Cover up!

I'm beginning to see where these things make sense

So the Boy and I had a chance to go the Travelers Championship today.  It's being played at a nearby TPC course and to say that the Boy was excited would essentially be the understatement of the year.  His love for golf has become all-encompassing.  It was really fun to spend the better part of the day with him, seeing him completely enthralled by the game he loves.

It's been a warm, no, really hot, week here in New England.  Ugly hot.  And when it gets ugly hot, the ugly comes out.  I do not understand this horrific phenomenon.  But I think it can be summed up in a post on Facebook I sent from the course earlier today:

To the lady in front of me at the Travelers Championship in the tank top and raging case of back acne, cover up! A grateful gallery, and nation for that matter, thanks you!


I'm not kidding about the bacne, it was awful.  Why on earth would you have it on display when it's at the peak of its anger?  Why, I ask you?!  Anyway, this tank topped travesty wasn't the worst of what was on display today.  In some cases, I was embarrassed and in other cases, I felt sorry for those people, both male and female, who clearly don't own a mirror or possess a sense of shame decorum.

I get it.  It's summer, the sun is shining and there's something wonderful about the feeling of the sun on skin.  On more than one occasion, I've wanted to peel off my shirt on a hot, sweaty run but the fact that I still possess a decent (and by decent, I mean unnecessary for a man to have) man-boob rack has stopped that urge.  Yes, I have run shirtless a couple of times and I'm sure for those who saw me it was an experience that was as disturbing as it was sad.  Common sense has ruled for me more often than not, reminding me to cover up.

I've said it here before, I'm no prude and certainly no censor.  And I'm far from an arbiter of style.  But I think I know that if your bacne is raging, if your back and arm tattoos went horribly, horribly wrong, if you're muffin top is more like souffle oozing over, it's time to cover up.  No, I don't advocate for a nation of burqas.   Let's just take a long look in the mirror before going out.  That is all.

So we bought a house

After three months of looking on my own, it only took about four days after they got here for the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML and the Boy to find what I couldn't: a house.

So we bought a house, thus ending the latest round of "Where Are We Going to Live Now?"  It's good to know we'll be able to officially settle into New England soon.

What to tell you about the new house?  Well, for one, it truly is brand-new.  It doesn't have a sump pump, which we will not miss.  It doesn't have an ancient hot water heater that explodes at will.  It doesn't need the roof or every single window replaced.  Oh, Chicago house, we hardly knew ye!

One thing it is - it's smaller.  We have decided to downsize.  We are losing two rooms of furniture with this move.  It's yet to be determined what will happen to said stuff but it's not fitting in the new house, that much I can tell.  It's interesting to be at this stage of life - we really can downsize.  It's just the Boy now at home and he'll have enough space to call his own.  It's going to be fun to see what we can do in the new house.

Another thing - from what we can tell, we will be pretty much the oldest people in the neighborhood.  Lots of young marrieds and little kids.  I guess it's time to make a choice - grumpy neighbor or the guy who has the cool son and cool wife. I should probably go the cool route, right?

On Father's Day

A wise man heareth his father's instruction: but a scorner heareth not rebuke. ~ Proverbs 13:1

It's Fathers Day and I'm most appreciative of the counsel given in the Old Testament scripture noted above.  Truly, wise is the man who listens to the good counsel of his father.  And like the quote to the left, blessed is the man who hears many voices calling him father.

I was blessed to have a father who was wise, gentle, and one who counseled well.  Unfortunately, I probably was more often like the scorner who heard not the rebuke than I should have been.  I am acutely aware of my late father's absence on this day.  I would like nothing more than to be able to pick up the phone and wish him a good day and to thank him one more time for all he did for me.  His love for me, a child who didn't filter (and still doesn't) well the things he said, was unending.  His love for his children and his wife set the bar very high.  I work to get to that level each and every day.  I'm grateful, eternally so, for his example and I'm proud to be a son of John H. Lyons.  He was an amazing father, husband, and man. He taught me well.

I'm grateful for the fact that I am a father.  It's been the best experience of my life. I'm grateful for my children - Our Lady of Awesome, CAL, and the Boy. I'm blessed to have a son-in-law, Awesome, who comes from a long line of exemplary fathers and it's so good to see how he cares for my daughter.  I'm even more grateful for their mother, the stunningly patient and mighty fine SML. My children are who they are because of her.  For that, they should be grateful. Had it all been up to me, I'd have taught them more lessons from 'Homer Simpson's Big Book of Parenting.'  That probably wouldn't have ended well.

And for those of you keeping score, we bought a house today.  The latest round of "Where Will We Live Now?" has concluded.  That is all.

The (not so) Good Samaritan

One of Christ's best known parables is the Good Samaritan.  The parable, recorded in the book of Luke, tells the story of a man who is beaten and robbed and is passed over by a priest and a Levite. A Samaritan sees him and cares for him and insured that he would be cared for until he recovered.  That act has come to symbolize being empathetic and caring for our fellowman.

I had a couple of Samaritan encounters this week.  First, I was the beneficiary. Earlier this week, I had meetings downtown.  I parked in a lot that only took cash, so in the pouring rain, I had to run across the street to an ATM and then dash over to the office where I had my meeting.  Somewhere on that run, I lost my employee ID badge, which is akin to gold.  I did not realize this until I got back to my office a couple of hours later.  I was getting on a plane that afternoon and I was up the proverbial creek.  As I sat stewing in my office, my phone rang and I ignored my cardinal rule - if you don't recognize the number, it goes to voicemail - and picked up.  The person identified himself and said he'd found my badge and wanted to know how he could get it back to me.  I could not believe it.  My badge has no other information than my company name and my name and my picture, in which I look like an agitated employee ready to go postal.  He took the time to call my company's main switchboard and then tracked me down.  I was pretty overwhelmed by this act.  Since I had to blow by downtown on my way to the airport, we agreed to meet so I could pick up my badge.  When I got to his office building, he came down with my badge and could not have been more gracious.  "I've been there, man," he said as he gave me my badge.  I offered him some cash as a reward and he refused it, saying he was just glad to help.  I was grateful for this act of kindness (not that he didn't take the cash but that he'd bothered to track me down).

I thought of this man's kindness as well as the aforementioned parable during the boarding of my flight this afternoon.  An elderly couple boarded and took the bulkhead row.  The man was tasked with putting the rollaboards in the overhead bin.  As he began lifting one, it was clear there was no way he was getting the bag past his knees, let alone into the overhead.  The people in the aisle behind him made no effort to assist him and there wasn't a flight attendant to be found. It was time to do something good for my fellowman.  I jumped up and took the bag from the man and put into the overhead.  He was said thanks and turned around to sit back down.  It was simple to do and I felt good that I'd done it.  Then it went south.

After he sat down, his wife remained standing and the flight attendant walked by them carrying someone's rollaboard.  Turns out the bag belonged to the wife. As the flight attendant walked by her, she began to shriek, in a voice oiled by a lot of cigarettes and Sanka, "Excuse me!  Excuse me!  Where are you going with that!?"  She was indignant.  Had she bothered to look up, she would have seen that the overhead bins were full.  The flight attendant was trying to find a place as close to the lady's row as possible.  Said flight attendant began to explain that he was trying to find a place for her bag.  Said shrew wasn't hearing it.  I just shook my head, felt sorry for the old man for what he's had to put up with over the years, and thought that the shrew didn't deserve anyone doing her any favors.

It's safe to say that I probably missed the point of the parable of the Good Samaritan with that closing thought.  I guess I've still got some learning to do.