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Subscribe to FeedAll three of my children are at home. My dog is happy and healthy. Nearly all my Christmas shopping is done. My wife is cooking Christmas dinner. Business feels in a good place. God is clearly with us.
Everything, except for the coding error you see above this post, feels good.
Happy Holidays to the millions of Blogenberg visitors worldwide!
Thank you!
Last week, I was in Portland OR and had about 8 hours to kill. I went hiking in the Columbia River Gorge, where I met a very pretty young woman who works for the forest service. We walked the last mile of the trail together.
Here is one thing I have learned. By the time you are 50, while you may think you are attractive to young women, you simply look old. Thus, to make sure I don’t come across as a dirty old man in these situations, I always go out of my way to mention my wife — several times — and children. That way, I can enjoy the hike, converse with the young female forest ranger about the trails and the Gorge, and not worry if she’s going to hit with me with her hiking stick.
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I really like soccer. I played in college. But Major League Soccer (MLS) in this country is minor league, both in terms of level of play and, it seems, in marketing. I flipped on the MLS All-Star game last night. MLS has one bona fide star: Landon Donovan. What’s the first thing I hear from the TV announcers? That Landon Donovan is not on the starting side, that he will probably not appear until the second half. Really?
After a brief hiatus, we’re back with this week’s recommended reading…
Yesterday, the Sunday before Memorial Day, for a 10-mile stretch of I-270 in Maryland, there were people on every overpass waving flags, holding signs that said, “Support our Troops,” and hollering to every car below that beeped.
My car let out a long beep as I approached each overpass. It felt real good.
Thanks people on overpass.
As a child, I had the occasional, repeating nightmare: pollution from factories turned the air black and killed lakes, rivers, and oceans. It was a vibrant dream, dark and terrifying, having been warned about the perils of pollution by my elementary school teacher.
BP and the government seem to have no idea how to stop the gusher of oil pouring into the Gulf of Mexico.
“To dream the impossible nightmare…”
Guess not so impossible.
I read this article today about the funeral for Yeardley Love. It tearfully reminded me of perspective.
I learned about the murder of Love, allegedly by a former boyfriend, a lacrosse player from this area, the same day my 16-year-old son was playing in a high school lacrosse playoff game. His team just didn’t show up — they got beat bad. That day, I felt more upset about that game than the news about Yeardley Love.
A few days has reminded me what a tremendous season my son’s team had. A few days has reminded me what a future my son and his teammates have, both on and off the lacrosse field. A few days — capped by the article about Yeardley’s burial — reminded me that it’s short, fleeting, and to be cherished.
I almost feel as if I should be apologizing to my son, his teammates, his coaches, and Yeardley Love for forgetting that what has been accomplished must be celebrated, because what tomorrow brings can be wonderful or woeful, but only what has been done today is known.
Sunday night, I was watching the HBO World War II mini-series, Pacific, with my 15-year-old son. My brain wandered, as brains often do, especially mine. I thought about the fact that my son never really played war when he was young.
When I was a kid, we would spend entire days running through the neighborhood shooting each other with toy machine guns. I remember the arguments when one boy would claim he “killed” another boy, but that boy would argue back that, “no, I was just wounded.” Today, kids don’t play war. I’m not sure when it went away. I doubt my generation was the last to play war. But I don’t think it lasted much beyond when I was a kid. Because then came the worst of Vietnam, and our culture’s entire view of war changed.
And now, I find it extremely sad, a tragic indictment on our culture that we need advertising and government programs trying to get kids off the couch and outside to play.
Maybe political correctness killed the boyhood game of war. That, and parents unfounded fears of ever letting their children out of their sight. But maybe that was the beginning of the end of childhood as we knew it.
This week’s recommended reading from your friends at Blogenberg…
They may not make the local news, but a snowstorm like the one that hit us this weekend (27 inches) brings out real heroes. I saw one in action yesterday — and it was me, Blogenberg.
The television signal went out. Many men would have panicked, it being just about 24 hours before Super Bowl kickoff. Not me. No, Blogenberg went into Super-Blogenberg mode. I dug out the garage door. I got the extension ladder and carried it 70 feet through nearly 3-foot-deep snow. I put the ladder up and climbed to the roof. Unable to reach the satellite dish, I climbed back down the ladder, trudged back to the garage, and got a paint roller, which I attached to an extension pole. Back through the deep snow I went. Back up the ladder I climbed. I was able to clean the dish with the paint roller.
Back inside, the television worked.
Yes, the next time you see a super hero changing in a phone booth, it will be me, Super-Blogenberg. (Or it will be me, Super-Blogenberg, getting arrested for changing in public since there are no more phone booths.)
Most parents look forward to the day their teen drives with anxiety, perhaps dread. When you are the parents of twins — as my wife and me are — you can’t wait. I simply pray that business will be good enough that I can buy them each a car. Because the Blogen-taxi is getting worn out.
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CNN actually has a reporter that they list as “All Platform Reporter.” Huh?
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Last Friday, black Friday, I took my daughter and a friend of hers to the biggest mall in the Washington, DC area. We were there for four hours. I demanded a kiss on the cheek from my daughter as payment.
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My daughter actually joined me and her twin brother Monday night, watching the Saints vs. Patriots game. Why? Because Reggie Bush is really cute. Like have you seen him without a shirt?