My ABBA blog...

Strangely enough, I had composed an ABBA blog in my head a few days ago and then logged on to see my friend Amanda (see blogs followed at the side) had posted one of her own in the meantime. I guess everyone has an ABBA blog in them?

Listening to the random play of my iPod and "Chiquitita" by ABBA comes on and I realize that my psyche is saddled with this song until the day I day. No one in the world carries more baggage with this tune than I do. Not even Bjork and what's his name and Freda and what's her name. Especially not them. They probably forgot all about the song the second they stopped recording it.

But for me, it will always lodge in my brain as the soundtrack to several emotionally-scarring moments. First and foremost my parents' divorce. My father went through an ABBA craze after the divorce...most likely due to his purchase of a big-time 8-track player stereo system. I remember hearing that damn ABBA album playing all the time at his house when we would visit on the weekends. And that song always hit a nerve with me. Even to this day, I can't figure it out. What a weird, fucked-up song. What the hell is it about? It's got this creepy off-beat pace that speeds up and slows down with that ghostly vocal. And of all things, I think a calliope? It feels like you are on some sort of demented merry-go-round. The song always creeped me out.

But then it got worse.

My father was infamous for hanging out with us nine- and seven-year olds as if we were regular adult buddies. Whether it was giving us a pack of matches and a box of fireworks to go play with, letting us drive the car around the back roads of Jackson, or whatever, it was clear he didn't stress too much about potential accidents or such things. 

Case 1...movies. We were there on the weekends. There was a drive-in theater nearby. We were going to the movies. My dad was not going to let our age interfere with the types of movies he would see were he on his own. So we hopped in and were treated to Porky's, Mad Max, and a variety of the like. 

But in the summer of 1979 he packed us into the car to see the one movie that would shape my life forever: Ridley Scott's Alien. Still a great movie to this day. But I will tell you that you have never really experienced this movie until you've seen it as a 10-year old on a full stomach of popcorn and soda. The last memory I have before entering the theater was...you guessed it...the sounds of "Chiquitita" flowing through the speakers of my dad's Lincoln Continental.

Two hours, and one horrifying movie that featured an alien bursting through someone's stomach later, we returned to the car. To say my brother and I were in shock would be an understatement. I remember being terrified to even get inside the car...the interior of which I now realized with horror looked a lot like the inside of the spaceship Nostromo. 

My dad turns the key, cranks the ignition...cue "Chiquitita." 

That evening I lasted only about 10 minutes in bed before barfing all over the wall of our bedroom. Mercifully, I remember few other things about the aftermath, although I do recall violently fighting against going to see the Disney space movie The Black Hole several weeks later.

But "Chiquitita?" Baby, that is still brings it all back. When I hear that song, it's once again 1979 and that is the soundtrack to Alien and my parents' divorce. And honestly, listening the song? I can't imagine any other meaning to it.

Holidays in Ohio

It's really no surprise to anyone in Ohio to experience heavy snow and sub-zero temperatures after Thanksgiving and then head outside for a sunny 78-degree day after Christmas. Who knows what New Years will bring? Our front closet is full of every type of outerwear imaginable.

Personally, I spent the sunny day golfing in an effort to test out my still-ailing foot and hamstring. I know it sounds crazy, but after walking around a golf course for 3 hours, I swear my foot and thigh actually felt better. Maybe the exercise loosened up the muscles? Who knows. At this point it has been a full month since both injuries and pain still plagues both legs. Fortunately I make my living as writer, in which legs are optional.

The Blue Jackets won an impressive game this weekend. I try to make an effort to read the follow-up stories in the Dispatch, only because the mood of the city seems so well-coordinated with the efforts of the team. Eight years after conception, we still have never made the playoffs, and a steady stream of letters pours in to the paper to assess the level of ruin that this reflects. I like reading the stories to absorb the emotion of the moment...or week, I suppose. The Jackets go on a three-game losing streak...we are terrible, there is no hope. The Jackets beat a superior team on the road....we are finally on our way to achieving respectability. It's like reading the financial page and hearing the comments from the stock brokers after the Dow moves up or down. Each time assessing it as some sort of permanent trend. At least until the new trend emerges four days later.

This was the first Christmas in a while in which *I* was chomping at the bit to open some presents, since I knew one of the boxes contained a Wii. After we finally unearthed that treasure, we spent much of the holiday swinging electronic tennis rackets and baseball bats. I'll say one thing: the Wii version of video games definitely burns more calories than the traditional ones. It may still not be impressive, but it IS progress.

Today I head to the eye surgeon to check out laser eye surgery. I have finally run into enough people who've had it and proclaim its miracle that I am seriously looking into it. In preparation, I've been wearing my glasses (instead of contacts) for two weeks now. I haven't worn glasses for more than half a day in 15 years. It hasn't been as bad as I had feared, but I'll be eager to get rid of them again as soon as possible. My doctor assures me that I should enjoy at least 5 good years before I then have to start using bifocals to see up close. Fantastic.

My Philosophy on Life

When someone gives you a piece of wisdom that rules the rest of your life, you should remember it. Doesn't it kind of make this person an immortal? One of the founders of everything you do in a way?

I don't remember the person who gave me the philosophy that I adopted and continue to follow. The best I can recollect is that it must have been some guidance counselor at one of the endless church camp retreats that we were constantly herded to as kids. God knows I didn't pick up much else at those things. And I shouldn't even credit God there, to be honest.

But I do recall at least the heart of his spiel. And I definitely remember the opening line, which I follow today:

"Anything worth doing, is worth doing badly."

Obviously this statement is meant to be a goof. But when you look closer, it's a thing of beauty. It's probably the piece of advice I'd leave to my kids if I had to choose. It's not cynicism as much as it is a blatant rejection of perfectionism. How many times have you decided not to attempt something because you were intimidated by the expected result? 

AWDIWDB says if you felt the thing was worth doing in the first place, it's worth doing even if it comes out badly. Even if you don't do a great job. If it's worth doing, even your most mediocre efforts are better than not attempting it at all. 

I find that about 80% of life is just showing up. When you're the person who steps up to do the job badly, take a moment to look around and notice all the people who stayed seated. They might be critical of the job you did. Screw them! Don't you feel better? Of course you do. You did it. Next time, you'll probably do it better. At least you'll do it.

And the dirty little secret, of course, of AWDIWDB, is that you may start out to do something without worrying about the quality of effort you can contribute. But once you get into it, after the intimidation is gone, you'll find yourself working just a little harder than you thought you might. In the end, you might even surprise yourself.  Sometimes a job that you plan on doing badly ends up being one of your greatest achievements. 

And the best sound...

So if the worst sound is coughing in the night, the best sound in our house has to be our son Leo's deep belly laugh. 

I know that everyone loves hearing their child laugh, but Leo's deep belly laugh is especially enjoyable because it is so rare, and only his sister can elicit it from him. We first discovered this when Leo was about 6 months old. Emily was playing with him and all of a sudden he let out this hearty laugh the likes of which we'd never heard before. It was so infectious that we all joined in.

Leo laughs quite often, but rarely that way. I'd say once every few months or so Emily will tease him and it will roll out of him. It's an unexpected precious thing, and every time we experience it, the entire house will quiet down and then begin to laugh along with each new round.

I'm not kidding. No one else has been able to make him laugh this way. I have a secret hope that it will be Emily's unique trick their whole lives.

The thing I hate most

I was reminded this week of the thing I hate most about being a parent. The worst thing is coughing in the night. A child coughing through the night is stressful, because neither of you is sleeping, although you both are trying very hard. You lie in bed, sleepy but stressed, picturing your child in the other room settling in, eyes closed, sleep setting in...and then a series of shaking coughs. Repeat. Repeat. At some point the coughs start to space out a bit more and you start to fall asleep only to be awakened each time. Eventually you get a little sleep. Even if you can put your head under your pillow, you know that your child is still coughing and miserable and it keeps you from relaxing.

The thing I like best is the little catchphrases your kids come up with. For awhile, Leo started almost all of his sentences with the word "actually." 

"Actually, I wanted some milk."

"Actually, it's not my bed time."

His other catchphrase is "I told you." He pulls this out almost as often. It usually precedes a long explanation of something:

"I told you....." [heavy emphasis on the "told"]

I had to fill out a form marking Leo's developmental progress last night and one of the questions asked if he could put together two or more sentences. We just had to laugh, because Leo typically puts together somewhere around twenty sentences when he speaks. He goes non-stop. In the car or at home he will speak at length on anything without pause. It's like a constant Bill Clinton speech. Even though it sounds mean, often we will have to say "Leo, you need to stop talking for a bit" just to get a little silence.

Emily was much more reserved in her speaking. She would toss off these little gems every so often though. One morning when she was three she came into my room and was saying something to me and I sat up to reply. She looked up at me and exclaimed "Hey...you have crazy hair!" It immediately became one of our catchphrases at home.

Election Night 2008

How many blogs about election night 2008 are going up right now? We spent the night as has become tradition in our house...inviting all friends and just leaving our doors open with lots of food on the kitchen counters and the TVs blaring election coverage.

We had several friends come this year and also several kids. Everyone was excited...watching returns with checked anticipation. Even the kids came around every half hour or so to check progress. As always, spirited discussions made the evening even more fun as we watched and waited. We cheered as we saw Pennsylvania go to Obama...then Ohio! Florida and Virginia...it was only a matter of time at that point.

And then it was suddenly called. The shock hit everyone and you could feel the release. Tim had brought a bottle of champagne and we uncorked it and poured it into styrofoam cups.

Later on, only Tim and I were left in the den, watching the speeches roll in from McCain and then Obama. The crowd in Chicago was huge. Then people began streaming onto Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House. It was amazing. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was such a spontaneous display of celebration. It was like watching the whole nation undergo therapy on live television.

Before we went to bed, Patti remarked that Bush must not like seeing all those people in front of the White House. My head spun...I hadn't even thought about Bush still being in there. It felt to me like the place had been vacated months ago.

Lots of people remarked that they wished they could have been in that field in Chicago, and I understand why they felt that way. But not me. I wanted to be with that crowd on the White House lawn, where crowds had brought in Andrew Jackson so long ago. The joy in their faces was unmistakable. I wanted to run with them to the gates with tears in my eyes too, finally reclaiming my property.

When does golf season end?

As I write, snow is falling and Trick or Treat night is three days away. Andrew, Mark and I got out to play golf on Saturday and it was cold, but beautiful out. Mark remarked that it was probably the last golf outing of the year, but I have my doubts. Here in Ohio we may get snow for a week or so and then it may shoot back up into the 70s again for awhile. You can never tell. 

One thing that comes with winter though is hockey season. Friday night I went to the BlueJackets game with some of our MGC members and stopped at the Top on the way back for some steak sandwiches and cold gin before bed. We resisted the urge to do more and stay longer, as most of us had to take kids to soccer the next morning.

Tonight Patti has gotten tickets for both Leo and myself. Leo has been asking to go see hockey, so I'm glad to finally take him. Last year I took him along on a couple of hockey games. He went back and forth from being enthusiastic to feeling stressed. Often he would get freaked out when the cannon went off and want to go home. Just as often he would cry and complain when we had to leave. It will be interesting to see how much difference a year makes, now that he is almost 5 years old. 

Emily has long since abandoned hockey games because the whole experience is too loud and overwhelming for her. When she was younger, she couldn't even stand fireworks. I remember thinking she had probably outgrown this aversion when she was five and I took her to an Indians game with fireworks afterward. She hated them, and we had to sprint from the ballpark with crying the whole way as the sky erupted above us. These days she doesn't have the fear so much as the distaste for loud experiences in general. She is happy to avoid BlueJackets games, especially if I promise to bring her a bag of the cotton candy from the street vendors outside on my way home.