Whirlywind

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life, marriage, personal, relationships

WHEW!

I made it. Life since December has been non-stop, mostly related to preparing my condo for selling, as well as wedding plans. Thankfully, Lisa relished the whole wedding planning process, so my job for the wedding was mostly to nod in agreement. I do that well. There were tasks I had to do, but mostly I just had to show up. The caterer was my big task, which I accomplished. Let’s face it, food really isn’t a challenge. Our guest list was small, intentionally, only 53 people, so ordering food was easy.

The condo prep was a lot of work, constant. After weeks of painting, replacing a floor, rehanging doors and doing some general cleaning, I was ready to hang it up. When the last baseboard was replaced, I vowed not to touch another hammer or paint brush for the rest of my life. Ha! Like that is going to happen. The kitchen floor, in particular, looked very nice. Lisa saw that and immediately the wheels started turning in her head with ideas for projects to do around our house (condo). At the beginning of February, my condo was ready to sell. The listing went active at 4 PM on a Sunday. Within minutes there were multiple requests for showings the next day. I worked from Lisa’s condo (next door.. short commute) Monday morning, to accommodate the showings, and was rewarded with two offers that morning. Another followed early that afternoon. Two were nearly $8000 higher than the asking price, and one of those offers was an as is offer. It was nice to be in a seller’s market!

I’m not sure how many showings there were the first day. Let’s just say there were a lot of showings, so many that I had to start turning down requests, allowed one more showing Tuesday morning before I accepted one of the offers. My realtor vetted the credit of each of the buyers, said all three had solid loans. After some discussion, I decided to accept the offer from a young man who is an elementary school band director. My daughter teaches band, so I figured he would be an admirable choice. A guy who teaches kids instrumental music all day likely needs a quiet place to live.

My place sold and appraised at a price $17000 higher than any other condo like it in our condo association prior. In a few short years, the value of my home increased nearly $60000. That may not sound like that much in today’s real estate market, but my condo was a small 1000 sq ft, two bedroom one bath unit with an attached garage. The equity was enough to make me feel stress free financially for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

I closed on the condo a little over two weeks ago. The four week period between the sale and the closing went quickly. Thanks to FB Marketplace, nearly all my furniture was gone quickly. Since I was moving into Lisa’s condo, all but a few items had to be sold or given away. It’s pretty amazing what people will buy if it is cheap. The worst items seemed to garner the most interest — a forty year old wobbly dresser and nightstand ($5 for the pair) sold in 10 minutes, with countless inquiries. I sold the dressers and nightstand in the master bedroom to a woman who fixes up old furniture and resells. She even helped me move it from my second floor unit to her van, came back to pick up the rest. When she saw some of the other stuff I had, she offered to buy some more items. I hated to part with one of those items, an outdoor bench that I had out on my balcony, weathered nicely, a home made project my dad made from an old headboard and footboard. I was touched by the immigrant couple who showed up in an old Toyota Corolla to buy the tattered full mattress and box spring I had. They drove an hour to pick it up, but it was obvious they were grateful for it. Neither spoke much english, but when I asked them if the bed was for their children they said no, it was for them to sleep on. They struggled to load the frame, comforter, sheets inside the car, then bravely strapped the mattress and box spring to the top of their little car. Somehow they managed. I felt a little guilty for taking $10 from them, tried to decline the cash, but they insisted I take it.

I moved some things into Lisa’s condo, but that was difficult, as her son still had things there. I planned to move the remainder of my things in a week before the closing, but when I went to her place to move, I found out that her son’s girlfriend had kicked him out the day before, so he had moved back in to Lisa’s. After the smoke cleared, and I had managed to hold my temper, we talked it out. She asked him to move his stuff out, which he did immediately. There will still things left, and he was still living with her, but I was able to move most of my stuff over. By the day before the closing, I had moved my stuff to OUR place.

For two weeks, I needed a place to live. I try to honor God and understand why it’s important to wait to live together until marriage. A couple we know from church, who also were studying with us to help prepare for marriage, offered to let me live in their garage loft until the wedding. The loft is his office, so it was a sacrifice for him to let me live there and work from there for two weeks. I am very grateful. Not only was it kind of them, but I really enjoyed getting to know Jim and Cindy better during the time I stayed with them. The loft doesn’t have a bathroom, so I saw them quite a bit, as they left their back door open for me so I could use their basement bathroom. I used that most of the time, but during the night there was no way I was going to stumble through the dark and into their house to use the bathroom. I got used to peeing in a cup!

The wedding was this past Saturday. I will save the details for another blog. We both remarked that night, after we were recuperating from the day, that the day was even better than anticipated. Lisa really plans well and it showed! Such a wonderful day. I am married now. As you can tell from the picture, she is gorgeous, and my jaw dropped when I say her appear in her short wedding dress. I don’t like most of the pictures of myself, as the winter was not kind to my physique! I will lose quite a bit of weight as the cycling season starts, thank goodness.

Life is good, better than I imagined it would be five years ago. A lot has changed. I am glad to be able to trust in God, because he has truly blessed me.

Children and Comfort Zones

I hit the sheets early last night, my body battery a bit low after staying out late (by my standard) on Saturday night and up early Sunday morning. An early to bed and early to rise type, my friends often kid me in the evening. “What’s your gauge?” they ask. If it’s past 9 PM, then the gauge is likely inching closer to empty. My dad is a gifted nap taker, I have the gift of falling asleep before my head hits the pillow. However, I also suffer from sleep apnea, so if I opt out of using the CPAP, I don’t usually get restful sleep. Last night, though, when I got home at 10 I walked straight from the front door to my bed. In my 1000 square foot condo, it’s a short trip. By 10:01 there were large Zzzzzzzzs over my head.

The loud boom of something hitting my front door, followed by the bang of the door opening suddenly, woke me suddenly from my revelry. I heard loud clumps from tennis shoes stomping on the front hallway floor, a duffle bag thrown into the living room. Instead of panicking, afraid that the police had mistaken me for a drug dealer, I simply pulled the covers back.

“Welcome home” I pronounced sleepily.

My son had arrived home from college, unannounced, as is his habit. I was expecting him tomorrow, but he decided he would rather finish up the semester from home. It was OK. Except for some Christmas wrapping paraphernalia littering his bed, the house was ready for the invasion. On top of that, I have today and tomorrow scheduled as vacation days. I don’t take a lot of vacation time. I rolled out of bed, half awake, pulled on some shorts and a tee shirt, greeted my boy. I cleared the Christmas cheer off of his bed as he ventured back outside to bring in the rest of his stuff, grabbed my laptop and a few files from the desk in his room. When he returned, I caught up a little with him, then told him I would see him in the morning as I shuffled back to my room. I closed the double doors to my bedroom behind me, something I will have to get used to doing for the next few weeks, the isolation necessary if I am going to get a proper night’s sleep.

He’s home. His routine is different than the haphazard childish chaos that existed just a few short years ago. This morning, he emerged from his bedroom, plopped down on the couch next to me, MacBook in hand. I watched him check emails, a large Yeti filled with strong coffee in one hand, then start prep for the online final exam he had to take in a few hours. The emails were correspondence for the internships he is considering, even though he has accepted an internship with the company I work for. The kid is networking like crazy and it’s intriguing to observe him at work. I am proud of him. In the three years since he graduated from high school, he has made huge strides with the motivation he has for work and school. Barely able to make the grades in high school, he is flourishing as a college student, even making the dean’s list last semester. I am impressed with the confidence I see as he talks to people, even as he talks to me.

It’s refreshing. Just a few short years ago, he was a confused boy, a bit messed up from the separation and divorce he had to deal with during his senior year of high school. The boy has become the man he needed to become. Even better, our relationship has become a relationship, with respect. If you asked me a few years ago if that was possible, I would have laughed at you. Now, he calls me, asks me how I am doing, seeks me out. We sit and talk, spend time together. Last summer, we were the tennis doubles team that everyone in our condo association league feared.

So, instead of dreading my son living with me, I enjoy it…. as long as it’s temporary! Frankly, I like living by myself, enjoy my own routine and neat, tidy home. But it’s OK to have my peaceful, comfort zone existence interrupted by my son. He’s getting used to me, as well, comfortable living with me now. We both have had to adjust.

One more note — tomorrow I get to meet my daughter’s new boyfriend. I don’t need to have a loaded shotgun ready or bring out a knife to sharpen while I am talking to him. The intro will be via video messenger. My daughter lives in another country (Turkey), thus the video. She is excited for me to meet him, a sign of how different this boy is than the ones the preceded. When I talked to her recently, it was really obvious that she has the M word in mind, even strongly hinted that to me. Like my son, my relationship with my daughter has matured, and she is confiding in me about this boy. Introducing me to previous boyfriends was a fearsome task, which I earned over the years. To see her eager to introduce him to me is also refreshing. I am looking forward to it. I will roll out of bed at 6:30 tomorrow morning, share my coffee time as I talk to them both.

This stage of fatherhood is good. I like it. After the divorce, I was afraid that my relationship with my children would be strained, possibly permanently damaged from what I feared as them considering me the bad guy. Kids are resilient, I know, something I was told by my friends. They will come around, my friends told me, as I am their father and have been a good one for them. When I see my kids coming around, I sense myself escaping from that big hole that I felt like I was sitting in. It feels good.

Christmas looks all right, even as the pandemic threatens to put a blanket on everything. I’m smiling.

presence

I have written about the times in my life when I do not feel close to God, those seasons where a sin or a painful circumstance causes me to feel distanced from God.  They are real, genuine, times where honesty is required simply to allow me to put aside what is keeping me from approaching God.  I feel filthy, unworthy to be in the presence of unfathomable purity.  God reminds us of that purity in many places in the Bible — Moses at the burning bush and on the mountain where he received the ten commandments, in the way the tabernacle and temple was set up, when John had the vision of the throne.  I can not put together the words to adequately describe why I think that is so.  I know it is that purity, character, perfection that gives God that indescribable power — a power that seems endless to me (and it is, indeed, endless).

Yet I am unique out of all creation in that God wants me to approach him, to be with him, and desires my presence.  He wants me to be with him even though I am flawed.  I know God is aware of those flaws, but those flaws are not what he focuses on.  During this time when my son is living with me again, I understand that a little better.  The kid does things that do not please me, has habits that clutter and dirty my home, yet I really do want him around.  He belongs with me, is my child, and I am happy that he wants to be with me — especially when he does.  I like seeing him grow, learn, progress toward becoming that someone I know he will be some day.  He is my son, after all, and I chose him by becoming his father.  God created me for a purpose in that same way, created this world for me and intends much more for me that I can see right now.  This world isn’t what God originally intended for me, just as the world I have set before my own son isn’t exactly what I intended when I was a new father.  I am happy when he sits with me, seeks me out, when I can see that he recognizes what is good about me, and I am satisfied when I see a little bit of me in him.  It’s OK for him to ask me for things, but sometimes I just want to know that he wants to be with me.  God intended for us all to be with him.  Too often, I forget that he is my father, am intimidated by who he is.

This morning, I needed to sit with God.  That is a challenge to me, as I think it is an obstacle to many people, whether a person chooses to believe in God or not.  Think about it, sometimes we just need to be able to sit down with God and actually see him.  I need to see him looking at me, need to hear him talk to me, be that physical father, give me that one on one face to face.  When I read The Shack, I understood a little more of that craving, liked the way the author reminds us that in reality we can sit with God.  We just don’t know it’s happening in our limited sphere of existence.  So this morning, as I felt God calling to me to come close as he does so often when it’s time to worship — and I think that’s what my own personal time as well as church worship really is — a call to come closer and sit with him.  So, what did I do this morning, when that call to worship is limited by this quarantine?  When my presence in church is electronic rather than going to a building to come to God with other people?  In a lot of ways, corporate worship is more personal during this time, even as it strangely is shared with a suddenly enormous church (which is awesome, a reminder that it has always been that way).  So what did I do?

I pulled off into the parking lot at Warrenville Grove forest preserve, connected to my church through my phone and watched/listened via Bluetooth inside my car.  I was in nature, in the place God created for me, and suddenly his presence was so much more evident to me.  Worship was incredible, the swelling flood of the river close by and the newly green trees right there.  God was right there with me.  All it took was for me to get out of my little sphere, meet him in a different place, let him see that I wanted to be with him.

So many things keep me from being able to approach him.  Sometimes it’s fear and anxiety.  Other times it is my flaws and dirt, my sin and my awareness of it.  There are times when I am angry, when I don’t want to be with God.  Or maybe I just feel like I am getting what I want from God, when I am asking and don’t understand why he doesn’t hand it over, so I stop talking.  Talking to God can also be overwhelming, intimidating, and I just don’t know what to say, so I don’t go to him.  I don’t understand that during those times he just wants me to listen.

Listen.  When I know he is there, it’s a little more easy to do that.  I am a father, but I am also a son as well, so I understand this one.  It took me a while, a bit of maturing, before I learned to appreciate just listening to what my dad has to say to me.  I know now more than ever than I need to hear what he has to say to me, not worry about what I think, simply…. listen.

This morning’s online service was on prayer and I wonder if being in the car, knowing that God was there, helped me to listen a bit better to what was being said.  I have been a believer for more than 50 years now, so what else could I learn about prayer?  Seriously.  I should know it all by now and have it down to perfection.  Pffffffffttttttt.  I don’t think so.  My dating and marriage relationships prove that being exposed to something for a long time doesn’t mean that I am going to have any more of a clue to what they are about.

In Acts 12, Peter is put in prison and the church prays in earnest for his release.  An angel comes to him at night, wakes him up, frees him and walks him right past the guards out of the jail.  Peter doesn’t believe it’s really happening, assumes he is dreaming it all, even as the angel guides him through iron gates that open for them, takes Peter to the front door of where the people of the church are praying for them.  When Peter knocked on the front door, the woman who answered the knock heard his voice through the door and excitedly ran into the room where the people were praying, announced Peter was at the front door.  What did the praying people say?  You’re out of your mind.  They didn’t believe that their prayer had been answered.  It was too unbelievable.

I hate to admit it, but I pray far too often with doubt.  I ask and pray because it’s what I am supposed to do, but I don’t really believe that God is right there, smiling and me, listening.  When a prayer is answered, so many times I don’t realize it because I didn’t really believe it when I prayed.

Today I listened.  God said See, I am here.  He was right there and I knew it, was ready to hear what he said, ready just as the thousands of people waiting with me did as well.  He taught this old dog something new.

OK.  There is my Sunday sermon.  Soon, I will get back to reporting on bike stuff and share more stories about my crazy neighbor.  There is plenty of that.

Essential

Like the majority of the people I know, I am working from home and have been since the middle of last month.  For me, the only real adjustment was staying home five days a week, instead of the one day I was accustomed to.  My commute to the office is 37 miles, one way, with $6.00 total tolls a day, so this is a time that I am enjoying.  Other people I talk to, not so much appreciation for the isolation.  Aside from not being able to work overtime, which I need to make my budget, there has been very little in terms of suffering for me.  On the contrary, this time has been a blessing for me so far.  I think I have communicated that here already.

I realize it’s not the same perspective for everyone.  I may even be in the minority.  Plenty are laid off, not being paid, stressed from financial worry or hunger or sickness.  This is not an easy time, could get worse.  Part of the whole difficulty is just plain not sure of what is in store for us or how much worse this whole situation will get.  Life as we know it has changed, some components of change could be permanent.

Life for me really isn’t that different.  This time of year, I am always waiting for the weather to change, am excited for the extra daylight each day.  Every day without precipitation is a bike day for me and I love it.  No one is making me stay away from riding.  Nothing has changed in my two wheeled world.  Adding to my bliss are the trail conditions at my favorite bike park — pristine trails nearly every day.  Needless to say, I am feeling like I am ahead of schedule on the bike, riding faster and stronger than I usually am this time of year.  A pig in s#@* has nothing on me.  The bike I bought last year still feels new to me, mainly because last season was so wet, so discovering the joys of riding a carbon frame are adding to that bliss.

Speaking of that carbon frame, I experienced a very frightening event last Thursday while driving out to the trails.  My son has been asking to ride with me, so I bought some new flat pedals and put them on my fat bike (the 9Zero7.. such a sweet ride).  The fattie was stuffed in the back of my Subaru, my Salsa perched on my Yakima hitch rack.  When I put the Salsa on the rack, I noticed that the swingarm felt ‘mushy’ as I swung it over the front wheel.  Eager to get going and on our way, I didn’t pay it any mind.  I should have.  Driving at 70+ mph west on I-88, I looked in my rear view mirror just as the bike disappeared from sight.

Alarmed to the n’th degree, I must gasped so deeply that I sucked all of the air out of the inside of my car.  My son had the same reaction.  He has learned to appreciate the value of that Salsa bike, so he was just as scared as I was.  I edged the car over to the left shoulder of the tollway, relieved to see in my side view mirror that the bike was laying flat on the bike rack.  How much longer that would be the case, I didn’t know.

The swing arm had rusted through at the bottom, had broken an inch from the bottom.  It didn’t break completely, so somehow it was still holding the front wheel.  The strap on the rear wheel tray was still holding the rear wheel in place.  I had been extremely lucky.  Nervously, I removed the bike from the rack, started to put the bike on the rear of the rack, only to notice that the bracket for the rear wheel tray on that part of the rack was beginning to rust away.  Unsure, I decided to try it there any way, leaned on the bike after it was secured, hoped the rear portion of the rack would not break.  If it did, the result would be a very nice bike tumbling down the road behind my car.

We made it to the trails.  My son followed me in without hesitation, rode to the back of the park with me, then asked me if it was OK if he rode on his own for a while.  I understood.  He wanted to explore and get comfortable on his own.  So I gave him instructions on how to find the parking lot if he got lost (the road is THAT way — point that direction if you get lost).  I took off, rode the park by myself for 90 minutes, met him at the parking lot, rode the front trail with him.  It was a blast for the both of us.  I have happily created a new mountain bike junkie.

The trails were packed with people, a lot of families getting out together.  It’s been that way nearly every time I have been to the trails in the past month.  I think it goes without saying that bikes are essential during this time, as are the outdoors and exercise.  If anything positive is coming out of this time of quarantine (there are many positives), it’s that families and individuals are once again getting out together.  This time could bring this culture back into a healthy perspective.

Oh.. and Yakima is staying true to their lifetime warranty on the bike rack.  With little to no hassle, and with a very prompt response, they are replacing the rack.  It was an expensive purchase, so I am very satisfied that I don’t have to buy another rack!

Three

I don’t know what direction tonight’s write is going to take me.  Heh heh heh… maybe in the write direction?

Bad, bad, bad.  So sue me.

Quarantine cabin fever got the best of me a few minutes ago, a fog created by a combo of excessive amounts of pizza (courtesy of my son, who might be getting a bit tired of eating my cooking) and the completion of a season three Ozark binge watch.  I decided to climb in my Subaru for a drive, just to clear my head.  Stay at home, work at home has me in the house from the time I crawl out of bed until I clock out remotely.  The commute to my couch is a short one.  With the weather still cold and mostly dreary here lately, I haven’t turned the pedals since last week, so I just need to get out.

In the last two and a half weeks, I have used a quarter tank of gas.

The winter chill is about gone, judging from the cold yet refreshing air that strolled into my garage as the garage door raised.  I backed slowly out, stopped for a moment in the drive to pick out some music on my phone – the atmosphere in the cockpit improves if the tune fits the mood (Huey Lewis’ new stuff was the choice).  My Subaru growled a bit while it pulled slowly away, as if it too was glad to get out from the confines.  Neither me nor my car was in a hurry.  We just wanted to enjoy the temporary freedom.  Huey Lewis crooned a gravelly tune….

Do you remember when, not so long ago, all we had was time?  And the future was the last thing on our minds.  What a time.

My mind wasn’t gravitating towards carefree memories of my youth, however.  Cabin fever wasn’t the only motivation for getting out of the house.  I needed to face a memory, take a short pilgrimage of sorts.  I live about a mile from my former house, the house I lived in with my wife for 22 years, where our children were born and raised.  I needed to see that house today.

Three years ago, I stood in the driveway of that house, tears streaming down my face, my then sister-in-law hugging me while she told me it would be ok, my soon to be ex wife driving off as she fought the emotions of leaving that house for good.  We had closed on the sale of the house and our time of separation began.  That night, I would sleep in the spare bedroom of the condo unit I was about to buy, perched on top of two mattresses and two box springs (I never felt the pea) with a pathway cleared from the tower of bed to the door through all of my things stuffed in that room.

I am not wallowing in pain or pity tonight.  I am not celebrating, either.  No one should celebrate that.  March 31, 2017 was the day my life as I knew it ended.  It changed in an instant.

It is what it is.

The Subaru growled compassionately as it guided me slowly past that house.  The journey wasn’t what I expected.  The journey was a tribute of sorts, a reminder.  I think I need to remember the pain, the excrutiating emotional stress, the exhaustion that was a constant companion the months that preceded that day.  Maybe I just needed to be reminded of how it felt when that weight lifted off my shoulders as I drove away that day.

My friend, John, reminded me today that so much has changed since that day.  There truly is much to be thankful for.  I think I will take that trip past my old house this day every year, a reminder that beauty comes from ashes, strength from not giving up.

I wonder what I will write next year?

Christmas Past, Christmas Present

I wrote the title first, intending to mull over some of the thoughts I am having about my son during this Christmas present.  Christmas past has moments that I hope that spirit doesn’t make me visit, even as the past threatens to reappear.  Times are different now, at least it seems so, with some healing and maturing mixed in with a tad bit of learning.  Yet, I am afraid.

My son is living with me again, during his holiday break.  He arrived a week ago, almost unannounced, called me during the afternoon and asked me if I was going to be home in three hours.  I was on my lunch break at work.  I told him that I needed to help my friend, Jim, move some furniture after work, would probably be home around six.  My son was coming home a few days early.  That wasn’t a big deal.  My place was already clean, with clean sheets ready for his bed, the closet in my spare bedroom cleared so that he would have plenty of room for his stuff during his month long break.

I should take a picture of his room right now and post it here….

He is SUCH a twenty year old male.  No staging was required.  I just snapped a few pics and ran for my life.  How in the world did he manage to mess up the blinds?  I really don’t know if any of his stuff has made it into the closet or the empty dresser.  The rest of the house has been up for grabs, with his clutter extending into the living space.  That has been minimal, his awareness from existing with me during Thanksgiving break giving him some much appreciated knowledge of what it’s like to live with his father.  I have had to clean up after him, but he is also making sure he keeps things a little straight.  It probably helps that I don’t harp at him.  He is still piggish, but not the rude boor of a child I knew a few years ago has diminished considerably.  I can take some clutter as long as he is considerate, which he has mostly accomplished.  As it was at Thanksgiving, he has honored quiet hours and lets me sleep, important since I get up at 5 each morning for work.

Yesterday was the second warmest Christmas day on record for Chicagoland, the balmiest since 1982.  Nate opted for sleeping in, skipped a butt crack of dawn ride with me, yet managed to use up every last drop of hot water for his shower while I was out two wheeled sleigh riding.  I had to take a brisk and icy cold shower after my ride.  Let’s just say it was a blue Christmas without you (hot water… doo doo doo doo doo).  Not only did I get a ride in sans layers, but Nate and I played a few sets of tennis outdoors.. in shorts.

Christmas pasts have not always been pleasant, especially since my liberation from the chains of matrimony.  Nate had a major breakdown a few years ago, and it has been a challenge since.  Last year was good.  This year was good, except, well, he reacted poorly to my lady friend being with me Christmas afternoon, slammed the door to his bedroom.. twice.  She left rather than create further conflict and was pretty upset about the disrespect he demonstrated — which is characteristic of Christmases past.  He emerged after she left, acted like nothing happened, denied that he was upset at all when I confronted him about it.

Baby steps.  We survived and proved that we have learned a few things.  I am just hoping my condo survives the next few weeks of exposure.

Treasure

I read my friends’ blogs before I write my own, usually.  Sometimes all I have the opportunity to do is read.  It’s OK.  Value here, in the blog world, comes from the quality of friendships that are cultivated here, rather than the volume of writing that is produced.  That statement is my personality type coming out, as it rings true in nearly (if not all) all aspects of my life.

Blessings are funneled through the people in my life.

If I didn’t realize that simple little truth, I might be feeling a tad bit inadequate.  After all, if I focused on the things that I have it would be real easy to be consumed with envy.  My home is very modest, small by some standards (1024 square feet), furnished comfortably and tastefully Goodwill.  It’s quiet and serene, with a large balcony that spans the width of my living room and dining room, with a peaceful view, and an huge wood burning fireplace.  I drive a Subaru.  That car rocks and is a cool ride.  Clothing would be more if a priority if I wasn’t supporting a college student.  Friends tell me I have a good shirt collection.  The bikes I have are nice, plentiful, several steps above department store quality, but all but one were purchased used or rescued from the scrap heap.  They all ride like a dream, and the carbon mountain bike I purchased a few months ago is sweet beyond sweetness.

Those bikes exposed me to quite a few people who are wealthy,  with many very nice and expensive things — houses, cars, etc….  Comparing myself to them could be quite a downer.  Over the years, especially when I was younger, struggling to support a family, envy and resentment often were a struggle.  Thankfully, I was close enough to those guys, especially one guy, to realize what a hold those things had on them.  The fear of losing them was real and it kept many of them from seeing the true blessings in their lives.  That fear affected their decisions and character, sometimes prevented them from getting close to others as they were exposed to that same envy and resentment that I felt, knew what a burden that wealth put on them.  One friend, who I just happened to work for, ultimately let that fear ruin our friendship.

I should clarify that one.  He owns several houses, mansions by most standards.  More than one Porsche, a Bentley, a Maserati, and several other vehicles.  Many of his bicycles cost well over $10K.  He rents a condo at a place called Iron Gate, just for his vehicles — it’s a condo where it’s against the rules to live there!  His employees recognized his penchant for extravagance, mainly because he didn’t hide it, and most resented him because their compensation was less than generous (mine wasn’t, I know).  When business seemed to be taking a downswing, the person he chose to run his business started targeting long term employees and put extreme pressure on those employees.  A lot were fired.  I was one of those employees, a few months away from my 25 year company anniversary when I was fired in dramatic fashion.  I had never been given anything but glowing performance reviews.  When I saw what was being done to me, I asked that friend, a man I had ridden countless tours with and shared his life, to talk to me about what was going on.  “What do you expect me to do about it?” was his reply.  His heart was in the things he owned, in preserving those things and not losing them, not in the people who had helped make those things possible.  His treasure was in his treasures.. and he wasn’t happy or satisfied.

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Jesus knocked it out of the park with that one.  I understand what he is talking about more and more each year that I live.  Realizing that the things I have are blessings, and important, but that the blessings really are far more than what I can touch or see, is one of the most valuable lessons that life has taught me.  Each day that I am able to be aware of the myriad of blessings being tossed my way is a good day.  I have to be aware or I am going to miss recognizing some.  That is something I have had to learn.

The last two years since my divorce have been a time where I have had to reach out to my creator.  I realize now that a lot of the crap in my life was preventing me from seeing that I am truly blessed.  The friends I have now are true friends, people I believe that creator have blessed me with, the people who either stuck with me when my marriage fell apart or came closer to me when I needed them.  Some have a lot of wealth, but they have learned the lesson that makes them value my friendship, don’t fear my envy, let me be their friend because it’s not their stuff that makes them valuable to me.  Others are in the same boat as I am, modestly blessed with things, content with what they have.

When I look at myself now, I feel very wealthy.  God is good.  He has taught me where my treasures are.

May you be thankful today.  May your thanks come from where your heart is.  If you need to be reminded of your blessings, may today be the day when that reminder becomes reality.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Desire to Sort of Share

How many people who write blogs let or want anyone close to them to read their blogs.  Now, if it’s a professional blog and not necessarily a personal blog, that might be a different story, but my guess is that many people don’t want anyone close to them or who knows them to read what they put out here.  That’s what it is like for me.

At one time in my blog life, I wrote nearly every day, wrote about what happened to be on my mind for the day.  Writing daily was an exercise, an effort to build my creative muscle, a joy derived simply by reading what came out of my head.  At that point, while writing a blog was in its infancy, I wanted to share those thoughts with everyone and that included people I know.  What better what to create dialogues that I might not have a chance to spark, do that every day?  Not only that, but a blog allowed me to share as much of my own opinion as possible, something I don’t always do in a typical face to face conversation, especially a group conversation.

There were times a blog would blow up, when the comments and conversation regarding a certain blog became heated, when I would feel like I needed to defend my position.  Usually that came when I wrote something about my faith or related to that faith.  I spent a brief period of my life as a Christian church pastor, after all, my college education focused on the bible, and a part of me still wanted to preach.  I still do feel that tug, evidenced as I sit in church, a sermon forming in my head as I listen to the sermon.  Those times of blog conflict taught me a lot about myself, helped me to ‘mature’ (a process that will be constant until the day I die).

This may seem strange to say now, but when I started blogging I was not consciously aware of the social aspect of blogging.  I did like the thought that someone out there might read what I wrote, would say something about, help me to become a better writer.  In those days, blogging was more of a social media platform than it is now.  Facebook and the other social media platforms were not really popular yet.  That social aspect was something I was not really prepared for.  I was naive.

It was that social aspect that my now ex wife didn’t like.  When she finally read my blog, something I encouraged her to do, wanted her to do, her reaction was extreme to the point where it almost destroyed our marriage.  She didn’t like the thoughts that came out of my mind and told me so, but she also didn’t like that other people read those thoughts, commented and followed my blog.  Even though I didn’t think of it the way she did, she thought I was being unfaithful in some form.

That day, the day she started checking my blog, is when my writing changed.  I quit telling people about my blog.  When Facebook came around, I shared my blog posts there for a while, then realized that some people I did not want to read my thoughts… could.  My ex and I shared a FB page, so her sisters could access those thoughts.  It’s difficult to communicate the judgement they are capable of.

Not only did my style of writing change, at least when it came to my blog, but the frequency of  writing changed.  She was jealous of my time, didn’t like that I would immerse myself into my PC or journal for an hour in the evening, convinced that I was somehow unfaithful and my writing was the cause.  I took to writing early in the morning, wrote less on my blog, more on fiction, especially short stories.  Some of those stories weren’t too bad, at least I think so, but then I learned something else about creativity — it’s personal.  Sharing something personal isn’t as easy as one thinks.

I remember the day that my creepy boss discovered my blog a few years ago, on a seemingly random Google search.  He oozed into my office, the stench of manipulation preceding him, and I vowed to be even more careful.  This blog became less personal (yes, it is).  Prior to my divorce, I really needed to let my soul out, and I created a totally anonymous blog for that purpose.  It’s one I will never let anyone who even remotely knows me read.  A friend who I know only through sharing that blog, told me they are amazed that I dare to share what I share.  It’s intensely personal, but it works for more, and I like that people can read it, benefit from what I share.  Strange, but true.

I remember the day when I read a portion of a NaNoWriMo novel that I was writing to a group of friends.  One of those friends had asked me to write her into the story, so I did.  She was a power walker, my novel was an apocalyptic story where demons were in a battle to take over, and my protagonist rescued her.  After she resisted, he shoved her out of the moving car, where the hordes took her over.  It was funny, believe it or not, and those I read it to laughed… but I hated it.  I will never share my writing that way again.

I wonder, do you share your blog?

 

Bed Magnet

One of the reasons I ride a bicycle, or exercise at all, is that I believe it gives me energy, maintains my body, keeps my joints and guts and mind all working the way they should.  God made us to function, to move, and to be alive means to move.

I don’t always feel that way when I get home from a long day at work.  After getting up at 5 AM, making the long trek to the office, nose to the grindstone all day, and negotiating the maze of tollway traffic on the way home, it honestly requires a bit of effort to resist the temptation to flop down on my bed and close my eyes.  If I do that, the tired buzz grows as I sink into the mattress, a fog that overtakes me and holds me like a magnet to the bed.  It’s too easy to say no to what I know is best for me, which is to change into my bike or workout clothes and get my butt out the door.  Sluggishness takes over far too easily, tells me that I am just too weary to function for the evening.  I go over in my mind what the rest of the week looks like, tell myself that I will have the time to ride the next few evenings.  After all, a nice nap and a home cooked meal will give me the rest and recuperation that I need.

Sometimes that is true.  Sometimes I do need a night of food, brew, and couch TV.

(note — I went without TV intentionally a good part of this year when Comcast decided to rape me.  The time without the tube was very good.  I just recently decided to connect an antenna.)

I resist the call of the nap more often than not.  When I forego the bed plop, change into my bike clothes and head back out the door, the transformation from weary worker to refreshed and energized as the blood begins to circulate is amazing.  Just a few turns of the pedals brings me out of the haze, my mind once again awake and rejoins my body.  I much prefer it that way, my mood transformed by the activity.

Last night I came home after a second day of overtime, a fog descending over me as I trudged up the stairs to my condo.  I didn’t realize how tired I was until my feet hit those stairs.  My plan was to take advantage of a picture perfect evening, still and cool and cloudless.  I allowed myself to be pulled to the bed, an ahhhhhh escaping from my lips as the pillow’s comfort instantly absorbed some of the fog.  Just a few minutes, then I will get on the bike.  Ten minutes later, my eyes opened, the evening’s light through the blinds in my bedroom beginning to dim.

I didn’t want it to be one of those evenings.  I didn’t want to finish off the evening with the dread that I wasted an opportunity to ride.  A quick review of the remainder of the week’s schedule revealed that I wouldn’t have another chance to get out for a ride until Saturday.  So I practically sprung out of bed, changed into shorts, tee shirt, and a fleece pullover.

I am so glad that I did.  The ride was a casual, medium paced jaunt along the beautiful forest preserve paths.  Lakes, an old stable, peaceful forests all greeted me in the waning light.  My fat bike is equipped with an adequate LED headlight and tail light, just enough to guide me home.  My energy transformed, my soul comforted, I returned home to grill some chicken, enjoy a mindless movie (The Night of the Living Dead… this guy likes zombies).

Resistance works.  Now just to completely resist that bed magnet!

Drizzle

Saturday morning, my morning, the time reserved just for me… mine, mine, mine.  I’m not sure when I claimed the sanctity of that time, but it has been that way for a while now.  Perhaps it is due to what it means to my health, the zen of turning the pedals renews me not only physically but also mentally.  If I miss my Saturday ride, I feel it more than just in my body.  I feel it in my soul.

I rolled eagerly from under the warm embrace of the bedcovers, unaware of the tug of their security, quickly pulled them up and arranged the pillows.  That’s my habit, the tidiness of my small abode as essential to my well being as the zen of the ride.  Judging from the dim light in my bedroom, it was probably dreary weather outside, expected since the weather report was for clouds all morning, followed by rain in the afternoon.  To my dismay, the puddles on my balcony were proof that there had been rain while I slept, but as I looked beyond the balcony to the dirt below, there had not been enough rain to make it muddy.  There had been several days in a row without significant precipitation.  My heart told me that I would be able to ride.

Ken, a retiree who maintains the condo pool, was collecting spare change for the Knights of Colombus at the first stoplight.  “You going to be able to ride that thing?”, he asked as he pointed to my mountain bike, “It rained earlier this morning.”.  I assured him that it hadn’t rained hard enough, but I fretted as I told him that.  Dark clouds loomed in the west.  I hoped to beat the rain, but it looked like it could rain any moment.  I fought the temptation to turn my car around and head back home, do something more constructive with my time than to drive out to the trails only to have to turn back around.  No, I was going to take my chances, even as a bit of drizzle began to mist my windshield.

Please, God, just let the rain hold off long enough for me to get a ride in.

The drizzle continued on and off as I drove.  I tried to remain optimistic, determined to get that ride in.  I needed it.  With the evening light shortened and work preventing me from riding in the morning, Sundays not an option either, my Saturday morning ride is even more essential and sacred.

I unloaded my bike immediately, donned my shoes and helmet and gloves, rode in from the trailhead without checking the trail.  Thankfully, even with the drizzle, the trail was still dry and safe to ride.  My body warmed quickly, a safeguard against the cool moisture that soaked me.  It didn’t matter, I was riding.  The woods were calm, the trails tacky from the light moisture.  Two hours later, I finished my ride, satisfied and pleasantly taxed.  A light rain began to fall, perhaps a reminder from God of the gift I had just received.

What a way to start the day!  I arrived home to partly sunny skies, shared a long walk with Lisa to the grocery store and shared some ice cream with her on the way home.  The day was mine, with plenty of other blessings in store.  It’s amazing what a ride does for me, especially when a prayer brings the blessings amidst the drizzle.