Samantha has been out of town the past two weekends to work on a side project with friends, so I have been trying to give myself a re-education in self sufficiency. While I am proud to report that I neither starved nor burned down the apartment, I still left much to be desired on other fronts. Take for example my social calendar. Last weekend I screwed up and forgot what time the hockey game was on, almost ending up missing out on a viewing party that I was set to attend. On Easter Sunday, I slept right through the alarms and missed church services. This weekend, I managed to make it out to a happy hour meet-up and the Saturday hockey game, but again was not up and about in time for church Sunday morning. It would not be nearly so bad if I did not live within walking distance.

Aside from my truancy from Sunday services, I am also a bit disappointed that my natural response to tons of free time on an absolutely gorgeous weekend was to alternate between video games and browsing the same five Web sites over and over again. I have a YMCA membership that I am yet to use, a half dozen parks within a short distance and a mostly full tank of gas in my car. For as much as I gripe about not getting out and doing things, I sure did not have much of the impetus to do it.

With a quarter of 2010 down, it is probably time to start taking a serious look at those fitness goals again. As the weather starts to warm up (we are already creeping into the 80s), I need to find a decent hobby. Golf is a prime candidate, given that I can get away with buying just three clubs and a sleeve of golf balls — scratch that, several sleeves — without spending a ton of money on a full set of clubs. I could actually try training for some of these 5K races that we sign up for rather than hoping for the best that morning. Samantha has put bicycles at the top of our shopping list, provided we can find a pair that do not add up to the cost of a car payment.

This all sounds familiar as I write it, and for good reason. My hobby is starting to become the act of never settling on an actual hobby. Also known as “whining.”

March was a chaotic month on many fronts. It is the last month that we had to effectively pay for two apartments (the lease was not quite finished on the old one) and it marked the return of cable television to our lives. No, I am not all that happy about that, but the faster Internet speeds ended up being a necessity given our employers’ “remote workplace” needs. It also means I get to watch hockey again, so you will not hear much complaining from me.

Speaking of hockey, the Nashville Predators pulled within a single point of clinching a playoff berth with three games remaining after a 3-2 win over St. Louis. They travel to Detroit this Saturday and to Phoenix next Wednesday to grab an advantageous spot in the standings. Analysts say we would prefer to get Phoenix or Chicago for the first round while avoiding San Jose and Vancouver. I am not nearly as concerned with the first round opponent as I want the outcome to mean advancing to Round 2 — something that has not yet happened in franchise history.

Completely unrelated: Anyone know where I can get a decent haircut on the east side? I do not intend to grow a Playoff Beard Mop.

The words “unseasonably __” have come to mean little so far this year, but they are being tossed around anyway. We have had two or three snowy/icy days lately that brought the city to its knees (or out to play, depending on your perspective). And today, in February, we had 60 degrees and sunny without a cloud in the sky. Being a weatherman in middle Tennessee must be the most frustrating and thankless job in America.

Yesterday morning we went to a legislative breakfast on Jefferson Street hosted by Sen. Thelma Harper (TN-19). It seemed like everyone I ran into was running for Juvenile Court Clerk, as at least four of the eleven candidates were in attendance. After a great breakfast and a lengthy update of what is happening (and not happening) this session, we quietly slipped out the back door.

We picked up another piece of furniture from ModerNash, bringing our total to two new chairs, a coffee table, a bookcase, a nightstand, a six-drawer dresser and the new three drawer-dresser. If IKEA were a publicly traded company, I wish I had put part of my retirement funds in it before we moved. I guess on the plus side, if I ever need another hobby, apparently “furniture assembly” is making the short list. The good news is that only a few things do not have a “home” yet in our storage-strapped single bedroom apartment.

After finishing up with the dresser assembly, we went to an ordination service at our church. The candidate was a young woman that chairs our outreach committee and works with victims of domestic violence and abuse. I have never been to such a service before. I guess I had assumed that simply graduating from a seminary or divinity program fully qualified you to be a minister. This particular service had much more of a ritualistic nature to it, where the candidate receives a robe, a stole, hymnal and other such items prior to receiving the notation in the order of service as “Reverend.” There were many moments where you could feel the collective tears begin to well up in the eyes of all gathered. It was a very inspiring service.

Both yesterday and today have been gorgeous, although I can hear the rain begin to fall outside our bedroom. This morning we walked to Mad Donna’s (a restaurant) for brunch, debating how soon we needed to pick up bicycles (the final verdict is to hold off until at least mid-March). A mile or two worth of walking through the neighborhood is a welcome change from how we would have spent a similar afternoon this time last year. We even managed to sneak in part of a Scrabble game before the afternoon crowds at the two neighboring restaurants became too much of a hilarious distraction to finish.

I can hardly wait for spring to really begin.

Other than that goof-up, every other hassle has been minor. More than 85 percent of the stuff we are keeping is out of the old apartment, and hopefully all that we are giving away will be cleared out next weekend when a couple of guys from my college fraternity come and get a few pieces of furniture for one of the houses. It is a generous amount of stuff, the only stipulation is that they either have to take all of it or help me get rid of what they do not take or does not fit.

Samantha has been taking care of getting the finer details of our living space ironed out. We are still without bedroom furniture (other than a bed), but that is supposed to be arriving from ModerNash on Saturday. The living room furniture will wait a bit until after the taxes are paid. The space is smaller, but I think we’re already seeing how we will be able to get “more” out of it.

The one thing that we were not counting on is replacing is my personal computer. The guy at the Genius Bar ran it through some diagnostics and formally declared what I already knew: the hard drive was toast. He gave me their quote for a replacement ($225 plus $85 or so in labor) and then proceeded to advise against it and to just take it to an authorized repair center for a refurbished or aftermarket drive. The computer is ultimately not suited for my needs anymore, so I could not justify spending money to have it fixed. Instead, I have offered up for $75 and anyone who wants to give it a shot can try to fix it. I will see how long I can put off buying a new one (probably not very long at all) despite having just purchased a new display to replace my 10 year-old CRT. Just my luck, I suppose.

I am looking forward to warmer weather, having a clean/organized apartment, hanging out with friends and not having a major expense every couple of days. At this point, I would take any two of those.

The itenerary for our move has shifted around quite a bit. Our plan had been to pack and ship off stuff to Goodwill on Saturday, move furniture Sunday and wrap up on Monday. Not in the plans were the more than 4″ of snow and ice that blanketed the roads Friday night. We still managed to wrap up the majority of the packing, but the earliest we can get a truck is Monday. I am betting this place will not be fully empty for another week or two.

We will be picking up the keys today after church (presuming we make it on time) and from there we start the first of many, many trips back and forth from Goodlettsville to the east side. Send snow-skis.

The replacement appliances are on order to be delivered next Monday. Paying for a washer and dryer two years after buying the last set stings, but there is little that can be done after the architect decided that only stackable units should fit. Also on the agenda are a computer desk (a maybe) and a counter-top microwave (a must). Replacement shower curtains, mini-blinds, trash cans, etc. are also on the shopping list.

The good news, as I have said before, is that we are selling or donating many things that will not need to be replaced. We offloaded four bags and two plastic bins full of an assortment of items at the local Goodwill today. Most of it was old coats and household decorations that never quite fit the decor here and simply would not fit at all at the new place. As much stuff as it was, it does not seem to have made much of a dent in what we wanted to be rid of. Our associate pastor and his roommate came and got our washer and dryer today while a friend from college picked up the bar stools.

Fewer daylight hours, busy times at work and the whole process of moving has sapped just about all of the creativity out of me. If I can get one or two of those things in better shape, I think I will be a bit more upbeat about 2010. In the meantime, I am going to go explore the joy of figuring out our tax return.

It was still there on Thursday morning as I wearily walked to my car, but the warmer weather of the last few days finally put away the remains of the tiny snowman the kids downstairs had built next to the bush. We had all survived the Great Flurry of 2010, one that only kept me working from home for half a day. The bitter cold was more of the story than snow and ice, which is why the snowball had been hanging around for so long.

Last Sunday, Samantha and I signed a lease on a new apartment in East Nashville. We might not have realized at the time, but now a gigantic digital clock now floats over our heads everywhere we go. The time on that clock counts down to the day we have to get all of our stuff out of one apartment and into …

Not necessarily the next one. Every time anyone moves some things make the transition, others do not. For us, more than the average percentage of of our property will be sold, given away or trashed. That time has finally come — when you chunk the dorm-room era stuff and either replace it or decide it was not that critical to have in the first place. As the next place is a single bedroom, we are learning exactly what we really need to keep. That lesson simply reads, “not that much.”

Sentimental items rarely keep the same sentiment after a few years. Old Rolling Stones? Keeping four or five issues, chunking the rest. Hand-me-downs from relatives? Not that great in the first place. Kitchenware? Logo apparel? CD racks? There’s a pile of stuff that will likely require two trips to Goodwill to get rid of it all. Many of our larger pieces of furniture are being donated to the fraternity for Scholars House.

The process is not a fun one, but it is cathartic in a way. We managed to fill this 900-plus square foot, two bedroom apartment with a lot of stuff we never wanted or needed. I feel something approaching excitement at the idea of simplifying our possessions. Clearing away the senseless clutter in our lives should really be a daily habit.

The next place, while smaller, has a lot of added bonuses. It is trendy and modern looking, but that is not really what appeals to me. The location is right in the middle of where we spend a good portion of our free time anyway — down the street from our church, within walking distance of our favorite coffee shop and restaurants. Mostly by being “not Goodlettsville,” it is more likely that we will be able to get out and do more without the added expense of having to drive 15 miles to do it. While Samantha’s three minute commute is now going to take around 15, my 30 minute commute is dropping to about seven. If I want to come home for lunch, it is just a quick trip over the river from Germantown.

The location was ultimately what swayed us away from our original plan. We had talked to two of the high-rises downtown about moving. The prices were within our range — it actually irritated us that one of them would be less per month than if we were to go month-to-month at our current complex. The thought behind moving downtown was that if we were to ever move to Chicago or some other major city, urban living might be a necessity. If that were the case, we wanted to try it out in a city we already knew. All that said, I really was not all that excited about becoming a one-car household nor was I ready to shell out the $100 extra per month for a second parking space. But I was coming to terms with it. Had it not been for a friend of ours telling us that the other apartments were leasing, there is a fairly good chance we would have gone another route.

I am really looking forward to having the whole process over with, though. My office area (another casualty that will not be at the next place) is impassible with boxes, crates and paperwork. Somewhere in our closet Samantha has already picked up a shirt that says “East Nashville” in big, varsity type. I think she has been ready to go for a while.

With 2010 on our doorstep and 2009 leaving like a rude house-guest, words like “goals” and “next steps” are tossed around quite a bit. It was late in 2008 when we sat down and planned out the better part of decade’s worth of goals, so I suppose the time has come to revisit that list. Most of things we’ve outlined remain the same, others moved up or pushed back depending on other factors. We are lining up tours this week of new places to live. I suspect that decision will be the marquee story line for 2010, with most other things centered around maintaining the status quo or making incremental improvements. There are fewer and fewer material things that need to be replaced (vehicles are in working order, owned appliances are new, computers are sufficient, etc.), so our goal is to not end 2010 with a lot more “stuff”. Many of the more challenging topics sit further out than 2010.

The days have started to get longer, although it is tough to see it when dusk still happens around 4 p.m. on this cloudy and windy day. We had a very brief sighting of snow on Christmas, but now there is just the howling wind that rattles the vinyl siding and knocks over our long-departed potted plants. The timing of the holidays fits well — I think we all need a pick-me-up to get through the winter months ahead. We are supposedly running a 5K race on the first, but I suspect that it will more be of a “jogging/while while frozen.”

Happy New Year!

That’s the thing: there is so much run-up to the holidays that it is easy to “miss” the subtleties that make the season special. We did not do a lot of decorating this year, taking only the items we had bought in years past out of the container and leaving some of our less-than-sentimental ornaments in their boxes. Our time off is great, but there is not a destination ahead of us, just our church and back to our apartment. There just are not many warm-and-fuzzy feelings to go around during the holidays.

The past year has been kind to us. Samantha got a new car (meaning that I no longer drive an aging minivan), I switched jobs and our health and finances are in good shape. And while 2010 packs its own set of challenges, 2009 has been fantastic. I may get stuck in a funk here and there, but I really have been blessed. That’s what logic and reason tell me. By any and all measures, I should be content and easily swayed into the Christmas spirit. But I was not.

A simple Christmas Eve service of music and stories has helped a lot. The children at our church are full of wonder and energy, so it really should not come as a surprise that their rendition of the holiday standards would help ease my winter angst. They sang with the joy of sharing something that they may have only recently learned — and helped all of us rediscover how the story of a poor drummer boy gave the finest gift he could captures a lot of what this season is really all about.

Part of our goals for 2010 include simplifying our household by selling/donating/tossing the things we do not need or do not use. Our three plus years in Nashville has given us plenty of time to accumulate a lot of extra things. Furniture from our teenage years. Clothes we never wear. Magazines and trinkets that nobody will care about in a few short years. Sentimental items that never really had much positive sentiment attached to them. We just do not need some of these things in our lives anymore.

Samantha and I left after the service tonight and did our Christmas Eve tradition: dinner at a Chinese restaurant. We talked politics and laughed about our fortune cookies. Our laughter and the car ride home is its own small blessing, and one that I overlook far too often. We may not be where we want to be yet in this world, but I know we are well on our way to getting there.

From our home to yours, Merry Christmas!

It is hard to say if my feeling of relative calm came about solely because of Things, but Friday felt much more productive than Thursday. I started to force myself to put a task into the application before ripping right into it, lest I become distracted halfway through it and skip right to the next one. It is the first GTD application that I have ever tried, which means that I have either never placed much faith in the methodology or I have never had the kind of workload that necessitated such an approach.

It is likely the latter conclusion. At my last job, we used and abused dotproject to keep all of our proverbial plates spinning and projects on schedule. The tasks and projects themselves were broken down into large chunks of time — add functionality to the Web site, produce a flyer, update a mailing list, etc. With my new home, there are dozens of more time sensitive sub-steps that have to happen in a particular order — return a phone call, submit scheduling request, follow-up on a bug ticket status, etc. As I described to someone earlier this week, I can manage multiple tasks at once, but my limit is four or five. That sixth one can bring the entire process to a screeching halt. My investment in a few pieces of software should help me stay on top of it better.

With work-related thoughts filling a good chunk of my brain this weekend, today’s service offered a rare pause to my racing mind. As it was All Saints Day (the day after Halloween), the entire order of service was about remembering those who had passed on in the last year, as well as the host of other “saints” that they joined. After the sermon, ribbons were hung for the two church members who had died in the last year. A third was hung in memory of family members and friends. There was still one of those who is very fresh on my mind.

Confession time: there are two things that will crush my composure faster than anything else the good Lord has put on this little blue planet. Both of them are related to music. My breath becomes short, my eyes tear up and it will take every ounce of energy I have within me to stand or sit at attention when either are played. The first is “Taps” on a trumpet, as it will bring back very vivid memories of my paternal grandfather’s military funeral. The second is any instrumental version of “Amazing Grace,” but bagpipes seemed to be the culprit today. The moment that our pastor (donning a kilt and all) hit the very first note, I was shattered.

It was a moving service in message, music and prayer. The breeze that moved through the sanctuary caused the bells on the ribbons to ring gently. I can only say that as speculation, as my eyes were turned away from them and toward the ceiling with my sockets becoming cups that I was trying desperately not to spill over. It didn’t work, and Samantha gave me a tissue. I took a bit of comfort that this loss of composure was not a failing, but had become the rule. No one that spoke for the remainder of the service did so with their most articulate and leveled voice. It was a time for broken hearts to mend anew, even if we had managed to put aside the heartbreak by focusing on our busy lives. It has given me a whole new perspective on the Monday that starts in a few hours.

Small tasks like that have been a constant source of personal frustration. There is so much that needs to be done, but never the time nor the well-timed reminder to do it. Maybe this week I can finally do it.

The months of the calendar seem to be chasing one another to the floor. August marked 26 years on this mostly harmless planet, but I have all but stopped counting. September made for one of the smoothest transitions I have ever experienced in my young career (knowing half the team before you start really, really helps). So here we are at the end of October. A trip to Chicago, Nashville Startup Weekend and BarCamp Nashville have made for quite a month.

I have other larger tasks that I need to square away soon as well. At some point in the next two months, I need to start looking for our next place. Samantha has given me this task because she picked the last handful of places we have lived in the last six years. Living on the north side of town has worked out well, but with my job neighboring the downtown area and with our church on the east side, it makes sense to start migrating south. Moving is fairly far down on my list of popular pastimes, but at least we have plenty of time to look and research before going through with it. Then again, as quickly as three months have flown by, I might want to get a head start on the next six.

For those who know Samantha and I, the word “vacation” is barely in our vocabulary, other than a simple way of describing the reason we are not showing up for work on a particular day. Big trips to exotic locales are just not the way we like to blow spend our money. So when the topic of how to spend our third anniversary came up, a trip to Chicago was a bit of a stretch from the norm. In fact, I received a couple of messages after posting pictures that went along the lines of “You and your wife actually took a trip!?!”

Then again, for a couple who did not get the chance to have a honeymoon, it made a lot of sense. Chicago appealed to our more young-urban-professional sentiments. It is a bustling metropolis alongside Lake Michigan, with more to do than can possibly fit in even a week’s stay, let alone a day and a half. But the beauty of our relationship is that we had only booked the flights and the hotel room. The rest of the trip would be completely ad-libbed.

We left Nashville on the 7:15 a.m. flight to Chicago’s ‘Midway International Airport. It was my first time flying, so that in and of itself made the trip one that I will never forget. The flight was a little less than half full. I also embarrassed Samantha a bit when I eagerly used one of the drink tickets our friend and travel advisor Brian Davis had mailed us. Something about having a Rum and Coke before 8 a.m. just did not go over well, but I enjoyed it. The Southwest Airlines crew was a humorous bunch, asking us to make sure that our electronic devices were off, not in “airplane mode, game mode, a la mode, or Depeche Mode.” There were quite a few other gags along the way, including the customary “Welcome to Orlando” shortly before touch down.

We did not have any checked bags, so the next stop was the CTA rail terminal. Again, I had never ridden a commuter train before. The ride was only moderately crowded with folks trying to get to work or their meetings. I was impressed by how automated the rail system is, with voice instructions and very short windows of time to get on and off the train before it whizzes away to the next stop. I pondered for a bit how often I would inevitably miss my stop, and what implications that would have on that day’s schedule.

At one of the stops we stepped off the train and walked over to Grant Park. Being that we watched election night returns from a bar in Nashville, it was really cool to be in a spot where history was made a little under a year ago. We winded our way through until we were at the steps of the Shedd Aquarium. It seemed to us to be as good a place as any to walk around. We read up on the City Pass program and decided that the $69 per person price tag still made the most sense. It turned out to be a fairly solid investment. The aquarium and the “4-D” movie was a lot of fun, albeit painful on the lower back. We watched the BBC’s “Planet Earth” movie, and at times during the previews and throughout the movie a post would poke the viewer in the back for added emphasis, the seat directly in front would spray a mist of water and large fans would simulate gale-force winds. We also saw penguins. (There is a back-story to why that matters.)

We then walked over to the Adler Planetarium and watched yet another 3D show, this time without the back pain. It was a tour through the cosmos set to the music of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. We took a hidden escalator behind the screen up to our next show in the actual domed planetarium. The presentation was about how to examine the stars and constellations in the night sky. It was similar to one we had watched at Nashville’s Adventure Science Center earlier this year. A Alpha Kappa Psi fraternity member walked up to me and asked if I was in an honor society or if the letters on my hoodie was for a fraternity. I told him the latter, and we briefly talked about where we went to school before he headed on his way.

The one thing that really stood out in the venues we visited while in Chicago was their sheer size. Nashville’s exhibition spaces could fit numerous times within some of these places. The Field Museum was no exception. After touring an African village, walking through a pharaoh’s tomb and exploring the microscopic world of dirt, we were already tired and hungry. But trying to get out of the museum winded us through South America’s history and a large collection of animals both large and small. Toward the end of our visit to the museum, we looked again at the map. It was then that we came to the realization that we had seen less than half of the exhibits. It was time for lunch.

We checked our bags into our hotel, the Palmer House Hilton a few blocks off of Michigan Avenue. It was a mesmerizing place, with a lot of attention to detail in the paintings on the ceiling and right down to the emblems on the crown molding. After dropping our bags off, charging our iPhones and resting our weary feet, we set back out for lunch. One of my followers on Twitter suggested Uno’s Grille for an authentic deep dish pizza, but my poor sense of direction prompted Samantha to call a cab and go to the Cheesecake Factory. While there, a young man walked over to me and shook my hand. He noticed that I was wearing a fraternity hoodie for Sigma Phi Epsilon, and wanted to come say hello. He was a member at the California Beta chapter at USC and was curious which chapter I was from. Samantha was amazed that such an encounter had happened twice in the same day. We took another cab ride to the nearby Old Navy for a few wardrobe enhancements and then walked back to the hotel for the night.

Thursday morning was one for relaxing at the hotel. We both took guesses as to how many miles we had walked the day prior, neither knowing for sure. We checked out of the hotel and went in search of a bag to carry our stuff in a bit better. As with most trips, it seems that you end up carrying more home than you did to get there. We bought a bag at Sears and then ate lunch at nearby McDonald’s. We used the last of the City Pass tickets for a ride to The Skydeck Chicago atop Willis (Sears) Tower. It was quite an experience to be that far above the skyline, but then again I think that Google Maps has ruined the novelty of seeing the tops of buildings. We walked over “The Edge” exhibit so that I could stand 103 stories above Chicago and see straight down to the city below. It was an awesome view from up there.

From there we walked back to Michigan Avenue to the The Art Institute of Chicago, a place that I had only heard about by watching “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off“. Again, the place was huge and there was no way that we would be able to see all of it in a single trip. The rain and wind had begun to move into the area by that afternoon, so we started to walk back through Millennium Park to Grant Park and ultimately to the train station. We got out of the rain for a bit at a Potbelly Sandwich Works store. I also tried in vain to get my iPhone charged enough for the return flight home. We boarded a very crowded commuter train right at rush hour and made our way back to the airport.

The return flight was also an adventure, booking 136 of the 137 seats on the plane. The rain had also started to mix with lightning, so our ascent was action packed. A little over two-thirds of the way into the flight we finally made it to clear skies and a awesome view of the city lights as we passed over Kentucky and parts of Tennessee. We landed at a much quieter Nashville International Airport than when we left it the day before. Both of us were scheduled to be at work the next morning.

Chicago 2016

We left Chicago the day before the International Olympic Committee was to select the host city for the 2016 Olympic games. It was all over the news, and you could see on every street corner proof that a good portion of the city supported Chicago’s Olympic bid. After spending a day and a half there, I agreed with them. The city that I saw was one that was ready to welcome the world.

But it was not meant to be. Sixteen hours after we left, a crowd of residents were stunned when their city was knocked off the list in the first round of balloting. An effort that had cost millions of dollars would not bring the Olympic games to the city, and there was little chance of putting together a new bid for the 2020 games.

So what is a world-class city to do when it misses out on opening its doors to the world? I suppose it continues to grow and prosper. There was certainly a segment of the city that did not want the games, but both sides agreed that it was time to invest into improving the infrastructure and revitalizing the neighborhoods that would have gained the most from hosting the games.

Chicago certainly grabbed our attention. I hope to go back there at some point. I have posted a rather large set of photos to Flickr.

Oh, and I am now Internet famous.

(We will pretend for a moment that I have inserted a nice, long piece about our country’s urgent need for comprehensive health care reform, particularly reform that guarantees coverage for every citizen and makes it against the law to deny coverage because of prior illness. Now, back to the post.)

I have fairly debilitating allergies, to what exactly I do not know. Cats, yes. Dogs, no. Dust, maybe. Pollen, likely. Whatever triggers them, I am instantly out of commission. Try as I might, little said during a meeting can be adequately committed to memory or reacted upon if my nose is running and I am sneezing every 45-90 seconds. As the nurse practitioner at a nearby CVS Minute Clinic told me today, “You will just keep having to take [this medicine] until the first hard freeze.” Well, we live in Tennessee. That first freeze might not be until the middle of January.

Six steroid pills in the last four hours and two doses of nasal spray later, I am starting to feel a bit more back-to-earth. I may actually break with my traditional avoid-doctors-until-it-hurts strategy and see about allergy shots. My livelihood revolves around whether or not my head is thinking clearly, so it strikes me as a worthwhile investment. In the meantime, I will just keep tons of tissues and a box of generic Sudafed at the ready.

I walked out the door Monday morning to see a tow truck trying to scoop up Samantha’s car (the last in the lot) to move it so that they could paint the lines and re-seal the lot. I admit that the management had tucked notices in our door that the project would begin that morning, but I had been convinced that we would have plenty of time to get the cars moved or at least that the lot would be roped off the night before. Not so much. The tow truck company, eager to make a buck, happily tried to cart off our two vehicles (as he had been instructed) and the management was prepared to charge us $200 to move both cars.

I spent a good seven minutes in the manager’s office doing more arguing than I think I ever had to do as a college newspaper editor. Her argument was simple: we were warned, and now we have to pay the consequences. Mine was more to the point: they have my license plate numbers and telephone numbers on file for a reason, and towing my cars was an extreme measure to take when a simple phone call or a knock on my door would have resolved it. Furthermore, I question their integrity after an agent admitted to me that the intention was to make a $75 per car profit from the ordeal. A full lot of cars would have been quite a windfall. I left very angry (and a bit hurt), and have all but resolved to not set foot in that office again until I cheerfully deliver our notice of intent to vacate next year.

I did accomplish something that day despite the lousy start to an already busy week. Nate Baker was hosting “Nashville’s Nearly Impossible Crossword Puzzle” on his site over the weekend, and my wife and I had done some serious damage to quite a few of the clues. Between spikes in my blood pressure from talking with a hapless leasing agent over the phone, I was able to finally crack the last one. For my efforts, I was to be awarded a coveted Opryland Belt Buckle tonight at the CentreSource Mixer. Awesome.

The casters squeaked loudly as the staff carefully rolled the platform down the ramp. I stood quietly with my back to it, lined up with five other relatives and family friends. The narrow ramp had made it difficult to maneuver, but once down to our level we were able to complete that particular leg of the journey with relative ease. Several miles away, the same six visibly shaken men walked up the hill and finished our charge — one that none of us were eager to have taken up.

In the funeral parlor a while earlier, I had examined the wallpaper next to my seat as the minister read the eulogy. Looking at him, or at her, was not an option. Hidden in the patterns was what I hoped to be the secret to maintaining composure in a room filled with grief and sadness. The minister did his level best to deliver a hopeful message to ease the pain. Two selections from Elvis Presley’s catalog of gospel music ripped most of that false composure to shreds. The combination of the divine message and the King’s pristine voice sent a shot right to my heart, putting forward the truth in a way that nothing else today had done.

She is gone.

I make no claims to have known my grandmother the best. Her two daughters had been right there with her through the storms of their childhood and called her frequently after moving on to other cities, jobs and starting their own families. They both had spent almost every Christmas and Thanksgiving with her and the many visits in between. Both had taken her to her oncologist appointments and sat with her through chemotherapy. Both were with her at her bedside when she passed away on Tuesday. She was very much a part of their lives.

But I do know a little bit about her love for her four grandchildren. This bleary-eyed twenty-something to the two-month old grandson across town and all points in between knew her love for them. These last couple of days I have been reminded of that love time and time again.

I remember her smile as she looked out of her kitchen door as we were coming walking in from our car and her special blend of humor she used in all of her stories about neighbors, relatives, critters and co-workers. I remember the patterns in the linoleum floor and the large pillow in front of the television that I usually took up residence upon as a child. I remember overnight stays and trips to help her get kerosene for her space heater. I remember her calming voice when I dropped in for an unplanned visit during a turbulent college break. I remember the way she always announced my dubious title of “[her] favorite grandson” whenever we talked on the phone. I must confess that her other one is awfully adorable.

I have told many well-wishers that “she was an amazing woman, and will be deeply missed” because I believe that short sentence holds two of the biggest understatements I have ever written. She was amazing because of what she was able to provide for her children and grandchildren against all odds. She will be deeply missed because those sacrifices changed the course of many of our lives, and we are forever in her debt.

Bonnie Bowden
Published: Thursday, June 4, 2009 – The Paris Post-Intelligencer

Retired Emerson Electric Co. employee Bonnie Bowden, 71, of Humboldt, died Tuesday, June 2, 2009, in Nashville.

Her funeral will be at 1 p.m. Saturday at Ridgeway Funeral Home.

Allen Rietz will officiate. Burial will be in Sandy Point Cemetery at Camden.

Chosen as pallbearers are Michael and Stephen Yeargin, Faron Stout, Jerry Hughes Jr., Jim Cooper and Gene Schrader.

Visitation will be 4-8 p.m. Friday and after 9 a.m. Saturday.

Born April 17, 1938, in Bruceton, she was a daughter of the late Ben Pinkston and Ella Mae Webb Pinkston Cotham.

She was a member of West Paris Baptist Church. A family member said she loved Elvis, reading, doing crossword puzzles and peace and quiet.

She leaves two daughters: Janna (Michael) Yeargin and Larisa (Faron) Stout, both of Nashville; two sisters: Sandra Carter of Paris and Faye Schrader of Puryear; and four grandchildren: Stephen, Miranda and Heather Yeargin and Quinton Stout.

She also was preceded in death by a sister: Mildred Vessey; and a brother: Ben Rhea Pinkston.

Every parent that I have ever talked to loathes the toys that play songs or make any other kind of noise. Batteries will mysteriously go missing from the toy fire truck, much like the slime goes missing before it ends up on the carpet. Moments of peace and quiet are sacred for parents, and woe unto the fool that disturbs them with the noise-making toy. I am apparently that fool.

We made our way up to the pediatric critical care unit, balloon in tow. We hung out with his mother at the bedside, glad to see that he was alert, if not a little sluggish. They were ready to move him out of the the critical care unit, but a bed had not opened up yet for him. Holding down food, strawberries as we would learn shortly, had been a bit of a challenge. The toughest part of the visit was not so much the nurse coming in to change the dressing on his chest that had soaked through his shirt, the strawberry redux, or the airway cleansing by way of his nasal passages. Instead, it was hard just seeing somebody who would much rather be chasing chickens around his yard laid up in a hospital bed with a long incision on his chest. This is not how a toddler should be spending a Sunday afternoon.

I am often humbled by the many blessings I have in life, and I try my best not to overlook them. Not everyone in that critical care unit was on the road to recovery like our young friend. We were made aware of at least one case where a young man was waiting on a heart transplant. Our Sunday morning church services often begin with a prayer request or two for those that are ill or have some other kind of need. I sit here this evening in good health and blessed to have a wonderful wife and (no matter how much I whine at times) a job to go to in a few short hours. It is good to keep everything in perspective.

Across town, there is a couple resting in a hospital room with their son. With a giant guitar-shaped balloon that plays “Smoke on the Water.”

Samantha and I had been talking for a while about buying a board game or two to keep around the apartment in an effort to quell the restlessness that typically drives me out to spend money (food, entertainment, etc.). So tonight, we bought two games, Scrabble and Monopoly, in these nifty little bookshelf boxes from Target.

Our first round was with Scrabble, a game that I had thought would be a bit more evenly matched. Two college graduates with a penchant for writing were bound to have a fairly deep vocabulary. I was out gunned, and ended up losing by a few hundred points. She managed to empty her cache of tiles, I was left with both blanks and a “V”. The picture is of the final board.

I avenged the loss in the second, winning an abridged game of Monopoly by a little under $1,000. We had to cut it short because of the self-imposed deadline of 9 p.m. so that we could still vacuum the floor. I take a little bit of satisfaction in beating an MBA in a game of business. She questioned my morals in all of this, but as they say, business is business.

We had a blast this evening, and I think we have already got our money’s worth out of the board games. I think it is worthwhile for any married couple or even roommates to invest in a few board or card games, provided the competition does not get too heated.

We were sitting on the bleachers at Vanderbilt Stadium on Saturday, waiting for the evening’s performances from Robert Earl Keen, Jason Mraz and the Dave Matthews Band to begin when it all came rushing in. It caught me a bit off guard, but not totally surprised. Everything must be dealt with in due time.

It was a festive atmosphere, with thousands gathered for what was arguably the biggest concert of the spring. College students, middle aged men and women and those of us in between crowded the field and throughout the stands. Women walked around in sundresses, guys in t-shirts and jeans. It did not take a lot of effort to spot “that guy” — the one who shows up the concert wearing the merchandise of the band he has come to see. I never really understood the appeal. Perhaps it is matter of pride, likened to the way a sports fan will wear a throwback jersey to prove that their dedication to the team spans more than just the here and now.

The week that was. I had escaped it just long enough to sleep once peacefully through the night, but there it was waiting in the bright sunlight in Section R, row 60. The tensions, the disappointment, the unpleasant news on a Friday afternoon. A handful of familiar faces were about to become a lot less familiar. Survive this round to fight another one. Things will turn around soon. We hope so because hope is certainly a more solid foundation than anything the pundits can tell us.

The sound ripped through the field and up to the rim of the bowl. Dave and company turn in a great show, no matter where they play. The music is organic, powerful and more than a little unpredictable. A cover of “Burning Down the House” and various fakes and teases segue into popular hits. The visuals fill your eyes with wonderment, captivated by the larger-than-life imagery and searchlights that bathe the crowd with patterns and vibrant color. Thousands sing along to almost every word. It is a very surreal experience.

Eight hours later we were standing behind an elementary school, moving mulch, gravel and leaves around to help out a parents’ group build a garden. The project was one that a friend (and former co-worker) had helped organize, a great example of how every parent should stay involved with their child’s school. Being childless ourselves, Samantha and I came to lend a hand and to hang out a bit. Light physical labor is a surefire way to keep my mind from wandering (or more accurately, dwelling) on things that happened before the weekend started. I still have a bit of a sunburn and sore arms, but I would do it again if given the chance.

I have tried to take a different approach to the day-to-day struggles in times such as these. It is built around acknowledging the reality rather than painting a rosy picture. I accept that not everything ends well. That has been the hardest, because I have always subscribed to the philosophy that things that go wrong frequently lead to a better opportunity. I am sure that it still happens in the long run, but there is far too much pain in the meantime to make a direct correlation between the setback and the prosperity. You cannot say that the person who loses a job and his or her home is suddenly in a better place than when they started; It is simply not the truth.

Guilt comes easy. We still lead a rather comfortable life as a dual-income-no-kids yuppies while others in very close social circles barely get by, or simply do not get by at all. I have become more acutely aware that even this supposed life of leisure is a very fragile proposition. Can gratitude and guilt be one in the same emotion?

I have spent a bit of time around other people’s children lately. I often step back and see the defined roles in society, where the parents worry about the future while the kids approach the world with curiosity, boundless optimism and limitless potential. I wonder exactly where that innocence is lost and if it can ever be recaptured, even in a fleeting moment. The way they play, the way they learn and the amount of trust they place with those of us that spend far too much time worrying is a thing of wonder. It is just an amazing contrast.

I do not know what will happen tomorrow or the day after that. I cannot guarantee that everything will turn out just fine in the long run. My only prayer is that we can take care of one another well enough to see us through to a brighter day.

Time. There is so much to do, so little time to go around. In other cases, time is all you have, and the work will be finished when it is (or ever is to be) finished. The clocks of our youth rush ahead faster on some of life’s moments, and drag on for others. It is easy to lose a bit of perspective along the way, fighting with the shadows that never leave us, groping about into great unknown. It has been almost three short/long years since Martin, but I can vividly recall much of that time and place better than I can remember what happened last week.

Spring has brought with it a warm sense of new beginnings. There have already been a number of new births in our social circles, a phenomenon that really amplifies that feeling of the new and unlimited potential that it represents. Whether it is the young couple in East Nashville welcoming their first or another welcoming their third, the love they all share is really powerful stuff. Those kinds of moments in life never escape our memory, no matter how many years we put between them and the present.

I have to stop every now and then to really soak in the things around me; my wife’s loving smile, the company of friends, a beautiful day. I even look forward to the seven hours we will on the road tomorrow, assuming I do not nap through most of it.

Today’s excitement kicked off this morning with our second 5K in as many months, this one “Runnin’ to Beat the Blues” at Centennial Park here in Nashville. The rain made it a very soggy trek around the Parthenon, but we still managed to turn in personal-best times. We are far from avid runners (although we are starting down that path), so my finish at 45:37 and hers a minute later gives us at least a bit of satisfaction. My time was from the official clock because my iPhone’s stopwatch reset at around mile two. I really need to find out if the time chips the Nashville Striders use cost any extra.

There was a rather touching moment during the race as the course ran parallel to itself coming back around the road beside Centennial Sportsplex. An older gentleman, at least in his upper sixties, was jogging along in front of us at a fairly good pace. He looked across the way to another man he knew and and yelled “I guess you got this one. Next time!” The other man just smiled as he continued ahead on the loop. I hope I have that kind of long friendship (and friendly rivalry) when I get to be their age.

Our next stop was over in East Nashville to the Walden Artisan Market, a small gathering set up in a vacant (and remarkably unfinished) storefront off Eastland Avenue. We walked around to the nine or ten booths, finally settling on a jewelry maker. My wife picked up a silver necklace with a cross on it, something she says that she had been looking for for quite some time. Its always a good idea to support the locals whenever we can.

She and I both napped after the race, giving up a good chunk of our Saturday for some much-needed sleep. Twitter, the television and finally the weather radio alerted us to the strong line of storms moving through the area. It is not one of my favorite rituals, but my wife has us go down to the fitness center in the event of tornado warnings to get us on the ground floor and out of our apartment. This is the first time I have had my phone, so it was not nearly as boring. That, and the hockey game going on downtown had a thrilling OT finish shortly after the the storms passed.

We are now settling in for Earth Hour, although I understand that many Nashville residents are having an involuntary blackout as NES works to restore power.

I pondered a bit about the nature of luxury. Does the upper middle class suburbanite really forgo the expensive haircut and settle for a trip to the local strip mall? No time to wonder about such things, the haircut was done almost as quickly as it started. We continued on our evening errands before heading home.

We tuned in to the Predators game as they continued their march toward the playoffs. I took notes in order to write a story for a start-up site called FanBase. Keep in mind that I have never written a story about hockey, and the last time I wrote a sports piece at all was when I interned for the American Junior Golf Association. Hockey and golf have few similarities (other than the stick mildly resembles a golf club, and the nomenclature is equally complex).

My story is written with several revisions to correct glaring misspellings of eastern European names. I have since decided to abandon my ambitions of being a hockey writer; not because it is particularly difficult but because I spent entirely too much time writing and not enough actually watching the game. Perhaps I can try my hand at other hobbies.

After work today, I went to Walgreens to pick up a card and a few other tokens of affection. While waiting to make my purchase, I left my place in line and picked out one of the foil balloons. It was a round one, not very large. Being a graphic design geek, I went for the one with the nice font and elements in a good proportion to each other. My loot in hand, I went back to the registers. I noticed one item had a price printed directly on the same tag that one would use to fill out a “to” and “from” card, making it impossible to not broadcast exactly how much you spent on the token gift. I smiled a bit and wondered if anyone thought about that before buying thousands of them to distribute to the company’s stores nationwide.

After I paid, I walked out the door and pulled lightly on the balloon to get it through the door facing. I reached for my keys in the same motion, and …

Snap.

I was holding a smiley face balloon weight in my left hand. It was the only thing that was smiling. My balloon rose quickly in the February afternoon breeze. I stood there for a moment watching it sail across the street, climbing higher and higher over the Jack-in-the-Box I occasionally visit. For a moment, I was 23 years younger and on the verge of a meltdown because my most favorite thing in the whole wide world had just been taken from me. I recovered. The other patrons walking in and out of the store paused too, nobody saying anything. It was if I could hear their thoughts in unison: “Aw man, that sucks.”

I sighed, and took the rest of the stuff to the car. I walked back in the store to get another balloon, but decided against it. The matching balloon was partially deflated, and there was no guarantee that the sticky piece that held it tethered would not snap just like the other one. I got back in the car and drove home. I have already given Samantha the smiley face balloon weight, along with this story. (She laughed.)

I am sure there is some deep metaphor floating somewhere in the breeze around northern Davidson County, but for now I am simply going to go get ready for our 5K run/walk in the morning.

1. I am a colorblind graphic designer. Contrary to what you might think, it is not just the Americans with Disabilities Act that keeps me employed.
2. I was once certified as an open-water scuba diver. That ended up being an expensive hobby that I had little interest in pursuing.
3. My aversion to cold temperatures can likewise be traced to a bit of a mishap where I started showing symptoms of hypothermia while diving.
4. I have won awards in small-town youth beauty pageants. More accurately, they had more awards than participants, so I usually got one.
5. I was the first person to serve three years as Executive Editor for my college newspaper. I did not realize this until the third year.
6. I can do a lame break dancing move where I lean backwards to one arm and pop back up. My wife is astonished, and I am yet to injure myself.
7. I have not been part of a volunteer or membership organization for which I have not worked on its Web site. I never intend to at the start.
8. I held a summer job where more than half the staff (including the boss) walked off the job one day. I was among those that stayed.
9. I never owned a BlackBerry, but I have grown rather fond of my iPhone. I now understand why smart phone users are addicted to them.
10. A vice chancellor threatened to kick me out of school for not surrendering evidence for a newspaper story. I won. It is still on file.
11. I once spent a very cold early morning on a quixotic mission to place campaign signs along 45 miles of highway. Our side still lost.
12. The first organization I ever lead was an economics class project. We went bankrupt selling boxer shorts during prom week. Not my idea.
13. I spent two summers as a ropes course instructor. This has allowed me to turn a fear of heights into a somewhat healthy respect.
14. I have filed income taxes every year since 1998. I held jobs as a teenager more to get out of the house than it was for the money.
15. I attended the second inauguration of Tennessee’s governor and have shaken hands with he and both US Senators. Only one was an honor.
16. I have talked to a 911 operator once after a co-worker was injured in a 20′ fall. He fractured his hip, but recovered fully.
17. Purchasing a tub of cheesecake filling for a meal will either be for the happiest moment or lowest point in my life.
18. At 6’2″, I would still be shorter than most males in my direct lineage. None of us are or were basketball standouts. I can barely dribble.
19. I am yet to be passed up for a job if I get an in-person interview. I am not that charming, so I suppose I have just been lucky.
20. I have unusually high flexibility in my hip joints because of how the top of my femur is angled. I failed a sports physical because of it.
21. My cell phone plan has the fewest number of minutes allowed. I have never exceeded them, and rarely use more than 60 minutes a month.
22. I have had two speeding tickets, both 25 or more over the limit. Neither time was I offered the option of driving school.
23. I was named to the “Homeliest Court” my senior year of high school, but lost out on the top slot to a football player. Oh well.
24. I ran a campaign for a friend in his long-shot bid for senior class president. He finished third. Advice: never use “Adonis” in a slogan.
25. I was part of a group that marched on the state capitol to protest higher education cuts. The bake-sale raised more than the legislature.
26. My college newspaper adviser is the first boss I ever had to lose her temper with me. I readily admit that I earned every bit of it.
27. My worst injury was by far the time I crashed a bicycle and broke my collarbone. The 10 minute ride down a bumpy country road was awful.
28. I walked around for a few days following that injury with an overlooked fractured shoulder. Pain medicine could not dull that.
29. I try my level best to avoid using contractions when writing anything other than a personal letter. It just strikes me as lazy.
30. I have never flown. This is not for a fear of flying because I would love to do so. The opportunity has not presented itself.

Samantha is Sick

• Day 1: Slight discomfort; Promptly opens a case file on the ailment. Internet searches track down each symptom.
• Day 2: Wake up feeling miserable. Schedules doctor appointment.
• Day 3: Attempt a remedy that worked for someone, find article describing vaguely similar much-worse-condition-itis.
• Day 4: Minor improvement, still trip to the doctor. Share research with doctor in an attempt to figure out what is wrong.
• Day 5: Low dose of prescription drugs work wonders, feeling much better and glad it is not that much-worse-condition-itis.
• Day 6: Much better and back to normal.

Cost: An afternoon of personal time, $20 co-pay and a less than $30 in medicine.

Stephen is Sick

• Day 1: Crud starts to creep in. Sleep it off.
• Day 2: No improvement, go to work. Co-workers suggest he go home. Finish work day and sleep it off.
• Day 3: No improvement, go to work. Co-workers implore he go home or to the doctor. No longer able to sleep at night.
• Day 4: No improvement, go to work. Co-workers demand he go to the doctor. Calls wife to have her schedule appointment.
• Day 4.5: Go to the doctor, find out it would have been easier to treat two or three days ago. Given really strong drugs.
• Day 5: Stay home, take medicine. Sleep for hours upon hours. Wake up feeling only slightly better.
• Day 6: Stay home, forget to take medicine. If he is lucky, he does not start the process all over again.

Cost: Two and a half days of vacation time, $20 co-pay and $70 or more in medicine.