Time Moves Too Quickly
Archives for August 2015
Saturday Night Used To Begin At Midnight
Sam Cooke used to sing about Another Saturday Night and how he didn’t have anyone but it wasn’t because he was stationed at the dining room table setting up the new laptop he just purchased for his soon to be entering high school age son.
No, Cooke never did that or listened to Straight Outta Compton and think about how he once ran into Ice Cube at the local International House of Pancakes.
Nor did he spend any time trying to remember what year that song was released (1990) or shake his head when he realized how long ago it was.
Nah he didn’t think about how he was in college when NWA started to hit it big or the conversations that took place in some of the classrooms at the university he attended about whether the lyrics reflected the reality of life in Compton or not.
Compton wasn’t a mythical name or place. It was less than an hour away from the university and somewhere many of us had been to, driven through and or knew people from.
No, Sam Cooke didn’t have a Saturday night like that but then again I don’t know how many Saturday nights I ever had that looked like his either.
Saturday Night Used To Begin At Midnight
Back in those mythical/legendary days of my youth Saturday nights began a little bit earlier than midnight but not as much as you might think and they often went for hours afterwards.
I loved the night time, probably far more than I loved the nightlife that some people associate with the expression. I wasn’t the guy who would go dancing, at least not unless I was at the fraternity or dragged to some club with one of the girlfriends.
Probably because rhythm and I were often at odds. I could slow dance with the best of them and because of some girls who were truly friends I even learned how to two-step but the fast dance was never my thing.
I didn’t feel comfortable and often felt awkward and stupid so most of the time I preferred to be in a corner. beer in hand where I could choose to engage or disengage with whomever was around.
When I think about those days I remember being cautious about singing along with certain songs. I might have enjoyed what some people called Gangsta Rap but it was never my primary thing, in part because there were certain words I could never say.
Those of you who have spent real time reading here know I have no problem with salty language and probably aren’t surprised to see it used as necessary but the racial terms, well those don’t show up here.
Should you ever find yourself sent back in time through conventional or unconventional means I can promise that you’ll find my car stuffed with cassette tapes that fit the Classic Rock genre intermixed with some Country, Classical and mixes of what some people call easy-listening today.
And should you find yourself sitting in the passenger seat of my Camaro put your seatbelt on and prepare to listen to me blast you with some proper driving music, Van Halen, Ozzy or Led Zeppelin.
My size 12 boot will lay heavy upon the pedal and I’ll fly around turns without fear.
Did I mention these memories are why I sometimes fear that my children will do as I did and not as I say?
Probably because rhythm and I were often at odds. I could slow dance with the best of themClick To TweetThat Was Then & This Is Now
That was then and this is now.
Instead of hanging out with the guys, going on a date or listening to my girlfriend talk about whether grad school is a smart choice I was home getting the kids ready for school and helping my parents get ready to sell their house.
There were no parties, poker games or bars to visit.
Instead I spent several hours working on both the new and old technology at the house. It was productive, but it wasn’t enough.
I wasn’t  satisfied because things didn’t go as quickly or smoothly as I wanted them to. Wasn’t quite satisfied because I had trouble reading some of the smaller print and had to pull out the reading glasses to make out the fine print.
Wasn’t quite satisfied because I feel like I made it work instead of having it just work.
There is a difference between the two.
****
The The Strength Of A Writer lies in looking back at those Snapshots In Time and doing something with them.
Or so I like to believe.
If I had my druthers I’d spend part of my time looking back at those moments and thinking about how to write about them in a way that made people want to read them.
And some of those moments would be dedicated to the present and the future and thoughts about what sort of writing to do about those things.
But people plan and G-d laughs so sometimes we find ourselves walking under moonless skies wondering what sort of creatures lie just beyond our sight or under bright blue skies thankful for the unexpected gifts we just received.
Life is one hell of an adventure, you just never know what is going to happen next.
The Strength Of A Writer
I am not just a writer or just a dad blogger any more than I am just a father, friend or man.
Nor am I solely the product of my experiences. You may wonder if or why it matters for me to define myself this way and all I can respond with is our personal definition of who we are is the most important one of all.
At least that is how I see it today, as a 46-year-old man who is looking out at the world thinking very carefully about the future I want and considering what actions I can and should take to make those things happen.
Yet I never forget who I am today is not who I once was nor who I might end up becoming. All I know is that I technically don’t have time to write this but I am going to find a way to compress time and fit something in because writing is like breathing to me and I choke without my air.
The Strength Of A Writer
The strength of a writer lies in remembering those scars. The minutes and moments that left their imprint are a big part of the well I draw upon to write these posts and the fiction that you see intermixed in it all.
I don’t have any particular rituals for writing that I have to follow in order to make the words flow from my fingertips. Most of the time I just need a place to sit and my headphones for when the noise around me finally becomes a nuisance.
Someone asked me to describe how I write fiction and part of me laughed because I haven’t published any books or stories. Written tons of them, sent out millions of characters into cyberspace but there is nothing in print that proves I am a published writer…of fiction.
Got other stuff out there that is published, but most of it is old or doesn’t contain my name so you wouldn’t know it was me and even if you stumbled across it you might not recognize my writing.
I sometimes wonder about that, how many people can truly recognize my writing and how many don’t. Doesn’t really matter, just something I think about from time to time.
But that doesn’t answer the question about how I write my fiction now does it. Doesn’t provide much insight so I suppose I ought to address it.
The answer is it depends.
Sometimes something or someone sets me off and I start thinking about those moments and sometimes they include a scar.
Since I am not the kind of guy who is always willing to leave well enough alone I pick at those scars and then I remember.
Memory sets off a click, a whirl and a switch and I am on Mr. Toad’s wild ride, driving the car with my knees and one eye blindfolded.
I never know where those stories are going to go until I see the words on the paper/screen.
The strength of a writer lies in remembering those scars.Click To TweetThe Difference Between Me & You
“Jack, what is the difference between me and you?”
“You try to limit your writing to doing so when you have something to say. You focus on never producing content that might not be well received and I don’t.”
That was my response years ago and it still is today or at least when it comes to blogging. I don’t report to a supervisor or editor.
There is no authority looking down upon my writing so I just write as I wish.
It goes through cycles here where I share basic thoughts or stories like the Mother In The Men’s Room, Four Generations & A Wedding, Grandpa and A Father Describes Parenting.
There are different approaches like Cheaper Than A $5 Whore With Less Risk of Infection or Twenty-Five Links That Will Make You A Better Writer/Blogger too.
For me it is always about the writing and stoking the fire that the muse lives in. I don’t worry about whether these posts will be loved or hated because it is unusual energy suck.
I just follow my passion and do my best to try to do this well. It is the same lesson I teach my children, half the battle is showing up and then doing more than just being a part of the background.
Snapshots In Time
She grew 3.5 inches between her 10 and 11-year-old physicals and now the girl who used to fit in the nook of my arm is far too big to hold that way.
And the boy who made me a father, well I don’t have the exact measurements of how much he has grown but I know at the start of this year his mother and grandmothers were taller and now they aren’t.
I look at his hands and feet and tell him he reminds me of a giant puppy and he glares at me. He doesn’t understand that they are a bit oversized for his body now or that once was how I was.
Doesn’t understand that I remember my own growth spurts and that I see his in full bloom. Chances are I have a few years left of being taller than he is, but my days of towering over him are about done.
It makes me smile and feel a bit goofy so I do what men do when they feel this way…I tackle him.
We roll on the ground and grapple with each other, laughing as he realizes I can’t just throw him around and as I recognize that even if I can’t I will still win.
And when we finish I sit on the couch and think I understand things about my father better than I ever did.
I Am Not Ready For Some Things
Dad will be 72 in April and though the docs have given him specific instructions about being cautious about his exercise he’ll still move furniture around the house.
Mom calls Friday night to ask me to come by because they need more help getting ready for the move. I tell her I’ll be there tomorrow and she tells me earlier is better because ‘your father won’t wait to move things for you.”
I tell her not to worry because he won’t climb on ladders anymore because he knows his balance is suspect. She says that is true but tells me it is the lifting that concerns her.
“Mom, you know he may not be as strong as he used to be, but he is still stronger than most men his age and a ton who are younger. He won’t forget that.”
“Sometimes men need to set their egos aside and be smart.”
“Mom, I guess some ego might be involved, but I don’t think that is entirely it. Sometimes you don’t think about it because you just know you can lift/move things the same way you know you can walk.”
I don’t have to see her to know the face she is making so I say goodbye. We hang up and I make a mental not to let this add to my cluttered mind syndrome which is mostly under control.
Compartmentalization is one of the benefits that comes with being male.
****
Saturday afternoon comes and goes and after we finish working dad and I are sitting on the couch in his living room.
And then from out of nowhere the man attacks me. I start laughing, ask him if he has thought about what he is doing because “you can’t handle me anymore.”
He laughs and tells me he is using his left hand and says if I am having that much trouble I should start lifting again.
My son wanders in and says he can’t decide if dad or grandpa is winning and then wanders out. Something about this feels like a bad sitcom.
I hold back a little because I know dad isn’t supposed to over exert himself and he needs to feel like he can still win. I understand it better than I ever have because I am not ready for this.
Rolling With The Changes
It is reassuring to feel the strength in my father’s grip and his arms. He is not who he once was but neither am I but the difference is he truly has entered the winter of his life and I am still a long way off from mine.
Neither of us are really ready to make some of the adjustments that are coming but neither of us will pretend they aren’t having either.
We might fight to hold on to certain aspects of youth a bit for a while we shall win. Win because force of will and genetics will take us a bit farther along the road than we’d get without them but that old bastard time will beat us in the end.
The only question is how we roll with the changes.
Sometimes when I play ball I get frustrated because the kid that beats me to the basket isn’t fast or good enough to have done so, or at least a few years ago they couldn’t.
It hurts a bit to accept those changes and to admit that we can’t do all that we once could.
As I see my son coming into his own and my dad moving towards a place where he doesn’t have complete independence in all things anymore I can’t help but think.
Snapshots In Time
Snapshots in time, that is what I see.
A parade of images, sounds and experiences flows through my head.
I see the boy I was and the teen. I see the man I have become too. My parents. siblings, kids and friends are all there too.
We are all growing and aging at different rates and places.
There are moments in time that jump out at me, images that fight for my attention and reminders that though I am not 19 or 25 anymore I am still not old.
That is not just me shouting at the wind either.
We won’t go quietly into the night because that is not how things work in this family. It is part of why I hurt myself today to see if I still feel.
Sometimes the best wrestling is physical and sometimes it is mental, but it is part of how we grow and change.
A Final Thought
I like EmmyLou’s version of Pancho and Lefty. When I went looking for it on YouTube I came across two different clips and thought I’d use them both here.
Her hair jumped out at me in both clips and I got to thinking about all of the life she must have lived between them and how sometimes we don’t spend enough time appreciating all of the experiences we have.
You don’t get to a place where people notice your aging without having lived a little. My goal is to keep on living in a way that will let me always say I have LIVED a LIFE.
Are Twitter & Podcasts Still Relevant?
I haven’t been in school in decades but that never prevents me from wishing I could press pause on the clock and stop the end of summer from racing to catch up with us.
Never stops me from feeling a wacky mix of sadness at the end of Summer and excitement about the prospects of the coming Fall.
That is probably a big part of why every August I try to make a push to do all that I haven’t yet done with the family which is why I almost taught my kids how to sneak from one movie into another theater.
Yeah, it is not the most responsible thing and that is part of why we didn’t move from Ant-Man into Pixels. but truth be told the rumble in my belly was what really pushed me.
Popcorn is a snack, never lunch or dinner.
Are Twitter & Podcasts Still Relevant?
They were two twenty-somethings standing in line at the concession stand, so focused on their discussion about whether Twitter and Podcasts were still relevant they didn’t hear the kid at the counter ask for their order.
Nor did they hear me mutter that wolves don’t give a fuck about movies or television because they don’t use them and consequently aren’t relevant.
Yeah, dad was a little grumpy, tired of listening to my two kids debate about what overpriced theater food to get.
Have I mentioned that my kids have two speeds, “love each other like best friends” and “bicker like frenemies.”
Anyhoo when the two guys in front of me ignored the second “what can I get you” I spoke over them and placed my order.
Apparently that got their attention and they both turned to tell me I couldn’t cut in line and I said that Twitter has gotten so cluttered and noisy messages are frequently missed or lost.
And then with my best glare I stepped up to the counter to pay and suggested that if they hadn’t ignored the kid at the counter they could have placed their order and not held up the line.
The Answer To The Question of Relevance
The answer isn’t particularly difficult nor does it require much thought.
Yeah, they are both still relevant and still useful. Relevance shouldn’t be based upon a question that is posed so broadly as the initial one.
It is based upon use and whether they are useful to you.
You can see examples of that by reading the responses to If Facebook Disappeared Would You Notice?
People have bad habits of basing relevance upon their personal interest or use and not upon how groups respond, act and or use things.
I use to be a very heavy Twitter user and then somewhere along the way I stopped using it the same way as I had.
Now my use comes and goes, some days I am very involved and I have multiple conversations and other days…not so much.
Can’t say that I have ever paid much attention to podcasts. Sure I have the one I unofficially do but there aren’t any I listen to with regularity.
That is because I have never found one that held my attention.
Only a fool would take that to mean there aren’t any good ones out there.
Maybe if I had hard data I would take the fool’s position and say it is true, but I don’t have hard data so I’ll go a different way and suggest I just haven’t come across a good one for me.
We Don’t Always Know
Every time I tell the Shmata Queen I know things she tells me I need to find a new shtick.
She is partially right because I do know things but I also know there is a ton I don’t know. But what I am really referring to here is our proclivity as humans to think we know more than we actually know.
We make a ton of daily decisions based upon this stuff we think we know, things like who has the best prices on XYZ, where to get the cheapest gas, best bread etc.
But the thing is much of what we think we know isn’t based upon that hard data but our personal experience and or feelings so there is a good chance we might be wrong.
We don’t always know what we think we know.
There is a balance there, I don’t know that I have found it but I am still looking.
Where Fire Meets Water
Are you ready to go on a little trip? Traveling Jack is getting warmed up now, stretching a little bit here and there. He has some ideas, oh yes he does. Here are a few excerpts from existing fragments and some music that might go with them.
Tunnel Of Love“ Bruce Springsteen
The stormy weather matches my mood. It fluctuates between pensive and irritated. Flashes of light streak across the sky followed by deep booming noises. It reminds me of places past and present. Twenty-five years ago I walked down the streets of Jerusalem and watched a soldier react to the sound of dynamite exploding.
He threw my friend upon the ground and brought his weapon to his shoulder, eyes scanning the highway for signs of danger.
Seventeen years ago violent shaking woke me from a restless slumber. Women and children screamed, car alarms shrieked, glass broke and the earth issued this incredible rumble. For a moment I feared that I would be thrown from my bed and then the moment had passed.
You are out there somewhere. You were always out there. When I walked those streets of Jerusalem and made plans to leave America you were living your life elsewhere. And again you were there when the earth shook and I wondered if this was the moment when the ground would open up and swallow my home.
There has never been a time or moment that you weren’t there. Only moments of ignorance and lack of awareness. You weren’t on my radar or a gleam in my eyes. Perhaps you were a dream that I never wanted to believe in. A dream because I didn’t believe that someone like you was out there.
It is funny in an odd sort of way. I can hear you telling me that you’ll never forgive me for not finding you sooner. I can hear you calling my name.
Visions of Paradise“ Mick Jagger
It is no secret that I have spent more than a few minutes thinking about you, wondering what you are doing and who you are doing it with. If I listened to the experts you’d never hear a word from me or about me. I’d be nothing more than a ghost in time, a memory of someone you once knew.
And if my past was any guide than that is how it would have gone down. We would have said whatever it is two people say to each other before they leave and then I would have walked out of your life and found whatever was waiting for me. That is how it had always gone before so it was more than a little shocking to me that it didn’t happen now.
But who am I kidding, this thing we share has never been conventional, ordinary or normal. It has always been something more. A moment in time that never yellows with age or withers with time. I don’t have to close my eyes to see.
And So it Goes“ Billy Joel
I can’t remember the last time I signed into the good old Instant Messenger and there you were. I wondered if it was a sign or just coincidence.
Anne Stacey. There you were. A little picture of your smiling face flashed up at me and I smiled back. For a moment I just stopped and stared. Watched and wondered what to do. You told me to give you some space and I had done that. But the truth for both of us is/was that space is a funny term.
Throughout the years there have been a few brief moments where we felt that we needed some time away from each other. Moments of anger and or frustration. Moments of confusion when we tried to catch our breath and figure it all out. But throughout it all we always found that it was impossible to completely forget the existence of the other.
It is a hard thing to explain, but we always feel better when we allow the contact. And when we are separated intentionally or otherwise we have a tendency to seek the little things that connect us. There is a comfort in those things. We passed the point many years ago when…
Nights In White Satin“ The Moody Blues
We’re standing on the balcony staring out at the sunset. You’re barefoot wearing nothing but that sun dress I like. I am in my usual shorts and a t-shirt. Our drinks rest on the table next to us while dolphins play in the sea below us. Great splotches of orange, red, blue and magenta are painted against the sky. Your hand fits perfectly inside of mine and I wonder if I have ever been so content with holding hands. A silent smirk creeps across my face and I catch you staring at me. I know you. I know that look. You want to know what I am thinking but I remain silent.
You look at me again and I raise my eyebrows and smile. In return you give me that look that says that you are somewhere in between content and exasperation. I try not to smirk. I tamed you when no one else could. You know it and I know it.
Bookends– Simon & Garfunkel
I once knew two liars.
A girl and a boy who came of age during a time when science was considered truth and magic was considered to be the province of con men, charlatans and snake oil salesmen.
The two of them grew up in separate towns, went to separate schools and for a very long time lived separate lives.
Lives that were filled with the normal ups and downs and experiences people have. They loved and lost and lived and laughed.
All of these things were done apart from each other which made perfect sense because they grew up in separate worlds and had no reason to be aware of the existence of the other until the time came when they had no reason not to.
The intersection between their lives turned their worlds upside down and inside out. It forced them to reconsider all they once knew as true and made them question all they thought they were as individuals.
Had they lived during the age of magic they wouldn’t have questioned any of these things. They would have accepted the things their hearts knew as truth even when their heads questioned them.
But they didn’t grow up during the age of magic so they relied upon what they knew to be true science.
Thank You– Led Zeppelin
She Saved My Heart
Those four words should be enough. They should be enough for any person or so the Greek poets might say because some of them love their tragedies.
They love a hero with a tragic flaw. They love to tell a story about magic and magnificence destroyed by some simple and obvious flaw.
But there are other poets and other writers who dare to paint a different picture. Ones who understand that a heart can be broken and rebuilt many times and that there is more magic in the night sky than that exposed by small slivers of moonlight.
Some dare to walk upon the long and winding road because they know they are the kind of person who takes the long way home.
Those who dare to be more, to have more and to do more have to accept the burden of walking through the fallow fields as well as the green. The only way to get to the other side is to go through.
And once you accept that you survived the moments that you thought would stop you in your tracks and understand how to read the map upon the scars, well then you are on your way, aren’t you.
I have gone to the place where fire meets water not knowing what it is I seek or expect to find. Gone solely because I follow a path only I can see while listening to a song only I can hear.
Such is the way of the world but few people know this to be true. Some ask why and all I can offer is that not everyone walks their path with their eyes wide open and heart ready to hear the song only it can recognize.
Maybe it is because to be so naked is to risk devastation or maybe it is nothing of the sort.
One can pay Charon’s price to cross the River Styx in search of the person who sings their song but very few will risk never finding their fellow minstrel because the consequences of failure are too dire for their hearts to handle.
And there are those who will talk the talk and pretend to walk the walk only to reach the edge of the abyss and fear what happens if they should fall over the side.
I suppose it only fair to say that my pilgrimage to the place where fire and water meet only happened because I was one of those who took the plunge into the abyss.
But don’t let me fool you into thinking I did so with intent or desire because no such thing took place.
I slipped, tripped and fell.
It wasn’t an easy fall either.
My body slammed into every outcropping of rock and bounced off of every prickly bush down the side of the night covered hill.
I’d tell you the fall made me mad and that it made me hard. I’d tell you it made me more determined to do what I had set out to do but I don’t know what that is anymore.
Now I just follow that path that only I can see and I don’t worry about where it leads because there is joy in the journey.
It matters not to me whether anyone believes that because I am not selling my thoughts or trying to ransom my heart. I am just living the life I have hard and fast.
It is all I know how to do.
Rock and Roll– Led Zeppelin
Or maybe it is for none of those reasons. Maybe it is for all of those reasons. I really don’t spend much time thinking about how and why because this is not a math problem or some sort of scientific formula that must be followed or needs to be answered.
If I had to answer the question I would tell you to shut up and kiss me. Stop thinking and do. And when you did you would remember and you would know.
You would know that love is wild and that love is real. You would know that sometimes it is like standing in the eye of the storm. Everywhere you look there is wind, rain and lightning, except for that one place that we are standing together holding hands.
And sometimes you find yourself standing inside the storm and find yourself searching for shelter but if you can hold on long enough you always find it in the same place it was before.
Gold Dust Woman– Fleetwood Mac
Some people never know the moment.
Some people know the moment and lose it never to capture it again.
Some who lose it seek second chances because that is what has to be done.
And some just sit in silence and none can say what it is they think upon, about or remember.
Heart and soul is more than just a man or just a woman.
Editor’s Note: Couldn’t sleep on a Saturday night so I adapted a piece I put together here.