To Keep The Heart Lights On

"If ever a man had it all
It would have to be me
And, oooh, I love you..."

–Climax Blues Band, I Love You

I listened to Roger Love speak about speaking. About voice and volume. About melody. About how all the things he shared with the audience, being a famous voice coach, can make us better communicators. 

Unfortunately I was tired from work travel, so I nodded off here and there. I heard most of what he said, though. About how important melody is and why we should pretend we are singing while you are speaking. We should move it around, shake it up, swoop, dive, soar, and let our voice be as interesting as we are.

Man, I needed melody in that moment. Feeling burnt out at work, unsure of the future as recession fears grow, and being far from home at a work conference called HR Inspire, I felt very uninspired and alone. After Roger was done speaking, another attendee struck up a conversation with me. Our spouses came up, and I said it was almost our 25th anniversary. Twenty-five years from the day we met, and 19 years from when we were married, on the same date. I also talked proudly of my daughters. He smiled and asked me what was so special about my wife, I said, "She's open and empathic and has such a loving heart. Our children have such a great role model." Then he asked, "What about you?" I smiled and winked, then said, "She's taught me well."

And while that was nice sharing about my wife and daughters, it also made me more miserable and homesick. After that, I wandered alone as the attendees left, many headed to the conference reception. The conference venue was Music City Center in Nashville, and music of all flavors was piped over the event center PA system. 

A familiar melody started to play, an old song I've always loved. One that reminded me of my wife. Lyrically it wasn't literal to our relationship, but it was close. The song was "I Love You" by Climax Blues Band, and it floored me. I sat alone in the lower lobby and tears welled in my eyes. 

I thought about that one day at the beach nearly 25 years ago, and more tears welled in my eyes. I've always been a hopeless romantic my whole life, although romanticizing our love hasn't needed much help; our melody has always been there. However, we've had relationship problems and painful moments of angst and anger, but we've learned to prioritize honesty, growth, intimacy, and love. And even after 25 years of love and growth, we're going through this book called The Love Prescription: Seven Days to More Intimacy, Connection, and Joy together.

I sat there and wiped the tears away. No matter how fried and uncertain I felt about my business and my work life, and how fearful I was about the future, all I had to do was think about these melodies: the love of my life and our children. That's more than enough love to keep the heart lights on. 

"Since then I never looked back

It's almost like living a dream

And, oooh, I love you..."

Where Our Troubles Are All The Same

"You want to be where you can see
The troubles are all the same
You want to be where everybody knows your name..."

–Theme from Cheers

The news update read: 99 Bottles closes permanently.

"Sweetie, 99 Bottles is closing forever," I said to my wife, Amy.

"Oh, so many memories there," she said. "So sad."

"I know. And they're laying off all 30 employees."

This was only the beginning, I thought. So many businesses will bleed out because of the coronavirus impact. So sad. 

Thankfully, so many memories there...

I sipped my beer and smiled at the question forming in my head. We had just returned from a road trip vacation through the Southwest and were again at our favorite watering hole called 99 Bottles for Friday date night. Nearly every week since we met we'd been going there to sit at the bar, play Scrabble, drink beer and eat burgers. We got to know the owners well and many of the regulars, especially those who sat at the bar like we did.

“So, do you want to have a kid?” I asked Amy.

Without missing a beat or looking at me, she formed her next word on the travel Scrabble board we used religiously, and then she said:

“Okay.”

And then that was it. For years since we'd met we didn't want to have children, and then we changed our minds. Happily so. But that night at the pub we didn't talk about it again until the next morning. Then within a few years came both our girls: Beatrice, our oldest, and then Bryce, our youngest.

After we had the girls we went to 99 Bottles less frequently, but both girls loved the waffle fries and burgers every time we went. It would always be nostalgic for us when we dined there, sitting in the booth with the kids each time, not at the bar. C'mon, we're better parents than that.

When Beatrice was only two weeks old, we took her there to celebrate my birthday. New parents just figuring things out, we needed an early night out and made the best of it. We sat in the back of the noisy and packed pub, rocking Bea in her car seat while we had our date. She actually slept through most of it and we basked in our burger and beer love.

A few years before that, we finally finished our 99 Bottles drinking-beer card: drinking all 99 beers they had on tap and in the bottle. Now, keep in mind that took us a few years to finish, even between the two of us. Upon consuming all 99 beers, we eventually got our names on a small nameplate mounted on the wall of the pub restaurant with the hundreds of others who did the same. When the pub decided to update their nameplate wall, they contacted us and asked if we wanted our original nameplate. Of course we did and now it's framed in our house.

The quote we picked for the nameplate was perfect for us: Two Halves Make Two Pints. It was based on the Rush lyrics from the song The Speed of Love penned by the now deceased Neil Peart:

Love is born with solar flares
From two magnetic poles
It moves towards a higher plane
Where two halves make two wholes

Contemporary romantic sentiment dictates that when two people in love bond together and maybe even get married, their union is of two becoming one. But for us, it was about becoming two wholes together, our unique spirits made stronger because of our union. 

A few years before that before our wedding day, we decided to have our rehearsal dinner at 99 Bottles. We had such a great time, both our families celebrating the joy of our love. We took over the second floor of 99 Bottles, the game room at the time also used for special events, and we enjoyed our fellowship of burgers, beer and family.

A few years before that, we rang in the New Year at 99 Bottles, making it until closing time, probably the latest we've ever stayed out on New Year's Eve, or any night for that matter. Like, ever. C'mon, we've gone to bed by 9:30 pm every night for years now.

And a few years before that, one day on the beach, destiny awaited. Shortly thereafter, the Friday night date nights ensued, where two halves made two pints.

So many memories there. We planned our careers, our travels, our children, our entire lives sitting at that bar. We discussed books, music, spirituality, religion, politics and more. We shared our experiences of Y2K, hanging chads, September 11, the Dot.com bust, the Iraq war, the Great Recession and other timely events.

I'm sure many of you have your own special memories of a local establishment you frequented with those you love -- your husbands, your wives, your significant others, your children, your families, your friends, your peers and colleagues. A place where our troubles are all the same and everybody knows our names. 

There are those business that struggle even in the best of times. During this healthcare crisis, many small businesses will die (even with our help as consumers and government assistance), and many more will be born on the other side (we hope), and through it all, as we shelter in place, our homes become the places where our troubles are all the same and everybody knows our names. Farewell, 99 Bottles. These two pints are for you.

If Mr. Bay Area Mom can do it, anyone can

We watched Mr. Mom this week and I've forgotten how cute it was, and how eerie the parallels from the early 80s economic slump and today's unprecedented meltdown.

I'm very thankful that I have a job. Even though our firm only does as well as our clients do (and we've already seen our share of company death knells), there are those staying alive, even growing, in the human resource and senior care marketplaces.

My heart goes out to those who aren't as fortunate. The number of Americans collecting unemployment benefits has almost hit 5 million. And according to an article I read last week, government data shows that:

The numbers are startling: More than 80 percent of pink slips handed out since the recession began in December 2007 have gone to men, thanks to their disproportionate slice of jobs in hard-hit fields like construction and manufacturing.

I remember what it was like to be out of work after the dot.com bust. But that was different then; Amy and I didn't own a home that plummeted in value and we didn't have any children to care for. We were more footloose and fancy-free and could absorb the monthly revenue hit. In fact, besides some freelancing, I was heavily involved in online fiction and poetry workshops at Zoetrope, honing my writing craft.

I hit some tough times during that work-at-home stint. Feelings of inferiority, of being a failure, of not knowing who the hell I was. Alcohol became a comrade, a medicating brother in arms, and almost came between my wife and me (don't overbearing co-dependent friends always do that?). However, I was stronger that I gave myself credit for, and we worked it all out; the mindful living I experienced even then threw me a life preserver, as did my lovely wife. (Here's a great read for fathers on centering oneself.)

On a lighter note, one of my good buddies always teases me. "That poetry gig didn't really work out, did it Kev."

No, it didn't (although I miss it terribly at times, the writing that is).

Now we have a house and a child and we're so very thankful we have jobs. Amy works four days a week, so we have childcare three days a week and then on Friday's, it's daddy's turn.

I'm also thankful my mother activated my nurturing gene decades ago, because otherwise, there would be no daddy daycare on Fridays (with the exception of one Friday so far when I was with the boyz). We've actually got it mostly worked out, Bea and me, with her morning nap coinciding with my Friday morning Webcasts and sales meetings, and then again in the afternoons so I can catch up on the millions of administrative mind-benders crawling all over my skin.

We play in between the working lines – tummy time on the boppy pillow while anything in her reach goes from hand to mouth. I read to her (stop, do not hop on pop) and we watch eebee and Sesame Street and nursery rhymes of all kinds with unending glee.

And we've started a sweet tradition of the afternoon rockfest. Yep, I flip on an iTunes Genius mix and we boogie to everything from Bowie to Spoon. (One of these days I'll get it on video.)

But it's difficult at times as well. If baby has a meltdown, which she did last Friday afternoon, there's nothing I can do to make it all better. When the wailing continues unabated for 30+ minutes, you begin to see the dark side of the force ("Luke, give in to your feelings…"). And our baby is on the far side of being colicky.

Thank God almighty.

Although I can barely hold a candle to their experiences, I can better imagine what it's been like for mommies for generations and the new breed of Mr. Bay Area Mom.

Daddy K thinks in economies that scale, shuffle and shapeshift

I read a great opinion piece today in the The Wall Street Journal online titled There Is No 'The Economy'. I agree with much of what Zachary presents in the article, because:

In truth, what used to be "the economy" is just one part of a global chess board, and the data we have is incomplete, misleading, and simultaneously right and wrong. It is right given what it measures, and wrong given what most people conclude on the basis of it.

The world is composed of hundreds of economies that interact with one another in unpredictable and unexpected ways. We cling to the notion of one economy because it creates an illusion of shared experiences. As comforting as that illusion is, it will not restore a simplicity that no longer exists, and clinging to it will not lead to viable solutions for pressing problems.

I know an op-ed piece is no consolation to friends and family we know who are struggling because they're out of work, or because of skyrocketing fuel and food prices, or because of homes that have lost value when the mortgages have not, or whatever the situation.

I remember vividly what it was like to be in financial ruin, which was right after I met Amy (and thank goodness she kept me around) – and that was even before being laid off from the dot.com company I worked for during the bust of 2000-2001. But those are stories for another time.

I'm fortunate that our firm is currently chugging along and that we can provide steady jobs for few folk. We've even increased the number of telecommuting days for staff to save money on fuel and help the environment a little bit more.

My heart goes out to those who are struggling. The world is shuffling and shapeshifting by the minute.

Hold on tight, B. Hold on tight.