Mo's Marketplace

365.25

Mon, 6 Jul 2009 23:50:51 0000

365.25 days. The celestial year. So much happens in that time and yet the longer we live, the shorter those days seem to become. Life becomes so routinized that Monday blurs into Friday, the last of the month crashes into the first. On the one hand, routine helps us organize our lives; on the other it seems to sap ones energy and drains our power - particularly for those of us who consider ourselves introverts. In any one moment during the course of those 365 days, the direction of our lives can change. Even if we really do expect that moment to occur, and even if we really think we're ready for it.

On the evening of July 6, 2008, my dad passed away after a long illness. We expected it, had come close to it a few times, but that evening, it happened. I truly thought he had prepared us for the eventuality - I handled it much as I expected he would want me to. I found some solace in writing, but as the year progressed I found myself visiting places I never imagined. Not necessarily physical locales, more emotional. A lot of personal challenges outside of his passing. I found myself keeping most of my emotions to myself, giving myself writing as my only outlet. Keeping others away. I found guilt is an incredibly powerful force. I found seeking the forgiveness of others is nothing compared to the act of seeking forgiveness from oneself.

I found anger is an incredibly powerful force, not one that is easily gotten over, and I've found forgiving others can be impossible if you cannot forgive yourself. I've yet to be able to forgive myself.

I've learned other things though. I've learned that I can be strong when called to be. I've learned that I can stand in the face of immense sadness, and find some humor and try to make others feel some comfort. I've learned that as strong and as fierce as anger can be, compassion and love can be as strong. I've learned that internalizing these negative emotions is incredibly damaging.

I've learned that death is a part of life, and how you handle death is part of what you leave behind. I've learned that a grave marker is nothing but stone - that the true memorial of what marks that person's life is the legacy of who they have left behind. Not money, not buildings, not material things. Each time a person references something you might say, make reference to a particular memory of you, relates a story that is the true legacy and the true marker of your life.

My dad was a special man. And he never knew it. I don't know that I did enough to show him how special he was. I will question everything I did and didn't do for the rest of my life and I am not sure I will ever be right with it.

This evening, one year ago, I had the opportunity to say goodbye to the man who was the tallest man I knew growing up, the man who carried me on his shoulders, called me "little guy" and walked me to school after lunch; The man who demonstrated to me what it meant to be a man, showed me that he would always be there for me no matter what and no matter the circumstances. I had the opportunity to share one last cup of coffee with him, tell him that I loved him, and to kiss him goodbye. Perhaps in his passing, I was able to show him some of what he gave me during his life. A carpenter by trade, he gave me more tools for dealing with life than he probably ever knew.

I know that I had more than many with my father - a man who cared for me endlessly and who would have done anything for me. In my sadness today, I know what I have lost - that sense of security that I have someone looking after me. A year on, I know what the world has lost. I mourn his passing, to be sure, but I honor his life. A year ago, I think I was most sad for myself. Today, I remain sad, but I'm far more able to look back and smile. I know what I have lost, but I also know what I have learned from him - that I can be that for my children. That I can demonstrate those things he demonstrated for me. He taught me what I needed to do for my children and what I need to do for others.

His memory will live on in those whose life his touched. Christine, James and Delaney will carry with them the lessons of his life and are charged with making sure Daegan understands who his grandfather was.

His life will never be recorded in any history book, but his life was not about that. His life was about leaving something more meaningful than oneself. His life was about giving others the tools, with the expectation that those tools will grow and multiply and be given to the next generation. It was on this day one year ago - 365 days plus a fraction - that I said goodbye to my father. As long as I live I will never forget that evening. I may never forgive myself, but I go forth knowing he would want me to. Dad, I miss you every day.

There's a Story if You're Willing to Listen

Tue, 30 Jun 2009 20:06:45 0000

Every dent, every ding tells a story. I grew up watching the Boston Red Sox on television, and by the time I was 14 years old, I finally had the opportunity to see them play in Fenway Park for the first time. My friend's dad ran a grocery chain and had tickets from the Coke distributor - my very first game was witnessed two rows back from the visitor's dugout on the third base line. Those seats are now worth some $85+ dollars. Back in 1984, not so much.

It was the first time I had seen Fenway and the wall up close. The "Green Monster" has dents in it covering decades of baseball games. With each dent, a story is born. The story of each is lost to time, but each one has a story. There's the September 2, 2001 game at which I sat in the right field bleachers where at the bottom of the 9th inning and 2 out, a perfect game was broken up with a line drive off the wall. To the best of my knowledge, no one ever marked the dent made by Carl Everett's line drive.

There is no telling what each dent means, but those stories are there.

The same is true in any work of human art, any random encounter one may have. A visit to the Museum reveals a world of story. Certainly, there are visitors who go to see Rodin's statues and gaze upon the inherent beauty of the man's work. I, however, wonder what must've been going through the artists' mind and how he controlled his hand in the creation of his work. To know another human's hands has touched upon a piece of stone, of clay, and scultped a work of art. What was the context, what was the motivation that fed through that artist's hands to create such a work?

A glance upon the bumper of any random car. A scrape, a dent, a ding. The car next to you held together with duct tape. There's a story if you're willing to accept it. The man at the convenience store who can't find the addtional change or the sight of the faded tattoo on his arm. There is a story to each of those things.

The scar from a channel of stitches on the body of a person who has undergone surgery. Certainly, there's a story to be told if you're willing to hear it.

Listening is one of the hardest tasks we as humans as asked to do, those who can internalize and appreciate the story behind the marks upon others, understand what it may be like being in the shoes of another.

The world is full of similar examples. Take a look at the car next to you tomorrow morning. Who is driving it? Where are they going? What is the story behind the vanity license plate?

Take a few minutes to observe that which comes from without. There may be great treasure awaiting you.

The Type Indicator: INTROVERT

Mon, 11 May 2009 23:52:23 0000

I've been called a night owl and I suppose that's not too terribly far off. I would prefer to stay up all night doing something instead of getting up early to do the same thing. It's not an anti-social thing, I have just always preferred to sit down and do whatever. There is really something about having that time to myself, without looking at a clock knowing that I have X amount of time until I have to do something.

A quiet time in which I can engage in whatever suits my fancy. I think it must have something to do with my personality type - INTJ . Now, as I grow older, I fit less the mold of the typical INTJ - the perfectionist more specifically - and I've become less introverted, but I do share many of the characteristics: I like building systems, I will tell you how I can help you, and frankly my interest lies in "DOES IT WORK." I like to know HOW something works.

A big part of that introversion is taking this alone time to recharge my batteries.

I've spent some time trying to reconcile my sometimes insatiable desire to write with my introversion, but I think I've come to some conclusions about that as well. I tend to share a lot in my writing, perhaps too much - I've been told "I can't believe you wrote that," but it's not about the sharing from which I gain energy. It's about the act of writing - sometimes I just need to write and I just write what comes to mind. Sometimes that results in a little TMI . The nice part is that if you're really uncomfortable, you can navigate away. I can completely understand that some of what you read here isn't exactly cocktail party stuff - but trust me, I'm much more fun in person. So, it seems writing satisfies my need to create something and it may satisfy some aspect of my extroversion - an aspect of my personality that does seem to grow as I get older, but will probably never fully express itself.

I've been going to the gym now for some 9-10 months and I still know no one. I do what I'm there to do, listen to music or watch the television and that's about it. Some folks I know have a little group of people around them no matter what and no matter the situation. I'm not that guy. I sometimes feel like I could work in a place for 20 years and a month or so after I left, someone would hear my name and say, "that sounds familiar..."

I admire people who gain energy from others. Not the vapid types who just want to please others, but those who actually gain energy from having others around, those who find it easy to make friends and who enjoy others. Intelligent people who find others interesting and who care about them. It's kind of funny really, I have made a career working with people and yet I find people to be the most difficult of topics on which to gain any sort of expertise. People are messy and without apparent rules, without any apparent system. I make decisions easily about what should happen, but get hopelessly confused when it comes to stepping on people's toes.

Perhaps I'll learn more about myself as I get older - stereotypical unfinished project am I. By the time I figure out this most complex tangle of emotions, thoughts, skills, ambitions it will be time that the great beyond calls my name. In the meantime, I guess I'll figure everything else out and in so doing perhaps I'll get better insight as to what makes me tick.

The Return of Mo

Mon, 27 Apr 2009 23:46:37 0000

I knew it was too good to last. I've successfully taken down something to the order of 12 trees over the last few months without incident. I still have some logs and such rolling around the yard, but it doesn't look like a lumber camp any more. The end of my street does look like a brush dump, but at some point either the USDA will show up with some chippers or I'll just rent one and have at it. I do believe all who know me are astounded by my lack of injury - playing with 18" and 20" chain saws, 8# mauls, machetes, and log splitters and the one injury I have to report is that I pinched my leg a little in the splitter.

Since my incident with the back window a week after having purchased it, I've had no real problems with the car. It starts every morning, rides nicely, performs to task. I have come to really like driving this car. The family is generally healthy, the dog is happy, the job is good. Generally no complaints.

And then, Mo returns. It could have been the fact I failed to put sunscreen on for the first few glorious days of weather here in the New England spring. I have what I politely term "North Atlantic skin," owing to my ancestral heritage. It's essentially this: I am so pathetically white that not only don't I tan, the sun generally reflects off me. Or as Stewie might say, "I haunt my own house." So, it should probably come as no surprise then that when a person such as myself fails to adequately protect himself from the sun, this person will likely suffer some UV related consequences. NB: flip flops do not adequately protect ones feet from ultraviolet radiation.

Furthermore, when one proclaims that winter storm damage has been kept to a minimum, one must really make sure of this. Imagine my surprise, then, when uncovering my grill for the first time since after the December ice storm that cost my yard it's flora, I found the meat station had indeed suffered severely. Shock, horror, denial, anger, acceptance. It does still work, but my glorious stainless steel grill had been targeted my Mother-freaking Nature. What did this beautiful appliance ever done to deserve such a fate? Thankfully, the steak grilled up nicely in spite of the slightly more ventilated structure and as such will not be immediately replaced.

Then today. It started as so many other days do, with the obligatory awakening. After that horror had been overcome, the daily dressing, tie selection (which I still struggle with, despite several months now of having expanded my shirt selection from solid blues and whites to a more motley collection of stripes and checks) and ready. It was only later revealed to me that I had in fact chosen brown socks to wear with my black shoes, but that had not yet occurred to me. I was even off early, knowing Monday morning commutes are generally the worst of the week.

Coffee in hand, I began my journey to my workplace. I drive a total of 3 interstate highways to get to work, the first one of which is about 7 miles from my house. 2 miles on the highway and traffic crawls to a standstill - not going anywhere. Ugh. So I jump on some side roads to get to the second of my interstate highways.

Back on track, I reach the third of my interstates - the Massachusetts Turnpike. Ah, yes. The pike. I check mobile Facebook to see my friend in town who takes the commuter rail into Boston was complaining about the express train being somewhat less than express. I comment that he is welcome to commute with me anytime.

One half hour later, after having passed through the last toll booth of my drive, sitting in stopped traffic, I hear a crash. I look up to see the car behind me hurtling toward me and another crash. *sigh* The rear of my car now looked like the top of my grill.

I should have known Monday would be the capper on the trifecta.

So there it is. Mo had been absent for too long. He arrived today with all the glory that is Mo, the man with a lot of luck - usually bad. Mo is that guy who is eerily inept, yet just competent enough to keep himself out of hospital emergency rooms. Mo is the guy who can make a hazard out of the most banal situation. Mo is the guy whose roof remains in tact despite being menaced by storm damaged trees, only to find his grill smashed 4 months later. Mo is that guy whose just stopped in traffic and winds up getting hassled by his insurance company.

In some ways, I'm actually happy Mo has made a return - perhaps it means my muse is back in action. As a side note, all involved are apparently fine - mine was the only one of the three cars that was drivable. AND I also made the morning traffic report as these things tend to tie traffic up something awful. So, at the end of the day, things happened the way they always seem to work out for Mo.

In a funny way, it's good to be back.

The Big Game

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 09:38:22 0000

My friends, I entered wholesale combat this weekend and I learned a valuable lesson. I would survive not at all on the field of battle. Fearless though I may have been, I learned that in the theatre of battle, I would be counted among the casualties. I had yet to fire a shot, peered out from behind my cover and promptly took a shot to the eye. I was dead and I never saw it coming. Yes, friend, I took a paintball shot to the face and I knew I was with the big boys.

Bring It On

Mon, 13 Apr 2009 13:02:43 0000

I'm not an erudite man. Quite frankly I'm not so sure that I know what that word means, but it has that air of superiority about it that tells that whatever it is, I'm not. I think of myself as being quite average in most ways; as for the ways in which I'm not average, I'm pretty sure the aggregate works out to be ABOUT average. Maybe less. Who knows.

Everybody IS Free to Wear Sunscreen

Sun, 12 Apr 2009 23:52:38 0000

I've been having a little difficulty getting ideas for things to write lately, and when I do it's just hard to get the motivation to do it. Nothing a little MAOI couldn't take care of...if only I had the foresight to, you know, get some. Anyway, in an attempt to write my way out of some doldrums, I decided tonight was the night and I was gonna write something. Damnit. Damned if I could think of anything.

Well, that's not all together true.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Thu, 2 Apr 2009 14:09:00 0000

The light at the end of the tunnel does not seem to be a moving train. Nor an oncoming tractor trailer. Nor even some grubby kid with one of those old school headlights mounted on the front of his bike. There really does seem to be the light of day coming from the opening in the darkness.

Looking for a Connection

Sat, 28 Mar 2009 00:06:39 0000

It's the end of March 2009. Where does the time go? Back in July, I lost my dad. Not unexpectedly, but it was a hard journey for him and for us. He was so sick and he was really ready to take that next step. Try as we might, I just don't think despite all the preparation we had done mentally and spiritually that we were really ready for him to take that next step. A little less than 2 weeks before he passed away, he was really sick...I sat with him that night, fearing, dreading. I knew he was ready, but I wasn't. My sister wasn't. We called the Ambulance and he was whisked away. After a sleepless night in the ER waiting room for us, and a night filled with massive doses of antibiotics he was awake, alert, shaven, almost shiny and new.

BUT, we knew it was temporary.

Crazy Canton Cuts - CHRIS HANBURGER for Pro Football HOF

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 21:31:41 0000

Crazy Canton Cuts pays tribute to Professional Football Legends deserving of the Hall of Fame, who have been overlooked.

You also may be aware the first entry of the series was CHRIS HANBURGER.

It is their personal mission to get Hanburger into Canton, and this has been spotlighted in the Washington Times.

They have decided to ratchet up their efforts.

Crazy Canton Cuts is PLEADING for YOU to sign the petition:

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/ChrisHanburgerHOF

Your e-mail will NOT be displayed, and you can check off a box to not be bothered further.

PLEASE SPREAD THE WORD TO YOUR FRIENDS ALSO AND GET THEM TO SIGN AS WELL!

Note of thanks for Lester's Legends for the idea of posting a blog entry for the cause

One Artist Remix Version: Jimmy Buffett

Mon, 23 Mar 2009 21:44:39 0000

Another Facebook remix. This one was Answer the questions using song titles from one artist. I chose my long time favorite (and, if nothing else, prolific) Jimmy Buffett. So here's the answers, and some color between the black and white:

Using only song names from ONE ARTIST, cleverly answer these questions.

Pick Your Artist: Jimmy Buffett (I almost feel constrained by only answering one to each question). Never one to schill my own stuff, I did a Jimmy Buffett Top 10 Album list in late 2007 and I dare say, it still holds. Please swing by that article and take a look. Ok, I do shamelessly huckster my own stuff, but...well, no but.

44 Things; The Expanded, Remix Version

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 23:17:46 0000

Okay. Here's another Facebook thing that I decided I would share here. My friend Vagabond Guru , a man I believe thinks in fully formed sentences, has a tendency to do these lists and go through an articulate the rationale for each one. On Facebook I don't do that - hell, they're getting all the ad revenue from my neuroses - instead I figure I'll do that here and reap the mass millions to be had in revenue from those ads. CLICK 'EM DAMNIT!

Anyway, here it is: 44 Things, The Extended Remix Version

It's Been A Long Time Since I Sat and Wrote...

Tue, 17 Mar 2009 21:53:48 0000

Wow, to take a bite off the old Led Zep bit, It's been a long time since I sat and wrote.... I haven't been away. I haven't been so overwhelmed that I couldn't take a little time to jot down some interesting tidbits. I haven't had much to say. A rare occurrence in what has become a regular ritual - a hobby if you will. Could it be that I've run out of interesting things?

A Grande Latte in a Venti Cup

Mon, 9 Mar 2009 10:14:27 0000

I’ll have a grande latte, but please put it in a venti cup.” I wonder what that says. I suppose there could be all kinds of reasons someone would want a bigger cup for their coffee – and for those who aren’t in the know, yes, “venti” is larger than “grande” – but I think there’s a larger message there.

Preparing Dad's Taxes

Thu, 26 Feb 2009 00:24:11 0000

It's now been about 7 months since my Dad passed away. Time does heal some wounds and as each day passes, it gets easier. Every now and again, I find myself in the middle of doing something when that sad feeling washes over me. I'm in the middle of chopping wood, and just start thinking how much I miss him. I'll hear something on the radio that reminds me or I'll hear somebody say something that sounds like something he would say.

So, I'm now working on taxes. Two stacks of papers: our tax paperwork - W2's, 1099's, all that - and his paperwork. It literally took no time at all to set up, prepare, check and file my taxes. 45 minutes tops. And now there's that stack of his paperwork. Looking at me.

The Trees Came A Tumblin' Down

Sun, 22 Feb 2009 22:22:39 0000

For my Facebook readers, you can find the whole entry at morrisseyweb.com - and please consider joining the Mo's Marketplace Blog Network!

This weekend was a pretty sad one for old Mo. This was literally the first opportunity since the end of last year (a whole, what?, 8 weeks ago) that I could get out in the yard and pick up cleaning up after the ice storm Central Massachusetts had in December.

Now, that in and of itself isn’t enough to get the old one sad. Cripes, I’m wandering the yard with a machete, bow saw, chain saw, and a wood maul. Tell me what man wouldn’t find that to be an absolute bath of testosterone driven joy?

Gone Fishin'

Fri, 13 Feb 2009 11:25:12 0000

To my loyal - and disloyal alike - readers, for the next week or so, I will not be attending to my blog as I will be away. During that time, I will disable the commenting so I don't come back in a week and find some 1000 spam comments to cull through and in the process risking deleting the comments of the readers I do so enjoy.

I will be back...a little rejuvenated. In the mean time, I present for your enjoyment, my Friday Roundtable at YouGabSports.

Peace!

Your Reputation

Wed, 11 Feb 2009 14:40:37 0000

One of the things job seekers are encouraged to do is to maintain control over their online-reputation. Curiously enough, though, how many people have you met that you know have no idea how to maintain control over their reputation in general. Is it rather extraordinary that we ask people to make certain they’re reputation on line is solid when on-the-street, they’re just so clueless?

Wal-Mart Really Is Planning to Take Over the World.

Thu, 5 Feb 2009 10:17:57 0000

Wal-Mart increased the Super Bowl ratings, and their own sales numbers by cutting prices on hamburger buns and flat panel televisions, but the rest of the economy is still in the tank and it looks like it's getting worse. Wal-Mart, though, seems to be doing adequately despite their apparent difficulty predicting consumer behavior.

For my facebook readers, the entire witty commentary can be found at morrisseyweb.com

Super Bowl XLIII - Pittsburgh vs. Arizona Thoughts and Observations

Mon, 2 Feb 2009 22:15:31 0000

Am I the only one who thought the Super Bowl was a great 7-minutes or so of football? Best ever? Not so much. One of the best endings ever. Interestingly enough, Kurt Warner figures in three of my top 5 endings… Super Bowl XXXIV, XXXVI, and XLIII. Sadly enough for him, he won only one of those. Here are some random thoughts about the Super Bowl and things related...