(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

DRIVING is good thinking time. Yes, I know that “good thinking” is usually a good idea while one is driving. And thinking “good thoughts” is always a good idea, while driving or otherwise. But it seems that I have some great thinking sessions while I am driving. This is especially true when I make the long monthly trips to see H and M. The only drawback is that I don’t have a word processor in my car so that I can type out my thoughts while I am driving. (Let all other motorists breathe a sigh of relief!) So many ideas and plans share my ride for several miles and then get bumped out by incoming ideas and plans. Between my home and Harrisburg, PA there must be so many grand ideas lying along the highway! I can just picture a worker on one of those highway clean-up crews shuffling along in his bright orange safety vest, kicking one of my ideas around with a tar-stained boot, picking it up and saying, “Hmph! Whatever it is, it sure looks broke now!” Then, by the time I get home, I am either too tired to write, or my eyes are nearly bleeding from the headlights of four hours worth of opposing traffic, or the only ideas left in my mind are too poor to write about.

I HAVE noticed that the types of thoughts I think while driving sometimes depend on where I am driving and where I am going. Far too often while driving the crowded New Jersey highways on my way to work my thoughts are on death. All it takes is one traffic report of an accident and the Grim Reaper sits up in my back seat. His long bony fingers stir my imagination until my mind is full of crash scenes, the highway is full of blood above the axles of my car, and somewhere among this stampede of motorists is my assassin waiting his opportunity to get me under his wheels. Just last week there was a bad accident on Route 80 in which a few people died. The traffic report on the radio said that cars were backed up for over 20 miles. It was funny how some of us at work talked more about how badly the traffic was delayed and how some had to make a major detour in order to get to work than we did about the fact that a few more of us breathed our last during New Jersey rush hour.

When I set out to pick up H and M in Harrisburg each month, I usually have some pleasantly optimistic thoughts. I think of having fun with the girls for the weekend. I think of seeing their happy faces as they bounce out of their mom’s car with shouts of “Daddy! Daddy!” That is worth a two hour drive any day! Life seems a little less burdensome on the way to see my girls. My thoughts flow more freely during those drives. I tend to sing more, sometimes singing hymns from an old Baptist hymnal that I keep in the car, sometimes singing at the top of my lungs to something good on the radio. I tend to pray more when I make these trips. Of course, I always pray while driving to work in New Jersey. Only a fool would drive our highways between 7 and 9 AM and not pray while doing so! But on the way to Harrisburg to pick up my little ones, I tend to pray more serious and thankful prayers. I guess it is easier to pray when you are not cursing at people who cut you off during rush hour.

OFTEN during these trips I think of old friends that, for one reason or another, I have not had contact with for a while now. It seems that a guy not only loses a wife when he goes through a divorce, but he loses some friends too. Maybe it is my own fault for one reason or another. Maybe it is just that people change and it is normal for one’s set of friends to change. Maybe it is just coincidence. All I know is that a lot of people that I knew going into this divorce are not here now. I think of some of these people when I am driving. I think that I should dig up their phone numbers and give them a call. About a month ago I even did this. I found my old address book, dug out an old friend’s number, heard his voice on the answering machine and left a message in which I was nearly begging him to please call me back. I’m still waiting.

SOMETIMES my thoughts are all over the place as I am driving. I think of this journal and how I have not written much lately. What shall I tell everyone? Should I use the single-father-run-over-by-three-teenagers excuse again? Or should I go for something with a little pizzazz, like the best-looking-American-man-abducted-by-aliens excuse? Often thoughts of programming fill my mind while driving. I think of code and piece together functions in my head that no one else in the whole world would even care about, except for Friend J and maybe a handful of other guys. These are guys like us who think nothing of losing sleep, talking to themselves, drinking bad coffee, and staring into the glare of a computer monitor until their eyeballs bleed. The programming thoughts are the ones that always seem to jump out of the car though. Half way home I can have the world’s most intricate software all figured out in my head. But wouldn’t you know it? I always start second-guessing my ideas. Then I start reworking the whole thing until it ends up as one big mess that does not work. And then I think “My goodness! Am I becoming a business analyst instead of a programmer??” Somebody shoot me!

Often, after taking H and M home, my thoughts will swerve into the “danger zone” where some things just cannot be figured out. These things usually have to do with X.2 and the whole train wreck that happened between us. Usually these kinds of thoughts will gather, twist and swirl with increasing force until I am trapped in their vortex, violently pulled by love at one moment, anger at the next. But, thankfully, just when I am about to be sucked down into the very bowels of that whirlwind, a different thought will come galloping along to rescue me and carry me back to where the sky is clear and the air is calm. It is then that I get a better perspective on things and I realize how much I have grown in the past four years. I realize, even if I do not completely feel it, that God does work all things together for good for those who love Him. I realize that divorce and death are not the same, even though they may feel like they are. It is at this point that my determination to achieve world domination is renewed and I step on the gas to get home.

MOST people know that I drive fast. Maybe this is the reason why. I drive at the speed of thought. Yeah, I know that can be turned around to say that I think pretty slowly then! I can hear Friend J saying it already! But how else am I going to end this article?? I have to have something to tie it all together. Some kind of philosophical statement that leaves you thinking that there was some deeper meaning to all of it. There has to be a moral to the story. Right? Just something to make it a nice neat package that makes sense in the end. Ah! But we are talking about MY thoughts! There is no making sense of it all! All you can do is get in the car and come along for the ride! Just be sure to buckle up!

SO, I was walking out of a certain place around 8:15 tonight. Ahead of me were a woman who appeared to be close to 50, kind of plump with gray fuzzy hair, and her teenage daughter. The woman looked into the sky and remarked, “Oh look! There is Saturn! You can see it clearly tonight.” To which the daughter replied, “You need a life, mom!” I could not help but chuckle when I heard it. And I thought of how many times I have pointed to things in the sky and tried to get my teenagers to lift their gaze above their immediate surroundings for a few moments, only to receive similar comments as this woman did. All of these comments are listed in the official “How to Survive as a Teenager” manual under the section titled “What to do When Your Parents Confront You with Any Object/Concept of Beauty, Grandeur, Awe, Etc. or Anything Which Could Potentially Expand Your Intellect.”

I am one who has always been fascinated by anything space related. In fact, I still want to be an astronaut when I grow up. One of the most exciting places that I ever visited was Kennedy Space Center in Florida with my grandparents when I was a much younger kid. To see and touch those space capsules in which real astronauts really traveled in space, to see the place where so many rockets were launched was incredible. The bigness of the place was awe-inspiring for a kid like me. This awe has stayed with me all of my life. I love anything space related. I collect stamps with space themes. For hours I could watch documentaries on space explorations. One of my favorite movies is “Apollo 13” with Tom Hanks. (I will tell you a little secret. I get tears in my eyes at the end of that movie when the returning capsule finally appears in the sky and they splash down. But don’t let any of the other guys know. Okay?)

THERE was something special about being an American kid in 1969 and the several years that followed. We had heroes- real ones. We lived with pioneers- the kind who were willing to risk it all by sitting atop tons of steel and fuel in order to be propelled at incredible speeds through the sky, past the bonds of earth and into the threshold of the unexplored. These men were giants. We gathered in our homes and in our schools to watch them on television as they blasted off. We watched them floating weightless moments later. We watched breathlessly for days as they sped their way to the moon. And we were there when they stepped out upon the lunar surface for the first time and every time. We all wanted to be like them- pioneers, heroes, ASTRONAUTS!

It is just not the same today. So much is taken for granted. The Space Shuttle goes up and most of us are not even aware of it. We are shooting crews of people into space at great expense of steel, fuel, knowledge and courage. But most of us do not seem to notice it, especially our children. Maybe we need to make it mandatory that each generation has to make it to the moon by their own efforts. The former generation can instruct and guide them. But THEY have to get up the motivation, make the effort and get to the moon! If they do not do it, well, they do not get to be astronauts! Plain and simple! Get to the moon and back and you are one of us, kid! Or at least TRY!

WHICH brings me to another point. (I think I just made some kind of point so this would be considered another.) Why is it that some people do not TRY? Why do they not make an effort? At least if you try you can say that you cannot do it. But more than likely you will find that you can do it, if you try. But some people do not even have a desire to do it. They are miles away from trying.

Recently I was with a friend who was complaining that it was too cold out. I asked, “How will you ever climb a mountain if you cannot endure the slightest chill?” My friend looked at me with confusion for a moment and then asked, “Why do I have to climb a mountain? What mountain?” I said, “Any mountain! How could you not want to climb a mountain? That is what mountains are for- climbing!” “But I do not want to climb a mountain!” I said, “Sooner or later everyone is confronted by a mountain. It is inevitable. Then you will have to decide to either climb it or turn around and go back.” To which the reply was “You’re weird. There are no mountains. I don’t have to climb them.” Hmmm… Still reading that teenage manual I guess.

As for me, I want to be an astronaut! I will not be denied. I will climb all the mountains between here and the moon if I have to. That is what they are there for. How quickly the hardships of the climb seem almost trivial when I get to the top and take in the view! How close the moon is when I reach the mountain’s summit and gaze up into the open sky! With each successive hike I inch my way a little higher. And when I finally make it to the moon I will just start climbing the mountains there.

SO what am I saying in all of this? Am I just weird? No, I do not think so. You see it is all about perspective and attitude. Is a mountain an obstacle or a route to something higher, better and nobler? Should I resign myself to the acceptance that the mountain is bigger and stronger than I am or should I determine to beat the mountain and make it to the top even if I die trying? Should I let the mountain crush me into non-existence or should I fight, struggle, sweat, bleed or whatever it takes to conquer it, put my foot on its throat and laughingly declare, “Ha! I am the king of the hill!”

I wonder if these were the things that the mother was really pointing out to her daughter tonight. More power to her! All I know is that if she would have turned to ME and said, “Sir, look! There is Saturn!” I would have said with a grin, “Last one there is a rotten egg!” And off I would go!

(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

SATURDAY, Saint Patrick’s Day, found me making the trip to pick up H and M. We have a new meeting place now. This place is a small mall with several large stores and a few smaller ones. When I set out from home on that morning, I did not think that a few interesting adventures awaited the girls and I at that mall.

When I go there, H was still in her pajamas and robe since they left their home so early. So our first little adventure was to get her into some publicly acceptable clothes so that we could go into one of the stores. I have been in desperate need of new pants for work. Some of the ones that I have been wearing are getting so worn out that in the right light I probably look like a skeleton from the waist down. Well, I wished as hard as I could for men’s clothes to be on sale, took M by the hand, inhaled deeply and entered the store.

I was pleased to find Levi’s Dockers on sale at 33% off the insanely high normal price. I began digging through the piles to find my size, accompanied by the tunes of “Daddy, I’m hungry” and “I want to look at the toys” and “Oh, we will never get out of here!” As the chorus swelled, we danced our way throughout the men’s department; Levi’s draped over my left arm, M twirling from my right. We waltzed through the dress shirts and polkaed past the underwear, performing daring tango dips to prevent M from crashing headlong into stage props and auxiliary performers, and H fox-trotted along as we exited stage left to the dressing room. I tried twisting my way into a few pairs of Dockers whose waist sizes I so optimistically selected. But they were not up to the dance and I had to return to the rack for the next size waiting for its chance to perform. At the end of the show I left with three pairs of pants, two shirts discounted at 75%, a pack of T-shirts, and two daughters whining for relief.

ON TO the next adventure…

At this particular mall there is a large bookstore, the kind that also has a music section and a coffee shop where one can pay an arm and a leg for Starbucks coffee and some very “yuppie” snacks with new age names. We headed straight for the children’s books to find another book in the series that H is reading. She is in first grade, reading like a fiend and currently in the middle of “Buffalo Before Breakfast” by Mary Pope Osborne. So, as her birthday gift, we added “Tigers at Twilight” and “Sunset of the Sabertooth” to her collection. M got a Hansel and Gretel book that came with a puzzle, a game and a witch mask all inside a case that looked like a candy house.

While we were there they had a story time. A very pleasant employee of the store read a story about an Irish guy named O’Toole and a bunch of leprechauns. I stood at the back edge of the crowd with the big people while all the children sat attentively at the front. Then the kids all colored pictures of leprechauns and pots of gold. I was happy to give into my childhood urges and grab a crayon and color too. Then we went over to the coffee shop where I paid several arms and legs for a Starbucks coffee that did not live up to its reputation and two yuppie slurpees for the girls. I picked up the latest issue of POETRY magazine and the “New England Review” before we left.

YOU KNOW I could spend forever in a bookstore! I would not even need food or anything else! It was Erasmus, a 16th century contemporary of Martin Luther, who said, “When I have a little bit of money, I buy books. Then, if there is anything left over, I buy food and clothes.” Now there is a man after my own heart! For you see, I am a BIBLIOPHILE. Yes, I admit it! I am a BIBLIOPHILE! And these large bookstores are my favorite places to prowl around. You might spot me there lurking about the classic literature and poetry sections. You might find me peeking into the latest journals on the periodicals rack. You might even catch me in the embrace of a fresh hardcover, my face buried in her leaves, intoxicated by the scent of her ink, caressing her spine. As I flashed you my best smile and confessed my addiction, you would scurry off to the reference aisle. There, with trembling fingers paging through the “Bs,” you would discover what a BIBLIOPHILE truly is and realize that I am not such a bad fellow after all! You would come running back only to see that you could never tempt me away from my true love. If the choice was between you and a good book… well… see you later, baby!

All right, I speak nonsense! We all know that if you were the right girl with pretty eyes, a good heart, and a mind to match, I would be asking you to accompany me over to the coffee shop. There I would pay my remaining arm and leg for the pleasure of having another cup of overrated coffee and some conversation with you. But, of course, we would talk about books! “Did you know that I also love old books? Did you know that I have a hardcover edition of ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress’ with a publishing date of 1863? Did you know that that was right in the middle of the Civil War? Did you know that I especially like hanging out in dusty old used book shops? Hey! Wait! Where are you going? Okay. Fine. I’ll just stay here with my bad coffee and read!”

OKAY, back to reality…

In the car on the way home the girls and I munched on Twizzlers. I really do not care very much for licorice. It has the consistency of half-finished plastic or something. But it was there, so I ate it for the hundred miles home. Of course, we sang to the radio, played air guitar and drums, danced in our seats at 70 miles per hour. The girls had fun with the witch mask that M got.

Later in the day we went to Mom’s house. Since it was an Irish holiday, we had corned beef and cabbage. We made everyone wear funny green hats and took pictures. I baked a cake and we had a belated birthday celebration for H. We laughed. We joked. We stuffed ourselves with corned beef and cake. We went home.

Past midnight I fell asleep mid-poem. Some things never change.

(Originally posted on the website Continuum…)

HEY! Where’s the snow??

(Remember the old Wendy’s commercial with the old lady that demanded, “Where’s the beef?” Heh heh!)

WELL, according to the weather reports on Friday and Saturday, we were supposed to get clobbered with the biggest snowstorm in over 50 years. So everyone in our area crowded into the grocery stores. We stocked up on hot chocolate mix, potato chips and Coke. We bought enough bread to feed four armies for a month. But the prize was the milk! Everyone had to have more milk! We bought enough milk to drown those four armies! The lady in front of me in line for the check out bought four gallons! What are these people thinking? How taxing all this must be on the poor cows! Just because the weatherman starts squawking “Snow! Snow!” does not mean that the cows start producing more milk. When the udder is empty, that’s all the milk folks!

YOU KNOW, for 13 years I worked in a milk processing plant. Let us refer to this establishment with the affectionate term of “dairy.” I remember those days when snow was on the way. Production demands would go through the ceiling! And we did not deal with gallons of milk. We dealt with “cans” of milk. A can is ten gallons. We were not sissies! We were men! And we did not deal with small amounts of cans either. We dealt with cans by the hundreds and by the thousands. One of our machines alone could pasteurize 600 cans an hour. 6000 gallons an hour! (Yes, 100 gallons per minute. Very good, Einstein!) Now we are talking army-drowning capabilities! But when the snow panic struck even this rate of production was not enough to satisfy the milk-craving consumers.

So, as an ex-dairyman, I would still like to ask you, a civilian, why do you need so much milk just because it is going to snow? Is it just to wash down all that bread that you bought? Did you buy that much hot chocolate mix that you need a tanker truckload of milk for it? Is it the whiteness of the snow that makes you think “Man! I gotta drink milk!”? Do you go on milk binges out of sheer boredom when you are snowed in?

Well, whatever the reasons are for the milk rush before a snowstorm, I am happy to report that I bought only two gallons. That was a calculated purchase too. I figured that three teenagers and one growing father cooped up in a two bedroom apartment for possibly three days, divided by two containers of hot chocolate mix, multiplied by the possibility that the landlord could allow the heating oil to run out during the storm, and divided by the square root of pie (either cherry or apple) comes out to two gallons of 2% milk. Always the smart shopper I am!

SO back to my original beef: where’s the snow??

It began snowing yesterday afternoon as they reports called for. The initial wave of snow seemed to have the promise of being a large storm. It appeared that we might truly get the 25 inches they were calling for. It got icy and slippery on the roads. But by morning there were only a few inches of snow and nothing but more threats from the weathermen that we were going to get it today. And now it is 5:00 PM and no precipitation has fallen in hours! All the schools were closed in anticipation of what the day was to hold. Many businesses were closed. I even decided to stay home from work. Now it feels like all I really did today was waste a vacation day! Who can I hold liable for this??

In reality it was not a waste of a day though. I was able to reorganize much of the clutter in my bedroom closet. I opened several boxes and found a bunch of old memories. I even found my favorite denim jacket that I wore constantly as if it were a natural part of my skin. Now it is too small. I cannot button it. Funny how clothing shrinks when it’s packed away for a few years! At this point the closet is clean and there are only two piles of extraneous clutter in the room: one completely covering the bed and the other covering half of the floor in front of the bed! I knew I should have gone to the office today!

I was able to take a walk in the snow late in the afternoon yesterday and click off a few pictures. It is such a peaceful thing to do! No worries about ice on the road. No rushing. No cares about milk or bread or crazy people in the stores. All around is just the sounds of snow falling softly, shovels beginning to scrape the sidewalks, children playing in the yards. I am very happy with the picture of the mourning doves that I was able to capture. Which reminds me. I also saw a flock of snow geese migrating overhead as I was walking. At this time of the year there are many Canadian geese flying through our neck of the woods. But this is the first that I have seen snow geese. They are beautiful white with black tips on their wings. I was not able to take a picture of these geese. But I did gaze up into the falling snow for several minutes and admired them as they went on their way.

AT this point I am sitting tight and holding down the fort here in New Jersey. The reports are still calling for a lot of snow, cold temperatures and windy conditions tonight and into tomorrow. I say, “Bring it on!” I got milk! I got bread! I even have a nice little tray of shrimp and cocktail sauce in the fridge! (A definite necessity in inclement weather!) Let it snow! I’m so excited that I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to arrive! I hope it snows. I will just bundle up, grab my camera and go hunting! Sounds like a plan! Now, if only the sky would cooperate!