Life, Work & Wonder

Tag: family

  • Every Single Year July 7th Is A Happy Day For Me Thanks To A Single Moment In 1977

    Yesterday was July 7th. July 7th is honestly one of my favorite dates each and every year.

    It’s not my birthday. It’s not Christmas. It’s not even a national holiday. But it’s a date where every single year I remember all four of my grandparents, the last of whom passed away 24 years ago (2002). Because I can still see my grandparents and my parents sitting in a circle in the backyard on a sunny July 7th 1977 chatting away about, of all things, the date. The reason I remember that this was July 7th 1977 is because that date was all 7’s — 7/7/77 — and I remember my grandparents talking about that and my dad’s dad saying, “The next one of these isn’t until August 1988” like they couldn’t believe that 1988 was actually in the distant horizon.

    It’s funny to think about July 7th 1977.

    For starters, 1988 was still 11 entire years away. But more than that Elvis was still alive. Let me repeat that. Elvis — who seems like he has been gone as long as Jesus or Muhammad or George Washington — was alive. He’d actually die a few weeks later, which I remember because a few weeks later I was riding with my friend Darryl’s family to the state fair while the radio was broadcasting news about Elvis’s death.

    Another strange thing about that date in 1977? The very first Star Wars was truly a monster first run hit in the actual theaters, wherein it seemed like every citizen in the entire country was patiently waiting in lines that were hours long for the privilege of seeing it for the first time. My family actually went to see it twice, something we never did (note: VCRs and even cable TV were not yet a thing — those would come in the early (cable) to mid (VCRs) 80s).

    But more than the events surrounding that time and that date, what I most remember is my four grandparents sitting together in my backyard with my parents who were just turning 30, discussing the “neat” feature about it being July 7th 1977 or 7777.

    Happiness are things that jog fond memories. Especially when those memories include loved ones who passed long ago. Because just like that the magic of the brain conjures a moment from the past that we can soak in for a few moments and actually feel the happiness around us. For me, happy memories are one of the great Sorcerers of Life, a Sorcerer who visits me every July 7th, which in this case was yesterday.

    Wishing you a happy memory today.

  • If I could live anywhere in the world, it would be in Seattle

    Writing Prompt: If I Could Live Anywhere In The World, Where Would It Be?

    With the exception of two years away in college and part of year lived in Oregon, I’ve lived my entire life — five decades and counting(!) — in Seattle. My parents too have lived their entire lives in Seattle. My mom’s mom? Lived her entire life in Seattle. My other three grandparents? Lived their entire adult lives in Seattle, too. Clearly, Seattle is in my blood and has been for generations. 

    The irony is, although I love Seattle, I also dislike Seattle. 

    I don’t love the over six months per year in drizzly gloom. I don’t love the dysfunction of our city government that has always been true for virtually my entire lifetime. And I wish that Seattle as a whole was more extroverted. 

    Still, five decades later, and despite the ability to arguably live anywhere in the US and maybe a lot of places in the world, I’ve always lived here. I doubt I’ll ever leave unless we relocate to California to be closer to Larissa’s family. 

    Why? 

    Because it’s where my roots are settled and it’s where my family is. Because I’ve learned in life that no matter what we think about our current situation it can always be worse, and all things being considered I’d rather deal with what I know rather than undertake the tremendous hassle of changing cities. But more than that, there must be something about the city I love. 

    I do love that we are close to mountains. And creeks. With bountiful water. And mostly mild temperatures. 

    I love that we are a metropolis with a healthy job market and lots of eating options that mostly don’t include large national restaurant chains. 

    I love that there are libraries and theaters and universities, and public transportation, and no shortage of things to do, all the while being very close to one of my favorite things to do in the world — embark on day hikes. 

    So clearly there is something I love about Seattle that is deep in my soul.

    So, if I could live anywhere in the world where would it be? The answer is obvious. It’s Seattle. Because we are what we do, and I CAN live anywhere and yet here I am. And because wherever we go there we are, and I believe that happiness should come from within and not from exterior forces, so why not try my best to be happy here, where my parents and sister are, where my kids are, where there is so much to like, and where I’m lived most of my life. 

    Maybe that’s the real answer. If I can’t be happy in a city with mountains, forests, salt water, bookstores, libraries, great restaurants, and the people I love, then changing my ZIP code probably isn’t going to solve much. Wherever I go, I’ll still be taking myself with me.

    So if I could live anywhere in the world? I’d choose Seattle. Not because it’s perfect—it certainly isn’t—but because it’s home. And after all these years, I think I’ve finally realized there’s a difference.

    #Seattle #Home #Place #Family #Happiness #Reflection #Life #Pacific Northwest #Identity #Contentment #WritingPrompt #Writing

  • Last Night I Made Soup: The Recipe Was Delicious

    I never liked to cook. Eventually, I hated to cook. Finally, I refused to cook.

    In the beginning I cooked because I needed to eat. But I didn’t like it very much. It was just a chore I tried to get through as fast as I could.

    Then I had kids. And kids needed to eat. So for the better part of 20 years I cooked breakfasts, prepared school lunches, and made dinner. And since my now-ex was often gone, I was doing this while also trying to work, tend to the dogs, get the kids to their events and helping them with their homework. It was hell. I became pretty worn down, actually, and I remember in the late 2000s every night in the late afternoon sitting down with an espresso and a cocktail trying to motivate myself to cook yet another meal.

    Then my now ex started medical school. And somehow I was expected to cook for her (and her classmates) too. And to be supportive I did it. And that, among other things, broke me.

    For more than five years, I’ve all but refused to cook. I’ll be an assistant cook (“Rob, would you turn the oven on to 400”), I’ll prep cook (maybe), I’ll clean up, but otherwise I want to eat out at restaurants, eat take away food (note: I’m American but prefer the Brits use of Take Away over To Go 🙂 ), or warm up food, but I all but refuse to cook.

    But yesterday Larissa had a super busy day that went until the early evening. I knew she was tired, and didn’t want to go to a restaurant, and didn’t want to think about cooking food (she normally likes to cook but has been so busy the past few weeks), so I decided to take it off her plate.

    And I cooked.

    I spent half an hour researching “healthy hearty simple” soup recipes. I found one that seemed very very healthy and tasty, and had a prep time listed as 10 minutes. So I went to the grocery store, purchased all the spices and vegetables and broths, came up, turned the music up high, and started cooking.

    Did it take much longer than 10 minutes? Heck yes! These prep times assumes someone has a commercial kitchen with vast amounts of experience dicing and slicing things. But that’s okay. I got into a zen moment, did what needed to be done, and when Larissa got home a delicious soup was waiting for her.

    The recipe was amazing. I will use it again.

    Anyway, sometimes in life we have to break through our resistances. For me, that is cooking. I’m happy I cooked last night. I hope to do it again soon.

    RECIPE: https://www.loveandlemons.com/vegetable-soup/

  • Living A Different Life Than My Parents (AKA My Parents At My Age)

    PROMPT: What were your parents doing at your age?

    I was always 5-10 years behind my parents.

    By the time they were 20, my parents were married (to each other 🙂 ). They started careers at 21, having kids (me) at 21 and they owned a house by 22. Later, they upgraded their house by age 27, started earning decent money at 30, and making great money at age 40.

    Me?

    I was married (for the first time) at 25. Started my career job at age 29. Had kids and a house at 30. And started earning decent money at age 35.

    Always I was about five or ten years behind them. And that was okay.

    By some miracle I caught up to them by age 40.

    At age 40 I had some lucky breaks in my career, and I too suddenly started making pretty great money, just like my parents themselves had done at 40. Mom was proud of me, telling me that I was farther ahead of them by age 40, but the reality is we were about even.

    Then life took me on a different path for me.

    I got lung disease at 43. What started out as some fatigue and breathless when I exercised at age 40 was diagnosed as potentially-fatal lung disease when I was 43. That irrevocably changed the course of my life.

    Whereas my parents spent their 40s having fun and accumulating money for retirement, I spent my 40s managing my health and holding on for dear life to my life and my career.

    I spent countless hours in the doctor’s office. I lost a job, then found and lost another job. Meanwhile, after 5 years of trying to push and horse whip me back into my past successes despite my lung disease, my (now ex) wife lung gave up on me and moved on, first emotionally and then completely.

    By 50 my parents were living their greatest life and could retire at any time.

    By 50 I was job hopping, making half what I’d been at age 40, job hopping, managing my health as a second job, and hoping I could scrape enough together to retire by age 70.

    In short, by age 50 my parents had been a LOT better off than I was.

    And that’s okay.

    I’m not my parents. My life is not my parents’ life. I was blessed because life could have just used my lung disease to kill me, but instead it spared me and I learned that I am a survivor, a battler, and surprisingly resilient.

    And, overall, happy. Happier than I was at age 40, for sure.

    I’m remarried. I won’t retire rich but by age 70 I’ll be okay.

    In short, I was behind my parents, then caught up to my parents, then life pushed them ahead while knocking me back. And all in all I’m grateful. Because at the end of the day, all that matters to me is carving out some joy, managing my stress, and being alive.

  • PROMPT: What’s My Favorite Thing To Cook

    What’s your favorite thing to cook?

    How much I admire people who love to cook.

    Larissa enjoys cooking, especially for the people she loves. She does not mind after a busy day of work migrating to the kitchen and investing an hour surrounded with pots and pans preparing a meal. For me, that is utter hell.

    I remember when the kids were young. My ex-wife was never ever around. Ninety percent — or more — of the days she was gone early and still gone late, volunteering, on a trip somewhere, or (supposedly) working although she never seemed to bring much money home. Which meant the cooking was on me. I cooked the breakfast, and prepared the lunches for school, and then when it was evening preparing dinner was on me.

    How much I hated to cook.

    I disliked cooking before the kids were born, but that dislike became utter disdain after the years and years of drudgery in the kitchen when raising a family.

    I remember after a long day of work, and it was 5pm, and I needed to help the kids with their homework, and I needed to prepare a meal, and I didn’t know where in the heck my (now) ex-wife was other than she wouldn’t be home, and just being sooooooo worn out. I would make myself a drink, and make myself an espresso, and I would drink the drink and drink the espresso and think, “I can do this. I can do this.” And then I’d do it. I’d make tacos or burritos or chicken or quesadillas or burgers, then the kids and I would sit and eat and laugh about various things (we were always telling stories and laughing, and that memory makes me smile just typing it here). Then I’d clean up, help them with their homework, read them a story or watch a movie with them, then we’d go off to bed to start it all over again the next day.

    When I’m asked, “What’s my favorite thing to cook.” All those memories come roaring back. And I feel so much love for my kids. And resentment toward my ex-wife. And so much gratitude (and admiration) for my wife who cooks so often for us. And so much gratitude for my parents, who prepared meals for me for nearly 20 years.

    But most of all, what I think is this: my favorite meal to cook is any meal I don’t have to cook at all. 🙂

    DISCLAIMERS:

    • This was written 100% organically without the help of AI.
    • I hate to read what I’ve written, which means this was at best quickly scanned for blatant errors. I apologize for any and all typing errors.