There's a little icon in the bottom right corner that's labeled "Larger View" or "Full Screen". I suggest using that button until the option is no longer available; at that time, the book show should be as big as you can make it.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Friday, June 25, 2010
My New Friend Ricky
Yesterday was a good day.
On June 3rd I was in a meeting at work and I could sense that the folks in the meeting didn't feel that the meeting was being as productive as it could be. This meeting is primarily with my seniors, but I am reasonably well respected amongst my peers as well as my seniors. When we got to the requests for new business I decided to go for it. I stood up (which is very uncommon) and made an appeal for the opportunity to run the meeting for one week using a methodology I had learned long ago at IBM. I was granted the opportunity. In the interim two weeks I was able to get the other PMs together and share my vision. I was supported by two other senior peers and a half dozen PMs. We prototyped, rehearsed, critiqued and then we delivered yesterday June 24th. The PMs nailed it, my colleague who was assigned the whip role did a great job of keeping the meeting focused and on time and, all in all, it was a rousing success. I was congratulated, recognized and elated.
Days like that at work are uncommon. There are other things I'd like to take a shot at, but right now I'll enjoy this success and try and figure out the rate of change the environment can handle, bide my capital of recent success and see if I can make it two for two in the coming months.
I left work literally buzzing and took the long way home. Down 751 to New Hope Church and then over to Yates Store road. Yates Store road actually has a "store" on it. but it's the propriety of a gentleman that sells Husqvarna lawn mowers and firewood by the cord as opposed to a convenience store. For years I've taken this route and on many a day there's been a gentleman in the front lot of the rural property who would, without fail, unabashedly share a kind wave with me as I passed by. As I turned right on Yates Store, there he was. Today an anonymous wave just wasn't going to get it. I pulled into the parking lot and drove over to my friend with no name and said, "Hi. Every day I drive by here and we wave at each other and from now on when I wave I wanna know who I'm waving to. I am Jim Preis." I extended my hand to shake - a tradition that has it's origins in demonstrating that the participants are unarmed - and as he shook my hand he said with a smile, "Well Hi there! I'm Ricky. Glad to meet you." With that I told him that now when I drove by I'd know the name of the friend that I was waving to. He smiled a kind smile as I drove away.
All days should be so good.
On June 3rd I was in a meeting at work and I could sense that the folks in the meeting didn't feel that the meeting was being as productive as it could be. This meeting is primarily with my seniors, but I am reasonably well respected amongst my peers as well as my seniors. When we got to the requests for new business I decided to go for it. I stood up (which is very uncommon) and made an appeal for the opportunity to run the meeting for one week using a methodology I had learned long ago at IBM. I was granted the opportunity. In the interim two weeks I was able to get the other PMs together and share my vision. I was supported by two other senior peers and a half dozen PMs. We prototyped, rehearsed, critiqued and then we delivered yesterday June 24th. The PMs nailed it, my colleague who was assigned the whip role did a great job of keeping the meeting focused and on time and, all in all, it was a rousing success. I was congratulated, recognized and elated.
Days like that at work are uncommon. There are other things I'd like to take a shot at, but right now I'll enjoy this success and try and figure out the rate of change the environment can handle, bide my capital of recent success and see if I can make it two for two in the coming months.
I left work literally buzzing and took the long way home. Down 751 to New Hope Church and then over to Yates Store road. Yates Store road actually has a "store" on it. but it's the propriety of a gentleman that sells Husqvarna lawn mowers and firewood by the cord as opposed to a convenience store. For years I've taken this route and on many a day there's been a gentleman in the front lot of the rural property who would, without fail, unabashedly share a kind wave with me as I passed by. As I turned right on Yates Store, there he was. Today an anonymous wave just wasn't going to get it. I pulled into the parking lot and drove over to my friend with no name and said, "Hi. Every day I drive by here and we wave at each other and from now on when I wave I wanna know who I'm waving to. I am Jim Preis." I extended my hand to shake - a tradition that has it's origins in demonstrating that the participants are unarmed - and as he shook my hand he said with a smile, "Well Hi there! I'm Ricky. Glad to meet you." With that I told him that now when I drove by I'd know the name of the friend that I was waving to. He smiled a kind smile as I drove away.
All days should be so good.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
On Mortality
I used to make a baseball analogy that applied to my grandfather, my father and then me. I used to be in the dugout. My dad was on-deck. My grandfather was at bat. Eventually, and now, my dad is at bat and I'm on-deck. This was one of many rationalizations I've applied to cloud the fact that one day, I will die. Here's another one I still use: If I'm lucky enough to live until 82, then I have as much time left as I've already lived and that's a long time. That works irrationally, but rationally it fails on two points. First, I have no idea when I'm gonna die. Second, from a perception point, time does indeed move forward at a greater rate as we age. Why? Because when you were 5 a year was 20% or one-fifth of your entire life span. When you're 40 a year is a mere one-fortieth of your life.
I said in my last update that I had chosen a path of reflection and planning at this juncture in my life. Some of that reflection also carries a theme of skirting death many, many times as a youth and several times as an adult. When I was a child I did childish things; these things included hard drug and alcohol abuse and very reckless driving. Lots of all three at the same time, in VERY short periods of time and at great speeds. I don't why God let me live perhaps 20 or 30 times, but I am damn sure glad he did. As an adult with hypersensitivity to my surroundings I have dodged certain-death car wrecks that someone with normal levels of situational awareness would have never seen. The irony is, from an awareness of point of view today, I am an excellent driver. I tend to focus on wheels not body panels and a green light doesn't mean go, it means look for me as a 17 year old and then proceed if he is not proximal.
Obviously my last brush with death was my cycling accident in March of '09 in which my helmet was broken into a half-a-dozen pieces quite literally. That one wasn't so bad from a taste of mortality view. Had I bought the farm, I would have died doing something I loved and I would have at a minimum left my wife and children very well off financially. I am by no means saying it would have been a positive thing. My wife's loss of her first husband is perhaps the greatest example for me that life is far from perfect. In a perfect world Joe Decker would be alive today and Karen would have had a twin sister.
I don't know what's going to happen when I die but I do know the three distinct possibilities: a) lights out and I'm the same place I was before May 19, 1968. b) I go to Heaven. c) I go to Hell. Ever heard of Pascale's Wager? In simple terms Pascale's Wager acknowledges that God (and therefore Heaven) either does or does not exist and thus the best strategy for eliminating the outcome of going to hell is to believe in God/Heaven. That way, even if you're wrong, the worst case scenario is "lights out". I don't know if hedging your bets as the basis of your faith is acceptable on God's terms, but again the worst case scenario is a more peaceful human race.
The funny thing about the exploration of my own mortality is that it always seems to yield the same self-help notion of doing the best I can with what I have. I do live my life in service to my family. I am the best husband and father I can be and that means considering me fourth. I do my best at my job and the thing that I do best is acting as an agent of change. It means going out on a limb without regard to anyone else going with me; fortune favors the daring. Admittedly I was not the best son in my formative years, but I would hope that one day my birth family will see me for who I am today and understand that now is all the time we have. That the enjoyment of these remaining moments subsumes the notion of obligation.
I said in my last update that I had chosen a path of reflection and planning at this juncture in my life. Some of that reflection also carries a theme of skirting death many, many times as a youth and several times as an adult. When I was a child I did childish things; these things included hard drug and alcohol abuse and very reckless driving. Lots of all three at the same time, in VERY short periods of time and at great speeds. I don't why God let me live perhaps 20 or 30 times, but I am damn sure glad he did. As an adult with hypersensitivity to my surroundings I have dodged certain-death car wrecks that someone with normal levels of situational awareness would have never seen. The irony is, from an awareness of point of view today, I am an excellent driver. I tend to focus on wheels not body panels and a green light doesn't mean go, it means look for me as a 17 year old and then proceed if he is not proximal.
Obviously my last brush with death was my cycling accident in March of '09 in which my helmet was broken into a half-a-dozen pieces quite literally. That one wasn't so bad from a taste of mortality view. Had I bought the farm, I would have died doing something I loved and I would have at a minimum left my wife and children very well off financially. I am by no means saying it would have been a positive thing. My wife's loss of her first husband is perhaps the greatest example for me that life is far from perfect. In a perfect world Joe Decker would be alive today and Karen would have had a twin sister.
I don't know what's going to happen when I die but I do know the three distinct possibilities: a) lights out and I'm the same place I was before May 19, 1968. b) I go to Heaven. c) I go to Hell. Ever heard of Pascale's Wager? In simple terms Pascale's Wager acknowledges that God (and therefore Heaven) either does or does not exist and thus the best strategy for eliminating the outcome of going to hell is to believe in God/Heaven. That way, even if you're wrong, the worst case scenario is "lights out". I don't know if hedging your bets as the basis of your faith is acceptable on God's terms, but again the worst case scenario is a more peaceful human race.
The funny thing about the exploration of my own mortality is that it always seems to yield the same self-help notion of doing the best I can with what I have. I do live my life in service to my family. I am the best husband and father I can be and that means considering me fourth. I do my best at my job and the thing that I do best is acting as an agent of change. It means going out on a limb without regard to anyone else going with me; fortune favors the daring. Admittedly I was not the best son in my formative years, but I would hope that one day my birth family will see me for who I am today and understand that now is all the time we have. That the enjoyment of these remaining moments subsumes the notion of obligation.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Everyone Eats Boogers
This evening is Sunday January 10th. I just put David down after a story, a song and prayers. I grabbed the clicker, but before I turned on the TV I listened to Karen love Camden to sleep. Putting Little C, as we call him, down is a joy because he is virtually impossible to corral during the day, so by bed time 95% of his energy has been spent and he’s calm and compliant. Camden’s routine for bed is a bubba (bottle of rice milk), several stories, a song and then a session of Love and Learning. Love and Learning are passive learning CD’s that repetitively expose Camden to the alphabet, numbers, words and sentences. We owe a great deal of Camden’s verbal progress to these CDs. If you ever get the pleasure of knowing another family or child with a challenge, we highly recommend these.
This time of the evening is always accompanied by a big exhale. One more day with the boys done. One more day of survival complete. One more day of doing the best with what we have brought to a close. I’m beginning to believe that when one approaches mid-life one chooses one of two paths: a mid-life crises or the transition to a mind set of reflection, living and planning. Given that crises will find us when they need to, I’ve selected the latter. I’ve definitely sought the meaning of life and rapidly come to the conclusion that this is a waste of time. What is not so much a waste of time is improving the quality of the life that remains. This isn’t rocket science or deep thought or metaphysics, but much more a desire to be a me that I like first and foremost and that not coincidentally others will like as well. Those that can tolerate me end up being labeled as friends and those that can’t tolerate me I’ll still cordially accept cards and gifts from.
Somehow this paragraph is completely unrelated to and at the same time intricately intertwined with the last. When I was in school I was forced to write. The responses I got were always a collection of adjectives like interesting, different, eclectic while at the same time garnering awards of C, D and F. Before I continue I should call attention to the inherent hypocrisy of a grading scale that follows A, B, C, D and F. I’ve only ever been truly able to write one way: one part insanity, two parts honesty, a dash of self-aggrandizing, a pinch of humor all in a broth of briny genuine. I do my best to make you feel as if I was either reading this to you or actually talking to you. I have gotten much unsolicited feedback regarding the stuff I post here and if I said that the feedback was encouraging that would fall short of accurately describing it. Overwhelmingly humbling with kindness would be a better description. I have a defect. OK, I have many defects, but let’s pretend for a moment that I’ve just one. In a very extroverted way I am publicly intimate with almost everyone I know. I do a very poor job of selecting people with whom I share intimate information. There are good things about this and there are less-than-optimal considerations to be examined. I polled my Facebook friends for the title of my first text and my friends did not disappoint. But like most things on Facebook, humor or sarcasm were a bulk of the payload or the suggested titles were specific to my experience with that person e.g. “Jim Preis Has a Small Penis” or “A Small Penis Jim Preis Has” or “Jim Preis? Small Penis? Yes.” Not surprisingly, I proposed, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. This title actually has insight if you can get past the inherent poor taste, pardon the pun. The human experience is just that; human. Rarely does original thought occur and even rarer is the script of individual existence. Numbers don’t lie. If you’re one in a million in China, there are 1,300 people EXACTLY like you. If we neutralize the cultural deltas and societal memes and erase all the borders, then if you’re one in a billion, then there’s six other people exactly like you on Earth. The point to all of this is that the human experience to me means that everyone else either has or is likely to experience the things I’ve experienced so far in life. Birth, education, struggle, employment, love, marriage, children, catastrophe, recovery, depression, lust, consequence, addiction, embarrassment. By embracing this notion, I can and do eliminate the fear of sharing such intimate details here. Sure, verses or writings or Facebook statuses might be awkward, but they are still in the demesne of the human experience. This notion is captured - if not camouflaged by - the title, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. I’ve often pondered the benefit of peace and I’ve referred to it as the peace dividend. I find great comfort and peace in the fact that everyone eats boogers (don’t lie to yourself) because it represents the commonalities of the human experience. The point of all this blather is that if I admit that I’ve eaten a booger and I assume you’ve eaten a booger, then what we have is two people stripped down to truth and that’s the premise - no matter how yucky - that I write from.
OK, time for status updates.
First, Karen. Keeper of Gravel Brook Court, fixer of boo-boos, petter of dog and wife of mine. Karen’s doing well these days, but the irony is all that new-found time that she discovered when both boys are in school gets filled up with the stuff that simply has to get done all the same. Not to diminish a positive by any means; there’s a significant difference between harried efforts squeezed into random moments and being able to do those same things in a controlled, if not relaxed, manner that allows for a nominal amount of consideration and planning. Karen’s also done a great job of keeping her commitment to getting in some exercise during the week. She rides the rollers for 30 - 40 minutes each night while your’s truly hacks away on this keyboard. In summary, Karen’s gotten a little control back with regard to her schedule and it’s nice to see her out of the red zone. Hell, it’s nice to see her at all, but she has an affinity for cadence and regimen and with that comes back some of the sanity inherently lost as a parent.
I’m hanging in there as well. I’ve been plagued by one illness or injury after another: strep, sore throat, whatever the kids bring home and share, strained back. Fortunately - fingers crossed - I’m looking at all of that in the rear view right now and god health in general is within reach. Even with the strained lower back I managed to get in a ride with the family yesterday and I do believe the fresh air did me good. Actually I think it did us all a world of good. It’s time for a complete disassembly of my road bike, maintenance and then reassembly. I do this about once every 18 months to two years in addition to typical maintenance. I love doing this also. I’ve said before that cycling is in so many ways analogous to living and when I’m riding the bike shares the representation of the body on life’s journey. Certain things on the bike are black and white for example; I put 115 pounds of pressure in my tires. But the rear derailleur is half art and half science. The tension of the cable that controls the shifting of the rear derailleur is not a constant. Once under tension, that cable stretches minimally, but it’s enough to require an adjustment to keep the shifting crisp. And if there’s one thing you want when some steroid infused maniac jumps at 25 MPH, it’s a clean shift into a smaller cog in the back. Not so ironically from where I sit it’s probably time for me to join Karen in her commitment to improving her fitness. I had hoped to be in good cycling shape by this time, but riding out of doors in very cold weather would have only exacerbated my cold(s); and it simply would have been stupid to do with strep. So poised for moderate greatness is how I’ll choose to view my lot. And as always, very blessed and fortunate so long as I can see and love my wife and kids each and every day.
Thing 1, David, is doing wonderfully in transitional preschool. As much as I hate to admit it, his behavior is impacted by the amount of dairy in his diet. This saddens me because dairy with its five letters covers a whole lot of dietary acerage: pizza, ice cream, milk, cheese and the list goes on and on. The trade-off is a no-brainer, but it’s just something that I wish wasn’t. David’s also become quite the social being and we had concerns about that in previous years. Yet another thousand hours spent worrying unnecessarily. Now I know why first and second children are so different. Thing 1 is unknown and assumed to be fragile and gets jacketed by emotional Kevlar. Thing 2? You’ll be fine. David’s best friend in the world is a cutie named Sarah and the two of them together is an experience to put it mildly. It’s a rollercoaster where the peaks are moments when you would have though they hadn’t seen each other in 50 years and the troughs are contemptuous moments of unimaginable depth. But they’re always sad when they part. Perhaps mommy and daddy are already losing their deed to 100% of David’s heart. He’s on his way folks.
Thing 2, Camden, is as happy as happy can be. He’s doing very well at Frankie Lemmon and the changes and improvements we’ve seen him bring home give Karen and I much hope for Camden’s future. He’s already developing an independent spirit and as I’ve mentioned before independence is a critical piece in the challenge that is Down syndrome. His vocabulary is becoming more expansive and he understands the difference between words and numbers. He can count to 10 by himself and his vocabulary is probably between 100 to 200 words. He is also assembling coherent sentences, but not as frequently as we’d like to hear them. We’ll work on that. Camden is a virus magnet and he almost always seems to have a runny nose. It is our hope that at some point he’ll have traversed the complete inventory of common childhood viruses and come out the other side more resistant. If there is a consistent moment of challenge with Little C it would be at dinner when he chooses to fling a utensil - usually adorned with some quantity of delicious food my wife has cooked up - from the table. This will also get better as Karen and I work in concert to implement the tools and techniques that we learned more about this last week at one of the learning session provided by Frankie Lemmon. At the end of the day, it’s simply impossible to look at this little man with anything but unconditional love and the greatest of expectations.
Our family is truly fortunate and blessed beyond imagination. To wit, you’re reading this and we’re so glad you are.
Take care.
This time of the evening is always accompanied by a big exhale. One more day with the boys done. One more day of survival complete. One more day of doing the best with what we have brought to a close. I’m beginning to believe that when one approaches mid-life one chooses one of two paths: a mid-life crises or the transition to a mind set of reflection, living and planning. Given that crises will find us when they need to, I’ve selected the latter. I’ve definitely sought the meaning of life and rapidly come to the conclusion that this is a waste of time. What is not so much a waste of time is improving the quality of the life that remains. This isn’t rocket science or deep thought or metaphysics, but much more a desire to be a me that I like first and foremost and that not coincidentally others will like as well. Those that can tolerate me end up being labeled as friends and those that can’t tolerate me I’ll still cordially accept cards and gifts from.
Somehow this paragraph is completely unrelated to and at the same time intricately intertwined with the last. When I was in school I was forced to write. The responses I got were always a collection of adjectives like interesting, different, eclectic while at the same time garnering awards of C, D and F. Before I continue I should call attention to the inherent hypocrisy of a grading scale that follows A, B, C, D and F. I’ve only ever been truly able to write one way: one part insanity, two parts honesty, a dash of self-aggrandizing, a pinch of humor all in a broth of briny genuine. I do my best to make you feel as if I was either reading this to you or actually talking to you. I have gotten much unsolicited feedback regarding the stuff I post here and if I said that the feedback was encouraging that would fall short of accurately describing it. Overwhelmingly humbling with kindness would be a better description. I have a defect. OK, I have many defects, but let’s pretend for a moment that I’ve just one. In a very extroverted way I am publicly intimate with almost everyone I know. I do a very poor job of selecting people with whom I share intimate information. There are good things about this and there are less-than-optimal considerations to be examined. I polled my Facebook friends for the title of my first text and my friends did not disappoint. But like most things on Facebook, humor or sarcasm were a bulk of the payload or the suggested titles were specific to my experience with that person e.g. “Jim Preis Has a Small Penis” or “A Small Penis Jim Preis Has” or “Jim Preis? Small Penis? Yes.” Not surprisingly, I proposed, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. This title actually has insight if you can get past the inherent poor taste, pardon the pun. The human experience is just that; human. Rarely does original thought occur and even rarer is the script of individual existence. Numbers don’t lie. If you’re one in a million in China, there are 1,300 people EXACTLY like you. If we neutralize the cultural deltas and societal memes and erase all the borders, then if you’re one in a billion, then there’s six other people exactly like you on Earth. The point to all of this is that the human experience to me means that everyone else either has or is likely to experience the things I’ve experienced so far in life. Birth, education, struggle, employment, love, marriage, children, catastrophe, recovery, depression, lust, consequence, addiction, embarrassment. By embracing this notion, I can and do eliminate the fear of sharing such intimate details here. Sure, verses or writings or Facebook statuses might be awkward, but they are still in the demesne of the human experience. This notion is captured - if not camouflaged by - the title, “Everyone Eats Boogers”. I’ve often pondered the benefit of peace and I’ve referred to it as the peace dividend. I find great comfort and peace in the fact that everyone eats boogers (don’t lie to yourself) because it represents the commonalities of the human experience. The point of all this blather is that if I admit that I’ve eaten a booger and I assume you’ve eaten a booger, then what we have is two people stripped down to truth and that’s the premise - no matter how yucky - that I write from.
OK, time for status updates.
First, Karen. Keeper of Gravel Brook Court, fixer of boo-boos, petter of dog and wife of mine. Karen’s doing well these days, but the irony is all that new-found time that she discovered when both boys are in school gets filled up with the stuff that simply has to get done all the same. Not to diminish a positive by any means; there’s a significant difference between harried efforts squeezed into random moments and being able to do those same things in a controlled, if not relaxed, manner that allows for a nominal amount of consideration and planning. Karen’s also done a great job of keeping her commitment to getting in some exercise during the week. She rides the rollers for 30 - 40 minutes each night while your’s truly hacks away on this keyboard. In summary, Karen’s gotten a little control back with regard to her schedule and it’s nice to see her out of the red zone. Hell, it’s nice to see her at all, but she has an affinity for cadence and regimen and with that comes back some of the sanity inherently lost as a parent.
I’m hanging in there as well. I’ve been plagued by one illness or injury after another: strep, sore throat, whatever the kids bring home and share, strained back. Fortunately - fingers crossed - I’m looking at all of that in the rear view right now and god health in general is within reach. Even with the strained lower back I managed to get in a ride with the family yesterday and I do believe the fresh air did me good. Actually I think it did us all a world of good. It’s time for a complete disassembly of my road bike, maintenance and then reassembly. I do this about once every 18 months to two years in addition to typical maintenance. I love doing this also. I’ve said before that cycling is in so many ways analogous to living and when I’m riding the bike shares the representation of the body on life’s journey. Certain things on the bike are black and white for example; I put 115 pounds of pressure in my tires. But the rear derailleur is half art and half science. The tension of the cable that controls the shifting of the rear derailleur is not a constant. Once under tension, that cable stretches minimally, but it’s enough to require an adjustment to keep the shifting crisp. And if there’s one thing you want when some steroid infused maniac jumps at 25 MPH, it’s a clean shift into a smaller cog in the back. Not so ironically from where I sit it’s probably time for me to join Karen in her commitment to improving her fitness. I had hoped to be in good cycling shape by this time, but riding out of doors in very cold weather would have only exacerbated my cold(s); and it simply would have been stupid to do with strep. So poised for moderate greatness is how I’ll choose to view my lot. And as always, very blessed and fortunate so long as I can see and love my wife and kids each and every day.
Thing 1, David, is doing wonderfully in transitional preschool. As much as I hate to admit it, his behavior is impacted by the amount of dairy in his diet. This saddens me because dairy with its five letters covers a whole lot of dietary acerage: pizza, ice cream, milk, cheese and the list goes on and on. The trade-off is a no-brainer, but it’s just something that I wish wasn’t. David’s also become quite the social being and we had concerns about that in previous years. Yet another thousand hours spent worrying unnecessarily. Now I know why first and second children are so different. Thing 1 is unknown and assumed to be fragile and gets jacketed by emotional Kevlar. Thing 2? You’ll be fine. David’s best friend in the world is a cutie named Sarah and the two of them together is an experience to put it mildly. It’s a rollercoaster where the peaks are moments when you would have though they hadn’t seen each other in 50 years and the troughs are contemptuous moments of unimaginable depth. But they’re always sad when they part. Perhaps mommy and daddy are already losing their deed to 100% of David’s heart. He’s on his way folks.
Thing 2, Camden, is as happy as happy can be. He’s doing very well at Frankie Lemmon and the changes and improvements we’ve seen him bring home give Karen and I much hope for Camden’s future. He’s already developing an independent spirit and as I’ve mentioned before independence is a critical piece in the challenge that is Down syndrome. His vocabulary is becoming more expansive and he understands the difference between words and numbers. He can count to 10 by himself and his vocabulary is probably between 100 to 200 words. He is also assembling coherent sentences, but not as frequently as we’d like to hear them. We’ll work on that. Camden is a virus magnet and he almost always seems to have a runny nose. It is our hope that at some point he’ll have traversed the complete inventory of common childhood viruses and come out the other side more resistant. If there is a consistent moment of challenge with Little C it would be at dinner when he chooses to fling a utensil - usually adorned with some quantity of delicious food my wife has cooked up - from the table. This will also get better as Karen and I work in concert to implement the tools and techniques that we learned more about this last week at one of the learning session provided by Frankie Lemmon. At the end of the day, it’s simply impossible to look at this little man with anything but unconditional love and the greatest of expectations.
Our family is truly fortunate and blessed beyond imagination. To wit, you’re reading this and we’re so glad you are.
Take care.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Why I Never Played Sports Again in Middle School
I had severe asthma as a child. In the 8th grade I missed 52 days of school and a week of that was spent in the hospital with asthma compounded by bronchial pneumonia. Perhaps it was then that I realized that you could tell the kind of underwear a nurse wore through her pants.
But I tried.
I tried playing basketball for a season with my best friend in the world - to this day - Grant Hadden. His dad coached. I never made a basket. Before you read any further I need to tell you it only gets worse from here. I must also tell you that it's OK to laugh at an 11 year old with severe asthma, a pronounced lisp and generally akward presence.
Maybe baseball? Sure! Why not. Baseball. It's American. Surely it would cure my asthma, extend my height and maybe, just maybe get Laura VanLeeuwen to go out with me. The team was the Sandymount Royals. It was the summer of '79. Practice should have been enough of a warning, but who knew that how you performed at practice was a good indication of how you'd play in the game? But fear not; I was here to try. No one ever got hurt for trying... right?
And then that Saturday came - it was game day. Game 1. A warm summer's morning that held all the promise a summer day could hold for an 11 year old. With courage we'd borrowed from the green army men we'd recently mangled we suited up and swaggered into the dugout. The coach bellowed hollow words we didn't know the meaning of yet, but we all looked him in the eye and fraudulently lied back to him, "I hear you. I understand. I will not let you down."
Batter up! And the batter was me. Numero uno here to put the chrome on the bumper day that was certain to be the grandest of all the days of my life so far. Helmet? Yes. Glove? Yes. Bat in my hand as soundly as Execalibur in the hand of Arthur. Then it was he and I. His job was to ferry the ball and twas mine to strike it! A last gaze to the pitcher before the umpire's hands fell to his sides signaling the ready. As the pitcher's arm went back it was as if his arm was attached to my lungs as I inhaled subtly deeper with each degree of his wind up. Release! and fate was only a second away.
I don't really recall the ball striking me in the head. To say that it happened fast would not convey the speed as it was. I do recall tears, but I also recall being brave enough to take a base; No! not A base MY base. The one I had earned from the experience of the first pitch of the game. And off at 45 degrees I trotted to meet my temporary friends at first base; all of whom treated me like a soldier returning home from WWII.
And then came the second batter. And the second pitch. And a foul ball that ricocheted off of my head while I was standing there at first base. The courage was gone and so was the bravado that came with splashing some of Dad's 'Lectric Shave on my face before suiting up that supposed wondrous day. The tears won this time and my career with the Sandymount Royals was over in two pitches.
I never went back to practice, but I was obligated to support my team thereby accomplishing the 'low bar' of support I had comitted to earlier.
There I was on the bleachers on the pursuant Saturday commanding my Royals nominally from the gallery when that first pitch was fouled off and found its way to my head once again. Fortunately the pain of the impact was quickly supplanted by the embarassment of the umpire's dash to my rescue asking, "Is that little girl alright?"
I guess it could have been worse... right?
But I tried.
I tried playing basketball for a season with my best friend in the world - to this day - Grant Hadden. His dad coached. I never made a basket. Before you read any further I need to tell you it only gets worse from here. I must also tell you that it's OK to laugh at an 11 year old with severe asthma, a pronounced lisp and generally akward presence.
Maybe baseball? Sure! Why not. Baseball. It's American. Surely it would cure my asthma, extend my height and maybe, just maybe get Laura VanLeeuwen to go out with me. The team was the Sandymount Royals. It was the summer of '79. Practice should have been enough of a warning, but who knew that how you performed at practice was a good indication of how you'd play in the game? But fear not; I was here to try. No one ever got hurt for trying... right?
And then that Saturday came - it was game day. Game 1. A warm summer's morning that held all the promise a summer day could hold for an 11 year old. With courage we'd borrowed from the green army men we'd recently mangled we suited up and swaggered into the dugout. The coach bellowed hollow words we didn't know the meaning of yet, but we all looked him in the eye and fraudulently lied back to him, "I hear you. I understand. I will not let you down."
Batter up! And the batter was me. Numero uno here to put the chrome on the bumper day that was certain to be the grandest of all the days of my life so far. Helmet? Yes. Glove? Yes. Bat in my hand as soundly as Execalibur in the hand of Arthur. Then it was he and I. His job was to ferry the ball and twas mine to strike it! A last gaze to the pitcher before the umpire's hands fell to his sides signaling the ready. As the pitcher's arm went back it was as if his arm was attached to my lungs as I inhaled subtly deeper with each degree of his wind up. Release! and fate was only a second away.
I don't really recall the ball striking me in the head. To say that it happened fast would not convey the speed as it was. I do recall tears, but I also recall being brave enough to take a base; No! not A base MY base. The one I had earned from the experience of the first pitch of the game. And off at 45 degrees I trotted to meet my temporary friends at first base; all of whom treated me like a soldier returning home from WWII.
And then came the second batter. And the second pitch. And a foul ball that ricocheted off of my head while I was standing there at first base. The courage was gone and so was the bravado that came with splashing some of Dad's 'Lectric Shave on my face before suiting up that supposed wondrous day. The tears won this time and my career with the Sandymount Royals was over in two pitches.
I never went back to practice, but I was obligated to support my team thereby accomplishing the 'low bar' of support I had comitted to earlier.
There I was on the bleachers on the pursuant Saturday commanding my Royals nominally from the gallery when that first pitch was fouled off and found its way to my head once again. Fortunately the pain of the impact was quickly supplanted by the embarassment of the umpire's dash to my rescue asking, "Is that little girl alright?"
I guess it could have been worse... right?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Generic Brain Dump
Bless me readers for I have sinned. It's been two months since my last update. During this time I have committed the sins of failing to keep my family and friends updated and not bringing as much peace into this world as I would have liked to during this time. I also swore excessively during the NC State and SC game. Toss in a fantasy or two about me, my wife some aliens and some "I can't believe it's not butter" and I might as well throw in the towel. But before I go...
There was a serious notion or two in the opening bit. I have truly been trying to bring peace wherever I go of late and to be brutally honest, it's been a struggle. Specifically, I have been trying to avoid political discussions as well as desperately trying to disavow aggressive driving. I've had more success with the latter than the former. On the political side there have simply been too many opportunities to discuss too many significant events of recent. I've gone to the mat with my dad as well as with my new Facebook amigo Chris Kling. Chris is an interesting guy who I'm in the process of getting to know. He's a mirror image of me. I don't mean to come off as overly self-appreciative, but he's sharp, strong in his beliefs, intelligent, well typed (that used to be well spoken, but people don't speak any more). I've enjoyed my discourses with him. Truth be told, I'm much more attractive though. Ironically, he lives in New Bern and knows my dad. Thus I shant piss him off too much or he'll join forces with the old man down there and I'll be out numbered by two people that are likely twice as smart as me (when I'm anesthetized).
Mom and dad came up last weekend for Camden's birthday and we truly enjoyed the visit. On Friday night when they got here Karen whipped up some shrimp, rice, tomatoes and some spices in al-u-min-yum foil pouches and they were outstanding. That was followed by two Zingerman's brownies topped with a scoop of Breyer's vanilla ice cream and a touch of Hershey's chocolate syrup. Great; two more days in purgatory when I arrive. Mom and dad's visits are getting to be more and more enjoyable and it's not all due to the narcotics. Since we don't see them as much as we'd like, the anticipation is greater before they arrive and the void when they leave is greater as well. We are blessed that mom and dad have the opportunity to develop real relationships with the boys. Pop-pop is Superman, Santa and a Railroad Baron all-rolled-into-one to David. And Grandma, or Gee as Camden likes to refer to her, is the lady who takes care of everything in the world when she's around.
The super big deal these days is that both Camden and David are in school which means after 5+ very long years my wife gets a couple of hours a day to think about herself. Perhaps I should have stopped at think? I cannot express how happy and proud of her I am that... well... she's made it this far. Any moment she has now where she has the freedom of choice as to what she will do next is well earned and long over due. And so it is yet another way in which our family is blessed. I know it's not all down hill from here. Camden's road to independence will be a challenging journey. I'm also sure that at some point David will provide additional challenges for us, but we'll cross all of those bridges when we come to them.
Camden is attending Frankie Lemmon School in downtown Raleigh and the burden of the travel is far outweighed by the love and caring he gets from the moment one of his teachers takes his hand until we get his beautiful face back in the afternoon. For those of you reading with kids, I'm sure you can relate to the multi-layered concerns about leaving your child with anyone for anything. It is with that thought in mind that I hope you understand how significant it is that we tell you we have no concerns about Camden being there and to the contrary, we know it is where Camden should be. This school is yet another true blessing.
David, as I've mentioned before, is in transitional kindergarten. Kind of a 'beyond preschool but not quite full bore kindergarten' if you will. To date we've seen little to none of the behavioral challenges that were ever-present last year. He's not exactly draggin' in Nobel Behavioral prizes home over the threshold each day, but he's doing well and pride doesn't scratch the surface of how we feel about our eldest. Often times that pride charms tears from our eyes when he loves on his little brother. One of the stupid things you waste time doing when you find out your kid is an overachiever in the chromosome department is worrying about the world versus your special needs kid when you're gone. Now you know where those tears of pride over how much David loves his little brother come from.
That leaves you with me and my blinding glimpses of the obvious from the last two months. Picking up on an earlier thread I mentioned I've been trying to carry peace with me in all of my travels and interactions these days. The fact of the matter is that if I'm successful twenty per cent of the time, then that's twenty per cent better than not trying. There are also moments when I have peace thrust upon me. I've had several friends reach out to me in times of trial in their lives recently and I thank God that he put me here to be their friend and confidant. Sure I'm still recovering from a half dozen broken bones, constant physical therapy, arthritis, and as of yesterday the discovery of a duplicated collection system attached to one of my kidneys, but if you really want to feel better no matter what ails you, help someone. Love someone. Provide fellowship to someone. Suddenly, your inventory of personal challenges becomes a mere honey-do list.
Because I know you care...
The shoulder - approaching 150 degrees of rotation. The goal is 180 degrees. PT hurts, I cry, I get over it. This week Karen went to PT with me to learn how to do the forced stretches. Karen and my therapist are in cahoots I do believe.
The pelvis - pain is down, but it still feels fragile. Getting up and down off the floor is still a bitch.
The drugs - I take two drugs for daily discomfort and a slightly larger dose before PT. Tramadol which is a narcotic-like medication for moderate to severe pain and the lowest strength of Vicodin + acetaminophen.
The bike - riding in the peloton again will come when three things are achieved. 1) I've attained the magical 180 degrees of rotation/range of motion. 2) I have muscular symmetry about the left and right shoulders 3) I decide to ride in the peloton again. This is unclear at the moment. There is much consideration to be explored yet about this topic. The implications of another bad wreck - more common the faster you go and with close proximity to other pain and adrenaline junkies - are significantly greater at 41 years old with 2 kids.
A little honesty and a confession to close tonight. In the immediate month after my accident I spent a lot of time usually on different, far ends of the spectrum; said differently I was either at a peak on the rollercoaster ride or in a trough. The troughs were characterized by pain, fear, uncertainty, sadness, thoughts of mortality and the guilt of imposition upon my family. The peaks were as conversely nice as the troughs were bad. Sitting in a recliner, semi-sedated, watching high-definition movies and cycling (of all things) and the phone and e-mail ringing and coming in respectively at heart warming rates. I share this with you so that you understand how much I want to put this behind me right now. I want everything to go back to the way it was before I crashed. I have to admit I thrived in all the attention I 'enjoyed' during the peaks, but there were only peaks because there were valleys. I just want things to go back to the way they were before 22 March. I'd happily return the spotlight to the Acme spotlight company, even if it meant I must retain the moments that build character. What I did not know until last week when talking to a fellow accident victim was that it will never go back to the way it was before then. This is neither sad nor regretful; it just is.
Thank you for thinking about us. All of us are blessed. All of us are well. Know that we think about you too.
There was a serious notion or two in the opening bit. I have truly been trying to bring peace wherever I go of late and to be brutally honest, it's been a struggle. Specifically, I have been trying to avoid political discussions as well as desperately trying to disavow aggressive driving. I've had more success with the latter than the former. On the political side there have simply been too many opportunities to discuss too many significant events of recent. I've gone to the mat with my dad as well as with my new Facebook amigo Chris Kling. Chris is an interesting guy who I'm in the process of getting to know. He's a mirror image of me. I don't mean to come off as overly self-appreciative, but he's sharp, strong in his beliefs, intelligent, well typed (that used to be well spoken, but people don't speak any more). I've enjoyed my discourses with him. Truth be told, I'm much more attractive though. Ironically, he lives in New Bern and knows my dad. Thus I shant piss him off too much or he'll join forces with the old man down there and I'll be out numbered by two people that are likely twice as smart as me (when I'm anesthetized).
Mom and dad came up last weekend for Camden's birthday and we truly enjoyed the visit. On Friday night when they got here Karen whipped up some shrimp, rice, tomatoes and some spices in al-u-min-yum foil pouches and they were outstanding. That was followed by two Zingerman's brownies topped with a scoop of Breyer's vanilla ice cream and a touch of Hershey's chocolate syrup. Great; two more days in purgatory when I arrive. Mom and dad's visits are getting to be more and more enjoyable and it's not all due to the narcotics. Since we don't see them as much as we'd like, the anticipation is greater before they arrive and the void when they leave is greater as well. We are blessed that mom and dad have the opportunity to develop real relationships with the boys. Pop-pop is Superman, Santa and a Railroad Baron all-rolled-into-one to David. And Grandma, or Gee as Camden likes to refer to her, is the lady who takes care of everything in the world when she's around.
The super big deal these days is that both Camden and David are in school which means after 5+ very long years my wife gets a couple of hours a day to think about herself. Perhaps I should have stopped at think? I cannot express how happy and proud of her I am that... well... she's made it this far. Any moment she has now where she has the freedom of choice as to what she will do next is well earned and long over due. And so it is yet another way in which our family is blessed. I know it's not all down hill from here. Camden's road to independence will be a challenging journey. I'm also sure that at some point David will provide additional challenges for us, but we'll cross all of those bridges when we come to them.
Camden is attending Frankie Lemmon School in downtown Raleigh and the burden of the travel is far outweighed by the love and caring he gets from the moment one of his teachers takes his hand until we get his beautiful face back in the afternoon. For those of you reading with kids, I'm sure you can relate to the multi-layered concerns about leaving your child with anyone for anything. It is with that thought in mind that I hope you understand how significant it is that we tell you we have no concerns about Camden being there and to the contrary, we know it is where Camden should be. This school is yet another true blessing.
David, as I've mentioned before, is in transitional kindergarten. Kind of a 'beyond preschool but not quite full bore kindergarten' if you will. To date we've seen little to none of the behavioral challenges that were ever-present last year. He's not exactly draggin' in Nobel Behavioral prizes home over the threshold each day, but he's doing well and pride doesn't scratch the surface of how we feel about our eldest. Often times that pride charms tears from our eyes when he loves on his little brother. One of the stupid things you waste time doing when you find out your kid is an overachiever in the chromosome department is worrying about the world versus your special needs kid when you're gone. Now you know where those tears of pride over how much David loves his little brother come from.
That leaves you with me and my blinding glimpses of the obvious from the last two months. Picking up on an earlier thread I mentioned I've been trying to carry peace with me in all of my travels and interactions these days. The fact of the matter is that if I'm successful twenty per cent of the time, then that's twenty per cent better than not trying. There are also moments when I have peace thrust upon me. I've had several friends reach out to me in times of trial in their lives recently and I thank God that he put me here to be their friend and confidant. Sure I'm still recovering from a half dozen broken bones, constant physical therapy, arthritis, and as of yesterday the discovery of a duplicated collection system attached to one of my kidneys, but if you really want to feel better no matter what ails you, help someone. Love someone. Provide fellowship to someone. Suddenly, your inventory of personal challenges becomes a mere honey-do list.
Because I know you care...
The shoulder - approaching 150 degrees of rotation. The goal is 180 degrees. PT hurts, I cry, I get over it. This week Karen went to PT with me to learn how to do the forced stretches. Karen and my therapist are in cahoots I do believe.
The pelvis - pain is down, but it still feels fragile. Getting up and down off the floor is still a bitch.
The drugs - I take two drugs for daily discomfort and a slightly larger dose before PT. Tramadol which is a narcotic-like medication for moderate to severe pain and the lowest strength of Vicodin + acetaminophen.
The bike - riding in the peloton again will come when three things are achieved. 1) I've attained the magical 180 degrees of rotation/range of motion. 2) I have muscular symmetry about the left and right shoulders 3) I decide to ride in the peloton again. This is unclear at the moment. There is much consideration to be explored yet about this topic. The implications of another bad wreck - more common the faster you go and with close proximity to other pain and adrenaline junkies - are significantly greater at 41 years old with 2 kids.
A little honesty and a confession to close tonight. In the immediate month after my accident I spent a lot of time usually on different, far ends of the spectrum; said differently I was either at a peak on the rollercoaster ride or in a trough. The troughs were characterized by pain, fear, uncertainty, sadness, thoughts of mortality and the guilt of imposition upon my family. The peaks were as conversely nice as the troughs were bad. Sitting in a recliner, semi-sedated, watching high-definition movies and cycling (of all things) and the phone and e-mail ringing and coming in respectively at heart warming rates. I share this with you so that you understand how much I want to put this behind me right now. I want everything to go back to the way it was before I crashed. I have to admit I thrived in all the attention I 'enjoyed' during the peaks, but there were only peaks because there were valleys. I just want things to go back to the way they were before 22 March. I'd happily return the spotlight to the Acme spotlight company, even if it meant I must retain the moments that build character. What I did not know until last week when talking to a fellow accident victim was that it will never go back to the way it was before then. This is neither sad nor regretful; it just is.
Thank you for thinking about us. All of us are blessed. All of us are well. Know that we think about you too.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
It's a Good Day(s)
So here I recline in the Hampton Inn off exit 31 of Hwy 99 in Altoona PA and what a day it's been. We planted the seed for this trip over a year ago when David was watching his video, "I Love Big Trains". A portion of the video was about the Horseshoe Curve. Horseshoe Curve is an engineering feat whereby the downhill momentum of a train is used to move it into and around a horseshoe shaped mile-and-a-half of railroad track. One day we asked David if he'd like to go see the Horseshoe curve and - guess what he said? So here we are in Altoona, PA. Thanks to much planning by my wife, the day was a smash hit. We started off with a 50 minute train ride around the Horseshoe Curve at 10 AM and then spent about 2 hours in the Altoona Railroader's Memorial Museum. This was followed by a family coma back in the hotel that lasted from 2:30 to 4 PM. All in all a great day that will provide fond recall in years to come.
Overall David is doing pretty well. Karen and I decided that it would be in David's best interest if he went to a transitional Kindergarten. I believe I've mentioned this before, but David is off the top end of the intellect scale, but he struggles with the finer points of some social skills. Ultimately David will have to adhere to all the rules, norms, constraints and cheers as every other person, but right now if we can avoid a rough patch by allowing him a little more time to mature socially, then why not?
Camden walks at his own discretion these days and what a wonderful thing that is. He still reverts to crawling if he's feeling lazy, but as he becomes more proficient in his stride he chooses to walk more and more. To see Camden take his own deliberate steps warms our hearts and encourages us in other ways. On more than one occasion I've been asked - as well as wondered myself รข€“ what am I supposed to do differently for our special needs son? I struggled for many months trying to answer this question, but could never really come up with a crisp answer. You love your kids and you parent them. There's nothing different in the loving or parenting part for a special needs child. Sure there's a TON of different things you might need to do educationally, therapeutically or medically, but there's nothing different in the loving or parenting part; that you just do. And when I figured that out, a lot of the anxiety associated with the newness of our situation simply vanished.
Karen hasn't given up on any of us yet. Those of you with kids either know or probably remember hitting the pause button on one's own life when the kids were young. I believe that pause button has a much greater impact on women who leave the workforce to assume the stay-at-home mother roll. This is hard on Karen and at the same time the kids are our pride and joy. Since Camden is in preschool 2 days a week now Karen actually gets a day - or half a day - here and there with some free time. Of course that free time is spent getting things done that still have to get done, but the thought of my wife getting so much as 20 minutes to drop by a bagel place and drink a cup of coffee with a bagel puts a smile on my face far and wide. Time and progress will yield Karen easier days in the future, but right now we all love her simply because she loves us so much and it shows.
So how's Jim? Frustrated. Discouraged. Angry. Fortunate. And it's that last one I mustn't forget. The PT is painful and fruitful. I am making good progress. The fact of the matter is if I forgo the narcotics I spend a majority of each day in significant pain and discomfort and that encourages discouragement. Some days I choose to fight the pain with non-narcotics and intense focus on work. On those days, after we get the kids in bed I literally do not move for about 2 hours before we go to bed. If I do choose to take the Oxycontin, I can function nearly normally.
I will close with this. Once you gain a certain intimacy with cycling it becomes a metaphor for life. As a cyclist you learn to keep pedaling when you are 50 miles from home and there are some very loud voices telling you to stop. I feel like I'm 1000 miles from home right now and the voices are screaming, but I've no intention to stop pedaling.
Every day above ground is a good one.
Overall David is doing pretty well. Karen and I decided that it would be in David's best interest if he went to a transitional Kindergarten. I believe I've mentioned this before, but David is off the top end of the intellect scale, but he struggles with the finer points of some social skills. Ultimately David will have to adhere to all the rules, norms, constraints and cheers as every other person, but right now if we can avoid a rough patch by allowing him a little more time to mature socially, then why not?
Camden walks at his own discretion these days and what a wonderful thing that is. He still reverts to crawling if he's feeling lazy, but as he becomes more proficient in his stride he chooses to walk more and more. To see Camden take his own deliberate steps warms our hearts and encourages us in other ways. On more than one occasion I've been asked - as well as wondered myself รข€“ what am I supposed to do differently for our special needs son? I struggled for many months trying to answer this question, but could never really come up with a crisp answer. You love your kids and you parent them. There's nothing different in the loving or parenting part for a special needs child. Sure there's a TON of different things you might need to do educationally, therapeutically or medically, but there's nothing different in the loving or parenting part; that you just do. And when I figured that out, a lot of the anxiety associated with the newness of our situation simply vanished.
Karen hasn't given up on any of us yet. Those of you with kids either know or probably remember hitting the pause button on one's own life when the kids were young. I believe that pause button has a much greater impact on women who leave the workforce to assume the stay-at-home mother roll. This is hard on Karen and at the same time the kids are our pride and joy. Since Camden is in preschool 2 days a week now Karen actually gets a day - or half a day - here and there with some free time. Of course that free time is spent getting things done that still have to get done, but the thought of my wife getting so much as 20 minutes to drop by a bagel place and drink a cup of coffee with a bagel puts a smile on my face far and wide. Time and progress will yield Karen easier days in the future, but right now we all love her simply because she loves us so much and it shows.
So how's Jim? Frustrated. Discouraged. Angry. Fortunate. And it's that last one I mustn't forget. The PT is painful and fruitful. I am making good progress. The fact of the matter is if I forgo the narcotics I spend a majority of each day in significant pain and discomfort and that encourages discouragement. Some days I choose to fight the pain with non-narcotics and intense focus on work. On those days, after we get the kids in bed I literally do not move for about 2 hours before we go to bed. If I do choose to take the Oxycontin, I can function nearly normally.
I will close with this. Once you gain a certain intimacy with cycling it becomes a metaphor for life. As a cyclist you learn to keep pedaling when you are 50 miles from home and there are some very loud voices telling you to stop. I feel like I'm 1000 miles from home right now and the voices are screaming, but I've no intention to stop pedaling.
Every day above ground is a good one.
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