Addiction

A confession if you will. I have an addiction.

A big one.

Right now I can feel it gnawing at me, distracting me for the work piled up on my desk.

It's been seven days since I've fed my addiction. And if I don't get a fix soon, all hell might break loose.

I'm telling myself to be patient. Tonight I'll have my fix and all will be well for a while.

Just ten hours. That's all. Ten hours.

So you know, it wasn't my intention to become addicted. But some friends kept telling me to try it. You're missing out, they said. Great plot. Excellent writing. Complicated characters. What more can you want?

So I tried it this summer. Started watching reruns.

And one episode was all it took to hook me.

And now I can't get enough of it. Lost is by far the best television show I've ever seen.

Granted, I don't watch much TV. Aside from an occasional weekend football game, Lost is the only TV I watch. I'm too busy working, writing, and playing with Aidan and Steven to have much time for anything else.

But the writers of this show.... Wow. Impressive how they can pull of a show with anywhere from 12 to 15 complicated but believable characters. (Including the island which is the most intriguing character of them all.) And the plot is incredible. The writers know how to reveal just enough information to have you wanting more.

This weekend while I was sick, I went back and watched a few episodes from the first season. (I own first season on DVD.) It's amazing how many clues about the characters and upcoming events are revealed through their words and actions that you don't catch unless you watch the episode knowing what's going to happen several episodes in advance.

Kudos to those are in charge of the show. Like a drug dealer, they do a giving me just enough to come back for more.

So tonight don't call. Don't knock on the door or expect me to check my email.

I'll be in the family room feeding my weekly addiction.

The Weekend I wish that wasn't

Been working all weekend to get the new company website up and running. Been sick all weekend too with some kind of flu.

If for some reason I surface later this week, you'll know I made it through all this alive.

A Vote For One

Yesterday was election day in our small town. A new mayor and open city council seats were up for grabs. Marathon Girl and I went to vote last night and to our surprise a line stretched out the door of the school. (Apparently there were some problems with someone's voter registration.)

I was already planning to write my own name in for city council, I told Marathon Girl she should write my name for city council too. My platform was simple: No lines at the polls on election day. I told her if I won, I'd make sure no one would have to wait in line to vote. (I should note that writing my own name wasn't some act of vanity. Of all council members on the ballot, it was hard to find a difference in their platforms. And seeing how none of them appealed to me, I couldn't feel good about voting for any of them. Thus a vote for myself.)

"I'd rather not throw my vote away," Marathon Girl said.

"It's not throwing your vote away," I said. "Throwing your vote away happens you don't vote."

"I'd rather vote for someone who has a reasonable chance of winning."

"My chances of winning would double if you'd vote for me."

"You can't double zero," Marathon Girl said.

After we voted, Marathon Girl asked me who I voted for.

"Myself," I said. "You?"

Marathon Girl told me the name of the candidate she voted for.

"You didn't vote for me?"

"I told you I'm not going to throw my vote away. If you really think you could do a better job, then run for office."

Running for office is always something I've thought about doing though I doubt I could ever lower myself to the level of a politician. Besides, once it's discovered I was a Detroit Tiger fan, the scandal that would engulf my campaign would be so great, I could never show my face in public again. (I have a hard enough time wearing the hat out in public nowadays.)

I still maintain that voting for myself was not throwing my vote away. Just because I lost doesn't mean that others who voted for losing candidates (or others who decided to write my name in) threw their votes away. For those cities and/or states that had elections yesterday the only ones who threw their votes away were those who decided not to participate.

In all likelihood I only received one vote last night, I still maintain it was better to write my own name in then not vote at all.

No Regrets

Spent about 10 hours this weekend putting the finishing touches on a couple of chapters of my book. One of the chapters involved a period of several weeks where Marathon Girl and I had to decide if we actually wanted to pursue a relationship with each other. At the time we were both dating other people and there were issues of becoming involved with a young widower that made Marathon Girl hesitant to pursue any sort of relationship with me. We hashed these issues out over a period two weeks before deciding to take a chance and see if we could make things work.

It's been about six months since I've read these chapters and reading and rewriting sections of them made me fall in love with Marathon Girl all over again. I had so much fun reading them those chapters that I read parts of them to Marathon Girl and we spend two hours last night recalling how there were a thousand different things that could have happened that could have scuttled our relationship. But somehow the most amazing things happened so that things worked out between the two of us.

It's been over three years since we decided to see if we could make things work. And last night sitting on the couch, remembering our early days together, made me remember how fortunate I am to have Marathon Girl as a wife, mother of our children, and best friend. I have no regrets about that decision.

I think it's the best one I ever made.

Young Widow and Widower Links

Recently several people have emailed me asking if I know of some good resources for young widows, widowers, or those who may be involved in a relationship with them. From my own experience I know that such resources are had to come by and having one place where people could find a list of resources could be very helpful. So this morning I started a list of links on my link page that could be helpful to young widows, young widowers, and those who may be involved or considering starting a relationship with one. There's only a few right now but I'd like to add more. If you know of some websites, articles, forms, etc, that would be helpful, please email them to me or leave a comment.

Trick-Or-Treat

It was obvious who was the most excited about Halloween at our house. Me.

It wasn't even a contest.

Sure, Aidan was happy to be wearing a fireman costume though I don't think he understood why he was wearing it. Personally I think he just liked wearing the soft felt fireman hat.

But me? I've wanted to take Aidan trick-or-treating since he was born.

A few ghosts and goblins had come to the door while I was taking pictures of Aidan in his costume. Aidan wanted some of the candy that was being passed out but I told him he'd have plenty in just a few minutes.

So after a few pictures, Aidan and I walked into the darkness. (In the Halloween spirit, I did dress up. I put on my Detroit Tiger baseball cap I as walked out the door. I called my costume The Biggest Loser.)

Aidan seemed impressed that there were kids all over the neighborhood running around dressed up. He kept looking at them with big eyes each time a group of them would pass up.

We stopped at the first house. A nice lady answered the door. I told Aidan to say "Trick or Treat." Aidan started at the woman blankly. She told Aidan he had a cute costume and gave him a piece of candy. "Say 'Thank you,'" I told Aidan. Aidan waved goodbye to the lady who, in turn, waved back.

By the fourth house, Aidan had the hang of it. He'd stare blankly at who ever opened the door but had learned to take the piece of candy and put it in his bag then wave goodbye as we walked down the sidewalk. When we reached the next house, Aidan perked up when I knocked on the door and smiled at the prospect of more candy.

It took us 30 minutes to comb the neighborhood -- about fifteen homes -- because Aidan wanted to walk from house to house. When we returned home, Aidan had enough candy in his bag that he had a hard time lifting it off the sidewalk. (All of our wonderful neighbors it seems wanted to add an extra piece of candy for me. Apparently the Detroit Tiger had garnered a lot of sympathy.) I offered to help him carry it home but Aidan was insistent that he and he alone carry it.

Back at home we gave Aidan a couple of pieces of candy. He seemed fairly pleased with the whole evening.

I was too.

I love being a dad.

Feats of Strength

Reached a milestone in my weight lifting routine this morning. I can now bench press 75 percent of my body weight.

And this isn't something I struggle to do once. I can do three sets of ten reps with a 60 second break between each set.

For most people blessed with muscle mass, this may not be amazing accomplishment. But since I've spent most of my life looking like a toothpick, this is a miracle. I have a hard time building muscle mass and even a harder time keeping it. Physically, this is the best I've looked in eight years.

Now it's time to up the bench press by five pounds.

I hope my arms can take it.

Car Problems Can Be A Good Thing

Last night, as we pulled out of our driveway to run an errand, Marathon Girl's car died. Just shut off an rolled to a stop, the tires bumping softly against the curb.

I hate car problems, mostly because I'm mechanically inept. I have no idea where to start. Fix a computer or clean up someone's writing I can do without a problem. Fix a car? I can pop the hood. That's about it.

I felt fortunate that the car died by our house. Marathon Girl was able to take the two kids inside while I ... well ... popped the hood.

Using my great powers of deduction, I figured it was an electrical problem seeing how no lights or anything worked. Then I started going through the things that could be wrong: battery, battery cables, alternator, a short in the wiring. I stopped there. I figured it wasn't the battery as we had just replaced it this summer. There was some serious corrosion on the positive battery terminal. Maybe it wasn't getting a connection. That was about all I could think of. It was anything other than a battery or connection problem, I had no clue what to do.

A neighbor helped me push the car into the driveway. (Our driveway is on a rather steep incline) It took the two of us a minute but we were able to push the car off the road. The neighbor who helped was just about mechanically illiterate as me and after looking under the hood for a second, reached the same conclusions as I. Before we disconnected they battery, we tried to jump start it. Nothing.

By this time it was dark. I began removing some of the corrosion around the battery cable so I could disconnect it. Then another neighbor who lives in the house directly behind us and noticed the hood on my car up, stopped by to help.

I should point out I'm a lousy neighbor. Marathon Girl and I have lived in our house a little over a year now and I still haven't talked to or introduced myself to this neighbor or his wife. I wave to him when we're outside doing yard work at the same time or wave as we're going to and from work but that's about it. I don't even know his name.

After a brief introduction, turns out the neighbor in the house behind us is a mechanic. He returned a minute later with all sorts of cool diagnostic tools. Within five minutes he checked the battery and the fuses and everything seemed to be in order. In another two minutes he had disconnected the battery, cleaned the connection, and reconnected the cables back to the battery.

"Start the car," he said.

The car started right up.

Then the three of us stood around talking, getting to know each other better and doing general guy talk. (Think alley talk in King of the Hill, only without the beer.) The neighbor behind us mentioned he was in need of some gravel. So happens that Marathon Girl and I have a lot of gravel in an unused dog run that we're hoping to get rid of.

As inconvenient as the car problem was, I'm glad it happened. I finally got to meet and make friends with one of our neighbors -- something I should have done last year.

Now I need to open up to the neighbors on the East. I just hope it won't take some kind of car or other problem in order to know them better.

Flowers and Sunset

Flowers and Sunset Photo taken 10/21/2005 at 6:17 p.m

Bulgarian Memories, Part V

(Read Parts I, II, III, IV) On the way back to the village, I asked Lilyana how the people made their living here. She motioned to the acres of tobacco that was planted all around the village.

"Everyone has a stake in the tobacco crop," she said. "We all owns a part of the fields. If it's a good crop we survive. If not, we struggle to make it to next year." As we approached the village Lilyana pointed out the racks of tobacco leaves drying at the end of one road. "Once they're dry, we sell them to a Turkish tobacco company," she said. Then she hung her head and said quietly, "I hope you don't think I'm a bad member of your church for making money from tobacco. I follow the commandment not to smoke, but out here there is no other way to make even a little money."

Word of our presence must have spread throughout the village while we were gone. As we walked through the streets people came out on their porches to watch as we passed. A few waved and had Lilyana introduce us to them. One man, named Georgi, told us it was nice to see young people in the village even if it was only for a day. "There is no one here to carry on for us," he said.

Back at Lilyana's home, the grandmother was shooing two chickens out of the house. "I forgot to close the door," she said. "I'm too old to remember everything."

We helped Lilyana prepare lunch. I washed tomatoes, grapes, squash, and cucumber while Lilyana cut it. My companion made several trips to the well in the back yard to retrieve buckets of water.

The meal was delicious. Shopska salata (tomato and cucumber salad topped with feta cheese), pickeled cabbage, boiled squash, and grapes. Lilyana informed us that everything that we ate, with the exception of the cheese, was from their garden. The cheese was one of the few commodities they had to purchase.

I felt bad about eating. I knew that once winter arrived they would most likely survive off what they could preserve from the garden and fruit trees. However to refuse to eat or not to eat much would be a great insult to Lilyana so I ate every time she offered more food.

After we cleaned up lunch we sat in the shade and talked. We read from the scriptures and shared the message we had prepared. Then we played with Ivan and his dog out on the dusty roads and down by the river while Lilyana put her mother down for a nap.

And then it ended, as all things must. The alarm on my watch beeped and it was time to head back. The bus was scheduled to arrive in twenty minutes. We said our goodbyes to Lilyana and Ivan.

"Will you be back soon?" Lilyana asked.

"Someone will come in a month or two," I said.

"But will it be you and your companion?" she said.

"I don't know. But if I am asked to come, I will come again."

Lilyana and Ivan waved goodbye until we reached the crest of the hill. We waved and I took one last look at the village. Ivan's dog was running through the tobacco fields. The man in the donkey cart was heading back to the village, the cart full of tobacco leaves. Then we started our decent and the village disappeared from view.

As we walked the dusty road to the bus stop, my mind rolled over the events of the day and those we had met. I hoped to have another chance to see Lilyana and Ivan again.

The opportunity never came. Soon after I was transferred to another part of the country and in my final months, never made my way back to Tsarovo.

It's been eight years since I returned to the states. And though I have memories and friendships that will last a lifetime, my thoughts always return to that small village at the feet of the Rhodope mountains. I wonder how many of the residents have passed on. And I wonder about Lilyana and Ivan and if they are still live there or if the town has become nothing but empty homes surrounded by fields of tobacco.

(Read Parts I, II, III, IV)