The Passion of St. Valentine

As my wife and I drove toward Wicker Park last night to celebrate our ninth Valentine's Day, we reminisced on the ways we've celebrated over the last near decade. The conclusion we came to was that we suck at Valentine's Day. Including the most recent one, we could only come up with four Valentines of note, and those were fairly unexciting. One included an international box of moldy rose petals, another a movie night.

Summer Loving - Wedded Bliss

A few weeks ago, I had the honor of being present at the wedding of two very good friends. The ceremony, though not held in some prescribed hallowed hall with preordained sanctity, was one of the most beautiful spiritual moments I have seen in quite a while.

Dog is Love

As my wife and I drifted to sleep last night, we pondered the affections of our droopy eyed hound. My wife mused,

"Do you think she actually loves me? You know, can dogs actually love humans?"


Love. Comin' at you!

"Sure. Look at that face - those lurching eyebrows and doleful peepers. Looks like love to me." I said this with my own eyelids drifting to their nocturnal rest.

"Yeah, but do dogs have the ability to love?"

"I believe so...at some level. Cats, on the other hand, I'm not so sure. Hobbes, for instance, has no ability to love in his body. Only loathing." *

A thoughtful silence settled over us. I began to nod off, while my wife deliberated.

"Why are dogs and cats so different?"

"What kind of question is that?! Why are...giraffes and orangutans so different?!" Sleep was not in my immediate future.

"Yeah, but cats and dogs live in houses together."

"So do people and mice! And they're very different. On second thought, you know what? They're actually not. Genomically, mice and humans have many similarities. That's why scientists grow human ears on the backs of mice - and mice on the backs of human ears. You should see the rodent growing out of my ear!"

 

Ear, meet Mouse. Mouse, Ear.



"They do not! Wait, they do? That is disgusting...why would they grow a human ear on the back of a poor little mouse?"

I don't know! For people who have no ears. You know...ear transplants or something."

With that, we finally settled into a blissful rest.

Thank you science, for settling the question of "Do dogs have the ability to love?"

*Hobbes is the cat with which we currently share residence. This arrangement is against my will and better judgement, but I tolerate his presence.
I wish he would return the favor, but alas, he does not.

Love: A Retrospective

Two years ago, on a cool September Saturday, I publicly and state-sanctimoniously dedicated my life to the woman of my dreams. Our marriage was an exhaustingly joyous occasion, filled with kind words, bad dancing, and tear-filled love.

This weekend, to commemorate that twelfth day of September, Annie and I decided to spend a couple days in Michigan, enjoying naught but the company of ourselves, and our little Basset Hound, Ellie.

Sherman's Ice Cream. Seriously Delicious.

The weekend was filled with beach walks, afternoon naps, and Sherman's Ice Cream. Sprinkle in some living room-dancing and outdoor showers, and it was exactly the restful weekend that we needed.

This weekend also gave me the opportunity to reflect on what our marriage means to me. We've been a committed couple for about seven years, and as our lives have changed, so to have our ideas on what it means to be a loving half of a successful marriage. Here are some of the things that I've determined. Consider it a letter to a younger self. Or to the future me. Or whatever:

• Share your ice cream. Even if its the last bite, and you were really looking forward to it.

• When you get into an argument, and you know that you are right, be happy with that knowledge. You will not convince her otherwise and, even if you do, you will only feel bad for making her cry.

• When she's scared, stay awake until she falls asleep. The alternative is a tireless night of semi-conscious deliberation on the feasibility of demonic possession, alien abduction, and/or serial torture.

The Love of My Life.

• Be excited when she has some zany craft project or hair-brained recipe to try. It wont always work out, and will often lead to frustration, an argument, or an expensive purchase that she never uses again. But when it does work, it will be amazing, delicious, and completely worth it.

• Listen to your wife when she tells you not to wear that shirt. Or pants. Or tie. She is looking out for your best interest. And your lack of fashion sense.

• Enjoy those weekend afternoons that you have nothing to do. They become scarce as time goes on, so take advantage of laying around in your underwear, enjoying the company of your love.

• Claim your farts. It's much more noble than blaming them on the dog.

• Walk the dog with your wife. It is a dedicated time where you have nothing else to do but talk. If you don't have a dog, walk your cat. or each other. Just walk.

• Be generous with friends. Your true friends will be generous in return.

The End. Stop Staring.

• Endeavor to wake up at least a few moments before the woman you love, everyday. Look at her face and realize how lucky you are.

And with all of these things, trust that she will do the same. Give selflessly, and if she reciprocates, you'll get it all back in the greatest currency known to man. 

Love. 

(You thought I was going to say Rupees, didn't you?)

Love is a Many Splendid Thing

Love.

The word gets thrown around with reckless abandon.

"I love cheese pizza!"

"I love my Grammy and Pappy!"

"I love Justin Bieber!"

I love to throw up in my mouth when I hear that last one. The Ancient Greeks had three words to define the varying emotions we try to encapsulate with this one, lackadaisical noun. Or verb. Whatever.

Love, Love? (Paltrow and Wilson, Royal Tenenbaums)

When you type the word into any given online dictionary, you'll get dozens of definitions ranging from infatuation to tennis. mix these definitions up, splash them into the majority of pop culture, and it's no wonder that the majority of the world is thoroughly verklempt over the concept of love.

As I sit here in this shopping mall food court, you may think that I am going to definitively determine a universal term for love.

I am not.


Top 10 Things I love

This is a list of things that I love. Some are what you might call familial or brotherly love, some are passionate or creative love, and yes, one is romantic love. So here's to love:


Coffee - As potentially unhealthy as it may be, I love drinking thick, black, dregs of coffee. I like my coffee like I like my guard gorillas --  black and strong. I've adopted a couple of different stigmas for drinking coffee. The first comes from working with farmers, where adding a deluge of milk and sugar to coffee is weak and often not available. Drink it quick, drink it black, and get back to work.

The other comes from working in the boutique coffee industry. Coffee snobs love to look down their pointy proboscis', through their jet black sludge, and dash diminutive daggers at anyone affecting the purest form of caffeinated bliss. Don't sugar your coffee. So in order to get through both the physical and mental rigors of 4am shifts at Starbucks, I learned to love the raw, unadulterated goodness of black coffee.

This is definitely a passion love, similar to "cheese pizza" love.


Bourbon Whiskey - It may be folly, or at least liver cringing, but I truly love bourbon. This love comes with a healthy dose of knowledge and experience with the caramel colored beverage. Just as some people can nose a glass of wine and pick up notes of pear or chrysanthemum, I truly enjoy identifying the nuanced goodness of a good glass of well-made bourbon whiskey. Best imbibed neat, or with a single cube to give it a slight chill, I love good bourbon because of the implicit emotion attached of sharing the beverage with good friends. That is the emotional root of my piety towards Kentucky-made Whiskey.

Again, another "cheese pizza" love. But so much better than cheese pizza.

Grandpa Leroy and I, discussing family history...I think.

My heritage - I know that everyone hopes that they've got some piece of important history hiding in the branches of their family tree -- The inventor of the mousetrap, survivors of the Russian Gulag, or the man who coined the phrase "Psych!". But in the end, most of us come from ordinary people.

And that's what I love. Mundane stories of the hard-working, rough-edged, common folks that contributed to my deoxyribonucleic acid make me proud of where I came from. Whether it be the stories from fifty years ago or the taller tales of Austrian nobility, I am fascinated by the culture from which I am created.

This love is born out of filial piety. Mark it in the "Grammy and Pappy" category.


Music - I really tried to come up with a way to narrow this one down. Good music? Too subjective. Music that has deeper meaning than pop-trash that graces the airwaves of most top 40 stations? Two dismissive. I will admit that many of the older artists I love are complete sellouts. I love to groove to Prince, even though I'm fairly certain that much of his music has no deeper meaning, only sexual allusions and Crayola colors.

Sometimes you cannot turn away some music, based solely on its genre, instrumentation, or artist. Music speaks to you in different way at different times, and can have amazing affect on people. Watching my wife learn about the scientific and prescriptive uses of music in therapy astounds me again and again as I see an even greater application for the art form that touches my soul like no other.

Music. Score one more for the "Cheese Pizza" love.

Richard Harrod and I, enjoying the outdoors at Ol' MC

Outside - The early vestiges of each season catch me by surprise like the sight of an old friend after years of distance. Each seasonal change has an invigorating scent that permeates every pore of my body. If you were to ask me to name my favorite season, I would name each for its own unique reason.

Ever since I was a child, I've loved being in nature. On my grandfathers farm, at Boy Scout Camp, and even at college -- I've felt the most at home out of doors.

This is another one of those great appreciation loves...a big, all natural, "Cheese Pizza" love.


Brian - Brian Wilcoxon is my best friend. As potentially emasculating as it may sound, I love Brian. The one man who truly thinks on the same level as me -- on every level. Brian and I are in-sync on many things -- our love of learning, creative passions, and boy bands.

I've had friends come and go, fade and resurface. I do not begrudge any of them for our current status. But Brian's a friendship I truly cherish. (This does not mean I don't love my other friends. Brian simply hits the top of the chart.)

My love for Brian falls in the "Grammy and Pappy" category. Brotherly love is next to familial love in my book.


Knowledge - "Knowledge is power". "Knowing is half the battle". "The more you know." Damn, I love knowledge. Learning is one of the most enjoyable things I have ever done. As nerd-tastic as that sounds, It's true. I don't care what the subject, I just am smitten with acquiring more knowledge. Book-smarts or street-smarts, it matters not. I am a consumer for the information of the world. Because with the correct knowledge, I believe that you can achieve almost anything. I know that sounds sappy, but it's true.

Another "cheese pizza" love. Or more aptly put, an "everything pizza" kind of love.


My parents - I will admit that they drive me crazy sometimes. I don't always understand them either. But my mother and father are pretty awesome, if you think about it.

This category falls into a similar vein as "My heritage", but is closer to home. I am continually seeing traits in myself, both positive and negative, and finding similar attributes in my parents. The whole concept is fascinating to me. In some ways I am completely like my parents, in others, it's a complete 180. Regardless of the specifics, I truly appreciate everything my mother and father have done to make me the man I am today.

Although they may resent the title, they fall into the category of "Grammy and Pappy" love.


Eleanor - This little dog is friggin' adorable! She has more character than any other pet I've ever owned. She is the biggest sass ever packed into an over-sized wiener dog, yet I feel a deep affection for my dog. More than I remember feeling for any of my previous dogs, cats, or turtles.

When she army-crawls across the floor to see me, howls a hound-dog greeting as I come in the front door, or discusses the conflicts in the middle-east in her low-warbled growl, I melt. Against all gumption, I love this dog.

Definitely a familial, "Grammy and Pappy" love for my pooch.

The love of my life

Annie - What can I say about this woman? It is nye impossible to come up with words that get even close to the emotions that well up in my soul when I think of her. My best friend, my biggest fan, and my truest critic, all in one beautiful, amazing, scintillating body. She is everything I need, and everything I want. She tells me when I am being ridiculous, and begs me to be more insane.

My wife is perfect. Objectively perfect.


Because of that, she is definitely a "Justin Bieber" kind of love. The only difference is that she wont fade away in a few years.

Making love - Giving Gifts That Don't Suck

I love sweater tees.

I have simultaneous exuberance and loathing in my heart when it comes to Christmas gifts. Giving, receiving, buying, wrapping, exchanging, returning – it does not matter. There are few things in life that cause anxiety like Christmas gifts.

The Gift of Gift Giving

It may be hereditary, this holiday humbuggery that befalls me. Last weekend my father and I wandered aimlessly through stores as we sought out obligatory gifts for the ones we care for. We finally settled upon a few items that fit the people on our list – candy and trinkets, mostly. As we drove home, we agreed that the whole gift giving concept was flawed.

We are so fixed on the act of giving, we forget that the gifts we impart should actually have meaning. And that is where I fail. I can think of great things for people throughout the year, but when it comes time for Christmas shopping, I am vapid. I wander stores in a daze of lights, people exuding peculiar odors, and the impending doom of an empty-handed Christmas.

My grandmother, on the other hand, is so caught up in the gift giving conspiracy that she calculates, down to the penny, how much she gives each of her grandchildren each Christmas. We all get at least one gift, then, for the older among us, cash. The gifts are, at times, the most asinine trinkets and trivial bobbles ever dreamed of. In the past, I've told her,

“Grandma, just give me money. I don't need any gifts this year.”

But she insists that if everyone doesn't have a physical gift to open on Christmas, we'll feel left out, and probably cry ourselves to sleep while visions of familial guilt dance in our heads. So we get our gifts on Christmas. Regardless of their limited utility, I appreciate the gesture. She wants us to feel loved. While we may not always love the gift, I do love the love behind the gift.

What Do YOU Want For Christmas?

Don't ask me what I want. I know you have the urge, but restrain yourself. If I were to compile a Christmas list, it'd consist of the following:

A hand-held, digital audio recorder

About a dozen music albums

A few films, mostly underground or silver screen

A new pair of brown dress shoes

An FM transmitter compatible with my Blackberry

Multiple bottles of top shelf Bourbon

The Pabst Brewing Company

DO NOT GO OUT AND BUY ME ANY OF THESE ITEMS.

With all of these Christmas wishes, there are specific models, styles, and specifications to my desires. I have an esoteric love of non-mainstream indie music, I love older films, and am pickier about my shoes than most women are. The technology that I want, I want the specific models that I have researched and determined to be the best item for the job. Worst of all, most of the things on my ramshackled Christmas list are expensive.

When I attempt to explain any of these requests, it generally elicits an annoyed or bewildered look and the person buys the closest thing to my desired item. They find the most inexpensive equivalent, slap a bow on it and hope for the best. Upon opening it, I smile, feign excitement, and then try to figure out how I can buy the one I want without making anyone feel bad.

Upon proofreading this, I realize that I may come across as an ungrateful prick. That is not my intention. Nor am I trying to sound like a Scrooge. I am merely trying to avoid the quagmire of awkward gifting that inevitably occurs this time of year.

Seasonal Origami

Would you expect a cross-eyed five year old to successfully wrap gifts without using three rolls of tape and a healthy dose of saliva to keep everything adhered?

Then why is it that every year, regardless of my vehement protestation, I am forced to create these works of ephemeral abstract art that will inevitably be ripped to shreds by the recipient.

I am not in any way comparing myself with a visually impaired child who is 1/5^th my age. I am, however, comparing my ability and desire to wrap gifts with that of a preschooler.

I prefer newspapers and electric tape, garbage bags and zip ties. Or the old 'Close your eyes and hold out your hands!' routine.

Making Love

There are exceptions to my disdain for gift giving. When I receive a homemade gift, my Grinchian heart grows three sizes. Whether it be culinary treats, fashionable yarnwear, or refabricated trinketry, I appreciate the thought that goes into a gift that is from the hands and heart of the giver.

My other grandmother gives out Christmas cookies every year. She must bake 500 cookies, from sugar cookies to turtles to traditional German anise cakes. I love them all, and they never last more than a week. One of my favorite cookies from oma's kitchen are the sugar cookies. There is something about those powdery morsels, slathered with pastel frosting and shaped like reindeer, Santa Clauses', and Christmas bells, that make my mouth water at the thought of them.

But after I was diagnosed with diabetes a few years ago, my grandmother decided that she was going to give me a healthier option for Christmas. So now, nestled in with all the other carb-filled delights in my Christmas package, I am chagrined to find my sugar cookies naked as Jesus in the manger – Not a bit of frosting on the poor little angels and stars.

Although I've tried to explain it to her, grandma has yet to grasp the concept of carbohydrates versus sugars. The cookie is chock full of carbohydrates, so is just as deleterious to my health without frosting than it is with the creamy delight. Do not spare me the savory experience of my youth, in an attempt to keep me healthy! They're cookies! Frosting or not, they will still raise my bloodsugar levels, so let them raise in peace.

Again, I am grateful every time my grandmother sends those barren cookies my way. As I crunch into the lacking treat, I smile. Grandma, in her own misguided way, is showing me she cares.

The Never-Ending Scarf

The all time best homemade gift I've received is a scarf from my wife. It has to be the only one of its design, and that is why I value it above every other neck protector I own.

Annie learned to crochet, specifically for this project, and set to work on a scarf for her beau. She chose a multicolored yarn that transitioned from red to orange to green, reflecting the autumnal ambiance that she knew I loved. Annie labored over the needle and lambswool for days, fervently looping and tugging, ensuring that every miniscule know was even and tight. My giraffe neck deserved only the best, and that was what she set out to deliver.

Somewhere along the way, Annie forgot to look up and check her progress. Before she realized it, she had created a scarf that was 15 fee long, but only 3 inches wide. More a snakes blanket than a human's scarf, Annie was nonplussed. But she was not defeated. In a move of pure ingenuity, Annie folded the scarf in half and proceeded to attach the two segments along the edge. The end result was a beautiful, thick scarf that has provided warmth and comfort to my neck for several years.

'Tis the Season

I know I shouldn't fight the inevitable. People are going to give me gifts. I want to show people my appreciation and reciprocate with my own trinkets of seasonal cheer. I will bear the anxiety of this tradition in stride, and, with any luck, I'll get better at it.

So don't feel bad if I give you a crummy gift. I really did try. And don't worry about giving me a crummy gift. I'll love you all the same for it.

And then I'll give it to Goodwill.

What I learned this Thanksgiving

Over the last week, Annie and I traveled hundreds of miles to celebrate the holiday of food, football, and family multiple times over.

As we gorged ourselves again and again with turkey, cranberries, potatoes, and stuffing, I took some time to reflect on the season and observe some peculiarities of this national holiday. 

When it hurts, stop eating

Our Cajun masterpiece

At every meal, I thoroughly enjoyed the food that was prepared. At Annie's mothers house, we started the meal with a delicious crab bisque. At my Aunt's, we had an apple stuffing that was out of this world. At our own apartment, Annie and I made a Cajun spiced turkey that was a huge success at our “Friendsgiving”. I had corn casserole and potatoes of every make, model, and variety. I drank champagne, mulled wine, and an amazing elderberry wine that is made near my hometown. Every place we went, they pulled out all the stops to offer the most impressive cornucopia of Thanksgiving splendor.

I tried everything. I ate more in the past week than I'd eaten the entire month prior. I shoveled in carbs like a Labrador, not realizing I was full until pangs of pain radiated through my stomach, into my chest and up through my arm. It wasn't a heart attack. It was a stomach attack.

This is where the Taoist's have it figured out. The Tao Te Ching explains a principle known as the middle way, which has a very practical application here. 

I enjoyed the food immensely. But, just as I experienced extreme pleasure by overeating, I also multiplied the discomfort that came later. If I'd practiced moderation from the beginning, my initial joy may not have been as extreme, but neither would my anguish. Everything is good in moderation. Well, maybe not everything – Meth, for example. And terrorists. But most everything else.

Even the most well trained dogs don't do what they're told every time

Annie's parents have a German Shepherd named Stella. She is incredibly well trained and mild mannered, even when the excitement of a family gathering is afoot.

Annie and I have Ellie, a Basset Hound who knows how to do the basic commands...when she feels so inclined. But in front of Annie's family, many of whom think that Ellie is a trouble maker and spoiled, she is almost always obstinate. We try so hard to show them that Ellie is a good dog, capable of taking orders and being peaceful, but when this miniature hound gets in front of people, she goes from over-sized wiener dog to giant ham.

The instigator

On Thursday night, Annie's grandmother warmed up a bit of left over turkey for a late night snack. She took her plate of poultry to the living room, sitting it on the coffee table before turning to retrieve her brandy from the kitchen. With grandma less than two steps away from the meaty morsels, Ellie sprang into action. She revved her stumpy legs into a gallop and, in one fluid motion, slid her lower jaw across the plate, raking up half of grandma's turkey. As a fish slides down the gullet of a Pelican, that turkey vanished into her canine maw in one gulp.

I wish I could've reprimanded my pooch for the bird-napping, but I was rolling on the floor at that point. Grandma didn't think it was so funny.

People, like dogs, also fail to be on their best behavior. I am notorious for letting my Iowa charm get the best of me, especially when I'm supposed to be making a good example for Annie's family. Using a ham fisted fork to stab my meat like a Neanderthal, spilling my beverage all over the table linens, or chewing ostensibly loud, pausing only to add a cud filled remark into the conversation - these are but a few of the faux pas of which I've been guilty.

I try. I really do, but like any son-in-law, mishap finds its way to me, every time.

Root for your team, even if your in-laws are against them

I am not a huge football fan. It is my theory that in elementary school, you are either forced into a favorite team by your family, or you arbitrarily select a team based on a mascot, affinity towards a city, or a trading card you got from a box of Raisin Bran.

My team has always been the New England Patriots. Since I was in about second grade – before they achieved infamy as one of the most successful teams in the NFL – I've loved the Patriots. I do not know why exactly, but I think it may have been my love for American revolutionary history.

The Patriots played the Detroit Lions on Thursday. Most of the rest of the men in the house were anti-Patriots, on principle. We watched the game in gross fixation on the television, yelling out things that only some of us understood. I'd add in comments like

“Good yardage!”

“Come on! Break through that line!”

I'm not sure I knew specifically what I was talking about when I said those things, but it fit nicely with the general chatter of the room. The Patriots won the game, and in the end, I had the pride of knowing that not only did my team withstand the jeers of it's opponents, I too withstood the ribbing of my in-laws about my team selection. I may receive even more heckling in years to come, but at least I will stand by my team.

Family may not always be fun, but it's better to tolerate them than to not have them around at all

Sometimes family can be aggravating. Sometime you'd rather they never come back. Some are never satisfied, no matter the hospitality you lay out before them. Others cannot overcome a grudge that has been held for far too long. Others still spin such tales of self indulgent boastfulness that you'd like to slap them back to last Tuesday.

But in the end, it wouldn't be a holiday without them. You'd miss the whine of the irritating children. The passive aggressive comments of one who is never satisfied with your accomplishments or aspirations. The cousin who is always competing with you for superiority.

All of that filial drudgery is worth it, when you are allowed one moment of true joy. Like when you see your two month old niece for the first time – even though you and her mother, your sister, haven't seen each other in almost a year.

That is what Thanksgiving is all about.

Dearest Annabelle

Christmas music is in full force. On the radio, in department stores, and in my head. I have a confession to make.

I love Christmas music.

I know I may come across sometimes as a curmudgeon who hates all things beautiful - Top 40 Radio, Reality TV, Justin Bieber. And while I will rail against the commercialism of this season, I do love Christmas music.

So here is a Christmas song. No it's not your traditional fa la la la la, but it has some nods to a few of my favorite carols.

Football on Christmas, 1914

The impetus behind Dearest Annabelle came to me when I heard someone talking about the unofficial truce's that happened during World War I between the British and German soldiers on and around Christmas. The details vary by incident, but the gist is that the soldiers stopped fighting, exchanged gifts, sang carols, and in at least one case, played a pickup football game. This ability to step outside of themselves and find some human decency amidst such a horrific conflict is something from which we can all take some pointers.



Dearest Annabelle

Powered by Podbean.com

Oh my dearest Annabelle
with frozen fingers fingers and a heart that's true
I write to you.

How I wish for sunny days
when warmth above would cast its rays on you
all dressed in blue

Its Christmas eve tonight on the battlefield
My rifle I will rest, my pen I'll wield

Though so many men have died 
in brutal bloodshed from the other side
I live for you

Strip away this uniform
and I will stand here unadorned, the man
that you once knew
 
This Christmas night is shining, bright and blue
Star of wonder and might bring me home to you

Through the crispness of this 
bitter night we hear O Tannenbaum and Yule
ring clear and true

Candle clad and arm in arm
they march across the death fields bearing truce
a peace filled fruit

Stille nacht, Heilige nacht
Alles schlaft, Einsam wacht

As I pen these words
with frostbit hand I hear the Christmas bells ring through
the dawn is new

Close my eyes I'm taken back
to Sunday morning snowflakes landing on 
turn into dew

Peace on earth, good will towards man
Father son and ghost have mercy on this land

Stille nacht

Heilige nacht


Tell your friends! Tweet it, Facebook it, spread it around like the flu virus!