tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20533012097511057612024-03-14T00:22:27.400-07:00Jeff's ChroniclesThe accounts and observations of an idealist writer, leader, and family man from South Jersey.Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-71232666260021638712013-08-18T20:14:00.000-07:002013-08-18T20:14:04.781-07:00A Final Goodbye to "Mom-Mom"I was really hoping that I was done for a while with eulogizing family members. And although the scenario is different, the level of difficulty with finding the right words remains.<br />
<br />
With my uncle back in February, it was all about figuring out how to deal with the gut punch of losing someone so vivacious and so young with barely enough time to prepare for it. Like the tearing of a Band Aid, it was quick, and it was painful.<br />
<br />
Six months later, his mother has too left this world, perhaps with the great fortune of never knowing that her son went before her. That she lasted as long as she did - nearly 94 years - while in years of perpetually failing health and stricken with dementia so far advanced that she barely recalled her own name, much less those of her family members, is miraculous in and of itself. It's a true testament to her notorious stubbornness (that her daughter - my mother - inherited tenfold).<br />
<br />
But to witness the slow regression occur was nothing short of heartbreaking. It was long, and it too was painful.<br />
<br />
However, I choose to remember the Claire who remembered herself and those around her. The body housed her continued existence, but it was always her mind that was most valuable, which was the cruelest irony of her demise.<br />
<br />
She was an avid reader who knew a little something about practically everything. Her daily ritual of absorbing the <i>Philadelphia Daily News</i> from cover to cover in conjunction to her ability to retain hours upon hours of headline news on TV ensured that she could hold her own in practically any conversation, be it politics, sports, entertainment, or the latest construction taking place on the Schuylkill Expressway.<br />
<br />
With age came a new level of feisty and good luck if you got on her bad side and received a "shut the hell up," typically said with a smile, but also with enough sincerity that you knew to do just that or else.<br />
<br />
But what I'll appreciate most is the relationship I saw her and my mother have. The only other maternal bond I've seen like that I get to witness every day at home with my wife and my stepdaughter, and she and our daughter are well on their way to having the same. It's one that looks to be forming now between my mother and sister, as well, and I believe it's fair to say that Mom-Mom helped to make that happen.<br />
<br />
It was truly the circle of life, as Mom played the quintessential caretaker, devoting the vast majority of any spare moment ensuring that her every need was catered to. It was stubborn taking care of stubborn, with one finally relenting and ultimately setting the other free.<br />
<br />
What we now have is the benefit of something she no longer did at the end: The memories. Those memories hold both pain and pleasure, but perhaps to appreciate the latter, one must experience the former.<br />
<br />
My memories will be selective, comprising of a sharp, witty, soft spoken person and incredible listener, who lived a full life full of love and worldly experiences, a life that seemed to have simply lasted past the intended expiration date.<br /><br />The moment she had no idea who I was is when I began mourning the Mom-Mom I knew and loved. Now I can begin celebrating the Mom-Mom who also knew and loved me.<br />
<br />Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-23856217068859974102013-07-21T21:38:00.001-07:002013-07-21T21:38:41.455-07:00Flashing Forward <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As a recovering couch potato with increasingly
limited down time, I’ve become far more selective lately when it comes to
choosing which television shows to follow. Like a relationship, it can be a
lofty commitment that requires time and patience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Last fall, upon perusing through my streaming
Netflix, I came across Weeds. A few episodes in, I decided to take the plunge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Ten months, eight seasons, and over 50 collective hours
of my life later and I reached the final two installments of the series. The
first of those began with a flash forward, which instantly took the viewers
seven years into the future of the Botwin family to update us on the lives of
each dysfunctional member.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Frankly, I thought it was a copout; lazy writers writing
lazily, perhaps because they couldn’t find an effective way to fill plot holes
and tie up loose ends before the series ended. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When all was said and done, I found it to be a very
entertaining show overall, but one that probably went on about two seasons too
long. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">However, the combination of watching those last
couple episodes and experiencing the last several days of my own real life
dramedy triggered something within me, as well: I’ve had quite the eventful
seven-year period myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On Friday, my stepdaughter Jenna, the same
soft-spoken little girl with the eternally old soul, turned 18. She’s now a
high school graduate, owns her own car, and, most recently complains about
having a 1:00 curfew when she’s now a legal adult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seven years earlier, we had a first “date” together
at Chuck E Cheese, with a vintage drawing/picture of us in the photo booth
still presently hanging on the door of our fridge as proof. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On Saturday, my daughter Kya got to have her first
extended time at the beach, squealing with joy at each new sensory experience
for her: a crashing wave, the salty taste of her skin, the hot grainy sand. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seven years prior, I didn’t realize the beach could
get more enjoyable than simply getting slowly baked by the sun (and perhaps
some accompanying libations) while I drifted off to my favorite 80’s tunes.
(Still enjoyable, mind you.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On Sunday, my mother turned 64, a step closer to
social security for someone who looks no older than 54, acts no older than 24,
and maintains a lifestyle that should keep her spry enough to see 94. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seven years beforehand…well, that pretty much
remained the same, except that instead of housing her mother in my childhood
home, she for now dwells in the basement of my sister and her family. Godspeed
to all involved there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seven years ago, I was childless, living in a
one-bedroom apartment with my cat, holding a job that was almost relevant, and two
months into a relationship – which even at that juncture was close to a record
for me. I had all of my hair, none of it gray and the only real need in life
was to make just enough to pay my utility bills and have just enough left over
to have some fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Back then, the future was endless and up in the air,
as I continued to flip through the pages of the Choose-Your-Own-Adventure book
which was my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then I flash forwarded, and in the blink of an eye,
I became a husband, a father, a stepfather, a homeowner, and a dedicated career
man whose most fulfilling moments include bearing witness to Kya experiencing a
joyful first or watching Jenna evolve into a well-adjusted young adult. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seven years from now, Kya will likely graduate to
conversations that extend beyond a few syllables. Jenna may have a career and
perhaps a family of her own. My mother will be telling people to guess her age
since there’s no way they will know she’s over 70. I may have even less hair,
even more grays, and even greater appreciation for the life I’ve made for
myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Like Weeds, I’ve had a whirlwind seven years, full
of plot holes filled and loose ends tied. Unlike Weeds, the best episodes are
yet to come. </span></div>
Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-39655132701497371892013-02-18T18:13:00.000-08:002013-02-18T18:35:31.955-08:00The Gospell of Jeff...<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm a naturally cynical person. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I think I've always been that way but I'm sure it was solidified through my years of being a journalist and asking a lot of questions, followed by my years as a professor answering a lot of them. Without concrete proof, it's tough for me to believe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, I realize that's basically the definition of faith: belief without proof. Without that trait, I do believe it's quite difficult to devote onself to a particular religion or some other spiritual, intangible groupthink. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, for those who do possess the ability to overcome cynicism and gravitate toward a particular belief system - logic be damned, at times - I get it. Most people need comfort and reassurance - especially in life's most difficult times - and sharing certain values with other like-minded people is a popular way of attaining that. And if we truly want that comfort and reassurance badly enough, we can easily put blinders on and make that belief make sense. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I too possess some blind faith - and at times, will it to make sense when it doesn't on face value. For example, I believe everything happens for a reason. <em>Everything. </em>For me, that just may be the secret to living a fulfilled life: not necessarily knowing what the reasons are, but knowing there is a reason.
Not necessarily knowing who or what may be the keeper of these reasons– like an
identifiable higher power – but just accepting it for what it is. And accepting responsibility that my actions and thoughts
affect what happens, both positively and negatively - that the praise as well as the blame falls directly on my shoulders regardless of life's circumstances. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I must say, that philosophy has become very liberating to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So therefore, I consider myself a devout agnostic: I’m convinced that
there is some sort of higher power beyond this universe which created life as
we know it - probably because a massive universal explosion doesn't explain it to me, just like an omnipotent man in the sky doesn't. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m even open to believing that our souls/spirit/essence may continue
beyond this current existence. That, however, does not have to mean they have a
specific purpose. And if they do, I guess we’ll find out when we get to that point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m equally convinced that no human alive or ever
has any legitimate proof what or who that higher power is and what he/she/it
wants of us, if anything . Therefore, although I understand, I don't subscribe to the need to pray to or
worship someone/something that we have essentially made up and passed along for thousands of years and have done so typically out
of fear for the possible repercussions of what might happen if we didn’t. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For those who do, I get it (well, except for the fanatical zealots who judge others for not believing what they believe, which, sadly, makes up a large portion of the religious sect). I understand the need for some to be unwavering in their belief of a future
heaven as solace from an often difficult, confusing, and perhaps even
unbearable past and present existence. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But agnosticism is a belief, as well. To be convinced of something is to believe. And I'm convinced that there are some things in life - and beyond - that I just don't know and never will, at least not while I'm alive. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That is <em>my </em>belief system. And it's working better than any church, temple, or synogogue I've tried so far.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My wife and I came into this world without a choice of what to believe, but instead a label. I was born Jewish (and for years, when people asked "what I was," I'd say either say "a human being," or, if pressed, "Jew-ish." Like <em>sort of</em> a Jew). Missy was born Christian. Both of us learned later in life that neither label truly defined us. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However, my daughter will have what I believe to be the privilege of being born label free. Free to choose what she wants to believe - or not believe - when she grows up. Free to partake in some celebrations or traditions and bypass others. Free to roam the buffet line of spirituality and pick and choose whatever fulfills her appetite (or, perhaps taste it and spit it out, as she often does in a non-metaphoric way now).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My biggest problem is when my cynicism regresses to pessimism. There is a fine, yet distinct, line between the two. Cynicism allows for questions to be answered. Pessimism gives up on that process and assumes a sense of defeatism. <br />
<br />
Therefore, I'll hold on to my cynicism. I'll hold onto my bline faith that assumes no parameters, restrictions, or judgments toward others. And I'll hold onto hope that my belief/non-belief system ultimately steers me toward a path of fulfillment. <br />
<br />
And if it turns out there is a higher power, I believe that he/she/it will understand. </span>Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-19657190480701483822013-02-12T10:22:00.000-08:002013-02-12T10:22:00.056-08:00My tribute to my uncle.It was too soon, it was too sudden, but just hours after my last post, the "fight" ended for Uncle Joel. Just months after going down to Virginia to celebrate his surprise 60th birthday party, just days after receiving word of his dire prognosis, and not nearly enough time to head back to see him and express how I feel. But there never seems to be enough time, does there...<br />
<br />
Lately, I've wavered between feelings of incredulousness, of how surreal it all is, and a painful void. But I also feel gut-wrenching sadness for my aunt, my cousins, even my mother, who has now lost the three most important men in her life: husband, father, brother. <br />
<br />
However, I also know this is all part of the process of mourning. It needs to be done.<br />
<br />
Solely because life does have to go on - meaning bills need to be paid and a baby needs to be cared for - I was unable to stay in Virgina past yesterday, thus missing a memorial scheduled for tomorrow. But the following is my own eulogy of sorts to pay homage to a man who won't soon be forgotten:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Referring to my uncle Joel in past tense doesn't seem
right. And it doesn't seem real. And it especially doesn't seem fair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The standard response to an unthinkable tragedy such as
this is that it'll be okay. But frankly, it's okay that it's not okay. It's not
supposed to be. Life is meant to end - sometimes far sooner than it should -
but as a result, life is also meant to have a level of suffering.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It'll never be okay for such a vivacious, good person
to die so young. But over time, it becomes a bit more bearable; somewhat more
acceptable to carry on. Until, eventually, typically later rather than sooner, the pain
is replaced by the warmth of the memories of those who have left us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fortunately, for Uncle Joel, there are plenty of them.
Such as:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">His standard greeting of "How you doin" on the
phone, then finishing the conversation in a minute flat. Although he was a
great conversationalist, the phone was kind of like kryptonite to him. Joel was
efficient with his words. There was no beating around the bush with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He ensured that a bathroom was not inhabitable for at
least an hour after using it. And would take pride in this feat!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back in the day, he also had the quintessential "Jewfro" (a Jewish afro, for those unaware), which would have made Dr. J in his prime proud. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And never made his passions unknown, whether it was his love for his Philly sports teams, playing tennis,
travelling the world, cooking, politics, his dog Cougar, his sail boat, good
weed (in fact, that was a great source of family bonding!), or playing the blues on his harmonica.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or his often inappropriate but always hilarious,
self-depracating, and raunchy sense of humor followed the infectious, low-pitched
laughter which ensued. There was no inside voice. Yet there was always an
ability to bring levity to any situation, regardless of how daunting. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That's what we need now. And that's what he'd want. In
fact, I can picture him here now saying something like, "Hey, shit happens.
Let's eat."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life happened. And we were blessed to have him in ours. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So let's eat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-45555622046285141192013-02-09T14:14:00.002-08:002013-02-09T14:14:50.453-08:00Fighting for Uncle Joel There are times when taking the wheel and hitting the gas on my aforementioned goals takes a back seat to circumstances far more pressing. This is one of them. <br />
<br />
Not much longer after I had made the pronouncement to hit the reset button and recommit to staying focused on what matters most in life, I was reminded that all of it gets trumped by life itself. <br />
<br />
Earlier this week, my Uncle Joel, my mother's brother, one of my favorite and entertaining all-time relatives, was diagnosed with advanced-stage cancer. One of the wittiest people I know and perhaps the closest thing to a father figure I've had since my own passed away of cancer himself, Joel has been the quintessential patriarch in his home, for years supporting his two children and serving as primary caretaker for his wife, my Aunt Judy, who suffers from Multiple Scleroris. <br />
<br />
Now it's he who needs to be taken care of and he who needs to be put in good spirits. And all of us are struggling with this role reversal. And none of it makes any sense. <br />
<br />
I'll save the existential ranting for another day. But for now, I know that words matter. And I, as well as the rest of my family, can use all the words of encouragement we can get. <br /><br />But more importantly, Joel can. He's in for the fight of his life, yet that's the only fight that matters. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dS-Ij5YWg2k/URbJUdUR0KI/AAAAAAAAACI/24DKxFUmVgc/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dS-Ij5YWg2k/URbJUdUR0KI/AAAAAAAAACI/24DKxFUmVgc/s320/020.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
Here he is with my daughter Kya last summer. I so wish that he'll somehow find a way to stick around long enough for her to love him the way I do. Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-6986474215261356052013-02-02T13:06:00.000-08:002013-02-02T13:08:30.355-08:00Getting back in the driver's seat...So my journey continues, after yet another fork in the road, another instance of running out of gas...another attempt at extending a metaphor with no idea where it'll take me...<br />
<br />
It's been a while since I posted something. I tend to do that a lot: I allow life to get in the way and go through subsequent lapses which last until I get aggravated in myself enough with the vicious cycle to do something about it. It's a common trend with me, be it with my writing, my fitness, or, basically, anything else I want to achieve. <br />
<br />
(Fitting that it's Groundhog Day as I write about this.)<br />
<br />
I'm sure there's some deep, underlying, pyschological rationale to it, regardless of how irrational it seems on face value. But therapy aint cheap so writing in a stream-of-consciousness will have to do for now. <br />
<br />
One of the biggest issues is that I overthink everything. I analyze a situation, or even a thought, to death (literally —I've been known to kill good thoughts by simply not implementing them. As a result, they eventually fade away). Hell, yesterday, it took me close to 20 minutes to figure out what I wanted on a take-out Chinese menu! <br />
<br />
Frankly, I am an imperfect perfectionist. By not wanting to settle for something less than what's best, I often get nothing at all. <br />
<br />
Instead of thinking, I need to do. Instead of dwelling, I need to be. Allow the journey to take its course instead of constantly trying to skip right to the intended destination of utopia. Become a realistic idealist of sorts. <br />
<br />
Therefore, I've decided that I'm going to test this new thought without thinking too much about it. <br />
<br />
What does all of that mean, you ask (or at least I ask)? Well, here it is in a nutshell: I've separated my goals and resolutions this year. My goals I see as the destination, whereas my resolutions are the directions on how to get there. <br />
<br />
The goals for 2013 include:<br />
<br />
<strong>- Finally planting my family and I somewhere that we can call home.</strong> Right now, we live in a house that we hate in an area that we've grown tired of in a climate that we don't like. To accomplish said goal, there needs to be not just the house we call home but, equally as important, jobs we can call a career. The lack of the aforementioned and resulting countless hours of fruitless searches have officially caused me more frustration and heartache and than any other endeavor in my life. <br />
<br />
- (Actually, that's really it: Get a career that I love in a place that I love! Sounds simple and yet it's not.)<br />
<br />
True, I have other goals, other ambitions, but my problem in the past is I keep on adding to my mental shopping list, which only delays the actual shopping itself. <br />
<br />
The resolutions, which I believe will ultimately put me in a position to achieve said goals, are the following:<br />
<br />
<strong>- 100 workouts.</strong> I really want to finally incorporate fitness as a lifestyle, as something as routine as brushing my teeth (usually) and taking a shower. <br />
<br />
-<strong> 100 screenwriting pages.</strong> It's been ten years since I got a degree in what's become the most expensive and infrequent hobby of my life. It's time to complete something or perhaps just cut my losses. I'm banking on the former. <br />
<br />
<strong>- 10 books completed.</strong> For those who can't tell, I have ADD. It takes a lot for me to stay involved in a book or piece of literature. Hence, the stack of about eight half-read books by my bedside table. But on those rare occasions when I find one which reels me in from cover to cover, it's an awesome experience. I'd like to have those experiences with more regularity. Good for the mind, good for the soul.<br />
<br />
<strong>- 50 of these entries.</strong> There is certainly a lot on my mind I'd like to share. I've got plenty of documented thoughts scattered all over my laptop. I've got plenty more which need to be harnessed. If any of my insights strike a nerve, inspire, amuse, entertain, or otherwise engage anyone else reading them, that would be great. <br />
<br />
But more importantly, but centralizing it all and getting to the finish line - with this and with all the other goal(s) and resolutions that I've mentioned - would serve as a testament that I finally accomplished what I set out to do, that I left no stone left unturned, that I can be proud that I overcame the mental roadblocks, took the detours immersed with gridlock and despair, and arrived at the intended destination a better man for it. <br />
<br />
And that? That would be perfection in my book. <br />
<br />
So, I'm one month into what I still believe will be a year to remember. I'm not full speed but the wheels are turning and I acknowledge this. Feel free to hop along for the ride and see how far I can take this metaphor! Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-68599936605208494832012-12-14T12:42:00.000-08:002012-12-14T12:42:06.390-08:00Biting the bullet...Another day in America. Another needless tragedy at the hands of a gunman. <br />
<br />
And although it's "people who kill people" and not their weapon of choice, I haven't heard of any knifing or stoning epidemics occuring in our nation. At least not for the last couple centuries or so. <br />
<br />
Even then, no knife or stone would take out a couple dozen innocent children in a matter of minutes, at the hands of one person. <br />
<br />
In a perfect world, humans would learn to use its words when faced with conflict. In a better world, in times when a violent act seems somehow justifiable in our minds, we can concurrently reason with ourselves to at least use non-lethal means to achieve the act. In a somewhat functional world, an emphasis on catering to one's mental health will take precedence over all else. <br />
<br />
But, sadly, we live in none of the above. Therefore, to search for a resolution aimed to achieve any of that - at least at this time in our history - is unrealistic.<br />
<br />
Therefore, in lieu of suggesting the complete elimination of firearms, which would fall upon deaf ears (and, ironically, probably lead to a violent citizen uprising), I'd like to propose a common-sense compromise. It may seem simplistic in nature, but sometimes in life, efficiency is effective. Work smarter, not harder, right?<br />
<br />
What I'm about to propose will save thousands of lives every year and instantly reform a nation that has an incredibly disturbing, insatiable appetite for lethal weapons, one which dwarfs any other civilized country on the planet:<br />
<br />
- Mandatory minimum two week waiting period on all firearm purchases, during which time a background check is conducted. Have you ever been pissed and someone or something, thought irrational thoughts, then had some time to cool down and ultimately saw things more clearly again? Of course you have. <br />
<br />- Mandatory gun safety and responsibility course to be completed (and perhaps they already have this to obtain a license. But if they don't, that baffles me. One needs to take driver's ed for a driver's license, and those are only used for weapons a small percentage of the time, whereas a gun's sole purpose is to be a weapon. It's not a very practical paper weight.).<br />
<br />- Ban all automatic weapons. For those pro-NRA, pro-2nd ammendment fanatics who are opposed to this, please tell me why. If it's simply to provide equal footing for every citizen, where is the line drawn? Grenades? WMDs? When can we eliminate the need for the upper hand? And for the hunters out there, taking down a buck with an oozie doesn't seem very sporting. <br />
<br />
Will this stop all of these horrific acts we're forced to see on the news from happening? Not at all, just like driver's education courses don't weed out every terrible driver who puts others on the road at risk. (Trust me - I've lived in New Jersey and Florida for most of my life, so I've rolled the dice most times I pull out of my driveway). Will it save many? Or even one, without threatening the security of anyone else? I don't see how it couldn't. <br />
<br />
Three simple rules and thousands of lives spared. Tens of thousands of others spared the trauma and tragedy. So many others with a peace of mind which dissipates a little more every time we check the news and see the vicious cycle start over again, negating the opportunity for those who perished needlessly to at least serve as benchmark for the continued evolution of humanity. <br />
<br />
But until that happens, it'll just be another day in America, where we pride ourselves on being a standard-bearing society and somehow eat the bullshit we manufacture with no hesitation...Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-82354828860629206702012-11-09T18:28:00.000-08:002012-11-09T18:28:05.476-08:00Things I've learned/things I hope to teach...
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Things I’ve learned from my seven-month-old daughter:<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Once the crying is done, waste no time becoming happy
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s okay to be vulnerable and dependent around
the ones who love you. Everyone can use a pick-me-up, be it literal or
figurative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Smiles are contagious. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s actually possible to make exercising fun.
Especially if there’s a jumper or something else bouncy involved. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">- In fact, pretty much everything that moves or makes a noise can be amusing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As long as there’s food, shelter, love, and I’m
not sitting in crap, life is good and not much else matters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can fight it all you want, but sometimes a
nap can make all the difference in a day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And, when all else fails, just hit the bottle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>Things I hope my seven-month-old daughter will learn from
me:<o:p></o:p></strong></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You can never give or receive too many kisses
and hugs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Between 8:00-9:00 p.m. is bedtime. Resistance is
futile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you’d like to negotiate this, you must first
stay in bed until at least 7:00 a.m. Preferably later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am the only man you are ever allowed to flirt
with. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s nice to have stuff, but it’s nicer to have
love.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em> (As it shows, I'm learning more from her than she is from me at this point. And I'm perfectly fine with that.)</em></span></div>
Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-20092841142932180892012-09-01T19:57:00.002-07:002012-09-01T19:58:07.682-07:00Hurry up and slow down!As I introduce Kya to people, especially other parents, I typically hear two things: "She looks just like you," and "This time goes by quickly." The first was probably obvious to everyone who's met her except, until recently, me, as I apparently have a terribly inaccurate perception of myself. <br />
<br />
The second seems obvious, too - and yet it's not. I'll explain. <br />
<br />
In the past five-plus months, I've seen such a seemingly gradual transformation in Kya, like a seed sprouting into a beautiful flower. Physically, I see features in her that seem to project the future; I look in her eyes, and I can already envision a little girl, not just a baby. She has a personality - a happy, content, playful one - that I dearly hope she keeps. And she has me wrapped around her little finger a little tighter every day. <br />
<br />
All that in five months. I've begun to embrace the routine of watching her evolve a little more all the time, of caring for her, anticipating that open mouthed smile when she wakes up, doing every goofy thing possible to elicit that hearty laugh of hers, feeling complete when she melts into my chest as she falls asleep, watching her and not wanting to leave when I put her to bed.<br />
<br />
Times like those, I wish time would stop. But it doesn't. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I can't wait for the next phase in my own life. When I finally land the career and permanently part ways with stupid jobs. When we move out of our house and find our home, wherever that might be. When we can finally exhale and not have to continuously crane our necks to peek around the corner to see what challenge we have to face next. When we can stop feeling like we have to hurry up just to wait. <br />
<br />
This past week was definitely one of those instances where I would have gladly skipped the journey to get right to the destination. For months, my sister and I have been planning a trip down to South Florida to have our respective babies meet our 95 year-old grandmother for the first time. The same person who, a year earlier, had no great-grandchildren and now has four (talk about something worth waiting for). Her caravan consisted of her daughter, husband, and our mother. Mine was Kya, Missy, Jenna and her friend Alex so she wouldn't get too stir crazy on a trip which consisted of enough crazy as it was. <br />
<br />
The trip started off with a 4:00 a.m. wakeup to get on a 6:00 flight to Fort Lauderdale. Perhaps if it was a 3:55 alarm instead, we would have made the flight. Instead the gate closed as we approached it. Plan B was to fly into Fort Myers and then subsequently drive across the state in the peripheral of a tropical storm as our only chance to still arrive that day. And so we did. <br />
<br />
But simply seeing Great-Grandma wasn't nearly the only thing on the agenda. We were taking Jenna to see colleges (with her own major life transition just a year away), as well as see her boyfriend, who is a new freshman at Barry University, seeing my cousin Meri and her son (Great-Grandchild #2 of 4), and some old college friends of mine. Four days, a couple thousand miles of flying, and another 500-plus miles of driving. With an infant. And a moody teenager. And extended time with my sister and mother. <br />
<br />
I guess this is what it means when they talk about needing a vacation from your vacation!<br />
<br />
Worse yet, I swear that in the midst of all that driving, we would hit most every red light there was. And perhaps it was simply because we just wanted to get to the next destination, but I'm telling you, those were some of the longest freaking lights. Ever. <br />
<br />
Hurry up and wait. <br />
<br />
But to see the eyes of the youngest person in my life lock with those of the oldest, to see the look of joy in my grandmother, for her to realize that making it this far in life, with all of the stop lights and detours and stormy weather, rewarded her in witnessing yet another life to carry on her treasured legacy, one named after a son whose own life ended far too soon...the destination was worth the tumultuous journey. <br />
<br />
And naturally, on the commute back home, when we learned our lesson and arrived at the airport with plenty of time to catch this plane, it gets delayed, and we ultimately returned home after 2:00 a.m.<br />
<br />
So that was this past week. Labor Day Weekend hasn't been nearly as laborious as that was. Instead, this will be my last weekend of my own summer of transformation. Beginning next week, I will teach, which I've done occassionally for much of the past decade, but never primarily. It will be as an adjunct at a couple local colleges, so this too, like this period in Kya's life, will be temporary, with something else lurking around the corner for me.<br />
<br />
But I will spend at least the next three-and-a-half months devoted to writing and inspiring - hopefully for the students as well as myself. I will stop rushing to get through the next light, or get on that next flight - at least for the time being. I will attempt to live in the present, avert my eyes from the rearview mirror, and resist temptation to look too far down the road - in this case, 2013, when a new journey could very well be mapped out.<br />
<br />
And, instead of hurry up and wait, I'll get to hurry up and simply slow down and just enjoy the drive. Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-5201455910782219142012-08-17T09:49:00.001-07:002012-08-17T09:49:44.572-07:00Believing in believing Everything happens for a reason. Everything. <br />
<br />
Believing that just may be the secret to living a fulfilled life.
Not necessarily knowing what the reasons are, but knowing there is a reason.
Not necessarily knowing who or what the reasons are – like an
identifiable higher power – but just knowing that there are reasons and
accepting that. And accepting responsibility that my actions and thoughts
affect what happens, both positively and negatively. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
It’s amazing to me how fear can influence beliefs. Religion is the ideal example, but let's even take it on a much more micro level...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
For
decades, people drank sink water and were fine. Then, I get introduced to
filtered water and learn how much healthier that can be for me, and how tap
water had all these chemicals in it and how dangerous it is. Well, I’ve drank
it for most of my life, as has every other person I know and have
yet to hear about a death or debilitating disease caused by drinking tap water. Yet, even though I have
thousands of gallons of tap water which have passed through my system over the
years in my life, every time I don’t have access to filtered water, there is
now a mini bit of hesitation that sets in for me when tap water is my only
option to drink, like a brief moment of contemplation that, wait, could this
glass of tap water that I’m about to drink at this very moment cause me
significant damage? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
And I’ll ponder this potential dilemma for a brief period. And this
process plays out constantly, whether it be tap water or carrying more than three ounces of shampoo through airport security, in all likelihood, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
The problem may be that we change our beliefs. We start believing the "hype." Or we simply stop believing. In life, in ourselves, in others. Even though I can consciously realize that simply convincing myself to believe in something will make it actually happen – or at the very least, realize that not believing definitely WILL NOT make it happen, there is something inside of me that holds me back from continuing to believe at all times. I feel I have to try and do internal research to find compelling arguments as to why it’s logical that believing will actually make things happen. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
But when things do happen which I don't want, I also have an incredibly difficult time getting over it. I get stuck in the same negative loop and can’t break out of it.
Apparently, it can be physiologically explained – according to the book "Change Your Brain, Change Your Life," the cingulate area of my
brain, when it’s affected in some way, can cause that type of thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If a situation doesn’t go according to plan, I’ll stew
over it even though there is absolutely nothing I can do about it after the
fact. Then I make the situation even worse because of that. </div>
Lately, I've been struggling to unstick myself from the negative loop of concerns that pervade my cingulate area, mainly career and finances. And today, after another "thanks but no thanks" letter, it could be very easy to fall deeper into the vortex. Or I can believe that it wasn't the right opportunity (which it wasn't) and that the right one still exists and is will reveal itself at some point (which it will). <br />
<br />
And the simple act of believing this - truly believing it - gets me through another day and keeps me looking forward to what's in store tomorrow. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-68903542876796493412012-08-08T11:31:00.000-07:002012-08-08T11:34:14.331-07:00I was just thinking...a lot...Today, I felt like I did something very dad-like: I went into Target in my pajamas - midday on a Wednesday, no less - to pick up baby formula. There was a time not long ago that my image-conscious mentality would not allow me to do such a thing. And it may not seem like a big deal, but for me, it felt like another step to being comfortable with where I am in life. So there. <br />
<br />
And now that I've let it be known, I'll move on to the next thought encompassing my mind - which is how to manage all the thoughts encompassing my mind!<br />
<br />
The thoughts that run through my head lately remind me of when I
used to be a waiter. I’d take one order, then another, and then take another
table, and another, and before you know it, I’m confusing my orders. Do I know
who to go to next, or where I just was? <br />
<br />
(Needless to say, I was not a very good waiter. For the reasons mentioned as well as the fact that I could never figure out how to do that balancing trick with the plates all on one arm. I may as well have been walking a tight rope with people's dishes!)<br />
<br />
And my own thoughts feel that way, too:
I’ll start with one thought that seems to guide its way, and then I’ll meander
onto another thought that branched off from the previous one and leave that one
unresolved. Then I’ll eventually have two incomplete thoughts and wander onto a
third and forget what the original thought was. <br />
<br />
Textbook, ADD, right?<br />
<br />
But it always seems to be at its worst when I'm flooded with a bunch of tasks to accomplish and, regardless of how much I plan, or plan to plan, something always seems to fall by the wayside. And, just like how I could never balance more than a couple meals on my arm, it's equally as difficult for me to balance to-do lists. <br />
<br />
Writing this at least takes a plate away. <br />
<br />
(Wait...what was I talking about?)Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-8024985005980624912012-08-06T22:25:00.000-07:002012-08-07T09:20:49.485-07:00Change is a good thing.It's what I keep telling myself. Change is a good thing. Change is good, whether it is anticipated for months and dreamed of for years like with Kya, or just anticipated for months and feared for years like a career transition resulting in a major financial setback. <br />
<br />
Both changes are being faced at the same time. And the challenges of both changes are what will make the journey and accomplishments of both that much more gratifying. <br />
<br />
With Kya, it's a constant trial and error thus far. And most assuredly, will continue to be. I will learn, eventually, how much time I have to get up and make her bottle in the morning before she goes from mildly irritable to utterly inconsolable (thinking probably three). Or how many times she'll laugh at my silly-ass noises and faces before she grows bored of it (guessing about a dozen). But in the end, I'll figure it out. And it'll totally be worth it when I can either make her happy that much sooner or keep her happy that much longer. <br />
<br />
With my other change, I'm going from five years of irrelevance to who-knows-how-long of no freaking idea yet. And, like with my daughter, it's taken multiple times to figure out what decisions to make, where to look, who to speak with, what to write, what to finish that I started years ago, when to give up on ideas I cooked up years ago, and so on...and it will most likely take multiple more attempts until I get it right. <br />
<br />
And it'll be totally worth it when I can be content with my life that much sooner and stay content for that much longer.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, my one change has encompassed so much real estate in my head lately, that it's impeded on my time to write about my other change in this fashion. But it's also made me realize that the one change is equally as critical in dictating my present and future. <br />
<br />
So therefore, a third change: the focus of this blog, to incorporate everything in my crazy world and my constant attempts to learn how much time or how many times I need to figure the important shit out.<br />
<br />
Enjoy the journey with me...Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-84897666905422056962012-06-07T20:56:00.001-07:002012-08-17T09:51:04.710-07:00Random Kya Observations (Part One)<strong><u>Random observations I've had during my daughter's first 79 days (Part One):</u></strong><br />
<br />
- I'm pretty certain that her bodily fluids consist primarily of urine and saliva, mainly saliva. She drools more than my labrador.<br />
<br />
- Speaking of bodily functions, she humbles me with farts. How many and how loud. Once they begin to smell, I won't be nearly as amused, however. <br />
<br />
- Amazed how much a baby can transform between the first six weeks or so and the next six weeks - in all facets. Physically, she barely looks the same, and she's formed a personality to the point where she's most certainly gone from "the baby" to "Kya."<br />
<br />
- Even more amazed by that personality. At a time in my life when it seems all areas of life have found a way to bog me down and stress me out, she is actually not one of them! I'm not sure I've ever met someone - baby, adult, or in between - that is so laid back, content, and unphased by most things around her. I'm raising a stoner baby!<br />
<br />
- Enjoying the progress of our unspoken communication. Reminds me a bit of Dances With Wolves. I pretty much have the signals down now for "feed me" and "hold me." <br />
<br />
- Also enjoying the spoken communication. The first time it seemed she even slightly mimicked something I did, I felt similar to how I presume Edison or Bell felt during a successful phase of their own discoveries. <br />
<br />
- However, unlike the former two, "change me" is more of a (reluctant) feel test. <br />
<br />
- On that note, it astounds me at times what can come out of this girl when all she drinks is formula. <br />
<br />
- And who figures out what to put in formula? My sister is convinced we spike ours with sedatives because of how she passes out right after each feeding. I call it her "formula coma." <br />
<br />
- For the last couple weeks now, I've played the role of Mr. Mom, as Missy went back to work. You'd think for someone who sleeps more than she's awake, doesn't talk, and can't move around, it wouldn't be too time consuming. Even now, I'm not sure what exactly takes up most of the time - perhaps just the anticipation of caring for a need. All I know is that it's not as glamorous as Michael Keaton made it out to be. <br />
<br />
- That said, it's far more rewarding than I thought it would be. Normally, I'd have to hear about second-hand highlights instead of witnessing landmarks firsthand. Like being the first to make her laugh. <br />
<br />
- Didn't realize how addicting that laugh would be, as well as her cooing and the way she molds into me when I hold her or let her rest on my chest. It's as if I'm desperate to get a "fix" when I continue to do whatever I did to get her to do those things. <br />
<br />
- More things I didn't expect: That I'd resort to making the "baby noises" and goofball faces that I always made fun of others for doing. However, if that's what's going to make her coo and laugh, I'm all in. <br />
<br />
- Always realized the following: how much more I'd admire my wife by how she cares for - cares about - our girl. <br />
<br />
- Even more impressed by witnessing those same characteristics from my stepdaughter Jenna. She's made this transition infinitely easier for us all. <br />
<br />
- What's also impressive is how she's able to bring us all closer together, providing us a shared hobby, if you will. Missy and Jenna hate sports, I'm not fond of most reality shows or cooking recipes, but if the topic is Kya, we're always on the same page. <br />
<br />
- I'm even impressed with myself. For the first couple weeks, I held her as if she was radioactive. There's definitely a comfort zone now with not just her, but other babies as well. <br />
<br />
- I'll be away for business-type stuff starting tomorrow for eight days and I'm already anticipating how much I'm going to miss her. Thank goodness for modern technology. <br />
<br />
- Speaking of, I've taken more photos in the past three months than I've taken in perhaps the previous three years combined. <br />
<br />
- I've realized these photos are a cheap but foolproof way to stock up on Facebook "likes." <br />
<br />
- Somehow, her existence seems to make others see me in a more positive light. She's like the the ultimate wingman!<br />
<br />
- And somehow her existence keeps me focused on overcoming every tough obstacle in my way and ensuring that the hardships of life will never again have the upperhand on me. She's like the ultimate anti-depressant!Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-52479916738058981482012-05-13T19:57:00.000-07:002012-05-13T19:57:41.467-07:00From Mother's Day to the Mother of All DaysThis entry's theme: Transitions. <br />
<br />
Today was Kya's first Mother's Day. And, apparently, she didn't forget to provide a gift: Last night, she slept uninterrupted though the night for the first time! Eight hours! Especially miraculous considering she never slept more than five straight hours before that. We're keeping our fingers crossed that this will remain a trend.<br />
<br />
Because if it does, life gets easier for us, at least in the mental functioning capacity. I'm pretty sure I've builty an immunity to caffeine in only two months. <br />
<br />
The day was also special for me. It was my mother's first Mother's Day as a grandmother - and she got to spend it with her mother, both her children, and - new to this year's edition - her two granddaughters. <br />
<br />
Life has not been very easy for my mom in recent years. She's sacrificed life as she knew it to care for my grandmother, who is in advanced stages of dementia, for close to a decade until, after the latest frightening fall and subsequent trip to the hospital, finally came to terms that it was not fair for either of them for her to serve as the primary caretaker. <br />
<br />
She entered a senior care facility last fall, and then another one a couple months later right down the road from my mom. Since then, she still receives daily visits from her for hours on end. Some days, she remembers her, some days she doesn't. Sadly, she hasn't recalled me for years now. And this is someone who was incredibly aware of her surroundings, extremely intuitive.<br />
<br />
Both my sister and I are thankful that both our grandmothers were still around to witness their first great grandchildren. For our "Mom-Mom," she's gotten the chance to meet them in person, though each time they visit, it's like the first time for her again. My paternal grandmother, all of 95 years young and still, thankfully, sharp as a tack, gets weekly updates and pictures mailed to her by my mom to see their constant evolution from 1000 miles away. We both plan a visit down to Florida later this year to get all four of her great grandchildren together (all born within a year of each other), flanking the true matriarch of our family. <br />
<br />
But back to my mom. Since the birth of her two grandchildren, I've seen a transformation. I've seen a sense of peace, after years of stress. She has truly embraced grandmotherhood. Regardless of our own parent-child trials and tribulations we've had in the past, that's exactly where it lies now. It's not about us anymore. There's a new generation to tend to. And it's brought us all closer together in ways I couldn't have imagined. <br />
<br />
Missy even jokes that her relationship with my mother - which had its share of friction in the beginning - is probably better than mine, thanks in no small part to the bonding they've done together with Kya. <br />
<br />
Okay, she's probably not joking. <br />
<br />
And although it's not about the prior generations anymore when the newest generation arrives, I've realized that it still needs to be about me to some degree in order for me to be there for my child. It's the old phrase, "You're no good to anyone if you're no good to yourself." Therefore, there are certain aspects of my life that I need to focus on to ensure that I'm the best possible father: My health - mentally and physically, my career, and my family's financial well-being come to mind most. So I need to get my shit together. <br />
<br />
I'm calling it being "selflessly selfish." And this rings more true in the coming weeks than ever before. <br />
<br />
See, today was Mother's Day, but tomorrow might be even bigger. Missy goes back to work and I assume most of her daytime responsibilities. Yes, I'm going to be a Mr. Mom. Like Mr. Dad wasn't hard enough! It's going to be a tough transition for both of us. I can't emphasize what an incredible job she's done with Kya and what a bond they've created already in such a short period of time and I know the time away from her is going to extremely difficult. <br />
<br />
For me, my balancing act has been a struggle even before throwing another ball into the air. Which means now more than ever, I can't neglect my own needs as well. For example, I haven't exercised since my daughter was born. I've been eating like crap. I haven't written a blog (since now) in nearly two weeks. <br />
<br />
I'm no good to Kya if I'm no good to myself. If for no other reason than the necessity to lead by example. <br />
<br />
So the Mother of All Days was today. But also tomorrow in a way, when another transition - one of many which have occurred already and many, many more which will occur in the future - takes place. <br />
<br />
Most of these transitions have proven to be quite successful thus far: My grandmother's transition to a place where she can be cared for properly. My mother's transition to refound independence, from caring for her mother to embracing her new grandchildren and repairing her relationship with her own children. <br />
<br />
And just like the nine months of bone-chilling fear and overanalyzing that took place leading up to the birth of my child, I'm pretty sure things will all work out in the end. <br />
<br />
Just like with my mom.Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-9870564034905242452012-05-01T02:15:00.001-07:002012-05-01T02:15:26.143-07:00Time flies when you're not as young.Today's cliche that fits: Perception is reality.<br />
<br />
It's been six weeks since Kya entered the world in grand fashion. For me, it's flown by. Yet the transformation which has taken place with her during that time is astounding. All I know is that life seems to have shifted into ludicrous speed and, besides acknowledging that my "2:30 feeling" seems to last all day and that the only period of lucidity I seem to have is in the middle of the night as I wait for her to awake (hence me being able to seemlessly use words like "lucidity" at 5:00 in the morning), I haven't had time to ponder much else. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, six weeks for Kya is literally a lifetime. It's been an eternity of infinite bottle feedings and changings and being passed along like a communal joint to endless family members and friends of family members and friends of those friends. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to try and get us, her parents, to decipher what a particular cry is intended for, or if her grunts this time are attributed to the effort it takes to lift her bobbley-head, or if it's just another case of hardcore gas (she's her parents' daughter in that regard). <br />
<br />
I would love to be able to read her mind every time she coos about, or stares at, nothing in particular. I want to be able to provide whatever she needs when she cries but refuses the bottle (on the very rare occasion) and still has a dry diaper. I'd pay to be able to see the world through her eyes right now. We all have at one point, of course, but those memories have long since faded. <br />
<br />
And perhaps for a reason. Maybe it's an overwhelming thing to be overstimulated by so many new experiences. Maybe it's utterly exhausting to go through so many physical changes in such a short period of time. <br />
<br />
All I know is that times like these, at crazy hours of the night when I finally have time to reflect on how different my life is compared to six weeks ago, it helps to put time into perspective. And it's refreshing when that time, as ludicrously fast as it's flown by lately, is spent watching a life gradually evolve before my eyes. Especially in times when I feel like my own is stuck in neutral.Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-5857612200052195812012-04-18T23:45:00.000-07:002012-04-18T23:45:46.132-07:00The birds sing at nightAt night, there are birds that still sing around my house. It can be 10 p.m. but in my backyard, it'll look and sound as if it was shortly before dawn. <br />
<br />
Lately, I've been thinking about how symbolic this is regarding the current state of my life. <br />
<br />
Shortly over a month ago, my life completely changed. Since then, I've struggled to function on a very minimal amount of sleep, shifted my priorities to focus on the needs of my newborn child, and attempted to make the transition not nearly as overwhelming for Missy. <br />
<br />
And yet, the other night, I walked into the living room and watched my daughter lay sleeping on the stomach of my sleeping wife. Suddenly, all of those aforementioned issues seemed to melt away.<br />
<br />
Since Kya's birth, I've felt increasingly weighted down by the financial burdens, too. This past week was especially stressful, as we received the damages from both the hospital (and just think if Kya was actually born there!) as well as our tax returns. I've attempted to revise our budget expenses, which is nearly impossible to predict with Missy currently not working, me on straight commission, and a child who seems to regularly consume her weight in formula. Each day, the mountain of debt continues to grow. <br />
<br />
And yet, yesterday, I made Kya coo and smile at me. Suddenly, the price of my debt seemed worth every penny.<br />
<br />
As I continue to embrace this new phase of life which has granted me a new life to look out for, searching for daylight seems to be a daunting task at times. Yet, just when things seem to be at its darkest, I see the beauty in the little things, like watching a mother and daughter form a bond early on, or learning what it takes to make a baby smile. <br />
<br />
And just then, the birds begin to sing again.Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-78477847919887186162012-04-10T22:39:00.000-07:002013-02-18T17:18:51.563-08:00“Let Her Cry” or “Rescue Me From These Tears?”<span style="font-family: Calibri;">To explain my title, one is a Hootie and the Blowfish song. The
other one I have no idea, but doesn’t it sound like it could be lyrics to some
cheesy rock ballad? Maybe it is. I’ll have to Google that later. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the title has a purpose, a theme if you will, to our
first dilemma as parents of a three-week old who has begun to catch on that, if
she cries, Mommy and Daddy immediately approach and try to do something about
it.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What that’s resulted in is us attempting to fulfill her
wants as well as her needs. The first couple weeks, she was on a pretty
consistent three hour feeding schedule, but now she’ll occasionally cry for a
bottle at the two-and-a-half hour mark. At least, I’m guessing she’s crying for
that. She latches on for dear life and subsequently downs the bottle at a pace
that would have humbled me even back in my college glory days. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then again, I was never really good at chugging. Perhaps
that explains my affinity toward hoity-toity sipping-type drinks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Be that as it may, I’m trying to look at this
scientifically: If she consumes the same amount of formula at the same
intervals and moves around a similar amount of times every day, shouldn’t she
digest at the same pace and thus be hungry around the same time every day too?
Isn’t that how it works for most human beings? Or are babies exempt from this
theory?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anyhow, <em>my</em> theory is that although she may <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> to have the formula earlier (I don’t know why – it looks
absolutely disgusting but hey, different strokes for different folks), she
doesn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">need </i>it. And she’s not going
to starve if we politely decline her request at the two-and-a-half hour mark as
opposed to three. Or need to be changed any more often (since, you know, the whole digesting at the same pace hypothesis I posed earlier).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is that heartless? Or understandable? I absolutely despise
hearing her cry and love when I’m able to do something as simple as feed her to
put her at ease, but, over the past couple days, we’ve found ourselves being
kept up later and waking up more, thus turning the two of us into walking
zombies the following day. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think we’ve been too quick to jump the gun the moment we
hear a whimper, leading to a lot of holding her to prevent said whimper from
returning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that has proven to be
really freaking exhausting. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And yes, I understand that "needing to be held" is an expression that does, indeed, have the word "need" in it, I believe it does evolve into a "want" after a certain point. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of Missy’s sisters suggested letting her cry longer. And
that make sense as the clear-cut way to restore routine as well as our sanity. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I also realize it will be easier said than done, the
moment I see those cute little lips quiver and try to restrain myself from
getting up. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(Oh, and in case you were wondering: ) </span><a href="https://www.google.com/#hl=en&sugexp=frgbld&gs_nf=1&tok=kv2FTGFyFAtHykTp5SfpMQ&pq=%E2%80%9Crescue%20you%20me%20from%20these%20tears%3F%E2%80%9D&cp=28&gs_id=3b&xhr=t&q=%22Rescue%20me%20from%20these%20tears%22&pf=p&sclient=psy-ab&oq=%22Rescue+me+from+these+tears%22&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&gs_l=&pbx=1&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&fp=21ba5269d78bca91&biw=1249&bih=548"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">https://www.google.com/#hl=en&sugexp=frgbld&gs_nf=1&tok=kv2FTGFyFAtHykTp5SfpMQ&pq=%E2%80%9Crescue%20you%20me%20from%20these%20tears%3F%E2%80%9D&cp=28&gs_id=3b&xhr=t&q=%22Rescue%20me%20from%20these%20tears%22&pf=p&sclient=psy-ab&oq=%22Rescue+me+from+these+tears%22&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&gs_l=&pbx=1&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&fp=21ba5269d78bca91&biw=1249&bih=548</span></a><o:p></o:p>Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2053301209751105761.post-81712373627955159572012-04-03T01:38:00.000-07:002012-04-03T01:38:20.092-07:00The blink of an eye...Life changes in the blink of an eye. Yes, it's cliche. And cheesy. And true.<br />
<br />
Exactly two weeks ago, my daughter made her entrance into this world in grand fashion: in the back of a speeding ambulance. For the next two days in the hospital, it was hard to take my eyes off of my greatest creation. One need not be religious or spiritual to still appreciate the miracle of life. <br />
<br />
I was especially in awe of her delicacies. Her soft skin, her fragile frame, her tiny little fingers and toes. I half-expected her to come out in a box entitled: "Handle With Care."<br />
<br />
Two weeks is not a very long time in the grand scheme of things. It's like a figurative blink of an eye in my life. Hell, I have tasks on my to-do lists that have lingered for months. But for Kya, it <em>is</em> a lifetime. It's all she knows. And in that half month, I've personally witnessed an incredible transformation in her. Her face and frame have become fuller. Her eyes have begun to focus on things - including me - and stay open for longer periods. <br />
<br />
I've even learned how she communicates, through three cries: Feed Me, Change Me, Hold Me. To know that I have a one in three chance of always satisfying her needs is quite reassuring - never have my odds been that good with another female. <br />
<br />
And every time my eyes close and open again, it's as if there's yet another evolution taking place within her. Every experience for her is novel and groundbreaking. And every time I lay witness to it, I feel the same way.<br />
<br />
Tonight, I decided to take the night shift and give Missy the night off. It gave me a chance to slow down her evolution before my very eyes. It also gave me a chance to appreciate the speed of my own life. As a child, it felt like it took forever to turn 18. Now 18 is almost forever ago.<br />
<br />
One day, Kya will be 18. And I'll feel like it happened in the blink of an eye.<br />
<br />
Makes me not want to close them. Which, at least for tonight, I won't.Jeff G.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10607913536684967406noreply@blogger.com2