The Power of Personal Change

Yesterday was my father's 66th birthday.  This fact got me thinking about him, his life, his relationship with me, and it brought me back to a lot of the things I've been going through lately.  I want to change.  I want it badly.  I want to live the life of my unexpressed potential, not the life that is comfortable and safe.

Well, my dad is an example for me.  In his later life, he made the choice to change.  This change resulted in a physical transformation, plus a mental and emotional one as well.  It was a phenomenal process to witness.

My dad and I are different dudes on the surface.  I don't think anyone would really argue with that, but what a lot of people don't know is that we are actually quite similar in a lot of other ways as well. 

Let's do a quick surface inventory.

My father is a fisherman, an outdoorsman, a Republican, a conservative, and an avid sports fan.

I am not a fisherman, somewhat of an outdoorsman, a professed independent who registered Democrat because I wanted to vote in a primary, a liberal, and a fan of the arts.

On the surface we don't mix well, but there are other things that have materialized in the last couple of years that have shown me that I am much more my father's son than I ever would have thought in my younger days.

We are both men who are dedicated to our family.  We are social yet more than comfortable going out and doing things on our own.  We like a good debate (especially if we can get the other person really squirming on the hook).  We are foodies who love to eat and talk about food, recipes, restaurants, etc. 

When I witnessed the struggle, and the subsequent display of endurance, my father experienced when he set out to change, I was moved.  Still am.  He's shown me that it is never too late to take control of one's own life.  Change happens on a day to day basis.  It is the expression of will in the face of temptation.  It is firm resolve and the commitment to stick to a goal.

He makes me proud to have him as a father and I'm working hard every day to make sure he can say the same thing about me.

Happy Birthday, Dad.  I love you and am proud of you.

Five a.m.

I've worked on and off as a bartender/server for the majority of my adult life.  As such, I have always been a night owl.  If I ever saw 5 a.m., it was because I had stayed up that late.  Also, if I saw 5 a.m. it meant that I had been knocking back a couple after work. 

Things appear to be changing.

I've recently found myself exhausted by the time 9 pm comes around.  After snuggling with Tracy and Shea in an effort to get Shea to bed, I've been unable to keep my eyes open.  This means that there have been days where I didn't complete my lesson plans the night before.  Unable to avoid sleep, I've set my alarm for 5 am.   I woke early, got my coffee, made my way into my office, shut the door, and gone to work.  It's been a revolution in terms of what have traditionally been my productive hours.  I've now done this on more than one occassion.

This morning I woke at 5 am naturally.  It was probably the dream I had which involved getting into a fistfight in a gelato shop while a crab attacked my leg (I know I don't get it either), but my eyes opened and I found myself drawn to the computer.  I rose out of bed, crossed at the foot of the bed and peered at the alarm clock on Tracy's nightstand.  5:00 am.  5:00 exactly. 

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, gave myself a quiet "hmm," and made my way downstairs to turn on the coffee pot.  The next hour was spent writing five new pages of my novel.  I didn't quite get to the fistfight, but I got through the dynamics that would conceivably lead to the fistfight.  I caught up on my email after that and still had time to crawl back into bed with Tracy for a couple minutes before she got up to get ready for work. 

We snuggled with the dog and talked quietly through the early hours of the morning.  I shut my eyes and fell asleep for a little bit, only to wake to Shea at the edge of the bed, but I knew that little nap was justified as I had already utilized the early morning hours for carving out some time for me, for my writing, for Katie and John (novel characters) and their blooming romance. 

I might be a convert from the night to day.  There is something exquisitely peaceful about those silent moments of the morning where the only sound is my fingers across the keyboard.  I love knowing my family is asleep around me, close, dreaming, at ease, and that I can go to them at any moment in the quiet moments that inevitably fall over me after I've gotten a few pages down. 

I Clean for You (with apologies to Daniel Letterle)

I cleaned today.  It was a choice.  I have a stack of papers to grade and I should be giving time to my students, but I found myself wanting to do this for Tracy.  She's got a mental checklist like an Excel spreadsheet.  Even when she appears at rest she is calculating the things she wants/needs to get done in the coming days and weeks.  I'm not even kidding.  So, today, because I love her and I want to take things off her plate I did the following:

1. Vacuumed the entire house.
2. Swept all linoleum floors.
3. Steam cleaned all linoleum floors.
4. Cleaned all toilets.
5. Cleaned all sinks.
6. Did every stitch of laundry in the house.
7. Moved new pieces of furniture into place by myself.
8. Moved old pieces of furniture to make room for the new.
9. Picked up all clutter.
10. Loaded up my truck with a load of things that needed to go to Goodwill.
11. Dusted our bedroom.
12.  Installed a new lamp.


13.  Was mindful of things Tracy needs/wants.

And so I pirate and bastardize the lyrics for "I Sing for You" from the movie Camp.

"I clean for you and only you
Wherever I go I find you
You’re in the sound of every brillo
In everything I do."

I love you, baby. 

Change

I've been actively seeking change lately.  In all aspects of my life, in big ways and small ways, I've been craving a paradigm shift.  I've changed my writing practice.  I've been changing my bad habits (i.e. smoking).  I've been trying to take on new good habits (i.e. running).  And so, finally, I come to an aspect of change that seems fickle and cosmetic but may just be deeper than that. 

I shaved my head.  It's a small thing, just a trifle, but it has big impacts.  First, my wife isn't the biggest fan of the new look, but I have a feeling she'll come around after a while.  Second, I've been accosted by at least one acquaintance who grew visibly and audibly upset with me for the change.

Tracy and I had just finished moving things to her parents' new house when we decided to finally eat something.  It was around 3 in the afternoon and we hadn't really had anything beyond some cheese and crackers.  We went to the Wild Hare for a burger and some wings.  When we got there, a patron began berating me for my choice of hair style (or lack thereof). 

"Why did you do that?" he said.

"No reason," I replied.

"No really," he said.

"Really," I said.  "I don't have a good reason."

"But you're a school teacher."

"Yeah," I said.

"Shouldn't you have a reason?"

"Um, I don't see the connection."

"You should have a reason."

This conversation went on and on.  Now let it be said that he had obviously had a snootful by the time we got there, but his reaction fascinated me.  Why was this man so invested in my appearance?  What was his reason for needing a rational explanation?  Why was he trying to own an aspect of me that I was comfortable discarding?

I don't have the answers here, but it practically validates the change.  The force of his reaction validates the trembles I got before I pulled the clippers cleanly through my hair for the first time.  It justifies my hesitation as I stood in front of the mirror for ten minutes with the clippers running.  It soothes the distress of the internal debate I waged with myself.

I was ready for change in all its forms.  Who know it would be the one I found to be the most cosmetic that would rattle the paradigm the most.

For the curious, here's a picture of the new "do":

It's Been a While

After a long, emotional day of moving Tracy's folks, Tracy and I found ourselves prepping to go out for a friend's birthday party.  It was a pub crawl in downtown Oregon City.  We got dressed and made our way down to our friend's house.  There we were greeted by a room full of warm company and a couple of tequila shots. 

The first bar we went to was the Icehouse, a long bar with concrete floors and high echo-y ceilings.  It's full of games like pinball, pop-a-shot, video bowling, and video golf.  We settled in at a table with our beers and introduced ourselves to the people we didn't know in the party.  Across the room a pinball machine's blinking lights was seducing me like a woman's slow, lingering wink. 

Tracy and I dropped some quarters in and had some fun reliving our childhoods a bit.  It's been a while since I've played pinball.  I got my friend and I a shot of Jagermeister to go with our beers.

The next bar we went to was McAnulty's and Barry's.  This place was DEAD!  In fact, the bartender was hanging around outside with patrons and smoking a cigarette.  When we went inside, she followed Tracy and I in (we were the first of our party to arrive).  When she asked what we were up to, we told her about the birthday party.  She immediately unlocked a pool table for us and set us up with our first round of drinks.

The rest of the group arrived in a haze of song.  They stormed the pool table and the Keeley set to playing songs on the jukebox.  The music raised the ante on the volume level and pretty soon the empty bar felt full and fun.  Guys shot pool while pockets of people sprinkled around the high top tables circling them.

I bought my friend (and myself) a shot of Pendleton to go with the next round of beers.  I was starting to feel good.  It's been a while since I've taken this many shots in a night.

At this point, Tracy was done and she excused herself for the evening and made her way home.  The rest of us were ready for a change of scenery and made our way down main street to Pioneer Pub.  You could hear the hip hop music from down the street and our group made quick time to the dance floor.  Usher, Pitbull, and other hip hop artists soon had us bumping and grinding on the dance floor. 

I stood along the wall of the bar for a while until I just couldn't resist anymore.  Maybe it was the shots.   I set my beer down on a table and jumped out onto the floor.  It's been a while since I've been dancing at a bar.

When the birthday boy started showing signs of fatigue and intoxication, we made one last jump to the Happy Lounge down the street.  We must have walked in at about 2 am, but I couldn't tell you for sure as I was completely oblivious to time. 

We settled in for one last beer (and a round of Jagermeister shots supplied by Katie) and the girls ordered Chinese food to go.  Once the food arrived, it was time to get the hell out of there.  We walked our way up the hill to the house and someone started throwing burgers on the barbecue.  This was my cue to make my way home.  A sober friend offered to drive me and spare me the three mile uphill walk to the house, so I took it.  I rolled in at 3 am.  It's been a while since I've closed down the bars and gotten home at 3 am. 

I can't tell you how much fun it was.  The perfect, reckless diversion to finish out a couple of hard weeks.  I only wish Tracy would have been there to dance with me.  It's been a while, so maybe I should take her dancing.

Update

It has been seventeen days since "The Challenge", when I said I was going to write every day.  I'm proud to report that I've written thirteen of those seventeen days.  The wallpaper on all my computers remains.  The twice daily alarms via email and cell phone remain.  I'm making myself conscious of my own desires, my own wishes, and it is bringing results.

It makes me think of November.  For those of you who don't know, November is National Novel Writing Month.  It is something I have always thought about participating in, but never seem to get around to.  Well, I'm thinking I might take the plunge this year.  In fact, I opened another browser window as I was working on this post and set up a new account with the organization.  I've signed up.  I have the novel in my head, so I simply need to execute.  Here goes nothing.  

And Away She Goes!

I found myself at Champoeg Park on Saturday.  It is a place I feel strongly connected to because of my family's tradition of camping there when I was younger.  My reason for being there this time wasn't much different.  My dad's extended family has begun hosting a family reunion each year and this year it was at Champoeg. 

After working at my in-laws' new house all day, Tracy and I cleaned up Shea and took off to have dinner with the extended Kriegshauser/Lang.  As a last minute addition, I threw Shea's tricycle and helmet into the back of the rig.  My memories of Champoeg pivot around my bike.

When we arrived, I was surprised to see that I remembered so many of the faces of the extended family.  It was easy to remember the ones I see/saw often like Jan, Sam, Mary, etc, but soon it didn't take long for names like Larry, Ann, and Charlie to come to the forefront. 

Thanks to my aunt Sharon, Shea was set up nicely at a picnic table where she was designing a new sun visor for herself.  There was pipe cleaner, cut out flower designs, and foam letters to keep her occupied.  The result was a visor with three flowers rising up off the brim with pipe cleaner and her name spelled out underneath.

I got the chance to catch up with my cousin Nicki and her husband Matt as well as my cousin Andy's wife LeAnn., but it was soon dinner time.  The call went out for mother's to fix plates for the six and unders.  The rest of us were simply going to have to wait patiently. 

You should have seen the spread.  Uncle Larry cooked up quarters of chickens until they were golden and perfect.  Under the covered pavilion was a line of tables loaded with all kinds of salads, veggies, beans and desserts.  There were all kinds of picnic favorites I could trace back to my own childhood, things I've eaten for decades.  I was excited.

Soon, the open call for the grown ups went out and we were able to dig in.  The conversation was relaxed, even in spite of the bees which began to swarm, and soon the aunties were slipping desserts to the kids.  Cookies, Rice Krispie treats, and assorted bars bursting with coconut or nuts were oozing their sticky sweetness on to young hands.  I knew I had to get the sugar out of Shea's system, so I offered to fetch her bike out of the back of Volvo.

She was excited.  I was too.  The ground here was flat for the most part and we were segmented away from the rest of the park, having reserved the group space just for family, and there were no cars passing through.  Shea strapped on her helmet, stepped up on to her tricycle and started peddling.  And peddling.  And peddling. 

I couldn't believe it.  Shea's normal routine was to ride the tricycle a couple of houses down the street and have me carry the damn thing back.  Not today.  No, today she peddled her little heart out.  I took her around the looped pull out of the private group space and around and around the parking area.  She never quit.  All of a sudden I have a little bike rider on my hands.

The littles amaze me.  You think you have their development pegged when all of a sudden they just take off and do something amazing you've never seen before.  Shea probably rode for an hour.  She fell off a couple times, but she got right back on.  She found a little girl, Ryan, who had a scooter and away they went. She's a little person now, more so every day. 

Between Shea's newfound ability and reconnecting with family, Saturday turned out to be pretty damn special.  Sometimes it's easy to feel blessed.

Laboring over Stuff

I've come to realize that Stuff is the bane of my existence.  I'm serious.  The BANE of my existence.  The problem is...I love stuff.  We all do.  We've been taught to love stuff.  Yet, I spend an inappropriate amount of time tending to my stuff.  Stuff needs maintenance, stuff needs sorting/organizing, etc.  The reason my stuff needs so much maintenance is because I have too much of it.

I shouldn't have to organize stuff into smaller physical spaces in order to fill the recently vacated space with new stuff.  It's absurd.  But I do it all the time.  I can feel myself getting ready to go on a rampage with my stuff.  I can feel myself preparing to "clear the decks" and really digging down deep to get rid of things I don't need.

Part of this comes from the confrontation I had this weekend with other people's stuff.  I try not to pass judgment on other people and their things.  After all, we all have our personal stuff fetishes.  I'm comic books and books.  Tracy is kitchen stuff.  I know people for whom it is sports memorabilia, beanie babies, swizzle sticks, etc.  We all have our little niche of things we like to surround ourselves with, but it is really easy to undermine/undervalue another's things.

So, I begin at home.  I begin with me.  Last night I went through my closet and packed away a garbage bag full of clothes I don't need.  There are other closets and dressers yet to go, but I want to simplify.  I don't want to feel tied down by my things and the only way to come out from underneath it all is to get rid of it a single item at a time.

Moving Day

The day began in a bluster of activity as Tracy and I got in our cars and headed over to her parents' house for moving day.  Tracy's parents have lived in the same house for 41 years.  It was going to be a big day.

I am so incredibly grateful for my friends.  They are life savers.  Three of our friends gave up an entire day, 9 am to 6 pm, to help us.  We had three trucks, a Tahoe, a minivan, a Volvo, and a thirty foot flatbed trailer.  We moved almost everything out of the 1700 square feet of their house in the space of two loads.  We disconnected gas ranges/ovens, took out dishwashers, moved a fridge and a freezer, patio furniture, porch swings, sofas, china hutches, buffets, rugs, end tables, bed, bed frames, etc.

This wouldn't have been possible without the strong backs of some close friends.  They "lifted" the burden off the shoulders of Tracy and I.  I will forever be grateful for that.  Thank you, friends.  You know who you are. 

Now, we dine.  Tracy and I are taking ourselves out to a really nice dinner.  We will have appetizers and martinis, extravagant entrees and wine.  We will relax and try to forget the stress of the day.  As my daughter would say, Bon Appetit!