What's Important

Last week my father texted me to say that he probably had the flu and wouldn't be able to get together one night. On Saturday my mother called me to say that it wasn't the flu. Dad had a blood infection. A serious blood infection. He'd finally gone to see the doctor and that he would be starting heavy rounds of antibiotics that day. Even more worrying, my father has an artificial heart valve that was put in almost 25 years ago. If the valve became infected it would mean another heart surgery.

On Sunday my mother called to say that they were admitting my dad to the hospital on Monday morning. They wanted to watch him more closely. He still had high fevers. Thankfully on Monday we found out that his valve was apparently not infected. He'll most likely not need another open heart surgery. Now it's just a matter of blasting him with enough antibiotics to kill the bug. When I saw him on Saturday, before the hospitalization, he looked gray and pale and weak. He was clearly sick, clearly hurting. And I went home with a pretty heavy  heart. But the news on Monday and seeing the return of his appetite and color has made these last couple days a relief.

From the first phone call on Saturday until today, I've been in a bit of a daze. I spent part of Saturday with my dad, I spent most of Monday at the hospital with him, and I'm making it a point to see him every day. The news of his illness was a wake up call. It has reminded me that most of the issues I thought I had, aren't all that important. It reminds me that there are things in life that are important (family, friends, time, interests...) and there are things that are unimportant. I've been slacking at the office but I've been writing up a storm. I've been laying off social media but I've been spending lots of face-time and phone time. I've been telling people I love them. I've been making time. I've been doing the things that make me come alive.

As I watch my dad recover, and his color and personality return to normal, I send my gratitude out into the world. And I'm reminded of what I know is important and what I used to think was important. It's sad that it took almost losing my father to realize this, but I'm happy to have both the lesson and a soon-to-be healthy father. I'd rather not have just the lesson.

Poetry Saturday

Because I'm late for Friday.

I found this poem while looking for a Robert Service poem about daydreaming. I still haven't found the original one, but the moment I read the first stanza of this one, I was in love. This poem hit me right in the gut. It says so many things I want to say, particularly about how my job and my values clash. Sadly I know nothing about John Boyle O'Reilly, except that he lived from 1844 to 1890 and was an big Irish rights activist. I'll have to read more of his work. His tone sounds a lot like Service.

The Cry of the Dreamer
by John Boyle O'Reilly

I am tired of planning and toiling
In the crowded hives of men:
Heart-weary of building and spoiling,
And spoiling and building again.
And I long for the dear old river,
Where I dreamed my youth away;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

I am sick of the showy seeming
Of a life that is half a lie;
Of the faces lined with scheming
In the throng that hurries by.
From the sleepless thoughts' endeavour,
I would go where the children play;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a thinker dies in a day.

I can feel no pride, but pity
For the burdens the rich endure;
There is nothing sweet in the city
But the patient lives of the poor.
Oh, the little hands too skillful,
And the child-mind choked with weeds!
The daughter's heart grown willful,
And the father's heart that bleeds!

No, no! from the street's rude bustle,
From the trophies of mart and stage,
I would fly to the woods' low rustle
And the meadows' kindly page.
Let me dream as of old by the river,
And be loved for the dream alway;
For a dreamer lives forever,
And a toiler dies in a day.

The National

A few weeks ago I had mentioned that I was listening to the band The National regularly. I owned a couple of songs by them that were on constant repeat. Since that time, those couple songs have been joined by a lot more and I have become officially obsessed with the band. I have gone back through all of the bands earlier albums (they have 8) to listen to their older material. I have watched hundreds of videos of their songs. I've sought out articles on them. A full 10% of my main playlist is now made up of National songs. Seriously I'm thinking I'll need a twelve-step program soon.

 From the Sea of Love video (read about its origins here)

And this is not typical for me. While I quickly become obsessed with authors and artists, music is generally not something I've become infatuated with. This is the first time in my life that I can point to each member of any band and tell you their names. Even with really ultra famous bands I can't do it. But I can list each member of The National and what instrument/role they play. Of course it helps that they are a band of brothers. Aaron and Bryce Dessner are the twins who both play guitar. Normally they are up front and center with the lead singer. Scott Devendorf plays bass and often stands near to his brother Bryan Devendorf who plays drums. The only band member to not have a brother in the band is Matt Berninger, the baritone voiced lead singer.

Aaron, Scott, Matt, Bryan, and Bryce

The band members all grew up in Cinncinati but didn't really start playing music together seriously until they all moved to Brooklyn for various jobs. Most of their early work is about working in white collar jobs and hating it. It wasn't until after their breakout album Boxer that they were able to think about quitting and going into music full time. Aaron and Bryce are heavily involved in the music scene outside of the band and have even curated music festivals. Bryce, who is a classical guitarist as well and who I have a bit of crush on, has worked as a composer creating his own orchestral and classical pieces.

Some people have called the bands songs melancholy or morose but I actually find them very uplifting. There is a catharsis in hearing them that brings me back to songs again and again. Most of the lyrics are about tough times, heartbreaks, and sadness, but I often find myself happy while singing along. Poor Jeff has heard nothing but snatches of National lyrics from me in months. Luckily he's come to enjoy their music too, although he hasn't been bit with the same obsession. But the songs just pull me in. They are catchy songs that grow on me each time I hear them.

I have tickets to see them live for the first time in October in Kansas City. It's the only thing I want for my birthday. Having seen videos of their live performances, I can't wait to see them in person. Until then I'll see if there are any songs that I've managed to miss from their older albums and try not to drive Jeff too crazy.

Not in Nottingham

Perhaps it says something about me that one my favorite songs from any Disney movie is the rather downbeat, almost depressing, Not in Nottingham from Robin Hood. When I was growing up we watched Robin Hood a lot. It was one of my favorite movies and Robin Hood, that fox, was one of my first crushes. And Roger Miller's sad, hauntingly beautiful version of Not in Nottingham was the one song I would sing from the movie. 

There are certain songs that just hit you the right way and stick with you through life. Almost thirty years after hearing that song for the first time, I'm still looking for a copy I can call my own. Disney has only once, to my knowledge, released the song in a physical form. It was part of the record soundtrack. Sadly, that record is one of the few that I can't find in my parent's house. We have the cover, but not the record. It's not on iTunes or Spotify or Pandora or LastFM. I'm not surprised that Disney would prefer to focus on the more upbeat songs from its movies but there is just something wonderful about that song. 

I'm clearly not the only one who loves the song. When I go looking for it, I find all sorts of covers of the song. Los Lobos did a version. Benjamin Baker did a version. I just found a version by Mumford and Sons. If you google Not in Nottingham, you'll find hundreds of covers with a couple versions of the original mixed in. But nothing that I can put on my iPod to hum along to later. So I'll keep looking. And hopefully find that old record. I'll wear out the needle listening to that song but it will be worth it. "Every town, has its ups and downs..." 

For those of you who've never seen Robin Hood or heard the song, check out the original here. And the Mumford and Sons version isn't too bad. 

Photogenic

I went to the Henry Doorly Zoo on Sunday and I think I took three pictures of animals. And two of those were of the same animal. I was at one of the best zoos in the country and didn't bother to take animal pictures. I'll tell you it's because I had a more enjoyable subject. My nephew.

Jeff's brother Greg and his wife Jen came up to visit us this past weekend and brought their adorable 2 year old son Callen. I've mentioned my nephew before in this post. I took a couple dozen pictures of Callen and very few others. He's a cute kid. He's a good kid. And I enjoyed getting the chance to play aunt all weekend.

We went to the beach, we played on playground equipment, we went shopping, and then we drove to Omaha to go to the zoo. In between I played with my rubber duck collection, I got attacked by plastic dinosaurs, I read book, and I had tea parties. I spent the weekend making my nephew giggle, which in term made me very, very happy. Oh and I also spent time with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. Thanks guys for coming up! It was wonderful.

And if you don't think the kid has a contagious smile, just watch this video.

Trebuchet

A year or so ago, a friend of ours took us out into his backyard to set off bottle rockets. He had built a launcher and then used 2 liter bottles as projectiles. We pumped up the pressure, pointed the rocket upward, and pulled the firing cord. The moment the first one launched I was in love. I believe I squealed and pleaded to do it again. I might have clapped in happiness too. Since then I've become fascinated with launching things. And my new favorite idea about launching things is a trebuchet. I want to build one.

A trebuchet is a form of catapult, a siege weapon designed to launch heavy objects at a significant distance with much force. What's not to love? The trebuchet uses a counterweight to send objects flying. So not only do you have the thrill of watching things fly but you add heavy weights to make the contraption even more dangerous. I have to imagine that full sized trebuchets injured more people in their operation than just with the projectiles they threw. But it doesn't matter, I'm going to build one. Although ours will probably only launch water balloons.

But in the meantime, Jeff and I decided to start small. We bought a ready-to-assemble trebuchet at Gen Con this weekend. We assembled it tonight and I have done little else but launch the balls that come with it, along with some dice, across the room towards our table. Currently it has a range of only a couple feet (think 6 to 8) but I think with some adjustment to the firing pin, I should be able to get much farther. The box says it could fire up to 25 feet away. It just takes some practice. Now to play with it and hopefully get some slow motion video of it working. I'm still going to build a big one, but in the meantime the little one makes me squeal with happiness. I'm such a geek.

How to Sabotage Yourself...in one easy step

I'm beginning to think that my brain hates me. Or perhaps that I'm just my own worst enemy. Thinking, and particularly overthinking, has been the bane of my existence. I've done more to sabotage me than anyone could ever do. The moment I decide on something, there is a tiny voice in the back of my mind that starts to ask questions like, "do you really think that's a good idea", or "do you even know how to do that", or even "why do you think anyone would be interested in that". 

This has affected my social interactions, my writing, my work life, and recently my blogging. I spend so much time thinking about doing something, and whether it's a good idea, that I do nothing. I sit paralyzed, listening to the voices in my head tear down my ideas. A decent story idea suddenly seems hackneyed. Then completely cliche. And then the voice likes to tell me that I'll never have any original ideas. That I'm not a good writer, friend, person. It's a horrible type of paralysis.  

After years of this I understand why so many writers and painters were alcoholics. They are drowning out those little voices. They are keeping them busy. I haven't gone that route yet, don't worry. I've found music instead. If I can listen to music (as I'm doing now) I can keep that little voice busy listening to lyrics while I type away. Of course this doesn't work well for social interactions but I'm working on that. 

I've read hundreds of self-help articles on how to get rid of these voices, or at least how to quiet them. They've suggested meditation, self-hypnosis, segmentation, even the music treatment I use. I've used free writing, self encouragement, and even mantras. One day I will learn a perfect solution to tune them out. Until then I have to do as Nike suggests and "just do it". Just do what you want to do and let time determine if something is good or not. More often then not, a bit of time and distance, makes things look clearer. 

"Don't think about making art, just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they're deciding, make even more art." --Andy Warhol

Songs of the Week

Over the last three days, I've listened to The National's "Sea of Love" at least two dozen times. In fact I'm listening to it right now, on repeat. That and "Demons", also by The National.

I have a tendency to become infatuated with songs. Two weeks ago I listened to "Nomenclature" by Andrew Bird until I was humming it in my sleep. I simply could not get enough of the song. This week, I've moved my affection to The National. I was introduced to the band years ago after watching this rather enjoyable animation using their song "Slow Show". Using YouTube I listened to most of their music then. And then this week, I became obsessed.

I was re-listening to "Sea of Love" and happened to notice that the Dessner brothers (the guitarists) look a bit like a friend of mine. So of course I had to look for more videos. And that reminded me of "Demons". Now I can't stop listening. I bought a bunch of The National's song but these are the one one repeat.

Eventually I'll get tired of them. Or a new song will come along. But until then, repeat is my best friend. And these songs just keep getting better with each listen.

Patriotism

With the fourth of July behind us I finally feel that I can admit something. It's not a popular thing to admit right now but I don't really care. It needs to be said.

I'm not much of a patriot. Or at least I don't care much for patriotism.

I like this country. There are a number of nice benefits of living here. It is certainly a better place to live than many country in the world. But do I believe that this is the greatest country ever? Do I believe that everything the US does is great? That's where my patriotism begins to get a little shaky. I was young when I started to notice how the word patriot was bandied around in debates. It was often meant to be a conversation stopper. I watched us go to war (for the first time in my lifetime) and the cracks started to appear in the "America is wonderful" veneer. I suddenly started wondering if we were just as flawed as the other countries.

I started to read more about the ways that our country slips: torture, espionage, war-mongering, etc.... And the more I read the more I realized that we're not a perfect country. That we do some of the things that we rail against other countries doing. We just try to do them quietly and covertly. Now I'm not expecting our country to be perfect. That would be silly. But I am tired of the patriotic rhetoric that goes around, that says we are. I'm tired of the flag waving and political speeches that seem to say that we can do no wrong.

I got into an argument on July 4th about Edward Snowden. There was passionate argument on either side about whether he was a traitor or a hero. And one of the debaters asked me if I loved my country. And I paused to think. And I honestly couldn't say one way or another. Like I said, I like this country. But I think I could just as comfortably live in Canada.

Quotes

I found an old photo of an apartment I shared with a friend in college. On the wall above my writing desk were two quotes that I had created with letters cut out of magazines. I thought I was so creative to do that. The two quotes were favorites at the time and still are, even though I'd forgotten they were up there.

The first:
"And not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived." ~ Henry David Thoreau from Walden

And the second is one of my favorite inscriptions from Robert Service, a poet who I've loved for most of my life.

I have no doubt at all the devil grins,
as seas of ink I splatter.
Ye gods forgive my literary sins,
the other kind don't matter.

I might have to put that one up over my current writing desk.

Neil Gaiman!

For those of you who don't know, the man sitting at the table is Neil Gaiman. And the woman looking slightly faint while professing her undying love standing in front, is me. I've been that close to Neil "freakin" Gaiman! Even just saying that makes me giddy.

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook I'm sure you're tired of seeing pictures of this man. But it's not everyday that someone gets to meet one of their heroes. So pardon me if I'm a tad over-enthusiastic. I have loved many writers. I have a couple writers who I've read all of their books. Neil Gaiman is on the top of both of those lists. So when I heard that Neil Gaiman would be doing his last signing tour I knew I had to find a way to go. The closest stop was Minneapolis so I started making plans. A friend, graciously, went to the bookstore to pick up passes for me. Another friend, as big a Gaiman fan as I am, went with me to the signing. We listened to him talk and read and then read from his even newer book. And I applauded and cheered. And then we waited, and waited. Three hours we waited for the chance to have our books signed. Thanks to my friend Josh for making me stay. Because it was worth the three hours.

Because for 30 seconds I got the chance to talk to my hero. I stood in front of him and babbled something about how much I loved all of his work. And he said something gracious about how it was all so different and I babbled more about how he was an amazing storyteller. And he signed two books with a beautiful fountain pen and I couldn't stop smiling for the rest of the night. Every time I open my copy of his book I smile. He was so gracious and genuine. And I can't stop talking about it. So here you go. More pictures. More talking. I just have to say it. I love Neil Gaiman!

Recurrent Corneal Erosion

I can't believe I'm writing this, but I'm becoming fearful about falling asleep. Bad things happen when I fall asleep. I'm living on less than five hours a night lately. For the last three weeks I've been waking up every hour or every other hour and going back to sleep just praying that I get to the next wake-up. At least get to the next wake-up without pain.

Three times in the last two weeks I've woken up with severe pain, tearing, and the feeling that there is something in my eye. I know what it is. I know that it's not something in my eye but the explanation might be worse. Each time I wake up that way I'm hurting my cornea. I have Recurrent Corneal Erosion, which stems from my cut back in March. Knowing the damage that is being done actually makes it worse.

I've bought three different types of eye drops in the last three weeks and just broke down to buy an eye ointment this evening. The drops help a bit. But not every night. So I'll try the ointment tonight to see if that works. Each time I buy something I hope that it works and that I won't have to go back to the eye doctor to get further treatment. Mostly because so many of the treatments that are tried for RCE only occasionally work. I wore a contact for three weeks without luck. I'm sure I'll wear one again for longer with the hope that will work. I'd have to think long and hard about the surgery.

I'll go to see the doctor again soon. But I'm waiting until the end of the week when I have the days off. I know I'm not doing a lot of permanent damage to my eyes which means that it's not an emergency. Some people live with RCE for years. I just hope that it's not the case for me. Until then I hope that ointment will at least allow me to sleep without fear. I know the cause, and knowing helps in a way, but it doesn't help with the anxiety. Here's hoping for a good night sleep tonight and calm eyes this morning.

Earning My Calories

Over the weekend, Jeff and I broke down and bought a tablet. We had been discussing an iPad for over a year and finally the time seemed right (well maybe not right, but not wrong either). Right would have involved us not spending a couple grand on a new air conditioner. But the point is that we bought one. And so far I've been enjoying it for one aspect more than any other. The moment we brought the iPad home, I installed My FitnessPal on it.

About seven years ago, I managed to lose 60 pounds by tracking what I ate and walking more. I had used a printed food journal at the time and loved it. Now, in the age of digital, I'm using an electronic food tracker and am hopefully that I can repeat my results from the past. I have about 60 pounds to lose.

So far the program has helped me make some smarter decisions. Of course I've only been using it for  a couple days now. But I'm optimistic. I went for a long walk yesterday so I could eat a good dinner and still be under calories. Today I spent 5 hours shifting books at the library. The program tells me that I burned a ton of calories enough for a great dinner and plenty left over. It even allowed me a glass of wine. So if I use the iPad for nothing else, at least it might help me lose a bit of weight. And that would be worth it.

Now to work up the roommate agreement

My mother knows that I like The Big Bang Theory so when she was out shopping recently she bought me a present. My own little Sheldon. Or big Sheldon, if we go by head size. He's adorable.

I love the Funko figurines and this is the first one I've ever owned. He's going to sit up on my bookshelves in my library. For when I need some help with the sciences or maths. I'm sure he'd be willing to explain them to me. Perhaps ad nauseum.

Books!

My mother tells me that when I was less than a year old, I used to sit on the floor in the living room, pull a book off the well stocked shelves, and flip through the pages as if I were reading. Although I'm not sure I believe this completely, she tells me that I didn't even rip the pages. I do remember being six and pulling down the A book from the World Book to flip through. I was particularly fascinated with the page that showed the variety of apples. I spent most of my childhood flipping through those books. I still do when I'm over at my parent's house. I spent 60% of my childhood stretched out on the couch in my parent's living room reading. 

My parent's house is filled with books. There is not a single room in that home that doesn't have books. It was such a regular part of my childhood that upon entering a friend's house I was filled with a sense of unease. It was half way into my visit before I realized that there was not a single book in sight. If you walk into my living room right now you'd find: two books and a notebook on the couch, four library books stacked on the dining table, a bookcase filled with cookbooks, a stack of magazines and one lonely paperback on the coffee table, and at least a half dozen books on the stairs waiting to go up. And this isn't where I keep my collection. I keep the majority of my books in the library. But like my parents, you can't find a room in the house where you don't find reading material. 

I've been thinking about my passion recently. I want to find what makes me the happiest, what makes time fly. I want to figure out what I'm the most passionate about. Then I look around. And find myself surrounded by books. I realize that one of the things that bothers me the most about my job is that I'm not working with books regularly. I notice that I'm donating my time at the library. And that when I enter a library, a bookshop, or someone's personal library, time seems to slow down. I browse, running my fingers gently along the spines of books. I can spend hours glancing at titles, picking up books, copying quotes from books, collecting books, and of course reading books. I don't know about you, but that seems like the definition of a passion. I think I found it. My great passion is books. Now to find a way to make that my occupation.