Prompt: That Was Then, This Is Now

Maggie, at From Cave Walls, and Lauren, at LSS Attitude of Gratitude, alternate hosting Throwback Thursday. The idea of the prompt is for them to give us a topic and for us to write a post in which we share our own memories or experiences about the given topic.

This week’s prompt is: That Was Then And This Is Now “Growing up, we all had dreams and aspirations. I’d like you to think back about what you were like and what you wanted as a kid compared to the adult choices you made.

Here are the questions and my responses:

When you were a kid, did you like your name? Would you have changed it if you could? Do you like it now?

I suppose I liked my name growing up. I really didn’t have a reason not to like it. I was the only Keith in my class and I was ok with that. It always bugged me that people always spelled it wrong, even though I know why (i before e, except after c – so everyone spelled it Kieth).

I really don’t think I would change it. I wasn’t even aware that a name change was possible, and then I found out my dad had actually legally changed his name from Salvatore to Sam, which everyone called him.

Yes, I like it just fine.

As a kid, what always brought a smile to your face? What about now, as an adult? (family-friendly please)

As a kid – summer and all that came with it: vacations, baseball games with friends, trips up north, running through the sprinkler. As an adult, my family. My children make me smile everyday. My wife also makes me smile. The times that we can all be together are priceless.

What was the most important lesson your parents taught you? Did you pass that lesson down to your family? The most important lesson(s) I learned from my parents was to always be supportive, respectful and responsible. I hope that I have passed that down in the way I have parented my children.

Are there talents you started as a child that you still have? If so, what are they?

I don’t know that I would call it a talent, but I always seemed to be able to make people laugh, I truly try to bring levity and fun to wherever I go. I also seem to be good at whipping off some sort of silly rhyme on command. I am a far cry from Nipsey Russell, but I get by.

Is there something you regret not doing or starting when you were young? What was it?

This is sort of a loaded question, because I think I am where I am at today because of where I have been and the decisions made along the way (good and bad). I do regret not going to college right away, but it was probably better that I didn’t. I’m sure I would have flunked out. I also wish I had learned to play the guitar at a young age. My dad recently gave me an acoustic guitar that I hope to try to teach myself.

Did you have more close friends as a kid or as an adult? Any idea why?

I would guess I have more close friends today than I did as a kid. I had a couple good friends growing up (and they are still good friends today), but I think we were kind of the “weird kids” and we all decided to just hang out with each other. As far as “why,” I am not sure. The ones who were important to me still are. They are the ones I confide in, complain to, and share with.

Where did you go to think as a kid? Where do you go now?

As a kid I would often walk up to the elementary school and sit on the swings to think. I spent hours there, sometimes alone and sometimes with a friend. When I got my license, I would drive up to Jefferson Ave and sit by the water. On occasion, I would get to watch a moon rise which was spectacular. Now, I would guess I drive around in my car or go for a walk. If the weather is not ideal, I guess I think in bed.

What would be the name of the chapter of your life from 10 – 18? What would the name be the name of the chapter of your life currently?

Wow, that’s tough. That’s an entire 8 year span and so much was going on. Perhaps it might be called, “Finding Myself” or ” Struggle” or “What Next?” The chapter name for my life currently might easily be “A Wonderful New Beginning” or “The Second Chance” or “Happily Ever After.”

What wonderful thing happened in your adult life that your child self could never have imagined?

Divorce might not be what you expect to see in this answer, and as a child, I never thought it would happen to me. But it was a “wonderful” thing that brought about the opportunity to meet and marry my soul mate and have two more children.

Would your child self like your adult self? Why or why not?

I would think that my child self would like my adult self. After all, we both have the same taste in movies, music, and TV. We also love baseball, golf, and football. We also love the same types of books. I’d think we’d have plenty in common …

I’d love to see your answers to these questions, too!

Staying Accountable

I’m not quite in a writing mood today.

I’m not perfect. I disappoint people. I hate when I do that. Sometimes I take things the wrong way or read a signal wrong. I hear something and it reminds me of my past life and I react to it that way, which is wrong. I am sorry for it, but you can only say sorry so many times.

I will pray that I can be better and hope that I disappoint less.

I know that is a downer way to start the blog, but that is why I am not in the mood to write. However, I wanted to keep myself accountable and post the results of my weigh in this week.

Good results this week as I was down 3 pounds. My total weight loss in 7 weeks is 24 pounds. I have a doctor appointment next week. She had given me 2 months to lose 10 pounds. I am glad that I will be able to come in with a bigger loss then she asked for.

I have more things to share, but that will be another day … or later ….

Speaking to A Stone

This blog will start deep – but I promise a funny story at the end…

I recently read a blog from a friend in Scotland. She is currently visiting with her dad and they took a trip to the local cemetery to visit her mom/his wife, who is buried there. She spoke of how her dad spoke to the various graves in the cemetery. They were all people he knew. She said that each headstone represent someone from his past.

I have visited my share of cemeteries and I really hadn’t thought about it before, but I am also one of those people who speaks to stone. I’m not sure why.

It is my belief, based on Scripture, that those who die as believers in Christ go to heaven when they die. In 2 Corinthians 5 the Bible says to be “absent from the body” is to be “present with the Lord.” Now that being said, why am I talking to gravestones? They are literally big pieces of marble with a name and dates on them.

One time, I remember visiting my grandpa’s grave. I remember standing there, staring at his headstone and talking out loud. I was telling him how much he’d love his grandson (I only had my oldest at the time), and the silly things he did. I thanked him for being such a big part of my life and more.

I always talk to my mom when I visit her grave. I always seem to get more emotional when I am there alone. When I go with my wife or my kids, they almost always give me time alone at the grave. They must know.

I cry when I am there. I miss her terribly. Sometimes I feel robbed that she is not here to be a part of all that is going on. Then I remember the cancer battle and how much pain she was in. I am selfish for wanting her here, but I am grateful that there is no more pain or suffering.

I know that she’d be so happy with what I have done with my life – college, good job, an amazing wife and more grandkids. I also know she’d spoil the heck out of all of those grandbabies if she were still here. She, however, is not. So I stand or sit at her graveside and I tell her how much I miss her, our chats, and other personal things. When I have said my peace, cried my tears, and am ready to go, I take one final look at the stone and walk back to my car.

Maybe I am a bit crazy. I am well aware that I am talking to a stone with my relative or friend’s name on them. I also know that all that is under the stone is the earthly remains, and that the soul that was that person is no longer there. So why do I speak to those loved ones who are no longer here, and why do I only do it at the cemetery? I mean, I could easily do it in the car while I drive, right?

I know that I am not the only one who does this. Perhaps there is some sort of psychological answer. I don’t know. I kind of wish I had the answer.

As Promised – the Funny Story

Coming from an Italian family, there were many times where certain members of my family didn’t speak to each other. Once such case was my grandfather and his sisters. He made it very clear to my grandmother and my dad that when he passed away, he wanted no obituary. He did not want them knowing that he had died.

Those wishes were honored. He passed away in 1994, so there was no internet to look up records or anything like that. There was also no “Find a Grave” website to do a search and find where people, both famous and not famous, were buried.

My grandmother often went to the cemetery to visit my grandfather. There were many Sundays when they would go to trim around the head stone, or put out a grave blanket. Sofia from the Golden Girls reminds me of my grandma. She was a tiny, stubborn, and strong Italian woman.

One day, my dad pulled up to my grandpa’s grave and there were flowers on it. My grandma was out of the car like a shot to see what it was all about. Attached to the flowers was a note, obviously meant for my grandma to find. I don’t recall exactly what it said, but it was something like: “Dear brother. We are only now finding out that you passed away. We loved you so very much. We are sorry that you were kept from us…” or SOMETHING like that.

I have seen my grandma get mad. I was not there for this particular incident, but I can almost bet that a slow boil began in the pit of her stomach and worked its way up. I am sure with each sentence she read her anger grew and her face got red. I am also pretty sure that there was probably some sort of explosion that was audible when she finally “burst.”

(Now get that picture of Sofia from the Golden Girls in your mind as you picture the visual) She grabbed those flowers in one hand, planted herself like a quarterback getting ready to throw a Hail Mary pass, and as she fired those flowers into the air, she screamed, “F^%$ YOU!!!”

As she yelled and the profanity echoed across the cemetery, I am sure birds fluttered into the air, scared for their life. For years, whenever we brought that story up, grandma would casually chuckle and remind us of just how mad she was.

A Plumber I Am Not

Friday night I was at work and I got a text from my wife. It went something like this:

Sam: So there’s a leak in the shower.

Me: It’s probably the shower head. That’s an easy fix. I’ll look at it when I get home.

Sam: It’s not the shower head, it is leaking by the faucet handle.

At this point, I did what any guy would do – I called an expert – my father-in-law.

I’m not stupid. I know that if I had tried to do this on my own it would have been something straight out of a Three Stooges movie!

In texting my father-in-law, we thought this might be a couple hour job. He joked that the longest it would take would be a couple days.

He came over, as he always does, with a bag of tools and gadgets anticipating what needed to be done. Once in the house, he assessed the situation. He knew that there was an access panel behind the faucet in our bedroom. So the first thing we had to do was look inside that panel.

The panel was held in place by a simple nail. When the room was painted, the panel was painted over and so was the nail. I grabbed a butter knife and began to pry at the panel. It opened and my father-in-law reached in looking for the shut off knobs. We couldn’t find them. In all seriousness, he says, “We’re gonna have to cut the wall.”

We grabbed one of those box cutter razor things (my description of this tool in itself should be enough to give you a picture of my handyman skills!), and I began to cut a hole about where he told me to cut. Once we pulled that piece of wall off, we reached in again. “Nope, we need to go higher.” So I cut again.

We finally can see the place where the valve is. The shower enclosure is right up against the pipes and a bear to get to. They are copper, so my father-in-law says that we are going to put in new pipe, and shut offs.

As I look at the above picture, I wonder just how any expected any repairs to ever get done with that access panel so low! All we could see when we opened it was the two pipes!

After a few trips back and forth to the hardware store to get what we needed, we basically got things back up and together. We certainly made quite a mess, though.

Once things were ready, he went downstairs to turn the water back on. I wondered why he didn’t send me down there, but then figured he probably wanted me to get drenched if things weren’t right. Ha ha! The water pressure returned to the house and the shut offs to the shower were off. We checked it and there were no leaks. Now we could work on the actual faucet and shower head.

Getting the faucet and the valve lined up with the pipes was a bit of a challenge. Any time I have ever had to trim a pipe to make something fit, I almost always cut it too short. (One time I was putting in a laundry tub in our basement and I cut the pipe so short, I wound up putting bricks under all four legs to level it off!) I was glad to let my father-in-law do it. He got them exactly were they needed to be.

It looked like it would be smooth sailing from here on out, but naturally, there was one more bump in the road. For some reason, we couldn’t figure out why the handle was so loose every time we put it together. The instructions were worthless. I was trying to put it together with this silly little allen screw. It was easier to get to it with the handle turned up. Every time I did that, it was loose.

Both of us must have looked at that instruction manual for 30 minutes apiece. I noticed that the picture had them tightening it with the handle down and from the bottom. I guess I was afraid to lose this tiny screw down the shower drain, so I kept trying it from the top. Once I attempted it from the bottom it snugged right up and we were done with it. It still doesn’t make sense, but that is what it took.

Thankfully, the shower head went on with no problem whatsoever! We turned the shut off valves on and turned on the shower. Ta da! No leaks and everything was working. And so ended another project I would never been able to do without the help of Sam’s dad. Thanks, for your help, Tony!!

For the record, I am a bit jealous that my father-in-law didn’t let me use the blowtorch.

Story of America Cards

While surfing Facebook the other day one of the 80’s pages I follow posted this set of animal cards:

As soon as I saw them I remembered that I had a set similar to these that were all about history and historical events, people, and more. I looked up “history cards” and the real name of them came up – Story of America Cards. Each month you got a set of 24 cards and you added them to your file case (like the red one above).

I always loved reading about history and I asked my mom to order them for me when I saw the cheesy commercial on TV. It wasn’t long and they started showing up in the mailbox. The cards were color coded and each color was related to something – The Civil War, The Revolutionary War, Entertainment, etc…

I couldn’t wait for the new set to arrive each month! I loved reading them. I knew about Patton, The Atom Bomb, and Thomas Edison before we actually read about them in school because of these cards.

At one point, they stopped coming. I assume it was because my parents couldn’t afford them anymore or they just felt I wasn’t doing enough with them. While searching for them online, I discovered that they continued making them long into the 1990’s.

It looks like some of the sets are available to buy used on E-bay or Etsy. I may have to save up some money and check them out. In the meantime, sit back and check out the cheesy commercial that featured Dan Resin (who you may remember as Dr. Beeper from Caddyshack) as the spokesperson!

What did you bring to show us?

I’m not really sure what made me think of this, but I miss Show and Tell. It was always a highlight of those early elementary school years!

I’m not sure I remember the exact way that it was executed. Did everyone get a chance to show and tell about something? Was it alphabetical by last name and every day someone else presented something? I really don’t recall, but I know I was always excited for it.

I remember bringing things like stuffed animals, pictures from a vacation, Star Wars figures, and new books. I also brought record albums, cool rocks or sea shells I found on the beach, and toys I got for Christmas.

I don’t remember ever being nervous when I was in front of my class for show and tell. Maybe this is because I knew what I was going to talk about. The fact that you weren’t graded on show and tell presentations was a plus too. (In later years, those speeches in front of classmates were much scarier.)

In a sense, show and tell continues into adulthood. When you get a new car, you take it to show a friend. A co-worker shared a video of her daughter with us yesterday. Guys show off photos of the prize fish they nabbed out on the lake. My cousin shares videos of her daughter singing. I had a patient come in and showed me his surgery scar.

Maybe us adults need to start incorporating more of these “kid” things into our lives. I would love to go into work and have circle time where we all swapped stories or did show and tell. I also think work would be better if everyone ate in a big cafeteria with a big grey trash can on wheels in the middle of it. And who wouldn’t want to go out for recess during the middle of a stressful work day?! A scheduled nap time might be nice, too!

So, why don’t you gather up the rest of the class and sit in a nice round circle. Who wants to go first? Who has something to share today?

Thoughts on The Measure

A week or so ago, I mentioned that I had started reading The Measure by Nikki Erlick. In case you missed it, here is the Goodreads “tease” about the book:

Here is the summary from Goodreads:

Eight ordinary people. One extraordinary choice.

It seems like any other day. You wake up, pour a cup of coffee, and head out.

But today, when you open your front door, waiting for you is a small wooden box. This box holds your fate inside: the answer to the exact number of years you will live.

From suburban doorsteps to desert tents, every person on every continent receives the same box. In an instant, the world is thrust into a collective frenzy. Where did these boxes come from? What do they mean? Is there truth to what they promise?

As society comes together and pulls apart, everyone faces the same shocking choice: Do they wish to know how long they’ll live? And, if so, what will they do with that knowledge?

The Measure charts the dawn of this new world through an unforgettable cast of characters whose decisions and fates interweave with one another: best friends whose dreams are forever entwined, pen pals finding refuge in the unknown, a couple who thought they didn’t have to rush, a doctor who cannot save himself, and a politician whose box becomes the powder keg that ultimately changes everything.

My Thoughts

All in all, I found the book to be very good. I found it to be thought provoking and almost scary in regard to just how much of it I could relate to the world today.

There is so much division in the world today. Those divisions can be religious, racial, political, sexual and many other subdivisions. In the book, those divisions are based on the length of the string a person had. In the story, long strings mean a long life and short strings mean a short life. Throughout the story, we see the way “short stringers” are treated by “long stringers.” You could easily substitute “White, Straight, or Christian” for “long stringers” and “Black, Gay, and Atheist” for “Short stringers” and kind of apply the book to today.

In the story, there is a “short stringer” running for President. People are up in arms about voting for someone that they know could very well die in office. Lincoln, Kennedy, FDR, and a few others died in office and many would think that they were good Presidents. If people knew they were going to die, would they have been elected? If not, think of the possible alternate historical outcomes.

While the strings are the underlying theme of the book, as well as the thing that brings everything together, it is really about the 8 main characters and how they react to them. I found them to be believable and I really enjoyed how the lives of these characters all intersected and came together. I questioned a few things about a couple of the characters and then realized that the way they were written was something that was needed to compare with the strings.

There was a couple twists toward the end of the story that were unexpected. Some reviews I read said that the book left them in tears. I didn’t cry, but it certainly made an impact on me and I thought about it for a few days.

Would You Open Your Box?

There are characters in the book who do not open their box. They chose to live life without the knowledge of when they are going to die. They chose not to feel the burden of knowing they only have a short while, or relax knowing that they have a long life ahead of them.

As for the ones who know the length of their strings, we are shown the various feelings that go along with that. Husbands with long strings and their wives with short strings. How do you prepare for that? What if you were let go from your job, or not hired for one, because of the length of your string?

The book made me think about a lot. I would certainly recommend it.

Closing thoughts

I have said before that one of my “life quotes” was something I read in 1988: “Live every day as if it were your last. Some day, you’ll be right.” In the book, I read where someone had a sign or a t-shirt that read, “Live like a short stringer” or something to that effect. Same kind of thing.

Now that I am in my 50’s, I think often about wanting to be sure that I get the most out of the rest of my years. I want to experience all the joys of my marriage and make memories with my wife. I have 4 children – two of them under 3 years old. I want to witness all the things they do. I want to see graduations, weddings, and grandchildren. I want to experience daddy/daughter picnics and dances and once again coach t-ball and teach them how to throw a baseball.

Once you reach 50, life sort of begins the downward slope. I am eating right and losing weight because I want to be around for a long time. I don’t want to leave my family alone. I want to be there to offer the right advice. I want to be there to comfort any sadness. I want to be there to give praise and encouragement. I want to be there to share the happiness and sadness of life’s ups and downs.

I don’t have a string to tell me how long I’ll be here, but I plan on living each day to its fullest.

“Can We Pray?”

It was unexpected, and it caught me off guard. It was also exactly what I needed.

A high school friend reached out to me on Facebook earlier today. She was just checking in as it had been a bit since we chatted. Rather than message her back, I called her on my way to work. I had interrupted her viewing of “Pretty Woman,” but she took the call anyway.

She has been a wonderful friend and offered positive vibes and support through some tough times. We basically spent the time catching each other up on life. She commented that AJ is getting big too fast and said that Ella looks like a wonderful big sister. Then she asked about my older sons. She is well aware of the situation and struggles that I have had with them since my divorce. I shared some of the recent drama and filled her in on the latest.

When I pulled into work, there was already a patient in the parking lot. I was quite early, so it must have been an early arrival. I mentioned that I had arrived at work and that I would catch up soon.

Before we hung up, she said, “Can we pray?” I’m not sure why this was such a surprise to me. I know that she is a woman of faith. We have often spoke to each other and asked each other to pray about things. In all the years we have been friends, this would be the first time we prayed together.

I closed my eyes, and she prayed. We prayed.

“Amen.”

I have often found myself praying on the drive in, or when I get to the parking lot, or walking through the supermarket. It was just me and God. This time, my friend and I sat in prayer together and it struck a chord. She doesn’t know just how much that meant, and so I say “Thank you.” It is one thing to say, “I’ll pray for you.” It is another to pray WITH you.

Thank you, my friend. I hope you know just how much that meant to me.

Friday Photo Flashback

This is a “feature” I started a couple weeks ago with a Daily Writing Prompt. It’s been fun to find a photo to write about each week. This week, I went looking through the “photo files” and found this gem:

Pictured in the photo from left to right: me, my brother, and my dad.

I am sure that this photo was taken in our old house in Sterling Heights. My brother looks to be about 6-9 months old here. My mom is obviously taking the picture. I have many wonderful memories of crawling into my parents bed on Saturday or Sunday mornings and reading books, or wrestling with dad.

The first thing that jumps out at me in the picture is the gold satin bed spread. I remember it so well. I remember sliding off the bed numerous times because of it. I don’t recall how long my folks used that bed spread, but I recall it being a staple in that old house.

I love the look on my dad’s face here. I almost feel like my mom interrupted some sort of silly game he was playing with us to take this picture. In one game, my dad would pretend to be a bear as we hid under the bed spread in our “tent.” He would roar and grab at the bed spread and we would scream “It’s a bear!!”

Today, if you put a picture of me and my dad next to each other – there is no doubt that I’m his son and he is my dad. As I look at him in the photo, I don’t really see “me” in his face. Ok, the eyebrows – we both have huge eyebrows.

My brother is so little in this picture. I can see a little of each of my boys as babies in this photo. Just like with my dad, the older we have gotten, the more we look alike. You just don’t see that in this photo. We look very different.

I chuckle out loud when I look at myself. I really have no idea what I am doing in the picture. The whole angelic “eyes closed and hand on my cheeks” thing … I wonder what I am thinking in this picture. I look back at all that hair I had and I miss it. I remember my mom giving us a bath and then blow drying my hair while running a brush through it to give me a poofy “Elvis” hair style. There’s the old joke that says, “I used to have very wavy hair … now all that is left is the beach!”

In the same folder as the “featured” photo is one taken the same day. Whether minutes before of after, I do not know. It is a picture that I had forgot about until recently. As much as my brother and I fought with each other growing up, I just love this picture of me laying on my back cracking up, while my dad hold him on top of me. It seems that the brotherly love began right from the get go.

Hello, Louie!

The photo above may be a bit deceiving, in that this blog is NOT about the hit song by the Kingsmen.

It is also not about other famous Louies (or Louis) like comedians:

Louie Anderson

Louis CK

Or trumpet players:

Louis Armstrong

Louis Prima

Or his animated alter ego:

King Louie

Or fictional TV characters like:

Louie the Lilac

Louie De Palma

So just WHO is Louie?!

Well, if you are a regular reader to my blog you know that over the past couple years, my daughter (and now my son, too) like to walk our neighborhood. There is one house where there is an old Bassett hound that is occasionally outside. That dog has been her “puppy friend” for a long time.

We never knew if it was a boy or a girl. We never knew its name. It has been a mystery for some time. Not any more!

Yesterday, as we were walking, her puppy friend was out in the middle of the yard soaking up the sun.

Ella asked to get out of the stroller so she could go up to the fence to say hello. She stood there saying, “Hi Puppy! Come here, Puppy!” The back door of the house opened and a young guy peaked his head out and said, “That’s Louie! He’s too old to be doing a lot of walking. He’ll be ten years old this week.”

I told the guy we had wondered what his name was and were glad to finally know it. Ella must have said, “He’s Louie!” about 40 times and “Hi, Louie!” another 40 times. She was thrilled (as was I) to finally know his name!

We took a family walk this evening when I woke up and got to see Louie again. I think I’m going to go to the store and buy a box of dog treats and a birthday card and have Ella hand deliver it to Louie’s owner for his birthday. That dog has brought many smiles to our walks and “10” is a special birthday!