Alan Bennett: The Uncommon Reader: A Novella
A really interesting book about the premise of the Queen becoming an avid reader. (***)
Dave Eggers: A Hologram for the King
Super easy read that was engaging. (***)
Dennis Lehane: The Given Day: A Novel
Gripping book with awesome character development. It's always amazing to read people who can easily fit into other frames of reference. (****)
Julie Orringer: The Invisible Bridge (Vintage Contemporaries)
It's definitely depressing at points and a bit long winded but it's overall a good story. (***)
Mindy Kaling: Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns)
Must read for dads with daughters and maybe even more must read for the daughters. (****)
Patti Smith: Just Kids
I'm not much of a fan of either of the artists featured (Patti Smith and Robert Mappelthorpe), but the book is very compelling taking me into a new world and time that I was not really aware of. (***)
Colum McCann: Let the Great World Spin: A Novel
A wonderfully gritty, compelling set of interwoven stories told by a gifted author. (*****)
Stieg Larsson: The Girl Who Played with Fire (Vintage)
A quicker read than the first installment, but the end of it was very unsatisfying. I suspect it's meant to get me to read the next one. (***)
Stieg Larsson: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
An interesting and well written book. (****)
Pat Conroy: The Prince of Tides: A Novel
An absolute must read. (*****)
February 09, 2021 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)
I grew up in South Bend, Indiana and a huge part of my life was going to Notre Dame football games with my family and friends. At these home games, big or small, winning or getting crushed, I fondly remember a particular part of the game.
Late in the game, a man named Sgt. Tim McCarthy would come over the loudspeaker and say:
““May I have your attention please? This is Tim McCarthy with the Indiana State Police.”
As a young child I remember the loud, overwhelming roar of the old Notre Dame football stadium. The collective passion for the team and, usually, good natured dislike of the opponent (except maybe USC?) would either rise us to heights or drop us to depths.
The sadness or joy was always accompanied by a Spinal Tap type “loud” experience.
And then a moment would draw near when Sgt. McCarthy was meant to come on. Those of us who came to games somewhat regularly, could feel it coming in spite of the noise.
And the MOMENT this man would announce himself, the ENTIRE stadium would go silent. Somehow even the visitors understood it or were gently encouraged to listen in. ALL of our attention turned to him.
Sgt. McCarthy would then go on to tell about a 45 second story encouraging safety around driving and often drinking (well before drinking and driving was a thing to point out). Although that wasn’t the reason everyone was silent.
He regularly ended the announcement with a cheesy joke. Including gems such as:
“Remember, the reason we hammer about safety is to keep you from getting nailed!”
“The automobile replaced the horse, but the driver should stay on the wagon!”
And the silence was replaced by audible laughter from probably 50% of the crowd.
I recall the number of times my Dad would explain the joke to me. I honestly don’t recall if he used some of the same lines every time and it actually didn’t matter.
It was like he was the first stand-up comic I ever heard perform. It was a sweet, connective, fun moment.
I’m convinced that an adult talking about safety was a big part of how I found security when I was so young and couldn’t always feel safe. It was clarity.
Now I spent most of my younger years at Notre Dame football games sitting in Row 60-ish. I generally went to the Armed Services games or the other blowouts and every game felt special. Into my teenage years I ended up going to almost all of them.
And Sgt. McCarthy would come on and make a joke no matter the size, scope, score of the game.
I took my daughter to the ND/Georgia game a couple years ago compliments of my dear friend Mike, the whole experience was magical.
And the moment came for him to make the announcement. The stadium has changed, modernized and is beautiful, but different. I had actually forgotten about that moment.
And instead of Sgt. McCarthy, I heard Muffet McGraw make the announcement. Now I think the world of her, she was an incredible coach.
And I felt robbed. I don’t even know if he had relinquished the role or not at that point, but I really wanted my daughter to hear it.
Alas, that didn’t’ happen.
Sgt. McCarthy was a humble guy who was amazed at his popularity and the announcement’s.
Now nobody else will hear him again. Yet there is a group of my dearest, longest term friends who can still feel and hear his voice.
We can still remember the near reverent stadium wide silence.
We can access the feeling of enjoying his silly jokes.
To me it feels innocent, it feels safe. It felt real.
I hope that somehow I can take what he so freely gave us and remember to bring that to people in my life today.
Article on Sgt. Tim McCarthy
October 04, 2020 in Life, Love, Sports | Permalink | Comments (0)
Dear God,
Thank you for the experience of taking my daughter up to school yesterday.
Thank you for having her DJ in the car because even though I didn’t know most of the music, the conversation with no headphones was magical.
Thank you for the patience to know when to be quiet beyond when I normally would and when to ask questions.
Thank you for the humility to know when she’s teaching me.
Thank you for the laughter about the dumb things we always laugh about.
Thank you for the bagel shop that we ate bagels in front of so I could get the feel of what will be a big part of her life now.
Thank you for the experience of walking up and down the stairs with her stuff to fill her bedroom.
Thank you for the experience of sitting in her own room, which she’s never had, so I could breathe in the place where she will find solitude, rest and most likely some version of you God.
Thank you for the willingness to put some of her furniture together in spite of my proven career of ineptitude with such things.
Thank you for keeping us safe as we drove home.
Thank you for a daughter who repeatedly told me how grateful she was for my help, even though I wasn’t perfect.
Thank you for helping me see and celebrate where I did things right.
Thank you for the calm to be gentle on myself where I did things wrong.
Thank you for the long, heartfelt hug that we shared when I dropped her off.
Thank you for the incredible young woman who I held in my arms as it’s becoming so clear that she is maturing into an adult.
Thank you for the free-flowing tears this morning as I miss my little girl.
Thank you God.
Love, Tim
September 14, 2020 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)
I have been reading so much about how there's a flight from SF and the state of our city that I thought I'd share a few things.
I moved here in 1991 from the Midwest. I visited the city shortly before with my family, I arrived in the morning. That afternoon I turned to my parents and told them I wanted to spend the rest of my life here.
There was an unmistakable feel I got from walking around It got to my heart to walk around and see so many different people, so many different neighborhoods, so many different "feels" in one city.
I made nothing when I moved here and make a bit more than that now. I've been in the same apartment for nearly 20 years and while we have rent control my friends from other cities gasp when I tell them the rent for my 1 bedroom.
I get that it's nearly beyond affordable for many people today and that does stink. And I could save a TON of money living elsewhere and I am clear why I pay that premium. I know I'm lucky.
When I walked this morning down by Marina Green the smoke and fog made it so I couldn't see the Golden Gate Bridge. And that seemed like the perfect metaphor.
The beauty of this beloved city is always there, even when obscured by the clouds and smoke of the difficulties. I love that I can still take that walk and see 100 people over the course of it most everyone who looks different (even in the Marina!).
Whenever I see one run by I think that they are living some kind of interesting life where they face the challenges and pay the premium to open their door and walk out into SF and not a different city.
I don't much care for the outdoors beyond what I can access in the city so it doesn't appeal to me to get space. I do everything I can to support workers at Peet's, Jon at Union Garage, Valentino's Market anyone else in and out of my neighborhood.
I realize that as this goes on there will be more businesses closed and people who just can't afford it or just can't stand it and have to leave. While I can't predict the future, I do know that I'm not going to be one of them.
I still love this city. Do we have problems that seem insurmountable and divisive? Yes we do.
Yet this city still has a heart that connects to my heart. And even if there's a big commercial and residential drain, I'm absolutely convinced that we will fill back up.
The lineage of this incredible city may feel like it's disappearing.
I think if anything, at some point we will all re-connect with what makes this city so incredible. And from that point we will all find the heart that got me here and will keep me here.
The smoke and fog will clear and we will see how magnificent this all is.
August 25, 2020 in Life, Love | Permalink | Comments (0)
June 30, 2020 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)
June 25, 2020 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)
June 17, 2020 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (1)
I picked Zoe up from college a week ago to bring her home for the spring quarter. Understandably she was quite disappointed and emotional. I knew I had to help her pack up and also step up to be her emotional support.
I started with the “It’s not as bad as it could be” approach.
I tried to help her see that if it happened a year before (her senior year in High School) or 3 years later (her senior year in college) it would have been a lot more difficult.
It didn’t land.
I went to the “Others are going through it too” approach.
I tried to help her see that there were tons of other students leaving and lots of students from other schools that were leaving.
It didn’t land.
I pulled the “Let me make her laugh” card, my veritable pocket rockets.
I made her laugh for a bit here and there, in ways that we are so familiar with over 19 years which always helped.
And still it didn’t land.
You see I was trying to soften the blow or even “save” her from her emotions. I’m imperfect.
Finally, I decided to lay back and let things roll out. Tears came and left. I felt her uncertainty and simply observed it or told her that I’m sure this is all difficult.
It sort of landed.
Then she went up and wanted to say goodbye to her friends and didn’t want me to join her. I told her “I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll be here waiting”.
She told me earlier that her friends tell her that she feels things so deeply….sounds familiar.
She came back down to and said that she was ready to go, and I felt her and knew maybe there was just a bit more.
This time I decided I’d do nothing.
I invited her to sit on this huge bench with me. And for the next 10 minutes, she sat there slightly ahead of me on a very deep bench as I leaned back against the back of it.
I felt her emotional waves come ashore and another one behind it. I could feel the rich and deep layers of each of them.
Then, I felt her deep breath of acceptance and she turned around to me with those same beautiful eyes I looked into since she was first born.
With the quiet calm confidence whose source I don’t know she said:
“Ok Dad let’s go” and I smiled.
It finally landed.
We got up and I put my arm around her and told her how proud I was of her and that I loved her. And talk turned to Chipotle for lunch.
Some of my best parenting moments are when I step back, do nothing and let the moment arrive.
If I try to push harder it seems it never quite lands.
March 30, 2020 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)
Tags: UC Davis
As I continue through the layered grieving process of my Dad through this beyond weird time, something occurred to me.
I see so many of us quoting statistical trends and projections. I see the at risk data categorizations and probabilities based on demographics, usually by existing health conditions and particularly age.
I see the comparatives to the flu or historical epidemics that cite absolute or ratio death stats.
I see the top level # of deaths from CV compared as a statistic and the growing % as the demo’s get to the >70 years old as so many of them have died already.
ONLY 400 died NOT 27,000!!! or 400 HAVE DIED!!!! to make points.
Meanwhile, my metric is 1. I have one person who died in my life, unrelated to the Corona Virus. And that one person dying has impacted me deeply and a lot of people around me (in both difficult and inspiring ways).
My Dad was >70 and he’s gone. Meanwhile, every person that died in the nursing home in Kirkland or elsewhere is likely to have had an impact on all of the people around them.
Or maybe some of them died and they’ve been long forgotten and have no family. I’m not sure.
It doesn’t change the fact that watching the arguments on all sides (mostly driven by 1,000 forms of fear) about what to do next partially out the fear of death or the fear of overreacting or the fear of losing jobs, etc. feels pertinent but so missing the point or maybe missing A point.
It almost feels like the statistics are tools to dehumanize us rather than connecting us in our grief in humanness.
I’m not forgetting that every death has a metric of 1 to the families impacted. Because my 1 continues to hit me every day.
March 24, 2020 in Life, Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)
March 19, 2020 in Love, Parenting | Permalink | Comments (0)