The Ghost of Fremont Ave Strikes Again!!!

I shit you not - the music box in my girls' room spontaneously started playing two times right before 11:00 pm tonight. My girls were both fast asleep, and both times, the music (just a few notes in slow-ish succession) stopped right before I could get in there & check.

March for the Middle Class

I was at this demonstration yesterday. Of late, I've been trying to strike that very careful balance between being effectively informed & involved in politics of the day without just seeking out those bits of sensationalism ("what did Michelle Bachman say today?!?!?") that serve to whip me up with no discernible return on the emotional investment.  But it seems to me that this whole "class warfare" thing, in which the Republican Party has effectively managed to direct public ire and legislative activity away from millionaires & billionaires and focus it on the working class, may end up being a tremendous overreach.  At least I'm hoping it will be. It should be, and right now it seems that it might be one singular issue on which the historically scatter-shot Democrats may be able to make a little political hay.  In an abstract sense, most people are for the little guy, aren't they?

ANYWAY, to this end, I attended yesterday's March for the Middle Class (which I really wish would have been called "March for the Working Class," but maybe they are really trying to cast this net of popular appeal as wide as they can - as almost everyone sees themselves as middle class).  But I wanted to do my part on helping this movement have a show of force, and I wanted Lucy to see, as I said on Facebook, that there are some things her daddy thinks are worth fighting for.

So, we went. Here is the Star Tribune write-up.

I kept going between getting a little caught up in the emotion of the event, and just simply being fascinated at the sociological exhibition on display.  Especially the chant leaders, and the expectation that the crowd would pick up the chant.  As near as I can tell, it is ESSENTIAL at a rally like this to have some sort of fervent chant going at all times, or you totally risk losing energy & focus; which could just kill an event of that size (couple thousand or so).  But, you only have 10-12 total chant lines that you can call upon, if you expect the crowd to know what to chant back.

“Who does the work?!”

“WE DO!!!”

Or

“No justice!”

“NO PEACE!!!”

Or

“Ne-go-ti-ate”

“DON’T LE-GIS-LATE!!!”

etc.

I find myself more comfortable with responding to some chants than others, but in order to help make the rally effective, I decided it's probably necessary for me to take part in them all, just at varying levels of volume & energy.

I've been to a couple of political rallies prior, but never an official "march" or "demonstration." It was very, very peaceful. No counter-protesters.  Some PA problems when the speech portion began (which also can really kill the energy). One guy tried to get me to donate to a Socialist newspaper.  I didn't want to get in an argument, but I did feel like that sort of presence is the last thing the demonstration needed.  Were Fox News to have been there, that would have undoubtedly been their first piece of video shot.  Other than that - nothing too surprising.  I will mention two particular highlights for me:

1. During the "assembly" before the march, Lucy & I were hanging out by the road.  Cars were driving by and gaping at this mass of demonstrators.  About a third of the cars were honking in support, and we'd always give them a raucous cheer in response.  At one point, a St. Paul Fire engine happened by, and as they did they just laid on the fucking horn for about twenty seconds, which resulted in a tremendous response from the assembled.  The chills that went up my neck were real and dynamite.

2. During the speech portion (after the march), one of the speakers was interrupted by an announcement that he relayed: the harbormasters' union of San Fransisco had just shut down the port of the city in support of the Minnesota protesters.  Solidarity, right?  Another electric moment for me.

That's all. Peace. Out.

Into....?

or "The Awaited 'Happy Post' ‘The Pre-Happy Post’"

Towards the end of 2010, Sharon & I started attending couples counseling sessions.

We've always known we had a good thing going. Sharon & I align almost identically along political and world views, and are of similar mind on issues ranging from appreciation of early 20th Century film noir to child-rearing philosophy. But when we have differences - we don't confront them head on; we bury them. We also have dealt with ongoing issues related to intimacy which, without revealing the innards of an issue which is far too complex to get into in this forum, I will simply say finally came to a point of being (that word again) stuck. Stuck at a point where we needed some sort of outside intervention.

I credit Sharon as being the one who finally arranged for our counselor. I cannot emphasize the significance of this highly enough. It was a great affirmation for me, who was (as later came to the surface in our sessions) feeling increasingly shut out of Sharon's personal struggles. An affirmation that our relationship was a priority that needed to be dealt with a similar degree of priority, and that everything was connected. A lot of great things have been put in motion as a result of our sessions. We both enter the process, it seems, willing to accept responsibility for how we have, to paraphrase Sting, laid assorted mines throughout our past among which we now walk.

A little prior to us going into the couples sessions, Sharon hooked up with a new psychologist, who I will call "B." And in taking great care to respect as least some degree of privacy regarding their work together, I will say that Sharon is being "pushed" into uncomfortable, but (I believe) necessary territory in a way I have never seen in her history of therapy. And not only that, but I have been invited into "the process" for the first time ever. I was even invited in to a session, so psychologist, client, and spouse could all get on the same page. "B" also wants to keep tabs on where we are at in our couples' therapy and even aspects of Sharon's "woo woo" work. The plan is to get all aspects working in concert, and to make sure we're keeping things moving forward, with homework & concrete achievable goals, however modest. And don't start grasping when things get desperate. Stay in the moment. It's very Jedi-like.

In the time since my last post, Sharon actually went through another rough patch. This is not a quick fix, here. But I feel like the foundation is there - that she (we) have a stable base to descend to when the tower gets tippy.

Out of Discombobulation, and Into....?

I have recounted to various members of my readership, and to varying degrees, the amazing amount of discombobulation which pervaded almost all happenings of my family in 2010, but I'll see how concise I can make the recap here:

BACKGROUND:
1. Sharon has a history of depression, which is rooted in experiences from her childhood, but which hit full flower in her adulthood.
2. I have been a very supportive husband through the years.
3. After 12-13 years of marriage, the ongoing mental ilness was making Sharon feel (understatement of the century alert!) frustrated and stuck.
4. After 12-13 years of marriage, my ability to be a supportive husband was beginning to feel its own strain.
5. All of this going on in and about everyday turmoil of life, including but not limited to: raising two kids, unemployment & subsequent employment, various ebbs & flows in personal endeavors & pursuits, ever-present financial concerns.
6. In 2009-2010, Sharon began exploring what I will, to borrow a phrase from a friend, simply refer to as "her 'woo-woo' stuff:" A series of alternative therapies & "energy work," out of pure desperation to get un-stuck.
7. I am skeptical of the scientific substance behind a lot of what she is exploring (and spending a lot of money on), but I also pride myself on Dismissing Nothing.
8. And, for whatever reason - for the first time in her life - Things Began Moving. This has been, alternately, incredibly promising and terrifying. What used to be months'-long slogs through a depressive fog has become pretty crazy, shorter, swings between feeling like she's on the verge of a new tomorrow and feeling like she wishes she was not alive.
9. A group of you gents got to see some of this first hand, last June, when The Fellowship was broken just a little prematurely out of the need to rush Sharon to the ER in the midst of a panic attack. That was pretty extreme, but there's been a lot of that sort of thing.
10. This past Fall - I was looking forward to Letting Things Go. For the first time in my adult life, I was not going to be in a band, in school, or in a theater company. A blessed, indefinite (& possibly permanent) stretch of down-time in which I could luxuriate and pursue nothing but my own pleasures on my own time. Wow - and remember, I now have a 6-minute commute, an inspiring career, and everything on the surface seems to be going my way.
11. Yet somehow, I entered the dead of Winter showing a number of signs of stress and was having a hard time figuring out how that could be, in light of #10.
12. That's when I remembered #s 1-9.

This is kind of the scary, bad post. I've got a happier follow-up post coming.

We Interrupt this Blog (in much the same way as a Wenckenbach Heart Block)

I think all of you knew the recent development where my doctor has me wear a Halter Monitor for a day to try to get to the bottom of a long-standing arrhythmia I had in my heart. Long-standing, as for as long as I can recall (Sharon used to put her ear to my chest in the early days of our marriage and remark on my skippy, stoppy heart beat).

The results of me wearing the monitor were a little startling - detecting that I had a second-degree "heart block," meaning, simply, that the signal or impulse from my brain would simply not get through every so often. My heart simply misses a beat, generally after slowing down over a succession of beats. At one point, there was actually a 2.5 second interval between beats. Almost all of this goes on while I sleep.

The other oddity is that I have a curiously high resting heart rate. It's in the upper 80s or low 90s, which really makes no sense given my decent level of fitness and my (on the whole) low stress level. It was thought that the two could possibly be related. Add to that, this inordinate amount of sweating I do (more so in the last few years); beyond normal, truly. I think the sweat is related to how I cramp up so easy (I'm simply losing fluid that fast), and my thought (hope?) is that the sweat was/is somehow related to the heart rate.

So really, I was going into this with a lot of questions. Questions that need answers.


Well, I just came back from a specialist visit at a cardiology center, and I am cautiously quite optimistic. First off - within the spectrum of second degree heart block, there are two main types: type two, or type one (the Wenckebach). Type two, not so good: unpredictable, likely progressive, ending in (ultimately) cardiac arrest. Type one is a more or less benign condition. This is the one the cardiologist is convinced I have, given the fact that you always see this slowing up of the rhythm before the stoppage. He says there is no reason the condition would need to impact my exercise or lifestyle, and there is no health risk, currently.

The high resting heart rate is curious. He doesn't think it's related in a cause-effect way, but he thinks BOTH conditions may simply be as a result of sleep apnea. That is his belief, and my hope. We know I snore, and we know I'm always a little tired, which would both be symptoms of apnea. The doctor says that sleep apnea can also wreak havoc with your sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems, and totally have all sorts of unexpected consequences on heart rate. My next step is to do a sleep assessment. But this is really good news, given the uncertainty of the last couple of weeks since the condition was diagnosed.

More on this as it develops, undoubtedly.

Major Event #2: The House

For the majority of my readership, this was chronicled in a recent trip up North. But I'll recap for posterity, as well as the one or two others who might have an interest in the nuts of it all.

I've maintained a long-standing dalliance with a house move. This is not new territory. Sharon & I moved into our current house one year into marriage, back in 1998. There was little thought of raising a family, energy upgrades, "walkability,""community," etc. We needed a place which was affordable on a meager income that was also not coming apart at the seams.

What we found at the time was a sturdy little home that was built for the post-WWII inner-ring laborers in North Minneapolis. A granny house. Orange carpeting throughout, and electrical/gas/piping/etc that had not been updated in 30 years. The outdated nature of the facilities has become our quality & energy efficiency playground, as we've updated it all - and generally to the highest possible energy efficient capability, short of pure solar/wind. And a choice borne out of necessity has proven to be one of the defining circumstances of our life: a surrounding community and set of environs & amenities that has essentially cemented our loyalty to our neighborhood into the foreseeable future.

But we've also smacked head-on into the actual structural limitations of our house. As our tastes have become a little more refined and our family has grown, we've become a little frustrated at the lack of flow & openness, as well as the cramped feel of an eat-in kitchen and dominating features of a central staircase and hallway. In addition, while a large number of our friends live in North Minneapolis, that is not so much the case in the surrounding few blocks. There are other areas of North, and one in particular (the "Victory Neighborhood"), which have beautiful stucco tudor-styled homes and early-century floorplans. Our "sub-neighborhood" predominately consists of the same type of small, uninventive little "banger" in which we live. That has resulted in a generally lower level of home ownership and, frankly, fewer peers. Lucy, alone, has about five relatively close friends living in this same seven block by seven block section of North (and our family, in total, knows probably a couple of dozen families); while in our neighborhood, we tend to have kids from rental houses running free & unsupervised (some as young as two or three) in the middle of the street, late into the evening. Not to mention being involved in a series of misdemeanor-type offenses up and down the block. Just not the type of environment we are excited to have our kids growing up in proximity to.

So this combination of factors, including with the equity we believed we had accumulated in our house and current historic low interest rates, drove us to explore the notion of moving into Victory, to be within blocks of many friends and into an area with a greater sense of community. We went so far as to be pre-approved for a mortgage and begin touring some houses.

Well, to make a long-story short, some of our financial assumptions, in particular the amount we had truly lost in equity (e.g. pretty much everything - our area was extremely hard hit from foreclosure, and prices have not recovered) and the relative house prices between our neighborhood and the other, did not prove out as we had assumed. And, the more we investigated the interior and "guts" of prospective houses, the more we appreciated the solid foundation and interior investments we had made in our own. And the more we thought about it, the less favorably the parks & trail system in Victory compared to the parks & trails around our home, which may be among the best of anywhere in the Midwest. And yards in my neighborhood are much bigger (11 homes per block as compared to 15 in Victory). And you can hear toads calling from my back yard. And on and on.

And personally, I started to hold fast to some of my personal values about simplicity and non-wastefulness; realizing that some of these things I'd been looking for in another home: larger bathroom, dining room, etc. are things that simply aren't necessary for happiness. We can (and should) (and will) do some aesthetic interior upgrades to our own home, and are actually currently in the process of working out what sort of cash-out-refinance we can leverage, given the lower interest rate, to keep out monthly outlay about the same as it currently is, while rolling in our mortgage and a low-interest community fix-up loan we've been paying on for a few years. We're hoping we'll come out with an extra $10,000 or so with which to utterly remodel our bathroom and re-do the hardwood floors. In the meantime, there's some sweat-equity stuff we can take on ourselves: painting, some more landscaping, etc.

We may yet end up doing a move someday. It still doesn't seem likely that the character (e.g. the characters who reside within the houses around us) of our neighborhood change significantly in the next handful of years. I do wish Lucy & Rose had some "backyard friends." But in the big scheme of things, they're not all that far from their friends in North. And - good God, we live in the age of cars and, in a scant handful of years for our girls, bikes. And when my intellect is involved, I realize I have little to fear from the "bad influence" factor. My girls are smart and perceptive, and have the tools to gravitate to positive influences. So if we end up moving someday, to achieve a little more immediate "community," and maybe a dream house in terms of design flow, we're going to do it right, and it's going to be when & if Sharon is back in the workforce and we have a little more purchasing power. The key to a little more peace of mind in the near-term is to just let that go until the time feels right.

Major Event #1: My Brain

When my readers last left My Brain, I was performing a self-diagnosis with the conclusion: Fucked Up. It was at near the height of a long-buildup of ambient stress, with a series of external stressors and a life in flux that was overwhelming me like so many Lilliputian Poltergeists. Here's the crazy/eerie thing: the date/time stamp of that last post on my psychological state was 8:27 pm last Aug. 13. That was about two hours before my dad died.

THAT was what finally pushed me over the edge.

So, it was a couple weeks after that I entered therapy. After one well-meaning therapist that was not a good fit, I ended up with a psychologist, Martha, who was wonderful. I saw her every two weeks throughout the fall, beginning with with working through what she diagnosed to be a moderate level of clinical depression, and evolving into digging into a weedy topic I will summarize as - ah - "HOW DID IT COME TO THIS?"

If you care to read through a couple of the posts during my job search odyssey last year, you we see how I had managed to expose and master a number of hang-ups and generally messy roadblocks I had constructed for myself early on in life, for whatever reason. Coping mechanisms that allowed Young Dan to get through childhood with a minimal investment of energy on directing his own future. During the job search in Spring '09, I wasn't digging into the "why" so much. But I WAS, for the first time in my life, moving from a mindset of believing all things in life would generally default to not working out for me to realizing that people can make things happen for themselves, and that I'd laid a pretty solid foundation for success in life (my definition of success, not Norm Coleman's) without even thinking about it.

So, I was understanding this on some level in the late spring and into the summer. But it was through therapy in the fall that I dug into how that came to be. And also (more importantly) how to recognize when I was in danger of falling into old patterns of thought; gaining an ability to clinically evaluate a situation and say, "Ah yes, I'm doing it again." As any therapist (or substance abuse counselor) would tell you, getting your head around what you're doing is the first and most critical step to moving past a roadblock. It's related to the old cliche of "admitting you have a problem."

At some point, in the fall I think (and kind of at rock bottom), a Wise Friend said something to the effect of "I think when the dust settles, you're going to be able to take stock of things and realize you're in a much better place." It is a Wise Friend who has a penchant for saying things that stick with me over time. And, obvious as that statement might seem, it did stick with me throughout the fall and into winter, as bi-weekly therapy sessions turned into monthly sessions, and moderate depression went into disthymia (mild depression) and, eventually, simply away.

With the departure of depression and the greater level of self-awareness, AND with a number of "externalities" of life having settled into a Good Place, a burst of motivation and energy has been unleashed, the likes of which I haven't seen in a long, long time (the fruits of that burst of motivation and energy will be covered in following posts for Major Events).

Understand, I live in the topsy-turvy world of the New Millenium. Our nation is awash in economic disparity, corruption, and widespread political vitriol. Our world hangs in the balance from environmental and militaristic threats. I essentially live check-to-check and I have two young kids providing (in addition to many moments of indescribable joy) a moderate level of ambient, background stress. I can still have my highs and lows.

But I'm in a Good Place.

Back with a Vengeance: And The State of Me, Executive Summary

The plan – to begin this anew. We’ll see how it actually comes to fruition, but my hope is to steal coffee time in the morning to pound out some thoughts on a regular basis.

Time was, I used to examine and deliberate every life decision in this forum. Needless to say, that’s been pretty much absent in the past year. There were a couple of posts about my dad last summer, and one odd one during the summer when I suspected (rightly, at the time) a state of depression. Before that, the blog chronicled my unemployment and career change – that that was only monthly during the spring of ’09.

What’s ironic is that – as Sharon & I have discussed – 2009 – 2010 will likely go down as a turning point in our history, when looking back someday. So many things have changed. For me, the period of unemployment was a life-altering event. My wonderful career coaches were making me understand how much, in this life, is really within my control, and I was finally ready to buy into it. The death of my father (predictably, I suppose) not only induced me to re-frame some family considerations, but it also was the tipping point, driving me into a necessary series of appointments with a psychologist, wherein I was able to get my head around few things about myself that maybe I could/should have understood 25 years ago –but hey, better late than never.

And the new job. And the end of theatre and the resurgence of music. And the impending house move-WHA?!?!?!

I will attempt to go back and get into the particulars of these assorted Major Events over the course of the next few weeks.

Stay tuned!

Ranch-Style, Part 2 of 2

…exact events….slipping from my mind….have to….wing it…..

So, got down to The Ranch about mid-morning where, as I said, the opportunity to put the morning’s events in the context of a classic regale helped quash the potential of fuming or scorn from my host. We had a laugh together, then headed out for late breakfast at the Happy Chef who, as we discussed, is almost certainly the father of the Big Boy.

Events at that point were, out of necessity, coming together in such a way that would allow us to be down in Clog’s basement in front of the TV by 1:00 pm. For, you see, the heartbreak kids (aka The Vikings) were to be taking on the surging Cowboys in the NFC playoffs. Given the much-chronicled last playoff game we watched together in a previous January (a game of such cataclysmic bitterness in these parts, that two phrases: “the knee” and “the kick” need no further explanation), there were some ghosts of the past that needed busted.

Before the game, we had the chance to traipse around out front of the house with a football. There was a lot of snow and some ice, but we made a few catches and made a few throws. I think, additionally, that T-Clog made some frozen pizza which we consumed before the start of the game. Then: the game. And what a game! Such an ass-beating I’ve never seen the Vikings lay on ANYBODY in the playoffs. Clog was still concerned heading into the 3rd period, but the game was well in hand. Making it at least five times sweeter was the fact that Sean & his boy, fanatical Dallas fans, were at the game in Minneapolis. It was definitely the source of some mirth and merriment as the game progressed. It was only over Easter weekend that I dared bring up the game to my brother, who is still so shocked and sad that he is unwilling/unable to even attempt to deflect the negativity back on fans of the enemy team, a classic sports-dummy move. So, that game definitely raised the overall fun quotient.

MOONS OVER MY HAMMY

At some point, I should probably see a sports-injury specialist. I’ve now pulled my hamstring three times in the past year, each time from a seemingly mild athletic endeavor. Obviously, much of it is age, and the fact that I don’t stretch out in advance of some of these activities and go suddenly into sprinting. I think it probably also has to do with my chronic dehydration. So really, a three-bladed sword. But somehow, when doing our silly little football thing (you know, four passes to get pas an arbitrary TD marker), I came up lame. Like, bad enough to where I had to hobble back to the ranch (following a long American tradition of men hobbling back to ranches).

Other than that, it was – as they say – all good. TClog has an array of pleasures to delight the senses and trip the mind to fancy. His house is the dream of EveryMan. Pool table, high-class dartboard (almost canceling out his 1995 purchase of a Poverty Phone), Nintendo Wii, and foosball. We played all of the above, for various amounts of time and in multiple instances, for most of the rest of the afternoon and into the night. I could be remembering this wrong, but I think I lost every time at pool, foosball, and darts; but I did much better than one might expect, since I don’t have the opportunity to practice any of them. Beatles Rock Band, at least, I dominated (on vocals). I think I recall that all day I was pestering the Clog about opening up the hot tub on his deck. He was like a mad scientist, feverishly mixing chemicals and fretting over the pH levels. At one point, having just added this and that and waited out a timer, he actually stuck a lead rod into the hot tub to test it’s condition, and when he pulled the rod out, the bottom half was eaten away. Nevertheless, I eventually convinced him to let us take a dip, which was glorious (and the results of which are available in the video, below).

That night, before bed, I watched the last half of The Lost Boys. It was as bad as I suspected, but I hung on either out of respect to the recently departed (or soon to depart – I can’t recall the timing) Cory Haim.

In the morning, it was breakfast, and back on the road for a much, much less eventful ride home.

City Slicker's Visit to The Ranch #1 of ???

First off - All Apologies to T-Clog for the delinquency of this report. Hell, I haven't chronicled the re-emergence of my musical career, my battle with depression, coping with the loss of my dad, and only barely, my new career. So he can feel a measure of pride in that he rose to the cream of that cup of mik, at least.

So...kicking off what is poised to be a year of much time off (nonprofit holiday schedule, three weeks of vacation, and a two-week furlough) providing space (if not funds) to visit a cadre of friends, I decided to kick it off with style. Ranch-Style.

Shortly following T-Clog's birthday and just braving the possibility of treacherous winter winds, I planned my solo trip down. If you'll pardon what borders on a blatant product endorsement, trips in my new Kia Forte are generally pure bliss. While it would be an insult to Kobe Bryant, and would seem like a modest, entry-level vehicle to most of America, it is the closest thing to a luxury class vehicle I have ever owned. And that luxury is never more evident than when it is simply me being by myself (e.g. sans the responsibility of kids) with my iPod, cruising to God-knows-where at God-knows-what-hour-of-the-night. It was this deal when I went on my solo camping trip this last Fall, and it was certainly an oasis of Me when making myriad trips down to Waterloo at the end of that last, awful summer.

My plan had been to wake up at maybe 3:30, head out at around 4:00, stopping for a really nice long cup of eaaarly morning coffee at, say, my old familiar Rochester Caribou (I still crave Caribou Coffee, on occasion), alone with my thoughts. I would then roll on into Cedar Falls sometime around 0h - I don't know - 8:30 or so? Well, part and parcel of my psychology of late has been that I am not hitting the sack particularly early (if I was T-Clog and in the Escalante, though, I might say that 'Sack' was hitting me!). So, I ended up going to bed around 12:30 or 1:00 or so, and there was just no way I was going to wake up at the target time. I did get up around 5:20 and was on the road by 5:40.

As a Man of the New Millenium, packing for a trip with yourself is a pretty simple affair. Throw some shit in a bag and then it's: iPod? Check! And then off you go!

Pretty uneventful. Long drives in late night or early morning hours and me are old friends. On alert for deer, but other than that things are pretty mellow. I cruised on into Rochester, making pretty good time, by around 7:00. At that point, I decided not to tarry any longer than it would take to post a "Coming on into CF to visit an old friend!!!" or some other such trivial thing to Facebook via the iPod Touch, then it was off.

Back into the car, and down the road. Speeding South of Roch. (most people say "Rod-chester," but don't be deceived! There is no "Rod" in Rochester!! It's "Roch" with the "ch" as in "cheese." But that's neither here nor there). Slowly on through Stewartville. And then sliding into Spring Valley and stopping at a Tom Thumb for gas. And thank God! For, as I emerged from the car,(yup, you guessed it) no billfold. Not immediatly panicking, I dug in and around the seat, through my backpack about five or six times; and then I ripped the sonofabitching Kia Forte apart. Nothing.

All the music that had been so nurturing and soul-enriching on the drive to that point were cold and empty as I raced with dark clouds on my brow back out of town in desperate haste back to the Rochester Caribou (30 minutes back North), in hopes of the wallet being there. Oh - did I mention I'd neglected to bring the cell phone? So....back to the Caribou. I raced through the door and asked the girl at the counter. She says..."Uh, no, sorry."

I'm like, "OK....so, I'm kind of in a bind here." (remember, I'd stopped in Spring Valley for gas. The Forte was BEYOND empty, here. My situation, had I not opted for the Fuel Economy Package at the time of purchase, I dare not consider). I continued, "I have no gas in my car, no money, and I live in Minneapolis." Of course, she looks at me partly like I'm nuts, and partly in fear of her life. At that point, I turn to head over to the table where I sat. Nothing. Then I look under the chair. Ah! The billfold!

so....backtracking here...because I can hear the "Damn you!" all the way from Methuen, as I type. I won't go into considerable detail here. Only to say that I have been learning a lot about myself through my psychiatric sessions this past Fall, and I am pleased to inform you that - it's not me, it's my brain. I'm hard-wired to lose things. It is what it is. I can work as hard as I possibly can, and then that one time in fifty I will not put something in the place it's supposed to go and - BAM! A combination of attention deficit syndrome, some degree of hyperactivity, and a restless heart is a dangerous combination. Add to that stress and fatigue and - wow - I think I do pretty well considering.

In any event, this was one of those instances where a case could just about be made that my forgetfulness was not entirely at fault. I have this Columbia fleece - a fairly new one that zips into my parka shell. Don't often use it on its own. I always forget that the pockets don't actually have any downward slant to them. They kind of go straight in. There's been times I've jammed my keys in there and stood up, only to have them slide right out onto the floor. Evidently, this principle was at work in the case of the wallet.

So, back out onto the road, now an additional extra hour beyond my already late start time (now, about 8:30 or so) and without the ability to call into T-Clog, I knew it was just a matter of time till he woke up, took stock of the situation, and began to get impatient. I KNEW one of my stops was going to have to be in a small town that still had a pay phone.

And, I did finally take care of that nasty little bit of business in Lime Springs (best town by a dam site), careful to only hint at the overall reason for my tardiness for fear of raising Clog's early and unnecessary scorn without the ability to put everything in context. Then, back on the the road with a little more peace in my heart.

And finally, with no further hassles, into Cedar Falls...

Wild - Two More Times...

In The Minnesota Independent.

and in

the Twin Cities Daily Planet

Nothing all that groundbreaking, again, there you go.

Press!

I'm quoted in this Star Tribune article about the housing crisis

Not the kind of press I was always gunning for 10-15 years ago, but I’m inching ever-closer towards my mid-life dream of being considered an “expert” in something, for God’s sake.

For anyone who doesn’t want to read through the depressing, if impressively thorough and nuanced article:

…In addition, "heroic work" by the Minnesota Home Ownership Center's counseling network is helping keep the numbers down, said HousingLink research manager Dan Hylton. That said, he added, there is no easy end in sight to the wave of foreclosures, which could even get worse.
"The general sense is that we're in a small lull between waves -- and that the next wave is going to be worse, simply because it is based on the economy, rather than subprime loans/questionable choices/questionable business practices," he said….

Initial Thoughts as the Funeral Approaches

My father was a man I both admired and was fascinated by. I was born when he was 41 years old, and so missed the first half of his life - with various paths that led him to achieve a level of notoriety in semipro baseball, get drafted into the Korean War, and pursue a career (with family in tow) that took him across the sea to reside for a few years in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia and Lahore, Pakistan.

By the time I came along, the family had settled in the smallish midwestern town of Waterloo, IA, where he served for 24 years as an elementary school principal. That second stage of his life, where he touched thousands of young lives and commanded a respect that resulted in him being known as "Mr. Hylton" to all but his nuclear family, represented the man I knew as "dad." After retirement, he re-invented himself, transforming from the role of disciplinarian to jolly grandfather who exuded devotion and interest in his grandchildren with his every act.

I was always fascinated by that earlier, amazing time of his life, though, where he was seemingly bold, adventurous, and full of piss and vinegar; not the stolid and steady patriarch I knew in my youth. Fascinated to the extent that I actually recorded two 45 minute interviews with him for NPR's "National Day of Listening," about a year ago that are avabilable for download on the wold wide web. I am so glad now that I did this.

Coming from an avowed liberal peacenik this might seem odd, but I am very gratified and proud that dad will be buried with military honors, which includes a color guard, flag-draped coffin, taps, and, I believe, even a five-gun salute. He did not ask to be drafted into the service fresh out of high school, torn away from a budding baseball career and plans for college, and forced to move with his young wife and newborn daughter to a one-bedroom apartment just outside Fort Benning, GA. But he served wtih honor, and it was something that he appreciated more and more, the older he got. It's that part of the visitation/service/internment that will be hardest for me - the part with the formal military send-off; but something that's going to about the most likely piece of this experience to be able to push my psyche into processing it all a little bit. I'm certainly not there yet.

Details of My Dad's Passing

Thanks for offers of support so far. Below is the obituary that will be appearing in various papers, followed by a brief biography we "kids" wrote that will be appearing in a program at the visitation.


OBITUARY FOR: Jack Hylton
Age: 79
Address: 512 Olympic Dr., Waterloo, IA 50702
Died at: his home.
Day, Date of Death: Thursday, August 13, 2009
Date of Birth: December 15, 1929
Place of Birth: Dunlap, Kan.
Parents: Harvey and Pauline (Jenkins) Hylton
Marriage Info: married Lois Groom on May 20, 1951, in Council Grove, Kan.
Education: graduated from Council Grove High School in 1947 and received his BA and MA at Emporia State University in Emporia, Kan.
Occupation: educator for 41 years, including 24 years as a principal for the Waterloo Community School District. He was also a principal in Jidda, Saudi Arabia, for the Parents Cooperative School System of TWA and in Lahore, Pakistan.
Military: served in the United States Army for the Headquarters Division at Fort Benning, Ga.
Organizations: Member and former Board member at First United Methodist Church.
Activities: American Legion and semipro baseball in Kansas; coached and refereed multiple levels of adult and youth sports throughout Kansas.
Survivors: Wife: Lois Hylton, Waterloo, Iowa
Daughter: Laura (John) Allen, Marion, Iowa
Son: Lindon Hylton, Madras, Ore.
Son: Sean (Amy) Hylton, Cedar Falls, Iowa
Son: Dan (Sharon) Hylton, Minneapolis, Minn.
8 grandchildren: Neil & Natalie Allen, Marion, Iowa
Taylor & Jared Hylton, Cedar Falls, Iowa
Cody (Kiara) Hylton, Portland, Ore.
Zane Hylton, Corvalis, Ore.
Lucy & Rose Hylton, Minneapolis, Minn.
Sister: Jill (Eldon) Fitzgerald, Council Grove, Kan.
Preceded by: parents, and grandson Matthew John Allen
Services: 1:30 p.m., Tuesday, at First United Methodist Church in Waterloo
Burial: Memorial Park Cemetery
Visitation: 4-7 p.m. Monday, August 17, 2009, at Locke Funeral Home in Waterloo
Memorials: to the church or Cedar Valley Hospice
Condolences may be left at www.LockeFuneralHome.com


on the cover:
He put His arms around him and whispered "come with me"
on the inside:
God saw that he was getting tired
And a cure was not to be,
So He put His arms around him
and whispered "come with me."
With tearful eyes we watched,
Suffered and saw him fade away.
Although we loved him dearly
We could not make him stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
Hard working hands to rest.
God broke our hearts to prove to us
He only takes the best.

bio for the back cover:
To the casual eye, Jack Hylton was a man molded to be a principal. A hard-working educator for 41 years -- including 24 at Waterloo schools named Kittrell, Whittier and Emerson -- it was in Jack's nature to obsess about about the small details and tiny souls that filled his hallways every school year. A hands-on principal who gave more than his share of hours to the job, Jack made elementary school a well-rounded experience -- academics, after-school basketball clinics, even pizza parties and ballgames for chair crews. His job started in Kansas and took him to far-away lands like Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, and walked hand-in-hand with his love of sports, coaching and refereeing. However, Jack's role as a principal wasn't his ultimate calling. Instead, Jack saved his best for the end of the day. A loving husband, dad and grandfather, Jack was a man who gave his true devotion to his family by serving as a perfect model for a life lived with love, integrity, accountability, compassion and faith.

Next Up, My Brain

I've made a living as a "my life is an open book" type of guy, so why stop now?

After years of lamentations on an aimless "career" path, and then subsequent entry into a nonprofit field at a job in my neighborhood (yada yada - you know the song & dance - I'm suddenly the luckiest guy in the world), you'd think everything was wrapped up in a nice little bow, huh?

Well...the fact of the matter is that I am fucked up.

I can dig down a lot deeper (and have, in many conversations with Sharon in recent months), but on the surface - this appear to be the case:

In my early 20s, I was an emotional rock. Not in the stoic sense, but in the "life rolled off my back" sense. I had no crappy jobs, no prospects, next to no money, and few cares in the world. Over the years (and this is probably no rare thing), as I added cares and burdens of one sort or another, my emotional and psychological state has gotten increasingly more fragile. Particularly, in the past couple of years, I have found that going from "here" (calm, everything's OK) to "there" (I'm losing it) is as simple as a minor setback, and that my highs (and though I can still have highs, and find enjoyment in life) are less high, and my lows lower and longer-lasting, often accompanied by a feeling of despair. My "resting place" is at a general level of mild malaise, and it is almost like a fixed point to which I am tethered, and unable to fully escape. Very, very un-Dan like, the way I think of most of you knowing Dan. I am not myself.

I had some dark, dark moments last mid-summer (like, curling up on the ground dark moments) but, for the most part, things have really been at another level since the layoff last spring. It's not hard to trace the series of factors that have likely contributed in recent times, since I have been subject to a very identifiable and continuing barrage of stresses. There was not having a job, obviously - for which I bore the brunt of stress on behalf of my four-person family. Then there was/is the stress of a new job with not a single day of relaxation between job-search and new-job modes (it has been suggested by Sharon that there is actually a clinical term for this condition, called "adjustment disorder"). And, of course, all along - the declining health of my father. Sharon has actually coined a somewhat less clinical term to encompass the breadth of these, and other, of life's stresses (kids, other obligations); referring to my "ambient stress level."

Whatever it is, and whatever it's called, it's real.

And the fanciful notion of the "Dan Day" (relaxing day biking about town, relaxing in the coffee shop, and taking care of myself) being a cure-all has long since passed. As a wise man once said, "I feel like butter, scraped over too much bread." But I need more than a holiday. And I'm actually going in for psychological counseling two weeks from today.

Some other thoughts and considerations related to this topic are a little touchy to go into in this forum (even for me!), but I'm happy to talk more by phone or whatnot, one on one.

The Deed Is Done

2009

Well, the deed is done. With a minimum amount of hassle, and a loan we expect to be able to pay off in full come tax time, we have -at home - a car that should give us a smooth, relatively worry-free ride for the next 10 years or so. It's got a 10-year warranty, anyway. A little research since the purchase has also bouyed my already-good feelings about this car. With this crazy "fuel economy package" that we threw in, it truly is the most fuel efficient non-hybrid currently in the compact field. AND, it somehow manages to have a lot more interior space (both trunk & passenger) than just about any of the other sedans. And then there's all the fun stuff.

Anyway - hope to cruise by and pick one of you jokers up for an iPod-shuffle-laden excursion sometime soon!

1996

Introducing: The Forte

Dudes: Looks like we’re gonna be buying this car. Probably this week.

What we really were looking for was the Holy Grail combo of fuel economy and space to fit a four person family comfortably, plus luggage. What the Forte (new for 2010) offers us is:

- Interior space & trunk space compared to any other sedan in the compact category: there’s no comparison.

- Gas mileage amazingly good for its size: up to 36 mpg with an optional "fuel economy package"

- Features (from 100k mile warranty to crazy things like electronic tire pressure detector and iPod jack) that are INSANE for the price.

My research has been fast and furious, but the bottom line, as I see it, is this: South Korean companies seem to have the formula for making great cars for less, in a way no other country seems to have mastered. And this car in particular (actually, a totally re-engineered “Spectra”) seems like one of a kind. It’s going to feel like we’re not driving a compact car, and not getting good gas mileage, even when we are.

For more information than you necessarily need to know, read below:
It’s gonna cost us in the low $17,000s before we get a $1000 discount for trading in a “competitor” (Saturn SW) and getting whatever trade-in value we can get for it ($695 even in “fair” condition, according to the Kia website). We’ll be plunking down $12,000 on the spot (most of my remaining severance), and financing the rest. My severance’s lump sum came to me at about 52% of gross, so hopefully we’ll be getting an enormous tax return next year and can just finish it off, then.

Like Stephen, I've always considered myself a person that simply hates cars, and wishes we didn't have to deal with the infernal machines at all. But - I am not immune to the notion of comfort; and this last trip down to Waterloo in one of our two crampy, un-airconditioned cars (both over 11 years old) was just about the last friggin' straw. Life is too short for putting up with that kind of crap, especially with a wad of cash uncharacteristically sitting there in my bank account.

For years, in many different ways and on many different levels, I've lamented not really being the beneficiary of many of life's little breaks. Brothers, things appear to have changed. Please, all, don't let me get cocky.

Update on my Dad

So - I may have given a positive report around Christmastime. My dad's health experienced a turn for the better when they put him on a continuous flow of oxygen; however, since the beginning of summer, he has again been on the decline. And in a visit this past weekend, it appears he's in worse shape than they've been able to convey to me over the phone. A simple move across the living room is cause for gasping, wheezing, and sometimes dizziness. And he simply does not look good - which is an unscientific but unmistakable evaluation I feel I can make, having seen him only one other time since last Winter.

The other thing is, neither he and my mom are under any illusions with respect to where this is headed. To a point where it was a little chilling to hear. My dad pulled me aside and shared with me, as he has to my two siblings who live in IA, some wishes for how he would want things to be handled, were he to become confined to a hospital bed with no hope of coming home. He even used the "I've had a good life" line, which is an amazing, iconic statement that somehow straddles the negative/positive notions of resignation and peace. I've spent so long thinking of my dad's condition in clinical terms, "How long will he live? Will this shatter my mom?" etc., that I've not really stopped to internalize what this is going to do to me.

It really, really hit home as I saw him giving my two daughters hugs goodbye (telling Lucy, in very uncharacteristically emotive terms, "You give the sweetest hugs"). It was the actions of a man who is not sure if he will see them again. I was not sure how many times I would see him again, alive. Five, two, never? We had already turned to get into the car, but by the time I sat down, tears were streaming down my face. I mean, of course they were. I'm that kind of a guy.

Check-In #10 (the final check-in)

Well, if the last one was long-overdue...

The first three weeks (actually, each of them only four-day weeks, for one reason or another) at the new job have been a whirlwind; with an entirely new industry to try and digest, and the shock to my family's system of me getting back on a regular work schedule.

But looking back at the last check-in, it's amazing how much I'd really figured out in the mere - what - two and a half months since I'd first gotten my notice? The three "things" that I'd found (everybody knows everybody in the nonprofit world, the nonprofit world energizes me, and I'm more connected than I initially realized) all ended up coming into play, and may all be - to a great degree - why I ended up where I did.

In many ways - I could not have drawn up a more satisfying conclusion to this odyssey. I'm working in the North Side of Minneapolis. At a nonprofit. In a research/data capacity (as opposed to on the "front lines" - as a program manager or case worker or something else I'm not sure I'm cut out for). And - miraculously - brought in at a salary that's around 90% of my Big Buy salary.

Somehow, I managed to find a lateral way into this sector without having to pay the dues of going back for years and year of school, or "working my way up" through the industry. And - while I consider myself the beneficiary of good fortune, here; part of my learnings I had over the past number of months was to trust in what I had to offer a prospective employer. Early on, I saw lack of a "professional" background in the nonprofit world as a game-breaker in making a transition over; but by the point I participated in this particular interview, I had come to realize that I had a lot to offer an employer, and it was just a matter of me having a chance to convince them.

In this particular instance, my for-profit background was a positive. The idea that I had survived seven-plus years in that environment and was able to passionately convey my interest in finding something more meaningful. The years of volunteer work in theatre and my neighborhood - something I've undertaken with a relatively selfless objective - ended up really helping to make my case, as did the extensive networking I'd done over the past couple of months (and, really, with Northside movers & shakers for years prior). I don't want to say "for the first time in my life," but...it sure felt like for the first time in my life, all the groundwork that was laid, incidentally, over a lifetime of simply doing the right thing came back to reward me. It was my own little "It's a Wonderful Life" moment.

Funny - cause, for a number of people working at my new organization - they're into it & all; but for me - this is, in some ways, the last major missing piece to a perfect life (I say that realizing there's LOADS of petty frustrations & works in progress still abounding in my life; but I feel like the major bases are now kind of covered). I'm currently still a bit overwhelmed at the tsunami of information I need to wrangle, surrounding an industry at which I have next to no experience. But I'm determined to excel.

Signing out, for now, from the check-ins. Back to your regularly scheduled blog.

The Sweatiest Day

OK - trust me, the final check-in is on the way.

But in the meantime, let me just pass this along: today was the SWEATIEST day of my life.

And that is saying something. This is no exaggeration: aside, perhaps, from being around T-Clog, it's been years since I've not been the sweatiest guy in the room. I simply sweat buckets. And not only that, but I put myself in situations (mostly, running) where the sweat lets fly.

Anyway - today: cooler temps than the past couple, but still temps in the 80s humidity in the upper 80s.

1. B-Ball. Woke up, first thing, and played in my basketball league. Three four on four games up to thirty in an uncooled gym. So sweaty that, following the game, I took my shirt off and hung around outside for about twenty mintues, then put a beach towel over my car seat, and STILL soaked the seat by the time I got home.
2. Run. Immediately after work, went on a 7-mile run in the sun. OK - this was not a great idea. Sopping, sopping wet, to the point of my shorts going "flap, flap" against my skin, like running in a swimsuit after climbing out of a pool. I was that wet. And - after the dehydration of the morning, and the already-worked muscles, I was starting to fear I wasn't going to make it home. Or at least that I wouldn't be back in time for....
3. Kickball. Not the most demanding workout in the world, but still in the blazing glory of still-up summer sum; and I sweated buckets.

Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty.