Our Spring Break is nearing its close, and I'd have to say it's been a memorable one not because of any unusual events or magic moments, but because of its remarkable calm.
We began the week with a short trek to Denver. If you have children of a wide age range, you know how difficult it is to find activities they'll all enjoy. Max is 16; Bella just turned 8. Tuck and Tavia fall somewhere in the middle. Inevitably, someone complains or doesn't want to participate in any organized activity.
This wasn't the case for us this time. We began our adventure with a (free) tour of Hammond's candy factory. Watching how candy canes and ribbon candy were made was fun. What I didn't expect was the kids to notice that every factory worker we saw was some ethnicity other than white. That opened up a discussion on wages, hiring practices, and workplace conditions. Who knew a free tour to a candy...
While this may not come as a shock to anyone who really knows me--and I mean knows me--it bears being clearly stated: I am not the easiest significant other to be with.
Yes, I am extremely low maintenance. Nope, I'm not needy in any sense of the word. In fact, any guy whose been with me for a substantial amount of time very likely has wondered at times if I even like him, I need so little. I'm an eternal optimist, even as the world comes crashing down. Just today, Wes called from work to inform me that he's losing his job for at least a month, if not longer. My first thought was, Wow! We can finally finish painting the family room. It's been half done for 3 years!
But.
I have high expectations when it comes to parenting. Only, I didn't know they were high. To me, they seem reasonable and obvious. I believe in being involved in the lives of...
The federal court ruled last week that there is insufficient evidence to prove the link between autism and childhood vaccinations. Specifically, the MMR (measles, mumps, rubella) vaccine. A victory for some, a crippling defeat for others, it is a ruling that, to me, is moot. Courts must rely solely on physical evidence to make their decisions; proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that the MMR causes autism in some children is impossible. There are too many underlying and individual factors.
But that doesn't mean I believe there's no link between the MMR and autism. I do.
And before I go any further, let me be clear that I have no medical background or vested interest in taking one side or the other. I don't have an autistic child. Nor do I have a vaccinated child. I have healthy children who have never been vaccinated. And I researched the hell out of vaccinations before making the decision to forego that particular childhood...
As I write on this glorious, sunny day, I'm watching the Inaugural ceremonies. I've been watching since earlier this morning, and as the day unfolds, I find myself feeling a stronger sense of national pride than I've felt in years. It's not that I ever did not want to be an American; no mere mortal could ever wield that magnitude of power over me. But in recent years, I've come to feel misrepresented as an individual American on virtually every front. Respect for the presidential office aside, Bush simply was never my president.
Today I feel hope--unlimited, bottomless surges of hope. The idea of hope is a welcome one regardless of circumstances. But the climate of our nation has been one of fear, frustration, disappointment, anger, and dissent for so long that hope had become little more than a four-letter word. It was distant, unattainable, fading into the horizon.
Many things about today contribute to my feeling of hope: the fact that...
Happy New Year! I hope this column finds you in good spirits and even better health. It's been more than 6 months since I've posted a new column, and that's just not okay. Many of you have asked if I stopped writing The Front Porch. The answer is a resounding NO! I just got swamped with writing gigs that pay, so something had to go.
But we're back on the porch, and I hope you'll join us there. I'll publish my column bi-weekly, more if there's something I just can't let pass. I think 2 columns/month is doable, and I'm looking forward to getting back into the good and the bad of writing an opinion column.
There is one major change: I will no longer email you when I've posted a new column. Instead, you can sign up to be automatically alerted to new columns. It's easy.
To your immediate left is a "Subscribe" button. There is also a Subscribe link at the...
It's been two weeks to the day, nearly to the hour, since the tornado ripped through our town to the tune of hundreds of millions of dollars in damages. And that amount includes only those things upon which we can place a monetary value. It doesn't begin to address other losses we've incurred. For some of us, that loss is a sense of security. Our young kids are frightened. They can't sleep. They don't want to be too far from Mom or Dad. My own Bella, usually one of the most joyful kids you could imagine, is suddenly fixated with death and dying. She doesn't want to die, and the only thing I could say that finally brought her peace is that if it was time for her to go, the tornado would have taken her. Clearly, I told her, there's more in store for her. She thought about that, and her 7-year-old brain wrapped itself around the idea that...
We take photo after photo, intent on capturing the extent of the damage wrought upon our community by a tornado that chose Windsor as its rest stop. We want to remember as intensely as we’d like to forget. And somewhere in between those two desires is the reality of life here, from this point on.
But photos capture only images, expressions. They show us what’s gone, what’s ruined, what’s forever changed. But they can’t show what I’ve seen here these past four days, since power went out around 11:47 a.m. on a day no one here will ever forget.
They can’t show you our spirit.
Sixteen thousand people live in Windsor, a community that in recent years has been experiencing growing pains as it evolves from being a rural region to one that is home to industry and energy resources. I’ve felt exasperation at some of the choices my town has made as it struggles to decide who it wants to be. I...
That last column I wrote generated quite a strong response, mostly from women who either a) confessed to having their own love-of-their-life-but-can't-live-with-him stories, or b) wondered how I could admit that I wasn't with the love of my life any longer while at the same time be linked to someone else. Some people--yes, even men--emailed or stopped me in town to explain how my story brought tears to their eyes, gave them goosebumps.
I had no idea.
I mean, you live the majority of your life protecting your heart because you simply don't have it in you to offer yourself 100 percent any longer, and you tend to think it's a secret, an experience no one else shares. But there are so many who are on that same journey, albeit via different roads. If it's true that for every one person who takes the time to speak up there are seven who feel the same way but remain silent, then ours is...
I find myself thinking about faith a lot lately. I believe this is partly due to some of the books I've been reading: "If God Is Love," "Grace (Eventually)," "Eat, Pray, Love," and even a couple novels in which faith is one of the themes. Perhaps my thoughts are influenced by the blossoming trees and flowers that have so suddenly decorated my life. I literally have watched the trees and lilac bushes in my backyard (where I sit as I type this) go from bare to blooming within three days. Amazing.
What does faith mean to you?
I once thought of faith solely in terms of God and religion and spirituality. That sphere only begins to encompass what faith means to me as I live out my fifth decade of life. At 42, my thoughts on faith, my idea of what it is and what it is not, are far different than what they were at 22, even 32. The concept once...
I didn't get a column written last week. It was a deadline week for me for a couple projects, and on those weeks I usually don't have any free time at the computer. And we got another dog, so that certainly added to the chaos.
We rescued Scout (named after the narrator of my favorite book, To Kill a Mockingbird), an 8-month-old yellow lab female from a shelter in Greeley. It took no time--and I mean no time--for her and Oliver to become instant pals. We couldn't ask for a better companion, and if you've got one dog, getting another really isn't a big deal. Kind of like children. For me, the difference between having one and two was no biggie; the difference between two and three was huge. By the time number four appeared, there just wasn't anything left to say.
Today the kids are home from school, so things will get noisy here as soon as the boys awaken (around...
