Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's been a beautiful couple of days here. We've got some rain coming in tonight. Later on I'll be going to see Iron Man 3 with my neighbor. Being broken down fathers of young children, we're going to the 9:00 show. I made the mistake of going to the midnight showing of The Avengers with him. I fell asleep and missed the last 45 minutes of the movie. He told me it was good.
Today I was busy running errands. I have some laundry to do and will start making dinner soon. See what you have to look forward to when you get older! Excitement! Suspense! Mundane boring repetition of basic custodial practices and routine! Hooray!
I get through my day by telling myself that I am providing my children and spouse with a clean, crafted environment where they can live and thrive. This is important. It's also not very exciting. However, I am not fooled by my daydreams of adventures and spontaneous living without cares. I like living in a clean place, having enough food and a roof over my head.
I'm hoping to get to the lumbar yard and pick up some more materials for the boy's tree house. I've got another couple of projects I'm working on. Blah, blah, blah and blah.
Can you tell I'm a bit crabby today?
Our garbage man has suffered for my attitude. Don't get too upset with me. It's his own fault. Last week I didn't have the garbage bins far enough out in the alley and he ended up not picking up my trash. This irked me. I'm not talking about a lot of distance here. The man couldn't be bothered walking an extra four strides. To make a long story slightly shorter, I wasn't planning on cleaning out my garage this week, but when my trash wasn't picked up, I did just that.
Today's garbage pick-up was something to behold. Full bins of garbage and refuse stacked high. Old paint cans, old home project refuse and to top it all off - a heavy old couch. He didn't show any signs of knowing, or caring, about the pile of garbage. I'm sure somewhere in his heart, he was contrite.
I saw him muttering a bit and I imagine him saying, "I should have taken care of this last week. 'A stitch in time' so they say."
Who knows?
I have to be careful, Temple, being home and out of contact with adults can make someone odd. Give me a couple extra years and I'll have imagined a whole feud between myself and garbage man. I'll live for Thursdays where we will engage in a epic struggle of him attempting dodgy service while I try and destroy his lower back with hidden masonry at the bottom of garbage receptacles.
Come to think of it - I really need this night out.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
5/1/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Thank you for writing me back. I appreciate it. My stories do tend to be a little random, but I never have an agenda. I just write you and see where it goes. If there is anything you want to ask me about or talk about, just drop me a note and I can answer you here. I would tell you to call me, but most of the time I don't even know where my phone is - much to the chagrin of people who want to get in contact with me.
I don't know why I lose my phone so much. I won't bore you with the introspective meanderings of my mind, but my current belief is that I have some sort of repressed hostility against technology and it's continued invasion of personal privacy. I don't like the idea that people are feel entitled to instantaneous contact with me at any given moment of the day.
You're bored now. Sorry.
I've done a lot of cleaning today and I still have much to do. Your cousins destroy just about as fast as I clean. They are learning to pick up after themselves, because I tend to inconvenience them with cleaning at moments they would much rather be doing something else. Like playing outside in the warm weather. Hopefully, they'll take the hint and start cleaning up things right after they are done playing with them.
I just got back from taking the kids to the park. They biked around while I went over the draft of the children's book I'm working on. I think it's ready to send to my editor, but she's booked up until the end of May. There isn't any real rush on this. I'm just impatient.
I have a goal about being a successful author. I define success, in this case, by making good money as an author. This hasn't worked out so far. I've found that success only comes through hard work, so that's what I'm doing. My plan is to write a lot - every day. Get better at writing through hard work and never give up on myself. No matter how many time I get rejections for my work, I will keep sending it out. I will not except failure. I will only get better. I've gotten close to being published, but close isn't enough.
If you have a dream, Temple, you have to make it happen yourself. Most of the successful people I know, achieved their success through hard work. You don't have to look any further than your Aunt Crystal. She's worked hard through school and she's not done yet (I hope she won't make me call her Dr. Hunter.) She carefully planned our her career to put herself in position to achieve employment that befits her talents. None of her success was handed to her. None of this was easy. Her supervisor is retiring, which puts her in charge of the Early Childhood Special Education Program for one of the biggest cities in America.
Your Aunt Crystal did this herself. I am intensely proud of her. If you want something out of life, Temple, roll up your sleeves and go get it.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Thank you for writing me back. I appreciate it. My stories do tend to be a little random, but I never have an agenda. I just write you and see where it goes. If there is anything you want to ask me about or talk about, just drop me a note and I can answer you here. I would tell you to call me, but most of the time I don't even know where my phone is - much to the chagrin of people who want to get in contact with me.
I don't know why I lose my phone so much. I won't bore you with the introspective meanderings of my mind, but my current belief is that I have some sort of repressed hostility against technology and it's continued invasion of personal privacy. I don't like the idea that people are feel entitled to instantaneous contact with me at any given moment of the day.
You're bored now. Sorry.
I've done a lot of cleaning today and I still have much to do. Your cousins destroy just about as fast as I clean. They are learning to pick up after themselves, because I tend to inconvenience them with cleaning at moments they would much rather be doing something else. Like playing outside in the warm weather. Hopefully, they'll take the hint and start cleaning up things right after they are done playing with them.
I just got back from taking the kids to the park. They biked around while I went over the draft of the children's book I'm working on. I think it's ready to send to my editor, but she's booked up until the end of May. There isn't any real rush on this. I'm just impatient.
I have a goal about being a successful author. I define success, in this case, by making good money as an author. This hasn't worked out so far. I've found that success only comes through hard work, so that's what I'm doing. My plan is to write a lot - every day. Get better at writing through hard work and never give up on myself. No matter how many time I get rejections for my work, I will keep sending it out. I will not except failure. I will only get better. I've gotten close to being published, but close isn't enough.
If you have a dream, Temple, you have to make it happen yourself. Most of the successful people I know, achieved their success through hard work. You don't have to look any further than your Aunt Crystal. She's worked hard through school and she's not done yet (I hope she won't make me call her Dr. Hunter.) She carefully planned our her career to put herself in position to achieve employment that befits her talents. None of her success was handed to her. None of this was easy. Her supervisor is retiring, which puts her in charge of the Early Childhood Special Education Program for one of the biggest cities in America.
Your Aunt Crystal did this herself. I am intensely proud of her. If you want something out of life, Temple, roll up your sleeves and go get it.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Monday, April 29, 2013
4/29/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Yesterday was Elijah's birthday - we had ourselves an nice time of it. We went mini-golfing, ate out, went to an indoor playland and saw a movie at the dollar show. Elijah received loads of presents and went to bed happy. It was a nice day.
Your Aunt Crystal reminded me that you're twelve years old. Twelve! This is serious stuff. I thought that today I would impart you a little unasked for Uncle advice on boys. Don't be embarrassed! This talk is long in coming. I used to be a boy and know their ways.
Your Grandparents have probably instituted a "no dating until you're forty" rule, but in case you decide to break that one. Keep this list in mind. There are a lot of creeps out there and These rules will keep them at bay.
1. The boy must be nice to you. This is easily the most important rule there is. If the lad calls you names, is rude, or makes you feel small in any way. Dump him. This rule alone will cull nearly seventy percent of boys out there - and you won't miss them.
2. The boy must be respectful. If the boy you like is rude to your Grandparents, give him the boot. If they don't respect your Grandparents or their rules, they won't respect you or yours. Dump him.
3. No Wimps - No Monsters. The boy must not be a sissy. You need someone who will stand up for you when needed. I know you don't need it, Temple. You could probably beat up nearly every twelve year old boy out there. Don't let them know that. Too threatening. You also don't want some hot-headed kid who hits everyone who gives him a cross look. Find someone who is gentle, but who can muster courage when he needs too.
4. The boy must be nice to you. In case you forgot.
5. The boy must never make you uncomfortable. If the kid tries to take you places or put you in situations where you are uncomfortable, nervous or scared. Dump him. If he's doing those things, he's not trying to get to know you, he's trying to put you in submissive situations where you don't have power or control.
6. Uncle Justin Veto Rule. If Uncle Justin doesn't like the kid. Send him packing. I can understand why you may not understand or agree with this rule, but this is my list and I can add any rules that I want. You can complain to your Grandpa, but I think he will agree with me (I think he has a "Grandpa Veto Rule.")
I think a top six list is good enough to get you started. Basically, respect yourself enough to date someone of quality. I love you very much and don't want to have to drive up to where you live and kill some kid for being unkind to you.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Yesterday was Elijah's birthday - we had ourselves an nice time of it. We went mini-golfing, ate out, went to an indoor playland and saw a movie at the dollar show. Elijah received loads of presents and went to bed happy. It was a nice day.
Your Aunt Crystal reminded me that you're twelve years old. Twelve! This is serious stuff. I thought that today I would impart you a little unasked for Uncle advice on boys. Don't be embarrassed! This talk is long in coming. I used to be a boy and know their ways.
Your Grandparents have probably instituted a "no dating until you're forty" rule, but in case you decide to break that one. Keep this list in mind. There are a lot of creeps out there and These rules will keep them at bay.
1. The boy must be nice to you. This is easily the most important rule there is. If the lad calls you names, is rude, or makes you feel small in any way. Dump him. This rule alone will cull nearly seventy percent of boys out there - and you won't miss them.
2. The boy must be respectful. If the boy you like is rude to your Grandparents, give him the boot. If they don't respect your Grandparents or their rules, they won't respect you or yours. Dump him.
3. No Wimps - No Monsters. The boy must not be a sissy. You need someone who will stand up for you when needed. I know you don't need it, Temple. You could probably beat up nearly every twelve year old boy out there. Don't let them know that. Too threatening. You also don't want some hot-headed kid who hits everyone who gives him a cross look. Find someone who is gentle, but who can muster courage when he needs too.
4. The boy must be nice to you. In case you forgot.
5. The boy must never make you uncomfortable. If the kid tries to take you places or put you in situations where you are uncomfortable, nervous or scared. Dump him. If he's doing those things, he's not trying to get to know you, he's trying to put you in submissive situations where you don't have power or control.
6. Uncle Justin Veto Rule. If Uncle Justin doesn't like the kid. Send him packing. I can understand why you may not understand or agree with this rule, but this is my list and I can add any rules that I want. You can complain to your Grandpa, but I think he will agree with me (I think he has a "Grandpa Veto Rule.")
I think a top six list is good enough to get you started. Basically, respect yourself enough to date someone of quality. I love you very much and don't want to have to drive up to where you live and kill some kid for being unkind to you.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Saturday, April 27, 2013
4/27/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Our newest was having an earnest conversation with me. He was really upset. I nodded my head and sympathized with his plight. I gave him a hug and sent him on his way.
I have absolutely no idea what his problem was. I can't understand the kid half the time. He really needs speech therapy. By the time we got him into preschool it was too late to get him evaluated. He will easily qualify for services, but it will have to wait until the next school year.
This is funny because he can curse with clarity and he did so this morning. He seemed pretty pleased with himself too, until Daddy showed him the error of his ways.
He was easily the youngest child in his last placement and there were some pretty rough children there. He's got himself quite the vocabulary. It's getting rare that we hear any of it at home, but once and a while a word or phrase bounds free. Normally I would share with you what he said, but it was pretty bad. Very bad indeed. Probably would have gotten him executed in a couple countries.
Let's move on.
That story reminds me of a time in high school when I was on a mission trip to Lithuania. I don't have a lot of good memories about the trip. I would describe my personality at that time as aggressive, volatile and rude. I still have memories of things I said and did to people I care about during that time that bother me still today. I couldn't have been all bad, it was when your Aunt Crystal and I started dating. I've asked her about this and she tells me, "You've mellowed with age."
Your Aunt Crystal is very polite. Let's move on.
In Lithuania, right after getting a talking too about being a good 'Ambassador for America', a friend of mine, Seth Schroerlucke, and I went out to play basketball with a couple of Lithuanian dudes. We were having a good time and we picked up some of the language. All the guys were saying what sounded to us like "Shoota!" after they shot the ball. We began saying that too.
The next day we were walking with those guys down a small pathway when the guy up front took a little side-step and said, "Shoota." while pointing at the ground. He was courteously pointing out a large mound of poop on the ground.
"Shoota?" I said while pointing at the mound.
"Shoota? Sudas. Yes," He said.
"Shoota means s**t?" I said.
He smiled and nodded vigorously, "Yes! Sudas means s**t!"
Seth and I looked at each other. We were both thinking about how yesterday we, as ambassadors of America, swore loudly several hundred times in a small Lithuanian town. We thought about how we described all our fun 'shootaing' with the elderly woman who put us up during our stay. It was equally embarrassing and funny, which means par for the course, on with our lives.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Our newest was having an earnest conversation with me. He was really upset. I nodded my head and sympathized with his plight. I gave him a hug and sent him on his way.
I have absolutely no idea what his problem was. I can't understand the kid half the time. He really needs speech therapy. By the time we got him into preschool it was too late to get him evaluated. He will easily qualify for services, but it will have to wait until the next school year.
This is funny because he can curse with clarity and he did so this morning. He seemed pretty pleased with himself too, until Daddy showed him the error of his ways.
He was easily the youngest child in his last placement and there were some pretty rough children there. He's got himself quite the vocabulary. It's getting rare that we hear any of it at home, but once and a while a word or phrase bounds free. Normally I would share with you what he said, but it was pretty bad. Very bad indeed. Probably would have gotten him executed in a couple countries.
Let's move on.
That story reminds me of a time in high school when I was on a mission trip to Lithuania. I don't have a lot of good memories about the trip. I would describe my personality at that time as aggressive, volatile and rude. I still have memories of things I said and did to people I care about during that time that bother me still today. I couldn't have been all bad, it was when your Aunt Crystal and I started dating. I've asked her about this and she tells me, "You've mellowed with age."
Your Aunt Crystal is very polite. Let's move on.
In Lithuania, right after getting a talking too about being a good 'Ambassador for America', a friend of mine, Seth Schroerlucke, and I went out to play basketball with a couple of Lithuanian dudes. We were having a good time and we picked up some of the language. All the guys were saying what sounded to us like "Shoota!" after they shot the ball. We began saying that too.
The next day we were walking with those guys down a small pathway when the guy up front took a little side-step and said, "Shoota." while pointing at the ground. He was courteously pointing out a large mound of poop on the ground.
"Shoota?" I said while pointing at the mound.
"Shoota? Sudas. Yes," He said.
"Shoota means s**t?" I said.
He smiled and nodded vigorously, "Yes! Sudas means s**t!"
Seth and I looked at each other. We were both thinking about how yesterday we, as ambassadors of America, swore loudly several hundred times in a small Lithuanian town. We thought about how we described all our fun 'shootaing' with the elderly woman who put us up during our stay. It was equally embarrassing and funny, which means par for the course, on with our lives.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Friday, April 26, 2013
4/26/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I thought I would write you in the morning instead of the evening and see if anything goes differently. So far it feels the same. I don't know what I was expecting, but it never hurts to change mundane things in your routine - if for the only reason to prove to people you're not in a rut. You can shout, "Look I'm spontaneous!" - but planning for spontaneity defeats the purpose. You've found that you're not doing anything differently, just shuffling the same scheduled events. You're still in your rut.
See, Temple? I've proven that I can make myself depressed with the same deft skill in both the a.m. and the p.m.
Anyway, I haven't been sleeping very well lately and I'm not too sure why. I was getting to bed very late and still getting up before the sun. Your Aunt Crystal was kind enough to suggest trying to get back on a regular sleep schedule and I agreed. So I went to bed at ten and woke up at two in the morning. Let me tell you Temple, it's better to go to bed late and wake up at the normal time, then to go to bed on time, but wake up way early.
A couple days ago your Aunt Crystal suggested I take a pill that would help me sleep. "Never!" I said. If you know me, Temple, you know that I don't like to take medicine of any kind. It's not that I don't believe in the science of medicine or that pharmaceuticals can help me recover from illness, it's just that I don't like too.
I think it had something to do with when I had some minor surgery done several years ago. I was given some liquid hydrocodone to help with the pain while recovering. I found that I was a bit allergic to the medication and was promptly switched, by my doctor, to ibuprofen and something else. This medicine made my stomach feel terrible, so I did the optimal thing only a sane person would do. I said, "&*$#@!", Flung the bottles across the room, and just dealt with the pain.
I'm sure your Aunt Crystal looks back on this little segment of our lives fondly.
Anyway, I knew sleeping three or four hours a night really isn't enough for a person and I rationalized that your Aunt Crystal may be right - that the pill may help me get back on a regular sleeping schedule.
I went to bed at ten and took the sleeping pill. I lay in bed, waiting for the drugs to work. Your Aunt Crystal made me stop singing, "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man." I fell asleep, slept the whole night and had to be woken up the next morning at 6:30 to help with the kids. It was nice getting all that sleep, but I felt terrible the next day I felt groggy and slothful. We rationalized that maybe it was because I hadn't slept much at all lately over the past couple weeks and getting a good night's rest made my body want more. I took another pill the next night and had the same grogginess the next day.
I stopped taking those sleeping pills. Two nights was enough for me.
I don't take a lot of, over-the-counter medicine, because I believe that the body knows how to take care of itself. I see too many people - all a pill-popping - at the slightest discomfort. I, for one, want my liver to work when I'm sixty.
You may look at my tobacco pipe and make an insightful, yet snide, comment about how you want your lungs to work at sixty, but this is my letter and I can judge all I want.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I thought I would write you in the morning instead of the evening and see if anything goes differently. So far it feels the same. I don't know what I was expecting, but it never hurts to change mundane things in your routine - if for the only reason to prove to people you're not in a rut. You can shout, "Look I'm spontaneous!" - but planning for spontaneity defeats the purpose. You've found that you're not doing anything differently, just shuffling the same scheduled events. You're still in your rut.
See, Temple? I've proven that I can make myself depressed with the same deft skill in both the a.m. and the p.m.
Anyway, I haven't been sleeping very well lately and I'm not too sure why. I was getting to bed very late and still getting up before the sun. Your Aunt Crystal was kind enough to suggest trying to get back on a regular sleep schedule and I agreed. So I went to bed at ten and woke up at two in the morning. Let me tell you Temple, it's better to go to bed late and wake up at the normal time, then to go to bed on time, but wake up way early.
A couple days ago your Aunt Crystal suggested I take a pill that would help me sleep. "Never!" I said. If you know me, Temple, you know that I don't like to take medicine of any kind. It's not that I don't believe in the science of medicine or that pharmaceuticals can help me recover from illness, it's just that I don't like too.
I think it had something to do with when I had some minor surgery done several years ago. I was given some liquid hydrocodone to help with the pain while recovering. I found that I was a bit allergic to the medication and was promptly switched, by my doctor, to ibuprofen and something else. This medicine made my stomach feel terrible, so I did the optimal thing only a sane person would do. I said, "&*$#@!", Flung the bottles across the room, and just dealt with the pain.
I'm sure your Aunt Crystal looks back on this little segment of our lives fondly.
Anyway, I knew sleeping three or four hours a night really isn't enough for a person and I rationalized that your Aunt Crystal may be right - that the pill may help me get back on a regular sleeping schedule.
I went to bed at ten and took the sleeping pill. I lay in bed, waiting for the drugs to work. Your Aunt Crystal made me stop singing, "Hey Mr. Tambourine Man." I fell asleep, slept the whole night and had to be woken up the next morning at 6:30 to help with the kids. It was nice getting all that sleep, but I felt terrible the next day I felt groggy and slothful. We rationalized that maybe it was because I hadn't slept much at all lately over the past couple weeks and getting a good night's rest made my body want more. I took another pill the next night and had the same grogginess the next day.
I stopped taking those sleeping pills. Two nights was enough for me.
I don't take a lot of, over-the-counter medicine, because I believe that the body knows how to take care of itself. I see too many people - all a pill-popping - at the slightest discomfort. I, for one, want my liver to work when I'm sixty.
You may look at my tobacco pipe and make an insightful, yet snide, comment about how you want your lungs to work at sixty, but this is my letter and I can judge all I want.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
4/24/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's still a bit cold here today. The sun came out in the afternoon and I got to spend a bit of time outside. Your Aunt Crystal's car was repaired. We picked it up about an hour ago. One of the running lights was working erratically and I couldn't fix it dependably. We brought it to the local auto shop and they had just as many problems as I did. Fixing a newer VW Beetle is a pain. This is funny since the old Beetles were models of simplicity. At least I feel a bit vindicated as the auto mechanics had just as much hassle as I did. Maybe I should start a social group. I'm thinking of calling us the "Brotherhood Inclusive Of Men Embattled Since Partaking -in- Heroically Engineering Running Eyeball" or BIOME-SPHERE!
Maybe not.
I didn't have a car of my own so I was home today. I did homeschooling with Elijah, cleaned a bit and worked on some projects. I need to get back into editing my books, but I am feeling a bit fussy about doing that. You see, when I edit or write I need everything just perfect. I need a pipe and good tobacco, coffee, a comfortable working environment and time. If time is pressing then I can't create.
I also need my friend Jeffrey's basement chair. I can write without it, and have, but it's never as good. It's the perfect chair. It's large and very comfortable. It's not really a chair someone would have in their living room - which is too bad. Sometimes style takes away our most comfortable possessions, or at least regulates them to the basement. It looks kind of like this
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's still a bit cold here today. The sun came out in the afternoon and I got to spend a bit of time outside. Your Aunt Crystal's car was repaired. We picked it up about an hour ago. One of the running lights was working erratically and I couldn't fix it dependably. We brought it to the local auto shop and they had just as many problems as I did. Fixing a newer VW Beetle is a pain. This is funny since the old Beetles were models of simplicity. At least I feel a bit vindicated as the auto mechanics had just as much hassle as I did. Maybe I should start a social group. I'm thinking of calling us the "Brotherhood Inclusive Of Men Embattled Since Partaking -in- Heroically Engineering Running Eyeball" or BIOME-SPHERE!
Maybe not.
I didn't have a car of my own so I was home today. I did homeschooling with Elijah, cleaned a bit and worked on some projects. I need to get back into editing my books, but I am feeling a bit fussy about doing that. You see, when I edit or write I need everything just perfect. I need a pipe and good tobacco, coffee, a comfortable working environment and time. If time is pressing then I can't create.
I also need my friend Jeffrey's basement chair. I can write without it, and have, but it's never as good. It's the perfect chair. It's large and very comfortable. It's not really a chair someone would have in their living room - which is too bad. Sometimes style takes away our most comfortable possessions, or at least regulates them to the basement. It looks kind of like this
It's not a thing of beauty, but it works for me. Jeffrey likes it too, but he's a good host and gives into my seating whims. *I just deleted a couple paragraphs about chairs. I re-read the letter and decided that you really don't care about any of this (but I know you would be too polite to tell me to shut up.)
If I'm wrong and you really do care, let me know and I'll regale you with hours of conversation about chairs I feel comfortable in.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
4/23/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's rainy here today. Your Aunt Crystal and I were sitting on the couch and listening to piano music while reading. Which is about as close to contact sports as I've gotten in years, unless you count the guy I accidentally bumped at our local coffee shop while reaching for my Latte.
Your Aunt Crystal is reading a book called Strapless. It's about the historical significance of French art and artists. She's finding it a fascinating and compelling read. She shares anecdotes from the book with me, which I thoroughly enjoy. Reading something like that, a person can really feel a sense of personal and intellectual growth.
I'm reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. In my book Gimli the Dwarf just chopped off a Goblin's head and said, "Arrgh!"
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy I'm reading used to be my father's. Cracking the books open I get a faint, familiar musty smell that reminds me of the basement bookshelf where he used to keep it. It makes me smile.
The letter is going to be a bit short today. I'm not feeling my best and it steals my words.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's rainy here today. Your Aunt Crystal and I were sitting on the couch and listening to piano music while reading. Which is about as close to contact sports as I've gotten in years, unless you count the guy I accidentally bumped at our local coffee shop while reaching for my Latte.
Your Aunt Crystal is reading a book called Strapless. It's about the historical significance of French art and artists. She's finding it a fascinating and compelling read. She shares anecdotes from the book with me, which I thoroughly enjoy. Reading something like that, a person can really feel a sense of personal and intellectual growth.
I'm reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers. In my book Gimli the Dwarf just chopped off a Goblin's head and said, "Arrgh!"
The Lord of the Rings Trilogy I'm reading used to be my father's. Cracking the books open I get a faint, familiar musty smell that reminds me of the basement bookshelf where he used to keep it. It makes me smile.
The letter is going to be a bit short today. I'm not feeling my best and it steals my words.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Monday, April 22, 2013
4/22/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I had a very productive day playing the role, as my friend Dave from pipe club calls me, a "kept" man. I vacuumed the whole house, mopped the floors, cleaned the bathrooms, did laundry, cooked meals, taught homeschool, painted a dresser and made my bed. You may not be impressed with me making my bed, but you should be. I hate making my bed.
Your Aunt Crystal got some rice bowls from her artist friend Pete in the mail today. They are beautiful and save me from the conundrum of what we're having for dinner tomorrow. I want to finish this thought with something clever, but admit I'm a bit lost. I wrote, "there will be rice involved" and didn't like that. I then wrote, "Let there be rice!" and threw up in my mouth a little bit. Anyway, tomorrow-dinner-rice. Let's move on.
I'm reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and am enjoying it. It faltered a bit around page 80 but it's picking back up nicely in the early 100's. I've got a couple books coming from the library soon and will have to take a break from Tolkien to read them. "High Fidelity" and "Trainspotting" will decisively slam me from the realms of fantasy into the throes of decrepit humanity. So to speak.
This week or next I need to paint the porch. I've been putting it off, not due to sloth, but because I live in Missouri. The more South you go, the more people like to stay a bit and chat. You see a lot of front porches here. Some even wrap themselves around the whole house. Working in the front yard will be a lot more talking to neighbors than painting, and my outgoing streak ended when I switched to near-beer. I'll tell you more about that when you're seventy or so.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I had a very productive day playing the role, as my friend Dave from pipe club calls me, a "kept" man. I vacuumed the whole house, mopped the floors, cleaned the bathrooms, did laundry, cooked meals, taught homeschool, painted a dresser and made my bed. You may not be impressed with me making my bed, but you should be. I hate making my bed.
Your Aunt Crystal got some rice bowls from her artist friend Pete in the mail today. They are beautiful and save me from the conundrum of what we're having for dinner tomorrow. I want to finish this thought with something clever, but admit I'm a bit lost. I wrote, "there will be rice involved" and didn't like that. I then wrote, "Let there be rice!" and threw up in my mouth a little bit. Anyway, tomorrow-dinner-rice. Let's move on.
I'm reading The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers and am enjoying it. It faltered a bit around page 80 but it's picking back up nicely in the early 100's. I've got a couple books coming from the library soon and will have to take a break from Tolkien to read them. "High Fidelity" and "Trainspotting" will decisively slam me from the realms of fantasy into the throes of decrepit humanity. So to speak.
This week or next I need to paint the porch. I've been putting it off, not due to sloth, but because I live in Missouri. The more South you go, the more people like to stay a bit and chat. You see a lot of front porches here. Some even wrap themselves around the whole house. Working in the front yard will be a lot more talking to neighbors than painting, and my outgoing streak ended when I switched to near-beer. I'll tell you more about that when you're seventy or so.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Sunday, April 21, 2013
4/21/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Michael Jackson is blaring from Elijah's CD player in the background. I'm catching the lyrics, "Skin head, dead head, everybody gone bad" and something about a "victim machine" and "Don't you black and white me."
It's hard to write you a letter when I'm getting a earnest human rights lecture from Mr. Jackson. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.
When Elijah gets into something he goes full boar. We've been getting an earful of Michael Jackson lately. I prefer the Dangerous album because it's mellower and works as background music, but it's in the car. We both hate the Michael Jackson Cirque Du Soleil Album.
Anyway, Mr. Jackson and my wife have me thinking about our newest child. A co-worker of Crystal's asked her if anyone gave her the "eye-roll" about seeing us with an African American child in our family. I asked Crystal what her co-worker meant by that. She told me that it had to do with our ability to raise an African American Child.
It's a good question.
It's also not a simple one.
The canned answer you'll usually get from people who think they're progressive is, "Of course you can! There is no reason that it should be any different!" These people are well meaning but they are wrong. It is different and no amount of shouting or rhetoric that make us feel good about ourselves can change that.
The basics of raising a child are no different between races. You've got to feed them, educate them, shelter them and turn them towards the sun every now and then for photosynthesis to occur.
The difference is that, as a Caucasian man, I will never know what it is like being an African American in America. I can learn about and rationalize the culture based on my own experiences but I can never fully relate. Period. It's plain stupid to think I can.
It doesn't mean I won't be a good father. I am a good father. I'm just not an African American father.
I can do my best to immerse him in his culture in real ways. I can make sure we go to parks in areas that are predominately African American. If he's interested in joining a choir or joining a sports team, I can find one representative of his culture. What I can't do is raise him in an African American family, because ours is not.
No matter what I do, at his age, all of his cultural influence comes from my family. He can play with, join groups, and be with his culture - but hanging around with and living with are two separate things. He lives with me and I'm a white dude.
He did have a chance to live within his ethic background. His biological family didn't work out, two foster homes which represented his culture didn't work out. If any family of African American background were available to him, he should have gone to them. Period.
This doesn't mean that he would be necessarily better off. Our home is very suited for children. I just think that culture is important. I realize that I'm defining culture pretty narrowly, but this is my letter and I can do what I want. I know a lot about Elijah's culture, gleaned from his previous homes and paperwork and do what I can for him. I know nothing about our newest's and I mourn for his history that is lost.
What I did do for him was make a life long promise to be his father. Something which nobody has ever done for him before. It is the greatest gift I can give him and I do it freely. I love him dearly. He is my son. I will raise him up, show him how to be a good man and eventually send him forth to pursue whatever future he desires.
That will just have to be enough.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Michael Jackson is blaring from Elijah's CD player in the background. I'm catching the lyrics, "Skin head, dead head, everybody gone bad" and something about a "victim machine" and "Don't you black and white me."
It's hard to write you a letter when I'm getting a earnest human rights lecture from Mr. Jackson. It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.
When Elijah gets into something he goes full boar. We've been getting an earful of Michael Jackson lately. I prefer the Dangerous album because it's mellower and works as background music, but it's in the car. We both hate the Michael Jackson Cirque Du Soleil Album.
Anyway, Mr. Jackson and my wife have me thinking about our newest child. A co-worker of Crystal's asked her if anyone gave her the "eye-roll" about seeing us with an African American child in our family. I asked Crystal what her co-worker meant by that. She told me that it had to do with our ability to raise an African American Child.
It's a good question.
It's also not a simple one.
The canned answer you'll usually get from people who think they're progressive is, "Of course you can! There is no reason that it should be any different!" These people are well meaning but they are wrong. It is different and no amount of shouting or rhetoric that make us feel good about ourselves can change that.
The basics of raising a child are no different between races. You've got to feed them, educate them, shelter them and turn them towards the sun every now and then for photosynthesis to occur.
The difference is that, as a Caucasian man, I will never know what it is like being an African American in America. I can learn about and rationalize the culture based on my own experiences but I can never fully relate. Period. It's plain stupid to think I can.
It doesn't mean I won't be a good father. I am a good father. I'm just not an African American father.
I can do my best to immerse him in his culture in real ways. I can make sure we go to parks in areas that are predominately African American. If he's interested in joining a choir or joining a sports team, I can find one representative of his culture. What I can't do is raise him in an African American family, because ours is not.
No matter what I do, at his age, all of his cultural influence comes from my family. He can play with, join groups, and be with his culture - but hanging around with and living with are two separate things. He lives with me and I'm a white dude.
He did have a chance to live within his ethic background. His biological family didn't work out, two foster homes which represented his culture didn't work out. If any family of African American background were available to him, he should have gone to them. Period.
This doesn't mean that he would be necessarily better off. Our home is very suited for children. I just think that culture is important. I realize that I'm defining culture pretty narrowly, but this is my letter and I can do what I want. I know a lot about Elijah's culture, gleaned from his previous homes and paperwork and do what I can for him. I know nothing about our newest's and I mourn for his history that is lost.
What I did do for him was make a life long promise to be his father. Something which nobody has ever done for him before. It is the greatest gift I can give him and I do it freely. I love him dearly. He is my son. I will raise him up, show him how to be a good man and eventually send him forth to pursue whatever future he desires.
That will just have to be enough.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Saturday, April 20, 2013
4/20/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I spent most of my day working outside, mowing the lawn, working on the boy's tree house and other stuff. Not very exciting, but that's okay, I'm not exciting. Tonight I'm probably going to do a little book editing on one of my larger novels and do some work on a children's book I'm doing with your Aunt Erica.
I've other things on my plate too. Keeping busy is good. I miss the little ones, since they've gone back with their biological family, and find that filling my time makes me feel better. Being older and wiser than I once was, I fill my time with productive and good things.
The loss is still there and cannot be ignored forever. I'm not too sad about them being gone really. It's not that I don't miss or love them - I think it has more to do with the fact that nobody promised me they would stay. The plan from the start was for them to return to their biological family and (as unlikely as that was) it happened.
I could get upset with God about it, but that seems silly since he didn't promise me anything either. I feel blessed that they were a part of my life. I keep thinking about an old Zen story about the monk Hakuin and am trying to have his attitude. Here it is -
There once was a beautiful Japanese girl. One day, without any warning, her parents discovered she was pregnant. This made her parents angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin.
In great anger the parents went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say. When the child was born it was brought to Hakuin. He took very good care of the child. He obtained milk from his neighbors and everything else the child needed.
A year later the girl could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth - that Hakuin was not the father of her child.
The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask forgiveness, apologize, and to get the child back.
Hakuin gave them back the child, saying only: "Is that so?"
There are a lot of times in life where a little "Is that so?" would do us all a lot of good. There is a lot of selflessness in that ideal and I'm working on that. I wish the boys could have stayed with us. They were happy here. They were safe here. We got them healthy here. It would have been better for me if they stayed, since my life was so enriched by having them as my children. You just can't always have control over what happens to you in life - It's good practice just to make the best of it. Reminds me of a Steven Crane poem.
A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
Funny stuff.
I guess all I really want to tell you today, Temple, is love whatever life gives you as much as you can because sooner or later we all have to let go. I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I spent most of my day working outside, mowing the lawn, working on the boy's tree house and other stuff. Not very exciting, but that's okay, I'm not exciting. Tonight I'm probably going to do a little book editing on one of my larger novels and do some work on a children's book I'm doing with your Aunt Erica.
I've other things on my plate too. Keeping busy is good. I miss the little ones, since they've gone back with their biological family, and find that filling my time makes me feel better. Being older and wiser than I once was, I fill my time with productive and good things.
The loss is still there and cannot be ignored forever. I'm not too sad about them being gone really. It's not that I don't miss or love them - I think it has more to do with the fact that nobody promised me they would stay. The plan from the start was for them to return to their biological family and (as unlikely as that was) it happened.
I could get upset with God about it, but that seems silly since he didn't promise me anything either. I feel blessed that they were a part of my life. I keep thinking about an old Zen story about the monk Hakuin and am trying to have his attitude. Here it is -
There once was a beautiful Japanese girl. One day, without any warning, her parents discovered she was pregnant. This made her parents angry. She would not confess who the man was, but after much harassment at last named Hakuin.
In great anger the parents went to the master. "Is that so?" was all he would say. When the child was born it was brought to Hakuin. He took very good care of the child. He obtained milk from his neighbors and everything else the child needed.
A year later the girl could stand it no longer. She told her parents the truth - that Hakuin was not the father of her child.
The mother and father of the girl at once went to Hakuin to ask forgiveness, apologize, and to get the child back.
Hakuin gave them back the child, saying only: "Is that so?"
There are a lot of times in life where a little "Is that so?" would do us all a lot of good. There is a lot of selflessness in that ideal and I'm working on that. I wish the boys could have stayed with us. They were happy here. They were safe here. We got them healthy here. It would have been better for me if they stayed, since my life was so enriched by having them as my children. You just can't always have control over what happens to you in life - It's good practice just to make the best of it. Reminds me of a Steven Crane poem.
A man said to the universe:
"Sir I exist!"
"However," replied the universe,
"The fact has not created in me
A sense of obligation."
Funny stuff.
I guess all I really want to tell you today, Temple, is love whatever life gives you as much as you can because sooner or later we all have to let go. I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Friday, April 19, 2013
4/19/13
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. We went to the zoo today. The kids had a lot of fun. So did I. Why? Because the Tomato Frog was out. I love the Tomato Frog. It is my favorite animal at the zoo by far. Not that it's much of an exciting creature. It just sits there. It doesn't hop around or climb about. I read today that it doesn't even swim well. Topping that, most of the time I don't even get to see it. It burrows down in it's zoo habitat and all you see is gently rising mulch as it snoozes it's day away.
I love it anyway.
Today the little guy was out. He's a pudgy. Looking much like a red stone with tiny legs sticking out. He had a bit of mulch sticking in his mouth that he would try and extrude with his foreleg when I pretended not to look at him. When I stared directly at him he would stop pawing at it and just sit there looking ridiculous. It was a very cute ridiculous.
I think it must have been funny when God created the Tomato Frog. I picture him making this creature, placing him on the earth and regarding it for a few moments. I can see him staring into the frogs wet, vacuous eyes and saying, "Well....okay...maybe I'll go make a Cheetah now."
Maybe I can become a zoo sponsor of the Tomato Frog. I'll have to check that out. I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. We went to the zoo today. The kids had a lot of fun. So did I. Why? Because the Tomato Frog was out. I love the Tomato Frog. It is my favorite animal at the zoo by far. Not that it's much of an exciting creature. It just sits there. It doesn't hop around or climb about. I read today that it doesn't even swim well. Topping that, most of the time I don't even get to see it. It burrows down in it's zoo habitat and all you see is gently rising mulch as it snoozes it's day away.
I love it anyway.
Today the little guy was out. He's a pudgy. Looking much like a red stone with tiny legs sticking out. He had a bit of mulch sticking in his mouth that he would try and extrude with his foreleg when I pretended not to look at him. When I stared directly at him he would stop pawing at it and just sit there looking ridiculous. It was a very cute ridiculous.
I think it must have been funny when God created the Tomato Frog. I picture him making this creature, placing him on the earth and regarding it for a few moments. I can see him staring into the frogs wet, vacuous eyes and saying, "Well....okay...maybe I'll go make a Cheetah now."
Maybe I can become a zoo sponsor of the Tomato Frog. I'll have to check that out. I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Thursday, April 18, 2013
4/18/2013
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I hope your collar bone is mending well. I broke mine when I was a child, yet another thing we have in common. If only you would develop rampant cynicism, crushing perfectionism, and a staunch linear perception of morality - it would be like looking in a mirror - except for the blonder, shorter and girlier aspects of yourself, of course.
We have been experiencing rain here the past few days. Lots of it too. The timing couldn't have been more perfect for someone else. Not for me. This deluge means nothing but another blow in my efforts to destroy, once and for all, the ants. Every summer these tiny pests have attempted to invade my home, and those of my neighbors, looking for food and drink. Their numbers have increased dramatically over the past few years. As soon as the temperatures here became mild, our backyard was filled with tiny anthills.
They are here and they must die.
Too small are they for the usual ant traps. These "sugar ants" are best killed using a liquid bait, which the company swears the ants will bring back into their colony and kill off the queen. All pesticide companies will tell you that they will end your problem once and for all, but we all know that's nonsense. Pests can only be kept at bay. Nature consumes all in time.
Anyway, I waged pesticide war a few days ago but nature is washing it all away. My hopes and dreams of an ant-free existence are gone. Well, not really, but the extra thirty bucks I'm going to have to drop again is annoying.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I hope your collar bone is mending well. I broke mine when I was a child, yet another thing we have in common. If only you would develop rampant cynicism, crushing perfectionism, and a staunch linear perception of morality - it would be like looking in a mirror - except for the blonder, shorter and girlier aspects of yourself, of course.
We have been experiencing rain here the past few days. Lots of it too. The timing couldn't have been more perfect for someone else. Not for me. This deluge means nothing but another blow in my efforts to destroy, once and for all, the ants. Every summer these tiny pests have attempted to invade my home, and those of my neighbors, looking for food and drink. Their numbers have increased dramatically over the past few years. As soon as the temperatures here became mild, our backyard was filled with tiny anthills.
They are here and they must die.
Too small are they for the usual ant traps. These "sugar ants" are best killed using a liquid bait, which the company swears the ants will bring back into their colony and kill off the queen. All pesticide companies will tell you that they will end your problem once and for all, but we all know that's nonsense. Pests can only be kept at bay. Nature consumes all in time.
Anyway, I waged pesticide war a few days ago but nature is washing it all away. My hopes and dreams of an ant-free existence are gone. Well, not really, but the extra thirty bucks I'm going to have to drop again is annoying.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Monday, December 3, 2012
12/3/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I would like to apologize for not writing you as much. We’re unable to connect to the internet here at home except for your Aunt Crystal’s work phone. AT&T wanted to charge us an arm and a leg for a new modem, so we switched to T-Mobile. T-Mobile’s service was really awful compared to AT&T. I tried switching back to AT&T today and they want to charge me a reconnection fee, which I don’t want to pay - so I don’t have internet.
I think I’ll call Sprint next.
Doesn’t being an adult sound like fun? No? It is. Just let me give you a word of advice. Never pay a reconnection/activation fee. It’s like paying a toll. You can avoid it. Go around.
Your Aunt Crystal and I are attend a Methodist Church near our home. Don’t gasp. I know you are a Lutheran. I forgive you. Just kidding. Your Aunt Crystal is still a Lutheran and according to the books of our local Missouri Synod Lutheran Church, so am I.
On Sunday the Methodist Church held communion. The Methodist church practices open communion, which means anyone is welcome to take communion; members or visitors. The Lutheran Church practices closed communion, which means you either have to be a member of the Lutheran church to take communion or have a conversation with the pastor before the service to get permission.
The reason the Methodist practices open communion is fairly simple. They basically say that this is “God’s table and all are invited.” I can dig that. Sounds like God’s character to me.
The reason the Lutheran Church practices closed communion are a little more difficult to understand. You can ask your Grandpa about that. He gave me a good explanation once. I never really agreed with it, but when you want to join something a part of that is respecting the rules. I respect the Lutheran Church, so I respected the rules.
I also didn’t think it would bother me too much. I was wrong.
I wasn’t able to take communion for months. I would attend church, and have to stay seated when communion was given. I think it would have been different if it was my choice to sit out or not, but it wasn’t. The rules were that I could not have communion with them. I could attend church, tithe, sing, etc. - but I was not welcome at the Lord’s table.
The first time I took communion at the Lutheran Church, after taking membership classes and proclaiming what was to be proclaimed, I broke down and cried right during the service. It took me completely by surprise. I sat down and all these emotions just flooded out. They were not good ones.
Now I attend a Methodist church and can take communion whenever they offer it, but I don’t. I choose not to take it because I don’t feel welcome there either. During a service a member basically told my friend he was being rude for wearing a hat. He took it off. I was angry and took up words with him right then and there during the service. I stopped short because I was afraid I would embarrass my wife and friend (more than I already had). This didn’t stop me from following the man through the church hallways after the service an delivering a very prickly yet courteous verbal assault which ended with me saying “This isn’t your *&*% country club where you get to decided what everyone looks like. You are the worst sort of Christian.” etc. - Not my finest moment. My friend doesn’t attend anymore and the guy doesn’t go to the 9:30 service anymore. I guess this makes us even. Sort of.
I think the bitter taste the experience left has to do with the fact that this jerk proved my friend right about what he thought church-goers were like. I really wish God hadn’t let that happen, but he did.
I contacted the pastors about the incident and they were ashamed and apologetic for the event. I’m glad they agreed with me and I obviously don’t hold them personally responsible for individual member’s actions. Over the next couple weeks I noticed that an African American wore a hat and nobody bothered him. Then there were some obviously homeless people who showed up to church and people fell all over them with courtesy. The hypocrisy of people was making me sick.
So the next time communion came around I didn’t go up with the congregation and I still don’t. It’s funny how something that used to be so good and so simple is now complicated. I don’t plan on taking communion ever again at this point. God made the table, but people have messed it up.
Temple, it really all comes down to your personal relationship with God. Don’t let people muddy the waters for you. It can mess up something beautiful.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I would like to apologize for not writing you as much. We’re unable to connect to the internet here at home except for your Aunt Crystal’s work phone. AT&T wanted to charge us an arm and a leg for a new modem, so we switched to T-Mobile. T-Mobile’s service was really awful compared to AT&T. I tried switching back to AT&T today and they want to charge me a reconnection fee, which I don’t want to pay - so I don’t have internet.
I think I’ll call Sprint next.
Doesn’t being an adult sound like fun? No? It is. Just let me give you a word of advice. Never pay a reconnection/activation fee. It’s like paying a toll. You can avoid it. Go around.
Your Aunt Crystal and I are attend a Methodist Church near our home. Don’t gasp. I know you are a Lutheran. I forgive you. Just kidding. Your Aunt Crystal is still a Lutheran and according to the books of our local Missouri Synod Lutheran Church, so am I.
On Sunday the Methodist Church held communion. The Methodist church practices open communion, which means anyone is welcome to take communion; members or visitors. The Lutheran Church practices closed communion, which means you either have to be a member of the Lutheran church to take communion or have a conversation with the pastor before the service to get permission.
The reason the Methodist practices open communion is fairly simple. They basically say that this is “God’s table and all are invited.” I can dig that. Sounds like God’s character to me.
The reason the Lutheran Church practices closed communion are a little more difficult to understand. You can ask your Grandpa about that. He gave me a good explanation once. I never really agreed with it, but when you want to join something a part of that is respecting the rules. I respect the Lutheran Church, so I respected the rules.
I also didn’t think it would bother me too much. I was wrong.
I wasn’t able to take communion for months. I would attend church, and have to stay seated when communion was given. I think it would have been different if it was my choice to sit out or not, but it wasn’t. The rules were that I could not have communion with them. I could attend church, tithe, sing, etc. - but I was not welcome at the Lord’s table.
The first time I took communion at the Lutheran Church, after taking membership classes and proclaiming what was to be proclaimed, I broke down and cried right during the service. It took me completely by surprise. I sat down and all these emotions just flooded out. They were not good ones.
Now I attend a Methodist church and can take communion whenever they offer it, but I don’t. I choose not to take it because I don’t feel welcome there either. During a service a member basically told my friend he was being rude for wearing a hat. He took it off. I was angry and took up words with him right then and there during the service. I stopped short because I was afraid I would embarrass my wife and friend (more than I already had). This didn’t stop me from following the man through the church hallways after the service an delivering a very prickly yet courteous verbal assault which ended with me saying “This isn’t your *&*% country club where you get to decided what everyone looks like. You are the worst sort of Christian.” etc. - Not my finest moment. My friend doesn’t attend anymore and the guy doesn’t go to the 9:30 service anymore. I guess this makes us even. Sort of.
I think the bitter taste the experience left has to do with the fact that this jerk proved my friend right about what he thought church-goers were like. I really wish God hadn’t let that happen, but he did.
I contacted the pastors about the incident and they were ashamed and apologetic for the event. I’m glad they agreed with me and I obviously don’t hold them personally responsible for individual member’s actions. Over the next couple weeks I noticed that an African American wore a hat and nobody bothered him. Then there were some obviously homeless people who showed up to church and people fell all over them with courtesy. The hypocrisy of people was making me sick.
So the next time communion came around I didn’t go up with the congregation and I still don’t. It’s funny how something that used to be so good and so simple is now complicated. I don’t plan on taking communion ever again at this point. God made the table, but people have messed it up.
Temple, it really all comes down to your personal relationship with God. Don’t let people muddy the waters for you. It can mess up something beautiful.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Friday, November 30, 2012
11/30/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I watched the movie The Hunger Games last night. It was pretty good. I read the first book in the series and enjoyed it. The day before I went over to a friends house and saw Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom. I enjoyed that too. When you have as many children as I do, you don't have much left in the tank at night. Movies make great passive entertainment.
The Hunger Games was about a rich central society that squelched uprisings by having yearly lottery that selected children as area representatives to kill each other off in a game. Sound like fun? I saw this movie was kind of the same as a foreign film I saw a while ago called Battle Royale. It just goes to show you that there is nothing new under the sun.
Moonrise Kingdom was a 'coming of age' film. ahem. That means it's about children who are in a transitional phase. It was excellent. Anderson makes movies that are so beautifully shot that you almost don't need a story since you're too busy looking at the scenery. The film was a little uncomfortable to watch at times, but that's kind of the point. I've seen a lot of these types films done by foreign directors and didn't feel the same way. Maybe deep inside I feel only French people can have coming of age moments. In America you're supposed to just work three jobs and chase that dream. You don't have time for all that life nonsense. I'm kidding. Sort of.
This morning I was giving the baby a bath in the sink when our three year old said he had to go potty.
He's working on going poop in the potty. It's going alright. I was in a dilemma since he needs help with going potty. I had to choose between letting the baby drown in the sink or cleaning the bathroom after the boy. So I left the baby and tended to the three-year-old. I will miss him dearly. Just kidding.
I finished with the baby and checked on the kid in the bathroom.
There was poop all over the floor, toilet and on him. It was pretty gross. Usually I clean up after children. This was the first time I cleaned on my way to get to the child. When I got to him I picked him up and had him stand in the sink and hosed him off with the sink sprayer. When he was clean enough I put him in the bath. I was seriously grossed out. Because the five of us were already in the bathroom, I threw Elijah in the shower and ended up with four kids all clean and fresh.
It was nice while it lasted.
They had meat, veggies and peanut butter on bagels for lunch. If anyone with a peanut allergy comes within five blocks of our house they will probably drop dead.
I taught the toddler to raise his hands when I say 'Green Bay Packer Touchdown.' I think I'll teach him the discount-double-check move later. Tonight we'll go down to main street for the holiday traditions festival stuff. We'll see all the period Santa's and characters that are associated with the Christmas holiday. Santa, folklore and Dicken's characters only. Nobody who'll offend religious groups.
I love you much and miss you always,
uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I watched the movie The Hunger Games last night. It was pretty good. I read the first book in the series and enjoyed it. The day before I went over to a friends house and saw Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom. I enjoyed that too. When you have as many children as I do, you don't have much left in the tank at night. Movies make great passive entertainment.
The Hunger Games was about a rich central society that squelched uprisings by having yearly lottery that selected children as area representatives to kill each other off in a game. Sound like fun? I saw this movie was kind of the same as a foreign film I saw a while ago called Battle Royale. It just goes to show you that there is nothing new under the sun.
Moonrise Kingdom was a 'coming of age' film. ahem. That means it's about children who are in a transitional phase. It was excellent. Anderson makes movies that are so beautifully shot that you almost don't need a story since you're too busy looking at the scenery. The film was a little uncomfortable to watch at times, but that's kind of the point. I've seen a lot of these types films done by foreign directors and didn't feel the same way. Maybe deep inside I feel only French people can have coming of age moments. In America you're supposed to just work three jobs and chase that dream. You don't have time for all that life nonsense. I'm kidding. Sort of.
This morning I was giving the baby a bath in the sink when our three year old said he had to go potty.
He's working on going poop in the potty. It's going alright. I was in a dilemma since he needs help with going potty. I had to choose between letting the baby drown in the sink or cleaning the bathroom after the boy. So I left the baby and tended to the three-year-old. I will miss him dearly. Just kidding.
I finished with the baby and checked on the kid in the bathroom.
There was poop all over the floor, toilet and on him. It was pretty gross. Usually I clean up after children. This was the first time I cleaned on my way to get to the child. When I got to him I picked him up and had him stand in the sink and hosed him off with the sink sprayer. When he was clean enough I put him in the bath. I was seriously grossed out. Because the five of us were already in the bathroom, I threw Elijah in the shower and ended up with four kids all clean and fresh.
It was nice while it lasted.
They had meat, veggies and peanut butter on bagels for lunch. If anyone with a peanut allergy comes within five blocks of our house they will probably drop dead.
I taught the toddler to raise his hands when I say 'Green Bay Packer Touchdown.' I think I'll teach him the discount-double-check move later. Tonight we'll go down to main street for the holiday traditions festival stuff. We'll see all the period Santa's and characters that are associated with the Christmas holiday. Santa, folklore and Dicken's characters only. Nobody who'll offend religious groups.
I love you much and miss you always,
uncle Justin
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
11/27/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I missed writing to you, but talking to you was better. It was nice having you here. Now that the wonder, happiness and family togetheressness of the holidays are over and we are back to our usual business, I thought I would write you a letter. I enjoy writing to you. It’s a nice break.
Today the little ones are at a visit with their biological dad. The older ones and I had a blast. We missed the baby and toddler, but big kid stuff is soooooooooooo much more fun. The babies being gone, everything seemed to go at a faster pace. The smell around here was better too. Those diapers can be nasty business.
I liked our conversation about cars. I’m thinking back to the cars I’ve owned, some of them nice, some of them didn’t last a month. Here’s what they were going backwards from my current car. This list does not include the Super Beetle or Gremlin project cars. I will also include a notation to what happened to them. Here we go:
Dodge Caravan
Chevy HHR (Inherited from Crystal when traded the Battle Wagon - traded for Caravan because of growing family)
Mercury Grand Marquis - THE BATTLE WAGON (Lost the battle)
Chrysler PT Cruiser (Intoxicated neighbor wrecked it.)
Dodge Daytona (Transmission went. Bought a different car instead of fixing it.)
Chevy Corsica (Totaled by a lady who didn’t look before turning left - I miss this car because it was so reliable.)
Buick Skyhawk (bought the car for a hundred bucks and it lasted a month before it died -money well spent!)
Ford Festiva (blown engine)
Ford LTD (fell asleep at the wheel and wrecked it)
Just for fun - Here are your Aunt Crystals
Volkswagen New Beetle
Chevy HHR (traded in for a van)
Chrysler PT Cruiser (electrical fried out - $5000 fix! No thank you. Goodbye car.)
Ford Escort (gave to your aunt and uncle.
Volkswagen Cabriolet (My dad tried to pull it out of the mud and ripped the undercarriage)
Honda CRX (hit from behind and totaled)I’ve had more cars than your Aunt Crystal. I’ve bought some pretty interesting rides in my day. Thank goodness Wisconsin didn’t have safety or emissions inspections. You Aunt Crystal just said the list is a lot like old boyfriends. I don’t know what that means. I don’t have any old boyfriends.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I missed writing to you, but talking to you was better. It was nice having you here. Now that the wonder, happiness and family togetheressness of the holidays are over and we are back to our usual business, I thought I would write you a letter. I enjoy writing to you. It’s a nice break.
Today the little ones are at a visit with their biological dad. The older ones and I had a blast. We missed the baby and toddler, but big kid stuff is soooooooooooo much more fun. The babies being gone, everything seemed to go at a faster pace. The smell around here was better too. Those diapers can be nasty business.
I liked our conversation about cars. I’m thinking back to the cars I’ve owned, some of them nice, some of them didn’t last a month. Here’s what they were going backwards from my current car. This list does not include the Super Beetle or Gremlin project cars. I will also include a notation to what happened to them. Here we go:
Dodge Caravan
Chevy HHR (Inherited from Crystal when traded the Battle Wagon - traded for Caravan because of growing family)
Mercury Grand Marquis - THE BATTLE WAGON (Lost the battle)
Chrysler PT Cruiser (Intoxicated neighbor wrecked it.)
Dodge Daytona (Transmission went. Bought a different car instead of fixing it.)
Chevy Corsica (Totaled by a lady who didn’t look before turning left - I miss this car because it was so reliable.)
Buick Skyhawk (bought the car for a hundred bucks and it lasted a month before it died -money well spent!)
Ford Festiva (blown engine)
Ford LTD (fell asleep at the wheel and wrecked it)
Just for fun - Here are your Aunt Crystals
Volkswagen New Beetle
Chevy HHR (traded in for a van)
Chrysler PT Cruiser (electrical fried out - $5000 fix! No thank you. Goodbye car.)
Ford Escort (gave to your aunt and uncle.
Volkswagen Cabriolet (My dad tried to pull it out of the mud and ripped the undercarriage)
Honda CRX (hit from behind and totaled)I’ve had more cars than your Aunt Crystal. I’ve bought some pretty interesting rides in my day. Thank goodness Wisconsin didn’t have safety or emissions inspections. You Aunt Crystal just said the list is a lot like old boyfriends. I don’t know what that means. I don’t have any old boyfriends.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
11/21/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. In stewing over hurting someones feelings yesterday, I've come to the realization that two events seem to coincide in my life. I don't believe in omen's or anything like that, it just occurred to me while brooding and I would like to share.
I would like to talk to you about seeking forgiveness and roadkill.
I'm not speaking about asking forgiveness of an animal after running it them. I really don't see myself asking Mr. Kibbles' mangled animal body for forgiveness. I talking about two separate events. More specifically, I'm talking about seeking forgiveness and not receiving it. These types of events tend to stick out in your mind.
A couple days ago I ran over a cat. We have a couple strays around here. We live in an area that has an older population, several of which leave out bowls of food and water for the cats. When we moved into our home back in 2006 we found two old bowls of moldy cat food under the porch. For awhile a grey cat would stop by and mew at the front door. That explained how our dog got fleas.
Anyway I hit one of those little buggers when I turned out of our alley. I didn't mean too. It ran out in front of my car. I couldn't stop in time and there was nowhere to swerve. Dead cat. It wasn't the grey one. It was the one I affectionately referred to as 'that orange one.' Since then I have hurt someones feelings, inadvertently, and have yet to be forgiven.
There was another time back in high school where I was camping with my friend Brian. We were driving at night out to our campsite in the Wisconsin nowhere. We were on a small two lane highway and all of a sudden out of the darkness came a flash of several eyes reflecting white from my headlights. Then came a series of several bumps.
The next day Brian and I saw the wreckage. It seemed that a large group of Raccoons were crossing the highway at the same time we were passing through. It was pretty gross. That same day we went to a state park that I was very fond of since my Uncle used to take me there camping as a kid. Since we weren't spending the night, I didn't think I needed to check-in at the state park office. I was wrong. We drove in, parked the car and spent some time hiking the park trails. When we went back to the car, there was a park employee there writing a ticket. I explained myself, apologized and asked for forgiveness. She told me it was okay. She took my license to copy and a small daily park fee. She tore up the ticket and told us to enjoy our day. We went back to exploring the park.
When we returned there was a state trooper parked next to our car. It turned out that she didn't really forgive us at all. She just went back to her office and called the police. He wrote me a ticket that was double what she had written. He didn't believe my explanation and laughed at my apology. Before he left he pointed at the Christian symbol I had on the back of my car.
"I don't see how you can have this on your car," he said. "You can't claim you're a Christian when you act like you do."
Maybe my next novel should be called "Roadkill and the Unforgiven." Maybe not.
Once I hit a bird on the highway. It just kind of flew into my grill and bounced upwards and over my car. Physics being what they are, the bird seemed to suspend in the air for a moment before I lost sight of it. The day before that I told a girl that I would be with her forever. That forever lasted about 21 hours. An old girlfriend that had broken up with me a few months ago came back and wanted to get back together. You would know her as your Aunt Crystal.
The other girl. She has yet to forgive me and I don't think she ever will. The next time my car runs over a creature great or small, I will have to really watch my behavior.
Forgiveness, Temple, is an opportunity to practice God in small. Don't get me wrong - All the responsibility isn't on the forgiver. The one seeking forgiveness needs to be repentant. Meaning there is a marked attempt at a change in behavior. If someone seeks forgiveness, but doesn't change. They really aren't looking for forgiveness - they are looking for blanket acceptance. Even if that means at your expense.
Anyway, I'm sure you can think of a few times where people didn't forgive you when you asked for it. There's really not much you can do about that. It hurts - it's also a good lesson for when you have the opportunity to forgive. When someone doesn't forgive you, it feels like your sin sticks to you. There is a part of you that is unable to move on since the other person is unwilling to provide closure. They are telling you that your relationship isn't worth repairing. They are holding a something, even a mistake, against you and will not drop it. Ever. You tend to remember those times more than the times you received mercy. Funny how that works.
I feel very thankful that God isn't like that. God doesn't hold anything against you. If you seek forgiveness you'll find it every time. No matter what. He even paid for your sins himself. Makes you feel pretty worthwhile, at least it does for me.
I would also like to add that forgiveness is an action - not a feeling. You can forgive even though you are still working through pain. Forgiving a person doesn't mean they are automatically your best friend. Forgiving a person doesn't make the ramifications of what they did go away. I've said, "I forgive you" through clenched teeth a couple times and it still counted. I'm sure I'll feel better after a couple days in good company and enjoyment of the holiday.
I will see you tomorrow.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. In stewing over hurting someones feelings yesterday, I've come to the realization that two events seem to coincide in my life. I don't believe in omen's or anything like that, it just occurred to me while brooding and I would like to share.
I would like to talk to you about seeking forgiveness and roadkill.
I'm not speaking about asking forgiveness of an animal after running it them. I really don't see myself asking Mr. Kibbles' mangled animal body for forgiveness. I talking about two separate events. More specifically, I'm talking about seeking forgiveness and not receiving it. These types of events tend to stick out in your mind.
A couple days ago I ran over a cat. We have a couple strays around here. We live in an area that has an older population, several of which leave out bowls of food and water for the cats. When we moved into our home back in 2006 we found two old bowls of moldy cat food under the porch. For awhile a grey cat would stop by and mew at the front door. That explained how our dog got fleas.
Anyway I hit one of those little buggers when I turned out of our alley. I didn't mean too. It ran out in front of my car. I couldn't stop in time and there was nowhere to swerve. Dead cat. It wasn't the grey one. It was the one I affectionately referred to as 'that orange one.' Since then I have hurt someones feelings, inadvertently, and have yet to be forgiven.
There was another time back in high school where I was camping with my friend Brian. We were driving at night out to our campsite in the Wisconsin nowhere. We were on a small two lane highway and all of a sudden out of the darkness came a flash of several eyes reflecting white from my headlights. Then came a series of several bumps.
The next day Brian and I saw the wreckage. It seemed that a large group of Raccoons were crossing the highway at the same time we were passing through. It was pretty gross. That same day we went to a state park that I was very fond of since my Uncle used to take me there camping as a kid. Since we weren't spending the night, I didn't think I needed to check-in at the state park office. I was wrong. We drove in, parked the car and spent some time hiking the park trails. When we went back to the car, there was a park employee there writing a ticket. I explained myself, apologized and asked for forgiveness. She told me it was okay. She took my license to copy and a small daily park fee. She tore up the ticket and told us to enjoy our day. We went back to exploring the park.
When we returned there was a state trooper parked next to our car. It turned out that she didn't really forgive us at all. She just went back to her office and called the police. He wrote me a ticket that was double what she had written. He didn't believe my explanation and laughed at my apology. Before he left he pointed at the Christian symbol I had on the back of my car.
"I don't see how you can have this on your car," he said. "You can't claim you're a Christian when you act like you do."
Maybe my next novel should be called "Roadkill and the Unforgiven." Maybe not.
Once I hit a bird on the highway. It just kind of flew into my grill and bounced upwards and over my car. Physics being what they are, the bird seemed to suspend in the air for a moment before I lost sight of it. The day before that I told a girl that I would be with her forever. That forever lasted about 21 hours. An old girlfriend that had broken up with me a few months ago came back and wanted to get back together. You would know her as your Aunt Crystal.
The other girl. She has yet to forgive me and I don't think she ever will. The next time my car runs over a creature great or small, I will have to really watch my behavior.
Forgiveness, Temple, is an opportunity to practice God in small. Don't get me wrong - All the responsibility isn't on the forgiver. The one seeking forgiveness needs to be repentant. Meaning there is a marked attempt at a change in behavior. If someone seeks forgiveness, but doesn't change. They really aren't looking for forgiveness - they are looking for blanket acceptance. Even if that means at your expense.
Anyway, I'm sure you can think of a few times where people didn't forgive you when you asked for it. There's really not much you can do about that. It hurts - it's also a good lesson for when you have the opportunity to forgive. When someone doesn't forgive you, it feels like your sin sticks to you. There is a part of you that is unable to move on since the other person is unwilling to provide closure. They are telling you that your relationship isn't worth repairing. They are holding a something, even a mistake, against you and will not drop it. Ever. You tend to remember those times more than the times you received mercy. Funny how that works.
I feel very thankful that God isn't like that. God doesn't hold anything against you. If you seek forgiveness you'll find it every time. No matter what. He even paid for your sins himself. Makes you feel pretty worthwhile, at least it does for me.
I would also like to add that forgiveness is an action - not a feeling. You can forgive even though you are still working through pain. Forgiving a person doesn't mean they are automatically your best friend. Forgiving a person doesn't make the ramifications of what they did go away. I've said, "I forgive you" through clenched teeth a couple times and it still counted. I'm sure I'll feel better after a couple days in good company and enjoyment of the holiday.
I will see you tomorrow.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
11/20/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I screwed up today. Since I'm home now and don't interact with as many adults as I used too, I'm obsessing about it. Here's what happened. I wrote on the 18th in my letter to you that my literary agent and I had 'acrimoniously' parted ways. I didn't mean that. Acrimoniously isn't a positive word and there has been nothing but positive in every interaction I've had with her, until today and it's my fault.
Here's what's going on - I've had some recent personal changes that have made it difficult to be able to afford to pay my agent, per our contract, the money it takes to send out queries and manuscripts to her contacts in publishing companies. Before I go on I would like to point out to the fifty or so people who read these letters every day, that paying an agent certain costs associated with copying and sending out query packages isn't a ridiculous thing to do. There is a general consensus surrounding agents that if you have to pay any costs the agent isn't a good one. These people say that if the agent is reputable, they won't take any money until the work sells and they get their percentage.
I used to have an agent like that. She is now out of business.
Times are tough right now and the publishing business suffers just like the rest of us. Publishing houses, more than ever, are wary of investing in a new author because there is not guarantee on their investment. Why publish somebody nobody has ever heard about when you can find something that is a sure sell? Get my drift? We'll continue -
Gone are the days where a book can be turned in unedited and hand-written on coffee stained legal pads. Publishers want a polished and finished project. Nothing else will be considered. When I first sent my work to my current agent she told me she wanted the project, but it needed editing. She offered to edit it herself, for a fee and then would represent it. Her price was reasonable, but more than I could afford. She told me that if I had the work edited by someone else, she would still take it for representation. Several months later I found an editor that was looking for new clients, and was offering to edit for half of what she normally charges.
I could afford that and took her up on the offer. Several weeks later, I got back my edited novel. It took me several more weeks to make the changes and then I brought it back to the agent. She read the book again and, true to her word, she offered to represent my novel. I've invested a lot of money in myself and my work and I see paying these monthly charges as part of my investment. If the book sells, I will easily make the money back and more.
In my contract are certain charges that I pay in order to assist in the costs of sending out packages to publishers. These costs are reasonable. What comes out of it is professional and goes directly to my agent's contacts within the publishing houses. These are people who wouldn't look twice at anything I did, unless they saw my agent's name on it. They trust my agent not to waste their time, so my book gets read.
So my agent, because she is a kind person, was willing to let me out of our contract. She offered me well wishes and told me to get in contact with her if anything changed financially in the future.
Then she read the blog post.
Now she's upset and is unwilling to let me out of the contract, because she feels I've lied to her. I've tried calling her, Facebook messaging her, and e-mailing her and as of this writing haven't gotten a response. I said something stupid and am trying to make up for it. It's kind of like dating.
This reminds me of a story about when I was in second grade. Back in school I called another kid a really nasty word and didn't know it. I know you're not a little kid anymore and know more swear words than I would like to believe, but you may not know this one - so I won't write it here.
I was just playing around with the kid's name and suddenly his face dropped.
"I never thought you would call me that," he said. He went to go tell the teacher. As he was ratting me out I called across the crowded room.
"I just said ****! I said ****! There's nothing wrong with ****!"
The teacher took me aside and explained to me the meaning behind what I said. I was embarrassed, but on the brighter side I probably gave her a story to tell her friends for the rest of her life.
The mistake I made on the previous blog post is even more embarrassing because when you throw around big words you should really know what they mean. I should have learned something in second grade.
We'll I'm off to check me messages and hopefully she'll forgive me and still be willing to help. We'll see. Sometimes mistakes cost you. I made one. I plan on learning from it.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I screwed up today. Since I'm home now and don't interact with as many adults as I used too, I'm obsessing about it. Here's what happened. I wrote on the 18th in my letter to you that my literary agent and I had 'acrimoniously' parted ways. I didn't mean that. Acrimoniously isn't a positive word and there has been nothing but positive in every interaction I've had with her, until today and it's my fault.
Here's what's going on - I've had some recent personal changes that have made it difficult to be able to afford to pay my agent, per our contract, the money it takes to send out queries and manuscripts to her contacts in publishing companies. Before I go on I would like to point out to the fifty or so people who read these letters every day, that paying an agent certain costs associated with copying and sending out query packages isn't a ridiculous thing to do. There is a general consensus surrounding agents that if you have to pay any costs the agent isn't a good one. These people say that if the agent is reputable, they won't take any money until the work sells and they get their percentage.
I used to have an agent like that. She is now out of business.
Times are tough right now and the publishing business suffers just like the rest of us. Publishing houses, more than ever, are wary of investing in a new author because there is not guarantee on their investment. Why publish somebody nobody has ever heard about when you can find something that is a sure sell? Get my drift? We'll continue -
Gone are the days where a book can be turned in unedited and hand-written on coffee stained legal pads. Publishers want a polished and finished project. Nothing else will be considered. When I first sent my work to my current agent she told me she wanted the project, but it needed editing. She offered to edit it herself, for a fee and then would represent it. Her price was reasonable, but more than I could afford. She told me that if I had the work edited by someone else, she would still take it for representation. Several months later I found an editor that was looking for new clients, and was offering to edit for half of what she normally charges.
I could afford that and took her up on the offer. Several weeks later, I got back my edited novel. It took me several more weeks to make the changes and then I brought it back to the agent. She read the book again and, true to her word, she offered to represent my novel. I've invested a lot of money in myself and my work and I see paying these monthly charges as part of my investment. If the book sells, I will easily make the money back and more.
In my contract are certain charges that I pay in order to assist in the costs of sending out packages to publishers. These costs are reasonable. What comes out of it is professional and goes directly to my agent's contacts within the publishing houses. These are people who wouldn't look twice at anything I did, unless they saw my agent's name on it. They trust my agent not to waste their time, so my book gets read.
So my agent, because she is a kind person, was willing to let me out of our contract. She offered me well wishes and told me to get in contact with her if anything changed financially in the future.
Then she read the blog post.
Now she's upset and is unwilling to let me out of the contract, because she feels I've lied to her. I've tried calling her, Facebook messaging her, and e-mailing her and as of this writing haven't gotten a response. I said something stupid and am trying to make up for it. It's kind of like dating.
This reminds me of a story about when I was in second grade. Back in school I called another kid a really nasty word and didn't know it. I know you're not a little kid anymore and know more swear words than I would like to believe, but you may not know this one - so I won't write it here.
I was just playing around with the kid's name and suddenly his face dropped.
"I never thought you would call me that," he said. He went to go tell the teacher. As he was ratting me out I called across the crowded room.
"I just said ****! I said ****! There's nothing wrong with ****!"
The teacher took me aside and explained to me the meaning behind what I said. I was embarrassed, but on the brighter side I probably gave her a story to tell her friends for the rest of her life.
The mistake I made on the previous blog post is even more embarrassing because when you throw around big words you should really know what they mean. I should have learned something in second grade.
We'll I'm off to check me messages and hopefully she'll forgive me and still be willing to help. We'll see. Sometimes mistakes cost you. I made one. I plan on learning from it.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Sunday, November 18, 2012
11/18/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I'm feeling a little discouraged today. My literary agent and I have harmoniously parted ways. I don't want to really bore you with the details, but this pretty much brings me back to square one with my writing. Oh well, Kurt Vonnegut became famous at 47 so I plan on slugging away for at least another fifteen years before I think about hanging it up.
The only problem is I'm not Kurt Vonnegut.
Anyway, I would like to talk to you a bit about failure. I would like to tell you a bit of a grown up story. Hopefully we'll both learn something.
I left college without finishing a degree and went into the workforce. College was someplace I always knew I was going to do, but when I got there I didn't apply myself and felt very lost. If I could offer you a bit of advice, even if you feel lost at college (if you decide to go) I would buckle down and complete you degree. Life is easier when you have one. There are millions of people who don't have degrees that are successful and lead happy and productive lives. I don't want you do get me wrong. But people who have advanced schooling degrees tend to obtain better jobs and make more money. For awhile after I left school I was underemployed - and let me tell you that's a tough place to be.
I was living in Milwaukee when I left a job at a bank for another job that promised more money and better hours. That job fell through and I ended up working at a liquor store. Even though I was working full time I wasn't making nearly enough money to live. I'm not talking about having to switch to a generic brand of caviar - I mean not enough money to pay rent and eat.
I needed another job and I prayed hard to find one. I applyed for several and couldn't find employment that would work with the hours at my other job and was very much at a loss of what to do. Then on a whim I opened up a copy of the Riverfront times and saw an ad to work as a bouncer/doorman for a new nightclub.
I walked in and applyed for the job and got it. I found it pretty funny that God blessed my prayers by making me a bouncer. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Now, I was working two jobs totaling around seventy hours a week and was still having trouble paying my meager bills. I was living in a bad neighborhood in Milwaukee. I could paint you a little picture of where I was living by telling you that once I was pulled over and cuffed by the police who thought I was in the neighborhood to buy drugs. It took a litte convincing to make them belive that I, in fact, lived there. Anyway, I really didn't have much going for me except my beautiful, smart, talented girlfriend who was dilligently working her way through school at Concordia. You would know her as your Aunt Crystal.
I needed to make money and I didn't have any more hours a week that I could give to earn it. So I turned to fighting. I fought toughman contests, Milwaukee Rumble and other smaller events in the area. I told your Aunt Crystal that I was boxing/kickboxing and God bless her, she thought I was taking an areobics class. I let her keep thinking that and did what I had to do.
You are now, I'm sure, old enough to notice ads with scanitly clad women plastered everywhere. The way women protitute themselves to make money, to me, is in the same vein as men beating each other to a pulp to satisfy a bloodthirsty audience.
I know one thing - God didn't make me a good fighter.
I lost more than I won and didn't make much money doing it, but the promise of a good payday kept me at it. The last time I fought was in 2006, which was my worst fight and the one seen by the most of my family and friends. I was sitting the back room with the rest of the fighters as we were lead out like cattle one bout after another. The kickboxing event was tournement style and I would fight once the first night and as many as many as four times the next, depending of if I kept winning or not. That night the luck of the draw was not with me as I fought a guy called 'the rock' (not the WWE wrestler) who knocked me unconscious in the first minute of the first round. I went home hurt and the next day painfully rolled out of bed, put a piece of tape over my cut eye and went to work.
It was a terrible feeling. I felt very worthless. When your time isn't worth much and you make your body worth even less - there isn't much left for you.
Now I have a family with secure employment and livable income. I have a home and a credit score in the mid 700's, something I never thought I would have. I work very hard, but feel like there is something more for me out there. I feel there is something bigger that I'm supposed to accomplish. What worries me is that on my deathbed I'll be surrounded by people who love me and have led as good a life as I could and still be thinking, "Is this it?"
This worries me becuase I have a feeling that I'll get into heaven and God will welcome me by calling me and 'ungrateful little sot' or something - and he will be right.
It's important, my delightful niece, that you work hard and do your very best to accomplish your goals and make your life worthwhile. You have to be careful, as I very much do, with how you define failure. You may not really be failing at all. The only one telling you that you are a failure is you. Nobody - not even the people that love you the most - can help you with that. You have to find your worth yourself. If not, then even a thousand sounding your praises with fall deaf in your ears.
I know that even if I never succeed at getting a book published that God will be happy with my hard work and efforts of creation. I'm pretty sure he likes people who create things. He can relate.
Just remember, Temple, that no matter what you do, I love you. You are an important and worthwhile person. You are surrounded by people who love you and would do anything to keep you safe. Everyone gets discouraged, especially when things don't happen in the timeframe that one sets for themselves. It's important to realize that all we have is time until we don't have it anymore. All we can do is try, Temple. I'm going to keep trying.
Maybe my work will be published post-humously and my grandchildren will reap the benefits. Won't that be nice - for those ungrateful little sots. :)
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I'm feeling a little discouraged today. My literary agent and I have harmoniously parted ways. I don't want to really bore you with the details, but this pretty much brings me back to square one with my writing. Oh well, Kurt Vonnegut became famous at 47 so I plan on slugging away for at least another fifteen years before I think about hanging it up.
The only problem is I'm not Kurt Vonnegut.
Anyway, I would like to talk to you a bit about failure. I would like to tell you a bit of a grown up story. Hopefully we'll both learn something.
I left college without finishing a degree and went into the workforce. College was someplace I always knew I was going to do, but when I got there I didn't apply myself and felt very lost. If I could offer you a bit of advice, even if you feel lost at college (if you decide to go) I would buckle down and complete you degree. Life is easier when you have one. There are millions of people who don't have degrees that are successful and lead happy and productive lives. I don't want you do get me wrong. But people who have advanced schooling degrees tend to obtain better jobs and make more money. For awhile after I left school I was underemployed - and let me tell you that's a tough place to be.
I was living in Milwaukee when I left a job at a bank for another job that promised more money and better hours. That job fell through and I ended up working at a liquor store. Even though I was working full time I wasn't making nearly enough money to live. I'm not talking about having to switch to a generic brand of caviar - I mean not enough money to pay rent and eat.
I needed another job and I prayed hard to find one. I applyed for several and couldn't find employment that would work with the hours at my other job and was very much at a loss of what to do. Then on a whim I opened up a copy of the Riverfront times and saw an ad to work as a bouncer/doorman for a new nightclub.
I walked in and applyed for the job and got it. I found it pretty funny that God blessed my prayers by making me a bouncer. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Now, I was working two jobs totaling around seventy hours a week and was still having trouble paying my meager bills. I was living in a bad neighborhood in Milwaukee. I could paint you a little picture of where I was living by telling you that once I was pulled over and cuffed by the police who thought I was in the neighborhood to buy drugs. It took a litte convincing to make them belive that I, in fact, lived there. Anyway, I really didn't have much going for me except my beautiful, smart, talented girlfriend who was dilligently working her way through school at Concordia. You would know her as your Aunt Crystal.
I needed to make money and I didn't have any more hours a week that I could give to earn it. So I turned to fighting. I fought toughman contests, Milwaukee Rumble and other smaller events in the area. I told your Aunt Crystal that I was boxing/kickboxing and God bless her, she thought I was taking an areobics class. I let her keep thinking that and did what I had to do.
You are now, I'm sure, old enough to notice ads with scanitly clad women plastered everywhere. The way women protitute themselves to make money, to me, is in the same vein as men beating each other to a pulp to satisfy a bloodthirsty audience.
I know one thing - God didn't make me a good fighter.
I lost more than I won and didn't make much money doing it, but the promise of a good payday kept me at it. The last time I fought was in 2006, which was my worst fight and the one seen by the most of my family and friends. I was sitting the back room with the rest of the fighters as we were lead out like cattle one bout after another. The kickboxing event was tournement style and I would fight once the first night and as many as many as four times the next, depending of if I kept winning or not. That night the luck of the draw was not with me as I fought a guy called 'the rock' (not the WWE wrestler) who knocked me unconscious in the first minute of the first round. I went home hurt and the next day painfully rolled out of bed, put a piece of tape over my cut eye and went to work.
It was a terrible feeling. I felt very worthless. When your time isn't worth much and you make your body worth even less - there isn't much left for you.
Now I have a family with secure employment and livable income. I have a home and a credit score in the mid 700's, something I never thought I would have. I work very hard, but feel like there is something more for me out there. I feel there is something bigger that I'm supposed to accomplish. What worries me is that on my deathbed I'll be surrounded by people who love me and have led as good a life as I could and still be thinking, "Is this it?"
This worries me becuase I have a feeling that I'll get into heaven and God will welcome me by calling me and 'ungrateful little sot' or something - and he will be right.
It's important, my delightful niece, that you work hard and do your very best to accomplish your goals and make your life worthwhile. You have to be careful, as I very much do, with how you define failure. You may not really be failing at all. The only one telling you that you are a failure is you. Nobody - not even the people that love you the most - can help you with that. You have to find your worth yourself. If not, then even a thousand sounding your praises with fall deaf in your ears.
I know that even if I never succeed at getting a book published that God will be happy with my hard work and efforts of creation. I'm pretty sure he likes people who create things. He can relate.
Just remember, Temple, that no matter what you do, I love you. You are an important and worthwhile person. You are surrounded by people who love you and would do anything to keep you safe. Everyone gets discouraged, especially when things don't happen in the timeframe that one sets for themselves. It's important to realize that all we have is time until we don't have it anymore. All we can do is try, Temple. I'm going to keep trying.
Maybe my work will be published post-humously and my grandchildren will reap the benefits. Won't that be nice - for those ungrateful little sots. :)
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Friday, November 16, 2012
11/16/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I was at the grocery store and bought food for Thanksgiving and forgot what people eat at the meal. Now, I'm not an idiot. I got the main stuff, Turkey, stuffing, gravy, potatoes and libations. I didn't get pie - your grandma is bringing that. Then I hit a bit of a wall. I'm not really sure what to make and serve for side dishes.
I'm missing a primary, integral ingredient to any Thanksgiving meal and I think it's due to the fact that it's only been the past two years we've had it at our house. I'm missing the plethora of relatives that all bring their 'signature' side dishes.
You know what I'm talking about.
We will have a large group of people here. Our family, the Johnson's, You and anyone lucky enough to tag along with you from Illinois, and maybe a few couples from our small group. This is still about a week to go - we may even have more show up. I don't know. What I do know, is that we don't have several great-aunt-Hilda types who bring their famous rhubarb trifle every year.
I need more great-aunt-Hilda's. Work on that for me.
Before my family grew beyond my long road trip patience capacity level, we used to go up to Green Bay and spend Thanksgiving with my family. I can tell you I miss the trip very much. It's really the only time, apart from yearly reunions, that we see each other. You're now probably thinking that since we have reunions every year that Thanksgiving isn't the ONLY time everyone gets together. Here's how this works. Since our family didn't used to have reunions every year, Thanksgiving was actually the only time everyone was able to get together. Since that was how things used to be, the yearly family reunions are merely riders on the bill of singular family togetherness gatherings.
Have I lost you yet? I'm a bit muddled myself. It makes sense when you're old. Sort of.
Anyway - dang this letter is way longer than I thought it would be - for a bit my Uncle Tom used to bring his girlfriend Kate to our Thanksgiving meals. She was a very nice and quiet person, and she was the Generalissimo of Thanksgiving side-dishes. There are so many side-dishes of wonderment I could regale you with, but one sticks out in my mind with vapid fervor. It was jello - wait for it - a completely decorated swimming pool with diving boards and teddy graham swimmers. BAM! Thanksgiving just got Thanksgivinger.
Now, I love my Uncle Tom very much. He is hands down the funniest person alive on the planet. He's very quiet, that's why you have to sit close. Something happens or somebody says something and he slides in a little comment that is so insipidly (I mean that in a good way) clever that I just burst with mirth. His girlfriend Kate never really said much. In fact, I never remember her saying anything really. Her silence was absconded only once every year. She was a conversational sniper that would make me jump once a year without fail. She did it with three words:
"I made this!"
The family used to admire her side-dish handiwork as a part of usual small talk. When this began to happen I would start looking over my shoulder. I knew it was coming. I just didn't know when. Suddenly, while I was pulling burning rolls out of the oven or something, a side comment on her food would make her gush forth is sudden totalitarian nationalist pride "I MADE THIS!"
It was like God after making the duck-billed platypus.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I was at the grocery store and bought food for Thanksgiving and forgot what people eat at the meal. Now, I'm not an idiot. I got the main stuff, Turkey, stuffing, gravy, potatoes and libations. I didn't get pie - your grandma is bringing that. Then I hit a bit of a wall. I'm not really sure what to make and serve for side dishes.
I'm missing a primary, integral ingredient to any Thanksgiving meal and I think it's due to the fact that it's only been the past two years we've had it at our house. I'm missing the plethora of relatives that all bring their 'signature' side dishes.
You know what I'm talking about.
We will have a large group of people here. Our family, the Johnson's, You and anyone lucky enough to tag along with you from Illinois, and maybe a few couples from our small group. This is still about a week to go - we may even have more show up. I don't know. What I do know, is that we don't have several great-aunt-Hilda types who bring their famous rhubarb trifle every year.
I need more great-aunt-Hilda's. Work on that for me.
Before my family grew beyond my long road trip patience capacity level, we used to go up to Green Bay and spend Thanksgiving with my family. I can tell you I miss the trip very much. It's really the only time, apart from yearly reunions, that we see each other. You're now probably thinking that since we have reunions every year that Thanksgiving isn't the ONLY time everyone gets together. Here's how this works. Since our family didn't used to have reunions every year, Thanksgiving was actually the only time everyone was able to get together. Since that was how things used to be, the yearly family reunions are merely riders on the bill of singular family togetherness gatherings.
Have I lost you yet? I'm a bit muddled myself. It makes sense when you're old. Sort of.
Anyway - dang this letter is way longer than I thought it would be - for a bit my Uncle Tom used to bring his girlfriend Kate to our Thanksgiving meals. She was a very nice and quiet person, and she was the Generalissimo of Thanksgiving side-dishes. There are so many side-dishes of wonderment I could regale you with, but one sticks out in my mind with vapid fervor. It was jello - wait for it - a completely decorated swimming pool with diving boards and teddy graham swimmers. BAM! Thanksgiving just got Thanksgivinger.
Now, I love my Uncle Tom very much. He is hands down the funniest person alive on the planet. He's very quiet, that's why you have to sit close. Something happens or somebody says something and he slides in a little comment that is so insipidly (I mean that in a good way) clever that I just burst with mirth. His girlfriend Kate never really said much. In fact, I never remember her saying anything really. Her silence was absconded only once every year. She was a conversational sniper that would make me jump once a year without fail. She did it with three words:
"I made this!"
The family used to admire her side-dish handiwork as a part of usual small talk. When this began to happen I would start looking over my shoulder. I knew it was coming. I just didn't know when. Suddenly, while I was pulling burning rolls out of the oven or something, a side comment on her food would make her gush forth is sudden totalitarian nationalist pride "I MADE THIS!"
It was like God after making the duck-billed platypus.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)