We Make Our Magic

"...You have to believe we are magic
Nothin' can stand in our way
You have to believe we are magic
Don't let your aim ever stray
And if all your hopes survive, destiny will arrive
I'll bring all your dreams alive for you..."

–Olivia Newton-John, Magic

My legs and lungs burned, and I was drenched in sweat. For the last mile, nearly every 50 feet was a switchback in the trail that wound its way steeply up the mountainside. Along the way I took frequent breaks, realizing as I caught my breath that there had been a fire here in the past. I leaned against the scorched bark of old-growth redwoods, oaks, and maples, all of which were lush with renewal. 

Hiking with me was my wife, Amy. Her legs and lungs burned, too, but she doesn't sweat like I do, so her tell is that her cheeks glow red. Hiking is something we enjoy together -- for the exercise yes, but more for the ambiance of being in nature and the great outdoors. Amy and I like to say "let's get some redwood action"; hiking can be physically strenuous, but it's a meditative and mindful exercise that reinvigorates our bodies, minds, and souls. We're grateful to live in the Monterey Bay area with many hiking options near us as well as throughout the greater Bay Area. Each week we rotate parks where we usually hike, and occasionally we get to parks we haven't frequented as much. 

Like Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park. We'd only hiked the 3-mile Buzzards Roost Trail once before with friends and our kids, who did not like it at all. I must've been focused on them then because I didn't remember the vertical pain we experienced the second time. But unlike the first time we did the hike when the coastal fog was thick and we couldn't see the ocean from the summit, this time the view was magnificent: blue sky, green mountains, blue ocean, and a distant blue-gray fog bank in the distance. 

When we had descended that last brutal mile, which was easier using a different set of leg muscles with a gravity assist, a couple asked us how much farther. We told them about a mile and emphasized it was an intense vertical climb. They thanked us, feigned a smile, and continued on. Few minutes later I joked with Amy: "It's only five more cries away."

We laughed, because it was true; those people would know soon enough. That became another catch-phrase joke in our catalog of shared memories of nearly 30 years together. We used it multiple times for the reminder of our hiking day, hiking another four miles to see waterfalls and other pretty pockets of Pfeiffer Big Sur State Park.

This was another trip without our kids. Ones we're doing more of since our kids are in high school with the oldest Beatrice heading to her senior year and then off to college. Beatrice is working nearly full-time again this summer as a camp counselor and her sibling Bryce is taking an ASL class and volunteering at a nearby marine discovery center. It doesn't mean we don't do things together as a family. We do and love to. But they have their friends they hang out with, school, choir, theater, work, and more. 

So, we're not empty nesters quite yet. We've still got a few years, but it's been fun doing more things together again, just us. We're not worried about being empty nesters someday, though. For us, everything new and old thing we do together (without or with the kids) is a chance to rediscover each other. To take inventory, review, and reinvest in our lives together, our children's lives, our futures and theirs. Like hiking, we embrace meditative and mindful activities that reinvigorate our bodies, minds, and souls. 

The last part of the trip included a restaurant stop just a bit south of where we hiked. It's one that Amy's always wanted to go to, so we went. First, we had to wait for a parking spot because the place was packed. Then, the wait to be seated was going to be up to an hour. We put our names in and went to the gift shop, but after waiting only 10 minutes, we were seated facing the water with another magnificent view of the ocean and the rugged California coastline. And although the food was fair, it was a magical setting and worth the price of admission for where we sat.

On the way home from our Big Sur day hiking, we sang along to old favorites, including one of our favorite Olivia Newton-John songs called "Magic". Even though we're six years apart, we enjoy much of the same music from the 1970's and 1980's, and that song epitomized the moment of the magic we made that day, even when it was five cries away like the peak of Buzzards Roost.

We make our magic, always have, bringing all our dreams alive, for us.

You Can't Out-Fuss Dad

It's genetically impossible for me to not be fussy. At least initially depending on the situation and what's being asked of me by my family. Thankfully there have been more times in the past decade where I can just go with it, whatever the "it" is, and not get so easily upset. 

But there are many more times still when my initial reaction is "no, we can't do that because" or "no, I won't do that because". It's not an "angry" upset per se; it's a frustrated upset due to my binary operating system of "yes" and "no", with the "no's" usually winning. My wife Amy says it's because I don't like being inconvenienced. She's not wrong. Especially if I've got my mind set on doing something my way, and I'm asked to think about and do something another way, especially when it's a better way. 

For example, I bought a new drum kit (Happy Father's Day to me!) and needed to make more room in the garage so I could set it up. The footprint for my last drum kit wasn't going to be enough to accommodate this one. That meant getting rid of stuff that we've wanted to get rid of and moving stuff around that we've wanted to move around. I envisioned a way of doing some of that, but my vision version can be myopic; I just want it done even if it's not the most efficient way. My time is my money, honey. Like when I go shopping: I look, I buy, I'm done -- usually at the first place I look.

Amy's the planning and puzzle master, though. She has a holistic awareness about space, the things in that space, and how they might be organized and reorganized. She had great ideas, I fussed about them and then acquiesced to the fact that we could free up a lot more space with her recommendations, including taking a big load of stuff to Goodwill. At least 2-3 times per year we're donating "stuff" to Goodwill, because then we're buying new stuff (thank you, George Carlin). 

When I do think more holistically, which I can mind you, I do triangulate on various helpful options. I just channel my lovely wife -- and voilà! -- it's magic time. Or, magic drum time in this instance.

I've written about how our car is almost fussier than me. Almost. My fussy has become comedic fodder for me and my family. Both our kids, Beatrice and Bryce, love saying "so fussy" to me when I'm expounding frustrations about whatever. In fact, it's part of our love language; they want me to be fussy because they know I'm not reacting out of spite. Never. Instead, it's fussy-safe and they know how much I love them. 

Now, it's important to note that Amy, Beatrice, and Bryce can all be fussy with each other and me, but as Bryce so eloquently put it recently, "You can’t out-fuss Dad."

You cannot. Ever. Happy Father's Day to me. 

Schadenfreude Be Damned

I'm so done with schadenfreude, when people experience pleasure from other people's misfortune. I really am. Too many people spend too much time grounded in outrage, scarcity, and judgment, all of which allow unhappiness, loneliness, and hate to thrive. I know, I've had my share. That includes disparaging those with more money, popular entertainers, business and government leaders, those who have done us wrong in some way, and others of similar ilk. It's usually about people with power, in power, or holding power over us somehow.

And when we act that way, our children see it. Feel it. Model it. Our kids have called us out more than once about judging others while celebrating their misfortune. As parents, spouses, and friends, Amy and I have worked on this for many years; it's always a work in progress. It's also a time suck and a soul suck to live in negativity. Thankfully we've come to realize how much more energy it takes to judge and celebrate misfortune than to accept, empathize, and love -- and to let go of that which does not serve us. 

Back to the kids, though. Our children model who we are and what we do and say. And yes, there are life lessons, beliefs, morals, and more that we want our children to absorb and apply to their own lives that are never without their own bias. This becomes more evident when they are teenagers, which ours are now. We've loved watching them grow up and helping them grapple with this thing we call life. We're grateful that they reject our schadenfreude but remind them to do the same with their own. 

This doesn't mean we don't stand up, speak out, and push back on injustice and/or people we feel jeopardize our family's wellbeing and safety. Because we do. But we don't long for and celebrate the demise of those things and people we push back on. We want positive change, yes, but not to destroy that which we want to change for our betterment and the betterment of others. Just positive change, and again, through eyes of acceptance, empathy, gratitude, and love.

And it all starts at home. Recently, our family all had things about each other that bothered each other -- Bryce and Beatrice making each other feel bad about things they shouldn't have, Mom getting really mad about something she shouldn't have (and usually doesn't), and grumpy Dad getting super fussy about things he shouldn't have (and usually does). So, we spent time at dinner talking about these things, each of us sharing how we feel without judgment, really listening and hearing each other. That's no easy trick for any family with teens, including a family like ours that does work on our communication skills. 

That's why we practice communication and gratitude in our house. There's always something to be grateful for. Each other, for example. Even when we don't get along. Especially when we don't get along, because it reminds us of why acceptance, empathy, forgiveness, gratitude, and love are so important. This also applies to everything and everyone else in our lives, which is always the tricky part. Letting judgment go is grand. Schadenfreude be damned. Winston agrees (this time at least).

Celebrate the Best of Us

Am I forever unredeemable?
Can I ever overcome all the wrongs I'm running from?
Can my worst be left behind
And do I deserve to find
There's a soul who could see any good in me?
Or will I only ever be
Unredeemable?

–Unredeemable, from Spirited

Spirited is one of my favorite Christmas movies today. Only two years old, it stars Will Ferrell and Ryan Reynolds and is an over-the-top A Christmas Carol twist of a musical comedy. I love it. Our kids like it. My wife Amy does not. At least, not all the singing and dancing parts. Actually, none of the singing and dancing parts. 

She's not a musical fan, but she kind of likes the story. That one along with many other holiday movies we watch this time of year: predictable campy comedies and melodramatic classics and heartfelt uplifters. For us anyway. The Holiday, Elf, Christmas Vacation, Just Friends, Four Christmases, Noelle, When Harry Met Sally, The Family Man (still my favorite), and It's a Wonderful Life (always a favorite). There are others as well, but these are the mainstays. And yes, Die Hard is a Christmas movie.

However, A Christmas Carol isn't one of my favorites, whether the Charles Dickens' novel or any of the movie adaptations over the years. I get the story. I like the story. Just not a favorite.

But the theme of it -- that even the worst human is redeemable and can be inspired to find the good inside others and inspire others to do the same -- has always resonated with me. 

Too bad the worst humans today get the most media visibility and inspire too many others to do their worst as well, including our children and grandchildren. Our own children ask us all the time now why so many people celebrate and support those who embrace the worst qualities of humanity. That's always a super-tough one to answer, and it gets harder to answer as our kids get older. 

Because we're all a little unredeemable, aren't we? That's what makes us human (and why we watch all those campy holiday movies each year). No matter what religious or spiritual belief system and/or societal norms we choose to live by, or try to live by, or pretend to live by, most of us have made poor choices and done bad things we're not proud of. 

Some of those have seen the light of day and hopefully we've repented, while others are secrets buried deep inside the dark wells of our hearts. Mercy me, that seems to be the plot of nearly every contemporary dark novel and movie adaptation in recent memory. 

Our kids want to know about our poor choices and bad things we're not proud of; they want to understand who we were, those choices we've made in our lives, and why we became who we are today as they're becoming who they are tomorrow. Of course, we don't tell them everything, but we do want them to understand the why of our choices and what those repercussions were, and what they could be today or tomorrow if they made them.

When they ask, we also talk openly about the worst of humanity with our kids now that they're older, while emphasizing the best of humanity when they don't. We know we shouldn't be defined by the worst things we've done, as long as we've worked hard to be good people and do good things for ourselves and others. 

Are we ever unconditionally selfless, empathetic, and loving with others throughout our lifetimes, no matter what they've done? For most of us, no. It's more complicated and nuanced for most humans, and the worst-of-us recidivism is unfortunately up these days. But instead of wallowing in all that, something I struggled with in my youth, I only need to look at my wife and children to know that we work hard to celebrate the best of us. It's not a Dickens' novel, or a spirited modern day musical (of which Amy is thankful), but it is a story of redemption I continue to write with gratitude. 

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

We Can Do It

The 2024 Wharf to Wharf 10K race had started and our group number finally was able to move. As we got closer to the Beach Boardwalk arcade building, I noticed two police officers on the roof. One of them had what looked like a high-powered sniper rifle (never in America; now in America). Both were scanning the diverse 16,000 participants from the Santa Cruz area and beyond, serious racers to friends and family enjoying this annual community event, all of whom would run and walk from the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk to the Capitola Wharf. My wife Amy and I, and many others, saw the rifle clearly on its stand right above the roofline.

I scanned the roof of the restaurants across the street from the arcade, and there were two more officers, one with another sniper rifle on its stand. After all the Wharf to Wharf's we've done over the years, I don't remember ever seeing officers on the roofs above us. They might've been there and I just never looked up, but I don't think so. I mean, every year there is plenty of police presence along the over six miles of race route to ensure safety since we're walking and running along city streets. But it felt different this year. 

If there were other snipers along the race route, we didn't see them, and frankly, didn't want to see them. This was a depressing sign of the times, where the threat of potentially random violence feels like it's everywhere, even though violent crime is actually down. We live in a moderate-to-liberal community ideologically and politically, but there are still vocal extremes everywhere. 

So, whether or not local law enforcement had received threats to the race, we may never know, but it was unsettling nonetheless. The ideological and political extremists today thrive on divisiveness and hate that threatens to crater the middle of the road for us all. In fact, fringe violence has left more and more pot holes of fear faster than we can fill them, but fill them we must. What compounds this is that too many of us are too quick to fuel the fear and hate when we judge and tear each other down for being different, and when we don't see eye to eye on issues that affect us all. In front of our own children, God, and everyone. We revel in it, actually. Amy and I have been guilty of that ourselves, and our children called us out on it every time. 

Amy and I finished the race without incident and headed home, exhausted but exhilarated that we finished another Wharf to Wharf. Throughout the race I kept thinking about the police snipers keeping watch, and the majority of us walking and running in the race in the middle of the road, celebrating community and enjoying the live bands playing along the route. The race promotes the health and fitness of the youth of Santa Cruz (our schools). For those physically able to participate, it's also all about the joy of feeling alive and active, a vibrant mindfulness of empathy and love for oneself, and for the thousands of others across generations with a variety of backgrounds and beliefs. And along the entire route, locals cheered us on with "you can do it" signs.

That's a more relevant theme that extends beyond this fun annual race. Our family, and I'd argue the majority of families in communities big and small across ideologies, do not want to live in fear and loathing, or continue to enable the hateful disabling rhetoric, and will do everything we can to be stable, safe, and thrive. And to empower our children to do the same. 

We can do it. And we will do it. We have to do it. Our children are counting on us. 

The Love And The Light

"So this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun
And so this is Christmas
I hope you had fun
The near and the dear ones
The old and the young..."

–Happy Xmas (War Is Over), John & Yoko/Plastic Ono Band with the Harlem Community Choir

At first it was comical -- all of us trying to figure out the bike riding to a local state park for a holiday faire. Our oldest daughter Beatrice wanted to ride my e-bike that I never ride, which was fine. But then when our youngest daughter Bryce got on the new bike we bought for her, one she'd already ridden to school, she lost her balance and fell over. She scratched her knee and was okay otherwise, but she broke the basket for the front of the bike, the one she puts her backpack in to and from school. Fortunately it still attaches to the handlebars. 

I was going to concede to ride Amy's old Schwinn, but even after raising the seat, I still felt like a circus bear riding a tricycle. Then Bryce wanted to ride Amy's newer Huffy, which was broken recently until we got fixed, so Bryce rode that one, I rode the new bike that was supposed to be for Bryce (with handlebars that needed tightening and brakes that needed adjusting), Amy rode the old Schwinn, and Bea rode my e-bike. All that took about 20 minutes to sort out. 

No matter how many times we've tried over the years, we've just never been a bike family. But, we have had some lovely bike rides together, and this time was no exception. It was a lovely December early afternoon riding along the bike path, with hazy cloud streaks muting the blue sky that met the sea. It was cool out, but not cold, and the bike ride to Wilder Ranch State Park was pleasant. The old-fashioned holiday faire was smaller than it usually was pre-covid, with still many families making candles, wreaths, ornaments, potpourri bags, and drinking cider and hot chocolate. 

Riding back home I was grateful we were able to do this as a family, that the worst thing we had to worry about was who was riding what bike. That's when I thought about families who have a lot more to worry about. Poverty, illness, war, violence, and death. 

My family doesn't have to worry about those things, at least, not directly like the families living them today. Indirectly, anything can happen at any time, but I don't dwell on that like I used to. I'm grateful for the now. For being able to live comfortably today without illness, war, violence, or God forbid, death. 

And speaking of God, when I was a child, I really wanted to believe that little baby Jesus would save the world, especially during Christmastime. That's when I was always the most hopeful about the world. But then I came to learn that it was always on us to save the world from the dark things. 

And save the world we still can. At least I want to believe that for me and my family. And yours, too. I'm a hopelessly sentimental and hopeful human. Even in the darkest moments of my past, or the world's, I've been that way, always believing that ultimately there is only love and light, that we can see it that way, and make it that way.

As we neared home on our bikes, I looked at the sea one more time before we lost sight of it, and all I saw was the love and the light. 

However you celebrate the holidays, blessings to you and yours. You may never be as hopelessly sentimental as me, but believe it or not, being hopeful and making a daily difference is easier than you think. 

"So this is Christmas, and what have you done?"

Our Kids, Our Future

I told my wife Amy I'd only help sell the drinks for the PTA if I could be in the shade. And that's exactly where the table was when we got to our middle school, but it was still 85 degrees with only a little sea breeze. I set up the water, soda, and juice station nonetheless, preparing to ask for donations. Our oldest daughter Beatrice, now in high school, helped me set up, then vanished. Amy was inside the school running the PTA table and our 7th grader Bryce was preparing to sing in the choir. I was on my own for middle school open house.

It was nice to see old friends whose kids have been going to school with ours since forever. We were only asking for $1 PTA donations for the drinks, and because of the heat and the taco truck nearby serving delicious food, folks flocked to my table. Soon there was nothing left but a few waters. That's when the classroom open house started. 

Amy and I went to each of Bryce's classes, in her regular schedule order, and got to meet and hear from her teachers. It was a great turnout overall and most of the classrooms where full of eager parents wanting to learn what was in store for their children. 

It was the same story the next night when we went to Beatrice's high school open house. Except it was over 20 degrees cooler. That's Santa Cruz for you. I should've sold drinks that night for sure. Beatrice was excited to help us find each of her classes, and again, we really enjoyed meeting all her teachers. 

Being on our local school board, I have the privilege of serving our community, our district teachers, our district staff, and most importantly, our district kids TK-12. It was inspiring to hear this year all our teaching positions were filled! This hasn't been easy here or in many districts throughout California and the rest of the United States. Especially in rural areas. And now the teacher shortage has gotten worse, declining 16%, even after a seven-year increase in the number of new teacher credentials issued in California.

Public education is one of the cornerstones of a sound and thriving democracy. And while democracy isn't exactly thriving right now, I have hope that it will hold. What else does public education mean to America, and to our family? 

These reasons (according to the California School Board Association - CSBA and the Masters in Governance course I'm taking as a school board member): 

• A tuition-free education for all students.
• The promise of equal educational opportunities no matter race, religion, or ability.
• A commitment to high standards and high expectations for all students.
• A system of governance that ensures public accountability.

The public school system is not without its challenges, though, including teaching and staffing shortages, declining enrollment, budget shortfalls, navigating the academic and behavioral setbacks that occurred during COVID, fewer resources for students with special needs and those with cultural and language needs, divisive culture wars, mental health struggles, antiquated curriculum for some, among other challenges. There are also alternatives for families when the public school system doesn't work for them. 

But the public school system has provided our children with the educational resources and quality teaching since preschool that have helped them thrive academically and socially. I see that district-wide now as a board member, from elementary to secondary. Our daughter Beatrice might even want to be a teacher someday, and we couldn't be prouder. This is why I'm hopeful after meeting teacher after teacher who teach all the kids in our district. Who prepare our kids for college and/or career. Who help our kids believe they can be the best versions of themselves -- inclusive and empathetic critical thinkers. Our kids, our future. That's what it's all about.

A Novel Idea

Bryce and I arrived at the author reading at Bookshop Santa Cruz a few minutes early, but there were no seats left. We stood in the back and waited. It had been a lovely summer day and now I was excited to bring Bryce to the bookshop. 

Earlier in the week, my wife Amy asked if I wanted to take Bryce to an author reading at the bookshop. I said I did as it would be a fun outing for us. We'll all readers in our house, but our youngest daughter Bryce is our little super reader. She's always reading multiple books at the same time and we've been reading together before bedtime for a few years now. Amy takes her on regular library runs, too. 

Reminds me of me when I was her age. At 13, I read all the time, too. And even though she has devices today to watch shows and listen to music, something we monitor with both girls, reading is still the winner. I remember staying up late in the summertime (and during the school year) reading chapter after chapter of a good book. 

The author reading was about to begin. I did find an open bench with a great view left of the stage area in front, but Bryce didn't want to sit there. I don't think it was because she didn't want to sit with me, she just liked the view from where she was standing. At least, that's what I told myself. These teens today. 

The author reading was with Karen M. McManus who wrote the One of Us Is Lying series. This reading launched the newest book in the series called One of Us Is Back. She writes young adult mystery thrillers, a genre Bryce really enjoys. Reminds me of my Stephen King obsession back in the day. 

I bought a copy of the new book for Bryce to get signed after the reading was over. During the public question-and-answer session at the end of the author interview and reading, I texted Bryce to ask a question. She said she didn't have one, but I did.

"What is it about good thrillers and mysteries that engage you the most?" I asked the author. 

"Good character development with all the suspenseful mini-mysteries interconnected throughout that drive the over-arching mystery," Karen M. McManus said. "That's what engages me."

"Thank you." Good answer, I thought. 

Afterwards Bryce and I waited in line to meet Karen to have her sign Bryce's book. 

"Did you like this?" I asked.

"Yes," Bryce said. "I did really enjoy it. I just didn't have a question for her."

"You heard mine, right?"

"Yes, it was good."

I smiled. "This is inspiring me to write my novel."

"You want to write a book?"

"Yes. I've written a couple of business books, but I really want to write a novel now."

"What about? Will it be young adult?"

"It won't be young adult or be a mystery thriller, although someone will die in my story. It'll be a small town family drama," I said.

Bryce frowned. "You're not going to write about me, are you? Don't write about me." 

"It won't be about you. It will be fiction with made up characters."

"Good. You should write it. I would read it."

That meant a lot coming from a reader like Bryce.

I laughed. "Maybe there will be a character like you who I name Bruce instead of Bryce."

"Dad!"

I loved watching Bryce as she talked with the author Karen M. McManus and told her how much she enjoyed her books. Karen signed Bryce's book and told her she loved her hat. When I was her age, I never got to meet authors whose books I loved. I'm so glad I took her this author reading and will do it again and again. And for Bryce to tell me she'd read the novel I've always wanted to write made the moment even sweeter.

This wonderful bonding experience with my daughter was more than just us having a good time together. It again sparked the idea of doing something new and different that I never thought I'd ever do in life. Like have children. Or travel the world. Or try different careers. Or write a business book. Or play the drums. 

Or, write the great American novel. As parents, we're supposed to be the ones who encourage our kids to dream the big dreams, but they can do the same for us. What a novel idea. 

It's A Win

When our oldest Beatrice pointed out we hadn't shared what we were grateful for the night before, we told her that we had. 

"No, we didn't," she said.

Her mom Amy said, "Yes, we did. We said we were grateful for our family."

"Yes, and I said I was grateful that you and your sister have your own rooms now," I added.

"Oh, okay," Bea said. She looked thoughtful. "What are you grateful for today?"

I smiled because now our kids remind us to share what we're grateful each day, and we don't have to be the ones to always ask, even with the fact that we now have teens. That's a parenting win for us. One that keeps our family grounded in what's good and what we're thankful for. 

We've been sharing what we're grateful for at dinner every night for nearly five years now going back to when we started our weekly family meetings where we share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family, like being brave in everyday situations. 

Sharing what we are grateful for became a nightly ritual that simply adds blessings to our family bond and our love for one another. It really does. Especially when one of has had a bad day and we feel like there's nothing to celebrate, and yet, without having to dig deep, we always find something to be grateful for. 

Because there always is something. There has to be something. There's a continuous greater purpose of positive living, loving, and appreciation that's bigger than any one crappy moment. And I've had a lot of crappy moments this year with work. It's been rough in the recruiting and human resources space I'm in and the small candidate experience research firm I run is struggling. We've had to lay off a team member and it might get worse soon. 

However, as my wife tells me all the time, always be grateful for endless possibilities, because we're not the sum of our crappy moments. We're constantly the culmination of love and possibility, and those times are now again. Always in the now again. It doesn't mean that there won't be obstacles to overcome, but when you're grateful even for those no matter the mirrored contradiction, it's a win. Without those and endless possibilities, what would be the point? Thankfully I don't worry about that question anymore. I'm grateful for where I'm at this very moment with myself and my family. 

Built With Patience And Love

After building it decades ago, I still used it. It was tipped on its side in a corner of the garage and was still being used to store stuff. Every time my wife Amy and I were in the garage working out, I'd look at it and think someday I'll refinish it. Our garage is part guest room/office, part gym, storage area, and where I drum; we haven't parked a car in there for a long time. 

Over the years when I looked at it sitting on its side in the corner, I sometimes wondered why I still had it -- a wooden cabinet I had made in woodshop way back in 7th grade. As I wrote last year, I don't remember exactly why I took woodshop in 7th grade, but it was probably because my dad worked with wood and built furniture, toys, and other things. When I was a teen, our home garage was full of table saws, circular saws, jigsaws, and so many other woodworking tools.

So, I took woodshop in junior high and made a cabinet. An actual working cabinet with shelves and hinged doors. It took a lot of patience, and sweat, and yes, I guess a lot of love. Now that I think about it, I never wanted to get rid of it over the years. Again, I wanted to refinish it at some point, and I finally am now.

Because we're creating a sun room out of our back porch, Amy mentioned we could put my old wooden cabinet out there if I really wanted to refinish it. Dig it out of the shadowy corner in the garage, sand and stain it, and actually use it again as it was intended to be used in its refreshed glory. A second life of sorts. What is old is new again.

This is important to me because sometimes I feel I have no control over anything in this world. And with my business struggling right now, I feel like a failure and that I won't be able to provide for my family. That I should've done this or I should've done that instead of where I'm at today.

But that's hogwash, because I actually do have more control over what I do right this very minute. And the next. And the next. Amy and I meditate daily and those meditations remind us that we're a universe of endless possibilities and that we are always good enough. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be, and my wife and children love me and are supportive and proud of me, just as I am of them. Sure, I have no idea what will happen tomorrow or in the next six months, but again, this very moment is mine, as is the next one, and the next. 

I posted the picture of my old cabinet I'm now refinishing and someone commented, "Pretty cool you still have it! You must have made it really well!" While someone else posted, "Old world craftsmanship -- it's nice how things hold up over time when they are built with patience and love."

Patience and love. Amen. I've never really given myself enough credit for the things I've done throughout my life. Of what I've overcome to get here and where I'm going. Of endless possibilities. I built that cabinet nearly 45 years ago, and while it wasn't really all that elaborate of a design, it was simple and sturdy and still standing today. All because it was built with patience and love when I was 13 years old. That's why today when I do have moments of self-doubt and feel like a failure, they are fleeting, because Amy and I have built our family on a foundation of patience, love, and infinite potential. 

Let that be a lesson to you, kids. Blessings to us all.

The 2022 Top 10 Most Read from GOTG

Here we are again; another year flew past. Mercy me. I wrote 50 articles this year on Get Off The Ground (GOTG), and I've written 843 in total since I started writing in 2007. I went from silly posts in early fatherhood to more serious pieces over the years. 

Thank you for stopping by and reading. We're all works in progress, and my wife Amy and I continue to work at being better spouses, parents, and community members. which is the whole point of what I share here -- and to be the positive spread of growth, empathy, and love. 

Speaking of stopping by and reading, here were this year's top 10 most read from GOTG:

1. Coronavirus Sucks, But We Don't Have To
2. From the Loss and the Pride 
3. The Ultimate Quits
4. Not How They Will Wind Up 
5. Never Too Old 
6. Almost Gridless 
7. Those That Just Might Reconnect 
8. The Teen Brain Two-Step 
9. Thanks to Mom (and me) 
10. Stuck in the Middle with Me

Thank you again for reading, and now it's time for a Christmas break for me and my family. No matter how you celebrate this time of the year, and whatever your holiday traditions are, blessings to you all. Be safe and well. 

"You're all I need

Underneath the tree…”

Clap Along

"It might seem crazy what I am 'bout to say

Sunshine, she's here, you can take a break

I'm a hot air balloon that could go to space

With the air, like I don't care, baby by the way..."

—Pharrell Williams, Happy

We need more gentle, loving, and empathic souls in this world. If the past few years have shown us anything, it was how easy it's become to call each names, to demean and ridicule one another because of differences, beliefs, and perspectives. It's become cool to be toxic and tough again, for men and women alike. 

I've been guilty of that myself, which is why it became so important to meet people where they are without judgement. My wife Amy and I have really been working on that one, and our daughters help to keep us honest as well. They're old enough now to understand what we say and why we say it and have no problem calling us judgers. They may not always get the context of our intention right, but we've taught them well to be more empathic and inclusive, without ever compromising their health and safety. 

Yes, we need more gentle, empathic souls today. Sadly, we lost one recently to cancer -- our dear Aunt Julie. Married to Amy's Uncle Brian, she's was such a sweet presence in our lives for nearly 20 years. Brian and Julie had met around the time when Amy and I were married, although she didn't come to our wedding with him. We also didn't live near one another, but we've had many opportunities to be together starting with their wedding back in 2006. In 2007 we traveled to Boston together with them and had a wonderful time, which was when we decided to have a family (Beatrice arrived in 2008). 

Over the years they would visit us in California, or we'd visit them, whether in Illinois where they were from along with many of Amy's family, or in Oregon where they eventually settled. They were hopeful romantics like we are and had many adventures together, just like we've had. In fact, we just celebrated our anniversary and theirs was coming up. She was also a wonderful artist who inspired our girls and their artistic abilities. In recent years, Brian and Julie were on the similar spiritual path as us to become better loving and nurturing souls. But her illness overcame her and she recently left this world, finally free of her cancer and her pain. 

Sadly there's one less gentle and loving person in the world. One special memory we have of Julie was a visit from her and Brian and other family members years ago when our girls were only three and five years old. We had a dance party in the living room with the lights out and our disco ball swirling that filled the darkness with happy, vibrants colors. One of the songs we played was "Happy" by Pharrell Williams, which was new at the time, and quite appropriate for that visit. Julie loved it, having not heard it before then, and we all danced away to the "happy" song.

One of the song's lines is, "Clap along if you feel like happiness is the truth," and we all definitely clapped along. Julie will be missed and our hearts go out to Brian. The only solace from the grief and pain of losing someone we love is that their happy and joyful soul remains in our hearts forever. With God's grace we can continue to clap along to this truth. 

A Renewal of Faith

"'Cause I'm never gonna stop the rain by complaining
Because I'm free
Nothing's worrying me..."

–B. J. Thomas, Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head

"Jenny," I said to our dog. "It's raining."

Jenny yawned and did a downward dog stretch. I thought her eyes said, I hear it, Dad. Ugh, that means I'm going to get wet.

While I waited outside for her to do her morning business, towel at the ready to dry her and wipe off her feet, I celebrated the rain. The rest of the family was still fast asleep on this dark and wet early fall Sunday morning. Our rabbit was safely snuggled away in his hutch. 

I reached my hand out to let the raindrops fall onto my open palm. Cool, wet, and soft. Soothing. No other sounds or smells but the rain. Like a therapy session for the soul. All the adulting things we have to deal with and worry about day after day washed away temporarily. The unstable world around us – the drought where we live, fires, the pandemic and other diseases, the economy, inflation, making a living, cultural and societal divides, crime, mental health issues, dangerous misinformation, and of course raising our children in the middle of it all – restabilizes into refreshing and nurturing raindrops for a world longing to heal. I placed my wet palm to my face and smiled.

Rain has always had this effect on me; God's way of inspiring a renewal of my faith in humanity and my place in it. We all want to be loved, to be safe, to be healthy, to be ourselves without fear of shame or discrimination. 

As I dried off our dog Jenny, "Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head" played inside my head. That was followed by a a line from "Three Little Birds":

"...don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing gonna be all right..."

Jenny and I sat next to each other on the coach. Everyone else was still asleep. I love my family, I thought. Jenny sighed a doggy sigh. I sighed a hopeful sigh.

Yes, a renewal of faith. Because I'm free, nothing's worrying me. 

With My Own Two Hands

I took woodshop in 7th grade. I don't remember exactly why I took woodshop in 7th grade, but maybe it was because my dad worked with wood and built furniture, toys, and other gifts. He was definitely inspiring over the years with all the things he built. Our home garage was full of table saws, and circular saws, and jigsaws, and so many other saws and routers and so many other woodworking tools. 

So, I took woodshop. And I made a cabinet. An actual working cabinet with shelves and hinged doors. I stained it, too. I used that cabinet for decades. Painted over it more than once. I wanted to refinish it at some point but haven't got to it yet. May never get to it, but I still have it and use it in our garage. And I made it with my own hands. 

I never really did any woodworking after 7th grade, and over the years I never really picked up anything else like it, meaning another trade of similar sorts. Drum playing more recently, yes, but that's not the same thing. I've built things and put things together and tried to fix broken things. We originally did the backyard ourselves when we bought the house. We replaced a garbage disposal, too, so there's that, but anything else above my pay grade as I like to joke, well, was above my pay grade. Somebody else had to help no matter how much Amy thought we could figure it out and do it ourselves (and many times she was right, I'll give her that). 

Recently we started doing home improvement projects. After living here for 16 years, it was time to do some things. Stuff we've talked about for a few years and we finally started doing them. New flooring to replace tired carpet for starters and the list goes on. We also hired a renovation professional who's installing a window and doing some other projects for us, and who knows what the hell he's doing for sure. 

I on the other hand, do not. I really wanted to paint a few walls with a new color in our living space, and convinced Amy we should do it, something we've never done before. I've never really painted much in my lifetime, maybe touch-ups here and there, but never full walls, trim, etc. My wife Amy and I, and our kids, checked out many different color swatches and went back and forth between lighter and darker. Our oldest Beatrice liked the darker colors, but our youngest Bryce wanted a lighter one. Amy and I settled on darker one in the end, kind of a terra cotta, orangy-reddish-brownish color. 

At first, I was confident I could do it, that I could paint just the designated four walls we picked out over one weekend. I taped off the ceiling and the baseboards and laid drop cloths down where I'd be painting. Then I started to paint. I had to paint up high and in awkward places, too, and it went smoothly for the most part. But once I removed the painter tape, I realized painting clean lines on textured walls ain't easy. The much harder part was trying to fix all the places that looked off, and that was a pain in the butt for sure. No matter how much I tried to clean up the lines, when you look closely, they're still off. 

My attempt at painting only four walls in our house got me thinking about people who have actual trade skills -- carpenters, electricians, plumbers, heating and air conditioning technicians, and so many others. And painters, of course. 

I've always respected those who trained in a trade, learned specialized skills, and made a profession out of it, and a living as well (and for some, a pretty good one with so many trade skills in demand today). We've had family and friends who have helped us out because of the trade skills they know. Even those hobbyists like my dad and his woodworking. Sometimes I wonder if I missed out on not learning a hands-on trade for a career. I'll tell you this, if our daughters ever wanted to learn a trade, I am all for it. 

For now, I'm exhausted from painting only four walls in our house, and if you don't look too closely, it doesn't look too bad. Amy and our daughters said they liked it, even though Bryce still thinks it's too dark. 

Sigh. That still made me smile, though, because I did it with my own two hands, and they watched me do it and encouraged me the entire way. 

This Renovation Adventure

I took last week off of writing because my wife Amy and I ran (mostly walked and stopped for free tacos) the 50th annual Wharf to Wharf race. First time since 2019 that it was in person and over 14,000 people participated. It was a fantastic community event that again raised money for local youth running programs.

But that's not what this piece is about. Because it was right after that when we had to finish prepping the house for new floors, which began a renovation adventure. We're grateful to have this house we've lived in for over 16 years, and up until this week, still had the original carpeting.

That was a few years longer than I would've liked, but we've always taken care of our house as it was "out of the box" as they say. It was in a new housing development when we bought, at a time when we weren't going to have children, and soon enough that changed. And then there was a lot of history in our original carpeting -- from our daughters and their friends crawling, playing on it, and falling down; to a variety of spills and splatters; to allergy-driving dirt and dog hair. 

The carpet was everywhere in our house, except for the entryway and the kitchen and our bathrooms. We kept it pretty clean over the years, steam cleaning periodically, but after the 10th year it began to look tired, especially in the high-traffic areas, and even being a shoes-off-in-the-house family. That's when I started to work on Amy. But at that time, she wasn't having it and reminded me how good it still looked compared to other neighbors with kids over the years, where their carpets looked like zombie kill zones from The Walking Dead. 

But ours just kept getting more tired, and the steam cleaning didn't really help anymore. And after 16 years of living, it was time. Not only did I get Amy onboard with new flooring, we're doing a few other projects as well (thank you home equity, when only 12 years earlier we almost walked away from the house after the Great Recession). 

We started the process of looking at new flooring, faux hardwood vinyl that's durable and easy to keep clean. We made it a family affair as well, bringing home flooring samples for our kids to help us pick what might look the best. We picked out our style and scheduled the project. 

The day after the Wharf to Wharf, the flooring crew came and in the first day, the old carpet was completely removed and our furniture askew. I thought, that was quick. This should go faster than what the salesperson told us. 

Not exactly. I mean, I knew it was going to be a lot of work, putting in an entirely new floor into most of the house, but it was a lot, lot more work. As I always like to joke, this work was way above my pay grade; renovation and construction are nowhere near my vocational wheelhouse. After the carpet was gone, there was a lot of floor prepping that had to be done. There was an entirely new secondary floor they had to lay prior to installing the hardwood vinyl. 

We had to adapt to keep our dog and rabbit safe and sound during the construction, to keep working from home as Amy and I do, and to keep living from home as best we could. Compared to the dumpster fire the world around us can be, this new flooring project wasn't so bad, but the sawing, vacuuming, sanding, hammering, nail gunning, and more got a little mind-bending at times. Thankfully the girls were at summer camp all week during the day. What was supposed to take 3-4 days slipped to 6, but it got done. And if wasn't for a plumbing emergency elsewhere, the downstairs bathroom would've been reassembled, so that part we have a few more days to wait for. 

For the most part, this renovation adventure is done, and we love it!

Except our tween Bryce. "Bryce, how do you like it?"

"I don't."

"What do you mean? You helped us pick it out."

"Well, it's okay, but I'll hurt myself if I fall."

Sigh. It's not like the old carpet was a bouncy house, I thought. Or maybe it was.

Well, at least our dog Jenny approves. I think. 

Our Giving Tree

"And the tree was happy..."

—Shel Silverstein, The Giving Tree

Sometimes I think about how change swirls around me at the speed of light. Imperceptible but omnipresent. Deconstructing and reconstructing at the subatomic level leaving in its wake an indefinite number of possibilities of what could be from what was and what is. How those changes impact my life and all the decisions I make each day that splinter into a million different potential alternate realities. 

Sometimes I think too much. Always have. 

Thankfully there are immediate mindful constants, the loving anchors around me that ground me to the now: my wife, our daughters, our pets, our home, our trees. One tree in particular. The tree that my wife Amy gave me.

Twenty-four years earlier, shortly after we met, I had these big beautiful grown trees outside of my second-story apartment balcony. I don't remember what they were exactly (maybe , but they'd been there for a long time with their roots pushing up on the sidewalk below.

The city decided the trees had to go, so they were cut down, the stumps removed, and the new cement sidewalks were poured. That's when we etched our initials in the wet cement, but that didn't last; years later the sidewalk was replaced again where our initials had once dried. 

Back to when the trees were cut down, though. Amy had bought me a wonderful present: a young Japanese maple in a pot. She knew how disappointed I was that the trees were removed and wanted me to have my own tree on my balcony. 

We had the tree for years when we moved into together, and while it did grow a little, it wasn't going to grow beyond the confines of its pot. I hoped someday it would have a yard of its own. 

When we bought our house a few years later, we finally had a backyard that we could call our own. At the time we were not planning on having children, and our small home and backyard was perfect for us. It was a new development at the time and the backyard was just weeds and rocky ground. We transformed it ourselves and planted the Japanese maple in the corner of our backyard. If it lived and grew, it would fit in nicely with the other maples planted in our new neighborhood's front yards and common areas. 

Our tree then grew and thrived. We changed our minds about having children and had two wonderful daughters who grew and thrived along with our tree. Even after the time we tried to trim the tree back ourselves and ended up hacking the heck out of it thinking we might've killed it. And even after our pet bunny gnawed on the base of the tree before we wrapped chicken wire around it. 

And even with the speed-of-light changes that have happened to our family throughout the years, it's continued to grow and thrive. If we ever left this house, which there were times we considered it, we knew couldn't take the tree with us. But we haven't left, and I don't think we ever will. 

Now, 24 years after Amy gave me this tree in a pot, it gives us a canopy of loving comfort. Every year it grows full and lush, then the leaves turn brown and red and fall to the ground, only to sprout again each spring. Unlike Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, we've only taken from it the constant comfort that it gives us year after year. That's why our giving tree anchors me. Otherwise, we just let it be; our tree is happy. 

How the Fun Won

I watched the little kids of all backgrounds run and walk past the 1K finish line with parents and friends running along with them and cheering them on. Most of the children's faces, boys and girls alike, had smiles beaming equally in between gulping breaths. It looked like they were having fun, which was the point of the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk Fun Run, and why we wanted to do the 5K fun run at the same event. 

This was the culmination of both our daughters' physical fitness testing going on at their respective grade and middle schools. The culmination of repeated outcries of how tired they were having to practice running a mile, and having to do pushups and sit ups and more. 

Even though our girls may complain about having to do the physical fitness tests, they do enjoy being active and the challenges these tests bring. My wife Amy and I are very active and exercise nearly every day, and the girls see that and model it. They may not want to go on a 2-hour hike with us, but they are always blown away when we remind them of walking 8+ miles a day when we're at Disneyland. That's a mind-bender for them. And us. Plus, both Bea and Bryce have played recreational soccer for years and loved it. Bea got her first taste of competitive soccer in middle school, and while it stressed her out more than she liked, she did well and enjoyed playing. Bryce will try out once she starts middle school in the fall. 

Back to physical fitness, our oldest Beatrice always likes to beat her 1-mile personal best, and if she doesn't, she's bummed about it. The pushups are tough for both girls; they've always been tough for Amy and me, too. Maybe some of you can do 20+ pushups at any one time, but it ain't easy for the rest of us.

But what I loved hearing was when Bea and some of her friends protested that they had to do fewer exercises than the boys did, like pushups. Implying of course that girls can't do the same number of exercises due to being weaker and less adept than the boys. Yes, she still struggled to do them during the testing, but I've seen boys and men who couldn't do one with the knees on the ground, which by the way is called a girl pushup, a long-time stereotypical offensive term. Same differential with running the mile too, and when many boys couldn't even finish the mile, our girls did. 

There's biological truth to the genetic chains each sex has been shackled by for millions of years, but today, women really can do anything a man can do. They're just not given their due, and they get paid less. Still. We hope that gender equity normalizes for our daughters, but it's going to be awhile most likely. They did pass their physical fitness tests, though, so that's a win. 

In the meantime, we'll work and play hard as a family and support each other along the way. We finished the fun run together, running a little and walking a lot along the way. There were other families of all backgrounds who ran the entire way, and a few others, boys and girls alike, who were really in it to win it. Competitive living between the sexes is here to stay, but we'll celebrate how the fun won every day. 

That's The Air That I Breathe

"Peace came upon me
And it leaves me weak
So sleep, silent angel
Go to sleep..."

—The Hollies, The Air That I Breathe

In the end, he befriended Godzilla, and then Kong got to go home again to the center of the earth. The song “The Air That I Breathe” by the Hollies played while the credits kicked in. 

And I cried a little. Yep, that’s me. 

I was flying home from a work event. My initial flight was canceled due to weather, and thankfully they rebooked me straight through to San Jose, but not without zig-zag stops along the way. At least I didn’t have to change planes. 

So, I decided to watch something light. Being a Saturday, I reviewed the flight movies and decided to on a little Saturday afternoon monster movie matinee. Just like I used to do a home as a kid. I chose the recent Godzilla vs. Kong for some mindless fun, after already seeing the preceding series of movies that led to this ultimate monster battle.

I actually cried two times during the movie. Once when Kong had learned sign language and signed that he wanted to go home, and again at the end when he finally got to go home and be at peace. 

For those who know me, I’m a crier. I cry about anything that moves me, no matter how cheesy the movie. In fact, anytime we watch a show or movie at home together, my oldest Beatrice looks over at me and asks, “Are you crying, Dad?”

And most of the time, I am.

But this time it was more about The Hollies' song than the movie. The song became a rushing river that dislodged old memories from my memory banks and moved them quickly along frothing eddies and treacherous currents. It’s one of many songs that have haunted me since I was little. And although the song is literally about romantic love, I didn't understand that as a child, and so I associated it with everything going on around me—any love and lack thereof. How it made me feel growing up with domestic violence and abuse—simultaneously scared, sad, lonely, hopeful, and longing to be happy. Of other life events over the years that kept me bobbing in and out of the emotional rushing river. Of how I feel sometimes today missing my family when I travel. 

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe and to love you…

The rushing river slows and smooths out to still glass, and all the memories resettle. Again, I’m on my way home from another work trip, only one of a few since the pandemic started. I’m grateful for the work I do, and the work Amy does, and the fact that we can provide for our family. I like the travel and that I can get out there again, to see industry friends, to learn new things and grow professionally and personally. 

After mindlessly watching Kong and Godzilla fight and destroy cities on my plane ride home, I caught up with one of my news shows. The depressing stream of news, like The Hollies' song, got me thinking again about when I was little, and other times throughout my life, and the fact that we don't always choose the air that we breathe—deadly viruses, pollution, toxic relationships, violence, war. 

More than 2.5 million Ukrainian refugees have fled their country looking for safety. I can't imagine, do not want to imagine, what that's been like for those families. Especially those who have to separate for who knows how long, or worse, for those who've been injured or killed. 

I just cannot imagine it, and yet, we continue to watch it in real time. I miss Amy and our daughters terribly when I’m away, even if it’s for only a couple of nights, especially after being together so much during the pandemic. But to be separated because of a war? No way. That thought brought even more tears than Kong (and me) wanting to go home did.

The night before I came home from this trip, I had a video call with my family, and our youngest Bryce kept messing with the FaceTime filters, which I didn’t even know you could do. 

“You goofs. I love you,” I said.

Then I thought, That’s the air that I breathe. That’s all that I need.

"So sleep, silent angel, go to sleep..."

How you can help the people of Ukraine

Reusing the Usable

As I approached the tipped over chair, now covered in broken Cheez-Its, I realized that there was something else in it. Something wrapped in a blanket. Something small, like an animal. Or a child. Something I thought was dead.

That was my first thought because it didn't move. I touched the chair to shake it a bit, and that's when the wrapped up thing breathed. 

I jumped away and backed into the street. I thought to myself, What the hell is this? A child sleeping in our old chair?

Then it breathed again. I didn't know if I should try to wake up whoever it was or not; it could be a safety problem for me. So, I walked back across our street and into our house. I also had a work call in only a few minutes and wasn't sure what to do, but I knew we needed to call the police. I asked my wife Amy to call and she did. She'd also be leaving soon to take our daughters to school and we had know idea who was sleeping outside in our old chair that was scheduled to be picked up by our city's garbage service. 

I went into my office and had my call. Once Amy returned from dropping off the girls, she told me that she'd gone back outside after calling the police and talked to one of our neighbors about the whoever it was sleeping in our old chair. 

That's when the woman woke up and uncovered herself. She got up and brushed the Cheez-Its off herself and the chair. She then told my wife something about wanting our old chair for her apartment, and then she got tired, curled up in it, and fell asleep. Amy had seen her before around town; she was most likely experiencing homelessness. Maybe there was addiction and/or mental health issues; we just don't know. She took off down the street not wanting to deal with the cops, though. A few minutes later the police drove by our house slowly and our old chair but didn't stop. 

The Day Before

We had put our old burgundy cuddle chair across the street the night before like the city asked us to do. But because we placed it on the property in front of us, and not directly on the street, they would take it. It's one of those situations where you think, But it's still right there. Why didn't you just take it? 

Ugh. It would have to stay outside on the street one more night. Which was a bummer because we'd have to look at it again outside for one more night. Although the recliner part of the cuddle chair had been broken for years, we still used it in our living room, in no rush to replace it. We loved that chair and had purchased it about five years before we had our oldest daughter. It went from our apartment to our first home together, with lots of family pictures in it over the years.

But it was time to go because Amy found a free street loveseat. Amy loves finding free stuff on the street. If there's stuff on the street with a free sign on it, Amy wants to check it out. And if she doesn't check it out the first time she sees it, she'll double back to check it all out. The girls and I always tease her about it, and the girls also plead for her not to take free street stuff. There are bowls and plates she's found and the girls won't use no matter how many times we've washed them. Amy's motto is reduce, reuse, recycle. I know my grandpa would've been proud. He always prided himself in reusing the usable. 

That's why when the girls got home at the end of the day to find a new (used) recliner loveseat showered in Febreze freshener siting in the place where our cuddle chair used to be, and after they heard the story, they looked at me and said, "Dad, why did you let Mom get a street couch?"

"It's in great shape, girls. It really is," I said.

"But it smells," they said.

"No, it's just a little musty. It'll smell like us soon. We'll be on it. Jenny will be on it. Don't worry, it's really a nice recliner loveseat," Amy said.

The girls frowned. "No more street stuff, Mom."

But we were already using it. Our dog Jenny was already sleeping on it (although she hacked a few times the first time because of the Febreze). Just like it had always been there in our house. Like it was meant to be. 

The Day Before That

I had a busy day ahead with staff calls and work planning, and the last thing I wanted was a monkey wrench tossed my way to sabotage my day. When Amy got home from dropping the girls off at school, she was excited about something.

"There's a free loveseat that's perfect for our house!" 

She told me the story of driving by it, almost saying no way, and then circling back to check it out. 

"It's really in great shape and the both recliners work," she said.

It was in front of a house that was for sale. She wasn't sure if it was from the house, but mostly like it was. 

"We should go get it," she said. 

Now, I've never been a very spontaneous person throughout my life, although that's changed a lot since I've been with Amy and we've had kids. But my old resistance response of no was exactly what I did. 

"No, I just have too busy of a day today," I said.

"Okay, we can just look at it tomorrow maybe," she said, with a subtle hint of disappointment. 

I wasn't necessarily resistant to the idea of a free couch that was in good shape, but it was the time involved of going to see it, trying to get it home, etc., that was the monkey wrench throwing me. My day was busy and I just didn't want any unplanned pivoting to happen. 

But pivot I did. We were thinking of buy a new cuddle chair soon anyway and I know Amy was thinking about saving a thousand bucks, which I liked, so I made room in my schedule and we went to look at it. 

I agreed it was in good shape, but it was heavy and I didn't think it would fit in our SUV. We got it halfway into the car, but that's as far as it would go. We were less than two miles from home and she convinced me it was wedged enough for her to sit behind it and hold it while I drove us home. 

And that's exactly what we did. We got it home and into the garage safely. Later when my neighbors were home I asked for their help and we moved the old cuddle chair out to the street and the put the found loveseat in its place. 

I'm sitting on the new (old) loveseat now as I write this, our dog Jenny sleeping next to me on one of the old crocheted blankets my grandmother made so long ago. But this story is more than just finding this free piece of furniture we were looking to buy and how that all worked out for us. 

No, if Amy hadn't circled back to check out the free loveseat; if I hadn't changed my mind to go look at it with her; if we hadn't driven it home hanging halfway out of our car; if our neighbors weren't available to help me move both cuddle chair and loveseat; if the city had actually picked up our old memory-filled cuddle chair off the street the first night we put it outside -- then it wouldn't have given that homeless woman a few hours of somewhat safe sleeping the second night it was outside. 

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe not. Whatever it was, reusing the usable was meant to be.