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Chaos

This weekend I've been very productive doing non-productive things.

Now that the rush and fanfare of Halloween has subsided, the kids are now fully-engaged in Christmas mode. They're not asking for presents or busying themselves making Santa lists, but they can't wait to get the house decorated. I have to admit, I'm to blame for this... I like the tree to go up the day after Thanksgiving, but I try to get some of the other stuff put up ahead of time. We have several "Christmas Village" pieces and each year that kids and I create an idyllic little town scene, waiting until sunset when we can flip the switch and see the set bathed in the warm glow of the lights set inside each house. Vince Guaraldi's Christmas CD has already been playing for months. We're ready.

My wife is a bit more on the "let's not rush the holidays" side of life, but she tolerates and occasionally humors us. So as we sat in the living room discussing our plan of attack for this year's holiday decorations, we watched as Baby Sam climbed anything and everything he could get is fingers and prehensile toes around. It was at that moment that we knew a Christmas tree in the traditional living room spot just wasn't going to happen. We have a cathedral ceiling with a loft overlooking from the second floor, so a tree can be placed on the balcony and we can still enjoy seeing it from the room where we spend most of our time... but not without some amount of effort.

For over two years, the loft has served as home office space for both my wife and I. When we moved in to the house, we each had our own office plus a guest bedroom to boot. Today, three kids and two dogs later, things are a bit more cramped. So it was decided that I was to reclaim my original home office in the finished basement, the wife would keep her office on the balcony and we would be able to open up the whole area - thereby making room for a tree and, once the holidays were over, an art and work area for the kiddos. 

I liked this strategy and it looked good on paper, but it soon occurred to me that in order to move my office back downstairs, I would - in fact - have to move things. Lots of 'em. Space needed to be cleared in the attic to accommodate a few pieces of furniture. Some old furniture we decided we would never use again needed to be hauled out to the town recycling center. Items from the basement needed to be moved to the garage. My office needed to be cleaned and moved down to the basement. Wifey's office needed to be moved from one end of the loft to another. Etcetera. 

The most challenging bit for me is the cleaning and purging aspect of a move. I invariably get sucked in to the time warp generated by old photos, long forgotten pieces of paper with "I love you Daddy" scribbled on it and other random artifacts from the past. During this weekend's activities I found several items from when I was a kid - an old Commodore 64 user's manual, He-Man stickers and a file folder with dozens of drawings I made when I was my son's age. 

The item that stopped me in my tracks, however, was a post card from my paternal grandparents. It was sent during a California vacation - the only vacation I ever remember them taking - purchased on a day trip to "Universal City" in Hollywood. Time had long since worn away the date on the old Van Nuys postmark, but I clearly remember receiving this card as a child. I was 7 or 8 years old and loved "Battlestar Galactica" (the original series) so my grandparents chose an appropriate postcard (see above.) I was so excited to receive something that not only came all the way from California, but also featured Cylons. Could it be any cooler?

As I read the carefully formed cursive of my Grandmother's hand, I was reminded of all the Christmas Eve celebrations we spent at their house. Their 50s-era ranch-style home was packed with aunts, uncles and cousins. In the far corner of the parlor (or "pahlah" as it is known to those of us with a thick New England drawl) was the aluminum 'Evergleam' Christmas tree, complete with rotating light wheel which magically changed the color of the metallic branches. And, of course, food was EVERYWHERE. Homemade pizza, cannoli from our favorite local bakery and stacks of warm pizzelles that were so fresh you could smell the anisette from a block away.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, our own home underwent something of a transformation as well. Furniture in the parlor was rearranged to accommodate the tree, cards and photos were hung around the doorway and mahogany columns that separated the parlor from the dining room and the faux cardboard fireplace - complete with flickering bulb - was placed next to the china cabinet and the stockings were hung. I vividly remember the big production of my parents dragging things down from the attic or up from the basement in preparation for the holidays, the memories of which instantly transport me to my childhood home.

Sometimes I'm struck by the odd symmetry of life. As my wife and I are scurrying about the house - kicking-up dust and shuffling furniture - the routine isn't all that different from that of our parents. As I was lamenting the fact that I wasn't spending much of that precious weekend time with the kids while we readied the house for a baby-proof Christmas - they were just hovering and watching the activity swirl around them - I realized how content and excited I was to watch my parents and grandparents go through similar motions. Back then it marked the beginning of my favorite time of year. Today it marks fond memories of childhood and remembrances of loved ones long since passed. 

As I write this entry, I'm sitting at the desk in my "new" home office and enjoying that brief period of tidiness that follows a move - that time after everything has been put away but before there's an opportunity to mess it up again. My wife's office - perpetually and annoyingly neat - is nestled into its new corner of the world and the loft looks now looks huge... certainly roomy enough to accommodate a Christmas tree and the requisite stack of presents. During the next couple of weeks the decorations will begin to trickle out and appear throughout the house, then on the day after Thanksgiving the tree and all of the other large decorations will go up. Yet another day of chaos and excitement. 

So although these little trips down memory lane (triggered by an old postcard or a broken toy that you just can't seem to throw away) may tack an hour or two onto the moving process, they're sometimes necessary detours that deliver insight, perspective and - if you're lucky - a bit of the magic of being a kid.

Facebook? Bah, humbug!

DISCLAIMER: I'm fully aware that the following blog entry comes dangerously close to placing me in the "grumpy old man" category. It comes off as the virtual equivalent of standing on my front porch and shouting "get off my lawn, you lousy kids" but I've just got to get it off my chest.

As a self-professed geek and someone who tries to be up-to-date on all the latest gadgets, killer apps and other such things, I admit that I arrived pretty late to the Facebook party. I signed-up for an account a few years ago “just because” and didn't really do much with it. Around 18 months ago, several of my friends began using it to post photos of their families and I began to use it a bit more. As originally intended, it served as a great platform for finding and keeping in touch with old friends. Earlier this year, however, Facebook has become an incredible pain in the ass.

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The turn from “cool tool” to “necessary evil” began when Facebook suddenly became an awful lot like the high school reunion you don't want to attend. Sure, there are some people that I'm happy to get in touch with again – namely old grade school or college friends with whom I haven't spoken in ages – but earlier this year I received an influx of friend invites from people I barely knew. Initially I accepted the invitations under the “I think we were in a class together” premise. Then my news feed became filled with “what kind of vegetable would you be” quiz requests and people sending me virtual cocktails. The capper was the  request I received that went something like this: “I know you don't know me but we have a mutual friend and I'm trying to beat him at 'Mafia Wars' so can we be friends and will you join my family?” Are you kidding me? How old are you? Go away.

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Speaking of Mafia Wars... I've been un-friending anyone who has been flooding my account with news from the Mafia War frontlines. As an Italian-American, I'm not sure how I feel about the whole Mafia War phenomenon. Would a Crips vs. Bloods game be as widely accepted? How about a game set in Northern Ireland? Tasteless, right? But Mafia Wars is okay? I digress... And what in your right mind makes you think I care about how many acres of virtual corn you've grown or how happy your FarmVille animals are? Don't get me wrong... my passion for video games began with the Atari 2600 and continues today as evidenced by the multiple consoles laying about the house, but I doubt you're interested in the cars I've unlocked on Forza or the number of bad guys I've snuffed on Rainbow Six. Mafia Wars and FarmVille may be the best games ever but some things just aren't worth broadcasting to the world.

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So I've been thinking... is Facebook the next MySpace? Is it on a path to become the next tech roadkill that promised to change the world but instead became the next carrier vehicle for spam or has it already changed the world and we're just ready for 2.0? Or - the far more likely scenario - is it just me? 

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I would LOVE to get your perspective on this. How do you feel about the third-party 'community games' part of Facebook? Does it enhance your enjoyment or drive you away? Inquiring minds want to know. :)

Fast Cars and Freedom

Marriage is perhaps the truest form of "give-and-take" in action. I'm not necessarily referring to the big sacrifices and life-punctuating moments that everyone encounters, rather the little changes and subtle shifts over time that come from sharing a home and a life. 

My wife and I met when we were still teenagers and I thank God every day that we found each other when we did. We had mutual friends in high school but, for whatever reason, never met until our college days. We have since come to the conclusion that we probably would not have liked each other had our first meeting been during the high drama of high school, knowing in our bones that divine intervention had a hand in our being at the right place and - most importantly - at the right time. Sometimes the stars just line up.

In a few months we'll be celebrating our 13th wedding anniversary, marking a point in life where we'll have been together for longer than we've been apart. In other words, we'll have spent more than half of our lives together. Looking back over those years, I never cease to be amazed by the amount of highs and lows we've been through: experiencing the heartache of miscarriage but sharing the privilege of raising three beautiful children; mourning the passing of some loved ones but enjoying the blessing of having most of our friends and families living within a short drive of each other; the joy of buying a new home and the surviving the repair and maintenance challenges that come along for the ride. We've been through a lot - and there's more yet to come - but we've been able to make course corrections, change and grow side-by-side. In short, life has turned us into very different people... but we're different in the same way.

Many of the changes haven't been brought about by seismic shifts in our happy little lives. Most have been brought about by gradually wearing each other down. For example: when we first met, my wife's attitude toward the Red Sox could be described as apathetic at best. Today she's a rabid fan who shares the opinion that spring officially begins when pitchers and catchers report to Ft. Myers. I mark this transformation as one of the proudest achievements of my adult life. 

One of the least expected ways that my wife changed me is that I now have an appreciation - and in some cases, a genuine interest - in country music. When we first met, I was firmly entrenched in my "alternative" music phase. If they played it on WFNX, chances are I liked it. (The Smiths, The The, Letters to Cleo, O-Positive, Tribe, Pearl Jam, et-al.) Of course Sinatra, Miles Davis and the like were staples and I have always loved classical, but country music was something that I hated until she came along. Now, much to the dismay of our children. we'll sing along to her latest country playlist while cooking dinner or during one of our many family road trips. 

The past several months has, in my opinion, marked another one of those big transition periods our lives together. As we grew accustomed to being parents of three - discovering how to shift from a 'man-to-man' to 'zone' style of parental defense - I have also been working harder and dedicating more hours to my career than I have in over a decade. The last time I threw myself into work this much I had started my own business and we didn't have kids. In fact, we weren't even married. Now it's an entirely different ballgame and attempting to balance the demands of work and home get tricky. 

A couple of weeks ago the company for which I work wrapped-up our last major event of the year and although there is still a mountain of work to be done, I've been making a conscious effort to cut back to a 45-50-hour work week and get a bit more balance. I'm helping to make breakfast for the kids and get them on the bus, trying to come home in time to see the baby before he goes down for the night and generally be more present at home -  both mentally and physically. 

As I go through this "tapping the brakes" period, I'm struck by just how much my wife has sacrificed to make this family and our lives together work. She's a stay-at-home Mom which means that, from my perspective, she has the toughest and by far the highest-stakes career. I'm the first to admit that, especially when I have a big project going on at work or get myself stressed-out about one political snafu or another, I can lose perspective on the truly important things in life... but she's always there to rein me in and help me to refocus.

Finding the delicate balance that makes it all work is incredibly difficult but it can also be an adventure. At night - once the kids are asleep, the dogs have been fed and the house is as clean as it's going to get - we'll actually get some time to ourselves. On very rare occasions, we'll even have an opportunity to line-up a babysitter and sneak out to dinner or a movie. (A "date night" as we call it.) Like most parents, we laugh about the irony of spending time chatting about the kids once we finally have an opportunity to get some time away from them. But regardless of the nature of our conversation, it's times like that when a feel a bit like "the old us." We know that mortgage payments, runny noses and aging appliances are waiting for us back home, but for at least a few hours we can hit the 'reset' button and be a couple. Not "Mom & Dad"... just us. 

Although our lives together have changed in ways both minute and profound, and there are undoubtedly more changes to come, it's important to remember (and reconnect) with all of the things that brought us together in the first place. It doesn't take a grand vacation or even that rare night out. Sometimes all it takes is a shared playlist. (Oh... and the whole coming around on the Red Sox thing didn't hurt either.)