Wednesday, September 27, 2006
And she still has both ears!
To the left is Clara Grace's latest art work. It is an untitled piece done in chalk. However, I'm sure before it hangs in the Guggenheim she will give it an entirely profound name.
My house is filled with the artwork of my children. I have some of Hannah's paintings, Quent's photographs and now some of Clara Grace's drawings. This one is a tad better than the stick figures that adorn my refrigerator, so I thought I would share it.
Added Bonus! - I also got Clara Grace's grade card today. Now while I'm all for reading, writing, and arithmetic, I believe that to be a truly accomplished 3rd grader one must excel in work habits and behavior. And CG did super. It's off to McKay's to celebrate.
Only nine years old and she has already shown the drive and artistic genius of Van Gogh. Added Bonus! - She plays well with others, and still has both her ears!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Cancer of the Humor
There was a fair amount of down time when the mediator was talking with my ex-wife and her attorney, and I was left alone. I wasn't prepared for this an had not taken anything to occupy my time. I had all my various legal papers, but nothing worth reading, and I was desperately looking for something to help me stay calm. If I let my anger out, I was in big trouble. I have the Big Book on my palm pilot so I turned that on only to find I had not charged it the night before. I looked in my portfolio, and the only thing there other than my legal pad was the Spirituality training material put together by my friend Celeste. I stayed calm and was saved. Then just as all was said and done, I got a call from the same Celeste that was the fuel I needed to get me to a meeting. Then I got a bonus gift of Clara Grace spending the night with me. God did for me what I couldn't do for myself.
My sense of humor is slowly returning. To almost quote Henny Youngman - "Take my ex-wife...Please!" OK, maybe very slowly returning.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
That's My Girl!
It's such a relief when you find out they are OK! Oh sure, most people would get a photo like this one from their daughter and begin lining up therapists, doctors, ministers and maybe even an exorcist, but not me. Now I know she's going to be alright. You see only a young lady with gifted comedic talent, a superb intellect, and self esteem out the ying-yang could pull off such a look. Other's might see this photo and say "Bless her heart", but I look at it and say That's my Hannah!
Monday, September 11, 2006
Extraordinary
Five years after that horrid day, we grasp at words to somehow continue to struggle with our shock and disbelief. Words are not sufficient band-aides for the hearts of the Morris family, but one word comes to mind in learning about the life of Seth Morris - extraordinary. Seth didn't have a calling that set him apart from the rest of us like a pro athlete, astronaut, or Supreme Court justice. And though accomplished and successful, his achievements were not so much greater than all others that society heaped him with honor and fame. Seth's life was extraordinary because he understood the tremendous value of each moment of each day, and he worked so very hard to wring the joy and love from each day's moments. He did so by placing the needs of his family, friends, and strangers he came in contact with above his own. In doing so, Seth lived an extraordinary life. Here are some of the things said about Seth shortly after 9/11.
All His Waking Hours
Seth Morris didn't sleep.Well, he didn't sleep much. Four hours a night was it. His wife, Lynn, preferred eight, so while she and the three children were still in bed, he would be up doing projects.
Five years ago, the Morrises had bought a house, and he undertook renovations during the early morning hours. Mrs. Morris would wake and find that a room had been painted. New bathroom fixtures had been installed. The dining room molding had been done.
He would pay bills in the middle of the night. Once, he sent an e-mail message to his great-grandmother at 2:30 in the morning.
He knew all the 24-hour businesses. On weekends, he would visit a 24-hour bagel shop and have bagels ready when everyone else awoke. He often did his shopping at Home Depot at 2 in the morning. He knew the clerk on duty on a first-name basis.
Having extra hours meant a lot to Mr. Morris, 35, a managing director at Cantor Fitzgerald. "He would actually calculate how many more hours and days and years of living he was going to have than I was," Mrs. Morris said. "The last time he did it, he said he was going to have five extra years."
His skimpy amount of sleep became a running joke. The children began to imitate his sleep patterns. They'd get up at 3 in the morning, and when Mrs. Morris complained, they'd say, "Well, Daddy's up."
Mrs. Morris would tell her husband, "You need to get more normal sleep patterns." He would reply, "You can sleep when you're dead."
Profile published in THE NEW YORK TIMES on October 29, 2001.
Active Father Focused on Family
Oct. 29, 2001
Seth Morris slept just four hours a night.
He pumped weights at 4 a.m., telling his kids that "the world's strongest man" needed to exercise his muscles.
While his family and neighbors slept, Morris planted trees and laid out flower beds. He remodeled rooms in his Kinnelon, N.J., home.
"I would wake up every morning," wife
Morris, 35, worked as a managing director at Cantor Fitzgerald on the 105th floor of the
Morris met
Morris spent weekends and afternoons biking and roller-blading with his children. He coached the local rec hockey team. He often acted more like a best friend to his children,
"Sometimes I think he played with them so much,"
--Fred Carroll (Daily Press)
*******
Seth Morris carried a pregnant woman to safety after a bomb exploded in 1993 at the
--The Associated Press
Seth Morris, 35, hero of '93 WTC blast
In 1993, Seth Morris -- so muscular and physically fit that his sister-in-law, Joanne Mooney, likened him to "The Hulk" -- carried a pregnant woman on his back from the 103rd floor of the"He put a wet handkerchief on her mouth so she and her unborn baby would not breathe in any smoke," Mooney said. "That was the kind of guy he was. The woman called several days ago and said how sad she was to hear the news about Seth and how much she appreciated what he did for her. She said she wouldn't be here without Seth."
Mr. Morris, 35, managing director for Cantor Fitzgerald, a brokerage firm, was among those working on the 105th floor of the
"He had the biggest heart of anyone I knew," Mooney said. "He went out of his way for everyone and anyone. No one was like Seth."
When he heard a colleague was about to be laid off at Cantor Fitzgerald, Mr. Morris walked into his boss' office and offered part of his year-end bonus so the colleague could be kept on, Mooney said.
Mr. Morris was a restless, tireless dynamo, the kind of person who would get up at 4 in the morning -- seven days a week -- to get his exercise in. His weightlifting equipment was stored in a section of his basement he called "The Morris Muscle Factory," his sister-in-law said.
"He'd say, 'I'm going down to the Morris Muscle Factory, going to get pumped up,' " Mooney said, laughing.
When he wasn't exercising, it seemed, he was remodeling his house -- or someone else's. Once, he knocked on his sister-in-law's door at the crack of dawn and informed her he was there to work on her picture window.
"And he had already been to Home Depot," Mooney recalled.
Mr. Morris also found time to coach his son's roller hockey team, the Penguins, and his daughter's softball team. A hockey player in college, Mr. Morris played in the Morristown Roller Hockey League.
Among the children Mr. Morris coached was Nicholas Scorzo, the 7-year-old son of Bob Scorzo, vice chairman of the Kinnelon Recreation Commission. Before the Scorzo family went on vacation last month, Nicholas sent Mr. Morris a card saying he was "the greatest coach ever."
"He enjoyed coaching the kids as much as they enjoyed having him as a coach," Bob Scorzo said.
Mooney described her brother-in-law as "extremely bright, a genius with numbers . . . he knew his credit card numbers, everyone's Social Security numbers. The kids would throw out these random numbers, and he would add, subtract and divide them.
"He never got moody or grumpy," she said. "I'd tell him, 'Be grumpy every once in a while.' He couldn't."
When the Morris family spent a week on Long Beach Island at the end of August, Mr. Morris' son, Kyle, turned to Mooney, his aunt, and said, "You know, my dad is my best friend in the world. He's my hero."
Mr. Morris is survived by his wife, Lynn Bailey; two daughters, Madilynn and Hayley; a son, Kyle; his parents, John and Barbara Morris of King George, Va.; two brothers, James of Fredericksburg, Va., and John of West Grove, Pa.
Mr. Morris' brothers are firemen; their father is a retired firefighter. James Morris was among the firefighters called to the scene after the attack on the Pentagon.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Tennessee 33 Air Force 9
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Starting my own Freak Flag
I've been thinking for a few months about letting my hair grow back, or at least that part that still can. A few weeks ago I was teasing the kids, and trying to goad them into something or other. I told them that if they didn't do what I wanted I wouldn't shave or cut my hair until Quent graduates high school. (May 2008) Then they did the unthinkable - They triple dog dared me. Every true man knows that once this gauntlet is thrown down, there is no option but to pick it up.
David Crosby said "I feel like letting my freak flag fly", and what better role model than David Crosby. I've never had long hair even when I had hair. This is probably my last best chance, and I may very well wimp out. So I'm going to keep a photo record of my Freak Flag adventures as you can see by the Flickr.com badge on the left. It may be scary at times, and hopefully funny at times, but certainly a new adventure for all of us.
Technorati Tags: [Freak Flag]
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
I hate not getting to hate!
Normally when I look forward to a Tennessee football game, I can stock up on venom and hatred as I prepare for the week's game. Gators, Bulldogs, Tigers, even Commodores make my blood boil at the slightest mention. I spend the week before the game thinking up new insults for the mothers, children, and in the case of the 'Dores the favorite authors, of those who dare to step on the field with my Vols. This week that is not possible.
This week Tennessee host the Air Force Falcons. The Falcons represent the fine men and women of the United States Air Force Academy. Lord knows I've tried, but I find it hard to cast aspersions on folks who after the game is over will place their lives on the line so that I might enjoy the freedom needed to cast aspersions. I hope my fellow Volunteer fans will conduct themselves with the proper respect and admiration for our guests, and make everything about their visit to Knoxville, other than the score, enjoyable. Remember, these kids know how to use smart bombs.
Technorati Tags: [Tennessee Volunteers, Football]
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Ain't that right, Mrs. Mull
It's them britches!
There has already been a ton written on the Volunteers, and how they are once again playing football on Rocky Top. It looked like the Vols of old. Other Volunteer teams from my time spring to mind - '67, '69, '89, '90, '97, '98, and of course one of my favorite Vol teams - 1985. The one common trait of all these great Vol teams? The pants. Saturday the Vols were wearing the old school britches with the two thin orange stripes going down the side. Gone were the wide stripe or no stripe pants from recent years past that helped the Vols play football like Sampson after a haircut. The Vols have given up on attempting fashion statements and have decided again to focus on football. Obviously, the greatest factor in Tennessee's return to flying around the ball, tackling with a HOST of Volunteers, and otherwise looking like the great Tennessee teams of old - It's them britches!
Technorati Tags: [Tennessee Volunteers]
Monday, September 04, 2006
There's nothing worse than...
Yesterday at work, I laid out one of my pens to be used for the visitor's sign-in sheet of those coming to visit the kids on the unit. By the end of the day, the pen was no where to be found. After looking around the building for my favorite pen, it was obviously gone, and I exclaimed in frustration "There is nothing worse than losing your favorite pen."
Now I'm a bit picky when it comes to my pens. I'm required to only use black ink at work, and do a lot of writing in regards to my patients. I also do a fair amount of journaling and other writing. I love pens. I once owned a Cross pen for nearly 20 years. I bent it in a car wreck and the company fixed and sent it back to be free of charge. Even though computers have taken over the world, including a good bit of my writing, I still love writing with a pen. It's like driving a 5 speed stick shift. You can actually feel the words beneath you.
My favorite pen is the Zebra F-402 ball point. It's light, solid, just the right size in the hand, and with a 0.7mm point that adds a feeling of speed and precession. If it were a woman, I'd marry it.
After the trauma of losing my pen I had to run by Central United Methodist to drop off some letters for the Chrysalis flight that was going on this weekend. It was about midnight and raining, and leaving the church headed down Broadway I passed under the interstate near the Knox Area Rescue Ministry. Crammed under the bridge was probably 45 or 50 people trying to stay out of the rain, and my lost pen returned to my mind - "There's nothing worse than losing your favorite pen."
The busy signal in my brain started as I was overrun with thoughts of things that might be a tad worse than my long lost pen: An African child raped in an attempt to avoid AIDS, a woman beaten by her drunken husband, a elderly father whose nursing home room has not been visited in over five years, a terrorist's bomb that blows up the family of others, a diseased man who's cure is financially out of his grasp, a baby that is born a crack addict, a TV preacher that hides his hatred behind Jesus' name, and ignorance that would lead a man to say 'There's nothing worse than losing your favorite pen."
Technorati Tags: [Ignorance, Nothing worse than]
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Where was Mr. Green Jeans?
The vaunted California Golden Bears, picked by some (OK, only Lee Corsso) to win the national championship, showed up in Neyland Stadium and looked more like the dancing bear. The only thing missing was Mr. Green Jeans. If you had told me that the Vols would spank the Bears, and that 2nd string QB Jonathan Crumpton would be playing by mid-3rd quarter, I woud have given you a drug test. I can't wait to hear all the Vol fans who only weeks ago wanted Coach Fulmer's bald spot on a platter now line up on SportsTalk to sing a chorus of "I told you so". Oh yeah, we knew it all along. The great thing about Vols fans is that they are lot like the weather - give them time, and they will change. Go Vols!
Technorati Tags: [Tennessee Volunteers]
Tennessee 28 California 24
Friday, September 01, 2006
Mullet Headed Madman
Having not watched tennis in at least 5 years some things really stood out. Andre hit only 3 or 4 first serves in the 2 sets I watched. Back in the day that would have cost you the match right there. Second, no one yelled at the ump. The whole point of having him way up in a chair is so that you can come over, curse him, bang your racet on the chair, and him remain safe the entire time. It's sad that young tennis players today have grown too lazy to verbally assault the chair umpire. The technology that surrounds the game to day is unbelievable. For a game that was mired in the 17th century when I was playing back in the 20th century, they've really improved.
Through all the changes a bit of the old punk still shown through in Andre. After his opponent had heaped a great deal of kind words on him, not just for the match but for his life time achievements, Andre did not mention Baghdatis once. Baghdatis played the last two sets with severe leg cramps that would have kept far lesser players from finishing the match. Andre remained silent on the subject. I guess you can take the mullet off the kid, but not out of the kid. Still I hope Andre keeps on winning.
Skunked
Tomato juice is just a waste of a good V8. Petey and I still smell like Peppy La Pew.
The thought did cross my mind to just take Petey to my ex-wife's house, and leave him there. She originally got Petey for son Chieftoe (Quent), and then abandoned the dog at my house after his first hour home. While it would have been really funny, and certainly just, I would miss the beast too much. So I'm off to PetSmart for the 21st century cure for skunkification.
Technorati Tag: [Skunks, Dogs]