productive?

I was being productive around the house (today is my day off) until I realized that usopen.com is streaming the playoff live. Productivity, it was nice knowing you.

the weekend

Tiger did it again this Sunday. It wasn’t quite as amazing as Saturday’s third round but holing that putt on 18 to force a Monday playoff was spectacular.

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I officiated a wedding this weekend. The wedding was at Castle on the Hudson. Sophia’s gonna be jealous when she realizes I did a wedding at a castle.

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My dad always claimed the NBA was fixed. As I sit here and watch game five of the Finals, I can’t help but think my dad’s tendency to lean in the direction of conspiracy theories has finally paid off.

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Speaking of my dad, I sure am glad that he’s my dad.

I was in jr high or high school when the doorbell rang. I went to the door and on the other side was a small woman of Mexican descent. In her hands was a tupperware dish. In broken English she said, “For your dad. Thank you.” I took the dish to the kitchen and showed my mom. I opened it to find fresh, warm tamales. “What are these for?” I asked my mom. “Your dad probably does their taxes for free and this is their way of saying ‘thank you.’”

Dad, I love you so much. You live life generously. Thank you for being my dad. (Not that you had a choice or anything.)

tiger freakin’ woods

It’s Saturday night and I should be focused on all things church. However, I just finished watching Tiger Woods play an extraordinary third round of golf. All I can say is, oh. my. goodness.

Did anyone else see that in real time? Wow.

in sadness we learn

Last August I wrote about this guy who sings awfully sad ballads in the Brooklyn YMCA men’s locker room. His big baritone voice loomed large as he belted out songs in a different language. I said in the August post that the songs he sung affected everyone within hearing range. I desperately wanted to know more of his story and resolved to find out more. But then he disappeared. I never saw him again.

And then today, between basketball games, one of the guys said, “Hey, has anyone ever heard the old man singing in the showers upstairs?” Everyone started chiming in, “Yeah, we’ve heard him.” Turns out, he’s back and his voice can now be heard again in the locker room.

I went to find him and ran into him in the hall outside the basketball court.

Hey, I’ve heard you sing before in the locker room. I’m curious, what language are you singing in?

He smiles. Italian.

Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure. You have an incredible voice. I’m curious about what you’re singing. The songs, they sound sad.

Again with a grin, The songs I sing tell a story. It’s a story about life. And it just so happens that sadness is a theme explored again and again in these songs. The people I grew up with and the singers that influenced me believed that it’s within sadness that a person really discovers who they are and what they are made of.

compelling

O Sleep, Sleep, wherefore art thou, Sleep?

It’s 7:20 PM and the kids are laid out in their beds like we’ve just exposed them to the world of sleep for the first time. In reality, they are making up for an early morning.

At around 4 a.m. this morning, Laura and I heard Ira calling out. I rushed in to find him standing by his bed. It didn’t take long to notice the problem - Ira’s g-tube had become disconnected at some point during the night. Formula was everywhere. The bed was soaked, the carpet beside the bed was saoked, Ira was soaked. Laura and I launched into action. I stripped Ira down and took him to the tub. Laura stripped the bed and started scrubbing the floor. By the time we were done, everyone was wide awake. We attempted to lay back down but in the midst of the chaos, sleep quietly tip-toed out the front door. C’est la vie.

reverence

A friend of mine was ordained into the Episcopal Church’s Sacred Order of Deacons this past Saturday. When he invited me to the service, I jumped at the chance to go. You see, I love worshiping in a high church atmosphere.

In high church worship services every movement, every word spoken, everything - it’s all scripted. The moment the procession starts, one is put on notice that what is about to take place is something very special and very serious. There is no room to escape what is being communicated - God should be revered and worshiping God should not be taken lightly. I love that the liturgy used is liturgy that has been used for many, many years. And I love that Episcopalians practice open communion, or, in other words, everyone is welcome to partake in the eucharist. No one is left out.

I’m thankful for my friend who has chosen to be a part of a tradition that takes seriously history and tradition. I’ve got a lot to learn from him and others who worship in high church traditions.

my wife, the athlete

Even though it was news to me I wasn’t surprised today, as my family watched the Prefontaine on television, when Laura revealed that she once participated in a track and field summer camp. You see, there’s not a sport Laura hasn’t tried. Figure skating? Check. Bowling? Yep. Soccer? Sure. Swimming? No doubt. Softball? Yeah. Volleyball? Affirmative. Basketball? Yes.

Laura’s dad, Harvey, gets the credit for introducing Laura to these sports. This wasn’t Harvey’s way of living out his youth through his kid and it wasn’t at all a case of keeping up with the Jones’s. Harvey simply loves sports and the atmosphere of sports. His laid-back, easy-going demeanor made it an easy choice for Laura when he came calling. “Hey Laura, would you like to try soccer?” “Um, okay.” And off they’d go.

And this is what I love about Laura now. She’s inherited her father’s appreciation for sports. And so on this lazy Sunday afternoon, it was a pleasure to lounge around and take in a track meet on television.

frantic

The temps this weekend are supposed to reach into the 90s. And so there I was bright and early this morning hauling our window AC units down the street on a hand truck. I wasn’t alone. Others were frantically installing their window units as well.

Bring on the heat!

anxious

One of Ira’s best friends in Feeding Camp graduated yesterday. Like Ira, she came in eating nothing by mouth. Like Ira, she was dependent on tube feeings. But over the course of four and a half weeks, Ira’s friend started eating pureed foods and her NG tube was removed.

Yesterday, the social worker called all the parents together for a meeting. The social worker began the session by directing a question at the mother of the graduating kid: “What about leaving the clinic makes you nervous?” The mother was quick to answer: “I’m anxious that all my friends are gonna think that everything is okay and normal now that we’ve done this feeding camp. Everything is not okay and not normal. I’ve still got to follow this extreme process when feeding my child. And so they aren’t going to understand when I have to stay home to follow through with this rigorous feeding schedule. And the other thing I’m anxious about are the dumb questions I’m sure to get again like, ‘Can’t you just let your kid go hungry? Surely your kid will eat when he/she is hungry. Your kid is three! They need to be eating chew-able foods!’ I’m not so sure I have the patience to deal with those questions.”

As she was saying these things, every parent in the room was nodding their heads in agreement.