One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XVII: 600-576

I've let a few weeks get by since I last posted an entry, but with April all but gone and my Blues having bowed out of the post-season early again, I'm now able to manage my time a bit better.

Hooray. Blessings in disguise and such.

Anyway. I've cracked the 600s and hope to rebuild a little momentum with today's post.

Thanks, as always, to you readers, both sporadic and religious. 

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XVI: 625-601

Kinda fell off the train of late as my laziness always zigs when life gets busier and seems to zag. I'm not giving up, though. I've just got to find a way to get my ass in bed early enough to rise early enough to do this thing. Only takes two or three mornings of getting my butt in the chair and I can start cranking these out again.

Hard to believe I'm almost halfway there and have been at this series for just shy of a quarter of a year.

If you're new to this gig, the idea stemmed from this gal's book that I have never even held in my hand, let alone read. It came up in the wife's book club -- which is code for excuse to drink wine on a week night in one another's dining rooms -- during the winter, and it occurred to me that exploring all of the things I'm grateful for might do me some good. This is that exploration.

If you've been around since the beginning, or have just popped in here and there, many thanks to you.

Readership will always be a key portion to the writer's-fuel recipe. So, thank you for reading. 

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XV: 650-626

I wish it were easier to tie up categories without post overlap, but what're'ya' gonna do?

Things -- it would seem -- got a touch intimate in this installment, and I hope that when that happens my coveted army of three readers doesn't get squeamish or offended. I'm trying to keep things real both in here and anytime I write. That's always been the intention and until I learn otherwise it always will be.

After I posted the last installment, my wife asked me if I thought this series had changed me.

I think the answer is "yes," but I think it's also a work in progress. It's easy to be in one mindset, then slip into another.

Rest assured, though, I'm trying to view the world as a thankful dude.

There's a lot of awesome out there.

And all of you are certainly part of it.

Thanks for reading.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XIV: 675-651

As I nibble away at the 600s it occurs to me that I have a ton of good memories, and a ton for which I am thankful. Thinking it and typing it are but two pieces, though; I must act like it.

In trying to do so, I'm also trying to be more conscious of judgment.

I don't want to think something of someone or communicate said something because I think his or her whine or gripe isn't legit'. It's tough, though.

So many people in the world exist in shitty environments or are under the control of shitty people or simply cannot crawl out from the shit into which they were born.

If you're reading this my guess is that -- chances are -- you've got it pretty good.

That doesn't mean you can't want change or seek more. It just means look around and try to at least imagine being thankful for the food you have to eat. You might feel better about things.

Thank you for reading.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XIII: 700-676

After a productive February and a promising start to March, I hit a lull last week. Having a busy home calendar, everyone fighting bugs of one sort or another, and some combination of fatigue/apathy, I wrote but a couple hundred words. Back at it this morning, though, and lucky you -- you get to read about a bunch of the hats I've worn in the last 25 years.

Feel free to skip it. I know I would.

Seven Hundred: Exchange City

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XII: 725-701

Dropping a brief one in this morning. This installment contains a bunch of family members that most people won't know, and it contains a couple of friends that most family members won't know. Better still, it features some public figures that a good number of neither friends nor family members will know, so it should make for a solid read with a ton of traffic.

Pleased to have had such a productive February with this series and hope that March will mirror it.

With that, I bid adieu to the 700s. You look a lot better walkin' away than you did comin' at me. Thanks for the continued readership, commentary, and compliments, people. I appreciate you all.

Seven Hundred Twenty-Five: Katarina

            My Uncle Jack married a second time, which -- anti-institution guy that he is -- surprised me. I got to meet this lady and she and all of her Swedishness exuded nothing shy of sweet beauty. They’ve been out of one another’s lives for some time now, but I have incredible memories of her jumping in with everyone in the family as though she’d known us all her life. Amazing lady. Hope she has found happiness.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part XI: 750-726

So it's taken two months to get one quarter of this project written, edited, and posted, which means it should be a wrap by late August.

I'm not gonna lie: That sounds awful.

I started this series because it felt like the right thing to do. It felt like we don't give thanks enough for all of the awesomeness we have. Once I got it off the ground, I saw its existence as a means for forcing myself to establish a consistent writing schedule, which started to happen a few weeks ago, but saw a setback this week.

When I got that schedule rolling, it occurred to me that training myself to have the necessary discipline to maintain such a schedule could give me the confidence to work on a larger, non-blog project, like a novel.

Now, though, as I prepare to click "Publish" on the 11th installment, and I think about having to do this through two additional entire seasons without working on anything else, I feel that nasty, this-is-threatening-to-become-a-chore rumble in my gut, which defeats so many purposes on so many levels.

My hope is that after getting this up, napping, showering, recharging with some friends and my wife this evening, and getting some sleep tonight, I'll feel refreshed about the whole thing again in the morning, or at least by the next time I sit down to work on it.

Anyway...As always: Thanks for reading.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part X: 775-751

I'm not sure if a correlation lies between these two things or not, but brevity and dudes I like both seemed thematic in this installment. Draw your own conclusions.

Only thing I'm drawing looks like a pie chart that says I'm a quarter of the way through this thing.

Whee!

Seven Hundred Seventy-Five: the Benevento Russo Duo

            Marco Benevento and Joe Russo employed keyboards, drums, technology, and occasional guests, and in doing so made more meaningful music than most modern four- and five-piece outfits have recorded in their dreams. They managed this via four studio(ish) albums in a 42-month stretch, and never included a single lyric. The Duo’s unique riffs harnessed electronic emotion and tossed it around the studio with the control of a lariat-clutching roper. I’ve never been exposed to a two-piece rock outfit before, and never did I imagine that a pair of classically trained dudes could convey feeling via instrumental jams. Wicked cool. Short-lived, but wicked cool.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part IX: 800-776

As I put the finishing touches on this installment two things occur to me: 1) I still have some 30 posts to go; 2) I'm going to need to Google Roman numerals soon.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

Eight Hundred: Pandify?

            I log on to Spotify about once a year. I don’t get Spotify. I can’t find anything I want to listen to, and it takes me like 10 minutes to make any of the stuff offered play. With Pandora, I create a station and, as the songs play, I say whether I think they suck or not, and Pandora adapts. Pandora and I get each other. Easy peas-y, library fees-y.

            Right now my Pandora’s broken, though, so thanks for being around Spotify. I totally wanted to wake up this morning and listen to a whole album by The Decemberists. What is this, The Glee Club?

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part VIII: 825-801

I've been on a new writing schedule for a couple of weeks now and feel pleased to recognize the productivity potential it contains. I have to pat myself on the back for the concerted effort of getting in bed at a reasonable time and I of course have to thank my wife for her support. I can't accomplish much without her and all that she does.

Anyway, we'll be into the 700s with the next installment. I feel certain that my vast readership will have "700 Club" t-shirts printed and in distribution by Tuesday.

You people rock.

Jokes aside: Thank you for reading.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part VII: 850-826

If you're just tuning in, I've taken on this monster, the inspiration of which stemmed from this gal's efforts (minus all the Jesus-y stuff). The idea -- or my interpretation of it -- has to do with recognizing that life is pretty good, even when it's not. I get that that's a loaded statement. I have food, health, a wonderful family, and zero worries regarding the source of my next fill in the blank. Keeping the mind clear, however, can -- at times -- feel like a full-time job. I don't want that. I don't want that for my friends and loved ones. So I'm doing this to try and better myself. If reading it doesn't bear direct embetterment upon you, perhaps it will do so in a roundabout fashion by giving you smaller doses of a less shitty me.

Don't bother looking up "embetterment," either. Totes just made it up.

Thanks for reading.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part VI: 875-851

I'm on pace to crank out a few of these in February, so thanks again to those of you that have joined me in this series. As I work my way through the 700s and into page 100, I'm trying to keep in mind how monotonous some of these might sound, and in doing so I find myself trying to figure out for whom I should feel sorry for the most: me the person for having such an apparent lack of diversity in my life or you the reader who keeps coming back to read about my lameness.

It's a tossup, I tell ya'.

Anyway: six down; 34 to go.

Seriously, though: Thank you for reading.

Eight Hundred Seventy-Five: Miami

            South Florida may have many mysteries. It may. I’ll include Miami in that mix.

            I suppose things always feel that way away from home, though. Navigating streets, participating in public transportation, clutching maps, punching in GPS locations, arrivals and departures. I also suppose that the size of a city either magnifies or shrinks the sensation, and Miami -- the Shaquille O’Neal of cities -- looms over Kansas City, more of a Steven Nash or a Chris Paul.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part V: 900-876

As we crack the second set of hundreds it occurs to me that I'm not going to love each of these installments. This is one of those. Don't get me wrong: I love every one of them on an individual level; I just don't dig the chunk as a collective. Either that or this project has begun to loom overhead with intimidation.

I've realized the difficulty in laying all of this out and that's to sound (and be) genuine about each and every entry and carry some of the feeling behind each one into daily life.

Anyway, thanks for reading, and here's to the things in your life for which you might be grateful.

Nine Hundred: John D. Fitzgerald’s The Great Brain series

            If any collection struck me in the profound way that the adventures of John, Tom, and Sweyn did, then it must not have been that profound after all because I do not remember it. I don’t recall how I came across my first Fitzgerald read. Perhaps a stroke of coincidence led to me having one of those books in my hands. Maybe the cover struck me at the library. It’s possible that a recommendation steered me. Whatever the case, these installments whetted my appetite for series reading, priming my future novel interests. I’ve managed to get my hands on six of the eight titles, and the next time I come across a copy of the other two, my collection will be complete. The fond memories of devouring these unique treasures leave me thankful Fitzgerald wrote them, grateful that my mom was a library mom.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part IV: 925-901

Turns out I'm only getting two installments up in January.

Christ.

I think I'm coming to terms with how much time this will take, though. Now my concern is coming up with 800 more -- I'm trying to stay four entries ahead -- things for which I can claim to be thankful.

Wouldn't that be shitty if I literally just ran out of things at like 677? I'd probably sound like a real asshole and people would be all like, Uhh-nnhhh, He doesn't even like grass or birds or the fact that Taco Bell is open until four a.m.

Guess what? Probably not going to be a problem. As long as we keep producing crappy people in this country, the beautiful elements stand out even more.

Yay, balance!

Anyway, here's this...

Nine Hundred Twenty-Five: synchronicity

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part III: 950-926

This is taking much longer than I thought.

Thanks, Obama!

I still have determination, though, and that will get me to at least 700. Everything after that will probably be about the variety of farts and boogers that once dwelled inside my body, but have since been set free into the world. 

It should come as no surprise that it's taken longer than anticipated to crank out three installments considering that it takes me 10 minutes to share a 90-second verbal anecdote.

Anyway...

The idea came from this site, and if I haven't said it already, the motivation in taking this on centers on increased mindfulness, the notion that -- as my wife said today -- "things are pretty good."

I'd like to remember that much more often than I do, and if you've chosen to join me on this journey, I hope that things are pretty good for you, too.

Nine Hundred Fifty: John Lennon

            I never met the man, and I won’t even try to speak to what kind of man he was, but from where I sit, it looks like he was a pretty righteous dude. I also don’t want to over-credit him for The Beatles’ success, but it seemed like a lot of the musical things he touched turned to gold. I don’t know the things that went on in John Lennon’s head. I don’t have a finger on everything he stood for, but from over here it appears that he had a pretty good idea of the way the world ought to operate. Caveat: I’m a giant hippie, so you have to take my opinion with a whole box of kosher salt. It’s interesting to think about whether the world would be any different were he still alive and a bit sad when you consider that -- based on what he symbolized -- it’s not. Anyway, I’m thankful he was around for 40 years. We could use another guy like that.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part II: 975-951

Here, then, is the second installment to this series. The idea of posting one per week might take me til May before this thing wraps, so who knows what things will look like this time next month. Again, no value in the order of appearance; these gratitudes appear as they came to me. The first installment is here; the original idea here.

Nine Hundred Seventy-Five: Mike Gordon

            The Phish bassist is one of the most unique human beings I’ve ever observed. Having studied interviews conducted with him, print pieces he’s written, songs he’s crafted, his onstage mannerisms, his tweets, and having met him and talked to him once, I think this guy is one of God’s finest works. I believe he is -- and has been for some time now -- the finest working bass player in rock, and if there’s only one more thing I can say about him it’s this: The way he bobs his head with most every note shows that he is in tune with the magic happening around him and his bandmates; he has, in fact, surrendered to the flow, and for that, the audience lives a richer life.

Nine Hundred Seventy-Four: tractors (John Deere, and otherwise, but mostly John Deere)

            I’ve only driven my late Grandpa Beck’s Craftsman, and that was probably 30 years ago. I know I’m not unique in this but I love John Deere shit. All of it, man. All of it. The small units, the big rigs, models, mugs, bibs, key chains, all of it. I love them, what they do, what these machines represent. I’ll probably never own one, never live on a farm, and never even have a riding mower, but I like the idea of all of those things. I’m not infatuated with the idea of humans conquering the earth, but the notion of the amount of fertile soil on this planet being so vast, so gigantic that we keep building bigger and bigger machines to help us harvest its fruits is pretty cool. The idea of a John Deere machine so big that my family could sit and eat dinner inside one of its tires both frightens and intrigues me, and as weird as that might sound, I’m grateful for it.

One Thousand Gratitudes, Part I: 1,000-976

            I don’t know much about One Thousand Gifts beyond the glean of a quick Google search and that it was the recent feature in my wife’s book club, but I like the idea. Gratitude has been an idea in my brain for a number of weeks now, and it’s time to strain the wine-soaked onions, the bay leaves, and the peppercorns. It’s time to add some salt to the butter-mounted reduction, and if I’m lucky, squeeze some citrus into it. The plate has been a concept and life has reached the acme of service. I’ve weighed the starches, proteins, and yes -- the veggies -- entered them into the spreadsheet, and clicked ‘save’. Conceptual value determined, presentation awaits garnish, expedition, and delivery.

            So before I conjure any more food metaphors, it must be stated that, while possible to order such a list in some sense of ascending appraisal, I will probably not do so. I imagine this will take enough time on its own, so if I list two-ply toilet paper before the Rocky Mountains, don’t think that I consider comfortable defecation cleanup to be a more precious commodity than rushing runoff through a wildflower field. I’m just not disciplined enough to spend the necessary time to reorder these things once I’ve written them. That said…

One Thousand: heritage

            For at least 15 years I’ve wanted to trace my ancestry. I dabbled in it for a minute, oft hoping to find the Internet loophole to free research, but I’ve never bitten, so I’ll go on what I know. Or what I think I know. My father told me that my blood consists of Irish, German, and Cherokee lineages. In looking over a few documents I obtained, it appears there’s some British as well, which would explain the teeth, I guess. I don’t find the Irish portion of that mix to be superior, but it’s the one with which I’ve identified the most and for the longest time. It’s hard to sort out the emotional and mental pieces of why that’s true, but I think it has to do with finding pleasure in a people that have worked hard and struggled. I also imagine there’s a part of me that seeks family unity and finds a source of it there, buried beneath real and imagined rubble. I can’t really speak for the German (or the British) pieces, but I suppose they lend perspective on being the oppressors of the world. Be it true or not -- I mean, have you met my sister, Tiffany? -- the Cherokee embodies the spiritual me.

Piecemeal: Six

          Just before 11:00 the next morning Seamus and I set out in search of Ewepie. I think we were headed west but all I know was that we drove past a few cattle ranches and wound up in garlic and onion country. The air was thick with their smell for 10 or 15 minutes ‘til it wasn’t. Then all I could see for miles was hay fields.

            “Where’re we goin’?” Seamus looked at me out of the corner of his eye.

            “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

            “I’m not worried,” I said. “It’s just that I can’t figure how you aim to find someone out in the middle of a hay field.”

            He didn’t bother to look at me again, instead powering on the Buick’s stereo. Led Zeppelin’s “Tangerine” had just begun. I guess he thought the music would prevent me from further questioning, and I decided the noise was better than trying to get information out of him. Before the short number ended we approached what appeared to be a hub of the local irrigation system. Seamus pulled the car onto a dirt road, exhibiting a carelessness for the vehicle. I shook my head in frustration as I felt the suspension and steering shoulder the caution necessary for such terrain, an element for which the operator should take responsibility.

            A ways down the road stood a shake-shingled shelter with a horse corral behind it. Seamus pulled over and shifted the Buick into park.

            “Wait here,” he said.

A Quick Thought on That Wild K.C. Blue October

            I was trying to figure out my favorite part about the 2014 Kansas City Royals post-season, and like the late-nacho lunch I should’ve stopped eating sooner, it hit me. It’s not that I am too young to recall the last K.C. berth. I remember it -- along with shades of the 1980 World Series vs. Philly -- well. It’s not that this team stumbled in various phases of the season before ripping off an unprecedented eight straight wins. It’s not that the thing got hairy and thrilling in the fall classic and took us all the way to the proverbial two-out, two-strike, bottom-of-the-ninth, World Series game seven moment. And it wasn’t that the run was great for the franchise, the fans, and the city. All those things -- be they overstated or lacking in resonation -- were true.

The Rise & Fall of the 10,000 Tweets

          It's been most of 20 years since I first discovered Lao Tsu's Tao Te Ching. I was in a pretty hippie-dippy lifestyle and mindset, and had all but shunned Catholicism. In short, it jived with me.

          I'm a little bit less of a hippie now than I was then, but I reckon I'm still a hippie at heart and there's a lot about eastern thought that I still dig.

          Whether it was age, immaturity, my daily bong hits for breakfast or a combination of all of the above, it was hard to wrap my head around every thing this text tried to communicate but it spoke to me nonetheless. I love the message in its passages and would be remiss if I didn't mention Benjamin Hoff's The Tao of Pooh and The Te of Piglet as cornerstones for helping me better understand the concepts.

          When I finished the last book I was reading and returned to my shelves for the next project I came across my old copy of Tao Te Ching, and although it sat there silent, sandwiched between Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild and D.H. Lawrence's Sons and Lovers, it spoke to me again.

          And I couldn't have been happier to see my old friend.

          So I've spent the last two months with it, contemplating its lines, embracing some of its messages, shaking my fists at its simplicity.

          As a whole, the publication is as any other book is and should be: imperfect.

          That doesn't detract from its message, though. I think -- as a people, a chapter in the universe's history -- that so much good could be harvested from the world if we all made an effort to follow a sliver of what Lao Tsu wrote. Like books, I'm far from perfect and am humbled by revisiting these pages and having a greater understanding of my flaws and how I can become a better human being.

          Anyway: Whether it was a good idea or not, it occurred to me that I was nearing my 10,000th tweet and since the elements between heaven and earth are referred to as the 10,000 things, I thought I'd try to condense each chapter into a 140-character-or-less synopsis. There are a few exceptions around which I could not dance, and I should thank James Inman for turning me onto the Stephen Mitchell translation of the text, which I turned to often in this exercise. The results follow.

          I love you people.