On a Scale of One to Ten: I am Dolphin.

Seriously, on a scale from one to ten, one being: I'm awake, I put the right shoes on the right feet; and ten being: Oh my gosh, that guy looked like Gerard Butler (when in fact the guy in question was a coat rack); I find myself settling around: Dolphin.

10 hours in a room and hallway, constantly rolling wet paint over textured walls can do that.  I'm not sure if it's an after affect of the non-existent, non-detectable paint fumes my eyes seemed to pick up.  Have you ever tried to stare opened eyed at a mountain of snow?  No?  Try it for 10 hours and that's about what my eyes felt like.

After messing up in every way possible, even while being told what not to do, I got the hang of paint rollers, paint liners, drop cloths and the fact that paint will never come out of clothing. . . .ever.  I really did find out the depth of patients one needs to handle beginning painters.  I have none.  My brother-in-law has an incredibly deep reservoir of patience that I never thought possible.  He never took away the roller and put me in the corner (which I did mentally) nor did he kick me out of the project and tell me to go play in traffic, he just kept on painting, talking and leading me by example.  I know once or twice he probably wanted to pat me on the head (with a folding chair) and say it's okay.  By the time the day had run it's course, we had one bedroom and one hallway coated with three to four coats of paint (including primer).  Now it's on to the baseboards, shelves and carpet.  Do worry brother-in-law, I won't roll the roller backwards.

While spending all my time yesterday industriously working, I came to this realization.  In high school, while other males of my age were studiously memorizing different teams, players, moves, logistics, scores, records and other such things I spent my time memorizing and learning to recognize bands.  Particularly 90's rock bands (I blame my father).  Brother-in-law had his phone playing Pandora.com and eight times out of ten I could name the band.  I don't know whether I should be proud of myself or ashamed.

On the upside of all this, I escaped to Target for an adventure with my wife.  We both were a dolphin on the tiredness scale and thought we should get some Christmas shopping done.  So naturally we came out of the grocery isles with a sweater, salted caramel hot chocolate, chocolate Tim Tams, bagels, Ovaltine and regretfully no tuna fish.

While in line for the checkout next to the couple expecting twins, buying a body pillow, our bangled and pierced cashier twittered over all the pregnant women in her line, telling everyone her friend was pregnant, how she was going to spoil it, baby sit it, love it, squish it, bounce it, turn it into puddy and press it against the Sunday funnies, and so forth.  Hopefully the baby will survive the encounter, and come back unpierced.

I wonder if they will ever make a body pillow the shape of a P. . . .for Pregnancy.

Oh, and speaking of Ovaltine, I don't think I have ever experience it's chocolaty goodness until today.  I have to say between huge gulps all I could think of were these:

I love my life.

New Beginnings in Familiar Places

You know that feeling you have the night before a big test?  Or the day before you are leaving on a plane bound for outside the small boundaries of your known galaxy?  How about the time your were in a school choir in elementary and it was the night of your first big performance, or just before the ref blows the whistle for your first game of little league soccer.

Mix that with the feeling of Christmas Eve, the night before you birthday and the first day of October and that's about how I feel right now.  Not to mention the relief that comes with the ending of Monday.

Tomorrow I have a job interview.  The first one in months, and what do you know, it some place I've been before, for two plus years.  I've been willing the weekend away hoping that tomorrow would come three days ago, and now it's here.

Wish me luck and send good vibes my way, I'll need them.

Have you ever felt so connected to your work it has become a part of you?  I'm not meaning that you get so involved with it that other pursuits in your life become meaningless and you morph into a horrible robot that has only one goal in life: to work.  Not that.

Have you ever felt that you were not merely content with the job you have, but feel like your life was being inspired to be and do more than the simple nature of your employment?  Life seems to have a new light.  I probably sound absolutely crazy, but it's how I feel, at least at eleven o'clock at night.  I feel the same way about my future career.  (Which is a giant float enigma waiting to be caught by good students all around.)

I feel so passionate about helping others achieve their goals.  Nothing makes me smile more than to see others progress.  It's the process I enjoy most, helping them take those steps to greatness, being better than they were the day before.  There is something so wholly organic that I can't help but to be captivated by the strength of a human being.

People have asked me what I want to be when I grow up, first of all I don't want to grow up.  Second, I want to give aide to those who are in need.  Many assume I mean to be a counselor for one's employment, or for delving into the human psyche to reveal the damaging past that made the person who they are today. (Not to say that those are very relevant and important jobs in society, they just aren't for me.)

 No, I want to help those in need of getting back on their feet after a harrowing experience that life throws at them.  I want to help someone recover from the limits of their mortal frame, move past road blocks, and rise above to become great persons than they once were.  To travel the long road as a companion, friend, and guide, urging them to move forward, not look back and strive to live their experiences on planet Earth to the fullest.

I want to be an Occupation Therapist.

(no idea what they are, just send your questions my way, I'll shed some light on the subject.)

Anna

I've loved the weather lately with roiling dark clouds above my head, brief interludes of rain followed by the smell of Autumn.  It reminds me of how much I love to write.  I'm not exactly sure why the changing of seasons inspires me so, but I'm glad it does.

So I guess for the hundredth time, I'm going to write as often as my schedule permits me while I have these few precious months of inspiration.

Today I talked with Anna.  She was out of place, surrounded by functional plastic, buttons, lights and compressed air.  Her withered frame tucked lightly in the far corner of her room.  I almost didn't see her, but by a small wave she caught me.  Her skin was lined and dusted with the light of the sun, hair white and eye rich with memories.  I smiled and asked her how everything was, she smiled back lightly," As good as things can be."

We talked for a while about life, adventures, deserts, 250 lb snakes, that were "too damn big" for either of us.  As we talked, I watched the lines ease from Anna's face.  Light seemed to shine behind her eyes, as memories faded in and out of our conversation.  A rye smile was fixed in her lips as she recounted the meetings of long faded personas: John Wayne, Grace Kelly, Dean Martin, the list went on.

Our conversation was easy and light, we shared memories, likes and dislikes, but above all we talked about the desert.  Deserts, if you didn't know already, are beautiful.  They may seem like daunting, heat-ravaged ovens, but to one who has paused to look, knows behind the first dusty layer.

"People who think the desert is a horrible place really don't know what they are talking about.  There missing the point.  Take this hill behind me, do you see the different layers?"  A nobly finger stuck out toward the window, "There from that flat part to the ridge above, do you see how its the same?  The grass, bushes, even the dirt.  But look," the finger pointed higher, "there, above those rocks, the grass changes, its different.  Things aren't the same."

Anna's finger pointed higher, "And even at the top of that mountain, its completely different."
Knowing eyes turned to me my young face, "It's beauty, plain and simple.  And they don't get it because they're too busy trying to find the why."

Anna's creased hand gently rested on mine, dwarfed by my knuckles, "Mike, see here, don't be like that.  Don't go through life looking for the adventures.  Life is full of them, everyday.  Don't waste time on trying to find them, you'll miss it all completely.  Enjoy the moment as it comes, then you can learn."

I nodded my head knowingly.

"Lord knows I've gone through so many adventures, and I'm bound for the greatest one of all." Anna winked, "I'm not ready to go there just yet."

I smiled, feeling a shadow pass over my face, I suddenly felt so young, sitting there, a sapling growing its first leaves hearing the secrets to life whispered from this old sassafras tree.  But Anna smiled again, a smile full of life, joy and hope.

Anna grasped my hand again," Go have an adventure Mike, and make sure to take your wife with you."

I squeezed her hand and smile, "I will Anna, thank you."

A moment.

Today was Saturday.  Not Monday or Thursday, but Saturday.  I started it off like any other normal, sane, warm blooded mammal would with a walk at 6:30a.m.  We've recently changed our place of habitation and thought it prudent to explore the new scenery.  Our first attempt was somewhat thwarted by mosquitoes the size of frozen burritos.  That situation took a turn for the worst when we realized how far we truly had come into the winged beasts' territory.

Anyway, this second expedition proved most refreshing.  We slipped out the front door, unheard, into the darkness of the waning night.  Everything around us still slept, even the front porches of the houses we past gave us on heed.  The air seemed almost to crystallize over our skins as we moved quietly past bog and fen, causing our skin to dimple in the first tracings of Autumn.  Ancient willow trees dipped long tendrils of silver green leaves, drinking in dew from golden blades of grass.  All was still and silent, even our soft conversations of family and children clung to us.  Our path wandered amiably before us, horses on one side roadway on the other.  In the distance, to the East, rose the mountains, a purple shadow, slowly awakening in morning's first rays.
Even an apparent gathering of bird hunting enthusiasts seemed muted in the silence of the morning.  Our thoughts and language were reflective in nature, turning to the past, thinking about the future.  Uprooting ourselves into a new environment can do this to the mind and body.  I find it slowly exhilarating.

I believe my fearless companion and I had stumbled across an extended moment in time.  Unbeknownst to her, time seemed to stand still, making the very particles of oxygen consider their trajectory as they passed one another.  The skin of my palm melded with the palm of hers, becoming one living, feeling and breathing organism.  Our very vessel was not two ships passing in the night, but one, leading through the cessation of our world.

The sky became that indistinct color, indefinably blue-yellow, but not green.  The mountains again turned a deep velvety purple, majestically fortifying the rising sun.  I was completely lost in the sensation of living.

And before I knew it, that moment found its cusp.  Threads pulled, bells and whistles sounded, the refreshment of thought drained its last drops.  And now I find myself, already in the last hour of this day, wishing that moment could have existed just a little longer.

Journal of a Stay-at-Home Husband

I thought it was about time I posted something, I mean, it is my prerogative as being a new Stay-at-Home Husband.  Its been three weeks since I quit my job.  I still feel great about the decision to focus all of my time at being the best student I can be.  And my grades will concur.  Just ask the new shiny 'A' I'll be getting in my Statistics class!  (I've never been one to get that kind of scoring in a math class). (I just reread that line and laughed.)

Anyway, now-a-days I spend my time doing my homework assignments from my tiny laptop on the kitchen table. Taking breaks now and then to fold laundry, clean dirty dishes, blast rock and roll when no one is around, and make the bed.  I've got it down to a science, the lady upstairs always leaves before anyone else, then like clockwork the people next door leave, and viola!  I'm alone ready to scrub dishes along with U2, Tears for Fears, Talking Heads and Coldplay!  (I know I know, your all shaking your heads at the shear AWESOMENESS of it all.)

On the flips side, being a Stay-at-Home Husband does have its awkward moments.  Like the other day, out and about walking around doing some errands, I run into a regular from my former job. I know already know how the conversation will go in my head:

Former regular giving me the once over: "Hey!  I haven't seen you in a while, do you work here now?"
Me: Actually I don't, I decided to go full time with my schooling.
Former Regular waiting to be impressed: Sounds like a good thing.
 Me going in for the impressive strike: Yes sir, I'll graduate early and build up my application for Graduate school.
Former Regular: More power to you!  That's pretty impressive and completely worth your time and effort, you should get a gold star.
Me: Well that's what I'm going for.

WHAT REALLY HAPPENS:

Former regular giving me the once over: "Hey, I haven't seen you for a while, do you work here now?"
Me: "Nope, I actually quit."
Former regular, waiting for impressive remark: Really?  Where do you work now?
Me: I don't. . . .I'm being a student full time now.
Former regular clearly not impressed: That's. . .good.  Do you have another job lined up?
Me realizing I didn't do my hair or shave today, probably look a little homeless: "Nope. Just school."
Former regular, giving me one of those "what are you nuts?" look.

A w k w a r d  .  .  .  S i l e n c e

Former regular looking for avenue escape: We'll that's good you are able to do that.
Me, waiting for a bus to fall from the sky: Yeah, it is!  We'll I've got to run.
Former regular: It was good to see you again.
Me: You too.

Besides those awkward moments I really do enjoy being a full time student, and Stay-At-Home Husband. I love being able to focus all my time and energy on my schooling and really be passionate about what I'm learning.  Its worth the sacrifice to my ego. I also appreciate my wife so much more than I did before.  While she works tirelessly at her job, balancing six year olds, going to school herself and providing for the two of us, I am in awe at all she can do. And I'm building appreciation for when she gets to leave her job and become a full time mother.  I'll know a fraction of what she will be going through and that much more eager to help.

I've still got it. . .a bit.

As my Sunday came to a close, I couldn't help but wonder if a certain ability of my past still existed.  I pondered the thought, which has been bouncing around in my head for a while.  I confess, proudly, I am a Trekkie, not just that, but a full blown Sci-Fi freak.  Yes it's true, and I have been reminiscing among old and quite cheesy Star Trek movies (as my wife would attest) this weekend.  And it has been amazing watching how bad the graphics were, but how awesome the stories and legends are.
From an earlier post, I let the world know that I am an amateur sculptor.  Having taught myself since the age of six, and until recently had now professional instruction.  I use to spend hours on end, creating ships, cities, creatures and whole universes, just waiting to be stepped on by my parents and siblings.  I sculpted so much, my mother made it a rule that every time I was to come up stairs my hands were to be washed, and my pockets to be turned out.  I was, and still am addicted.

So here tonight, when I should be asleep, I show to you all, I still have it . . .a bit.

To those who need an introduction, the first four are the U.S.S Enterprise E, D, B and original.
To those who don't, I hope you can recognize them.

 Each one is very basic, and to anywhere from ten minutes to 25 minutes

 Don't mind the giant hand floating in "space".

And because I could hear my mother telling me to, "branch out" after every sculpture,  I'll prove to her I have.

I can't wait for my next: Midnight Sculpting Experience!

Lost in Thought

It's amazing to me how on such a cold winter day, I can feel the warmth of sunlight on my face.  Even though my glasses fog, and the wind bites my nose, I can still feel energy coming from our source of life.  It finally the January I know and love.
Today I sat on my bus, with my Anthropology book in my lap, and soaked in the surroundings: a bright blue wispy sky, the ebb and flow of traffic, a grumbling bus engine that propelled me to my stop just in front of a spectacularly designed court house.  I found myself meandering my way past the City and County building, admiring the stone and mortar of its walls, a very stoic figure surrounded by all the naked trees.  And the thought dawned on me: I'm lost in thought!  Not a very profound one, or one unknown to my mind.  But why had this common thought thrust itself out to my mind, to rub against the ridges and wrinkles of my grey matter?  I was lost in my thought, with no accompaniment, there were no words or lyrics being sung into my ear canals.  I had no emotions assaulting me,  I wasn't being moved by a constant melody or beat.  It was just me, my conscience and no one else.
If you do not follow my thought, or understand what I am saying, DROP YOUR HEADPHONES.  I know in the past I have said I'm unplugging for the day, and I often make fun of others and myself for being cut off from the world around them, but now I am unplugging.  I'm dedicating this semester (and possibly others) to an Ipod free semester.  Some may scoff and wonder how long that will last, others just may flip past the screen.  But know, those of you that stay and read this, I am unplugging myself from my small inside world, and experiencing the great wonders around me.
Its already been a week, so lets see what more comes from it!

A return of Kindergarten

21 pairs of hands, holding oversized pencils, 21 pairs of little feet swinging and crossing beneath shin high seats.  21 eyes taking in their bran new classroom.

We spent the past break dusting, cleaning, scrubbing and sanitizing a room of Mrs. Erickson's very own, one that has a tall bouleton board, one name plate over the door jam, and one teacher's desk in the corner.

As I sit here, listening to my wife teach 21 little minds, I can't help but smile at the memory of my own kindergarten, paper lions and lambs hanging from the ceiling, a giant doll house full of furniture and toys, blocks, blocks and more blocks!  Reflected in the small pool of faces before me are my friends, aquaintences, and self of the past. 

Part of me often feels the need to sit at the desk, and write the letter of the day, or sit on the rug and listen to a story being told.  I even feel myself cringe with everyone else as someone gets in trouble, or yearn for praise when someone else receives a complement from Mrs. Erickson.

With Hello Kitty bandaide on finger, my wife fearlessly teaches one how to count to ten, keeping little minds working and staying on task.  I wonder how she does it all.  I come to volunteer and often end up a spectator, and then come home practically falling asleep before my head hits the pillow.  And she's the teacher!

Mrs. Erickson, in the words of one of your student's mother, "Your simply incredible!