Ah, Thanksgiving.
It's either a joyous and timeless tradition of gathering, remembering, commemorating and togetherness, or a psychotic mess of nasty food, family squabbles and enough things-gone-wrong to give Murphy his own Law Book. For most people - usually and thankfully - the tradition is somewhere in the middle.
Whether your tradition is to celebrate by traveling hundreds or thousands of miles to eat your mom's stuffing and hear Uncle Jack's joke about the lady who walks into the hardware store with a live gerbil and a rubber spatula for the umpteenth time, or to spend a quiet evening out in a restaurant by yourself or with your significant other, Thanksgiving is something more than the traditional start of the holiday season. If New Year's and the Fourth of July are the party holidays, and Christmas is the now-overly-commercialized-to-the-point-we-don't-even-want-to-celebrate-it holiday, Thanksgiving is the spirit and ideal that drives us through the rest of the year while giving us a chance to look back fondly.
Usually. Some people are just too Type-A. Those people can't be helped, so I'm just talkin' about the rest of us. Y'know, the normal folk...
By this time, the holiday season has completely enveloped us, and traditions are as in full swing as pumpkin patches overflowing with ripe orange gourds and wild turkeys with death clocks faintly ticking down to doomsday above their spindly heads. So begins repeat visits to grocery stores for constantly-forgotten items that have since vanished from the shelves because they were also forgotten by 9,000 other people before you. We spend our days, and sometimes weeks, creating culinary game plans with the clockwork precision of military wargames. Checklists featuring everything from the savory to the sweet preoccupy our thoughts. Multiplying recipes, cooking times, quantities and transportation logistics take center stage in our thoughts. We become Rain Man in our ability to figure out how to cook a turkey while also heating up dinner rolls and making sure Aunt Betty's green bean casserole doesn't congeal like tiny twigs stuck in mud, all in the same tiny oven. Homes are cleaned just a little bit more than usual; pillows fluffed, furniture and knicks knacks moved for a more thorough vacuuming or dusting. Cobwebs we've ignored all year long suddenly vanish in a blurred tornado of arm movements and strained backs.
We know it's coming every year, yet every year it sneaks up on us. While some traditions need to die quick and violent deaths (we all have them or know of them, so I don't need to elaborate), some - like panicking a week before Thanksgiving because the only poultry left in the freezer section is a cornish game hen the size of a baseball that somehow has to magically feed 18 people - are just necessary for the true mean of "thanks giving" to come out.
Since I was a teenager, my mom has made Thanksgiving her holiday. Whether it was when I contemplated moving to Seattle for a job, or when my ex-wife and I talked about moving away for her career, my mom always made it clear that I had to be home for Thanksgiving. It was tradition. I was given a free pass to miss her birthday, Mother's Day and Christmas (not "miss" as in forget, "miss" as in I didn't have to come home. A phone call at the very least was still mandatory.) so long as my pasty white butt was seated at the dinner table on that particular Thursday.
Part of it's because she - like most moms - is big on the whole "family gathering" thing, but it's also because she hates the thought of anyone spending a holiday alone. If you have nowhere to go on Thanksgiving, my mom makes sure there's a spot for you at our table. It's been that way for years.
It's traditon.
It may have been the rule long before this, but I remember it really becoming a tried and true, dyed in the wool, set in stone Tradition-with-a-capital-T when my dad was stationed in Augsburg, Germany, back in the late 1980s. Dad was the NCOIC (non-commissioned officer in charge..."middle management" to the rest of us) of the emergency room at the army hospital, and as such had a lot of people working under him. When my parents found out that many of those people had no place to go for Thanksgiving, they opened our home to the lot of them. People brought their favorite dishes, and room was made on any open space available. No one was turned away, and no gesture of food was left untouched.
It was always an all-day event because some people worked in the morning (meaning they got out late and came over after) and some worked in the afternoon (meaning they came over before their shift). At one point, our three-bedroom apartment had around 50 men, women and children laughing, playing, eating and drinking all throughout the space. Kids congregated in my room or my brother's room, playing with Legos or whatever action figures we dug out of the closet (even the girls, who generally preferred the Legos to the G.I. Joes) while adults crowded the living room, kitchen and dining room. Everyone was happy, everyone had a good time.
Hard to not want to keep that kind of tradition alive, isn't it?
In the 25 years since, the number of people have dwindled, but it's still pretty large. Last year, we had in-laws for both Harper brothers, including the future in-laws of my in-laws so they didn't have to split up their family. This year we have some new faces coming...again, because they had nowhere else to go and my mom found out about it. We're looking at close to 30 people this year, but Thanksgiving's not until tomorrow, so who knows who else might show up. That's the fun of it, right?
The tragedy though, for me, is knowing how much this year is going to hurt. And it's going to hurt a lot.
Thanksgiving is a time to sit back and...well, give thanks for the people, things and events that have led us to this point in our lives. As I type this, though, I find myself not really in a thankful mood. If I sit back and look over the last year, I'm faced with a lot of heartache and pain: The loss of a child in the early stages of my now ex-wife's pregnancy, finding out my sister-in-law got pregnant mere months later, the dissolution of a three-year marriage, the subsequent moving back in to my parents home while I spent more than two months looking for a job, the birth of my niece, and watching my limited finances disappear just trying to keep up with bills.
Now, a lot of you will read this and tell me to get over myself, to think positive. I was told earlier today that I needed to focus on spending Thanksgiving with my family. But you know what? That's easier said than done. For starters, almost everyone who's going to be here tomorrow is in a working, committed marriage, while my divorce paperwork showed up in the mail yesterday. Great damn timing, that is. Also, I get to spend an entire day watching people gush and fawn over my niece, Ava. So while everyone's going on and on about the "first grandbaby" and talking about how beautiful and precious she is, I get to sit there and pretend none of that hurts. That Ava would actually be the second grandbaby, and that my child will never get to be gushed or fawned over, or told how beautiful and precious he/she is. And the best part? The absolutely heart-wrenching, soul-crushing best part? I get to go through all of this on my own. Completely alone. Why? Because the one person in my life who I thought would be by my side for better or worse, in sickness and in health, til death do us part, decided to walk out on our life together, and the final nail in that coffin just came in the mail.
So yeah, I'm a whole lotta thankful this year. I'm one big cornucopia of thankful. I'm a fucking buffet of things to be thankful for.
Am I thankful for my family and friends? Of course. Am I thankful that my niece - whom I adore with all my heart - is happy and healthy? You bet I am. Am I thankful I finally have a job and am able to pay my bills? Damn straight. But Thanksgiving is a time to spend enjoying the company of those most important to you, a time to look on those friends and family and realize how great it is to have people like that in your life. Not this year, though, and not for me. My life has been turned upside down and ripped into mangled shreds. Tomorrow, I won't see any good in that. The people around me won't help me take my mind off my problems, they will be unintentionally compounding them with every look and every laugh. Were I still married, if I had someone by my side I could lean on and give support back to, then tomorrow would be tolerable. As it is, I'll be spending Thanksgiving surrounded by the people I love the most, and completely unable to enjoy it.
Some traditions need to die quick and violent deaths. This is one of them.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. Whatever your tradition is, however you choose to spend the holiday, I hope and pray it is filled with all the love and happiness you deserve. I am truly thankful for all of you, and I apologize for not being able to express it better. We all deserve better than this; I'm just sorry I can't hold up my end of it.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
The Job @ Hand
Jobs are tricky things. In this day and age, everyone needs at least one.
There are the jobs that we'd like to have, and there are the jobs we have to have. In a minority of instances, those two concepts merge, and a person finds a jobs they love. The Dream Job. Doesn't happen very often, but it's a beautiful thing when it does. Unless that person rubs it in your face; then they're just a douche in need of a good punch to some place vital...like a rib, or the ball sack.
As with everything else in our existence, we've broken the notion of "jobs" into many categories: Full-time, part-time, blue collar, white collar, seasonal, temporary, entry level, and middle management, just to name a few. These can be, and often are, combined, altered, adjusted or eliminated. We've also devised new and not-always-interesting ways to describe our jobs: Administrative Assistant, Custodial Engineer, and Refuse Collection Specialist are some of my favorite examples. Many of us bring our work home with us, while most of us just like to rehash the day's, or week's, events over a round of liquid courage.
Some people stay at their jobs for years; others bounce between jobs like a puppy trying to choose a favorite toy. Some of us wear ties every day; a lucky few get to tie one on. Jobs can be inside high rises, strip malls and office parks. Jobs can be outside in glorious sunshine, dreary thunderstorms or frigid snowfall. Some people can make lots of money in just a few short months; most of us go a lifetime without so much as an extra zero appearing on our bank accounts.
They're cursed things, jobs are. It's a love/hate relationship unlike any other. We may like the people we work with, we may like the type of work we do, we may like the pay - or the benefits and bonuses - and we may like the hours. But, if it came down to it, a lot of us would rather spend our days lounging on a beach, or a mountaintop, or in a field of gently-swaying grass staring at bunny clouds and jet trails. If money wasn't an issue, how many of us would actually work our day away? I sure as hell wouldn't, and I'm betting the lot of you would be right there with me.
Now, I'm not talking about not doing something with your time, like learning a foreign language or painting bowls of fruit or reading the world's collection of great books. I'm talking about W-2s and direct deposit, "business casual" and casual Fridays, quarterly assessments and end-of-year reviews, pay raises and 401(k)s. I'm talking about Work, with a capital W. Regardless of what you do, how many people would continue doing it if they didn't need to do it? If the planet became a utopia overnight and suddenly the masses didn't need money to acquire the things they need and/or want, how many of us would put in the hours we do now?
I'm guessing some of you are saying you would, and you may be right. For a while. But I guarantee after watching us slackasses cavorting around you, you'd become one of us before too long.
And let's not get started on the whole "winning the lottery" joke, okay?
We've now reached the point of the story where you, my loyal followers, politely yet sternly ask, "What's your point here, dude?" Over the last week I've had a lot happen with regard to the word "jobs" and now things have culminated with not one, but two incredible writing job possibilities. And either - or, Fate willing, both - could be the start of something big.
Before we get to dream jobs, though, let's start with real-world stuff. Back in March, I had a part-time job. I took it to earn a little extra money for the wife and I; mostly because I felt like a slacker just sitting at home and going to school, but also because a little extra money's never a bad thing. The truth is I only took the job because the wife also worked there part-time, and she convinced me that working together would be fun. And she was right. It was. Until things started getting bad at home. Suddenly, working around people who got along with my wife better than I did made it not such a fun place to work. So I quit. It didn't matter if anyone there knew what was going on; I knew, and I didn't want to look at those people anymore. In hindsight, having spent the last three months trying to find anything to bring home a paycheck, I should've stayed. I didn't, and that's my cross to bear.
That being said, I've looked at everything. You know those categories I listed at the start of this thing? Yeah, I looked at every single one of them. My skill set covers writing and editing, clerical and office, shipping operations, and warehouse and stockroom management. You'd think someone who's reasonably intelligent, willing to work hard, and - perhaps most importantly - not friggin' picky would be able to find something in three months. Turns out, you'd be wrong. Every part-time, full-time, seasonal, temporary and contract job available that appeared even remotely in my wheelhouse was applied for. The only nibble I got was about a month ago when I interviewed with AAA Colorado for a mailroom/stockroom manager position. Didn't pan out, so here I am.
Last week, I got a call from a corporate HR person for Sony retail stores. I'd applied to be a seasonal stock clerk for the Cherry Creek location about a month ago, and they were just now getting back to me. Can't imagine how many resumes they had to sort through before they realized mine was pretty damn good, but I'm glad they stuck with it. I completed all of their online paperwork and scheduled the interview with the local store manager. About five seconds into the interview, I knew I had the job. It helped that the guy actually said, "If it was up to me, I'd start you tomorrow." But of course, there are pesky things like drug tests and background checks to go through first, which brings me to the Funny portion of today's blog.
Drug tests are pretty darn simple. You go into a medical office, pee into a container, and pray your poppy seed bagel from two days ago won't screw your chances. I got the paperwork for my drug screening location on Tuesday and immediately went to have it done. This was around 1 p.m. As I'm walking down the hall to the door, a lady comes out, walks passed me, and says, "It's busy in there." Um...crap. This doesn't bode well. Sure enough, it was busy. I signed in, sat down, and prepared myself for the long wait. That is, until seven minutes later when someone else walked in and asked the lady behind the counter what to do. She told him to sign in, but that it was about a - are you ready for this? - two-hour wait! But wait, my story gets better. Not only that, but the lady behind the counter was the only person working the lab. The entire lab. As in, she had to check people in and do their visits to boot. Oh, and there was also that teensy little issue of her leaving at 2:30 p.m. because she had somewhere else to be.
Confused? Let me make this simpler. A lady working solo in a medical lab had patients backing her up to a two-hour-plus wait, but planned on closing the lab in ninety minutes to leave for the day because she had "somewhere else to be" later.
I got up, scratched my name off the sign-in sheet, and left.
Wednesday I got up, showered and left the house. It was my mom's birthday, so my brother and I were taking her out for lunch at 1 p.m., and my brother was meeting me at the house at 12:30 p.m. That gave me two-and-a-half hours to sit in the lab and get my pee on. Alas, when I got there the wait was just as long as before. To top it off, I finally got a look at the sign outside the main door. (Someone had been standing in front of it on Tuesday while yammering on a cell phone.) The lab was open from 7 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., but only did drug screenings from 8 -10, and from 12:30 - 2:30. It was already 10 a.m. Without even bothering to sign in, I left.
Lunch, btw, was best summed-up by the appetizer we shared: Deep-Fried Green Chili stuffed with Mac & Cheese. It. Was. Awesome!
But I digress...
How's this story end? With my getting up at 6 a.m. yesterday, getting to the lab before seven, waiting for the one person ahead of me to be seen, and being done and out the door by 7:30 and home before eight. Ah, the joys of having to pee into a cup for a job.
Now we get to the meat of the story. I know what you're thinkin'..."way to bury the lead, Harper." Fair assessment, but inaccurate. Since the "job" I'm ultimately looking for is Paid Writer, I was building up to the Good News: I may have a job. Not a "job" like "part-time seasonal stock clerk for Sony", but a Job like "paid to write a story, have a byline and have said story seen by a target audience." That's a lot better. I can't really talk about it too much right now, but once I can y'all will be the first ones outside of my family and friends to know...though you'll probably see it on Facebook long before you read about it here.
All this, naturally, begs the question, "Why bring it up if you're going to be so secretive?" And while I applaud your perceptive and quizzical nature, I laugh bemusedly at your lack of vision. The Job in question has deep connections to the ski industry. Not just in Colorado, but nationally. As in "other states besides Colorado." As in "also including Utah." Which, if you've been following this blog (and I see no reason why you shouldn't be...) is where the Ultimate Mountain Gig is being held. The Job should take about a month, which is plenty of time to get the people at The Canyons to check it out and see just how capable their new blogger is going to be.
You see where I'm going with this now, don't you? Fate is calling, and for once I'm not sitting on the toilet and singing "Another One Bites the Dust" with my boxers warming my ankles. Everything is lining up nicely, even if none of it has actually fallen into place just yet. They say that in this day and age it isn't what you know, but who you know. I don't normally agree with that ideaology; truthfully, it doesn't matter who you know if you're not competent enough to do the job...unless you're in politics, apparently. But now, I'm starting to see the benefit. I've made some great contacts in the last eight months, and those contacts will be leading to more and more, helping me create a network of people and businesses from whom I can get not just steady employment, but valuable information and skills to be used in later assignments.
In other words, if the next month or so works out, then by this time next year I won't need to pee in a cup for a seasonal stock job. And that, I'm proud to say, is my idea of a "dream job."
Though staring at bunny clouds sounds nice, too.
There are the jobs that we'd like to have, and there are the jobs we have to have. In a minority of instances, those two concepts merge, and a person finds a jobs they love. The Dream Job. Doesn't happen very often, but it's a beautiful thing when it does. Unless that person rubs it in your face; then they're just a douche in need of a good punch to some place vital...like a rib, or the ball sack.
As with everything else in our existence, we've broken the notion of "jobs" into many categories: Full-time, part-time, blue collar, white collar, seasonal, temporary, entry level, and middle management, just to name a few. These can be, and often are, combined, altered, adjusted or eliminated. We've also devised new and not-always-interesting ways to describe our jobs: Administrative Assistant, Custodial Engineer, and Refuse Collection Specialist are some of my favorite examples. Many of us bring our work home with us, while most of us just like to rehash the day's, or week's, events over a round of liquid courage.
Some people stay at their jobs for years; others bounce between jobs like a puppy trying to choose a favorite toy. Some of us wear ties every day; a lucky few get to tie one on. Jobs can be inside high rises, strip malls and office parks. Jobs can be outside in glorious sunshine, dreary thunderstorms or frigid snowfall. Some people can make lots of money in just a few short months; most of us go a lifetime without so much as an extra zero appearing on our bank accounts.
They're cursed things, jobs are. It's a love/hate relationship unlike any other. We may like the people we work with, we may like the type of work we do, we may like the pay - or the benefits and bonuses - and we may like the hours. But, if it came down to it, a lot of us would rather spend our days lounging on a beach, or a mountaintop, or in a field of gently-swaying grass staring at bunny clouds and jet trails. If money wasn't an issue, how many of us would actually work our day away? I sure as hell wouldn't, and I'm betting the lot of you would be right there with me.
Now, I'm not talking about not doing something with your time, like learning a foreign language or painting bowls of fruit or reading the world's collection of great books. I'm talking about W-2s and direct deposit, "business casual" and casual Fridays, quarterly assessments and end-of-year reviews, pay raises and 401(k)s. I'm talking about Work, with a capital W. Regardless of what you do, how many people would continue doing it if they didn't need to do it? If the planet became a utopia overnight and suddenly the masses didn't need money to acquire the things they need and/or want, how many of us would put in the hours we do now?
I'm guessing some of you are saying you would, and you may be right. For a while. But I guarantee after watching us slackasses cavorting around you, you'd become one of us before too long.
And let's not get started on the whole "winning the lottery" joke, okay?
We've now reached the point of the story where you, my loyal followers, politely yet sternly ask, "What's your point here, dude?" Over the last week I've had a lot happen with regard to the word "jobs" and now things have culminated with not one, but two incredible writing job possibilities. And either - or, Fate willing, both - could be the start of something big.
Before we get to dream jobs, though, let's start with real-world stuff. Back in March, I had a part-time job. I took it to earn a little extra money for the wife and I; mostly because I felt like a slacker just sitting at home and going to school, but also because a little extra money's never a bad thing. The truth is I only took the job because the wife also worked there part-time, and she convinced me that working together would be fun. And she was right. It was. Until things started getting bad at home. Suddenly, working around people who got along with my wife better than I did made it not such a fun place to work. So I quit. It didn't matter if anyone there knew what was going on; I knew, and I didn't want to look at those people anymore. In hindsight, having spent the last three months trying to find anything to bring home a paycheck, I should've stayed. I didn't, and that's my cross to bear.
That being said, I've looked at everything. You know those categories I listed at the start of this thing? Yeah, I looked at every single one of them. My skill set covers writing and editing, clerical and office, shipping operations, and warehouse and stockroom management. You'd think someone who's reasonably intelligent, willing to work hard, and - perhaps most importantly - not friggin' picky would be able to find something in three months. Turns out, you'd be wrong. Every part-time, full-time, seasonal, temporary and contract job available that appeared even remotely in my wheelhouse was applied for. The only nibble I got was about a month ago when I interviewed with AAA Colorado for a mailroom/stockroom manager position. Didn't pan out, so here I am.
Last week, I got a call from a corporate HR person for Sony retail stores. I'd applied to be a seasonal stock clerk for the Cherry Creek location about a month ago, and they were just now getting back to me. Can't imagine how many resumes they had to sort through before they realized mine was pretty damn good, but I'm glad they stuck with it. I completed all of their online paperwork and scheduled the interview with the local store manager. About five seconds into the interview, I knew I had the job. It helped that the guy actually said, "If it was up to me, I'd start you tomorrow." But of course, there are pesky things like drug tests and background checks to go through first, which brings me to the Funny portion of today's blog.
Drug tests are pretty darn simple. You go into a medical office, pee into a container, and pray your poppy seed bagel from two days ago won't screw your chances. I got the paperwork for my drug screening location on Tuesday and immediately went to have it done. This was around 1 p.m. As I'm walking down the hall to the door, a lady comes out, walks passed me, and says, "It's busy in there." Um...crap. This doesn't bode well. Sure enough, it was busy. I signed in, sat down, and prepared myself for the long wait. That is, until seven minutes later when someone else walked in and asked the lady behind the counter what to do. She told him to sign in, but that it was about a - are you ready for this? - two-hour wait! But wait, my story gets better. Not only that, but the lady behind the counter was the only person working the lab. The entire lab. As in, she had to check people in and do their visits to boot. Oh, and there was also that teensy little issue of her leaving at 2:30 p.m. because she had somewhere else to be.
Confused? Let me make this simpler. A lady working solo in a medical lab had patients backing her up to a two-hour-plus wait, but planned on closing the lab in ninety minutes to leave for the day because she had "somewhere else to be" later.
I got up, scratched my name off the sign-in sheet, and left.
Wednesday I got up, showered and left the house. It was my mom's birthday, so my brother and I were taking her out for lunch at 1 p.m., and my brother was meeting me at the house at 12:30 p.m. That gave me two-and-a-half hours to sit in the lab and get my pee on. Alas, when I got there the wait was just as long as before. To top it off, I finally got a look at the sign outside the main door. (Someone had been standing in front of it on Tuesday while yammering on a cell phone.) The lab was open from 7 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., but only did drug screenings from 8 -10, and from 12:30 - 2:30. It was already 10 a.m. Without even bothering to sign in, I left.
Lunch, btw, was best summed-up by the appetizer we shared: Deep-Fried Green Chili stuffed with Mac & Cheese. It. Was. Awesome!
But I digress...
How's this story end? With my getting up at 6 a.m. yesterday, getting to the lab before seven, waiting for the one person ahead of me to be seen, and being done and out the door by 7:30 and home before eight. Ah, the joys of having to pee into a cup for a job.
Now we get to the meat of the story. I know what you're thinkin'..."way to bury the lead, Harper." Fair assessment, but inaccurate. Since the "job" I'm ultimately looking for is Paid Writer, I was building up to the Good News: I may have a job. Not a "job" like "part-time seasonal stock clerk for Sony", but a Job like "paid to write a story, have a byline and have said story seen by a target audience." That's a lot better. I can't really talk about it too much right now, but once I can y'all will be the first ones outside of my family and friends to know...though you'll probably see it on Facebook long before you read about it here.
All this, naturally, begs the question, "Why bring it up if you're going to be so secretive?" And while I applaud your perceptive and quizzical nature, I laugh bemusedly at your lack of vision. The Job in question has deep connections to the ski industry. Not just in Colorado, but nationally. As in "other states besides Colorado." As in "also including Utah." Which, if you've been following this blog (and I see no reason why you shouldn't be...) is where the Ultimate Mountain Gig is being held. The Job should take about a month, which is plenty of time to get the people at The Canyons to check it out and see just how capable their new blogger is going to be.
You see where I'm going with this now, don't you? Fate is calling, and for once I'm not sitting on the toilet and singing "Another One Bites the Dust" with my boxers warming my ankles. Everything is lining up nicely, even if none of it has actually fallen into place just yet. They say that in this day and age it isn't what you know, but who you know. I don't normally agree with that ideaology; truthfully, it doesn't matter who you know if you're not competent enough to do the job...unless you're in politics, apparently. But now, I'm starting to see the benefit. I've made some great contacts in the last eight months, and those contacts will be leading to more and more, helping me create a network of people and businesses from whom I can get not just steady employment, but valuable information and skills to be used in later assignments.
In other words, if the next month or so works out, then by this time next year I won't need to pee in a cup for a seasonal stock job. And that, I'm proud to say, is my idea of a "dream job."
Though staring at bunny clouds sounds nice, too.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Family Ties
I never grew up close to my family. My extended family, that is. I grew up with my parents and brother, but since my dad was in the army, I never really knew my aunts, uncles and cousins. Every couple of years, whenever Dad got a new assignment and we moved again, we always seemed to find time to go back to Ohio and see the family. That was always a blast; it was like a vacation to where some of your best friends were staying. I may not have known every detail of their lives, but they were my family, and it was always good to see family.
As I got older (I'd be lying if I said I "grew up"), and as my immediate family and I settled in Denver, going back home to Ohio to see family became...not a chore, or a hassle, but, in a word, unimportant. When we moved here, I was just out of high school, aimless and clueless. (Sadly, for nearly 20 years after, that didn't change.) I was more focused on trying to figure my life out than I was with figuring out someone else's. Even if they were family. By the time I reached my late 20s, I'd settled into a groove - a repetitive, boring, stagnant and ugly groove. Family was something that came up around Thanksgiving and Christmas; occasional phone calls and emails that - unless something tragic happened - mostly served as a reminder that everyone out east was alive and doing well, and they were making sure you were doing the same.
When I got married in 2007, one of the many trips we had planned on taking was to Ohio. When I got married in Las Vegas (and trust me, there's lots of material in that scenario...) I was fotunate enough to have a large chunk of my family come out and celebrate with us. For those that came, we wanted to return the favor by going out and seeing them; for those who couldn't make it, I wanted to show off my lovely bride and our happy marriage. Three years, a couple of moves and one divorce later, we never did make it out there. My mom's sisters came out earlier this year, so that was a fun time. But now? Well, Facebook takes care of most of it, but I'd still like to get back out there and see everyone face-to-face. Especially the ones I haven't seen in years, which is a long list, unfortunately.
So by now, you're probably wondering, "Where are you going with this, dude?" It's a fair question, and one I aim to address in due time. For the last week, my cousin Aaron has been in town to help promote a film in which he's co-starring. "The Rock and Roll Dreams of Duncan Christopher" is an independent feature that's been making the festival rounds nationally and internationally to some pretty awesome reviews, and was shown at the Starz Denver Film Festival just this weekend. The film is about facing fears, facing reality and realizing that what you want isn't always what you need.
Of course, that's my intrepretation. Others may, and probably will, vary.
My parents and I went to the Saturday night showing to help support Aaron and the film. The evening was lots of fun, and the film itself was great. Incredibly solid stuff on both sides of the camera; and that's good, because going in, we had no idea what to expect. We weren't nervous, though. We were hopeful. And our hopes were pleasantly rewarded. Following the film, there was a Q&A with some of the cast and crew. I want everyone to check out why so many people, myself now firmly included, are finding this wonderful film Simply Irresistible.
On Sunday, while Aaron was preoccupied while festival business, Dad and I were content to deal with football business. Mom, as usual, found other ways to kill time. On Monday, however, the burgeoning film powerhouse that is my cousin found time to mingle amongst the common people and join his family for dinner. That was followed by a quiet evening at home, where Aaron got to finally unwind a little after a long and winding journey.
Then came today. While the rest of the family had to work, Aaron and I got to spend some quality time together - something we both realized we hadn't done in probably close to 20 years. We started the morning off by Skyping with his lovely wife Justine and their adorable daughter Luna, then attempted to have breakfast at Watercourse Foods downtown. They were closed. Aaron was disappointed. Something about a chocolate milkshake, I think. Not quite sure there.
Anyway, we ended up at City O' City, which apparently is owned by the same company as Watercourse. Aaron knew that, I didn't. Leave it to the guy just passing through to show up the long-time resident. Two sweet potato cinnamon rolls, one vegan empanada, one coffee concoction and one biscuit & gravy later (I'll leave you to guess who had which...), the two of us had managed to catch up on a lifetime of history and talked about our goals for the future. It was a perfect end to a great visit, and I hope my cousin had as much fun hanging out today as I did.
Which, of course, is the whole point of today's entry. Family. But also something else. Something much more personal. Thirteen years ago, I stopped writing. Quit cold turkey. Doesn't matter why, it was still the single biggest mistake of my life. Back then, the reasons seemed so clear as to border on transparent. Unfortunately, filtered through a decade-plus of hindsight, that's exactly what they were: Transparent. I regretted it every day since, but I could not bring myself to start up again. I wasn't good enough, I wasn't dedicated enough, I wasn't lucky enough. There were plenty of excuses. It was all bogus; I know that. I knew it then, too. Still, it wasn't until March of this year that I finally broke through that cursed wall, pulled my head from my butt, and got the ball rolling again. Since March, I haven't looked back. Just the opposite, in fact. I've begun expanding my horizons, strengthening my skill set to include not just fiction, but the whole spectrum of the written word.
Will any of it pan out?
Who cares?
And that, too, is what this entry is all about. It's something that came up while Aaron and I were talking about everything that I've gone through the last few months. When I stopped writing thirteen years ago, I did it because, in the back of my mind, I knew I'd have another shot. When I started writing again eight months ago, I did it because I knew, in the back of my mind, that I would never have another shot. This was it. I'd pissed away thirteen years because I was afraid. That wasn't going to happen again. I didn't realize it at the time, but Aaron reminded me of it today. You write for yourself, he told me. In 1997, when I gave up the only dream I had, I'd forgotten. In 2010, when the dam burst, I suddenly remembered. I wasn't writing because I wanted everyone to like it (well, I do, but you know what I mean...I hope), I was writing because I loved it. And I missed it. I missed the pen gripped in my hand, the feel of the paper underneath, and the release I got from taking random thoughts in my head and transferring them through that pen onto that paper. I missed every single thing about it, and I knew that if I stopped this time, I'd never do it again. This is my only shot at a second chance, and I will never again forget why I'm doing it.
That's why I want the Utah job so badly. This is a chance to really get my hands dirty, so to speak. It's not only a chance to get on with my life and experience new things, it's a chance to get my voice heard in one of the coolest venues available. Do I ski or snowboard? Nope. But I'm dying to tell people how awesome it is learning at The Canyons Resort in Park City, Utah. I'm jazzed to show video of my clumsy ass falling over and over and over and over again while I learn. I'm stoked to a level I would have thought impossible ten years ago. But I'm not stopping there. The half-completed first draft of my first novel has been dug out of storage and is sitting next to me waiting to be resumed. I'm looking into writing competitions for the next three months, and I'm trying my hand at short story and mini-story writing. Add this blog to that list, and I've become a regular writing fanatic!
This is the next stage of my life, and I plan to make it count. I screwed up the first stage, and I thought the second stage was going to last longer than three years. It didn't, and not a day passes that I don't want that back. But I know it's gone for good, one way or another. No use looking back. Today, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. One last little stroke completed the picture that began eight months and one marriage ago. All I needed to help find it was a day spent with family.
Thank you, Aaron. You didn't help me see the light, but you helped me take the thoughts in my head and get them put into words. For a writer, that's what it's all about. Best of luck to you, bud.
As I got older (I'd be lying if I said I "grew up"), and as my immediate family and I settled in Denver, going back home to Ohio to see family became...not a chore, or a hassle, but, in a word, unimportant. When we moved here, I was just out of high school, aimless and clueless. (Sadly, for nearly 20 years after, that didn't change.) I was more focused on trying to figure my life out than I was with figuring out someone else's. Even if they were family. By the time I reached my late 20s, I'd settled into a groove - a repetitive, boring, stagnant and ugly groove. Family was something that came up around Thanksgiving and Christmas; occasional phone calls and emails that - unless something tragic happened - mostly served as a reminder that everyone out east was alive and doing well, and they were making sure you were doing the same.
When I got married in 2007, one of the many trips we had planned on taking was to Ohio. When I got married in Las Vegas (and trust me, there's lots of material in that scenario...) I was fotunate enough to have a large chunk of my family come out and celebrate with us. For those that came, we wanted to return the favor by going out and seeing them; for those who couldn't make it, I wanted to show off my lovely bride and our happy marriage. Three years, a couple of moves and one divorce later, we never did make it out there. My mom's sisters came out earlier this year, so that was a fun time. But now? Well, Facebook takes care of most of it, but I'd still like to get back out there and see everyone face-to-face. Especially the ones I haven't seen in years, which is a long list, unfortunately.
So by now, you're probably wondering, "Where are you going with this, dude?" It's a fair question, and one I aim to address in due time. For the last week, my cousin Aaron has been in town to help promote a film in which he's co-starring. "The Rock and Roll Dreams of Duncan Christopher" is an independent feature that's been making the festival rounds nationally and internationally to some pretty awesome reviews, and was shown at the Starz Denver Film Festival just this weekend. The film is about facing fears, facing reality and realizing that what you want isn't always what you need.
Of course, that's my intrepretation. Others may, and probably will, vary.
My parents and I went to the Saturday night showing to help support Aaron and the film. The evening was lots of fun, and the film itself was great. Incredibly solid stuff on both sides of the camera; and that's good, because going in, we had no idea what to expect. We weren't nervous, though. We were hopeful. And our hopes were pleasantly rewarded. Following the film, there was a Q&A with some of the cast and crew. I want everyone to check out why so many people, myself now firmly included, are finding this wonderful film Simply Irresistible.
L - R: Simply Irresistible (The Dragon); cinematographer Luc Nicknair; writer,
co-producer and star Jack Roberts; director and co-producer Justin Monroe;
and an unidentified staff member of the Starz Film Festival
On Sunday, while Aaron was preoccupied while festival business, Dad and I were content to deal with football business. Mom, as usual, found other ways to kill time. On Monday, however, the burgeoning film powerhouse that is my cousin found time to mingle amongst the common people and join his family for dinner. That was followed by a quiet evening at home, where Aaron got to finally unwind a little after a long and winding journey.
Then came today. While the rest of the family had to work, Aaron and I got to spend some quality time together - something we both realized we hadn't done in probably close to 20 years. We started the morning off by Skyping with his lovely wife Justine and their adorable daughter Luna, then attempted to have breakfast at Watercourse Foods downtown. They were closed. Aaron was disappointed. Something about a chocolate milkshake, I think. Not quite sure there.
Anyway, we ended up at City O' City, which apparently is owned by the same company as Watercourse. Aaron knew that, I didn't. Leave it to the guy just passing through to show up the long-time resident. Two sweet potato cinnamon rolls, one vegan empanada, one coffee concoction and one biscuit & gravy later (I'll leave you to guess who had which...), the two of us had managed to catch up on a lifetime of history and talked about our goals for the future. It was a perfect end to a great visit, and I hope my cousin had as much fun hanging out today as I did.
Which, of course, is the whole point of today's entry. Family. But also something else. Something much more personal. Thirteen years ago, I stopped writing. Quit cold turkey. Doesn't matter why, it was still the single biggest mistake of my life. Back then, the reasons seemed so clear as to border on transparent. Unfortunately, filtered through a decade-plus of hindsight, that's exactly what they were: Transparent. I regretted it every day since, but I could not bring myself to start up again. I wasn't good enough, I wasn't dedicated enough, I wasn't lucky enough. There were plenty of excuses. It was all bogus; I know that. I knew it then, too. Still, it wasn't until March of this year that I finally broke through that cursed wall, pulled my head from my butt, and got the ball rolling again. Since March, I haven't looked back. Just the opposite, in fact. I've begun expanding my horizons, strengthening my skill set to include not just fiction, but the whole spectrum of the written word.
Will any of it pan out?
Who cares?
And that, too, is what this entry is all about. It's something that came up while Aaron and I were talking about everything that I've gone through the last few months. When I stopped writing thirteen years ago, I did it because, in the back of my mind, I knew I'd have another shot. When I started writing again eight months ago, I did it because I knew, in the back of my mind, that I would never have another shot. This was it. I'd pissed away thirteen years because I was afraid. That wasn't going to happen again. I didn't realize it at the time, but Aaron reminded me of it today. You write for yourself, he told me. In 1997, when I gave up the only dream I had, I'd forgotten. In 2010, when the dam burst, I suddenly remembered. I wasn't writing because I wanted everyone to like it (well, I do, but you know what I mean...I hope), I was writing because I loved it. And I missed it. I missed the pen gripped in my hand, the feel of the paper underneath, and the release I got from taking random thoughts in my head and transferring them through that pen onto that paper. I missed every single thing about it, and I knew that if I stopped this time, I'd never do it again. This is my only shot at a second chance, and I will never again forget why I'm doing it.
That's why I want the Utah job so badly. This is a chance to really get my hands dirty, so to speak. It's not only a chance to get on with my life and experience new things, it's a chance to get my voice heard in one of the coolest venues available. Do I ski or snowboard? Nope. But I'm dying to tell people how awesome it is learning at The Canyons Resort in Park City, Utah. I'm jazzed to show video of my clumsy ass falling over and over and over and over again while I learn. I'm stoked to a level I would have thought impossible ten years ago. But I'm not stopping there. The half-completed first draft of my first novel has been dug out of storage and is sitting next to me waiting to be resumed. I'm looking into writing competitions for the next three months, and I'm trying my hand at short story and mini-story writing. Add this blog to that list, and I've become a regular writing fanatic!
This is the next stage of my life, and I plan to make it count. I screwed up the first stage, and I thought the second stage was going to last longer than three years. It didn't, and not a day passes that I don't want that back. But I know it's gone for good, one way or another. No use looking back. Today, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. One last little stroke completed the picture that began eight months and one marriage ago. All I needed to help find it was a day spent with family.
Thank you, Aaron. You didn't help me see the light, but you helped me take the thoughts in my head and get them put into words. For a writer, that's what it's all about. Best of luck to you, bud.
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