July 29: What's Important, Another Disappointment, Magic 8-Ball Monday

I'm trying to remember what's important today.

I went for a run this afternoon.  Felt great.  I went swimming with my wife and kids after my run.  Great time.  I met with a good friend this evening to talk about church music.  Lovely visit.  Now, I'm sitting in my living room, watching Get Out Alive with my wife.  She loves the show.  I find it a little disgusting.  I don't like watching people drink their own urine.  Not my thing.  However, I love being with my family.

That's what's really important.  At the end of my life, I'm not going to wish I'd worked more hours, earned more money, published more poems.  It's going to be about how much I've hugged my son, kissed my daughter.  It's going to be about how much I've loved my wife.

I've experienced another disappointment today.  It involves a publishing opportunity that didn't happen for me.  I thought I stood a pretty good chance this time.  Of course, I failed.  A little too self-assured.  I'm trying to tell myself it's not important.  What I did this afternoon with my family, that's important.

It is Magic 8-Ball Monday.  My question is pretty simple:

Am I going to get some good news soon?

And the answer from Holden is:

...What I really felt like, though, was committing suicide.  I felt like jumping out the window...

I'm trying to find some silver-lining in that answer.  Suicide.  Jumping out the window.  Not finding too much positive in that.

Oh, well, looks like good news ain't in Saint Marty's future any time soon.

Good advice

July 16: It's Raining, a Kiss, Prayer of Thanksgiving

Then all of a sudden she gave me a kiss.  Then she held her hand out, and said, "It's raining.  It's starting to rain."

"I know."

Then what she did--it damn near killed me--she reached in my coat pocket and took out my red hunting hat and put it on my head.

Holden loves his sister, Phoebe, more than any other character who appears in Catcher, including Jane.  And Phoebe loves Holden, in a childish, motherly fashion.  In the passage above, Phoebe tries to shield her brother from the rainstorm that's starting.  Children like Phoebe have a way of breaking your heart with their tiny acts of love.  A kiss.  A hunting hat.  Yesterday, my four-year-old son did a very Phoebe thing.

I'd just gone swimming with him, and we'd changed clothes.  I drove him to my parents' house for a visit.  As I opened his car door to unbuckle him from his seat, my son looked up at me with a strange expression on his face.

I stopped what I was doing.  "What?" I said.

He stuck out his lower jaw and smiled.  "I want to give you a kiss," he said.

I unbuckled him, and he crawled out of his seat.  When he was standing on the pavement in front of me, I leaned over.  He wrapped his arms around my neck and pressed his lips to mine.  He held on for about twenty or thirty seconds.  Finally, he let go, and I stood up.

"Thanks, buddy," I said.

"You know," he said, "I love you more than a hour and a half."

In my son's universe, that's a really long time.  His little profession of love left me speechless for a few moments.  Eventually, I managed to say, "I love you too, bud."  My son doesn't express these kids of emotions too much to me, so his words were an unexpected moment of grace.

Most of the time, when I pray, I'm asking God to do something for me, to help me in some way.  Today, I'm going to do something a little different.

Dear God,

I don't think I thank You enough for the gifts You give me every day.  I don't say thanks for the sun and day's warmth, or the moon and night's coolness.  I don't say thanks for the lasagna I had for dinner or the strawberries I had for dessert.

So today, I want to say thanks for my son.  Thanks for the love he expressed to me yesterday, the kiss and hug.  I'm so lucky to have him in my life.  Thanks for his tantrums and stubborn streak.  Thanks for the cars he leaves scattered on the floor at night.  Thanks for his sense of humor ("Why did the chicken cross the road?...To poop on your head!").  Thanks for entrusting this amazing little child to me.

I'm a lucky man.  My son reminded me of this fact yesterday.  And for that, I give You thanks.

Your loving child,

Saint Marty

Amen and thank You

August 13: Cleaning, Wine, and Swimming (Plus a New Cartoon)

Well, I haven't done a whole lot today.  Last night, I finished the first book of the Hunger Games trilogy.  It was a great read.  This morning, I started Catching Fire, the second book.  I'm about a hundred or so pages into it, and it's just as good as the first.  It amazes me how good young adult literature has become since the introduction of that little kid with the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

This afternoon, I finished cleaning my house.  I had some sweeping, Swiffering, and vacuuming to do.  Then, I took a nap.  Yes, I took a nap.  It's not something that I generally do.  I'm of the opinion that there are not enough seconds in the day to accomplish everything I want to accomplish.  However, I'm on vacation, for God's sake.

Tonight, I've been invited to a friend's house for cheese and wine.  I've also been invited to go swimming with my niece and her kids.  I'm planning on doing both, although I don't know how.  I will probably do a quick stop for a glass of wine and hunk of cheese.  Then I'll throw on my swimsuit and head over to my niece's hotel.  I hope to have all this done by 9 p.m., when The Lawrence Welk Show starts on our PBS station.

I have a new Confessions of Saint Marty for your enjoyment, inspired by my time in the woods a few days ago.

Saint Marty is heading out for some wine now.

Confessions of Saint Marty

May 14: The End, Long Day, Platinum

Today was a much less stressful day than yesterday was.  We didn't get lost once, even though we ventured out into Howell, Michigan, a little further.  In the morning, my wife and I took a drive to find the local Weight Watchers franchise, so my wife could weigh in for the week.  Then we walked around the little strip mall next door to our hotel.  Outlet stores.  There were a lot of good buys.  I, myself, purchased a swimsuit so I could swim this evening.

After a morning of shopping and not getting lost, we got my daughter's hair in the required bun and her face covered with make-up,  Then we headed to the dance competition for her first performance.  I wasn't nervous until the minute they announced the title of her dance.  Then I felt like my son after drinking milk in a moving vehicle.  Translation:  I wanted to vomit.  But she, and her whole group, were fantastic.  My wife cried, and I nearly cried.  When I went to see her after she danced, all I could do was hug her and hug her.

Then we went for dinner at the local DQ in downtown Howell for dinner.  Not very satisfying.  I had a chocolate-covered strawberry Blizzard.  I really didn't feel like eating a hot dog.  Then it was back to the competition for my daughter's second number and the awards ceremony.

The second dance went great, as well.  It got one of the biggest ovations of the afternoon.  When it came time for the awards, my daughter's first dance got a gold star, which I thought was a rip-off.  It deserved more, but what the hell do I know?  I'm just a father, not a dancer.  (Yes, that was a veiled allusion to the film Showgirls.)  Anyway, my daughter's second number won a platinum star (the highest), and an award for most creative and most innovative.  Or something like that.  My daughter's first number also won the competition's best storytelling award.  It was a good day for my daughter's dance studio.

At the end of a long day, I went swimming with my daughter for a couple of hours.  I just tucked her into bed a little while ago, with an order of fries and chicken nuggets from McDonald's.  Overall, even though I'm pretty tired, I had a really good day.  I didn't get to write a poem (maybe tomorrow).  But I did something even better.  I saw my daughter positively glowing onstage.

Saint Marty.  A proud dance dad.

And proud of it!

May 13: Friday the 13th, Travelling, Swimming

The trip down to my daughter's dance competition was, for the most part, uneventful.  About an hour into the trip, my two-and-a-half-year-old son decided to throw up the milk he'd just drank.  There is nothing worse than the smell of curdled milk vomit.  It ranks right up there with dogshit on your shoe.  Well, that mess took me about 15 minutes to clean up.  My son was thrilled.  He got out of his car seat and ran around a gas station store the whole time.  He acted like he'd won a trip to Disney World.

One of the highlights of the day was having lunch with one of my best friends, who is a Methodist pastor in Roscommon.  I haven't seen him since last July, so it was a really good visit.  I realized, sitting and eating pizza with him and his wife and nine-month-old daughter, how much a really miss having him close by.  Unfortunately, because of his profession, moving every seven or eight years is part of the job description.  It sucks, but so it goes.

It wasn't until about mid-day that I realized it was Friday the 13th.  By that time, it was too late to be superstitious.  I was already half-way to Detroit.  I'm not a very superstitious person, anyway, but it might have made me a little nervous.

Once we got to our hotel, we unpacked and decided to scope out the school where the competition is happening tomorrow.  After almost 500 miles of travelling, we got lost trying to find the local high school.  Unbelievable.  We circled and circled for almost an hour.   By the time we finally found the school, everyone was a little crispy--tired, hungry, and cranky.

After a quick bite to eat, we finally got back to our hotel room, and then my daughter decided to start pestering me to go swimming.  Basically, all I wanted to do was climb into the crib with my son, pull the covers over my head, tap my heals together three times, and say, "There's no place like home.  There's no place like home.  There's no place like home."  But, I put on my swimsuit and went down to the pool.  One of my good friends from work was at the pool with her granddaughters, who go to the same dance school as my daughter.  So, I spent two hours talking with her while the girls laughed, swam, fought, and shivered.  The night ended when someone threw up in the pool.

Saint Marty is tired, and teenage girls with cell phones keep coming into the business center to e-mail boyfriends.  It's a little distracting.  It's time for Saint Marty to call it a night.

At least there weren't any machetes!