Thanksgiving at Philbrook

My daughter had a school assignment to view the "Studios of Paris: Willaim Boughuereau and his American Students" collection. After gulping down hot cocoa and spiced doughnuts (gotta love QuikTrip) we made our way there.

Art museums are great places to go during holidays because they are generally not as crowded and those that are there are generally more serious about art. So you can get lots of attention and lots of detail that would go missed in larger crowds.

My favorite piece is not one of Boughuereau's but one of his contemporaries, Robert Henri. My favorite piece in this collection is "The Model" which is Henri at his crossroads -- not yet giving up his traditional roots but not yet embracing impressionism. In fact, this portrait is a study of both the art world in flux as well as Henri. "The Model" has what appears to be two mirrors and yet neither capture her face, which we cannot see as she is turned from the viewer. The mood of this piece is somber, reflective, as if we've come up on the subject with her unaware. This piece drew me in and I stood there unaware myself of how close I had come to the artwork when a stuffy museum staff brisquely walked up to me and said, "Excuse me, we ask that you not get any closer to the piece than 12 inches."

It is times like this that I have an arsenal of witty comebacks but whenever my kids are in tote I try to be civil. How can one not get close to art of that magnitude and not want to touch it? My daughter, watching me closely waited until the staff member took her leave to say under breath in a sing-song voice, "You got in trouble...you got in trouble...you got in trouble.."

European Romanticism seems to be very in vogue these days -- from art collections to furniture to other influences. I heard recently that we generally embrace art that we feel fills a void in our lives -- for example, the chic modern style is generally embraced by those who may feel their lives are cluttered and boisterous. I'm not sure what this says about the current vogue with all its emphasis on old world charm and heaviness. Hmmmm.

I am still reading "Writing for Story.." and loving it, will reread a couple of times over thanksgiving break. Also, finished a writing deadline this week that will, no doubt, continue to fill my rejection box. It's the thrill of just getting something done that I work for. I am learning a lot about publishing and submissions and the art of not taking rejection personally.



I saw several books in the museum bookstore that I hope to find and read.

Books I'm reading

Sometimes I find books and sometimes books find me.

The latter is the case with two that found me this past week, both given to me by friends. I love it when someone gives me a book, it's the best present I could ever get!

"Writing for Story" by Jon Frankin is a book I cannot put down and I suspect it will keep me busy for awhile. It is a book that puts some flesh on the ethereal idea of what writing is really - lots and lots of work. It is the first book that I've read about writing that offers clear, concise idea on structure and how to get into writing. I plan to read it this week and follow its ideas.

"The Holy Man" by Susan Trott is a parable that challenges ideas on leadership and relationships. I am also reading it and re-reading it.

I hope more books like these find their way to me.

Thank ye

Running into the store this morning to get some milk, I quickly realized that the thanksgiving season is now fully in swing which means that the rest of the holiday season is cranking up too. I'm a bit of a scrooge about almost every holiday. It comes from my "warped, cranky and bitter" disposition, according to one of my favorite comic friends. And she's right, in a way. There seems to be a lot of energy wrapped up in the holiday season, trying to be cheerful and thoughtful. I can usually manage at least a dowdy good will by christmas eve with some effort and lots of chocolate.

So I thought I'd try to write something that was thankful in spirit while also trying to give some nod to the reality of the season. So here goes. I have no idea how it will end up, which is a lot like most of my holidays. Sometimes the best of times are those things not planned.

I'm thankful for the bills that I pay because it means somebody, somewhere trusts me to pay them. While I may question their confidence in me, at least they are thinking about me and thinking that I really can do it. That's encouraging and ennobles me to keep working every day. I hate disappointing people, even those that I don't know.

I'm thankful for the backed up sink in my kitchen and the refrigerator that hasn't worked right for six months. I know people who don't own a home and having one, with all its responsibilities, is truly a gift.

I'm thankful for the quiet mornings that are left after the busy-ness of raising school age children. It means that my children are happily employed in the business of their lives and that they are doing exactly what they were raised to do, which is, to make their own messes and figure out the stuff that life teaches.

I'm thankful for my marriage of 21 years. I now know more about the inner workings of college football and basketball and the sacredness of ESPN. I am grateful for the familar presence of Dan, his quiet grace and his ever present refusal to let me be anything less than who I am. I am also grateful for the pile of books that I read while the score is being kept during all those game and the cat that persists to sit on my lap between my eyes and my book. Someday, I may not be able to see the small print -- or the cat for that matter. I'm grateful that I had a childhood that had a lot of books around for reading has been my personal paradise.

I am grateful for art of all kinds -- the music that I play everyday, the books that I can get for free at the library, the artwork that moves me when I visit the museum. Art is a necessity and there was a time in my life I had forgotten that. Without art, life is just a jumble of numbers and deadlines, making no sense, having no spirit or soul.

I am grateful for all my friends: the comics, the writers, the jesus-freaks, the doubters, the movers and shakers, the encouragers, the believers. I'm thankful for their rugged persistence in being my friend, for their kindness, and for their honesty even when I may not want to hear it. I am grateful that I have been given so many in which to learn about and from. I love laughing over food with them after a long day's work, of watching them on their individual "stages" where they perform in whatever it is they do. I'm honored to have been invited into their lives and to offer whatever I can.

I am grateful for the grief of this year's sadness. This year has been a year when so much has been lost and though the passing of good friends has left me stunned with understanding the brevity and preciousness of life, I am blessed to have known some truly great people. In fact, the question I am learning to ask is not so much as to why they are gone but why exactly was I given such a grace to know them and how can I be a reminder of what they have given me?

I'm grateful for hot earl grey tea on cold mornings after excercising. I'm grateful for coffee with lots of cream. I'm grateful for the smirk on my daughter's face, for the brief moments when she still lets me hug her, for my son's text messages. I'm grateful for deep feelings -- both elation and pain for it means that I am alive and able to experience life in all its many forms. I'm grateful for the chance to start over and the opportunity to try something new. I'm grateful for failure because it lets me know that I'm human and that striving for perfection is something best left to God. I'm grateful for victory because it teaches me about myself, but not as much as failure does.

I'm grateful for the breath of a new day and for this life filled with joys and disappointments for in these things I truly have experienced God.

Three recommendations

I have been working on a "This year's best" of sights/sounds around T-town that are worth seeing and/or doing. Haven't made much progress, but here's a few suggestions on what's happening now..

First of all, if you haven't seen "Stranger than Fiction" make it a point to do so. I loved this fable of transformation and awakening. I loved everything about it -- I loved the actors (hey, can you see the "Sonic" guys in this flick?"), I especially loved the story and the imagery was amazing. The reason I loved this film is because you leave the theater thinking. It asks great questions such as "what story are you IN?" but it doesn't leave you with a headache from hitting you over the head with its messages. Participatory and entertaining it now ranks as one of my "top 10 best movies of all time" for me personally.

Best book I've read so far this year: "Squirrel Inc" by Stephen Denning. Again, a fable about the transformative power of various storytelling ideas.

Best cuppaccino: QuikTrip's Peppermint Cappuccino (all of .79 cents). Beats the big chains hands down. And where else can you get a chocolate chip muffin the size of your car?

Here are some other "Tulsa Best"...

Best burger in town: On Wednesday's, McNellie's (1st street) has $3 burger night. A real burger that is as big as your face with choice of fries -- either sweet potato or regular. Burger even has tomato, lettuce and condiments. Amazing value. And the bartenders make you laugh. They laugh at me because I am the only one at the bar sucking down an unsweetened iced tea (not the Long Island kind).

Best place to see a movie: AMC 20 (promenade) on Sunday afternoon - hardly anybody is there - I've watched a ton of movies by myself, like my own private screening room. I laugh, I cry, I throw popcorn at the screen.

Best Italian Food: Andolini's Pizza (Owasso). Great atmosphere, great prizes and it's authentic. I go every weekend and yeah, it doesn't hurt that my kid waits on me when she's working there.

Working on more "bests" for end of year, posted later.

The Journey

Tonight, our old dog breathed her last. I knew it was coming, I had watched her hobble around all day, putting off calling the vet. I even made a list of those I should call - old and new friends who had known her. Of course, I wouldn't call for them, I would call for me.

Princess was 16 plus years, a sheltie and just a great dog. She loved the kids and they loved her and for Ellen and Nathan, they hardly know life without her.

I wish I were a delicate crier. I know many friends of mine who cry politely and neatly, almost beautifully. Not me. Even though I tried to comfort myself with the idea that she had a long, very happy canine life there was still this pinch in my heart where grief tends to collect and as I watched Princess take her last struggling breaths, that grief spilled out and I cried big, awkward sobs.

I came home and reached for the only thing that I know can speak to a broken heart - -poetry. The poem that seems most helpful is nothing at all about a dog or dying but it is a great poem and I'm grateful for people like Mary Oliver.

http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/oliver/online_poems.htm

Download

Today is November 1, time for National Novel Writing Month (www.nanowrimo.org). I, along with about a million other writers, will be hunched over laptops, strung out on various coffee drinks working to make 50,000 words in one month a reality. Last year was my frist year to do it and it was so rewarding to see that I could actually write a novel -- albeit a very bad novel -- in only one month.

But all novels begin badly, that is, they begin as first drafts and as Ann Lemott says in "Bird by Bird", very bad first drafts (and I'm quoting her loosely here).
The tough part about writing is not the writing. It's the rewriting. That's where you have to go deep, sacrfice precious ideas and concepts and find out that the novel really writes itself through your pen (or computer)and this thing you think is "yours" is really something else entirely. Scary stuff.

I plan to rewrite the very bad novel I wrote last year. Nanowrimo helps make writing a little more like a group effort because you know others are working on it too.

Here are snippets of what else is going on...

1 - Spent a day with my alma mater, advisory board meeting which was a thinly veiled disguise to spend time with Nathan, who, after eating the biggest sirloin steak in Payne County decided that college life is OK, after all. We went to Wal-Mart where we actually witnessed (and I'm not making this up) two OSU football players in the health and beauty aisle selecting body care. The irony of this scene is just too much and of course, I could not keep my mouth shut. These guys are big enough to make up at least two of me and I'm razzing them about their hygiene? I must be stupid. They were so very nice, so great to meet and so very tall and big. They looked like those inflatable floats in the Macy's parade coming down the shampoo aisle. When I shook their hands I had to reach up and I'm almost six feet tall.

After Wal- Mart, where I actually found a Jim Gaffigan CD (the absolute funniest comic working today) and a Natasha Bendingfield CD. Is it too trendy to say I have listened to that great song, "Unwritten" about a squillion times? Great lyrics, great energy, just a great talent. She tops my current playlist. Well, to be honest she IS my playlist. I just like to use the word "playlist" because my kids do and I like to think that I'm as cool as they are.

Best part about the day - just getting to hang out with Nathan and see how great he's doing. Sometimes you stand back and see your kids and think, "what God smiled on me to give me such a great kid?" and then I think, "and how haven't I messed it up yet?"

2 - Volunteer work - I will blog on this more later. Last year I made two big decisions: to get involved in meaningful volunteer work and to write. Both decisions have altered my life in big ways.

I saw the news yesterday about a mother in a local town whose trial is ongoing. Seems this mother thought her four year old should stand with 5 pound weights above his head for oh, about an hour. She failed to feed him and when DHS picked him up he was dehydrated, malnourished as well as covered in bruises (over 50 on his small, hungry body).

I cannot fathom what has gone so wrong that we are abusing our children in such deeply damaging ways. So each week I teach a class to parents at a local agency where every brain cell in my head gets a work out in trying to communicate to others the importance of doing the job of parenting better. I say this with every ounce of compassion I can muster -- parenting is the hardest job in the world and doing it well is something none of us are really any good at. We are all, it seems, selfish pricks who want to either make small little idols to ourselves to run around on sports fields where we can tell our friends "there goes my kid...and therefore ME." OR we are so horribly abusive that we do shameful things to our children as in the case above.

There just has to be more that a civilized society can do to teach teach people how to love their children in ways that don't perpetuate the cycle of abuse that continues to be the #1 way children in America die -- at the hands of their own caretakers.

It is difficult to imagine that we have more pet adoption centers than we do shelters for children.

I don't know what that answer is. I do know what it is like to be so exhausted as a parent as to know it is better to walk out of the room than to pick my own child up. I do know what it is like to look into the eyes of a teenager and think, "who are YOU and what have you done with that cute little middle school kid that use to inhabit your body?" I do know that being a parent is 100 times harder than any job I've ever tried to do, any test I've ever had to take, any project I've ever tried to finish.

I'm grateful for the work of the Tulsa Parent Child Center (www.parentchildcenter.org). whose sole purpose is to stop child abuse. We have a long way to go.

Garage Detail

The day dawned crisp and cool as fall made its presence known. In the distance, we could hear the band warming up on the football field for what will be the first of many contests this year. And though we have spent many weekends at such contests, this will be the first year we don't attend.

Nor will we be driving early to basketball games now that our daughter drives herself.

Which leaves a lot of time for cleaning up the garage.

What is a garage, really? 21 years of married stuff that accumulates until it either bursts into flames, thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint or it just slowly begins decaying thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint.

But really, a garage is the remains of old projects, worn out phases of childhood and reminders of bits of life that have passed on.

This is what I thought as I stood off to the side of the garage watching my husband remove things from piles that I had painstakingly accumulated over a series of hours. Forget that I had told him six months ago that such piles would be made. Forget that I had pleaded with him and all the other creatures living in our house to find what they wanted and take it away. Forget that I had told him earlier in the week, "this Saturday is THE DAY!" so that he would perhaps take a stroll around the stuff that he calls "his".

As he stood bent over the pile he emerged with something. He held it up. "Why would you throw this away?" he asked angrily as he thrusts the "thing" up.

I looked at him with concern. In his hand he held a ten inch piece of old garden hose with two clothes hangers bent woven through the center. Not only did I not know what it was, I was certain that there was absolutely no function for such a thing.

I was at a loss for words. "I thought it was broken?" I hoped my question would reveal that I had every intention for thought and care. It did not have the desired affect.

Engineers don't get angry. They get quiet. Really, really, really quiet because their brains are working so fast on things to say and ways to passively derail you that they cannot move their mouths and talk at the same time.

I, on the other hand, have a different problem. My brain is usually not working on much at all when my mouth flies into action.

I then added, "What's a stupid thing like that doing in the garage anyway?"

Steely quiet followed with a look from my husband that I believe is reserved for those times when words cannot be formed to say how stupid I am. The kind of quiet that lets me know that the next few hours will be spent with me alone, forming piles of discarded skates and bicycles while my husband will be watching the college football games on TV.

Finally he spoke, very quietly and very slowly, which again is a sign of my lack of intelligence.
"THIS," he said pointedly, "is how I tie up the trees in the yard."

You would think that 21 years of marriage had taught me when to cut my losses and realize that nothing I said past a certain point could save me. But I am a sucker for lost causes and so I said (which made perfect sense to me at the time) , "But honey, we don't HAVE any trees in the yard."

I gasped at my own stupidity. In my attempt to get the garage clean and have this scintillating conversation I had forgotten of the care and time Dan had put into the trees on our property that had, for awhile, flourished under his prodding and care. I remembered the early summer days when he awakened to haul out the three garden hoses and hook them carefully together so that the trees would get water.

How could he have known about the weather this past summer. The summer that will no doubt go down into history as the "drought of 06"?

How could I have forgotten that even though engineers don't say much, they think a lot. And Dan had been thinking about trees and kids and jobs and other lost things.

I tried to make amends but he was inconsolable. He took the bent metal and rubber creation and laid it carefully on the work bench, piled high from clutter that had not had time to be neatly arranged.

To Do List

I'm feeling rather cocky as my weekend "to do" list is narrowing. After weeks of having weekends that were anything but restful, I had a couple of days to catch up on some projects.

I'm most excited that on the one year anniversary of Nanowrimo (www.nanowrimo.org) I have not two working projects - one fiction, one non-fiction and this weekend I have been working on the proposal that I hope to have in some sort of finished place by end of year.

Speaking of finished projects, my friend Jordan Rosendfeld has a book coming out and a new article published.
http://pacificsun.com/story_archives/bridge.html

$3 burgers and David Sedaris

Imagine this: 2400 people, sitting in the dark, watching a guy read from his books for 2 hours. Most performers would have to throw in some kind of body moves or move around the stage in interesting way to keep the show going. Not Sedaris. He can hold an audience spell bound with stories of Japan, Christmas in other countries and shopping with his sister.

I went with a friend of mine who is much more well traveled than I. She and her husband lived in Japan for a few months and she even speaks a little Japanese. She told me this over $3 burgers at a local pub where I had my very first beer. (I don't drink but I totally caved into peer pressure when the bartender said, "why'd you come into an Irish pub if you don't drink?" So I asked for a suggestion and he gave me "Fromboise beer" which has a raspberry blend to it. It was really good -- for beer -- and the best part is that I was able to stay sitting in an upright position on my bar stool, a feat that requires a lot of skill I discovered.

It says a lot about my strict religious upbringing to understand that I arrived at the age of 43, have conceived two children (now teenagers) and just now have had one whole beer. It will no doubt be my very last.


"Wow," I said to my friend as we finished our meal . "There must be a lot of people here going to the show."

"No, " the bartender interjected. "It's $3 burger night."

At the show, Sedaris was signing books to a crowd of people so I walked (ran, actually, trying not to attract too much attention) to get in line where I assumed the posture of an educated, literary observer along with the rest of the Tulsans who were in the same line. Having never really been around literary types too much, I'm always intimidated by them. I read 4 books a week and probably can hold my own when discussing the classics but something about that crowd just kind of freaks me out.

I had brought one of my books of Sedaris ( I have given away probably 100 of his books to friends, etc.) and I carefully took it out of my handbag so that I could have him sign it. The closer I got to him the more I began hero-worshipping so that by the time I was actually in front of him, I said something ridiculous like, "ohmygodmrsedaris, I love you sooooomuch, ihaveallyourbooks and.." I went on for a bit while he looked at me, somewhat fearfully, and said, "what's your name?" Since I couldn't speak, I held out the card the usher gave to me with my name on it. He smiled, stated my name and then said, "that's a good name for a writer", then signed my book and looked at my friend for her book to sign.

My friend was much more composed than I. Perhaps her time spent in Japan gave her a certain reserve that I was clearly lacking. She smiled, gave him her book and they struck up an instant rapport while I stood aimlessly by watching her Sedaris talk for a bit in Japanese, no doubt about me, while I stood limply at the side of the table.

Baby Boy and College

The call came, as I knew it would, almost to the minute in which I expected it. My son, a new freshman, called late Sunday just to say "hi". Uh huh.

As any parent will tell you, whenever a teenager that is living on your dime calls to "chat" about "nothing in particular" this is indeed cause for alarm. You see, kids don't call you when they bang up the car and are standing at the police station. They have friends for such emergency. Friends that help them get their game plan together before they call their parents.

Kids call parents to "chat" only when there is some major life change happening.

So I, of course, begin with the litany of questions. That is what mom's do. They nag, they ask innane questions and they, most of all, repeat themselves as they try to think what to say during the conversation.

ME: "Are you OK?"

SON: "I don' t know."

ME: "Are you bleeding?"

SON: "Not really."

ME: "What's her name?"

SON: Silence. Sigh. "I can't talk about it." Sigh. Sniff.

ME: "Where are you?"

SON: "Alone."

To my credit, I kept my eye on the road, my cell phone plastered to my head and though I considered pulling the car off Hwy 169 and making a deadbolt to Stillwater and right into rescue mode, I held firm. Sure, I had trouble seeing the road what with all the rain and my tears, but I kept going.

ME: "What are you going to do?"

SON: "I don't know. Maybe go work out. Do some homework." Now THIS was cause for alarm. A depressed, love sick teeanger doing homework? Where did this kid come from? I certainly hadn't taught him such stability. I generally cannot make it through a week without some kind of mental breakdown that commands a steady diet of coffee, chocolate, bad movies or reading Faust.

SON: "I'm not sure college is for me."

Now this is where many parents lose it. On one hand, we know what to say. We know to say something like, "Oh, you'll get through it. It's not so bad..." and do some sort of motivational speech where your kids see the value in sustaining the belief that a college education will somehow keep them off welfare and out of trouble. But, the parent in all of us -- especially if you're a mom -- cries out, "YES! I know! You must come home! Your room is all ready, clean and I'm making a great pot roast!"

I was silent as I pondered my options.

ME: "What do you think you should do?"

SON: "I don't know."

ME: "If you did know what to do, what would it be?"

SON: Silence. More sighs. "Just keep going?" This was said with such dread, with such sadness that I again, fought the wheel.

My urge to pontificate was so great at this point, I could see the climax of my arguments, I could see me bucking up his sagging spirit and us having a regular 7th Heaven moment. And I admit, I was tempted.

Stupid things went through my head. Things like "this hurts me more than you" made a pass through, as did "wish I knew what to do". Where do this colorless phrases come from and why do they make their way to the front of our lobes when we have nothing to comfort those we love?

Instead, I just sat there, listening to his sobs as I drove through the rain.

This is me and comedian, author Barry Friedman, who presented at our club's workshop.  

Here's Barry and Gaines, after the show, trying to figure out their cell phones. This is usually what men do when I'm around and they don't want to answer all my questions. 

My friend, Gaines, who MC's at the comedy club. He's telling me a joke that is probably not funny. 

Business/Comedy Workshop

Here are some pics of a recent workshop that my speaking group put together with the talents of Barry Friedman, comedian, author, radio host and now, my friend.

It was a simple idea -- bring in somebody who knows humor and have him teach us how to use it effectively in business and other situations.

I had a blast. What I loved about the event was the way that Friedman could read the group and respond to the needs of the group and keep everything moving. I also loved the fact that in that room, at least three major religious groups were represented (christian, catholic, jewish..) and the comedians in the room outnumbered the pastors 2 to 1. There were insurance salesmen, advertisers, retirees, volunteers, real estate agents and students.

And we all laughed together. And I believe that when people from varied backgrounds can learn to laugh together, we can learn to do a lot more together, too.

Thoughts on this week's news

I remember Sunday dinners at my grandmothers where my grandfather would bounce around the news of the week. He was a union leader, so by definition a democrat who raised his family on the work ethic of Oklahoma Democrats. I remember these loud, boistrous discussions as I was completely caught up in the New Republicans that I had heard on campus. Reaganomics were just then becoming a part of our nation's political landscape and while I understood little of what I thought I knew, I did know this: I would never be a democrat.

Fast foward now, 40-something years later. That earlier prediction may or may not hold true. I wonder what discussions me and my grandfather would have after this week's news about yet another political sex scandal in Washington. I've only known a couple of great men in my life - neither of which were in politics - and I'm beginning to wonder if any of the human race can last in a system that seems to spit out evil, contempteous people like our political system seems to do. Can man (or woman) really handle power of any kind? It's a good question and one that I'm asking a lot these days. It seems were all so very bad at handling responsibility and power. The more we have, the worst we seem to be at it.

I'm embittered by Foley's comments about being an alcholic and being abused. "So what?" I want to shout. Like who hasn't been? While I'm sympathetic for Foley's childhood, I'm disgusted at the idea that what happens to a person in their childhood is now suppose to be the reason we forgive them their transgressions. "Ah, it's OK you want to be a pedophile, after all, you had a tough childhood. " Gimme a break. Wanda Sykes said it best on the Leno show this week: "After a few margaritas, do I go look up my local girl scout and say, 'hey, baby, mama wants a thin mint?"

I know many, many people who come from similar backgrounds and they are not out hitting on kids for sex. Sure, they may have their demons but that's what being a grown-up is about: dealing with the hand that is dealt you, maybe even rising above it.

But it takes character to go beyond where we are and who we can become and what gets men and women elected in our country is not character but money and media, neither of which can salve the ruins of a tortured soul.

Jonah

After a busy working weekend, I took a break to see a movie. On the drive there, I caught up with my acquaintance Ellen Kushner on her radio show, "Sound and Spirit". It was a reflection on "Jonah" and the show and Ellen's comments, along with the music she selected, resonated deeply with me. Her comments on the ancient story of Jonah and Yom Kippur hit deep chords within me, making me think and mull over so much.

Here's a link for you to review:
http://www.wgbh.org/pages/pri/spirit/thisweek.html

I met Ellen at Tulsa Nimrod Conference last year where she was a guest speaker. She's written many books. What I remember about meeting her is that she took time to answer my questions and seemed happy to do so.

Stuff I learned MC-ing

This past weekend, a friend of mine asked me to MC at a local comedy club. If you know me, you know I love good comedy. I'm fascinated by what makes us laugh and what makes us think. I think comics are the social satirists of our day and they can make us laugh at ourselves, at our world and at each other. I think when you can laugh at something, you aren't as afraid of it. At least that is true for me.

I learned more in those three shows than years of speaking and hours of classes could have taught me. I'm grateful for the experience. Though I doubt I'll ever make a living in a comedy club, it was a wonderful way to push past some fears. When you're done learning, you're really done living.

Here's what I learned:

a - MC-ing is a lot harder than it looks.
b - Comics are the best teachers and most are more than happy to help in knowing what to do.
c - MC's are not suppose to be funny, they are suppose to keep the show moving and highlight the performers. The show is not about MC's it is about the performers, the real comics who make their living making others laugh. (Luckily, I was so afraid, I didn't have this problem. I wanted to get off that stage about as quickly as possible).
d - Practice the names of the performers many times so you don't forget it mid-sentence (yeah, I did that. Sorry Brian!)
e - Make sure you say the performers name at the end of the intro, not at first (yeah, I did that, too).
f - Dress credibly.
g - be willing to laugh at yourself (did this A LOT!!!)
h - be open for critique.
i - Respect the crowd
j - Respect the comics
k - College Football, in this town, still rules. I was proud of the owner who refused to cancel a show because football fans wanted to watch big screen.
l - mostly, I learned how much I have to learn.

Thanks Sam, Gaines, Brian, Marc, Robert very much for the chance to learn.

I Remember You

Too many of my generation grew up fatherless. Too many of us have those memories of holidays and special events being just another reminder that our families were wracked, torn apart, broken.

But a few of us got lucky. We found someone that stepped into an empty hole left by somone else and while they did not seek to fill the void, they make it less hollow, less empty.

Today, that emptiness echoes loudly with memories of you.


Today, I search through the images and words that have taken root because of your example, your patience, your dogged determination to be a teacher that lives what they teach.

I remember the kindness that says, "you'll do better next time." I remember the persistence to let me fall down again and again and not "fix" it for me. I remember the willingness to let me struggle with my fledgling faith so that it can truly be my very own. As I watch my own kids embrace their own questions, I realize for the first time how much grace, how much love this act took for you. I'm learning it is far easier to tell someone what to think than to teach them how to.

Once, I told you "thank you" and you accepted this with simple gratitude and a commission. Keep going, keep asking, keep looking.

Today, I promise you, I will.

Faith and Doubt

A spectacular discussion regarding faith and doubt is a www.pbs.org. Here is an excerpt from one of the many interviewed that resonates with me:

"From the first moment I looked into that horror on Sept. 11, into that fireball, into that explosion of horror, I knew it. I knew it before anything was said about those who did it or why. I recognized an old companion. I recognized religion. Look, I am a priest for over 30 years. Religion is my life, it's my vocation, it's my existence. I'd give my life for it; I hope to have the courage. Therefore, I know it.
And I know, and recognized that day, that the same force, energy, sense, instinct, whatever, passion -- because religion can be a passion -- the same passion that motivates religious people to do great things is the same one that that day brought all that destruction. When they said that the people who did it did it in the name of God, I wasn't the slightest bit surprised. It only confirmed what I knew. I recognized it.
I recognized this thirst, this demand for the absolute. Because if you don't hang on to the unchanging, to the absolute, to that which cannot disappear, you might disappear. I recognized that this thirst for the never-ending, the permanent, the wonders of all things, this intolerance or fear of diversity, that which is different -- these are characteristics of religion. And I knew that that force could take you to do great things. But I knew that there was no greater and more destructive force on the surface of this earth than the religious passion. "

---- Monsignor Lorenzo Albacete is a professor of theology at St. Joseph's Seminary in New York, and formerly served as associate professor of theology at the John Paul II Institute for Studies in Marriage.

Making errors part of the gig

Sometime you hear a comment and you know when you hear it that it has the potential to change your mind -- if not your life.

I recently heard such a comment that has been banging around in my head. I've been turning it over, looking at it from all angles as if I'm observing the underside of an embroidered panel.

It was stated by son's High School Band Teacher whose job is to get 300 plus high school students marching in rhythm and in formation. When he asked about how Nathan was doing at college I asked him some questions about his job. I was just being nice, really, and not at all expecting this kernel of wisdom to descend upon me and mess up my thinking for several days.

My question was this, "How do you keep the kids from making mistakes?"

And his answers was this little nugget. "I don't. The idea is to make mistakes a part of the performance."

I'm sure when he said it I just smiled and shrugged and acted like nothing much happened. But inside, my mind was trying to grasp the simple brilliance of this thought. So I did what I usually do when I have nothing intelligent to say. I asked another question.

"What do you mean?" I said.

To which he responded, "as long as you focus on the mistake, the mistake will hold the performance captive. "

Statements like this should be preoceeded by a warning such as, "WARNING. THE NEXT THOUGHT WILL KEEP YOU UP AT NIGHT AND CAUSE YOU TO RETHINK YOU'RE ENTIRE LEADERSHIP PARADIGM." Or at least come with a sominex so one could get some sleep.

Maybe I've been thinking about this so much because I've been studying the holiday of Yom Kippur and once again, I am jealous of my jewish friends. Sure christian have christmas and jewish people have hannukah. But I think Yom Kippur is the real prize in the holiday sweepstakes. You get something better than presents...you get a real chance at redemption.

Yom Kippur is a holiday which can be translated "Day of Atonement". It is a reflection of the atoning that Moses and the people of Israel did after that fit he threw coming down the mountain. (I have too much in common with Mo to be too hard on him. Sure he had some anger management issues. But you gotta respect a guy who takes on that leadership gig. I sure do. )

Yom Kippur isn't celebrated like Columbus Day or Labor Day. There are no picnics (in fact you fast for 72 hours) and there are no big sales gimmicks at the mall (in fact, you can't do any work at all, not even shopping which is now considered to rival some olympic sports). It's a day to reflect about the stupid stuff you said to your family and the mean tricks you played on your friends at the office. And it's encouraged that you make some amends (like say, "I'm an idiot, I was wrong.") and then make your amends to God. The idea being that first you make your peace with others and then God makes his peace with you.

I like this idea a lot. I think, though, that the jewish holiday may be a little too short for me. It would probably take me much longer to make amends for all the wrong that I've done in a year than just 72 hours. But at least it would be a start and I could get through at least half the stupid stuff I did, say thru at least March or April. And maybe, if I made that start, I could get through the rest of the year with some encouragement.

It's kind of like Yom Kippur is the equivalent of making errors a part of the design. Like somehow the fact remains that no matter how devoted we may be to others (or to God) we're going to make a mess of things and need a day (or two, or three or more) to make things right.

I'm going to keep thinking about this and then I think I'll try Yom Kippur for myself this year.