a new reason to be clean

So today [Oct 21] The Wall Street Journal posted an article reporting some interesting research findings regarding marital intimacy. Apparently, couples that share housework have happier marriages and more active sex lives. Yes…according to the study, for husbands and wives alike, the more housework you do, the more often you are likely to have sex with your spouse. You can read the entire article yourself at The Juggle [WSJ.com on choices and tradeoffs people make as they juggle work and family]. I got to wonder, is this legit or is this just some industrial marketing ploy to sell more vacuums? Whatever the case, I’m guessing there are going to be a lot more cleaner homes in America for a while.

my heart came home with me

Tony B may have left his heart in San Francisco but after 5 days there – I brought mine back with me. Don’t get me wrong, Margie and I loved the city – it’s very interesting and quite beautiful but let’s face it…there is no place like sweet home Chicago.   After doing A LOT of walking in San Fran, I couldn’t help but wonder, “who was the knucklehead that thought building a city on rolling hills was a good idea?”  I almost lost my mind a couple times and finally declared, “I’m done with walking these stinking hills, we’re getting a taxi.”   We also took advantage of riding a cable car – which every other single tourist does in San Fran – apparently at the exact same time.  So riding them is not particularly an advantage in terms of getting around – but it is fun.  FYI – the trip was in celebration of our 25th wedding anniversary [coming in Nov] and we had a great time. We visited all the tourist spots, Chinatown, Alcatraz, Napa, Pier41, Grace Cathedral [where I actually sat, rested and prayed about my bad attitude regarding the stupid hills and endless walking], etc.  And although Mark Twain never actually said, “The coldest winter I ever spent was summer in San Francisco,” he should have…because it is very chilly in and around the city this time of year. If you’ve never been there – it’s worth a visit. We took too many pictures to actually share…so I found a promo [odd but effective] which includes most of the stuff we saw…sans the hula dancers. 

he’s an animal

Having both played and coached a lot of basketball over the years, I always thought my son would naturally want to play the sport.   When coaching boy’s high school ball, I’d bring him to the gym with me. He loved it. Truth be told, I even prayed for him to be at least 6′6″ — good size for a small foward. Well, God answered my prayer. At 17 years old, my son Corey is  6′7″ with a arm span of 6′10″. He, however, is not a basketball player but a volleyball player. This has been very difficult for me. Why? Because I’ve had to learn about a completely new sport!

No disappoint here. It’s been exciting to see Corey grow, learn and increase in size and ability. As I write this, he is in Atlanta with his club team competing in the 2009 USA Junior Olympic Boy’s Volleyball Championships. Some colleges are now making recruitment contacts.

Will he play in college? I don’t know. I don’t care. I just love the kid. And as long as he shoots some hoops with me now and then…I’ll be ok.  He’s an animal!

The Happiest Day

With the exception of Dr. Seuss and a few assorted limericks, I was never one for poetry when I was young. My son Corey is different. He’s an avid reader and lover of poetry. He recently shared his current favorite with me — reciting portions of it from memory with apparent ease. I was impress both with the poem and more significantly with him. The poem he recited is entitled The Happiest day by Linda Pastan.

It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn’t believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn’t even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day–
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere–
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then…
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.