What’s Left

What’s left is a turkey leg
Attached to its bony carcass
On a dirty dish-piled counter 
Wondering whether it ends up
In soup stock or the trash can
It overhears laughter 
Some frothy debate 
A fight breaking out
New people broken in
Children running
Children crying 
Drunken singing
Zingers flying
Kisses stolen
Bodies swollen
Someone smokes outside
Games are played inside
And the turkey leg longs
To be a part of the throng
But it knows it won’t be
As its time is numbered
Maybe lasting till morning 
While largely ignored until 
The deep sighs of woeful
Cleaning have begun
But that’s hours away
And it really wants to stay
While the humans beyond 
Are purposefully loud 
Loving and painfully aware
Of limitations and aspirations
Until they all drift slowly away 
What’s left is a turkey leg
Grateful for the memories 
They forever become

–KWG

Freedom to Celebrate

The ride attendant called out over the loudspeaker if anyone wanted to get off the ride. I feebly raised my hand and the ride slowed to a stop. I'm sure my face was sickly white and drenched in sweat. The ride was called the Lobster and it was a multi-armed metallic monster that turned round and round, faster and faster, and the cars we were strapped into along each arm also turned round and round, faster and faster. 

We were at Magic Mountain in Southern California a couple of hours from where I grew up in the Central Valley. I was 11 years old at the time and my sister was 9. She also rode the Lobster ride with me but didn't get sick like I did. I realized then rides that went round and round would make me motion sick every time, and I would never be an astronaut. Ever. Sigh.

However, roller coasters were my jam, as the kids say. Not sure if the kids still say that, but still, roller coasters were and are my jam. At that same park in Southern California in the 1976, the Revolution was a new roller coaster at the time that had one full upside-down loop, and I loved it. After that, I always went on all the coasters. 

My wife Amy and I have lived in Santa Cruz for nearly 27 years now and we've loved having an amusement park in our own backyard -- the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk. Our kids have loved it, too. Now teens, we all go to the Boardwalk multiple times every spring and summer. Our youngest Bryce likes the rides that go round and round, faster and faster. Ugh. Our oldest Beatrice can handle some of those, but Amy's with me on those; she gets motion sickness and can't do them. Nor can she handle many roller coasters or faster virtual motion rides. The kids can, but only Bryce will ride the Giant Dipper with me. 

The Giant Dipper at the Boardwalk is the 5th oldest working roller coaster in the U.S. today. It's fast and fun and just turned 100 years old. We were at the 100th birthday celebration last weekend that included a big fireworks spectacular. Bryce would've ridden it with me, but instead was off with friends riding a round-and-round ride called the Fireball (blech), Bea was on the beach with her friends running around, and Amy sat with some of our friends on the beach waiting for the fireworks. I wanted to ride the coaster, so I waited in line for the Giant Dipper with another friend of ours and one of her kids.

The fireworks started while we waited in line, only two train loads away from riding, and we worried we'd miss them. But we didn't! The fireworks exploded above us when it was our turn to ride the old wooden roller coaster. It was fantastic!

I even had time to run back to the beach and give Amy a big kiss during the fireworks finale. So grateful to live where we live and not think twice about going to an amusement park and hanging out with family and friends. The freedom to celebrate our community. Especially when there are so many places around the world that don't have the same freedoms. 

Blessings to those who sacrificed their lives for our freedoms this Memorial Day Weekend. Amen. 

Surfing the Toxic Afterglow

We agreed that Facebook is too much a cesspool of toxic aggression. A place where it’s all too easy to say whatever the hell you want because you want to, share whatever the hell you want because you want to, fact-based or not. Usually not unfortunately. This includes political aggression, religious aggression, racist aggression, sexist aggression – so much aggression. 

You are wrong and I am right; the posted toxicity leads to an escalated pile-on of aggression on one either side, or both usually. Too many individuals, groups and organizations also use the platform to misinform and divide for whatever nefarious ulterior motives they have.

We also marginalize those we don’t agree with online, those who we think are ignorant and uninformed, those we don’t know very well or want to take the time to understand, those who we thought we knew well and didn't. This all leads to shock, disgust, frustration and further aggression. Or blocking or unfriending (which I’ve done). Or just quitting Facebook altogether (which I’ve been tempted to do more than once). 

Even when we’re trying to change the hearts and minds of others we feel are out of their friggin’ minds with well-measured rational and positive affirmations, that can still lead to aggressive pile-ons that change no hearts and no minds. 

And even when we try to counter all of the above with family-and-friend friendly pictures and posts, and/or socially safe memes, and/or neutral work-related promotional posts, they may only help to diffuse the toxic aggression temporarily. Because there’s also another dumpster fire ready to start somewhere (I'm guilty as charged for starting some of those). 

This was a conversation I had with a dear old friend I hadn’t seen since pre-covid. We were in person for the first time in a long time, visiting with some of my family we also hadn't seen since pre-covid. The added stress of separation, no matter how differently we all see the world, was further poisoned by one of the very platforms that was supposed to help keep us all connected during this pandemic. 

None of this is new either; the nasty social network rhetoric has only escalated since I was first on Facebook back in 2008. And these are people we all know in some capacity – no anonymity here. With anonymity, it's so much worse and such an extreme health and safety problem with bullying and threats of rape and death. 

We keep hearing our daughter’s voices in our heads, “Why don’t you just get off this Facebook thing, Mom and Dad. It just makes you mad.”

And they're right. We don’t want either of our daughters to be on any of these kinds of social networks where they have to trudge through the radioactive waste of everybody else’s nuclear thought bombs. That’s another problem as well, the glow of this nasty sludge never goes away. Others can find it and see it – prospective employers, for example. Or, places where you might want to volunteer at. Or, where you might want to go to college. And the list goes on. 

My wife Amy doesn't spend a lot of time on Facebook anymore. She mostly just likes to numb her mind and surf through it, looking for positive posts and funnies that make her laugh, and now mostly steers clear of the fires. She tells me she doesn't want me to quit Facebook because of these GOTG posts I share, and I'm the family photo Dad posting pics she can share and comment on! 

We didn't grow up with any mobile devices or online social networks. Thank God for that. However, both our girls have grown up with devices and the internet and are quite comfortable playing innocuous and cute kid apps and games for now (which we monitor and check-in on often). 

But we don't really monitor and check-in often on ourselves when online. What was supposed to be the positive aspect of the internet and platforms like Facebook – the ability to connect with anyone, anywhere, at any time and to share positive life stories, important (and true) news that affects us all, pictures and videos to loved ones we can't see in person and other important life events, has really just gone to hell.

We've learned things about each other that we never really wanted to know, complicating further the tenuous relationships we may have already had. Thankfully many of us walk away before escalation, but too many of us still don't. Instead, we release our inner Kraken and don't check ourselves, or each other, repeatedly marginalizing each other with nuclear slight bombs. And then afterwards, we're caught happily surfing the toxic afterglow, awash in wave after wave of negative biases and -isms. 

Our kids are right – we really should get off this Facebook thing. Ugh. 

The GOTG Top 10 2020 Days of Coronavirus Posts

This is the part where we reflect on a year like no other. The part where we're trying to stay safe and healthy. The part where we miss our family and friends. The part where, whomever we're with this holiday season, we hold onto them with all our might. 

The part where we're grateful no matter what's transpired and no matter what's ahead. 

I asked my lovely wife Amy to pick her favorite 2020 "Days of Coronavirus" Get Off The Ground posts. If you've read any of my pieces, and I thank you if you have, then I hope one of the takeaways for you is how we work hard to see everyone and everything through eyes of love.

Especially under the weight of this year, we hope you continue to effect positive change with each other through empathy and eyes of love. 

Because that's the part where we find common ground, where we heal some of our hurts, and where maybe we find a little peace on earth.

Blessings to you all this holiday season.

Here are the top 10 2020 "Days of Coronavirus" posts as chosen by my lovely wife:

10. Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To 

The part where we adopt a dog.

9. When There's Nowhere to Go

The part where we need to take care of each other. 

8. The Newest Normal

The part where we need to check in and support each other.

7. About All The Things

The part where it's okay to grieve.

6. This Bad History

The part where we live good and bad history every day.

5. The Haunted Garden

The part where you want a little normalcy in an abnormal world. 

4. The Teacher Parade

The part where you're grateful for your teachers. 

3. Our Learning Quests

The part where we keep our synapses firing and brains rewiring.

2. A Grateful Tree

The part where you write a poem every once and awhile. 

1. Choose Eyes of Love

The part where, well, you get it. 

The Haunted Garden

We went rogue this Halloween. After eight months of pandemic, the "rona" safety protocol fatigue is more than real. Masking up for our family first hasn't changed for us, not one bit, but we'd be lying if we said we weren't tired of the tedium. The tedium of working virtually. Of going to school virtually. Of limiting our travel to camping, and for the next few months, not venturing far from out of our area at all.

Yes, we're grateful for being safe and well, and for having local friends we "pod" with -- watching each other's children a few days a week and doing things safely together.

But we thought a month ago we'd be able to play Captain Hook make Halloween walk the plank and be done with it. But then our daughters and their friends Peter Panned us into it; Halloween was on.

Trick or treating wasn't really going to be an option this year. But then one of our friend families had the brilliant idea to have a haunted house. Or, more accurately, a haunted garden that started in the front of their house, went around one side of the house, through the backyard and then out the open garage for treats. The whole time keeping every one we invited socially distanced and wearing masks (again, it was Halloween). 

We had scary fun set up throughout the haunted garden walk -- including my little pirate area. "Arrrrrr, you scurvy dogs, stay away from my treasure!" While not quite Disney's Pirates of the Caribbean, we gave it our best shot. 

Our friends who hosted our haunted garden added their own take on the dark musical Cabaret on their front porch, and then we had zombie teddy bears, edible eyes and entrails as the entrance attraction. Our pod kids were the haunted garden guides. We had ghost projections on the window and spooky side effects throughout the journey. The side of the house was full of jump scares and then our Halloween guests could get their fortunes read. After my pirate scene, their were giant spiders and then a zombie graveyard with one of our friend's son dressed all in black slinking around and scaring everyone. Then there was a ghoul bride swinging on a swing next to a corpse on a cot. Then a madman jumped on a trampoline and a witch who brewed magic over a fire. Then the haunted garden ended with passage through a body shop replete with sawing sound effects. Yikes! Those who dared to complete the journey were rewarded with treats. 

We had no idea how many would come to our haunted garden tour, and in the end, there were quite a few who did. So, going rogue this Halloween paid off, giving a few folks the opportunity for a little normalcy in a very abnormal world. It's like we've all been living in this haunted garden on a remote island with no means of escape, and 2020 is an angry, drunk pirate who keeps scaring us, stealing our stuff, throwing up everywhere and getting us all sick. 

But fortune favors the bold, and there is still much beauty in our garden to fight for, and lots of love and hope as well. Time to boot that rotten pirate!

Other "Days of Coronavirus" posts:

Mapping the Way

Mask Up First For Your Families

All Because of One Day on the Beach

Awash in Love and Hope

The Building Blocks of Healthy Lives

The Part Where All Lives Matter

The Clarity Bridge for Homelessness

Stars to Shine

Loving Community Wide Shots Abound

A Foundation Worth Saving

This Hit-And-Run Thunderstorm

Help Prevent the Back-to-School Bullying

Memories Now and to Come

Especially Our Kids

This Old "No" Guy Jedi

Choose Eyes of Love

The Morning Work

We Shared Blue Genes

Agree to Disintegration

The Teacher Parade

All These Things Can Lead To Grace

Our Freedom Is Always Welcome

A Well of Strength

This Bad History

No Shirts, No Shoes, No Problem

The Iceberg Underneath

The Healing Hope We Can Give

Donate Your Date Nights and Help Feed Families

About All The Things

Dad, Our Family's Computer Guy

The Newest Normal

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

This Is The Life

When There's Nowhere to Go

Jenny, Jenny, Who Can I Turn To

Thank Goodness for Trade-Backsies

The more I watched them trade their L.O.L. Surprise Dolls, the more I thought about losing my marbles.

Don't worry. I'll explain.

First, about the L.O.L. Surprise Dolls (Lil Outrageous Littles -- not laugh out loud). For parents who have kids who long for these little mysterious dolls with big eyes and sparkly outfits, we empathize. A big part of the collecting fun is the anticipation of which doll you get when you unpack them, plus all the fun related accessories that come with each doll. And you can buy (of course) all sorts of separate accessories and collectible cases for them.

To date, based on what I can find, there are multiple series of these dolls and well over 250 total different dolls in all (with many more on the way since they were some of the most popular toys in 2019). Our girls have about a dozen each. They've gotten them as gifts and they've spent their own allowance, each one starting at about $7 each. There are different categories of L.O.L. dolls that include common, fancy, rare and ultra rare.

Now, every generation has its pick of fun collectibles, created by businesses that can make bank if they hit the right kid craving nerve. And this L.O.L. doll craze has definitely been making bank. But what's fascinating to watch is the intense L.O.L. doll trading and negotiating that goes on after the unpacking.

Both our daughters, Beatrice and Bryce, have been developing their negotiation muscles with each other and with a core group of friends consumed by the L.O.L. doll craze. Serious negotations. Like Wall Street, executive boardroom, "you compromise and give me this for that because it's the best deal" negotiations. Especially when trading for rare and ultra rate L.O.L. dolls. And there's a special trading clause they call trade-backsies, used if and when someone gets buyer's remorse on a trade, she can ask for their L.O.L. doll back within a day of trading. It's serious business.

Which is why it made me think about losing my marbles. Not going literally crazy, no. Actual real-life marbles. Cat's eyes, red devils, aggies, allies, tigers swirlies, steelies, clearies and so many others. Trading marbles was big business when I was in 4th grade. But what started out as fairly innocent marble trading turned into a booming marble casino.

It started small at first. During foggy fall recesses, a couple of kids would set up marble pyramid stacks along the smooth grooves of playground dirt worn in the grass from repetitive running and playing. Then, other kids would shoot marbles from a specific distance to knock the marble pyramids down. If they did, they got all the marbles, but each time they missed, the pyramid stacker would collect the marbles and keep them.

Usually the pyramid stacks were topped with premium marbles -- clearies or steelies or other rare marbles -- which sweetened the pot of winning the stack. Our marble enterprise grew and soon there were fewer kids playing four-square, tetherball, dodge ball or nation ball (a faster and more complex version of dodge ball), and more kids bringing their marbles to school. It was mostly boys who played at first, but eventually there was a growing group of girls brining their marbles to school.

It flew under the yard duty teacher radar for awhile; we had lookouts to ensure we weren't attracting too much attention. However, human nature took over and the passion of grade school kids overtook some of us. More and more marble fights broke out when kids would lose their most precious ones. There were also some kids who tried to glue their marble stacks to prevent them from being knocked down, which didn't happen often because they were immediately banned from play. And through it all, there were no trade-backsies; when you lost your marbles, you lost your marbles.

Loose lips sink ships and eventually the yard duty teacher radar picked up on what we were doing. Even our primary teachers overheard the marble rabble-rousing during class, with kids having withdrawals because they couldn't wait until recess to gamble away. Plus, it was hard to miss the growing clump of kids kneeling on the ground shooting marbles over and over again, along with the cheering and the yelling. Eventually, our entire marble operation was shut down and marbles were banned from school. Not even my mom knew about it until she got the note from school.

So in a sense, we did all lose our marbles, so to speak. Compared to that, the L.O.L. Surprise Doll negotiating and trading seems pretty tame. In fact, it's valuable skill-building for our girls and their friends, learning to negotiate while keeping cool heads, for the most part. Thank goodness for trade-backsies.

Thankful for My Muses and Christmastime Magic

This is why I'm thankful: my angelic muses carry with them a special kind of perpetual Christmastime magic. The kind that casts imperfections into unique heartmeld spells of empowered adaption and inspiration. The kind that lights the world around me like triple suns rising one after the other, helping me make life-lesson connections I never would've seen before. The kind that guide me to be a better father, a better husband, a better man.

Muse Bryce has a fire in her belly that dwarfs even the Mama Muse's daily motivation. Her first year of preschool has gone well so far, even with her aggressive edge of reactive smacking, something we're working on. We're also still dealing with her exotropia -- a vision problem where one eye migrates outward and binocular vision can be difficult. This includes putting an eye patch on her right eye for one hour per day, since her left eye is the problem child. Hopefully early next year we'll find out it's helped, but this doesn't seem to slow her down; her belly fire only burns brighter, a dissonant dragon of do.

Muse Beatrice has a wonderful shy sensibility and sensitivity to those around her. Even with her processing delays, which she continues to work on and overcome, her intellect and grasp of concepts greater than her current age at normal development speeds is exciting -- especially since kindergarten is starting next year. In fact, her storytelling ability is more creative and rich than ever had at her age, and I was certainly an imaginative introvert as a child. She also has an eye for flexible patterns and design, something conveyed in her storytelling, as if she's working through problems unseen even by us. And of course, there's her Daddy love of Christmas, one that warms my heart and soul, us both longing for the holiday.

The Mama Muse has always been my primary sun burning bright who's prescient flares caress my surface daily, reminding me that no matter how harsh and cold things can get, it's the warming reaction of sunrise that makes all the difference. I've known that for 16 years since the day we met that one special day at the beach, the same date when we married six years later (this year being the diamond 10 celebration). Plus, falling in love again and again doesn't hurt.

And then there's the Nonna Muse, my mother-in-law, the Mama's mom, who lives with us and is a blessing to the girls. And then there are the other  muses I celebrate -- my sister, my sister-in-law, my niece, my Aunt Karen and Aunt Margene, and the much missed spirt of my own mother, whom I lost this time last year. And then there's the countless other female family and friends from then to now who I've learned much from. (Gentlemen, I'm still digging your influence, no worries.)

I'm blessed to have so much inspirational light from girl power and am thankful for muses and everyday Christmastime magic that feel like the warm sand from one day at the beach.

Us men need mucho more musing. Amen.