Thanksgiving

Lori’s putting the turkey in the oven, Andrea is at the North-South football game — known locally as the Turkey Bowl, Grant is playing video games, Strudel is lounging on the couch, and I’m halfway listening to the Turkey Bowl on the radio while perusing the web for Thanksgiving inspiration.

This is my kind of Thanksgiving: home with family, relaxed, no agenda, plentiful and delicious food, contentment and gratitude.

Thinking of the abundance of our Thanksgiving table, I recall the story a Chinese colleague told me just last week, a memory from his early youth during Chairman Mao’s Cultural Revolution:

Forced to move to the country for re-education, his family lived in deprivation. A chicken was such a luxury that getting one was much anticipated and discussed by the family in the days before it was cooked. The bird was made to last for several meals; only the bones, if those, were discarded. In the days after the last of the chicken was savored, the family discussed how good it had been and how much they enjoyed it — until, in time, they could begin anticipating another chicken to cook.

The story of the original American Thanksgiving is one of a feast following hardship. My mother, who grew up during the Great Depression, knew deprivation, although probably not hunger. Thankfully, I can only empathize with my colleague’s experience, as I have not faced serious want. Nor my children, and I hope they never will.

On this day of Thanksgiving, I am thankful for my abundant blessings while reflecting upon all those who, through no personal choice, are forced to do without. I wish it were not so.

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October gratitude

&#147Some October, when the leaves turn gold, ask me if I’ve done enough to deserve this life I’ve been given.&#148 — Barbara Crooker, from her poem Some October

In addition to the brilliant colors of fall, I find much for which to be grateful: Lori and I have now been married for 21 years, Andrea turned 18, and she received her first admission to a college.

I recall my own senior year and the process of applying to colleges. Life was all possibility, unbounded, a future awaiting discovery. I didn’t fathom the wisdom of a casual comment my high school boss made, that my choice of college would determine my life.

At times I have mused about my path, had I made a different choice. No regret, just curiosity. These days, though, I wonder about the decisions my children will make and the die they will cast. I hope they will make a positive contribution to the world through the purpose of their days, while finding fulfillment and happiness.

Change the World!
Andrea’s admonition, immortalized with sidewalk chalk on the street in front of our house during the summer of 2009.

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One of those parenting moments

My son’s first experience with a sleep-over camp several years ago wasn’t good. Away for a week in the north country of New Hampshire, not knowing anyone, camping in a tent, and living on peanut butter sandwiches, he was desperately homesick.

So I carried an unspoken trepidation as we drove up and dropped him off at a week-long running camp last Sunday. This was the first overnight camp for him since that disaster.

Thanks to cell phones and text messages, which we didn’t have last time, I was able to check in daily and gently probe. Although he didn’t sleep well the first night, I sensed no homesickness. The food was good, and he seemed to be enjoying the running regimen.

His commitment to running had been the source of other questions rolling around my mind. He was reluctant to run all summer. After several years of fall cross-country and spring track, I thought he was burned out. Were my wife and I pushing him to attend this camp simply because we wanted him to continue running?

This morning we drove north to pick him up. As we pulled up to the cabin, chatted with him and his camp mates, and collected his belongings, my impressions were confirmed. He had a good time. On the ride home, he spoke of wanting to go back each year through high school and of running lessons he learned for himself through his own experience.

Although he and I haven’t discussed it, no doubt he had some reservations and uncertainty as we drove to camp last week. But he faced them and had a very positive experience. His self-confidence was surely strengthened, a significant milestone on his path to adulthood.

Grant, I’m proud of you.

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Father’s Day

While it’s supposed to be my day, when my children express appreciation for my role as father, I feel more comfortable expressing my own gratitude for them and the gifts they give me every day.

Andrea, now entering her senior year, has developed into such a kind and compassionate human being. She’s bright and works hard, yet infuses what she does and those around her with enthusiasm and joy. A young woman, she is stepping across the threshold of adulthood, leaving her childhood to the photos.

Grant is completing 8th grade and middle school. This has been a tough year for him, as he seems to be struggling with his identity and values, particularly questioning school and authority. The result: lower grades and calls from teachers about his behavior.

It’s disappointing, as the one value I would impart to him above all others is respect for others. And his dropping grades don’t reflect his aptitude. Yet I recall that Andrea faced similar challenges during her 8th grade year, so I’m hopeful this is a normal developmental stage, a transition en route to adulthood.

Despite my disappointment and frustration, I nonetheless feel grateful for Grant’s presence. He’s kind, sensitive, bright and full of ideas and dreams. I wonder where he will take them.

The words from Khalil Gibran’s On Children reflect a theme of my parenting philosophy:

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

Thanks, Andrea and Grant, for the privilege of being your father and sharing your journey.

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Coincidence

London boundFrom time to time, you bump into someone totally unexpectedly, in a most unlikely place. You would swear it couldn’t happen — except that it does, often enough that the surprise, ironically, isn’t really a surprise.

Tuesday evening I flew from Boston to London, the first leg of a quick trip to Sweden. Coincidentally, my former minister was on the same flight, off to see her son, daughter-in-law, and grandkids in Vienna. Earlier in the day I had seen her Facebook posting, noting that she was packing for the trip, and thought “Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if we were on the same plane.”

I last saw Laurel at her wedding last September. That was a joyous event, yet not conducive to conversation. The last time we had the opportunity to catch up with one another was by phone a year or two before the wedding, and it was a few years before that when we actually saw each other in person.

So the few minutes we had in Boston before boarding and the few minutes walking the long halls at Heathrow, then clearing security, were a gift, time enough to share the important themes in our lives. The conversation seemed to pick up right where we left off, seemingly just last week.

As we separated in the transit hall, she bound for Vienna, me for Goteborg, I marveled at the blessed coincidence. The threads of our lives seem to weave a rich tapestry that transcends time and distance. Thankfully.

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Sacrifice


I went downtown this morning to watch the Memorial Day parade. I thought it appropriate, even necessary, to commemorate the service of so many men and women who have worn the uniform and taken the oath to defend the country and the U.S. Constitution. Tears welled in my eyes several times, especially seeing parade watchers who — no doubt — have proudly served their country and don’t miss an opportunity to show it.

While I feel I have worked hard to earn what I have, I also recognize that I live a very privileged life, afforded many opportunities so easily taken for granted. Were it not for the men and women who defend my liberty, whether in theory or practice, I might not be so fortunate.

Decades ago, my uncle served in the Pacific during World War II. My mother supported the war, moving from Reno to work in the shipyards in Oakland.

This week, we learned that the 1,000th soldier was killed in Afghanistan. The toll since the invasion of Iraq in 2003 is some 4,400. Almost 37,500 have been injured in both theaters, which may be a low number considering under-reported traumas such as PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Many service men and women have done multiple tours through Iraq and Afghanistan, in some cases both parents leaving children with relatives.

Sacrifice. Every one who enlists and takes the oath makes a personal sacrifice in order to defend the ideals of liberty and freedom. Some make the ultimate sacrifice by giving their lives. I am grateful for and thank you for your service and devotion.

May we, the citizens of these United States, prove worthy of your sacrifice.

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Another deck moment

Green leaves against a blue skyNo better than this: Blue sky, green leaves, warm sun, chorus of birds. Stealing a few moments just to be.

I recall a minister who preached on our propensity to be doing all the time. She noted our self worth is defined by how much we accomplish, reflected by too many e-mails, too many business trips, too many meetings to attend and calls to make and take. We spend ourselves, rushing from project to project, commitment to commitment, just in time.

With this frenetic lifestyle, we too often sacrifice the time and lose the opportunity to listen deeply to another person’s story, even to discern our own story. And at the end of the trail, will the busy-ness and long list of activities and accomplishments be worth the loss of relationship, the loss of balance?

Hard to say. The motivation to make a positive difference in the world is surely good. And there’s so much to do.

If we can’t get off the merry-go-round &#151 if we’re not sure we even want to &#151 let’s at least steal a few moments now and then just to be.

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A few quiet moments

Capping a long week,
I settle into a chair on the deck
and close my eyes.

The warmth of the afternoon sun
plays tag with a dry, cool breeze
across my face.

Drifting.

The birch rustle gently,
occasionally overpowered by
the wind mimicking the surf,
pushing through the pine branches.

How many different bird calls?
One playful, one incessant, one urgent.
A car going through the neighborhood,
now a plane far overhead.

Drifting.

My eyes open to a flood of green, spring green,
the white blooms of a dogwood,
and the golden hue of a sinking sun,
warm upon my face.

Drifting.

House empty,
dog in my lap.
Content.

Let these moments last forever.
Life need be no more.

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The power of one

At a time when any one of us can easily feel discouraged and powerless, distraught that our individual voices and actions make no difference — drowned out by lobbyists, large corporations, well-organized special interest groups, and wealthy individuals who amplify their voices with money — along comes Granny D.

At 89, Granny D Haddock walked 3,200 miles across the country to witness for the public financing of political campaigns. Four years later, she ran to represent New Hampshire in the U.S. Senate. While Judd Gregg, the well-financed incumbent, beat her handily, Granny D’s energy and example harkened to the ideal of a government of the people, by the people, and for the people.

This year, on January 30, Granny D turned 100. Still very active, she attended a celebration of her centurial milestone in the New Hampshire Executive Council Chambers. She told Kevin Landrigan, reporter for The Nashua Telegraph,

“I have nothing to leave behind for my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but I can give them a legacy and a lesson they can carry through their own lives.”

She called this the power of one.

Not long after, on March 9, Granny D died in her home, her family present.

She leaves us the legacy of the everyday hero: doing what one believes to be right, no matter how outnumbered, regardless of age.

May we all be grateful and inspired to follow her example.

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(Read the Telegraph tribute to Granny D)

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Perfect spring day

Spring DayIndeed, it was a wonderful spring day in the neighborhood, Mr. Rogers &#151 sunny and warm.

And an unexpected gift.

Planning to be in Europe all next week, I expected to spend a manic weekend packing and catching up around here, after being on the west coast much of last week. Late Thursday, starting to stress, I recognized that I didn’t have to go to Europe, that I should tend to the more pressing priorities at work and couldn’t afford to lose a week traveling.

Friday morning I pulled the plug, canceled my reservations, apologized to my co-workers whom I was to accompany, and shifted my focus to those more pressing priorities.

That decision allowed me to awaken this morning to a day of relaxed and infinite possibility, especially with my family in Florida. Just the dog and me. Both of us took advantage of the beautiful weather for walks, I wrote two blog postings, and I finished migrating this blog from Blogger to WordPress (not a pretty process but I’m basically there — assuming you’re reading these words).

It’s also nice to officially express gratitude after an absence of some four months. Not that I’ve been ungrateful. Just lousy spiritual discipline.

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