Gwyneth McCann-Glover, my Goddaughter & 'What was I thinking?'.

I'm not an uncle. Probably won't ever be. But I am a godfather - first time. I present to all of you at Ditalini Press, my goddaughter, Gwyneth McCann-Glover. She's maybe three weeks old now - this picture is two weeks or less. Met her for the first time on Super Bowl Sunday. Look at how vulnerable she is. My, oh, my.

Which brings me to my, "What was I thinking?" story. This is a jump - but it's not. Still on the subject of babies. This IS still a thriving, vibrant mini-topic, correct? Wait...no - that was a topic for January. Oh, well...

I'm very close to my Uncle Fran - my dad's youngest brother. We have many things in common - fishing, hunting, love of nature and the outdoors, music, love to laugh, Favre, Packers, Jets, drinking, Elvis, family, God, Americana, patriotism. Many years ago, he and my aunt lost their first-born boy as a result of a rare disease that only 4 babies had ever had. Ever. Two had died and two were living - one being Baby John. He died at around 11 months. My aunt and uncle were devastated - and were advised not to try and have another child. They didn't listen - and James is now a sophomore at Notre Dame.

About two years after John's death while I was in college, I was returning to campus from a November bowhunting trip "Up North" in Wisconsin. My Uncle Fran lived nearby in Madison and we had driven up together.

Anyway, I believe we were almost back to my campus and we were reminiscing about the recent hunt - telling jokes and laughing our asses off. Suddenly I blurt out, "Hey, have you ever heard any of those dead baby jokes?" As soon as that question mark left my mouth I realized what I had just said. Without any hesitation, my Uncle Fran said, "No - no I don't think I have." I turned my face toward the window in utter embarrassment. And there was nothing to crawl under. I was sitting right next to my uncle who had just lost his baby boy two years prior and I just asked him if he had heard a good dead baby joke lately.

My uncle never said anything about it. He would never hold that against me. He loves me too much. Like I love Gwyneth. See how the story came full circle? :)

"What Was I Thinking!"

I’m not at all sure I want to go. In fact, I’m sure I don’t want to go.

For your own soul’s growth, you need to reconsider.

But I'm content here.

It's for the best, as we’ve already discussed.

I’ll miss everyone here, so I’ll just stay.

Some have left already, they're counting on you.

I know, there is one who I miss terribly. But it can be desolate and confusing there.

You have a purpose, and will help others fulfill theirs. You’ll be a catalyst of sorts.

Once I enter that denseness, I might forget my purpose.

There are two who wait for you, the two who are well-versed to serve as your parents.

They sound like poets?

They each own the poetic soul, expressing true love of the word.

A glimmer of hope!

Yes, although the family setting will seem traditional to those outside the home, the arts will flourish within, both secular and sacred.

Will I be male or female this time?

You’ll resemble your father, but have traits of your mother. It’s up to you to choose. Your brother and sisters are waiting.

Looks like I’ll be the baby of the family.

Not necessarily. If we see that you’re having an especially hard time adjusting, there will be another willing to join the family to assume that role.

Oh, will it be the dear one who . . .

Yes! Not only for you might this one come in selflessness, but for the purpose of serving all within the sphere in the same exemplary manner.

A ray of hope!

There is always hope! Although you will face the hardships we’ve talked about. You’ll be headstrong in youth, have trouble listening to those who would give guidance. You’ll have trouble differentiating those who would be false from those who would be steady. Some will look on you as a failure as you make repetitive mistakes in the areas of relationships and finance. There will be countless situations that will have you crying out in pure frustration, “What was I thinking!” and you’ll feel like making deals with God to escape your perceived loneliness.

How will I get through the muddle?

It won’t be easy. But just when you feel like giving up, we’ll send you a dream to give you inspiration or a peek into your future. When images and messages stay with you upon awakening, take notice and take comfort.

Dreams – rely on dreams?

Not only dreams. As life events unfold, you’ll be meeting ones who have the qualities of pure gems. Like brilliant flashes of iridescence, they’ll be there in every setting, if you but recognize them. Before you return here, you’ll see the interconnected light in all.

Will I carry the gift of voice while I’m there?

No, that will be one of your greatest personal disappointments. You who love to sing here and join your voice with others! But you’ll find the word voice has within it the seeds of music. Even the harshest earthly tongue has within it a certain divine tone. You will learn to hear it, if you listen well.

Then I’ll continue the gift of dance?

No, earthbound you’ll be and earthbound you’ll feel. Astrologically, you’re agreeing to a heavy earth-sign influence, but those of your immediate family will be predominantly air, water, and fire. This could result in misunderstandings and you’ll lack a sense of belonging. You’ll be longing to come back here as faint remembrances surface.

No singing, no dancing?

Not until circumstances force you to seek the ancient ways of intonation and movement. When that happens, you will feel no end of gratitude for ones who put you through the paces of emotional pain. Shaking and shattering the molds of empty illusion, you'll set your feet upon the path, beginning the restriction-release process. So, if you’re ready . . .

I'm still not sure. Will I be able to further my studies at Universitie?

No, but there will be a possibility of spending much effort and service in a similar Temple of Learning. We need your decision, it's time.

Time! What is it about that word!

Time? The word time does emit a vibration that closely resembles the current phase of the earth plane. Some minutes there will seem to pass like days or years, but for the most part, you’ll have a sense of ‘time being on your side’. You’ll discover quotes and coin quotes of your own to keep you in the ever-present. So, you’re ready? This window of opportunity may not long remain open.

Wait! What is this loneliness you speak of? Will I have a family of my own?

Arrangements are being made with members of your group. Those who will come to spend their brief period of childhood with you as their parent will bring you great delight in their endeavors. Many a performance hall will be graced by their artistic displays, as you sit in rapt attentive appreciation. But it will be their fun-loving and gracious hearts that will give you the greatest joy, allowing you to rest easy as they enter adulthood. The bickerings of youth dissolve between eldest and youngest as they come to rely each upon the other, while maintaining their independent spirits. Your middle child will be a light to all of a new way of living in the earth-realm and will be inspiration to one who will touch many lives. Are you ready? Final preparations are being made for your arrival even now.

You’ve convinced me. You seem to have everyone's best interest at heart. Now I'm sure it will all be worth it.

So, you are willing to take your place?

I'm willing.

Ready now?

Ready.

"Congratulations! You have a new baby girl!"

The Sonic 6 Experience

It was the spring of 1991, and I had just been given a brand new Huffy Sonic 6 bicycle for my birthday. I finally had it, my very own Sonic 6! I stood there for a minute, in awe of the stick shifter, the windshield; it was everything I could have ever wanted. I was so thrilled. Plus, the icing on the cake - my parents had expanded my riding boundaries. The possibilities were endless! I was no longer a boy, I was becoming a man.

I soon took off to seek out my uncharted boundaries; new adventures were out there to be had. I could only imagine what laid in store for me. I suddenly knew what my first destination would be. I started riding northeast to the St. Patrick’s parking lot. The school and church parking lots were connected and there were some uneven spots that would make for a nice thrilling ride. Plus, the parking lot was huge; so I could ride with reckless abandon.

Oh, the fun I had. Riding all over the parking lot, going up and down the little hill connecting the lots, snaking through the church walkways; me and this bike were made for each other. Practicing shifting through all six speeds, finding the one that was just right; I was reborn. I was eleven years old, and I felt like my life had finally started.

After riding a while, I decided to move on. As much fun as I was having in the parking lot, I realized that I had a lot more new territory to explore. I turned onto the 1000 block of north Webster Street and saw a new possibility for adventure staring me right in the face. It was a house with a concrete edging around the yard about three feet high. The edging curved around the house, running parallel to the alley until they eventually were level with one another. What a perfect opportunity to get some air time on by new bike!

I rode up the alley to where I could get on the edging. The concrete was about eight inches across, and about twenty feet long, so it was hard to keep my bike on it for such a long distance. I kept getting so far and then either veering into the person's yard or back down onto the alley. Getting frustrated, I rode further down the alley so I could build up some speed before getting on the edging. Gaining speed, I made it on the edging and was riding straight and true. This was it; I finally was going to make the jump. Yes! My initial excitement instantly turned to fear as I saw the edge ending and the sidewalk below. Oh, No! I didn't realize just how high off the sidewalk I was going to be. What was I thinking? It was too late to turn back, so I held on tight and hoped for the best.

I came crashing down, my face taking the brunt of the force as I landed on the sidewalk below. My lip had been busted open and my nose was bleeding; along with some other cuts and scrapes. Even worse, I scuffed the windshield on my new bike! Defeated, I started the seemingly endless journey back home. It was only about five blocks away, but it felt like forever. The windshield on my new bike was all scratched up, and I was a bloody mess. When I got home, my mom was quick to tend to my wounds and she asked me how it happened. For fear of getting my new privileges revoked, I told her that I was riding around the block, slipped off the edge of the sidewalk and crashed. I'm not sure if she believed me, but she didn't press the issue.

Needless to say, I didn't try that stunt again, but I had many other adventures with that bike. I rode it all the time, until one fateful day, I left it in the front yard while I went inside to eat some lunch. When I came back out, my bike was gone and an old rusty ten-speed laid there in its place. My bike had been stolen, and I was devastated. I don't remember the bike I got to replace it, but I do know that I have not had as much fun with a bike since I had my Sonic 6.

Buddhist Nun?

There she was again, shaved head, silk pastel purple tunic clothing her bony silence. She was looking at the bulk granola. I was sweeping up some oat bran from off the terra cotta floor next to her. I thought she was looking particularly zen-like that afternoon with a long strand of wooden beads on thick saffron thread around her neck. I was reading books on zen meditation and practicing zazen at the time, trying to apply "detachment" and "loving kindness" to my life. It was my chance to ask her something I had been wanting to ask her for a while.
I moved up next to her as she reached for a transparent bulk scoop.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yes, of course," she said.
"Are you a Buddhist Nun?"
"A what...huh?"
"A Buddhist Nun?"
"Oh, no. I have cancer."
No! No! This wasn't what she was supposed to say! She was supposed to be thrilled with my interest, inviting me to open meditation sessions and we were supposed to laugh together and maybe even hug with that tangible calm creeping in when kindred spirits speak of enlightenment and God.....
Instead, she looked down at the floor, blinking back tears. I grabbed the hand that wasn't holding the plastic scoop and told her I was very sorry.

My Story (fictional)

One Sunday, with nothing else to do, I decided to go shopping. I didn't need anything; I was set for clothes, my cabinets were full of dishware, my pantry was stocked, and my shower had every necessary amenity. I began driving south out of town, and along the way I spotted a new bookstore. I pulled into the lot and read the glowing sign "Word Up!” The building was newly renovated but still held the dingy aura of the old flooring shop that once made its home there. When I turned my car off, I paused for a moment to think about what the place might look like inside. From all outward appearances it was sterile and abrupt to the eye. I preferred cozy dives, places with a rustic energy. Something to motivate my primal nature. I could care less about commercial aesthetics; the most market-friendly ceiling tile could kiss my patchouli scented ass.

When I entered, after pulling open the newly Windexed door that caused an involuntary brain twitch from the revolting ammonia, I was greeted by a chubby and serene gentleman sitting on a stool with a magazine in one hand and a Dixie cup in the other.
"Hey" he directed his pinkie finger toward me. I pointed back with mine and said, "whatcha drinkin?"
"Hahaha" he laughed and set his cup on the top of the cash register.
"Schnapps?" I said.
"Nah. More like my medicine....pretty pitiful."
"What?" I dusted the tops of my boots off with my thick Guatemalan gloves I won in a raffle during the local radio station’s 'EcoWorld-Supportathon'. He grumbled something under his breath about constipation and winter and then spoke.
"I have this medicine I'm supposed to take. It's like a solution...of Chinese herbs...?"
"You don't sound too sure about it." I looked around the store, noticing the industrial feel of the aisles. I wrapped my scarf around my neck once more as a nauseating chill ran up my neck.
"I'm not sure what it is actually, you're right." He let out a sort of tortured chuckle. "It just tastes terrible. Picture this, if you will: a gnarled and rotten ball of sour puss melted down...and mixed with shit from a camel's anus."
"Sounds good to me." I licked my lips. "Is it helping?"
"Sorry?" His red hair, glasses and chubby gut made him look like a nerdy Buddha clown. There were paperclips adorning the neck of his t-shirt.
"I mean, what ails you?"
"Oh, right...yeah. It hasn't really done anything that I can tell. I just get these really messed up cramps in my side. My sister orders stuff all the time from this guy in California. He's like some medical guru, but I don’t know if he's a real doctor. I think to myself sometimes, what was I thinking when I ordered this stuff? But God. She swears by him."
"Nice. Well, if you keel over I'll be sure to drag your body out back for someone to find in the morning." I walked over toward the "Local/Regional Authors" section where a handful of paperbacks sat up in strained bravado.
"That's really nice of you." His sarcasm was as bland as the newly painted walls. "This your first time in here?"
"Yeah. I live just down the road, heard about your opening. Been received well so far?"
"It's been good. Let me know if you need help." He tossed his Dixie cup toward the trashcan and missed. He relaxed back down onto his stool and suddenly a can of Mello Yellow appeared in his hand, like magic.
"Ok thanks." I made my way down the Biographies section and my eyes instantly met with an unsettling photo of Lucille Ball. Strangely introspective, graciously glamorous.
”I didn't know Mellow Yellow existed anymore.” I yelled out.
“It doesn’t. ‘Least not around here. This is from my stash…1999.” He grunted in pleasure.

I clenched my jaw at the lights and how they reflected off each book cover like lasers. My stinging retinas gazed around delicately while my pupils withdrew in agonizing rebellion. I sought relief at a small side table where there were ginger snaps and hot cider. "Mmm....this cider is amazing."
A customer overheard me and came over to try some.
"Is it really hot?" she asked.
"Yeah, careful." I took a cup from the stack and handed it to her.
"Woops!" she laughed as she brought her arm around the table, knocking some cookies out of the bowl.
"Oh my. You're making a mess. This place is new you know."
"Hahhaha, yeah, what’s my problem? I'm so clumsy." She picked the cookies up from the floor and stuck them into the pockets of her cheap looking ski jacket.
"I think the hand-eye coordination section is in the back, next to the carpentry books."
"Ok, right. I'll check that out.” Her smile revealed a youthful spirit trying to tear away from a poor life.
"What’s your name?” I asked.
"Diane. Yours?” She gazed at me with bold searching eyes.
I shook her frail hand and snickered at the fact that my Turkish scarf alone completely trumped her dollar store getup. "Mandy.” I said.
“Nice to meet you. This place is nice, no? I’m glad I found it. I was on my way to see my boyfriend and just decided to stop in. His birthday is soon, so I figured I might find something, but then I thought...he doesn’t even read, so what’s the point. But hey, I can enjoy it while I’m here, you know? "
“Oh definitely. My boyfriend doesn’t really appreciate books either. Loser.”
"Yeah totally, I know. Although, my friend dates this total nerd, and he like, gets so absorbed in reading, that he doesn’t pay attention to her. It’s terrible. I'd be so pissed. I mean, ‘Come on reject, before she dumps your ass for someone who’s too smart for books.’ ”
“Wow. I guess it would depend on what he was reading. I wouldn’t be as upset if it was a book on how to please your woman. ‘Page 17, paragraph 3, stop reading this book and be with your woman!’ ”
“That’s funny. Yeah. I think he reads books about aliens and Chupacabra sightings. I think that’s how you say it, is that how you say it?”
"That’s bizarre. I think it’s real though. People see their cattle all mangled overnight."
"Maybe it’s wolves? Let's ask the master.” Diane started heading toward the front counter, an air of apathy in her walk.
"Who?"
“Mr. Slen ‘Master’ Pages.” She pointed to nerdy clown Buddha.
“Oh man, I didn’t even notice his nametag.” I said.
“Hey Slen.” She rested her arms on the counter and leaned in, “Chupacabra...or no Chupacabra…?”
"Chupacabra baby.” He said without gazing up from his magazine. “My grandfather is from Mexico and he sacrificed my cousin’s baby to Chupacabra one night so it wouldn’t eat his flock of sheep.”
Diane gasped. I grabbed my stomach in disgust until I saw a sly grin creep up on one side of his face.
"Ha ha. Good one. That’s disgusting."
"Well, sheep are more valuable," he smiled and scratched the side of his face with his stubby finger, greasy and inked stained.
“It’s true Diane. They’re valued for their wool especially. You would understand why if you actually had a coat made of real fiber…” I threw her a wink, and looked her up and down in a degrading fashion. She adjusted her torso awkwardly in her blindingly bright blue coat...forcing a laugh.
"So what are you ladies...sisters or something?"
"Oh no. Ha. We just met."
"You look a lot alike actually. How old are you?"
"I’m 18." I said
"I’m 22." Dianne tipped the rest of the cider into her mouth, coughing when it went down the wrong tube. She frantically eyed the counter for a tissue. I grabbed the end of her scarf and placed in into her hand. She laughed while wiping her face, sounding like a psychotic meerkat with a broken larynx.
"And you, Master Pages?” I initiated. We both looked to him, trying to read his denial meter.
"Well after all this camel shit I’ve been drinking I better start feeling younger. I'm 38 going on 200."
"Here's a book on weight loss," I said. Grabbing it off the sale table I turned the cover so Slen could see it.
"Damn…You bitch…" he grabbed his stomach and his face grew long.
"Shit, you did not just say that...hahah." Diane covered her face with her slender hands and waited for a comeback from Slen.
"I didn’t say I felt fat. I was saying I felt old. But alright then...you just added 30 years to my life."
"It’s ok. You're average…and it’s winter, so you’re saved." Diane said trying to keep a straight face.
“There are more obese people now, then overweight people. New study.” I said.
“What’s the difference?” Diane asked in a cracked voice.
"Well...I hope to stay overweight. If I get obese, then I won’t want to be seen in public." Slen repositioned his ass on the stool.
"Don’t worry. You work in a bookstore. Most bookstore employees are homely," I reassured him.
"Thanks, again...thank you for that."
"Yes. My pleasure, Master."

Diane ended up leaving the store only moments later, to meet her boyfriend at his friend’s house. I hung around chatting with Slen ‘Master’ Pages for a little bit, and bought a memoir about a Hindu in the Scotland Highlands who designed beautifully elaborate hook-rug mandalas, went mental, and so spent the rest of his life to photographing leaf veins submerged in iodine.

On the drive home I pondered what type of tea I was going to drink while I sat down with my new book. I looked over at it, it sat there in the passenger seat next to a clean and crisp bookmark exclaiming in bright red font: "Word Up!" I rolled my windows down and breathed in deeply, the taste of cider still on my tongue. My pupils readjusted themselves to the light outside as I made my way into a busy aisle of traffic and headed toward home.

Hell Has Frozen Over

As I stare at the mounds of snow outside my apartment in Parma, and don my winter parka for my commute to work today, I remind myself that I actually chose to move to Cleveland 20 years ago. What was I thinking?

what was I thinking....?

this is a mini what was I thinking episode, page 52 in my autobiography...when I was in Junior High (yes, it was called that, and not Middle School) in Columbus, Ohio, I fell in love with a new shirt my older sister had purchased. It was a sweater, tan, blue, both light and dark. I begged and pleaded for her to let me wear it, please let me borrow it, I'll do anything! She, being the typical older sister, ignored me, and reveled in her control freakiness.
One day, she left for school early. I snuck into her closet, grabbed the coveted article of clothing, and got ready for school. That afternoon, after school, thinking that I had gotten away with the most delicious crime, I replaced the shirt in her closet, and went on with my life. One month later, when school picture proofs hit the dining room table, I was busted like a three year old balloon. I am still learning to think things through.

Thinking is Overrated

A few months ago, I was putting in a lot of ten hour days at work, including half days on Saturday. At my age, that's a pretty grueling schedule, but the money was too good to pass up, so I persevered. One particular evening, I came home crabby and exhausted, knowing that I still had chores to do at the apartment, and nothing in the fridge to eat.

In spite of my fatigue, I dug into the necessary cleaning of the kitchen and bathroom, threw in a load of laundry, showered, and finally donned my PJS. Feeling good about having completed my list of things to do, I collapsed into the recliner for some mindless TV viewing. After a few minutes, I realized that I hadn't eaten yet. Grudgingly I padded back into the kitchen and boiled up the staple of human kind, Ramon Noodles. Several minutes later I was back in the recliner with the steaming bowl in hand.

While reaching for the remote, I somehow managed to knock the bowl sideways, spilling the entire mess into my lap. At this point, what was I thinking? Well, actually , I was thinking "Shit! If I stand up this stuffs going to go all over the suede recliner and onto the carpeting, and I'm going to have to spend the next hour cleaning it up." I swear, my brain actually suggested that I remain seated, as I began to carefully scoop all the noodles back into the bowl.

Suddenly from within the deep primal recesses of my mind, a ferrell scream erupted. "Get up you idiot! Your legs are on fire.!" And so, at last, I leaped to my feet and let the boiling noodles fly everywhere. In my haste to strip off my scalding PJS, I spread the mess even further. Then, as predicted, I spent the next hour cleaning up the recliner and the carpeting. I was thoroughly discouraged and exhausted. My legs were red and scalded, and to top it all off, it dawned on me that I was going to end up going to bed without any supper. As I slipped beneath the covers, I said to myself, "Sometimes it just doesn't pay to think things through."

Suggestion for January's Post

Topic: What Was I Thinking?

We’ve all had those moments when we wonder what we were thinking, or if we were even thinking at all. This could be a somewhat truthful narrative or it could be as creative as one wants to make it. For example, we could write about one of our own questioning moments or have a fictional character that depicts the same message. Just a suggestion, and to some a lame one I’m sure but I’m ready to get writing this month so I thought I would throw something out there.

Feel free to clarify in any way.