Lesson Plan 8 - Listen to the World, Listen to Your Heart

Emiko and Winslow, this morning, I was getting ready to put on my gear, climb on Uncle Sam's motorcycle and drive to work. As I pulled my boots on, Emi looked at me and said, "Daddy, take those off and put your flipflops on. Don't take your motorcycle, drive your car."

I paused and was about to ignore her advice. But Emi had awakened a small voice inside.

"Listen to your heart. It knows all things, because it came from the Soul of the World, and it will one day return there."

I ride the motorcycle to save a little money on gas. I ride it also because it is fun. But it scares me. A lot. I am so exposed, such a novice and all too aware of the potential dangers should I get clipped or lay it down.

Back when I used to ski every weekend, I used to listen to the signs in my heart. If I forgot a vital piece of equipment, I'd assume I wasn't meant to ski that day. When my heart told me I was done, I got off the mountain. I tried to make sure I didn't tempt fate.

Emiko, I took your comment this morning as a warning for the day. I make a solemn promise to you and Winlsow that I will continue to listen to my heart. I will heed the warnings and I will revel in the joy that you two bring to our lives.

All my love.

Dad

Connections

Business and pleasure.

Coworkers and friends.

Life.

It all becomes intertwined. The line of business associate and friend gets blurred over time. People I talk to on the phone are not strangers or disembodied voices, we talk bikes, we share stories about our families and we discuss life in general.

These connections, no matter how tenuous, become so important and so routine. On Tuesdays, I call Bob every morning. I generally expect to see Fred a couple times a week in our front office.

There are two stories today...

...

My morning to call to my best shop in New Hampshire and possibly our best shop on the east coast resulted in me listening to a broadcast message about a family emergency. When I got through to the owner, I found out he had lost his brother.

I was at a loss for words. So I tried to get him to talk about his brother, what he did, where he grew up. Simple math puts his brother in his mid-40's. The death was unexpected. But we shared a few chuckles and did our best to forget about work for those few moments.

My heart is with you, my friend. And I reflect a bit on the fact that as I continue to grow older, it will ultimately be my friends and family I will have to say goodbye to.

"Don't stop this train..."

...

I was reminded that there was a brief moment in time when I thought about joining the military. I had just read this article about the son of the buyer at our best US dealer. His father did not sleep for days after reading the story.

As graduation from college grew close, I didn't know what I was going to do with my life and I was looking for career opportunities. I was interested in EMT and Paramedic fields but was worried they would get boring over time. As I continued to look for potential jobs, I considered the military and found a group in the Air Force whose motto was, "That others may live." That drew me in and as I began to see the training they went through, I thought if there was one part of the military branch I could go into, that would be it.

Seems like a long time ago....

Sobering Moments

Life has its sobering moments. I was having what I thought was an awful day, I was spiraling, I was trying to keep my spirits up and failing and then I received an email from a friend. After a long battle with cancer, my friend just found out that his wife's liver is failing her. Suddenly, the little things I was struggling with became so meaningless.

They have just recently returned from a cruise in the Mediterranean where they visited Venice and got to experience Carnival. I spent time shirking work and paging through their photos online.

And so I sit here thinking of the two of them, the time he is taking to spend with her and I try to hope for the best outcome.

My thoughts and love are with them right now, I just wish there was more I could do.

For S and J

There are some days when I must seek solace in words from the past.

Yesterday, I found out my friends lost their unborn child to suffocation by the umbilical cord. I cannot begin to express the grief I felt when I read their message and today still struggle to find a way to come to terms with such tragic news.

As a parent, we must bear the burden of fears for the children we bring to this world. We must also bear the burden for the hopes and dreams our children bring to light. And in the end, we must find a way to come to terms with the concerns that are saddled on our shoulders when we make the choice to become Moms and Dads.

Yesterday, I searched for the right words for a card for S, J and Mali. Yesterday, I turned to the words of a friend who has passed but still reaches out to offer guidance, comfort and wisdom. Yesterday, I shed a tear for loved ones lost.


"Here it is starting to be spring a little, green shoots are coming up in the lawn, struggling up through their dead ancestors. This could be taken as a metaphor, we too should struggle up through the death of the previous year, but we should not leave it entirely behind. To leave it behind would be a disservice to them and us. They need for us to preserve the memories, and we need, desperately need, the things that those memories give us.

Sadness, Joy, Hope, Contemplation.

Life is not a Garden of Eden, life is kind of like the desert, there are many things that hurt, bite and sting. (In that story, you wonder how it would have ended if he had told them not to eat the snake) But one has to find beauty in all of them. I'm sure this sounds hackneyed, but it applies.

When are we going to the desert?"

-Anthony Sloan Feb 19, 1997

Baby Squirrel

Two nights ago, Emi, Gibson and I headed into the backyard to play. As Emi and I sat on the edge of our concrete patio watching Gibs romp with his ball, I saw him nearly step on a small gray object on the ground under the tree. I pulled him away and saw a baby squirrel on the ground, so young that its eyes were still sealed shut.

Hope came out and we sat there wondering what to do. She commented that she heard a bunch of squirrel noise earlier in the evening but just assumed Gibson was chasing the squirrels again.

We moved Gibson inside, and let him out into the front yard later on to do his business. I did a little research on the computer about baby squirrel care and finally settled on simply warming the baby and waiting for Mama squirrel to come down out of the tree to pick up her lost young one.

We started off with a Nalgene bottle filled with hot water and a few old diapers for the baby to curl up in. I then tracked down our heating pad and ran an extension cord into our back yard. As the baby squirrel warmed, it began to move around and Hope said it cried out a few times. We left it for the evening, wrapped in its swaddling with the heater on medium.

The next morning, its movements had slowed considerably. But we left the heater beneath it and I uncovered it so Mama squirrel would be able to spot her young one from the tree.

As soon as I was home yesterday evening, Emi and I went to check on the baby squirrel and it was gone. My assumption is that Mama came down and picked up her lost youngster. Could a predator have come and taken away the baby squirrel? Sure. But that isn't the happy ending I need to hold in my mind.

Nature can be so seemingly cruel. But the simple reality is that this is life in the wild. We humans aren't really that far removed from it all, though we do try to mitigate the cold and heat with our structures. We try to stave off hunger through industrial agriculture. We slake our thirst with a wide assortment of beverages. But it simply is about life and death. Our human touch on nature.

A difficult weekend

I've had some tough weekends. The one that comes to mind most recently was when my appendix burst. All the fun and shenanigans associated with that operation (not to mention the sales meeting I was helping run) were pretty painful and dreary.

But this weekend tops the bill.

Diagnosed with the flu on Friday, I was told in no uncertain terms by our pediatrician that passing it along to Emiko could be deadly.

That's an eye opener.

Now tie it in with the fact that Hopey had her Master's class all weekend long. Who in the hell is going to look after the kid? Gibson?

I've been sequestered in my room, subjected to the harangue of my father and brother (who rolled into town on Thursday night) and tortured by the sound of her cries. This has easily been the most painful place I've ever had to be: listening to her grief throughout each day and not being able to go to her side. Not being able to walk over and make her laugh. Finding tears of my own forming when I could hear how unhappy she was. I've worn a little surgical mask (courtesy of Cheryl) every time I've left my prison. I've washed my hands religiously (even before going to the bathroom). But I've kept my distance from her at all times.

Through all of this, I've been blessed with my father and brother's presence. Cheryl came over on Friday night to help them out since they had arrived with no expectation of being put on babysitting trial. Let's just say they passed with flying colors.

Dad has been a trooper throughout. He has fed her, changed diapers and held her through her squalling. He has been so endearing to her that, on Saturday night after Hopey got home, Emi held her arms out to him so he could pick her up! This has made me smile, cry and laugh all at the same time (though I try not to laugh because it makes me cough like I'm losing a lung).

Jeffy to has been a huge help. He's looked after Gibson, helped around the house and, here's the big one, even changed a diaper! He swore he was never, ever going to change a diaper...at least not until he had to change one for his own child. But Emi found a way to convince him!

A huge thanks to all for what they have done for my family this weekend. I really don't know what we would have done if they had so fortuitously been here in Colorado.

I've also learned something by this forced and necessary exile. I've learned a little something about fatherhood. Each time Emi cried, I wanted to rush to her side. But I learned that my father hasn't forgotten what it takes to comfort a teary child. He still has it. I realized that my standing over him wearing a mask could possibly just make him nervous as I would have tried to offer hints or suggestions while he held a frantic baby. I realized that he would figure it out on his own; she's not that different from any other child that came before or will come after.

And I can see how applicable this is for Emi in the days and years to come when she is learning something new that I think is just second nature. She will figure it out. I won't need to stand over her because she will eventually get it the same way the rest of us did. I remember how my father taught me that too.

My Dad is a hockey deity in central Maine. Everyone knew who he was when I was growing up. He played, he coached, he taught power skating and he ran the rink. When I played, he stood in the far corner of the stands and watched. Just watched. When he met me in the lobby, we'd walk to the car and I'd put my gear in the back before we began our 45 minute drive home. And he never once offered to speak first about the game. He always waited until I asked. He let me figure it out on my own and he knew that if I wanted his help, I would ask.

And so, while this has been the most difficult and painful weekend I have in memory, I plan to cherish it for all that I have learned and look back upon it happily for years to come.

My own little world

I spent part of the morning researching a new (used) car that I can't really afford anyway. Dreaming, really. The car itself is utterly unrealistic. While safe, it is stupid fast, stupid gas, and stupid stupid. Yet dreaming is often what I do.

And then I get an email from a dear friend who is going through so many challenging decisions and life changing incidents that I realize that the time I wasted dreaming could have been far better spent picking up the phone just to check in.

We all get caught up in our lives and the daily choices we have to make and there is nothing wrong with that at all. But there are only a handful among us who go that extra mile to look out at the horizon and see what is beyond the scope of their 3 foot radiused personal area. They pay attention and stay involved.

I am lucky that many of my friends are those people. And I strive (dream, perhaps) to emulate them. Today is a slap in the face and a wake up call that I have a long way to go. I believe I'll get there but I need to keep my eyes open and looking out at that horizon.

B-HaHa, this is my apology to you. You may or may not read it but I want you to know you are in my thoughts and that if there is anything I can do...I'm there.