The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for October 2009

Time Management

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The dark haired beauty is sitting in a tent, er excuse me, in her secret hideaway that no one knows about. It is the same secret hideaway that is located five feet behind my chair. Tomorrow she’ll go back to school or I’ll lose my mind.

Don’t get me wrong, I love that little girl like nobodys business. She means more to me than words can express, I even share my Beef Jerky with her and if that is not love, I don’t know what is.  Last week she was truly sick.

She had a fever that kept coming and going and a double ear infection. Here at the home office she was frequently parked next to me, but spent large chunks of that time sleeping. Two trips to the docs to confirm that she didn’t have H1N1 and a bit of worry ate up large amounts of time.

A low grade fever yesterday and some caution kept her home today. The just in case theory played a role in all of this. You know, we’ll keep her home just in case there is something still wrong. Not to mention that last week 47% of her class was out sick.

Well I am pleased to say that she is feeling well. She is singing songs and reading books to me. She is brushing my hair and making me beautiful. I keep trying to tell her that you can’t make me beautiful and that I don’t mind having this ugly mug. It has character.

But you can’t argue with her. You may recall that I have some simple rules for Dating my Daughter. I am beginning to think that she doesn’t need my help and that any boy that chooses to take her out will soon learn to their chagrin that they are no longer in control of their own life. Heck this little powerhouse of energy might take over the world in her sleep.

She is so stubborn and determined I may send her to Iran. After ten minutes that meshugehneh Ahmedinajad will be in tears. Of course I will have to go with her because after the past few years he deserves to feel my size 12 boot in his ass.

But I digress. You see this post is about time management. In simple terms that is me crying for help, wondering if she’ll watch a movie or sleep so that I can get a little work done. I thought that she was occupied with her doll and tried making a telephone call to a client.

Midway through she wandered over and tried to get my attention. I smiled at her and gave the one minute sign. She disappeared for a moment and then came back. This time she started tapping my leg.I smiled and gave her the sign again. Walked into the room and turned on Spongebob for her.

Boy, I felt like superdad. Got the client eating out of my hand and my girl taken care of, life is good. A few moments later I learned not to be cocky. She came and found me. I could see by the look on her face she wasn’t going to last much longer, so I gave her the one minute sign and smiled again.

As I turned to walk away she reached out and grabbed me. Now I can assure you that what she grabbed was not was she was reaching for. But it doesn’t matter. Thanks to that moment I can tell you a few things. Those spam emails that offer pills that help you grow are not needed anymore. Thanks to that moment horses would be jealous of me.

Ok, I am exaggerating a bit. But trust me when I say that I am not exaggerating about the squeak that issued from my throat when this took place. If you have listened to any of my audio posts you know that my voice is relatively deep, at least it was. All I know is that for a moment I sounded like Mike Tyson.

So here I am a little while later. The voice is back to normal and I obviously back at the computer. She is occupied for the moment, but I think that today is going to be tough. She has bounced back from her illness and for that I am grateful. But after having been sidelined for a while what she really wants to do is run around.

In fact you can see little electrical charges shooting from her. Her batteries are completely recharged and she is ready to run. I am just praying that I can use the secret hideaway to keep her busy until the Calvary can come charging in. I can almost hear the bugle signaling charge. I just hope that they are better than the boys at F-Troop.

The Bedroom I Grew Up In

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It is Sunday night. The Dodgers are getting pounded by the Phillies and I am watching it all from the flat screen inside the bedroom I grew up in.

My children want to know why grandma and grandpa let me have a television in my room and I won’t do it for them. I laugh and tell them that when I was their age we didn’t have a color TV. It was a small 19″ black and white unit that came with those rabbit ears we used for antennae. Not to mention no remote, DVR or DVD player.

Haven’t lived here in decades. Feels strange to say that, but it is true. The room that I grew up is no more. The furniture, posters, books and trophies that helped make this room mine are long gone. It has been painted and there is a new wood floor.

All that remains are the memories of what once happened inside this place. A thousand memories of my childhood are wrapped up inside. Enough things happened inside here that even though it serves as my mother’s office I haven’t any trouble picturing what used to be.

My bed was positioned against almost every wall except the one that I am facing now. It has a desk against it, with the television just above it. It is too small for a bed, but the desk works just fine, in fact this is where mine once was.

I turn to the right and I see a big window. The blinds are drawn upon it but I know exactly what is outside. I don’t have to open it to see the neighbors den or to remember how at night I would watch television with them.

During the winter when the windows were closed I couldn’t hear a thing, all I could do was guess at what was being said. But not during summer. Summer nights they’d open the window and I’d open mine. If I closed the bedroom door no one would know what I was doing or more importantly what I was seeing.

The neighbors had daughters who were about seven and ten years older than I am. I remember one night when I was around ten or so being given a show by the oldest and the guy who eventually married her. Since the lights were out in my room they had no idea that I was in there. And I suppose since that room didn’t face the street it didn’t occur to them that pulling the blinds would be wise.

I saw a number of things that night that alternately interested and horrified me. I couldn’t understand why she moaned and wondered if she was being hurt. I remember considering getting out of bed to ask my parents if we should call the police to help her.

I decided against it because she didn’t yell for help. To ten year-old Jack that was important, not crying for help meant that she was ok. Besides I had a million sisters and knew that girls were weird so why ruin the show. This was the only time that I had ever seen this, most of the time it was television with her parents. There was no doubt in my mind if I told my parents that would kill future opportunities to watch late night television.

Later on as a teenager the memories made me more cautious about my own interaction with girls. I always made sure to draw the blinds or find some privacy somewhere.

Hard to believe that some of these memories are more than 30 years old and yet it is easy. The echoes of the past almost make it feel like the present yet at the same time it is clear that those days are gone. Watching the Dodgers get routed makes me miss those days.  I remember the championships from ’77 and ’78 when we beat the Phillies to win the pennant..

Davey Lopes is here, but he is coaching for the enemy now. Mike Schmidt isn’t anchoring third for the Phils and Ron Cey isn’t representing the boys in blue. Dusty Baker isn’t roaming the outfield with Reggie Smith and I am not begging to stay up late on a school night.

Not much more time to reminisce. I am here because I have to pick the folks up from the airport. They’re enjoying retired life and traveling to points unknown with some regularity. They live closer to the airport than I do so I figured that I’d swing by, use their treadmill, shower and then head out to pick them up.

Oh, did I mention that I am going to pick them up using dad’s car. It makes me laugh.  A big chunk of years ago it would have bothered me to admit that I am going to be driving daddy’s car, but I could care less now.

Besides I need to make a stop at Home Depot and his car is bigger than mine.  See you all later.

The Difference Between Blog Friends and Real Life Friends

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Sometimes friends of mine who are unfamiliar with blogging ask me questions about who reads my blog and why. They want to know what I write about, how I come up with ideas and if I get nervous about getting into trouble somehow.

The story never changes. I tell them about how I started this blog on a whim, just an impulse and how it changed my life. That last bit sometimes brings about an eye roll or two, but that’s ok with me. If I wasn’t intimately familiar with it all I would probably do the same.

I explain to them that blogging provides one of the best outlets I have ever found for expressing myself. I talk about how it allows me to learn more about myself and about others. I talk about how it is has helped me through some dark times and very tough moments. It has been a great tool for chronicling my life and the family. The place where I rediscovered my love for writing/

And of course it is a place where I have made some good friends. It is an interesting thing, the friendships developed through blogging. Somewhere in the archives Psychotoddler referred to it as targeted socializing and it is true. Reach out and click someone and you can learn a million things about who they are in a much faster way than you might in person.

The readers here have learned things about me that I never share in person. There have been some exceptionally raw and intimate moments that they have been exposed to that most of my “real life” friends don’t know about.

It is not that I can’t tell them these things either, because I can. I have some exceptional friends, people who mean the world to me. Friends who make a difference, people who I would take the bullet for.

Some of them have been through some experiences that are beyond description. Together we really have laughed and cried. We have been through the entire life cycle together. We have witnessed weddings, births and divorce. You guys don’t need me to tell you how horrific it was to lose ‘D,’ how incomprehensible it was for him to die at such a young age. You knew him, you loved him and together we all miss him.

But in the real world we don’t always delve into the weighty topics that come up here. Like I said, it is not that we couldn’t and sometimes we do. But here in cyberspace it lends itself well to the deeper discussion. In the silence of the night there is a certain safety in speaking.

Not to mention that anonymity lends a certain security as well. Harry Potter’s Invisibility cloak could do no better.

It is funny to think of the times that I have met other bloggers. I really have met very few, but thanks to our time reading each other’s blogs we have felt a bit closer. At least that is how it seemed to me. There were discussions about topics that you wouldn’t normally broach with someone you had just me. But we hadn’t really just met each other.

All that time spent reading had prepared us for something more than just superficial talk. That is not to say that every blogger/reader will be a close and personal friend. That certainly wouldn’t happen any more than it would in real life.

But blogging has given me a lot. The exposure and introduction to people and places has been exceptional and for that I am very grateful.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I often talk to people about the power of the blogosphere and why it matters. Some of you have tried to tease me about sounding too ‘Star Warsish” but the reality is that blogging offers access to millions of people. Bloggers are influential. If we were not, the FTC wouldn’t bother with us.

In the end I will always be drawn to blogging because of the writing and the outlet, but it would be wrong not to say that you don’t play a role here as well, because you do.