Category: commentary

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Irish Pride

irish-flagThe first time I saw Ireland was through the tiny window of a giant airplane as we descended upon Dublin on a May day in 2003. It was our honeymoon, and we were aglow in the newness of the condition, then bombarded with the shock of the culture change that was about to hit us upon landing. I gripped my new bride’s hand in equal parts fear and anticipation, fear of the unknown and anticipation of the journey regardless. After all, it was Ireland.

I’ve always identified with all things Irish, since I was a wee lad. Honestly, my mother got awfully tired of me speaking in a poor excuse for an Irish accent (I’ve since gotten better at it) and wanting everything to be painted green. In fact, I had picked out the brightest green I could find and gotten my dad to paint my room that color. I was that committed to it, and I couldn’t have told you why it was Ireland and not somewhere else.

So, it was no wonder when I heard U2 for the first time on the radio and fell in love. Like with anything else I get interested in, I went overboard from the start. I quickly began doing research on the band, which was harder to do back then because the internet wasn’t as prevalent, so I went to the library. It was complicated work, but I was assured at the end of the inquiry that I knew all there was to know about the band, and by extension, about Ireland itself.

And I knew I had to get there someday. Somehow.

When I met my future wife, it was one of the first things we talked about, my obsession with all things Irish. I even joked about having been Irish in a previous life, and about the significance of my Irish last name. I knew she was humoring me, and I was grateful for it. At least she didn’t tell me to shut up. I also knew she was just as obsessed with all things British, so we would go back and forth on which culture was better. I still say it’s Irish, and perhaps our trip helped her to see things my way.

We touched down on Dublin soil after a seemingly endless plane ride, but I was finally there. In Ireland. I breathed in the air as we stepped off the plane, even though it was just recirculated airport air. It somehow felt different as I inhaled it, as if I were taking in the very essence of the Irish way of life. I would have knelt and kissed the floor had my wife not been with me. I didn’t want to embarrass her. That would come later. Continue reading “Irish Pride”

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In Moderation

moderation1Remember the story of Goldilocks, the little girl who, somehow lost in a forest, happens upon the home of three fastidious bears and makes herself at home? However, she can’t seem to get comfortable at first, finding that, after trial and error, only one of these bears has her best interests at heart, or at least makes for the most comfort. The soup is too hot, too cold, and then finally just right. The chairs are too hard, too soft, and then just right. Even the beds fit the pattern, a moral to us that we can go through many challenges in life before realizes what it’s all about, what’s going to fit us best.

Goldilocks tried to fit the bears into a paradigm she had set for herself, but only one of them fit into that ideal, the one that fit right into the average,the one that strove for moderation. I read somewhere once that there was nothing wrong with most things, except that as human beings we tend to over-indulge whenever possible. I thought about that one for a long time and tried to come up with a challenge to it so as to prove the statement false. There’s a list somewhere around here.

  1. Spending time with friends
  2. Reading
  3. Listening to music
  4. Being with family
  5. Meditating

This list was incredibly difficult to make, and almost as soon as it was done I realized that even these pursuits were best done in moderation for a host of different reasons, not the least of which was that life requires much more from us as individuals, that responsibilities preclude us from doing these five things to excess. Oh, if that weren’t so!

I think back to the most free time I ever had, as a kid on school vacations, what I guess people would call staycations now, because most times we didn’t go anywhere. My mother usually still had to work, so sometimes she would bring us in with her, and we would go entire days coming up with things to do in her office. Now, my mom worked in this huge old building at Temple University, and there was a hallway that absolutely no one used anymore. It was a veritable smorgasbord of places to play hide-and-seek, of old machines to dust off and use, and of imaginations running wild.

We would go there and enjoy ourselves for the first hour or two, and it helped when some other workers’ children were there as well to slot into those inventive moments, but after that it started to get boring. It’s interesting, but we think if we have an endless amount of time and space that we will enjoy it, that we will never get bored. That’s not true, and one of the reasons why moderation is best in all things, even when it comes to free time. Continue reading “In Moderation”

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Chatting With Lexi: On the Farm

thI try my hardest not to think about my time working on a farm. You can understand how me, a city boy, blanches every time a farm animal is mentioned, right? But my children are different, and I think they get it from their mother (who is a bona fide country girl through and through). They walk around here barefoot, they like Travis Tritt, and they like all things farm-related. Of course sometimes they might like things they don’t really know too much about.

Hmmmm. As always, Lexi and I have a lot of our most compelling conversations when it’s my bath night, and tonight was no exception.

Me: What did you do today?

Lexi: I had fun with the animals.

Me: What animals?

Lexi: Um, there were goats, and a llama. And my cow.

Me: You have a cow?

Lexi: Yeah, I have a cow. He puts out the fertilizer.

Me: Your cow is a boy?

Lexi: No, silly. He’s a girl.

Me: Uh, okay. How does she put out the fertilizer?

Lexi: You know.

Me: I do, but I’m not sure you do.

Lexi: Of course I do. It comes from his milk.

Me: His milk?

Lexi: Yeah, but first you have to get the milk out of him. Continue reading “Chatting With Lexi: On the Farm”

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The Sharing Game

children-sharing-sweetsDo you remember the Barney catchphrase, “Sharing is Caring!” and how he used to always espouse the joys you can get from not being selfish? Well, all of that was just an extension of your mother telling you that it’s always good to help out others who may not have what you have. And you know in the back of your head you were probably saying something like, “But it’s mine!” Well, I feel your pain, but perhaps your mother did have a point.

When I was a kid we lived at the end of a block of rowhouses in Southwest Philadelphia. Now, a rowhouse could have been seen as a detriment since the walls were so thin and were all connected, but my mother used the situation as an opportunity to teach a value lesson. She said that since our walls were “shared” we could share other things as well. I guess it was an attempt at helping to make a closer knit community in the middle of what was a depressed area.

And share we did, but it worked both ways. That’s the glory of sharing. Instead of being covetous of what someone else had, we took turns having it all. But in order to truly share you need two or more people who can understand the bigger picture. That’s why so many kids can’t share effectively without getting angry, possessive, or suddenly unsure about what taking turns really means. Continue reading “The Sharing Game”

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Locked Out

“I don’t have to pee. I don’t have to pee. I. Don’t. Have. To. Pee.” I kept telling myself that for the past ten minutes. It didn’t matter that I had just used the toilet fifteen minutes previous, or that as a rational adult I can hold it for quite a long time. The only … Continue reading Locked Out

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Caffeine Love

cup-of-coffeeI fell in love with coffee just after I got married, the blissful haze of wedded bliss leading me to try all kinds of new things I had never ventured to try before. She drank coffee in starts and stops, but I had been content to live vicariously for at least a year, drinking various other hot drinks while she drank heaven. Until we tied the knot, and then it was on.

And there are so many different types out there too. Before then I thought there was but one, like the one ring forged in the fires of Mt. Doom. It was “coffee,” like “eggs,” or “deer,” or “pajamas.” But that’s not the case at all, I realized once I decided to just go for it instead of simply dipping my toes in the wading pool. So I dove in headfirst, into the Olympic-sized swimming pool of coffee, the various flavors and shades, the textures and densities, the sizes and the culture.

Now I can tell a Colombian bean from one grown in Antigua (in the taste), and I have sampled such flavors as Autumn Spice, Pumpkin Latte, and Green Apple. Green Mountain, and Dunkin Donuts, and Starbucks, and various other big names began fighting for space in my refrigerator, right after I got married, and in my cabinet, and in my coffee mug as well. And I don’t have just one either. I have three distinctly different mugs that are specifically for my coffee. I know. You’re jealous. Continue reading “Caffeine Love”