Vegas Baby

Dear Greg,
Today is your 24th birthday. You are in Las Vegas with our brother and 20 of your closest friends. It seems like such a short time ago you were running around the house like a maniac and complaining about our dance recitals.
You have become such a responsible, hardworking adult but have maintained your ever-present quick wit.
The Short List of Greg's Finest Qualities:(random order)
1. Ever-present optimism that Buffalo Teams will one day triumph
2. Great for political discussions
3. Loyal brother and friend
4. Knowledge of Spanish allows us to have real conversations while at work
5. Patient listener
6. Financial wiz
7. An appreciation for bulk candy (that is more old school)
8. Formidable backyard pool swim opponent
9. Patient with Sophia's spit up extravaganza/Good Uncle
10. Maintains cool in all situations

Happy Happy Birthday...Love, Your Sister.

In the evening..

Old Blue Eyes.

My grandfather was and is summer to me. As I sat this evening in the backyard, I could feel a soft summer breeze cool me down. It was a welcomed change from the level of mugginess that possessed the last few days. He and my grandmother,however, would sit in 90 degree heat, and he would even at times have a wool sweater near by just in case. My brothers and sister and I would sit there, sweating, taking a quick break by picking tomatoes from their backyard or investigating what was really in the mulch pile towards the edge of the lot. I don't think I ever saw my grandfather sweat. On the radio, the summer staple was Frank Sinatra's Summer Wind. We would listen to that song over and over; he adored that Sinatra song. The lyrics though are a bit different to me now as I sit here missing my grandfather on this lemonade drinking, icy pop eating, sunkissed skinwearing, classic summer day.

"Like painted kites, those days and nights - went flyin by
The world was new, beneath a blue - umbrella sky
Then softer than, a piper man - one day it called to you
And I lost you, to the summer wind"

I know he would of loved this evening, would have seen the robins and felt the heat, maybe would have hit a few golf balls, or took a nice swim at Joseph Davis Park. Maybe he is in the summer wind that brushed by my family's hair, cooled us off, and reminded us about the beauty of the unencumbered every day.

For Thomas O'Laughlin and Margaret O'Laughlin

Workin 9 to 5 What a Way to Make a Livin...

Work. It is perhaps the true mark of adulthood. Whenever I think of work, I think of a quote from T.S. Eliot's poem, The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock, "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons." I first read that line somewhere during my four years of high school, and it has been haunting me a bit since. Coffee is another one of those adult experiences, and each job I have had (and there have been many from exotic bird watcher, administrative assistant to barista, manufacturing worker, and teacher) coffee has been my morning companion. There is something so adult about drinking your cup of coffee on the way to work, it is like you are a part of this large sea of humanity participating in the same ritual, each motivated by different reasons and desires. The drip of the coffee slowly into the pot reminds me of this clock that my grandparents had that recorded each second with an even more deliberate tone, time passed by quickly but distinctly. Eliot's image of coffee spoons, however, seems so specific and controlled. Each moment is then free of spontaneity or excitement. As my English teacher read those lines in high school, I remember taking them in as a warning. In high school my dreams of work consisted of anything from the next great American novelist to independent filmmaker to many other jobs that I actually knew nothing about. I just knew that I wanted something "different", something free from those coffee spoons, something that would provide meaning to my identity, a job that mattered.
And then I had some jobs, and I started to see meaning in many different ways. Everyone works for different reasons, and I think I was misguided by thinking that jobs were solely the path to fulfillment. Work is noble in many ways, and I can't think of many things more beautiful than a person working to support his or her family, devoting their lives to provide for the people that they love.
I have been not working for the last five months since I had a baby, and I have to say that taking care of baby is more than a full-time experience. Nonetheless, it has afforded me the chance to step out of the working world (although I work in a high school which is unique in its own way) and experienced what it is like to exist out of a normal schedule. A few months ago I started to notice that I heard more birds chirping, I started to write again, and I actually had pretty flowers growing in my backyard. One day I woke up and I realized that I am really happy. I have always been happy, but I feel extremely happy and satisfied. Perhaps it is that my work now consists of being with my daughter and exploring the world all over again, but I also think that my time off from the grind has forced me to find myself again, nurture my own identity a bit instead of focusing on all other work responsibilities. My time is almost up though, and I am going back to work in a couple of months, but I think I am returning more refreshed and reminded that I have a responsibility to make my work life something that I truly desire. I am not sure where this will bring me, but my "time out" made me more aware of the possibilities. I don't want to be the consummate pragmatic adult. In essence, T.S. Eliot is reminding me of that question I have asked myself since high school, "Do I dare, Do I dare."
This morning when I made my coffee I was sure to scoop the coffee, letting the grinds spill over, adding each bit to make a cup of coffee that was both exuberant and adult. And I sit here drinking it, enjoying the boldness and depth on this rainy but lovely July morning.