Monday, August 16, 2021

Monday Jazz in the Park

Doc Sawyer and the Grand Rapids Jazz Orchestra are playing under the clear blue skies of Millenium Park!

It's been a long time since we sat out in an open field and listened to Doc Sawyer and his band. For those of you unfamiliar with Doc, he was one of the High School band directors when James and Deb were there. They must've worn him out, because he retired when they left!

Our good friends, the Shapins, joined us for the evening and we had a delightful time. But, as usual, the music soothed me so much that I couldn't stay awake when we finally got home. Ended up taking a nap before heading off to bed!


Sunday, May 09, 2021

Oh! Mother Mine

One does not instantly grasp the depths of a mother's love in the days of one's youth; it is only over the course of years that one realizes the true extent, the unlimited bounds, the ever-expanding reach of that tie which binds us to the ones from whom we were born.

In the beginning, we recognize our mothers because they are the ones who provide for us the basic needs of our sustenance, our care and comfort, our solace and society. They hover over us like guardian angels, ever alert to our cries, our whims, our tears, our joys. They wipe eyes and skin, soothing and softening as we navigate the heady course of our daily growth, measuring our advances and rejoicing in each, encouraging us to reach further and further in our quest to achieve our full potential.

As we grow, we take advantage of their kindness, their devotion, their dedication, uttering our selfish complaints when things don't go our way, balking at the ridiculous restraints on us (which are meant to protect us), turning up our noses at their desire to provide us with healthy environments and victuals. 

We constantly struggle to prove our self-reliance, yet often find ourselves returning to them for consolation in our defeats, reassurance in our anxieties, sympathy in our sorrows. 

When finally we achieve that long-sought independence, we go out into the world with fire in our hearts and ambitions in our brains, eager to climb the mountains and slay the dragons and explore the uncharted universe, yet remember with great fondness - and not a little wistfulness - the happy times we have shared in the presence of she who spent many long nights ensuring that we would live to enjoy our accomplishment.

As we experience the cycle of life, finding our own friendships and partnerships, creating our own families, celebrating the creation of life, the joy and wonder of sending another little human on their path to adulthood, we cast our minds back again and again to those who were there for us in the beginning, those who have trod the path on which we now walk, who measured our steps and penciled our heights on the doorways and showed us how to tie our shoes and mended our clothes and washed behind our ears and tucked us into our beds at night and taught us right from wrong and sang lullabies as we drifted off to sleep; and we know that we could never do any more for them than they have done for us, because they have been loving us far longer than we have even known what it is to love.

And for the love of our mother, we are eternally grateful to the one whose wisdom decided that this person, this Mom, was the right one for us.

Because my Mom is the right one for me.

And I love her more than I can ever say.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

your son,

Rob

Saturday, February 13, 2021

Boxaggedon

 

The third bay was filled with cardboard, so much that I was unable to access any of my tools and machines.

This is unacceptable.

So this morning became 'Boxaggedon'.

Armed with my little box cutter, and swathed between layers of cold-resisting clothing (thermal socks over thick socks, thermal underwear, fleece-lined zipper shirt, wool hat, fleece-lined hoodie, heavy wool winter coat (with hood), work gloves), I ventured out into the cold garage and pulled all the cardboard boxes out of the third bay and piled them into the middle of the second bay, where Mason's car had been earlier.

(He was at work. On a Saturday!)

There was so much cardboard, it took me nearly 2 hours to cut it all down to size, to the point where it would all fit in the recycling bin.

Except for the one big, huge box with the big staples. Which I still need to pull.

Oh, well. There isn't enough room for it anyway.

And (unfortunately) no room for any other recycling. We generate a LOT of recycling every week. It gets picked up every Friday morning.

And it's only Saturday afternoon.