Happy Kids Day!!

Today is my Mom's birthday.  She's 81. This most likely will be her final birthday here on Earth, as she is ill and the doctors have indicated that she has only weeks left to live.  I was feeling very sad because I was not able to be there today to sing "Happy Birthday" to her (we did get to visit and sing to her a few days ago).  Sad that is, until my 8 year old son declared today "Happy Kids Day." 


He didn't realize it was his grandmother's birthday nor that I was feeling sad.  He only knew it had been a while since we celebrated something, and he decided to create something new.  "Happy Kids Day."

Today we ate pizza for breakfast and for lunch.  We also went swimming and had cheeseburgers and pickled eggs for supper.  We played video games and watched some kid-friendly TV. 

It's a perfect holiday for this day, because their Nana was always going above and beyond for her grandchildren.  Anything the kids wanted ... *POOF* ... there it was.

If they wanted ice cream ... No problem.
If they wanted to go to the playground all day ... No problem.
If they wanted to sit around and watch cartoons ... No problem.

Anything was possible when they were at Nana's house.

So, in honor of my mother, I think we will keep this new holiday tradition.

Happy Kids Day!!

This is the Government I Want

Of all the pictures and scans of the Declaration of Independence, this one is my favorite.  I like it much more than the pristine, finished copy that all the fathers signed so long ago.

I love that it shows the mistakes and the lines that are crossed out.

I love the arrows and phrases that are circled.

I love the stuff written in the margins, and the bold faced words that must be more important than other words.

I love that the handwriting belongs to several people.

Most of all, I love that it shows the sweat that went into the document, and subsequently the nation, to which this document gave birth.  The men who sat in a hot, sweaty room in Philly and argued over details - details that were scribbled onto the working document - are represented in this document, not so much in the finished, polished, signed one.

This is what I want my government to look like. I want them to lock down in a room and work TOGETHER, even though they disagree, and come out with something that is actually for the common good, instead of something that lines the pockets of campaign contributors.

The writers of the Declaration of Independence knew that they would likely die for their contributions, yet they were brave enough to write it and sign it.

Are there any as brave today?

A Very Unusual Night

*NOTE* I want to state at the beginning of this post that none of the people involved are currently on committees or part of the current membership of this church.  Every one of them has either gone home to Heaven or has moved on to other cities and churches.

About twenty years ago I was working at a large United Methodist church in Pennsylvania.  That is when the trouble began.  People were doing things.  Good things.  Stuff was being repaired, replaced, changed.  And that was a problem.  A big problem. 


You see, many churches are committee run machines that run like a machine as long as the oil is always applied to the same spot every day, the same people are consulted, the same committees are consulted before anyone does anything.  ANYTHING.

In this church, there were things that needed to be done.  There were walls to be patched and painted, outlets to be changed, toilets to be repaired, pianos to be tuned, microphones to be replaced, adoors to be shimmed, and wood to be refinished.

There existed in the membership a small group of people who saw the work that needed to be done and recognized the need to do the work without waiting for committee after committee to approve the purchase small vs. large plunger for the Sunday School office toilet.  For goodness sake, just bu a plunger already!

So we went about doing what anyone with a conscience would do.  We sneaked out, bought supplies, and went about doing the work without anyone's permission.  We fixed commodes, changed light fixtures, patched walls, repaired draperies, soldered pipes, painted rooms, and patched concrete steps. 

Committee members would come into the building scratching their heads at the door that no longer scraped the floor, asking each other about the new colors in the bathrooms (and who was responsible for approving that color). 

It was a lot of fun to do what needed to be done (a la Rodney Robot "See a need, fill a need").

Until ....

One member of our little covert "team" became prideful, and in a moment of weakness, bragged to someone about our activities.

One night as we were painting the choir room, the door opened and we were caught and told to stop.  From that moment on we were no longer given the freedom to move about the building.  Doors were locked, committee members were sent to "check on things" every night to make sure nothing was "going on."

I had never gotten in trouble for doing good.  Until that night.

It was a very unusual night.

Mistofelees and Me

Mister Mistofelees.  It's probably one of the most memorable songs / scenes from the musical "Cats."  My kids and I were looking up Broadway songs on YouTube when we came across this clip from the show. 

They watched the entire song (I only posted part 1 below) I began to get tears in my eyes, so I had to walk away from the computer.  It wasn't that the song itself is so moving and emotional, it wasn't that Mistofelees shoots lightning from his fingertips (cool as that is, both on video and in person), it wasn't even the twinkling LED Christmas lights on stage (far ahead of their time).

I got lump in my throat because it brought back a memory.

About 20(ish) years I took my sister to New York to see "Cats" on Broadway.  She had never seen a Broadway show and she always wanted to see "Cats."  So I took her and Mom to see the show.  It was a great day.  We ate at Beefsteak Charlie's and took a cab to F.A.O. Schwartz to play the big floor piano. 

Sadly, that was happier time, twenty-ish years ago when we were all still friends.  Our world is a different place, and the relationships that were present on that trip are different as well.  I long for that time and those warm kinships.  But sadly it isn't easy to repair a tie so damaged over time.

That said, I get misty over things that others do not understand.  For my own reasons.  That's the way it is, and that's how it's gonna be.

Been a While

Hey!  I know it's been a while since I posted on my blog, but really truly have a good reason for ignoring it.

You see, I have another blog that is more of a ministry than just a place to spout off about whatever bugs me.  It's a blog that helps husbands and wives improve their marriages.  It's Bible-based and has gained quite a bit of popularity in the past few months.  Therefore, it's probably helping someone, therefore I gave it a lot of attention to foster more growth and reach more people.

Anyway, I'm not giving up TenorboyJournal.  I'm planning to post regularly again real soon.  I'm not sure what form this blog will take, but one thing is certain.  I can't be stopped from speaking my mind.

Don't say I didn't warn you. 

A Soup To Remember

Let's talk about soup.  Why?  Because I like soup.  Okay?  

OKAY?!!?

If you know me, then you know that I'm a bit of a foodie, and slightly fanatical about homemade food.  It's cheap, it's tasty, and it's good for you.  No preservatives or fillers, no unnecessary processing, and always made with love.

I usually stick to the plan of making everything from scratch, with a few exceptions (the occasional potato chip, ice cream - you know what I'm talking about).  Last night, however, I was shopping with my son at Price Chopper when we happened upon the lady doles out the free samples. 

"What will you be treating us to this evening?" I asked.

"Fish soup," she replied.

"I don't usually like fish soup."

"Neither do I, but this one is different."

"What is it?"

"North Atlantic Haddock Chowder."

Both the boy and I tried the soup in teeny weeny plastic cups with teeny weeny plastic spoons.  He had oyster crackers in his.  Mine was "au naturale."  

It was the best soup I've had in a long, long time.

As many times as I've passed the hot soups in the deli section, I never bothered to give them a second glance.  "They aren't homemade," I thought.  "They're probably no better than condensed canned soups," I thought. 

I think quite differently now.  When I went to the deli department to buy some chowder for my wife, I reaad the ingredient list and found nothing that would alarm me. NOTHING.  No preservatives, no additives, nothing that sends up the usual red flag of food. 

Fish stock

Light cream

Haddock

Potatoes

Onions

Celery

Butter

Wheat flour

Sea salt

Garlic

Pepper sauce (distilled vinegar, red pepper, salt)

That was it.  It was creamy and flavorful with just the right amount of texture.  It wasn't too watery or too thick.  The fish was flaky and tender with chunks that weren't too big.  

A very good soup.  Made by Price Chopper.  Who knew?

 

Car Trouble? Or Is It Just Old Age?

I was running a little late for work this morning, so I parked in the visitor parking lot.  If you know me, then you know how uneasy and self-conscious I felt leaving my car and walking into the building, dashing up the stairs, and making it to the band room just in time to enter with my students.

It isn't that I parked there for the wrong reasons.  I was going to move it to the staff parking lot right after band rehearsal. 


But then, old age kicked in, and I forgot.

The ole' Subaru sat there all day.  In the visitor parking lot.  Feeling awkward, I'm sure, with all the parents' cars staring at it, giggling at the out of place hunk of metal. 

Sadly, because I forgot it was there, I walked all the way across the bridge to my usual space in the staff parking lot and found ..... nothing.

Big DUH moment.

Next time I park in the visitor parking lot, WILL SOMEONE PLEASE REMIND ME??!!??



Thank you.  End of rant.