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Month: January 2017

Life is Good

Life is Good

It’s Sunday.

The morning started off “classic Christiansen.”

I was in the bathroom.  My hand knocked the toilet paper roll off its perch on the antique iron carriage step mounted on the wall.

Panic began to set in as I watched it roll across the floor to the other side of the bathroom.

Out of reach…

Great, I thought, it’s going to be one of those days.

 

Church was good.  The service was called “What is In Your Hand,” a reference to the staff a reluctant Moses was holding when God spoke to him at the burning bush and pressed Moses into service to lead His people out of Egypt.  For this morning however, the message was directed at our calling and those of us listening being pressed into service with mission work that our church was involved in.  It was a good message, but as I listened I had to acknowledge to myself there have been times in my church life I was much better at participating.  Sometimes life gets in the way even with church and helping others.  I decided there would be a time when would get better at this again.

After church it was time to get some physical activity in.  Yesterday (Saturday) at Cameron’s urging he and I went for a three mile run/walk.  He was tough and hard on the old man (me).   We vowed we would take on a 5K together in the Spring when the weather got better.  But in the mean time we would train.

Don’t bother us, we are in training!

So on Sunday after church, we went out again, this time taking Kim.  It was a great bonding time on both days and I am looking forward to that Spring 5K.

It was a Steelers weekend as well.

Savannah and Kim spent the better part of Saturday making halupki (aka stuffed cabbage or aka in Western Pennsylvania, Pigs in a Blanket) and pierogis, a ravioli kind of thing,  but this one is stuffed with mashed potatoes.    At the end of the afternoon, by my estimate, we had enough halupki and pierogies to feed the population of Pittsburgh on a game day.

But now on Sunday, with the Steelers game moved to an 8:20 pm start, we had some time to kill.  We spent the rest of the afternoon looking at old photos including some of past playoff game get-togethers;   some new photos; writing a little; and eating a lot as we half paid attention to the Packers as they beat the Cowboys.

 

 

Our newest grandchild!

One of those new photos was one sent by Alexa.  It was one of those ultrasound photos of my newest grandson or granddaughter, since I don’t know yet whether it’s a boy or a girl.

I am always amazed by these images.

I messaged Alexa to ask,  how many weeks this wonderful little baby was?

Twelve, she texted back.

Wow  I thought, twelve weeks…unbelievable…as I got a little winkage.

 

Now getting later, we put Cameron to bed with our usual ritual and I went in to his room to say goodnight to him.  I rubbed his back,  said goodnight and he said to me:

“I had a nice weekend Pop Pop.”

“Me too buddy,” I replied,  “me too.”

More winkage.

Then, as I have done the last two weekends, I put on my new Antonio Brown jersey that my wife bought me and settled down to watch the game, nervously eating my Utz pretzels one after another (like I needed more food).

Late into the night I watched.

And in the end, once again, my new AB jersey came through with another win.

The Steelers are three for three with me in my new jersey, I thought as I put my halupki laden, pierogie bulging belly to bed finally.

Like Cameron said, it was a nice weekend.

And it just goes to show you.

Even on a day that starts with your toilet paper roll leaving you stranded,

Life…is good.

Yup!
Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

Tubas and Saxophones, The Dave Clark Five, and I Love You

My first saxophone, circa 1965, but it was already old when i got it.

It was The Dave Clark Five in the early sixties that caused a young “want to be” rock star at seven or eight years old to begin to fantasize about playing the saxophone one day in a band.

Our grandson Cameron,  age six, asked Santa for a tuba for Christmas.

A tuba.

We don’t know why he wanted a tuba for Christmas.  Not that there is anything wrong with that or the tuba,  I just can’t think of any cool current bands with a tuba player.

Our ritual for putting Cameron to sleep includes Kim and me each individually going in to visit him to say goodnight. The other night while I was in saying good night to Cameron, he asked me:

“Pop Pop, why didn’t Santa bring me a tuba?”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe he wants you to first learn to play your guitar, your drums, your harmonica, and your piano.  Then it will be easier for you to learn how to play the tuba.”

So because of the Dave Clark Five, when I turned nine years old and was able to start the music program in grammar school (sorry that is elementary school for those of you who aren’t from Jersey),  I got my first saxophone.    I was in the fourth grade and played it until I was in the seventh grade.

When I was twelve I got my first harmonica.

When I was sixteen or seventeen I put my first guitar on lay-away at Jack’s Music Shop in Red Bank New Jersey.

I now have six guitars, a number that equals the number of chords I know how to play on those guitars. I have two saxophones, and I have about twenty harmonicas.

Though I have a deep love of music I think my self-diagnosed attention deficit disorder never allowed me to master any one of those instruments beyond the point of just being able to have fun.

Last night, while listening to some music, I started thinking about Cameron and his tuba.

Then I started thinking about me and my musical instruments.

So naturally that led to the thought that I had to write something about all this.  Next, I remembered I had once written something that I thought at the time was really cool, that might fit somewhere in this developing concept.

So I started searching my spiral notebooks,  and then my computer files,  but I never did find those really cool words I once wrote that I thought would be so fitting.  Though it was definitely way cooler than this,  what I wrote back then had a similar theme to this:

I don’t know why I never learned to play harp like Delbert.

And I don’t know why I never played saxophone like Clarence.

Or learned to play the guitar like Bruce, or sing like Richie Furay, or write songs like Hiatt.

 

And I don’t know now what any of this has to do with anything…except maybe confirming my ADD tendencies.

But there was something else.

Because while I was searching for those really cool lyrics that were never found, I did find this:

My Mom Often tells me

By Donny

 

My mom often tells me, I love you.

When I am in the most miserable mood ever, and my mom is yelling I still know all of this yelling will later be followed by I love you. 

This saying reassures me that everything will always be alright.  It lets me know that somebody cares for you.  This saying makes you feel like everything I’m doing is fine and I should keep up the good work.  I don’t understand why when my mom says I love you, it means a lot more than when anybody else on earth says it, I love my mom.  She is my mentor, my friend, and someone I look up to.  I couldn’t ask for a better mom.  I thank God for blessing me with a gift like this

 

I don’t know why Santa didn’t bring Cameron a tuba.

And I will never know why God took Donny away from us either.

But I am happy that I found this essay of Donny’s since Monday is Donny’s birthday and sometimes we just need to get these messages.

A message that “reassures me that everything will always be alright.” 

So happy birthday Donny!

I can assure you that your mother still loves you.

And that everything will be alright.

Oh…and tell somebody that you love them, it means something.

Donny and cousin Josh

 

 

Musings of an Aging Nobody…I Will Praise You in the Storm

Musings of an Aging Nobody…I Will Praise You in the Storm

The final glimmers of light for 2016 over the Kent Narrows

It’s hard to believe that a whole year has gone by since I very nervously clicked the “publish” button on my newly and hastily constructed website sending my first essay “Three Score and Counting” out into cyberspace on New Year’s day 2016.  That was a big leap for me having only ever written publicly for work; or for family and friends with an annual Christmas letter.  Most of what I had written was kept for my own consumption, 30 years of words hidden away in spiral notebooks stacked where only I knew to read them.

And for me being able to share on this website fulfilled at least one of my life’s goals, to get over the fear and worry and just write, and let someone else read it, like it or not.

Now one year later, to repeat a thought from that first writing “Three Score…” I am still alive and breathing and now looking forward to another year.

And I say I am looking forward to it very sincerely, in spite of the fact that I know that this new year will have all the makings of other years gone by and will include many great moments, but since this is real life I am wise enough now to expect some moments that won’t be so celebrated.  And now on this first day of the New Year I have the opportunity to reflect a little on the roller coaster ride that was 2016.  I am sure you have your stories too.

I experienced some things I had never experienced before and some I at least hadn’t experienced in many years.  Some were painful, some were sad.  Some were life changing for me, some were life changing for others.  Some were all too familiar but not always the familiar we look for.  Some were educational, some introspective.  Some were silly and sometimes a needed diversion.  All were personal, all elicited some emotion.  Many times I laughed but more times I cried. And sometimes I laughed and I cried.  I have often said I cry when I write, and I write when I cry, because sometimes for me writing helps the healing.

There were times I was angry. There were times I was scared too.  There were times I was humbled.  But in those times wisdom is born and so there were times of enlightenment too.

And though I try to be creative with my non-fiction, this is real life, and sometimes our non-fiction gets handed to us in a way we couldn’t imagine creating.

Sadly In life we experience loss, but there is always the opportunity to honor those like my friends Lynn, Holly, and Tawanda who all lost their battles with cancer.

But some losses come harder than others.  Some are much more personal, closer to home and continue to be experienced daily.  It’s hard sometimes to keep that contained.

And in May our community’s world was rocked again with the loss of Jimmy McLaughlin, a young man and a good family friend loved by all who knew him.

In these situations the healing continues for many and for some may never end.

Nature’s cross remembering Mr. Hersch

Then in June I was reminded that there are those who don’t always share the same passion for life that most of us have.  And for those, there can be a day when their pain and anguish can take control, if only for a brief moment, and then it’s over.   On Christmas Day I re visited the sunken path where Mr. Hersch took the life of his dog and himself.  I hadn’t been out in that woods since the June evening when my neighbor and I discovered him and his companion.  Nature had appropriately fashioned a cross right in the spot where he lay.

But it wasn’t always sad and painful.

I learned that not everyone shares the same respect I have for French bread.  I learned a new word while I was sheltering in place in a massive snow storm.  I fought the garden wars in the trenches of my back yard and became “The Deer Hunter” unexpectedly and remorsefully doling out some unnecessary revenge.

I battled a great sea monster that left me bloodied and in the urgent care.  I realized growing old isn’t always pretty and I learned that climbing stairs can help generate gray matter making me smarter. I purposely climbed that stairwell to the fifth level of that Reston Hospital parking garage many times after that first struggling effort.  That is, up until August when another not so pleasant life experience occurred and the work that required me to be in that parking garage stopped.  But happily in the last week of the year I would make those five flights of stairs again, now in a new role.

And in that down time I would read Angela Duckworth’s “Grit” for a second time and totally understand her comment in the book that “teaching is the hardest job in the world” after having spent some time substituting for 4th, 5th, and 6th grade teachers.

And who could forget we had a Presidential election in 2016. In my effort to not be controversial, I tried to remain neutral in my writing, but also tried to have a little fun with it as well.

But alas, Mickey didn’t win.

 

The 20th the Bell for our 20th Christmas

In addition to recognizing that lives matter, I particularly began to recognize the priorities of family; of grandchildren, and children, our parents; and of Kim and I; and where I might need to improve.  And thankfully we had opportunities to share some meaningful time together with some short trips, a beautiful wedding, Father’s Day, and of course

Christmas.

And in the end I realized that though there were some painful and sad experiences, there was much to be thankful for as well as we celebrated the holidays.

So I am looking forward to 2017 and to new adventures and more musings in the year to come.

And referencing “Three Score…” from last New Year’s Day one more time, though my lifeline continues to be my wife, it is our spirituality that keeps us lifted.

I had storms in 2016, let’s face it, we all did.  But I remain steadfast.

And I pray for calmer waters for you and your families and for mine.

And as always, I thank you for letting me share.

Happy New Year.

Happy New Year from outside Harris’ Crab House Grasonville MD