senility in Mom’s.

I used to be proud of them for being so independent; now, I just wish they would move back home.

My two kids are no different than the rest of their generation when it comes to things they want or “really need.”  Christmas meant Wii games, cooler iPods, cooler phones and other tech goodies they can’t seem to live without.

My two kids are also way different than the rest of their peers because they can’t live without books.  They asked for, gave and received books for the holidays.  Given a choice, Border’s will beat Best Buy every time.

I offered my daughter a Kindle and she said “How are you supposed to curl up with an LED?”

Good point.