A Life Cut Short

This blog was supposed to be about my personal mission statement from 10+ years ago.  I was supposed compare and contrast the feelings and views I have now with the things I wrote down and committed to over a decade ago. I was planning to write that blog tonight, but as it happens, life sometimes throws curve balls. All at once the most relevant topic can be thrust upon us, regardless of our ability to bear the weight of its burden. Fortunately for me, the burden of this topic is not so large that it will intimately and permanently affect my life. Unfortunately in this case, I cannot say the same for all to whom this curve ball was thrown.

Last week my neighbor died. He suffered an allergic reaction to a common over the counter medication and he died. His ability to breathe was taken and kept forever by an effervescent tablet in a half a glass of water. He was 38 years old and in otherwise good health. He left behind a wife and three daughters; the epitome of tragedy. I learned the news from his 13 year old daughter two days after his passing and my body still freezes when I replay the memory in my head. On Monday afternoon, she was hovering around my drive way and as I pulled up with my window down she said she had something to tell me.  "Sure hon, lemme just pull in the garage." I turned off the radio then engine, and hopped out expecting her to tell me about a new boyfriend or some other random junior high school drama. Instead she informed me that her father had passed away. I stood there in shock for a moment (mouth hanging open, eyebrows in a frown) then snapped out of it and instinctively wrapped my arms around her.  She told me the details of the story with amazing composure, and in return I did my best impersonation of a grown up and assured her that everything was going to be okay. Later that evening the girl rang the doorbell and let us know the funeral would be on Friday. I told her the truth this time and said I would be there.

Friday came and I went to the funeral as I said I would. Much to my surprise, our 7 year old daughter wanted to come with me. I explained what the funeral would be like and asked if she was sure she wanted to go.  She said she was sure because she never went to a funeral before and she was curious about what it's like. I decided that the experience would be good for her in the long run even if it upset her a little bit in the short run. After all, death is the only certainty in life.

We arrived at the funeral home 15 minutes early and the parking lot was packed.  Every single space was taken.  As I drove laps around the building trying to find a non existent empty space, it was impossible to ignore the growing crowd of gatherers.  Figuring that the odds of getting a parking ticket at a funeral are pretty slim, I parallel parked in a drive way area that was not intended for such a purpose.

"Okay kiddo.  You ready for this?"

"Uh huh."

"If you get too upset and you want to leave, just let me know and we can go."

"Okay mommy."

We held hands, crossed the parking lot and headed into the chapel. Weaving in and out of my neighbors friends and family we found a seat on the end of a pew about mid way through the room. The rest of our pew and all of the others in the chapel filled up quickly, and before long it was standing room only. The ceremony was nice.  It was a full Catholic mass given by a Deacon who was very down to earth in the delivery of his message.  Keira sat still through most of it which came as a surprise. Neither she nor I cried, and halfway through the mass, this fact began to bother me.  Why didn't I cry? Could I cry if I wanted to? Sure I could, right? Right? For the remainder of the mass, my answer was 'no.'  Then came the 'post mass personal remarks,'  and just like that, my ocular flood gates were open and the question became, "How do I stop crying?"  One by one my neighbors family and friends came to the microphone to share their grief.  Some could only say two words, while others told lengthy anecdotes. The best friend who broke the news to my neighbor's parents, the brother who didn't spend enough time with him, the sister whose spirits were constantly lifted by him, the daughters who will never dance with him; for all of them I shed a tear.

Between the 6th and 7th speaker Keira was getting bored and antsy so we decided to go.  On the way out (as we made our way through the overflow crowd in the lobby) we stopped at the guestbook to leave a future reminder of our support. There was a single pen on the table and a memory book that was filled with names.  All of the lines on the present page were taken, so I flipped forward a few pages to try to find an empty page. Flip...full.  Flip...full. Flip...full. I flipped backwards hoping someone may have skipped a line.  Flip...full. Flip...full.  Flip...full. As a last resort I decided I would just write our names in the margin.  I grabbed the pen and began to write, only to find that the ink inside had run out. I smiled, put the pen back down and glanced once more at the various faces around the overcrowded chapel.  Is there no greater testament to the impact of a life then an absence of empty lines and pen that has run out if ink?

As we pushed through the double doors and headed back to the car, I wished I knew my neighbor better.

Rest in Peace Andres Hidalgo
1973-2012
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From the Vault: 2001 Personal Mission Statement

When I was in college over a decade ago (gag, nearly vomit, gag) I took a class in which we had to create a personal mission statement. The the purpose of the assignment was to get us to commit to concrete goals and objectives from which to base our lives.  Here is my "2001 Personal Mission Statement" in its entirety:

My core purpose in life is to build a pleasant living environment for myself and others through positive interaction whenever possible.


I will keep things in perspective and understand that everything is relative.  Often times the things that cause the most stress in life become insignificant when the big picture is brought into focus.


I will never stop laughing.  In my life humor is directly related to my happiness.  I will always try to find humor in even the worst situations, for a life without laughter is hardly worth living at all.

I will take responsibility for my actions.  I will not blame others for my shortcomings or mistakes.  Before looking for an outside explanation for sub-optimal performance I will first thoroughly examine myself.

I will never be jealous of others, as jealousy is the most insecure emotion.  I will be secure with myself and confident in my abilities as a capable individual.


I will understand and respect diversity in people.  I know that everyone will not always see things the same way I do, and I will accept these differences as part of life.


I will not complain when things become difficult for me.  I know that no matter what the circumstances of my situation, somewhere along the line I always had a choice.


I will not waste my time wondering about what could have been.  I will accept the outcome of my past decisions and take comfort in knowing that when I made the decision, the path I chose felt right at the time.


I will remain active in athletics.  Whether it be in an organized league or messing around with some friends, sports provide me with the exercise and social activity needed to maintain a balanced life.


I will keep an open mind when dealing with people or ideas unfamiliar to me. Ignorance is not really bliss, but rather a precursor of intellectual retardation.


I will never stop learning. I will continue to expand my knowledge and intellect by listening to, and learning from the experience of others.


I will never stop teaching.  Just as I will learn from others, I will share with them my own experiences in the hopes that the learning may be reciprocal.


I will get married and together with my husband build a stable ans secure base from which to build a family.


I will have children and shower them with love and affection I will teach them things like humility, integrity, and personal responsibility.  I will give them guidance, but I will not use them as a tool through which to correct my own failures.

I will...

Over the next few blogs I plan to take apart my 2001 mission statement and analyze my progress in 'sticking to it.' I'm excited to see how 10 years of experiences has impacted my thoughts on each of these points.  Stay tuned...

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Playlists and Purpose

Ahhh, playlists....where do I begin? I love playlists because they are made of one of my favorite things in the world - music!  I love music.  I don't mean that I love every kind of music, but I love the general idea of music.  In the book of life, the chapter called "Music" is the amazing place where people induce feelings and share ideas through a combination of melody and lyrics. Sad songs, happy songs, dance songs, songs to pump up the crowd, songs to honor our country. I think its pretty safe to say there is at least one song out there for anything and everything you could possible imagine.  Just for fun, here are a few from my personal collection:


Song to 'Drink Wine and Reflect' to: Orange Sky by Alexi Murdoch

Song to 'Day Dream About Possibilities' to: For Me This is Heaven by Jimmy Eat World

Song to 'Stroll in the Park' to: Modern Nature by Sondre Lerche

Song to 'Dance Like a Maniac/Sing into a Hairbrush' to: Gonna Get Over You by Sara Bareilles

Song to 'Take Over the World' to: Spectrum by Florence and the Machine
 

Songs by themselves are cool, but songs added to other songs to make a playlist are better. The songs in a playlist help to create the mood and flow to the party or gathering during which they are played. On more than one occasion, I've spent an excessive amount of time creating a 'perfect playlist' for an upcoming event. The perfect playlist usually consists of 3 elements; current hits, classic hits, and a sprinkled in theme that I chose based on the type of gathering and the demographic of the attendees. For example, if the parents are coming over for a weekend BBQ, the sprinkle theme is 50s and 60s pop music. For kickball game nights, the sprinkle theme is 90s nostalgic rap. After I have selected all of the songs for my playlist I spend more time then I'm willing to admit re-arranging the songs to establish an appropriate playlist 'flow.'

While I do spend quite a bit of time making multi-hour playlists for parties and big events, I also like to create quick 30-45 minute playlists for daily activities like working out or cleaning the house. These playlists don't require too much thought, just a quick scroll through my iTunes library as I impulsively drag over whatever jumps out and grabs me.

Somebody who is married to me that shall remain nameless does not share my passion for 'the play list.' He says, "Life doesn't need a soundtrack." I say, "It may not need a soundtrack, but sure is better with a soundtrack." Ultimately, music enhances purpose. I can think of no funner (not a word) example of music played with a purpose than the late 1989 standoff between American troops and General Manuel Noriega.  The specifics of Noriega's life aren't important for purpose of this blog. You only need to know that he was a bad dude. A drug dealing gangster who stole elections, exiled enemies and oppressed his own people. He was on the US shit list for quite some time, and as the situation escalated in December of 1989, twenty four thousand American troops were sent into Panama to go after the a-hole. Realizing his back was against the wall, he turned to religion.  Well, by "turned to religion" I mean he ran and hid in the Vatican embassy in Panama City. Oddly enough, when the troops went up and rang the bell, Noriega didn't come out to play. In an creative attempt to get Noriega to give himself up, the Americans turned giant speakers toward the residence and tried to blast him out. At first they played newscasts, but soon after, they opened up the request lines. On December 25th they took a break from the requests to blast 24 hrs of Christmas music.  After that it was 4 more days of requests followed by Top 40 countdowns from the Billboard Top 100, Black 100 and Country 100 charts. After 10 days total, Vatican officials convinced Noriega to give himself up.  Now that's a playlist with a purpose!

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Don't Get on that Bus

I recently found out about something called Hangover Heaven. Perhaps you've heard about it on the news, but in case you haven't, Hangover Heaven is a big tour bus that cruises around Las Vegas offering help for hangovers. Actually it offers more than help, it offers a cure. For the low low price of ninety dollars you can rid yourself of a hangover by having a 45 minute treatment during which IV fluids are pumped through your system.  For an additional sixty dollars they'll even add anti nausea and anti inflammatory meds to the IV line. When I first heard about this concept, I wasn't sure how to react. After some careful thought, however, I've decided that I hate it. Emphatically. A hangover is a disease unworthy of a cure. Alzheimer's deserves a cure. Cancer deserves a cure. Feeling like shit because you drank more alcohol than your body can process deserves nothing more than itself. The real cure for a hangover is responsibility. Have fun, but handle yourself. Know your limits.  Test them if you want to, but when you unsuccessfully exceed them (as most of us have at one time or another), don't look for some magic bus to bail your pounding head, puking guts, sorry ass out.

I think the hangover bus bothers me the most because on a larger scale, it represents all that is wrong with our society today. We want all of the pleasure but none of the pain. Immediate rewards with very little sacrifice; weight loss pills instead of working out, energy drinks instead of going to bed on time, earn at home 'diploma mill' degrees instead of grueling academic programs with rigorous curricula.  The solutions to your problems are easy, all you need is money to buy the answers.  What? You don't have money? No sweat! Just put it on your credit card.  Get a student loan. Get a second mortgage. Take what you want, you deserve it. Except you don't, and neither do I. It's all about choices. Acknowledge the impracticality of your 'wants,' and live within your means. Commit to 'the long road,' and accept the consequences of your actions. The future of our nation depends on this. Finally, if you just can't manage to refrain from that 'last call' shot of tequilla, puke all over the bathrooms at the Bellagio if you have to, but please for the sake of society, don't get on that bus!

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3.30.12

I saw some things today...

An Asian man in an alley way swapping out CDs on a Discman. I remember when I got my first Discman. It was awesome. I even had that car adapter thing that was like a really really long wire attached to a cassette tape. I doubted they even sold these any more, so I did a google search. You too can own a brand new Sony Discman courtesy of Amazon.com for the low price of $43.96. Sure beats the 200 or so my parents must have paid in the 80s!

A Mercedes parked right in the middle of the crosswalk of the parent pickup line at school. Right in the GD middle. Not the nose of the car creeping into the vicinity, not the bumper sticking over the line a little. I'm talking full on, entire car, straddling the mother freakin' cross walk. I tell you, the people who appear at our children's schools during 'parent pickup' are some of the most untamed beasts our society has to offer. C'mon dude! Your tricked out Mercedes, super slick haircut, buff body and designer sunglasses didn't scream " Pompus Prick" loud enough? You really have to straddle the crosswalk? Really?

A People magazine with a cover photo of Trayvon Martin several years younger than the age he was when he was shot. I get that this is a tragedy, really I do. I think George Zimmerman deserves to be, and will most likely eventually end up, behind bars. If he was a black guy who shot a white kid (hoodie or not), he would never have left police custody. I hope that justice is served in this case and I believe that in time this will happen. One thing I can certainly do without, however, is People magazine trying to manipulate me emotionally by showing the photo of a much younger looking Martin so as to further project the image of innocence. That photo isn't going to change any minds. If you've been following the story and you don't think, "Man, that's messed up. That kid shouldn't have been shot," then the cover of People magazine sure as shit isn't going to change your mind. The only thing that cover can do is intensify the already existing outrage and send people of an already certain opinion into a tizzy. Using this photo was unnecessary and irresponsible, not to mention an insult to intellectuals everywhere. Intellectuals read "People" magazine, right?

A picture of Ceasar Chavez. Acknowledging my ignorance for a moment, I don't know who this dude is or what he did, but apparently it was significant enough for the City of Tempe to close their government offices in honor of him. I know this because I drove downtown today to pay my employer's City of Tempe sales taxes only to find that the doors were locked for, according to the posted sign and picture, the one and only (well actually, probably one of many) Mr. Cesar Chavez(es). Ironically, on my way down to Tempe, I had to pass through the mostly Mexican town of Guadalupe, where school was most certainly in session.

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The Littlest Good

I think the Salvation Army has got it wrong. For those of you who didn't know, those Christmas time bell ringing kettle shakers do have an official slogan. A sort of mantra if you will. Even it you won't, they still have it. The slogan is "Doing the Most Good." I do not like this slogan. First, I find it grammatically awkward. Second, I find this slogan pompous. Though the The Salvation Army website does list a variety of 13 categories of programs they support, is it really inconceivable that there is another charity out there with 14 categories? How can they claim to do the most good? Have they done research on every other charity in the world and compared apples to apples? I think not my friends! By the way, in case you're wondering, the charity category list, as it appears on the SA website, is not arranged alphabetically. In fact, the first category displayed is "Anti-Pornography." Something tells me the bell ringers were not present in the category selection meeting. Finally, the third reason I do not enjoy the Salvation Army slogan is that it plays into a societal epidemic of egotism. It too often feels like everyone is after bigger, better, faster, more. When we focus on the big, it is so easy to miss the beauty and competence of the small. Smaller, slower, steadier, less. In time, all of these things develop and become greater than 'more.' More is empty. Less is sufficient.

Consider an example from my own life...

Not too long ago I learned that a former co-worker's 4 year old son was diagnosed with brain cancer. My reaction to the news was typical; shock followed by remorse. I counted my blessings, hugged my kids a little tighter for a few days, and then continued on with my life. A few weeks later I got an invitation from my ex coworker to join the facebook page that his wife (whom I've only met once at their wedding) had created to chronicle their son's journey. Every few days or so they post a very detailed update about what exactly is going on in the little boy's life. Reading these posts makes me feel completely useless. There's nothing I can do or say that will improve the situation this family is in. I've kept the "hang in there"s and "let me know if I can do anything"s to myself, because I'm sure they get plenty of those already from people who are closer to them than me. Who am I? Instead, I chose to hide in the background "liking" any and all positive updates but leaving no comments......until this week.

The update this week was a description of the events leading up to an MRI. Essentially the child was kicking and squirming and screaming in resistance. It took both parents and a couple medical professionals to hold the kid down, a scene I know far too well due to the urinary reflux problems of our daughters (See "VCUG"). At any rate, the mom attributed the child's fit of resistance to him being "on to" the fact that he doesn't like the smell of the gas they use to put him out. I could relate to this anecdote intimately, so I left a comment. I said, "Will they let you put scented chap-stick on the inside of the mask to help with the smell? My daughters had bladder surgery at ages 3 and 7 and being able to pick their smell helped a little. He might be on to this trick to, but I couldn't read your post and not suggest it." I didn't expect a reply, but later that same day, the mom posted, "I'll ask about that. Great idea!!" The fact that I got a reply me feel good. The fact that she hadn't yet heard of the chap-stick trick made me feel even better. The fact that she followed "Great idea" with two exclamation points of enthusiasm made me feel (in the smallest way) useful, which is the best feeling of all. By sharing an unpleasant experience of my own, I was able to give a tiny suggestion that has the potential to make another person's unpleasant experience a little less so.

On the scale of helpful things one can do, I did the littlest good. But let's let it grow.....I told this mom about the chap-stick trick, she tells the hospital staff, and they start doing that for all of the children in that hospital. Then one of those other mom's at her hospital shares it with another mom whose kid goes to a different hospital, then she tells that hospital staff, and they start doing it too and so on and so forth until every child in the country is falling swiftly asleep to the sweet smell of strawberry kiwi anesthesia. A little overboard perhaps, but even still, I love the littlest good.

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That Which Cannot Be Duplicated

NOTE: This blog was written last night, but unable to be posted due to an internet outage

This evening I stole a few minutes for myself to partake in one of my favorite creative outlets - making music. I use the Garageband ap for the iPad, which is a dream come true. I'm sure some 'real' musicians out there find it to be a joke, but they can just go fuck themselves. Garageband has saved my creative soul. There is no faster way to develop random song ideas that pop into ones head than by using Garageband. While I have sent many a voicemail to myself containing two line melodic snip-its, I've never had a way to 'tinker' with these ideas or nurture them immediately. Many a snip-it has died somewhere between the 900th call from my mom and a dentist appointment reminder from a receptionist. Anyhow...

Tonight when I was working on a song, something strange happened. I was recording a drum track that was perfectly (read "fairly well") timed as I recorded it, however when I played it back, it was as though it was a half a beat or so behind. It didn't come out the way I wanted it to, but it was, in a weird way, better. I would never have recorded it that way on purpose and I will never be able to recreate it, because it happened completely unintentionally. Then I started thinking...

In my own life, it seems the greatest times I've had are the ones I've approached with limited and unspecified intentions. The best stories come from the things we stumble upon. Things like the 'one drink' happy hour that turns into an all nighter. Or the moment when you are inexplicably drawn to the lips of lover. When we remove all intention and allow moments to manifest on their own, the memories they create are incredible. The only problem is this...

Incredible memories that cannot be duplicated are the emotional equivalent of crack. Though I've never tried crack, from what I understand, the first time you use it, you get so unbelievably high that you spend the rest of your days chasing that ‘first time euphoria.’ Then your life falls apart. Similarly (but not as severely of course), if you approach a situation with the intentions of duplicating a previous positive memory, you are destined to fail. Reflecting on my own life I realize now, that the times I’ve tried to chase a memory are the same ones that have left me feeling the emptiest. Don’t spend your days chasing that which cannot be duplicated. Allow memories to make themselves and you will never become a crack head.

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