I wish I had more time to write for you.

Like the mom who is always last to eat, or the cobbler with tattered shoes on their children’s feet, you rarely get the words you deserve.

But I promise, even when I’m writing about spaceships or zombies or the end of the world, every sentence rains in your garden.

I have more words than anyone I know, yet they’re sand between my fingers when it comes to saying I love you, or telling you how much you mean to me, and how much you’ve shifted the plates of my world.

Happy birthday, happy Mother’s Day, and happy every day for the rest of our lives. 

Thank you for being such a wonderful mom to our children; the first to praise and last to complain, the one who greets each morning with the scent of coffee and encouraging words.

Ethan, Haley and me could all count on you as much as the sun in California. Even more in Ohio.

Your faith in me has made these last four years possible. Without you I never would have picked up the pen. And even if I had, crawling through the slime in the serpentine tunnel would have been too much for me to bear.

I could only inch toward the light at the end of the tunnel because you were always holding the beam steady.

You are forever patient, with me and the children, listening to us all, even if that means setting your own desires at the back of the line. You are an amazing friend and a remarkable mother; the heat at the end of my match and the flame that keeps me burning.

I am so proud to have you as my best friend and wife, and know that the night I called you back was the single smartest thing I ever did. I love to spoil you because no one ever did, and love to make you laugh because every smile murders more of the sadness inside you.

You deserve to have the most beautiful birthday, and celebrated Mother’s Day of your still young life. You are as beautiful to me as the day I saw you on the other side of my counter, smiling and hoping and waiting, now infinitely more alluring for the million or so seconds we’ve shared since.

I will stare into your giant chocolate eyes forever, knowing they are the one place in this world where I am truly home.

My words are for you. Thank you for how much you make it possible for me to write so many of them.

I love you so. Happy birthday, and happy Mother’s Day!

My baby hasn’t been my baby for a while.

This weekend our firstborn child, Haley, turns 10 years old.

I’ve been arguing with the calendar for months, taking turns with Cindy as we point our fingers to the sky and curse the impossibility. But the months continue to smear our logic with their mocking smiles.

We can argue all we like, but we will never return our faded years. Cindy is cursed with being married to a man who will reflect on moments gone by in excruciating detail, while I am married to a woman who mourns their passing.

Together, we promise to make this birthday wonderfully unforgettable.

Maybe it’s arbitrary, her years moving from one digit to two, but it seems significant to me, and a telltale sign that a wedge of our future that was once so far away is now moving in for good.

When I was younger, the hallmarks of my possible future hung like portraits along the walls in my mind: finishing high school, buying my first business, getting married, having children. Back then, my future was about me, which is where it stayed until I became a man.

I wasn’t a man the day I turned 18, despite what the law insisted. Nor was I a man when I quit high school or bought my first business. I became a man the day I looked at my life’s horizon knowing it would be empty without Cindy beside me.

Then, my future was about us.

My goals were still important, but there was another side to the prism, casting my wants in a clearer light. And that’s where it stayed until I became a father.

Haley changed my life in a second, not the day she was born, but rather eight months earlier when the blue line that didn’t lie reminded me life could be planned but even a perfectly blueprinted house will fall if the sand is soft beneath it.

My future is still about us, all of us. Me and Cindy, Haley and Ethan.

A future that started 10 years ago, 10 years and 9 months if you count the incubation.

Now I’m thinking about their finishing high school, their first businesses, their getting married, and eventually making me a grandfather. Maybe it’s odd for me to be thinking about becoming a grandfather while still knee deep in my mid-30s, but it’s the way my brain works and why I write about time and cycles of death as often as I do.

I cannot help but acknowledge the passing of time, and the week when our daughter turns 10 is the perfect time to take a step back and see it with the awe it deserves.

Yesterday my baby was a tiny peanut. We brought Haley home from the hospital and those first six months flew by. Back then, everyone we met said a different version of the same exact thing: She’s just SO alert!

And she is.

Haley is and always has been an old soul. She is far older than her 10 years, which is one of the things that makes her such an absolute joy to be around, and sometimes difficult to parent. Like her father, Haley has a fierce command of language. And like her mother, a fierce command of her will.

Haley’s first two years were “batteries included.” She was filled with personality –  smart, funny, creative, and over flowing with life. Remarkably observant and the only child in the house, she was relatively easy to parent. By the time she was three, Cindy and I were desperately in need of her batteries. She learned the words NO! and turned into the swirling tempest and creative tornado she is today. 

I look at Haley dumbfounded by the breathing proof of all that has happened to our family in the last decade. I had a partnership before her, but Haley turned me and Cindy into a family and laid the bricks for her baby brother to crawl down 2 1/2 years later.

I am beyond lucky to have such an amazing, articulate, wonderful daughter. And I am proud of everything I have given as her father. I have no regrets, and feel fortunate for the time we’ve had together as a family. Yet as she turns 10 I’ve never been more aware of the passing of time.

It was easier a few years ago. Cindy and I had our preschool and a lot of time with our children. But then Haley went to kindergarten and I became a writer, my new profession quickly swallowed hours without chewing as I did everything I could to keep us afloat.

Time is flying and I am flying by time. I must go faster for a little longer so I can afford to slow down. But I must go faster with the full realization that no matter how much my hard work now will help me afford everything I want from life, I cannot afford to lose appreciation for all I have right now.

Haley’s 10th birthday is a beautiful, and perhaps needed, reminder of what I want from this world and for my family, and what I must do to ensure it happens.

The next eight years will fly by as fast as these have, probably faster. I don’t want to lose them like raindrops drying on the ground. My daughter stands at the lip of innocence, still loving the things that children love. I love that she watches Phineas and Ferb, and that she is trying on new behaviors like they were dresses off a rack. I love that our last Christmas passed with her hanging onto her belief in Santa, even if it was only spiderweb thin.

This year we will lose many of those things, and next year even more.

I don’t yet wish to ponder the year after that.

My baby is turning 10, and it won’t be much longer that I’ll be able to cuddle her like I do and tickle her with abandon, and it won’t be much longer before she stops wanting me to.

Now we curl on the couch and I hold her close, and while I know there will always be some version of this perfect comfort between us, it won’t stay the same for too much longer.

While it’s easy to look at this 10 year anniversary of becoming a dad with slight sorrow at a decade gone, I’d rather stare in the eyes of all that is good and acknowledge how lucky I am to have a daughter like Haley, even if I cry as I write this.

As a father, I could never hope for more.

Haley, I love you way past the moon and all the way to the furthest star. You’re my baby girl and you made me a daddy. If possible, you made me love your mommy even more. You are turning into the most beautiful, articulate, creative, compassionate, wonderful person I could ever imagine. We will spend the next 8 years getting to know each other better, and follow it with another lifetime after that.

A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY to you. You are everything a father could hope for from a daughter, and a galaxy beyond. Thank you for making me Daddy, and starting off the past 10 years of my life. 

I can’t wait for the next 10.

xoxo

Hanging stockings, flocking trees
The inside warms the outside freeze
Christmas music crisps the air
And lights the smiles everywhere

December days, they inch on by
Going slow while flying by
For children waiting till the Eve
Close their eyes as they believe

The morning comes with stockings FAT
Santa’s footprints on the mat
Carrots gone, milk is drained
The mantle has been candy-caned

Presents piled, giftwrap glowing
Mom and dad, their smiles knowing
Shredded paper; torn and tattered
Happy, gleeful, minds are scattered

Morning fades, like tide receding
Dinner’s coming, time is bleeding
Until the next year’s Christmas morn
More magic memories will be born

Her book, “Mia Maria and Two Times The Kindergarten” is a wonderful little project, though Haley is slightly devastated she missed her first deadline.

Yes, she’s only nine, and yes, I did give her a deadline.

We’ve been working on Mia since early this year, starting back in late April. Every Wednesday night we would sit in my office for an hour or two, starting with our outline and working through the chapters one by one.

The finished outline was 3,000 words and provided a thick skeleton for her full story. Haley diligently added pages over the last several months. I promised her that as soon as she finished the rough draft, we would work together to get it finalized and published by the end of the year.

Haley’s voice is especially strong, the book is semi-autobiographical, and we were working from a solid outline, so the plan seemed sound at the time.

But the months faded too fast, and the end of the school year seemed to arrive ahead of schedule, even though it was on the exact day the calendar had promised. We drove to California, stayed for five weeks, then hurried back to catch the tail end of summer and school at the end of August.

Mia was stalled at the end of chapter 11, where it remained a chapter from finished for approximately forever.

David and I have published a couple dozen titles this year, but had to schedule a publishing pause in December so we could streamline our catalog, tie a few loose ends, and write the second of Yesterday’s Gone before the start of the new year and our next 90 day quarter. Our final publishing date was November 30, so Haley’s deadline for the Mia draft was November 15, at the absolute latest.

I told Haley it was no big deal either way, yet as her deadline loomed I could see the stress starting to simmer. I hated it, and myself a little for giving my daughter the deadline the first place. Yes, deadlines are important and must be honored, but you don’t need them (or the canker sores) when you’re nine years old and working on your first book with daddy. When she missed the deadline, her biggest emotion was relief.

Haley is a lot like her father. She loves to work on 1,000,001 projects at once. Missing the deadline gave her a short reprieve to finish up a few things on her plate and hit the new deadline, which is December 20, for a publishing date of her birthday, January 14.

This last weekend, Haley finished her rough draft.

I’m so excited to be working on this project with my little girl. I’m blessed with many amazing co-writers, but this is the first one to share my gene pool.

I love Haley, I love this project, and I’ve never been more excited for my first baby’s birthday!

Time for family and friends to gather under the umbrella of good cheer and genuine connection.

Keeping things simple and sweet is the secret to living a balanced life every day. Our last few Christmases have been hard, juggling life, family and finances. But those years have helped us grow.

Here are 10 ways a buckled economy can help keep things in check over the holidays.

1. Learn to say NO. Saying yes, when you should say no, leaves you resentful and overwhelmed. When people are really your friends, and your family really loves you, they understand when you can’t participate in a project or activity. When funds were tight, staying in became our new “going out,” and to this day an evening under our roof is our preference.

2. You don’t need a gym membership to stay in shape. Living in California made it easy to walk everywhere since the weather was usually perfect and there were always plenty of activities in walking distance. Walking is one my favorite family activities because everyone benefits from the fresh air, conversation, or silence. There have been many times this practice has helped Haley and Ethan find their inner calm. A brisk walk clears my mind, and the absence of distractions evens the playing field. I love the rain and snow in Cincinnati, and feel invigorated by the brisk air. Plus, I have a favorite raincoat and boots to splash in the puddles!

3. Healthy eating doesn’t have to cost a lot. When scarcity was knocking at our door, our food choices were at their healthiest. We worked harder with less. It killed me watching people with EBT cards and carts heaping with the trashiest, most processed junk imaginable. EBT cardholders had totals over $200.00. Mine were under $60 for fruits, vegetables and grains. Our children never knew how hard it was, because Sean and I made our shopping into a math game. We have this many dollars, what can we do? We found plenty of delicious recipes and one pot meals, and had fun cooking everything from scratch.

4. Stick to a budget. Before going shopping for food or gifts, we always decide on a budget. Sean is excellent about helping the family stay disciplined within the borders of a pre-determined budget. You cannot buy happiness, even with an avalanche of gifts. I’ve been guilty of trying in the past, but time has taught me well. Now that we have children, I feel our family must work together to donate time, supplies and food to benefit others. These memories will always last far longer than the battery operated toys beneath the tree.

5. Be generous to others who have less.  This year Haley  and Ethan decided they didn’t want to spend money on gifts, but rather, they wanted to use their allowance to buy necessities for Operation Christmas Child, St. Joseph’s Orphanage, and the YWCA Battered Women’s Shelter. Bringing holiday to cheer to others feels so great and the glow on their faces and the recipients is priceless.

6. Be realistic. As our family grows and changes, so do our rituals and traditions. The holidays are not about perfection. Let the children decorate the tree in their special way with homemade decorations. And be okay with a mess after making cookies and gingerbread houses. Being fiscally responsible forced us to initiate and maintain a simple lifestyle with activities filled our hearts and spirits with love and compassion. That is what we will remember 20 years from now when we’re sitting around the table at the holidays saying, “Remember when…”

7. Plan ahead. Part of the reason everyone gets so crazy this time of the year is because a lack of planning creates unnecessary crisis. Set aside specific days for shopping, baking, visiting friends and other activities. Plan your menus and make your shopping lists ahead of time to prevent last minute scrambling for forgotten items.

8. It’s all in the presentation. You don’t need fancy appetizers or filet mignon to impress. Present simple foods with flair, made with love. Kick it up a couple of notches by adding real plates, flatware that doesn’t match, and colorful mismatched cloth napkins instead of the ironically expensive and tacky paper/plastic products that can cheapen even the classiest food. If you are like me, doing dishes is actually a pleasure since it builds in down time when the holiday cheer becomes overwhelming.

9. Turn the ordinary into extraordinary. Don’t depend on being a fancy pants to create the holiday glow. Great people, simple food, and time to talk and laugh are the essential ingredients to a memorable holiday. Add twinkling lights, silly games, and genuine good cheer, and you set an awesome precedent for you and your family that will be remembered for years to come.

10. Decorate with natural ingredients. Don’t buy expensive holiday decorations. There are plenty of natural materials like evergreen shrubs, pine cones, holly, and real fruit (apples, oranges, pears) to spray paint gold for center pieces. Strings of cranberry and popcorn garland, plus plenty of candles, cloves, cinnamon and cider simmering on the stove can turn your home into holiday aromatherapy.

Don’t let a sagging economy drain the fun from your holidays. The core of capturing the festivities, fun and family comes from devoting care and thought to taking what you have and making it shine.

Keep it simple and everyone will be smiling, not stressing.

I said I wasn’t hungry, and disagreed with my tummy
Even though the spaghetti smelled wonderfully yummy
I yelled, “I’m not tired!” though I woke before dawn
And all my insistence was deep in a yawn

It’s time to surrender, I can’t take anymore
My pillow is waiting for my face and a snore
Next time I’ll listen, my mommy was right
Right now I’m so tired – YAAAAAWWWWWN… good night…

“Do you think she still believes?”

“Hard to say,” Cindy scrunched her nose. “I’d like to think yes, but it’s probably wishful thinking. If so, we have one year left, max.”

That was last year.

This year, it feels like we’re on hanging to belief by our fingernails (and denial). Our daughter Haley is nine years old, a few weeks shy of 10. Much to our delight, she still believes in Santa Clause. Or at least she’s smart enough to not allow her remaining faith to fade to nothing so close to the morning of truth.

Yes, of course we know Santa is silly tradition. But it’s one of the most lovable traditions there is. I loved believing in Santa as a child, so did my sister. And I longed to share the magic with my own children. Cindy, who had a zombie apocalypse childhood compared to my relative Disneyland, longed to do the same.

Now the façade is crumbling.

Whether or not Haley still believes in Santa Claus neither of us can say for sure.

But we agree the writing is on the wall. There aren’t too many 10-year-olds who truly believe.

Cindy has spent 20 some odd years as an elementary school teacher, the majority as a 4th grade teacher – the same grade Haley’s in right now. She said 4th graders who really believed were about as common as snow in fall.

Whenever she asked her 4th graders questions like, “Was Santa good to you?” she was most often answered with a rolling eye or quiet smirk.

I don’t remember exactly when I lost my own belief in jolly ole’ Nick, but I think it was around 8. And while I can’t recall the when, I do remember what happened immediately before.

I’d just called bollocks on the Easter Bunny. And as soon as I knew the Easter Bunny was a sham, Santa and his eight tiny reindeer ho-ho-hoaxed right behind. Ethan lost a tooth last week, I watched Haley’s reaction like a hawk.

Haley has a beautifully analytical mind, and it’s difficult for me to believe she hasn’t toyed with the idea that Santa’s a sham. She sometimes sees the wires and seams which split the magic of a movie’s special effects. I find it impossible to believe she hasn’t tried to unravel the mystery of Santa. Once she started, how could she arrive at any other conclusion?

Probably the same way we all do.

How many times have you lied to yourself, focusing on the 5, 10, maybe 20% of you that truly believed something, completely ignoring the 80% that didn’t?

For me, more times than I admit.

While that isn’t always the healthiest thing to do, right now and for the remainder of this year, I’m glad that’s what my daughter is doing. And once the kitty’s out of the bag and purring, I hope she can keep a secret.

Writer Dad

It’s a rare parent-teacher conference that shines new light on your child’s character, at least if you spend a reasonable amount of time with them, and are mildly observant.

There are two types of parent-teacher conferences: honest and eggshells. Honest conferences leave you with tools to improve your role as your child’s first teacher, eggshells rob you of the opportunity.

I know who my children are, so do the teachers who are with them through the majority of their weekday daylight. I need those teachers to confirm what I know and illuminate what I don’t.

A conference should help parents nurture their children to become better learners. A teacher’s professional perspective – how they see your child interpreting their responsibilities as a student – will help you effectively navigate the best possible path to get them where you want them to go.

We work hard, so do our children. But all four of us would rather work smart than hard. A potent parent-teacher conference gives us an opportunity to work smarter together.

Haley and Ethan’s parent-teacher conferences were yesterday. Haley is in 4th grade and sees four different instructors throughout her school day. Cindy and I were able to meet with each of her teachers, plus Ethan’s.

Haley is a tornado of ideas with a bottomless well of creativity. She loves to be the boss, loathes to be wrong, at least publicly, and is nowhere near as confident with math as she is with art or language.

Ethan is an earnest, honest, and endlessly enthusiastic learner, eager to please and keep pace with his sister, but needs help understanding, no, believing, that slow and steady most often wins the race.

There’s wasn’t a single observation Cindy and I didn’t already know and wholeheartedly agree with. What made our conferences so wonderful was that all five teachers used direct language to praise our children for all we know they’re good at, and equally frank words to tell us what they could do better, then take the ball and keep charging, developing strategies we could all use to move forward together.

We know Haley needs help with her confidence in math, but to hear her math teacher say, “When Haley doesn’t want feel confident in a subject, she’ll try to avoid it entirely. WE can do better.”

We agree, she can, and we’re thankful for a teacher who will say so. Haley’s teachers agree she’s a wonderful communicator, and that while they don’t want to dim her enthusiasm, we all need to collectively work toward her understanding that there is a time and a place for everything. Which we are.

We know Ethan has been racing through his reading, blazing through Harry Potter and The Prisoner of Azkaban in days rather than the weeks it took him to read Chamber of Secrets, simply because he’s trying to keep pace with his sister. And yeah, I’m sure he read every word, but that’s like saying you read every sign you passed, speeding by on your way to work. Ethan’s teacher told us he needs to slow down on his reading so he can get more out of it, same thing we’ve been saying since he started Book III.

I love honesty, more than most things. And despite my tendency to go on and on (and on), I greatly appreciate direct language.

I want to help my children be the best that they can be, and am thankful for teachers who make it possible.

Writer Dad

I have wonderful memories of Thanksgiving as a child. The holiday always fell the week of my father’s birthday, making it one of his favorites. His unusually buoyant mood kept the rest of the house happy, despite my mother always over-buying on the Turkey (it’s mostly bones and carcass, you know!)

Thanksgiving meant a happy dad, a busy mom, and a constant stream of old Twilight Zone episodes, and of course, plenty of food. Though I never really cared too much for the typical Thanksgiving spread, shocking as that may be. Traditional turkey, potatoes, etc., are nothing compared to the way I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving for the last 14 years.

I love pasta so much that I don’t even care how much it makes me fat, which is why Cindy prepares a trio of my favorite pastas for Thanksgiving and Christmas each year.

This year I’m especially grateful for the year itself, and while I won’t waste your time listing everything I feel fortunate for right now, here are the 10 things I’m most thankful for this Thanksgiving

My immediate family. Cindy, Haley and Ethan do more for me between sunrise and sunset than I will ever be able to truly articulate. They are the reason I rise each morning, the fuel that keeps me running so fast, and the reason my eyes never stray from our future’s horizon. My family has given me endless faith and tireless support. It’s appropriate that the thing in this world which gives me the most purpose is also what I am most thankful for

My friends and family in California. Surprisingly, I don’t miss living in California nearly as much as I thought I would. And I don’t mind the weather in Ohio at all. Sure, the four seasons might lose their novelty in another few years, but right now I’m still awed by their beauty. This fall has been the most beautiful three months of nature I’ve ever seen, and watching summer fade then fall to winter has been amazing for my writer’s soul. Yes, I still miss great Mexican food, but the only thing I truly miss about California are my family and friends – mostly my mom, dad, and sister, Megan. I’m grateful for the tools that make it easy to stay in touch, and a little mad at myself for not doing a better job, but thankful I have the self-awareness to know I must do better in the coming year.

My truly amazing partners. I don’t have a single regret about building my business online. It is, no doubt, the single best thing I’ve ever done that didn’t involve having children or marrying Cindy. But the biggest benefit isn’t the unlimited freedom or bright future nesting at the edge of our horizon – it’s the amazing partners I’ve been lucky enough to meet and bond with: David Wright, my creative collaborator for the last three years, Lori Taylor, the woman who shifted my family’s life for the better and brought us here to Ohio, Tracy O’Connor, a remarkably hard-working mother of five with a passionate voice, and Danny Cooper, a brilliant young man with an impossibly bright future. I’m lucky enough to call these people my friends, but am immeasurably grateful they are also partners and collaborators who I get to build amazing things with.

Amazon. As a buyer, I love Amazon. As a writer, I love them even more. As a publisher, I don’t know what I would do without them. My entire business shifted over the last ten months, and after three long years I’m now doing almost exactly what I set out to do. Amazon has made that possible. David and I have published a couple dozen titles to Kindle this year, and have our publishing calendar for the first quarter of 2012 fully mapped. Being able to publish this quantity of content at this level of quality would be impossible without Amazon’s Create A Space, their Kindle and its installed user base, or their A-B-C easy to use publishing pages. No single online entity has made it more possible for me to build the publishing company I see in my head. Dave and I inch closer to those ideals each day, and have Amazon to thank for every one.

Courage. Not just mine, but Cindy’s. It took tremendous courage to do what we did these last three years. It was hard to take the risk, absorb the debt, and keep on marching no matter what. Courage doesn’t mean you’re not afraid, it means you keep walking no matter how much your knees may shake. I was afraid, but willing to walk because Cindy was always willing to walk beside me. Courage isn’t easy, but it’s essential if you expect to make your dreams come true. I am thankful for my courage, as well as my partners and Cindy, who have the courage to never stop believing in me.

Ohio. I love this state even more than I thought I would. I love the seasons – the deep greens in summer, the every color of the fall, and the thousand fingered trees that mark December’s slow death of the year. I love the quiet, calm, and manners. I love the schools and the long, winding drives. I love that people wave when I go running. I love the ice cream. I love that deer frolick in back of my house. I love that I feel like my children are safe when they’re playing outside, and not just because I’m telling myself so. It was risky to leave everything I’ve known for three and a half decades, and I really, truly hoped we’d be okay with the move. But we love Ohio, are happy we moved, and I couldn’t be more thankful that we did.

Ethan and Haley’s school. Probably the number one reason we moved to Ohio in the first place. It might seem silly to move 2,300 miles for a school, but our school was worth it. One look and we knew it wouldn’t be possible to get something comparable in California, not without moving to a different city and having immediate, and drastically different means. I love how much the school expects from Ethan and Haley, and love how eager they are to meet those expectations. Our children are growing up in the most wonderful ways, and a lot of that has to do with their school. I am grateful every morning on the drive to the bus stop, and every day when the bus drops them at our front door, where they run squealing up the drive and into the house, excited to tell us about their day.

My voice. I always knew I was a talker, but never had a clue it meant I could be a writer. Every day I’m grateful that Cindy never gave up, and did everything she could to hammer the truth into my head until I believed it almost as much as she did. Nearly 14 years later I’m proud of my voice, and grateful I can use it to make a living for my family, a living that could take us anywhere in the world. From making readers laugh to making them cry, finding and developing my voice has made me a stronger writer, sure, but it’s also made me a better person, husband and father. And I’m thankful for that every day.

An awesome future. Each month this year has been better than the one before, this last the best of all. From having the #1 free horror download on Kindle, to having several best-selling children’s poetry and online writing titles, to proving a fiction funnel that will allow me and Dave to build a remarkable publishing company in 2012, the future could’t look brighter. Sure, I’m going to have to work my face off next year, but I’m used to that. And I love it. But now I’m immeasurably grateful that the years of hard work have a light at the end of the tunnel and that that light is bright enough to illuminate the remainder of the way.

Readers. I can never forget the readers who make this life possible. It’s been a beautiful thing, getting e-mails when people finish my books, read something I wrote online, or saw me say something which touched them in some way. I write to leave a legacy for me and my family, and to make a good living, but I also write to touch the hearts and minds of readers like you. I couldn’t do what I do without YOU. Without readers, I am only yelling down an empty hallway. Thank YOU for reading, I’m grateful for YOU every day.

Thanksgiving is a beautiful holiday, a time to sit, break bread, and reflect on everything the year has given. The year has been good to me, I hope it has been good to you, too. Take one minute to acknowledge the one thing you’re most grateful for with a comment below.

Finnius smelled ripe, he was fetid and funky
His odor was rotten and seriously skunky
If you’re thinking EEEWWW! – that’s disgusting and vile
I would have to say you’re wrong, and by about a mile

Things in Stinkmucky ran backwards, you see
Let me explain and I’m sure you’ll agree
Their trash was delivered when it was garbage day
And when things grew too spotless, they gave them away

All their songs were about garbage and their books about trash
They even used diapers that were dirty for cash
The world of Stinkmucky was a world upside down
Because the people in Stinkmucky lived under our ground

The Stinkmucky subjects were pleasant and nice
Even with scalps always itchy from lice
They had faces and bodies all slathered in slime
And sixteen sickening species of grime

One of the foremost of all the Stinkmucky
Was our fine friend, Finnius, persevering and plucky
Mr. McFilthy was a Stinkmucky self-made
With a BIG booming business in the trash traffic trade

He owned the largest of the barges in Bilious Bay
And if you wanted fresh garbage, it was Finnius you’d pay
Yet after too much of his life filled with too much debris
Finnius wondered what else he could see

So he emptied his coffers and gave garbage for free
To every Stinkmucky, in a grand jubilee.
Finnius did what had not been done before
He wondered what lay beyond, there had to be more!

He then tried something else that was oddly unique
Scrubbed himself squeaky, and started to speak
“Stinkmuckies,” he said, in a voice that was clear
“I’ve decided to climb to the tall side of here.”

Finnius pointed high, then picked up his pack
And started to walk, Stinkmucky to back
He climbed and he climbed, and then on day seven
Finnius stumbled upon Stinkmucky Heaven

He found 37 mountains, all bulging with junk
Heaps upon mounds, over piles of gunk
His eyes could hardly believe what they’d found
These billions of treasures just lying around

Finnius wasn’t the type to be reckless or rash
But this garbage was certainly not any old stash
He found knolls under hills under mountains of cash
Just lying around in that unguarded trash

So Finnius sat down and he started to think
On top of a pile of impossible stink
McFilthy stayed rooted right there on his dune
Until the next day, some time around noon

The ground shuddered and shook with a rumbling sound
As big metal monsters clamored over the ground
The beasts bellowed and boomed and rumbled and roared
Each spitting trash through an open back door

Then the beasts rolled away with a deafening chatter
As though the trash on the ground did not even matter!
Well, reason said one thing and said it quite clear:
These monsters were trying to make trash disappear

That left only one answer which made any sense
I’ll explain it right now, so you’re not in suspense
If this heavenly world, so reeking and rotten
Was only a landfill, best soon forgotten

Then the land of Stinkmucky, that world just below
Was the world where they must want for all trash to go
And if garbage was something they didn’t care for a bit
And they built this big place just to get rid of it

That could only mean one thing – the thought made him collapse
The people of Stinkmucky had been living on scraps
This Nirvana of garbage could set Finnius for life
And even his great-great-great grandson’s young wife

But Finnius thought bigger – in terms of because
And he wanted to know why all of this was
Finnius marched to a monster (a large garbage truck)
And yelled to the driver, “Stop moving the muck!

I hope you have answers for these questions I’ve got
Like what is the deal here with all of this rot?”
“There’s so much putrescence penned up in one place
Don’t you enjoy it in your own living space?”

The garbage man sighed as he dropped from his truck
He was covered all over in yellowing yuck
“Why would anyone live near this horrible smell?
Whenever I’m here, I never feel well

I just do my job, I unload my load
Then I hurry back home before I explode.”
“What are your homes like?” Finnius flushed
“Well, mine’s really quite clean,” the garbage man blushed

“My wife keeps it tidy while I’m here in the muck
The last thing I want is a house full of yuck.”
“I am not understanding, so please let us be clear.
Why do these behemoths bring all the trash here?”

“It’s really quite simple,” he started to say.
“We come out on trash day and take it away
People have cans, plastic and strong
Which keep getting fuller as the week rolls along.”

Finnius stared with his eyes open wide
His confounded expression he did not try to hide
“So diapers, and bottles, and broken toy cars,
Boxes, apparel, and old VCR’s?”

“Yes it is true,” the man looked ashamed
“People throw out all of that stuff that you named
Plus all kinds of things, you would not believe
And I haul it all year, with a two week reprieve.”

Finnius could not believe what he’d heard
There must be mistakes in the garbage man’s word
How could any one culture be so distasteful
So impossibly, imprudently, lavishly wasteful?

Finnius stood straight, finger to sky
He could not allow this to simply pass by
He sucked in some air and he made his voice grand
“I demand to speak to the one in command!

I fear that your leader must be replaced
For allowing such a reprehensible waste.”
The garbage man shifted, looked anywhere but straight
“Now I’m not trying to avoid you or make you irate,

But hundreds of millions of people did this
In fact most of our world has been awfully remiss
The problem it stretches as far as we see
It involves just about everyone… including me.”

Finnius was stunned, shocked, and aghast
These people knew how to build problems to last
“Listen.” he said, “I beg you to hear
This is not a small problem which will just disappear.

You are digging yourselves an awfully big hole
If you do not get all this under control
I’m a Stinkmucky, and don’t care to shout
But this is not something we can do much about.

You produce far more garbage than we’ll ever need
We’re quite happy down there, not victims of greed –”
“I’ll stop you right there,” said the garbage man, grave
“I agree with all the advice that you gave

But I am only one man, what can I do?”
Finnius just stared. “It can all start with you.
Just think of this answer: we all do our share
Each of us worry and all of us care

Alone we stand stunted, and really quite small
Yet added together, we’re able and tall.
Just do your best, that’s the best you can do
Hopefully, your neighbor will do the same, too

I’m going back home now, to return to Stinkmucky
Where even though things are all slimy and yucky,
We are never wasteful and always are sparing
Treating our world with compassion and caring

I wish you all well, and I wish you all luck
Deciding what you should do with all your junk.
I imagine you’d consider it fairly unlucky
If your world started to look like our world of Stinkmucky.”

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