Labor Day in a City on Fire

Posted on September 4, 2017 by Bob Martin

About a year ago, I wrote a post describing what it was like to celebrate Labor Day in a small town on the Eastern side of the country. I lamented the loss of the days of my childhood, and the fun of growing up in a small town. I mentioned in that writing on how I now live in the Los Angeles area, and just how different the two areas were – I stated that two places could not be farther apart on the spectrum. This weekend taught me just how wrong I was, and that community – no matter it be a small town or part of a big city – is what matters. This weekend, we saw our community in action. I learned that it is no different from my little town of so many years ago.

Unless you were totally separated from all news sources, most of the country heard about the fire that broke out in the mountains just over the ridge from our area. What started out as a small brush fire on Friday expanded quickly and spread throughout the mountain area. We canceled our plans for the weekend to keep an eye on what was happening – my wife’s idea, and thankfully she made me see the light about not going away.

All Friday night into Saturday morning, the sounds of helicopters flying between the fire and their water area could be heard. Our one cat sat vigilantly all night watching the activity. I awoke to the sounds and stepped out in time to see two super-scoopers take a run at the fire that was somewhere down range from us. While we could not see the flames, we could see the tower of smoke so we knew it was close, but we were not in any danger. What we could start to see at that point was the community coming to life. Neighbor started checking on neighbor. Social media saw posting after posting with updates, offers to help with evacuations, calls for donations, and responses from donation centers. You could feel the sense of care for one another.

The fire grew throughout the day. We sat with our elderly neighbor on his front porch (he refused to go inside). More and more helicopters flew. Fire sirens could be heard on the main roads as trucks moved from one position to another. Police cars were driving through the neighborhoods just keeping watch. More of the community stepped up to offer food and water to those fighting the fire. Shelters were taking in people and animals as evacuation orders started taking effect. We heard that the fire had gone in a second direction and was moving down the mountains into the neighboring cities. Their community was stepping up as well.

Then it came. Around 4:10, our neighbor sounded the alarm for us to come out. We walked to the street to see two sets of fire going, not very large at that point. Within 10 minutes, the two joined and the whole range next to use was ablaze. We stood in amazement, watching just how quickly things had turned in our area. While we knew our homes were safe, the ones a block up for us were in eminent danger. Truck after truck came up the street – soon they stopped in front of our home due to lack of room at the top. They were there in force and were ready for battle. 30 minutes from the knock, we had police cars rolling through calling out that this was now a mandatory evacuation zone. Once again, people were checking to ensure that others were safe and able to leave. Some grabbed hoses and started hitting the roof of a person’s home who was out of town. Just a little extra precaution.

Our portion of the weekend’s events was short lived. The brush up there was so dry that it burned quickly and just as suddenly as it started, the main part was done. It did take a while to get smaller bursts put out, but within an hour, I stood on my neighbor’s porch and we were under blue skies. That did change for a short time as the winds did a 180 on us, but even then the sense of danger was minimal.

It is Monday as I write, three full days since the fire broke out. We still hear the helicopters every so often as they go after spots that are still burning. The Fire Chief stated that there is “no active fire.” The evacuation centers are closed. Trucks are being sent back to their home cities. A large group of men and women are up in the hills with chainsaws cutting through the burnt trees. Four homes were lost and six people were injured. The fact that those numbers are so low speaks volumes about the men and women who fought the fire and the community. So many did what they were supposed to do when it comes to brush clearances.

So how does this compare to last year’s post and talking about the small community that I called home so long ago?

In my original posting, I talked about how people took care of one another. I spoke about how we watched out for one another and would help each other. I wrote how one felt safe in that community. This weekend, I learned that those feelings could be felt inside of a big city like Los Angeles. Sunland-Tujunga is a community within the city. I often joke about how our little street feels like a little Mayberry and not like a city of millions.

I was part of a community that stepped up this weekend. A call went out for help from the citizens to donate water, food, and such to the departments and centers. I noticed so many postings from those organizations asking people to stop. They had too many donations. Videos popped up showing the amount of goods that had been dropped off. This morning I drove to the trucks still parked in our area asking what they needed from coffee to food. They politely declined stating that they had more than they could use. They then thanked us. No, the thank yous all go to them.

It does not matter the make-up of the community. Skin color, religious beliefs, political views – differing viewpoints make up the community. I am sure within a few days; we will see political postings come back. I get it. That too makes up a community. I can deal with that knowing that I live in a community that knows when to put all that aside and work together for the good of the community.

Small town – big city – it does not matter as long as we are a community.

 

 

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The Day I Dreamed So Many Years Ago

Posted on August 12, 2017 by Bob Martin

Today, I finally had a day for which I have been waiting more than three decades to experience. Today, I came one-step closer to understanding my parents and all they did for my brothers and me. Today was a good day.
A little over a week ago, our daughter asked if she could have a Back-to-School party. She did not want anything too big just a handful of friends. She told us that she would plan it all. She just wanted a day to celebrate that last of summer and the going back to school. Since she has never really asked for big get togethers, we agreed. She did as promised. She put together the list, the activities, the food list, and needed items. We sent out the evites, shopped, and got the house together. My wife and I prepared for the eight-girl invasion. We even added to the shopping with a slip-and-slide. We prepared and waited.
The girls came. We had a lot of water play. Water balloons flew. The slip-and-slide was never empty. The music blared. The squeals and laughter filled the air. They only sat still long enough to work on a puzzle in hopes of winning some Ikes and Mikes or to eat from the table of snacks and pizza. The joked, the played, the swung, and they enjoyed one another’s company. The time flew by.
So to many a reader this may sound like a typical get together of children. What could possibly make it so special?
I can remember being in high school and my English teachers would have us write about what our future would be like. They wanted us to imagine where life would take us, how we would live, what we wanted to get out life. I was boring, but I always had the same vision.
While I envisioned a career or two, for me these assignments always revolved around the home life. My thoughts went to what it would be like around my house when I was old. While, at that time, I thought my house would be filled with kids, today I only. I imagined coming home to a white –picket fenced home with children happy with life. I thought of having a loving wife who was a partner in all I did. I, in my mind, saw a Hollywood style life.
This afternoon I sat there on our back porch watching the kids play. My wife and I sat there talking about life. We sat there watching all the fun that was happening in the backyard. I stopped talking with my wife long enough to fill a hundred water balloons (thank goodness for that new invention). I sprayed the slide down to make a waterslide. I even set up all of the nail polish for an impromptu salon. Mostly, I watched and realized that those visions from all those years ago finally happened. My English papers had become reality.
After three short hours, a lot of pizza, cake, candy, the Descendants 2 soundtrack many times over, it came to an end. Parents came to pick up their children. Good-byes were said and said again. Then quiet.
The clean up was short. Then my wife, our daughter, and I sat down to watch ET. She met the little alien for the first time and loved him.
We will finish off the night outside looking for the meteor shower. I am sitting here watching my family, not so much the movie. I am smiling.
Today, I learned why my parents put up with so many kids always coming to our house. I learned why my dad started a youth group. Today I realized how much my parents loved my brothers and me.
Today I stopped work. I have so much left to do, but I stopped the world. It ended at the start of the drive. I put the phone down. I didn’t turn on the computer. Today, my only reason for being was for the title Dad. I learned that days like today would start happening more often. Our daughter is now of the age where our house can become a hang out. Today, I remembered that it is not always about providing as much as it is being.
I thank our daughter for making the world stop. I thank my wife for stopping with me.
I hope that each and every one of you finds your own day like today.

Thank you for meandering with me.

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Happy New Year!

Posted on August 7, 2017 by Bob Martin

Happy New Year!!! Yep. You read that correctly. Happy New Year.

No. I have not gone off the deep end. I have not lost my mind and forgotten that date. I know that it is the beginning of August (though Christmas is only 20 weeks from today). Yet this is our New Year, the New Year if you are part of the education world. Today, for our school district at least, our teachers returned for the first day of the New Year.

I must admit that I was not ready for today. I woke two hours after my alarm was supposed to go off. I missed any chance to work out. I lost the quiet time that I try to have in the office for a couple of hours before the phones start ringing. I found my collar was tighter than the last day I wore my tie. I left the house mumbling to myself about how I should just turn around and go back to bed. Then to top it off, this introvert was going to spend the morning with 500+ colleagues. I love working with these people, but oh the crowd….

This was shaping up to be a Monday that lived up to the reputation of all Mondays!!!! Lord help me.

It is funny how your prayers are answered.

I arrived at the high school early to help set-up. The team in charge had everything well prepared. I stood around a very empty, quiet quad. I reminisced about the first day I walked into this quad with a key in hand heading to my first classroom. I thought about walking through the quad full of students and noise – especially Fridays when the music blared during lunch. I remembered my first students – students who are now in their mid to late 20s possibly with children of their own. This morning though, this morning it was quiet. No noise. No chaos. No bumping shoulders. No…nothing. Just a big empty space.

Sensing that I had a few moments before the day got started, I snuck into the office of a very nice assistant principal who offered me a nice cup of coffee. I walked the hall greeting people as they started coming down the hall. Colleagues coming home.

I am not sure what happened in the short time it took to get coffee, but when I walked back out to the quad, it was packed. There were people all over the place and it was LOUD. The difference between this morning and my memories were the people who filled the space. These were not students (though they were louder than most students), these were the teachers of the district all coming back to do what they do.

The quad was filled with laughter, greetings, cheers, music from one of the high school bands – it was filled with happiness and joy.

I started the day off in a sour mood, but there was no way, as I stood watching this scene unfold that I could stay in my mood. My soul became filled with excitement. I was feeding off the vibe that was buzzing through this crowd. I saw teachers with 30+ years look as excited as those who were starting their first day in a new career. I heard talk of plans and expectations for the coming year. I listened as these professionals shared how they spent their summer taking classes, attending seminars, and reading up on new things to do with their students.

I did not see tired – I saw teachers chomping at the bit waiting to meet their new students in just a week’s time. I saw the reason why I do my job.

While the morning finished with a welcome from the superintendent, it was the two students who spoke prior to him that sealed the change in my mood. Two seniors, two who serve as the representatives for our students on the Board of Education, spoke about their time as students in our district. It made me want to go back in time and be part of this district as a young person.

So yes. My prayers were answered. I needed a reminder of what I do and why I do it. These teachers and those students did just that.

Today, I watched as our teachers rang in the New Year for education just like many other teachers across the country have been doing in the last week or over the next few weeks. Welcome back and thank you.

Thank you to each and every one of you who will spend more time over the next 40 weeks with other people’s children than with your own. Thank you for every lesson that you will plan, every paper you will grade, every email you will write, every phone call you will take, every story you will listen to, every nose you will wipe, every tear you will dry, every connection to a student you will make. Thank you for choosing a profession that is criticized possibly more than any other. Thank you for teaching the children math, English, history, science, art, PE, music, and life.

I send our daughter back to school knowing that she will be learning, laughing, and growing. Thanks to the teacher she will meet in a week, the ones she has had in the past, and those who will be in our future.

I will close with what I posted to these teachers earlier today:

 Today is the official return of teachers to the district. I emphasize official for I have seen so many of these dedicated people time and time again throughout the summer. Yes – they were on break, but they were also learning how to make school better for each and every child.

I wish each and every one of you the best as you start a new year. May your excitement continue to grow each and every day. May the good experiences outweigh the bad. May you, at the end of each day as you go off to sleep, know that you made a difference in many young lives.

May the tears you shed in May be out of joy for the growth you witnessed, the excitement as you see your students progress, and out of sadness that you cannot hold them in your arms forever.

All the best to each and every teacher that decided this was their purpose in life.

 

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The Farm

Posted on June 30, 2017 by Bob Martin

Today, we had the pleasure of visiting a dear friend of my wife’s family. She is an older member of the community, and it just felt right to take time out of our trip to stop by and visit. She is a wonderful person who is the matriarch of a large family – 7 children, 15 grandchildren, and 18 great-grandchildren. She still lives on the farm that she and her husband have had for more than 60 years.

As we drove up the driveway, we could see rows of corn in multiple field waving in the breeze. There were so many stalks that you could not see the end. The old farmhouse stood to the left of the drive with the barn straight ahead and the silo, a strong, silent sentry, standing to the right of the barn. At first sight, one would think that Norman Rockwell could visit and come away with a spectacular painting.

We stepped out of the car to silence. Everything was quiet and the wind had settled for the moment. No sound could be heard. Finally, as the breeze kicked back in, a lone bark came from the back of the house. Standing in the back entryway stood an old dog. The gray of his muzzle, the slow, careful step, the one eye no longer seeing all gave away that this brave defender of the house had been on duty for a number or years. Yet there he stood, ready to give his all to protect the occupants of the home.

We went in and said our hellos and started listening to my wife and the family catch up. This was not something a 9-year-old likes to do. Normally, our daughter would endure the conversation and wait patiently for us to say good-bye and move on. However, this was not the first such conversation in our travels this week. Not only that, but this was a farm and a farm needs to be explored. She waited for a break in the conversation to ask permission to sleuth around. Once granted, she grabbed my hand and we were off.

This was not the first visit to this farm. We had been here a couple of times before. Her first visit included us watching several cows being loaded onto a truck to go to auction. I reminded her of where the truck had stood and how the cows were sent up the ramp into the trailer of the truck. She tried to remember, but nothing popped in her head. So, we walked around.

Since the passing of the patriarch, or possibly just prior, the cows had all been sold off. The pigs that my wife remembers feeding as a child no longer fill the barn. There is no livestock save for two cats of which to speak. We walked to the first buildings.

We stood in the building. It was an odd mix of new and old. The building itself had obviously seen better days. Inside, we found new (or what looked like new), large farm equipment. We looked at it and talked about what it must be like to drive the different pieces through the fields. As we pondered the work needed to run a farm, the wind picked up just a bit. We could now hear it cutting through the building and finding crevices in which to exit. A panel on the roof vibrated ever so slightly. It banged softly, but enough for us to hear it and look up. The building looked tired.

We moved out to the corral area. We looked up at the tall silo still so strong and sturdy. Our daughter commented on how the passing clouds made it look like the silo was ready to topple over. Once we turned out gaze from the skies, one could see that this structure looked as if it had another 60 years plus to go. However, one could tell that the lonely giant would no longer be used as a store house for anything but dust and cobwebs.

Our daughter’s attention moved to the barn. The barn called out to her as the wind moved one of its doors and banged it against the wall. The path leading up to the two tall doors was now completely covered in weeds and grass. Even with the lack of paint and missing pieces here and there, we could imagine this home for livestock back in the days. We could see the doors much being opened almost with as much fanfare as the doors of the Wizard’s castle in Oz. But alas, the doors no longer moved. We peeked in a small opening to see where hay used to be stacked to the ceiling. Little remnants scattered here and there. Now instead of large animals weighing thousands of pounds, two small cats sat in the middle of room staring at the strangers who were invading their peace and quiet.

We moved around the rest of the buildings seeing much of the same. All the while a feeling of morose falling over me. At one time, this farm was bustling. It was full of life. Now it sat silent almost waiting, wanting to be brought back to those days. It is still a farm that grows crops. It still provides, but it is not what it once was.

At first, I was going to equate this farm to how we treat the older generation in our society. People who want to contribute, but are just pushed aside to fall apart and become silent. However, this is just about our observations today. Our daughter and I walked the farm. We talked about what it was and what it is. We felt a sadness for the old place. We talked about how things change and what once was, isn’t anymore.

In the end, we finished back in front of the doors of the barn. We looked for the cats, but they were not willing to come out and play. The wind moved the corn, the building creaked and groaned, the silo stood silent. We turned slowly to walk back to the house and the conversation within. A bark, one that you could tell was not as scary as it might have been years ago, greeted us. We closed the door behind us as we entered the house, and left the old barn alone again. We went back to the warmth of the visit and the stories of old.

 

 

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26.2 – Success or Failure?

Posted on March 23, 2017 by Bob Martin

This past Sunday I completed my third marathon. The first two took place 21 and 22 years ago in London. I was MUCH younger then. If you noticed, I did not state that I ran any of the three marathons for, in all three, I ran, I jogged, I walked, and in one case came close to crawling. So, I am unable to cross off “running a marathon” from my list. Why or how it is on my list, I do not know, but there it still sits – staring at me…. waiting for me to actually do it. Perhaps someday I will.

Before I get into the lessons learned, I will give some facts for which I have been asked – you can skip this paragraph if you want. My best time was my first – 4 hours and 20 minutes. My last two took me over 6 hours, 6:28:57 for this past one. On Sunday, I placed 758 in the male 51-54 division (873). I was the 9,472 male out of 10,938. 18,893 people crossed the line with around 24,000 starting. I was number 15,341 crossing that line. Now to the lessons learned.

I do not feel that I have done something special because I completed this distance. I struggled writing that last sentence for I do not want to take away from others who feel differently. For many on that route, this was the first time doing something like this. Others did it to prove that they had the strength and will. I spoke with and met some who were doing this as proof that they had beaten down cancer or some other disease. Crossing that finish line was something special. I, on the other hand, had done this before. I will not lie; it did take a lot of energy to do it. I was not proving a point. I went the distance enjoying the party atmosphere and the camaraderie of the other runners along the way. I strolled through Los Angeles, Hollywood, Beverly Hills, and Santa Monica all the while enjoying the sites. In a way, I feel as if I failed on this one. The only reason I do not count this as a total failure is because I learned so much both preparing for and completing the journey.

So much of what I learned, I thought I already knew. However, this little jaunt taught me that just because we think we know things does not mean that we act on our knowledge.

I learned that doing things without a solid goal and plan of action will lead to less than satisfying results. I first thought of doing the marathon last year when I was 50. I wanted to show that I could still do an activity 20 years later. The date of the race didn’t work in my schedule so it was pushed off until this year. Again, the only real reason to do it was just to appease an ego that worried it was getting old. I jokingly tossed out a time to match my first race. Yet, I never sat down and worked out why it was that I wanted to do the race, I never had a true goal, and I never planned. I was just going to do it. Just doing it might work for doing the dishes, cutting the lawn, or small tasks, but it rarely provides great results for the bigger parts of life. People asked how I was going to prepare, I responded with, “run.” I may have looked up some training plans, but I never took them to heart. I’ve already done this, why do I need to plan? One of the biggest factors in not having a goal and plan was that I often lost motivation. Since I did not have something specific to work towards, I found myself asking why all too often. Several times, I awoke, dressed, stretched, and walked outside only to stare at the road. I could not give myself a reason to take the first step. On some mornings, I went without understanding why. Many mornings, I walked back into the house and just sat down – I gave up. No goal means no drive.

Today I look back at more than the marathon and realize how much of my life has been this way. I will tell others that I am going to do something, and then just start doing it. I wonder how much easier certain aspects of life could have been had I taken the time to figure out why I wanted to do something and then planned. Would I be a doctor today or have a number of books to my name? While I will admit that one can over-plan, I have yet to have that worry. I would never have allowed my scouts to go out on the trail without a plan. I always told my students to plan their tasks. I help our daughter make plans. However, there I stood back 6 months ago stating I was going to go the distance, and yet I had no idea how to get there.

The other lesson I had to relearn was making priorities. Friends talked to me about this, but I brushed it off. You cannot just roll out of bed one morning and run the miles without giving some time to preparing ahead of time. Even without a plan or goal, I knew that I had to get out there and run and run often. I knew that my muscles needed to be trained, yet I always had more important things happening in my life. Notice that I didn’t say that I made excuses. Yes, there were times I made excuses for not running, but mostly, I had events and activities that I put at a higher priority than running. There is nothing wrong with putting family, work, and other life events before running. However, if I wanted to do this right I needed to figure out how to prioritize it properly.

Again, now that I am in the after days, I look at this lesson and look back at my life. So many times, I prioritize life by what is happening now. I am finding that prioritizing life and sticking to that order is difficult. I am so easily sidetracked from important tasks by a task that comes walking through my door. There are times I feel like Doug from the cartoon UP. I am fine until the squirrel runs by. I believe that this may be the most difficult of lessons to put into action. We all have so many people requesting so much of us; how does one know which is the priority? We do not want to offend others, so we put our needs at a lesser level. This is definitely something I need to work on, and it will take a while to figure it out.

Finally, I am an introvert. Was that a news flash for those who know me? I struggle with doing things around large crowds, and yet I chose to be with 24,000 people on Sunday. Just the same, running is an individual sport. Except for those at the head of the pack, the majority of people were running against themselves. They may have had a specific time in mind, or they may have just wanted to finish the run. Once the starting horn went off, the competition is internal. Yet, the marathon taught me that we cannot be alone when going after life. I have no idea how many volunteers it took to put on this event, but at times it felt as if there were more people giving of their own time than those on the road. The yelled, cheered, passed out water and goodies, played music, sang, and made sure it was safe. All those people played a role in my being able to complete this task.  Then there were the other runners – we pushed, supported, encouraged one another. They were not my competition – they were fellow warriors pushing to the sea. But there were people before that horn.

I learned again that life is full of supporters. People who get nothing out of you reaching a goal, but are there for you just the same. My wife was one of my biggest supporters during this time. She budgeted so I could pay for the run, shoes, and gear. She knew when to push and when to just let me be during my runs. Near the end, she knew what to say to keep me from quitting. Then, she and our daughter gave up their day to drive down to LA to get on a train to Santa Monica and wait. They waited for a good amount of time far from the finish line in the family meeting area for a tired, sweaty, smelly, achy old man to meet up with them. My co-workers are also part of this group. They gently pushed me toward my goals. Whether it was inquiring about my training or texting me in the morning asking how far I ran, they were there. They took time to help me finish this. While there were many others, I will mention my friend from far away. His support was in questioning me repeatedly. At times, I wanted to scream at him, I wanted to curse him, I almost unfriended him. Then I questioned myself and realized that I felt those emotions due to his being right. I wasn’t putting my best foot forward and he called me on it. I thought my anger was at him when it was at myself.

This race taught me that I needed each and every one of those people to get me to the finish line. As an introvert, it is not always easy to allow so many people into my life. Yet, I had to to complete the miles. The bigger lesson for me was in looking back to see if I am doing the same for others. Life is not a solo race. One may be able to go for a run on their own, but in the end, it takes a lot of people to reach the big goals.

I lied – one more lesson. I also learned not to complain. There were people out there on the road with me that had overcome great hardships to be there. They fought, or are still fighting battles, that I have yet to know. Yet there they were smiling all the way. I know people who would love to have been out there on that road, but for one reason or another could not. Yet they cheered as if they themselves had done the race. Their race is so much more than 26.2 miles. Their race is non-ending. The biggest lesson I walked away from Santa Monica with was that there is no finish line for so many. I may have had aching muscles, but they went away in two days. I may have gotten thirsty along the way, but every mile someone offered me water (beer at mile 22). I took on this challenge knowing that I got a medal. Life doesn’t offer medals; it offers more challenges. I hope and I pray that the next time I think I am running a marathon (figuratively) through a challenge that I remember those I met and know who constantly are working their way through their own marathon.

I guess this challenge wasn’t a failure. I learned from it. The only true failure is if I forget those lessons.

Thanks for meandering with me today.

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Lessons From a Chicken

Posted on March 20, 2017 by Bob Martin

https://cooking.nytimes.com/guides/11-how-to-roast-chickenJust a little memory for tonight. It has been too long since I have had the time to sit and write. However, tonight I want to share a little smile that came to me this evening. It all came while cutting up a cooked, whole chicken. This little bird was enough for the three of us with a little left over. It smelled wonderful. It looked delicious. Yet all I could do was laugh to myself.

During the 1976, my father had to take off the entire summer due to recovering from surgery. Unlike today, back in those day, when one had double by-pass surgery, you did not get to go back to work in six weeks. They gave you plenty of time to heal due to the surgery being so much more invasive than it is today.

As a kid, I remember knowing that my dad was having something big done. I remember visiting him in the hospital after the surgery (my brother and I were yelled at by the doctor for the amount of salt we put on fries). When you are only 10, your dad being at a point of being close to death does not equate. He was going to have surgery, and then he would come home and life would continue. The bonus was that he got to stay home with us, and our family took a trip that still brings me so many smiles.

So what does a chicken have to do with this summer?

That summer we took a trip north. My Dad decided to take the family through Canada. We saw Montreal, Nova Scotia, and Prince Edward’s Island. We traveled up and down Magnetic Hill. We traveled through so many areas of which I one day hope show our daughter. We hooked up the trailer to the suburban and off we went.

So on my 11th birthday, after having traveled for so many days and eaten out of the trailer, my Mom and Dad promised to take us out to celebrate my birthday. I was looking forward to the evening out and trying some new types of food. I was told that in New Brunswick, one got to pick their own lobster from a tank and have it prepared especially for you. The only hitch was that Dad wanted us to stop by some unmet relatives and visit with them for a spell. Oh well, the lobsters were not going anywhere.

I am sad to say that I do not remember the relatives’ names. I can remember their faces. I can remember their apartment. It was a small little apartment. I believe it was the first time that I realized how lucky my family was. We were not wealthy by any means, but here was a large family living in a small apartment making ends meet. While this was not the purpose of meeting the relatives, it is certainly something that has stuck with me. I think the thing that really stayed with me is the fact that my relative, while not having a lot, were happy. They loved, laughed, and enjoyed life. It really made me wonder if we needed the next gadget.

So there we were. Our family of six with another five of my relatives getting to know one another. As children, we sat in the living room and listened to my dad and the relatives talk and reminisce. We got to know the younger relatives. We learned of a cousin who we would never meet. Our cousin told us of spots to go to as tourists and where to avoid. It was a really nice time. I think the best part was meeting relatives on my father’s side. Up until then, we really had not met many since he was an only child.

Finally, it was getting close to dinnertime. My Dad started to make the niceties to get us out of the apartment and on to dinner. At that point, the eldest cousin, being a gracious host, asked us to stay for dinner. The aroma filled the apartment all afternoon long. My father looked over to me with that look. Anyone who has been a kid knows “that” look. The look was half-apologetic and half “there is nothing we can do.” I nodded in acknowledgment. I knew that I would have dinner out the next day.

Then my cousin opened the oven door. In the oven was a small, whole chicken. To call this a chicken is actually complimenting it. In my mind’s eye, I imagine it more the size of a pigeon. My dad took one look at the cooking bird and then back at his four (three of them teens) boys. He stifled a laugh. I then became his excuse.

My dad did a great look of “Oh my God, I forgot.” He then explained that it was my birthday, and then he went on to explain that they wanted to take me out to celebrate. In reality, he feared what would happen when four hungry boys tried to eat their portion of the hummingbird. Our cousin accepted the excuse and even offered places to go.

The final part of the day occurred at a nice restaurant in New Brunswick. My parents chose a restaurant that sat right on the Tidal Bore. My dad explained how at some time during the evening, we were going to able to watch this BIG wave come up river. I will admit that this was my introduction to real hush puppies. I just could not send a lobster to its death.

My dad snuck over to the hostess at some point to let them know that it was my birthday. The staff brought cake and serenaded me. As an eleven year-old far from home, this really made my day. Then at the end of the song, just as the last note finished, a patron shouted here comes the bore. The excitement in the place rose. We were sitting next to a window. We pressed our faces to the windows. Other eaters pushed in to see as well.

As we stood waiting, somebody noticed that a dog stood in thttps://tidalboretimes.ca/he middle of the basin in which the tidal bore would soon be rushing through. I freaked thinking that I was about to witness the end of this little four-footed creature. We waited. Then it came, a wave that everyone had talked about. In my mind, I expected a five-foot wall of water to come rushing through. Instead, this three-inch wave came through. I am not sure if it even went over the entire paw of the dog. I was both elated for the dog and disappointed in nature.

Just the same, we sat back down and ate our cake.

So there you go. I stood today cutting up a chicken. Something people do every day. Today however, this chicken brought a rush of memories. The fun of meeting family. The understanding of just how well we had it even though we didn’t understand. The memories that my mom and dad made sure that we had to look back on so many years later. Memories for us to cherish now that they are no longer with us.

I think I needed this reminder tonight. We are now on spring break. I think the chicken was telling me to do the same for our daughter. The bird was telling me to make sure I take time during this week to give our daughter memories that can be recalled long after I am gone. Perhaps it won’t be triggered in her cutting of a chicken. Maybe it will come with a snowfall, baking a cake, watching a silly movie, or just looking at the stars. Just as long as we give her the time now to build those memories to be recalled later.

So much from a little bird.

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

 

 

Posted in family, Lessons, memories | 2 Comments

This school ROCKED!

Posted on March 10, 2017 by Bob Martin

 

http://www.chipola.edu/pictures/arts/theater/ScHouseRock/School%20House%20rock%20logo.jpg

Tonight, I watched a play that involved drop lines, missed cues, sounds from the stage crew, and many gaps. I could not have been happier. Our daughter’s school put on their production of School House Rock. It was an hour-long trip back through time as so many of the songs from the Saturday mornings of my youth came flashing back in full living color. Tonight, was amazing, jovial, entertaining, and educational. While it is impossible to judge public education on single event, I am going to say that tonight showed that schools are doing some great things for and with their students.

First a big congratulation goes out to the director of the show. This mom volunteered her time along with other parents to get this show from audition to opening. Parents are the ones that fill in where needed to help teachers, staff, and students make the most of a school. These parents took that responsibility to a whole new level. The number of hours put in to teaching the blocking, the songs, and the dance steps go beyond a simple number to put into a spreadsheet. Every hour, every minute, every second was filled with not only the needed lessons but also with love and care. Our daughter came home tired but excited. This parent and her team really out did themselves.

The next impressive part of the evening was the number of students involved. I had the chance to compare notes with the principal after the show and we calculated that about 25% of the students had some part in this production. 25%!!! The auditions were open to any student that want to try out. The team found a spot for all the students who wanted to work on it. The director announced at the top of the show that the entire production crew was students…. the stage hands, the spot lights, the costume designer (a second grader), the props master (3rd grade), and the rest of the unsung heroes that make a play happen.

I have read articles that complain how children are not turned away from teams. Author after author talks about how teams are forced to have players without any skills being allowed to play. That was not the case here. Not every child was the star. There were many parts to be played. Some students were singers, others were dancers (of course there was one really cute blond in curls), a few were stars, and all made up the show. No student was made to feel like they couldn’t. Everyone was encouraged to find their place on the team and run with it. Based on what our daughter shared about rehearsals, all were held to the highest standards. There were no trophies for all but demands were placed on each.

I must admit that the students were not by themselves on stage. There was a single adult that stood there with the students. A third-year teacher gave up his time to be at the rehearsals. Teachers give so much of their time just in doing their jobs. I see teachers go home every day with stacks of work. Yet this teacher, in the middle of planning his wedding, gave even more of his time to be there to work with the students to put on the best show possible. He was the glue that held things together. He could tell when actors needed a little hint, or push (off stage), he added little one-liners to make the audience forget that the music didn’t start quite on time. He danced, he sang, he looked sooooo silly. He let down that façade that teachers wear so that his students could shine. He worried not how people would look at him, but how much the actors would shine in their own light.

Finally, the night reminded me about the principal and the rest of the staff – many of whom sat filling the first rows on the stage right. The principal gave her blessing and then support for this production. Schools have so much to worry about from budget to testing to new standards to…. to…. to…. It is a never-ending stream of demands and yet the principal, the office staff, the teachers, and every other panther worked together to encourage, to be the liaisons, to be the cheer squad. After seeing the large number of faculty sitting in the seats one does not question why so many of the students are involved with the activities of the school. The staff sets a fine example.

Then there are the rest of us parents. We might not be able to put the time and energy into the production. Yet there we are filling the seats, chaperoning the holding rooms, selling the snacks and flowers, and cheering as if we just witnessed the opening of a Broadway musical. Every panther stepped up.

Tonight, out did any Broadway show that I could see. While I was reminded of the ending scene of The Music Man (sorry – no spoiler, you should watch it), it rocked! Tonight, I relearned what turns a bill into a law. I refreshed my knowledge on Interjections and conjunctions (those songs in your head yet?), I imagined what it would have been like to have School House Rock come to life – it did.

More importantly, I witnessed public education at work. No, I do not know if each kid on stage can add, do fractions, or read at their grade level. I do not know what the last science experiment that was done by each class. However, I do know that I saw people who care, work hard, and are willing to put the time into our students. I saw students taking pride in working together to create a piece of art. I saw children enjoy learning and understanding. Public education may have its problems but tonight it Rocked as we all yelled YEAH!

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Thank You

Posted on March 9, 2017 by Bob Martin

Thank you. Two simple words made up of the same number of syllables. If you played the words in Scrabble, you would only receive 18 points, but then again, your opponents would wipe it away since you are not allowed to play two words. To speak these words take less than a second – I actually timed it and they take less than half of a second. Two simple words and yet powerful words. Words that can change a person’s day and even the world.

We teach our children to say please. In our house, if our daughter comes up and states, “I want…”, we immediately correct her questioning where the word please went. She corrects herself and asks again with that oh so magic word. Then, once that word appears, we are willing to give in to her request. She takes it and moves on with life. Often we hear the thank you. Other times, she takes and goes. The problem is that we are too busy to notice when the Thank You comes. She does it more often than not, but do we really notice? Not only has she moved on, but so have we. We aren’t as concerned with being given the gratitude for having completed a request. I have noticed the same throughout other areas.

Think about the last time you held a door open for somebody whether you stopped your transition through the door or held it instead of letting it close on a person. How often did that person pass through the portal to the other side without even noticing that you took time from your life to be kind. What about when you allowed that driver to cut in front of you after they forgot (or not) to move into the turning lane so that they could stay on their course? Did a hand come up in a friendly wave?

I know that as children we are taught not to do kind things for the recognition or acknowledgement, but to do it to be kind to one another. My parents told me that no matter how often you do something kind and the other person doesn’t even know it, I was supposed to keep on doing it. I continue to this day as an honor to what my parents taught me.

But now I ask each reader to think about this. How many times have we allowed others to do things for us and we accepted the gesture and moved on. People do not due it out of spite or even to be rude (well some do). We are so busy moving from one place to another, we are busy worrying about that next task, the to do list, the next stop on our busy day. I truly believe in people and believe that if people could look back at the number of times that they took without say Thank you embarrassment would run amok.

We Catholics are in the middle of the Lenten season. For most, it is a time to give something up – a sacrifice. This year I have been struggling with what that thing should be. What would be my sacrifice? What is the thing I could give up? The thing about Catholics today is that Lent is not always about giving up, but changing so that we do good for others. I started last week, I am not sure if it has been noticed (then again if I do it right – it shouldn’t be noticed). I am trying hard to say thank you for anything that someone does for me. That something could be big where somebody helps me rewrite a plan for work. It could be simple as someone holding the door of the elevator. It could be as small as someone just telling me to have a nice day. It matters not. Thank you is now going to be my mantra.

I want to challenge others. During this last year, I have watched my friends be polarized by what has been happening around this country – this world. I understand that each and every person has their thoughts and their beliefs. That is fine. What I am asking is that when somebody, I don’t care who, does something for you do not walk away until those two little words, less than half a second of your life, comes out….Thank you.

You just never know what acknowledging another human being might do for that person. You may change the worst day of their life into one not so bad. Take the time to look at each other and appreciate the good things that we do for each other.

So thank you. Thank you one and all. Those who read my ramblings. Those who help me at my job. Those who love me and put up with me. The one person who chose to marry me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Thank you for meandering with me.

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Lessons from De-Christmasing

Posted on January 8, 2017 by Bob Martin

Today we did a task that so many have been doing over the last two weeks. We de-Christmastized. In the past, this has been a bitter-sweet day. It is nice to get our house back in order. We do not have a big place, and the Christmas decorations, while beautiful, make our house just a little smaller. At the same time, I am big into Christmas. For me, packing away each light is like packing away a little memory that may come back next year – I hope. This year, however, this year was different. Put away the Christmas decorations this year was just a chore. This year was unlike the past.

Now I do not write these thoughts for pity or sympathy. I write because writing is what I do. I have thought long and hard about sharing this, and have only decided to do so since there may be others who feel the same and may take solace in knowing they are not alone.

So what happened this Christmas? What happened to the feelings when it came time to take down the joy of the celebration?

There were so many things that happened. I do not know if there was one certain thing or a mixture of some or all of the events over that last few months that came into play.

As most of those who read my posts know, this was the first year without my mom. We still had the chance to get together as a family, but that corner seat on the couch was occupied by another. I would love to be able to say that our Christmases were the same as those seen in a Norman Rockwell picture, but I will not lie. Our family would get together and have a good time, but we didn’t go out singing carols or hug around the Christmas tree. We just were. As a matter of fact, the only thing different for Christmas versus any other get together was the fact that it was cold outside and there was a tree inside. However, just the same, we tried to get together. In looking back over the years, considering we live on opposite coasts, there were a number of years that we didn’t get together. Our Christmases during those years were spent together via phone.

The more I think about it, it is not so much the fact that she was missing on that particular day that caused the hole. It was the number of times that I have picked up a phone to call her that caused the hole to be noticeable. Christmas day, New Year’s Eve at 9 our time, the fact that we made it through our flight back home. All of the little times that I would have checked in with her to make sure she was okay. The phone just remained in my hand.

Living on the opposite coast also takes away from the holiday. Though over the last few years, I understand why my dad finally put his foot down, and we stayed home. With four boys in our family, my mom and dad tried hard at Christmas to get to see all of the relatives. This involved crossing the border into Canada and dealing with customs when we returned with presents. One year, my dad had had enough. He announced that from that point forward if people wanted to see us on Christmas, they had to come to our house. I get my dad. We love seeing all the relatives. However, even our daughter asked if next year, she could wake up on Christmas in our house. I guess she does want to play out the travels of Mary and Joseph any more. The traveling is fun, but when you have to run every day, the joy begins to seep away. (I mean no offense to our relatives, and hey – our home is open for you next year.)

The holiday, itself, pulled a fast one on us this year. I know that most people work right up until the 23rd, but my family is all in education. We normally have a few days off prior to the holiday to get ready. It gives us a little decompression time after finals and grades. This year, we worked on the 23rd, and our daughter was in school. We then flew into Christmas Eve. I do mean flew since our flight landed at 1:30 am.

Our daughter is also older this year. She is nine going on twenty. I have read my past years’ writings about seeing Christmas through her eyes. Some of that twinkle isn’t there anymore. She still loves decorating, the music, and the holiday. It is just not NEW to her anymore. For her, this year was a transition year. She became more concerned with giving presents (just what I would want). She wanted to go shopping and do the wrapping. On Christmas morning, she took the role of the gift giver. Yes, there were smiles and squeals. There was wrapping paper flying through the air. There were hugs and thank yous. She just wasn’t that little girl anymore.

The final thing is the fact that I didn’t give Christmas my time this year. This hurt the most, and may be the true problem. I was worried about work and projects. We had work being started at the house. I had other things that in which I gave priority. I actually passed on my two-day cookie marathon with our daughter. In years past, the two of us would bake up a storm and then get my wife to help decorate and package. While it was a lot of work, it was not until today that I realized how much I missed that.

So today I woke up early. I pulled out the boxes and the ladder. I turned our front yard from a nightly display of lights back into a rectangle of cacti. Throughout it all, I wanted to feel sadness. I wanted to feel a little bit of emotion. I only felt a little frustration when those light up deer wouldn’t go back into their box without a fight – they won.

So what is the answer?

I finished my work and put everything away for next year. I sat down in the backyard and thought about what the heck happened over the last two weeks Then I could hear my mother’s voice in the back of my head.

“What is the problem?”

“I wanted Christmas.”

“You had Christmas. You just didn’t have the one you expected. It happens.”

“So what do I do?”

“First, you be thankful that you had your family. You be happy that you all had the chance and ability to get together. You realize that Christmas isn’t about you being happy. Then you remember all of those people who could not have any Christmas at all. Then you ask yourself, while thinking of them, whether or not you had Christmas.”

Mom had a way of not pulling punches. She was right. I forgot the most important part of life – being thankful for what you do have and the time you have with the family. Life changes and as we get older, it changes a whole lot faster.

I learned today that I was so trying to keep things the way they were in the past, that I forgot to be in the present. I was also avoiding the time of year I enjoy the most.

Next year will be different. I will try to keep whatever traditions I can, but I will not be afraid to start some new ones with my family. We will bake up a storm, we will open our house, and we will celebrate.

I cannot promise myself that I will feel sad next year when I put away the decorations. Then again, why would I want to?

Thanks for meandering with me tonight.

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Boys Don’t Cry

Posted on January 5, 2017 by Bob Martin

Recently, while out and about, I walked by a father talking to, what I could only believe was, his son. It was during Christmas shopping, and the store was crowded. The lines were long. You could sense more frustration than joy as you moved about the store. The young man, perhaps four, was crying. I will not know what prompted the tears. It could have been the fact that he was told no for a toy, he could have been tired or hungry, or his sibling could have hit him. Whatever prompted the river of tears happened before I was in the area. Still here he stood letting out his emotions. The father bent down close enough that he could have whispered. Instead, he spoke loudly enough for me and others to hear as he stated, “Boys don’t cry.” Those words still echo in my mind. Mom stepped in so I continued walking, still hearing the words.

As I walked I started thinking about how we raise our children and what stereo-types we use even today. Before everyone starts complaining about the father, we need to realize that he had to have been taught that phrase from somewhere. Most likely when he was growing up, those exact words were said to him by a number of people. While we would like to think that, as adults, we are always able to think before we speak – we don’t. I am sure that that father was tired and cranky himself. For all we know the little boy had been asking for the same thing one hundred times while walking the store. Perhaps the son used tears often to get his way. I am not saying that any of the above excuses the words, but none of us are perfect and we all falter. I think stress got the better of him that day. Just the same, I still go back to how we raise children.

I have racked my brain for the last couple of days. I, fortunately, cannot remember a time when my dad every told me that boys don’t cry. I do remember, “I’ll give you something to cry about.” But I was never told I couldn’t cry. Actually, the one thing I can remember my dad telling me not to do was to pinch the back side of one of my friend’s Mom. I digress.

A lot has changed since I was of a single digit age. Many of the gender stereo-types have started to fall away. I only say started since I think we still have a ways to go. Girls are no longer expected to only play house or with dolls. Boys can play with dolls – not those awesome G.I. Joe action figures, but Barbie. Children are told that they can be whatever it is that they want to be. Yet, I still notice that when it comes to emotions and actions, there is still a divide as to what girls can do versus boys and visa versa. We still hold gender stereo-types. That we includes me.

After listening to the Dad talk to his son, I started thinking about how I talk to our daughter. I cannot count how many times I have said, “A young lady doesn’t …..” I tell her every day that she can be a scientist, teacher, astronaut, bakery owner (her goal), anything she wants, and yet I tell her what is the proper way for her to act. Please don’t get me wrong and think that we should not have rules, standards, or expectations on how our children should act. However, shouldn’t that be more on how they treat others as well as themselves? I don’t want a child who thinks that she can do anything regardless of how it affects others. I will tell her no and that is not how she is expected to act, but those comments will not be based on the fact that she is a girl.

So what about boys who cry? Comments on Facebook and other social media state that we are turning into a society of wimps. I see people, men and women, talk about how we are emasculating our men and removing what makes a man a man. I guess I really have to question whether allowing a person to cry is really emasculating that person. Also, I have to agree with some postings in that I would hate to see a country where everyone cries every time their feelings are hurt or they do not get their way. My goodness, if that is going to happen, I am buying stock in Kleenex.

We need to teach our children how to work through their emotions. This includes not always acting out on them, but more understanding what they are going through. We have to allow our children to have the full gamut of emotions; this includes anger. Boys and girls must be allowed to experience anger. They have to be taught that it is okay to have this emotion and find a way to release it.

Humans are made up of so many emotions. Each one has its time and place. For us to tell a child to hide that, we are asking them to hide a part of who they are. Perhaps if children weren’t forced to hide feelings deep down, things such as bullying wouldn’t be.

I can imagine some Marine friends and relatives rolling their eyes are this. Another posting stating that it is okay for boys to cry. I get it. We need both men and women who can be tough to go out and do the jobs that most people would turn away from. We need the warriors who can push down those emotions and do the dangerous jobs. We need the men and women who will stand up to the bad guys and not show fear. That is all well and good. Just as long as when the time comes, they can show the emotions needed to keep from imploding. I have watched a Marine cry. It was probably one of the more emotional sights I will ever see. As for not being tough, I thought that Marine showed more toughness in showing that side of him than if he had sucked it up and walked away.

It is okay for boys to cry. It is okay for girls to stand-up for themselves rather than playing weak. It is okay for children to have and show a wide range of emotions. Instead of telling them what to do, more time should be spent helping them understand these stupid things inside of us that bring tears, anger, happiness, joy, and so much more. The days of “Boys don’t cry” are gone. The time for well-rounded people is here.

Thanks for meandering.

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