Vacation on the 20th floor

A beer, a book and a pack of crackers. Everything I need is in my backpack as I head for the pool. A short elevator ride a few floors up and I'm on the roof of the hotel. Great views in all directions and an olympic size pool. A little payback and some quiet time at the end of a long first day in class, 100 miles from home. It is typically not crowded at this time of day and often I have the whole place to myself, but it is the week before the fourth of July and I am not alone. I have only sixty pages left to read in my book, so I might have to go back to the room for some uninterrupted reading. Let me just get to a good stopping point and I'll head back down.

After an hour of thinking that the next paragraph would make a better stopping point, I've gotten closer to the end of the book. It seems like I will just stay here and finish up when I hear the sound of a small herd of flip flop covered feet headed my way. I'm in the big city, so I try not to look up. Avoiding eye contact has proven the best approach to keep panhandlers at bay, so why not use it on the other hotel guests. I have noticed that when you ask a stranger a question there there first response is "huh". I'm pretty sure they hear you, I think it means leave me alone. So I keep my head down and try to continue reading.

"Wow! Look daddy, you can see Stone Mountain from here!" a little girl of about eight tells her father. "Are we still gonna go there this week?"

The little girl is one of five children clinging to the railing twenty floors above downtown Atlanta. They seem to fall in a line at the rail arranged by height. The father tells them to turn around and he takes their picture. They are very excited and I'm sure that all five mouths are open in every photo.

"Don't make that face" the father says. "Just smile. You know your mother will not be happy at you posing with your tongue sticking out."

It is really impossible to read with all of this noise beside me, so I stand up and offer to take their picture all together. I catch a fleeting glimpse of fear in the father's eyes as he hands me the family camera, but they turn and face me quietly.

"Perfect" I tell them as I extend the camera back to the father. The smallest boy breaks from the group and runs to view the picture. He takes no more than a few steps in my direction before his father's hand catches his collar and reels him back in. I can't tell if it's the presence of a stranger or the distance to the ground, but the father is on guard.

We talked for a while longer and the father seemed to relax. They were from the Bahamas, on vacation for a week in Atlanta. It's hard for me to imagine leaving the Carribean to come to Georgia, but contrary to the beliefs of my wife and daughter, I dont know everything. He told me the places they planned to visit and asked for recommendations of others and the entire time he never let go of the little boy's collar. We shook hands and exchanged names about the time his oldest daughter ran back up.

"They are from Wisconsin!" she yelled, pointing back toward the edge of the pool. "Wisconsin daddy!" I imagine if you live in Naussau, Wisconsin is like the North Pole. Snow celebrities. The father nodded his head at me and they headed for the door. The other three falling in line, skipping and turning in circles. I could hear his promises of a swim later as they walked away. I think I even heard a "we'll see" or two before they got out of earshot.

I sit back down with my book. Twenty four more pages to go, but I have to re-read a page or two to get back into the story. As I'm turning a page as I hear a woman beside me ask "Mind if ask you a question?" I'm a little startled because she is way too big to have gotten so close undetected. Must be that Wisconsin stealth I think, recognizing her as the one the little girl was pointing toward earlier. I try to keep my adopted city cool and respond with the typical "huh", but it has little effect on her. She takes this as a yes and begins to rattle off questions. Her husband comes up behind her and stares at me blankly as if I'm speaking Bulgarian. Southern Bulgarian maybe.

"Where should we eat? Have you been to the Aquarium? Are we safe going here...there? Is it always this hot?" she asked, with hardly enough time for me to respond to each. I do my best to answer a few questions while she takes a breath. Although I've been staying at this same hotel off and on for the last year, she probably knew as much as I did about Atlanta from looking online. Her husband finally got up the courage to speak. He told me they were from a small town and were not used to "certain kinds of people". I usually bristle at these types of comments, but I really don't think he meant anything by it because they had been very nice to the family from the Bahamas. This family was the "certain kinds of people" he was talking about, if only by appearance.

Well I finally parted ways with the small town snow celebrities and it was no longer light enough to read. I packed my book and untouched beer back into my pack and started to head down to my room. The all too common sound of sirens twenty floors below caught my attention, and I walked back to the rail to look down. Matchbox cars with flashing lights and wailing sirens made their way to somebody's bad day. Sombody's variable. The answer to the questions both families wanted to ask, but couldn't verbalize. Is my family safe here?

With each passing day I am more impressed with just how similiar we all are. We look in the mirror and appear so different from others. We speak different languages and crave different foods, but we all seek the same thing. Food, shelter and saftey for our families.

Georgia America

As I walk to the edge of the pool, I discover that I will probably have to walk down the steps instead of diving in. Too many people with the same idea and it's crowded! Little kids with plastic floats strapped to their arms look up from the shallow steps and clear a path as I enter. I have to stop as a squealing sunburn victim splashes right in front of me, dog paddling like a fifty pound poodle. A very tan lady looks over the top of her sunglasses at me, she lets me know she is watching and the poodle belongs to her. I move even slower.
The water feels great and I ease down toward the deep end. I map out a path and breaststroke through the crowd of coconut flavored vacationers. When I reach the bouyed rope that seperates the swimmers from the sinkers, I latch on. After dunking my blistered head I shift around and sit on the rope. The rope begins to sway and as I reach for a firmer grip, a little boy of six or seven materializes beside me. No float or swimmies, just a firm grip on the cable.
"I'm sorry" I offer, "did I knock you off?"
"Yeah" the boy said, "but it's ok, I have fifteen lives. It's her you need to worry about, she only has one."
He points to another very tan, visor wearing lady that has to be his grandmother. She doesn't look up.
All I could really think to say was "cool", but that was enough and he took it from there.
PJ finally pried us apart after an hour or so, but I had a new friend. The only real pertinent information I got from him was that he had enjoyed his seventh birthday at the beach and he was from Georgia America. He was funny. He told me several things that I feel sure were family secrets, or at a minimum, family embarrassments. But he really just seemed to enjoy having a conversation with somebody that would listen, ask questions and take him seriously. An "adult" discussion.
I saw him several times during my vacation and his grandmother ended up being nice too. I guess everybody is a little more wary of strangers than they were when I was a kid, and after watching the news, why not. When I was little I always tried to talk to adults. Some would talk to me and others would not. It was a number's game for me, but I remember the feeling of confidence I got when they would. I felt important, accepted.
But isn't "remembering" the key? People tell me that I'm a kid magnet because we are (and I quote) "about the same age", but that's not it. I'm fully cooked, I just remember being a little kid. A little kid, a big kid and now an adult. There is really not much difference in the three. At all stages I wanted to be looked at, heard and treated with respect. To laugh, love and play. To not be written off when I do or say something stupid. To enjoy the things we all have in common; two Georgia Americans.

Perfect People

The door flies open and a little girl of about five or six pounces on the bed, butterfly net in hand, to roust her sleeping parents. The couple in bed sits up smiling, honestly looking better than I do after coffee and a shower. They smile at her and the father jumps out of bed, takes her in his arms and swings her around the room. Her too blonde hair blowing around her small, smiling face. The little girl takes the father's hand and leads him outside for a day of catching butterflies and identifying harmless, non-stinging insects.
After the bugs are identified and released, the father and daughter relax in a well shaded hammock, face to face, solving the world's kid problems. Why dogs walk on four legs. Why he has a big dark hair growing between his eyes. How he met her mother. Cataloging answers from the most trusted person in the world.
The day winds to a close and the little girl is tucked in bed. Before she closes her eyes she reaches under her pillow and takes out a card in a purple envelope. "Happy Father's Day Daddy, I love you." she chirps before dropping her head on the pillow with eyes pinched shut. Shut so tightly that none of the love and excitement she feels can escape, locking the memories of the day away. She falls asleep, father watching, with a big smile on her face.
Sound familiar? Yes, this was a Hallmark greeting card commercial I saw on television this morning. There are many similiar to this one for every occasion we celebrate. Perfect looking people enjoying a perfect event. They sleep in ironed clothes with combed hair, brushed teeth and makeup. Fat, smooth pillows and ornate comforters. Blinds open just enough to allow the perfect amount of morning light, and a pre-caffeine smile that can come only from a fairy tale.
But as unreal as this sounds, isn't this how we remember our best days? Most of us don't look like the models on television. We sleep in pajamas with holes in them and compare bed heads in the morning. I've always thought that the worse my hair looked in the morning the better I slept the night before! But when we sit together eating breakfast I feel like Brad Pitt. Well more like Robert Redford, but you know what I mean. I'm enjoying breakfast with my group of perfect people. My family. My television commercial. I loved explaining the kid mysteries to my daughter almost as much as love telling adult jokes with her now. My wife and I don't talk about the same things we did 25 years ago, but they are no less as important or exciting. It's our life.
I've wanted time to freeze many times in my life. Pinch my eyes shut and stay in the moment forever. To step off the rollercoaster of good and bad, and live in the Hallmark commercial of the day. But if I had done this I would have missed the lifetime of moments that have followed. The lifetime of moments yet to come. The bad that allows me to throughly enjoy the good. My life may never be Hallmark worthy, but it's mine. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Earth Day

Happy Earth Day! Be kind to the planet, we only have one! Plant a tree today! There are a million tag lines to encourage others to celebrate Earth Day. It's like Christmas...it only comes once a year....enjoy! I know this is meant to draw attention to our wasteful culture, and the intentions are good, but isn't every day really earth day? Wouldn't a smaller more consistent approach do more?


It's kind of like watching the Superbowl. You are glued to the game, but when a commercial comes on you jump up, use the bathroom, then flush the toilet. How many millions of flushes is that? Seems like it would create enough negative pressure to turn the earth into a black hole! But it doesn't. Millions of gallons of water are used simultaneously, but it averages out later to be about the same amount used in an typical day. After the game we go back to our normal schedule.


If you turn off your air conditioner you use no electricity. When you turn it on the meter zooms. Zero to sixty. There is no in between, it's either on or off. It's either Earth Day or it is not. But what if the air conditioner worked more efficiently? What if it got better "gas mileage?" What if most of the cool air blowing through the pipes went into your home and not into hyperspace? This would certainly help the atmosphere, but it would also put more money back in your pocket. Maybe you could go out to eat with the savings. Take a day off work. It could make your time on this earth more enjoyable with the added benefit of helping save it.


There are literally hundreds of simple, painless things we can all do to save energy every day. The air conditioner and it's duct system seems like a very complicated one, but there are several things that the average person can do to it themselves to make it save energy (money). The government has gotten involved with integrating energy codes into building codes, so now which arm you use to pull the lever at the voting booth will affect your views on energy consumption. A sad, but avoidable note on our political system.


So even if you don't care about the polar bears and the ice caps, you certainly care about your pocketbook. I looked out the window this morning and there was not a glacier in sight. But there never is. You can't see them from my house. It was a little warmer than usual, but this is not uncommon, it's mid April of my 48th spring. The beauty of this planet is that it's always changing. Some we cause, and some happen on their own. It is always debatable which is which. I don't pretend to know the answer but I have a few hunches. In the mean time if I make everyday a mini earth day to save myself some money, I surely won't be doing more harm.

Fun

I like to have fun, always have. I will admit that the older I get the more of a struggle it becomes, but it's possible. I'm not talking about deep sea fishing or tropical vacations, everybody can find fun in things like that. What I am referring to is just simple fun. Laughing. Inside jokes with close friends and family, practical jokes, even funny television shows. "Foolishness." Silly things that we all have a way of growing up and out of.

I grew up in what I would call a semi-large family. Two parents and three kids is almost a small soccer team, but when you make the three kids boys, the number seems larger. When we went places together we were kind of asking for trouble. Especially when all three kids were teenagers. Boredom makes kids do and say some weird things and I was no exception. In hindsight I'm pretty sure I was the real problem. My little brother told me once, while he was trying to stop laughing and breathe, that I wasn't funny, I was just relentless. I realize now that just about summed up my childhood. If you can do it, I can over do it.

If we went to the mall shopping I would lag behind a few steps and limp. The family didn't notice, they were just glad I was lagging behind. I watched people pass by and look at me out of the corner of their eye. They were curious, but tried not to stare. If we were in a crowded store I would speak to one of my brothers in a fake foreign language just to see what strangers would do. You have to be careful doing that today because someone will try to engage you, but in the 1970's it worked like a charm. I know some of this makes you think that an appointment with the karma police is eminent, but it was just harmless fun. I just wanted to see a stranger's reaction.

Good comedy has two parts: the one delivering the jokes and a straight man. Always be the one delivering the jokes because the straight man is the one that gets embarrassed. Case in point: My mother and I went to Macon to buy a new sofa. How it ended up being just the two of us, I don't remember, but I think she figured I would be good without my brothers. A salesman followed us around the store with a positive comment about every one we looked at. It wasn't high pressure sales, but it was a little annoying. In spite of him we decided on just the right sofa and went to the counter to pay. My mother was writing a check that was printed with her last name as Fort-Herren, her maiden and married names. The salesman looked at the check and asked "What kind of name is this?" I know now he was just making nervous small talk, but it was the opportunity I was waiting on.

"PLO." I said with the perfect dead pan look, and said no more. Well I know that I date myself with this response because few today remember the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), but they were feared at the time. I thought my mother was going to have a heart attack! It didn't cross my mind that the guy might not take the check, but it crossed hers. The salesman just stared at us. The look on his face said "What in the hell did I just ask that question for?" Of course I promised on the ride home to never do that again, and we both had a good laugh.

One of the things I've realized that is different today when you do things like this is the reaction of strangers. People used to try hard not to stare. They would look at you out of the corner of their eye. They would keep moving and pretend not to notice. They tried to be respectful. My daughter went with me yesterday to an appointment with the eye doctor at Walmart. I would need new glasses and I wanted some help picking out the frames. We chose a pair that in her words "don't make you look stupid" and prepared to leave. My eyes were dilated so they gave me a pair of those disposable plastic sun glasses to protect my eyes. I hate those things, but I had left my real sunglasses in the car and I needed them. As we headed for the door, fighting the 5:00 crowd, I grabbed her shoulder, turned my head at an odd angle and pretended she was guiding me out of the store. My best Stevie Wonder, my old tricks with a new straight man.

Maybe it has been a while since I've done something like this, but it doesn't seem like it. Taylor wouldn't go shopping with me for almost two months after I jumped in the air and clicked my heels in a crowded Walmart. I'm not out of practice! But what I was not expecting was the reaction of strangers. No subtle glances. No eyes right as they walked on by. People stopped and stared. Gawked. Pointed at me and whispered. Maybe the karma I knew would one day come my way is to witness the lack of respect people seem to have for each other.

Dreams

For most of my life I have encountered vivid dreams. I started to say enjoyed vivid dreams, but this is not always the case. Even as a child I would recount the episodes to my parents in great detail, hoping they could help me make sense of them. Looking back I probably should have kept some of these to myself, but we learn as we go along. At least they didn't have me committed. I always thought everyone dreamed (and remembered them) just like me. I assumed they just wanted to keep them to themselves, because explaining something that makes no sense to you will surely confuse the hell out of someone else. I looked for books to explain dreams and when the internet came along I scoured it as well. Most information was the same. Symbols they said. "If you see a warthog in your dreams it means you need a change in your life." Now that makes complete sense! I'd love to meet the research team that came up with that one. The flaw in this theory is...what if I had a warthog farm? It would certainly mean something different to me then. Anyway, I have always been on the hunt for some answers. I read a book a few years back that my daughter insisted I buy. She was home from school for a week because she had just been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. We were at the book store looking for something to occupy her time (and daddy's mind) when she pointed it out to me. "Buy this book", she told me. "You like her." I looked at the cover, read a few pages and put it back on the shelf. To say it didn't grab me is an understatement. I sold my warthog farm a long time ago. We finished shopping and when she put her books on the counter she looked at me and asked me where my book was. I mumbled a few words about the price and how busy I was and warthogs and... I was really just hanging on. I really just wanted to sit on the edge of my bed and feel sorry for her and myself and the whole diabetes thing, but she didn't. She walked back over to the shelf, grabbed the "Book of Dreams" and placed it on the counter. "You should read this" was all she said as we left the store. That was three years ago now. I think of the lifetime struggle she will have with diabetes, but I have found a way to deal with it. I think she has too. Giving up is never the answer. The book she insisted I buy forever changed my way of looking at dreams and to some extent, my life. It took away the symbolism and encouraged me to give the dream a "type" before I spent much time analyzing it. Could be junk or it could be important. Solving for X, reading between the lines. Mainly it taught me to not be afraid. I admit it still shocks me when I have a dream like I did the other night. I was dressed in Civil War uniform watching a group of African Americans dance in a high school gym. The dream was pretty long and confusing, but that was the gist of it. When I turned on my computer the next morning the first thing I saw was an article about the 150th anniversary of the Civil War. I almost showered the computer with coffee! But these types of dreams are the exception. Yes, I think we visit other people and places in our dreams, but I also think we visit ideas. If the warthog himself tells me to sell the farm and change your life it makes more sense. I don't dream about my late brother as much as I used to, but when I do I pay special attention. He was my voice of reason when he was alive and he still is eight years later. I can't pick up the phone and give him a call, but he somehow continues shows up when I need him the most. I think of that day in the book store often. I don't pretend to understand the "whys" or "hows" of all that has happened, but I am thankful. Thankful that it is Monday and that I didn't do or say what I was so sure of on Friday. Thankful that certain people are in my life in any capacity. Grateful that I have learned new ways to pay attention. Oh, if you know anybody looking for a good deal on a warthog farm give me a call. I'm changing my life.

Grandma

It was early Thursday morning and I was already busy running around town. I was trying to tie up a few lose ends with my business so I could go to Atlanta for a few days and visit my grandmother. She was not doing well and my mother was staying there now almost full time. If I could get a couple more things done I could leave by early afternoon, beat rush hour traffic and maybe even help with supper. I was almost to a customer's house near the lake when my cell phone rang. My phone was one of those big bag types, and since I really just used sixty monthly minutes in case of emergencies, I suspected the ringing was bad news.

"What time are you leaving to come this way?" My mother's strained voice asked. "I mean are you still coming?"

I told her that I was still planning to come and began to go over the things I had to get done first. My obligations.

"You had better come now." She cut in. "She's expecting you and I don't think she can wait that long."

"I'm on my way." Was the only answer I could manage to squeeze out.

I loved my maternal grandmother and grandfather. Grandma and Grannie. Yes, Grannie was a man and this part is something I will have to go into at a later date when I have more time. We lived 100 miles from each other most of my life and while I only saw them a few times each year, I looked forward to the visits. They didn't spoil us, they were just easy to be around. Grannie was a big jokester and Grandma was the perfect straight man. After I married, my wife and I would go to their home the day before the family Thanksgiving so we could have a little private time with them and not have to share with the crowd. She looked as forward to it as I did, and it became a tradition for all four of us.

I tried hard to concentrate on the road as I made my way to the big city. I hadn't asked mama what "I don't think she can wait that long" really meant, but I knew. Grandma was 88 years old and had always seemed healthy to me, but the years after Grannie died had not been good ones. I tried to visit more, but the physics of 100 miles was tough. When I did visit she would tell me that she didn't want to live without my grandfather. "Time was not making it better." She would tell me as if I had the answer. "What am I going to do." Hoping I had the answer. I remember not knowing what to say. I missed him too, but I knew it wasn't the same. Trying to console a woman that had changed my diaper and taught me to eat solid food. I knew we would not talk about this today, but I hoped we would.

She waited for me. I jumped out of the car, walked in the house, and as I hugged my mother I looked around the room for grandma. Thinking she would be washing dishes at the sink. Wishing she was.

"She's in her bed." Mama said. "I just talked to her and she's expecting you."

A nod was all I could summon and I hugged the others as I built my courage to walk down the hall to her bedroom. My aunt walked beside me with her arm over my shoulder. She's been great I thought as we went to her bedside, she's been here full time for a few years and now she's taking care of me too. I hope I'm made of the same material.

"Hey Grandma." I said as I leaned over her bed and took her hand in mine. "How are you doing?"

The words sounded really stupid as they left my lips, but I was doing good to make a whole sentence. It hadn't been that long since my last visit, but she looked much different. Smaller. Older. Frail. But when she opened her eyes and looked at me, there she was. Grandma. A big smile came over her and she whispered,

"I knew you'd come, I've been waiting on you."

I squeezed her hand and told her I was hurrying and I loved her and I'd be there for a few days and everything I could think of all at once. I was babbling and she was smiling. She had waited for me.

She closed her eyes and went back to sleep, those would be her final words. We sat on the edge of the bed for a while and just looked at her. Four generations. Mothers and sons, daughters and cousins, grandmothers and great grandchildren. Together to say goodbye to one of our own. To hold her hand as she finds the answer to the question that I could not answer for her. Now you know what to do.

It was a hard good bye for all of us. It requires energy to die. This force that is us has a hard time letting go, and while it is hard to watch, it is important to be there. I almost missed it. She was a wonderful woman I miss everyday. A woman that was lucky enough to be born at home and die at home. A rarity in our modern society. Surrounded by loved ones preparing you for the next step. Arming you for your next battle. Blanketing you with love. Watching as you find the answers.