Healthiness here I come...well, not quite.

I have been a hypocrite. I need to establish that. I always used to get pissed at my mom for not going to the doctor when she was ill or not going for ten years, and I would always tell her “I go for every little thing, better safe then sorry.”

Well, I haven’t been keeping up to that lately. I’ve been sick more or less for a few weeks now. Ever since right around graduation time I’ve been not quite right. I’ve had a cough for a week, and I think maybe longer then that. I’ve got so much phlegm, it’s not even funny. Although I don’t know why phlegm would ever be funny anyway.

I’ve been sort of running a fever off and on. I just haven’t been well. Yet, I’ve neglected going to the doctor. And why? Best case scenario, they tell me I have a cold, drink tea and eat lots of soup, and I’ll be fine. And I really doubt it’d be anything worse then that. Maybe the flu or bronchitis even. But still curable and easily treated.

I haven’t had much of an appetite lately, and on the rare occasion I feel hungry, I’ve been eating junk food. Which isn’t terribly outside the ordinary for me, but not smart when I’m healthy, and especially so when I’m sick.

I need to start taking care of myself. I exercise but that’s about the limit of my healthiness. Maybe completely revamping my diet would be a bit drastic right now, but I need to start somewhere and I think that somewhere is the doctor’s office.

An Ode

I consider myself to be very blessed. This could be any number of things, but today I’m talking specifically about people in my life. I’ve been blessed to have some great people enter into my life.

One of those people is a certain Nanci McCaleb Bushner. Nanci was actually the driving force behind me writing this blog.

Nanci’s truly a great friend and a wonderful person. She has got an absolutely fantastic brain. She challenges my mind and doesn’t settle for my bullshit—and trust me, there can be a lot of bullshit with me.

We make an odd matching. I suppose most strangers who see us think of us as mother and child, but that’s not really what it is. It’s far more informal. One of my biggest complaints with people by and large, is when they treat me like I’m my age. It’s rude and very condescending, and it’s an issue I’ve been dealing with my entire life. Trust me Mr./Mrs. Adult, I can keep up in a conversation with you, I’m not the cliche-d view of the teenager (basically, a zombie). I’ve been able to keep up in conversations for a long time now, but no adults seem to think that I can. They think that I’m either too stupid, too unaware, too uninterested, or they think that I simply won’t have anything to contribute to the discussion. I have a tremendous amount of respect and gratitude for adults that treat me like an equal. Nanci has always, always, always treated me like I’m an equal, and for that, I’ll always be appreciative.

We’ve covered virtually every topic known to man. From the Doors and the Beatles to God and our beliefs. We agree on most everything, and on the rare occasion we disagree, one of us will either change the other’s opinion, or understand it enough to value it.

She has got three beautiful sons, all of whom I know in some way or another, and all of them unique (and as my mom said, “very handsome”) in their own way.

I suppose the best way to sum up Nanci is this: Nanci has not necessarily had the easiest life, but she certainly has made the best of it.

To This End

I have heard two people express concerns, deep concerns, over the state of communication today. I just read a blog devoted to the subject of that person’s concern, so it finally pushed me to write this. I’ve been meaning to write my opinions on this for a while, and that was sort of a catalyst for it.

I want to open this blog with a mission statement: communication today is no better or worse then it’s ever been. Our methods of communication have changed to a degree, but I’d argue that there’s a lot more face to face conversation and a lot more phone conversation then ever before.

First, however, let’s look at the negatives of the new types of communication (or, at least, the perceived negatives): face to face conversation has been relegated to 160 characters via text or a message on Facebook. Text messaging has deadened our emotions and has lowered our ability to properly communicate.

I think I can offer something of a unique perspective on this because I’m a teenager who’s right in the thick of electronic communication, but I’m smart and aware enough to realize the positives and negatives of it.

I recently got my cell phone taken away by the school, and it is absolutely crippling not having it with me. A significant portion of my social life is gone. That being said, texting is not replacing talking, merely adding to it. If anything, in my opinion, we’re almost too social. There are some people I talk to on Facebook or over texting exclusively. These are people that I would never dream of calling, nor would I ever talk to them outside of electronic communication. If e-comm (I’m getting tired of typing that crap over and over) didn’t exist, I wouldn’t talk to these people outside school, period.

What did people do before texting and before email and before internet and such? Call other people I would assume. And spend time with them, physically, face to face. We still do that. While that may not be our main method of communication, the amount of time devoted to that has not necessarily diminished. I still love talking to people face to face, and I know that my fellow teenagers feel the same way. You might see us text during the conversation, but that rarely distracts significantly from it.

So don’t worry N (you know who you are, N) and like minded people. We’re doing fine. As long as you don’t let it replace anything, there’s no harm in e-comm. And, really don’t worry about us teenagers. We’re not letting it replace anything.

Believe it or not, but teenagers are fairly smart and aware. We may not act it, and some of us don’t know it, but we would never let texting replace face to face.

:) will never replace

I finally wrote about the wedding!

In the past four or five months, I’ve attended two things that I’ve never attended before, yet I’m sure I will again: a funeral and a wedding.

I just attended the wedding a few weeks ago. What a great, great event. And there is not a hint of sarcasm in that. I can already tell I much prefer weddings to funerals. That’s rather obvious of course.

Yet, what struck me after I left the wedding was how similar weddings and funerals are. And I don’t mean to say that the wedding I went to was very morose or that the funeral I went to was very lively or anything like that. It’s just that both “events” (I’m not sure if that’s quite the word I’m looking for, but so be it) are an expression of love. At the funeral I was at, there were so many loving words spoken about my grandfather, and at the wedding, there were a lot of loving words spoken, and love was just in the air.

I once heard this guy mention how he thought laughter and crying were very closely related, and how he thinks they’re a lot closer then they are farther apart. When you think about it, you often stop crying by laughing, and many a time, laughter will lead to tears.

It’s such a rare experience to see two people so in love, like I did a few weeks ago. And everyone was celebrating their love and celebrating their happiness. And there was no jealousy, no anger.

And at the funeral, to see a celebration of life, and what a wonderful life my grandfather led.

It’s great to see such love in this world, it truly is. Some might call it a shame that we can only express our love at such dramatic events. I call it a blessing. A blessing that that love is there and that we, as humans, are lucky enough to enjoy such a thing.

So even if I only get to witness such love on rare occasions, I’m happy to know that it’s there.


“Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.”

Ain't That A Kick in the Head?

One of my best friends, this best friend being a girl, has a mortal enemy, this enemy also being a girl. Well, my best friend, let’s call her A, told me stories about this “chick,” let’s call her C. Seeing as they are enemies, none of these stories were good stories about C.

Now, I should mention that C is relatively attractive. She’s not drop dead gorgeous, but she’s pretty. And I, a red blooded male, found her attractive. However, my loyalty has a friend was far more powerful and I didn’t consider the notion to even remotely strike up a conversation.

Did I mention that I’m male? Because I think that should earn some understanding as to why I did strike up a conversation with C. Now, now, before you protest and insult me, understand that I myself had no reason to hate C besides the fact that she was an enemy of A.

But, C’s attractive so I figure what the hell? Now, A had told me that C was quite the bitch (that was actually one of her tamer insults) but I hadn’t seen that at all. She seemed very kind.

Until I struck up a conversation with C. Man, what an incredible bitch. Seriously. I understand why A hates her.

So the moral of this story—if there is one—is that sometimes friends do get it right. The more obvious one is don’t judge a book by its cover, or something like that. Well, whatever the moral of the story is, here’s to you A. You called it right.

A Motto

Life is too important to be taken seriously.

-Oscar Wilde

I really can't put it better myself.

God Only Knows

It’s been awhile hasn’t it? But I have made my return! Life has been…just like life I s’pose. Lots of new things to report but I’m not writing this to update you on all the events in my life. I come here (and by here I mean this blog) to let my mind wander. Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream…

I made a Beatles reference in the first paragraph. Gotta love it.

Enough beating around the bush. Let’s get down to why I opened Microsoft Word to start writing this new blog.

About a month ago, I was in bed, trying to sleep but not really. As I’m oft to do, I started talking to myself and my thoughts drifted to my grandpa. I was talking to myself as if I was telling a story to someone about my grandpa’s illness and how it all came about. I won’t recount that story just yet, but I’ll take you through the beginning because it involves why I’m writing this blog.

My dad called me on a Friday. June 19th or 20th or somewhere around that day. Definitely a Friday though. I was on my first few weeks of summer break from high school, so my sleep schedule was a bit off. He called me in the evening, but I was sleeping. The phone call woke me up, but I was sort of out of it when I answered. He said that my grandpa, his dad, was going in for surgery on Monday and to keep him in my thoughts. After I hung up, I distinctly noticed that he hadn’t mentioned what body part my grandpa was having surgery on.

My grandpa was a rather obese man and had had heart problems in the past (I think he may have had a bypass surgery) and so I figured it was that again. Anyway, my mom got home and I mentioned that Dad had called and said that Grandpa was having surgery and I asked her if she knew anything about it. My mom sort of got tight lipped and was very hesitant to tell me anything. Eventually, I got it out of her that my grandpa had been having like seizures and stuff and they had scanned his brain and found tumors and such. The surgery was gonna try and remove as many of the tumors as they could.

Needless to say I was a bit shocked.

But, Monday comes around and no word from my Dad through out the day. I should mention that I was flying out to Kansas the next day to visit my relatives out there (Mom’s side of the family).

So finally my dad calls my mom and says they got nothing out, that the tumors were too deep in the brain and they couldn’t get any out. I asked if they had given a time table, and she said at this point, they hadn’t.

I wasn’t exactly in the best of spirits when I flew out the next day. I called my mom and asked for an update and I don’t think she gave me anything but I can’t quite remember. I also called my dad and asked about grandpa and Dad said, rather nonchalantly, “Oh he’s fine!” Keep in mind, he has no idea I know anything aside from my grandpa was having surgery.

I think it was Wednesday when I called my mom and she told me that my grandpa was given six months. Now that’s not exact and he was going to go through chemo and stuff, but six months was what it stood at. I was a bit upset, but I wasn’t crying or anything. Trying to enjoy my vacation.

I don’t remember if my dad said something to me when he had called me that Friday or if it was sometime after I had talked to him, but he said something along the lines of “say a prayer for Grandpa.”

Now, I believe in God. I believe in Him wholeheartedly. But, I never really prayed. Maybe once a year I would say a quick little “help me find my Gameboy” or something, but I never really said any prayers of substance. But, when your grandfather is this close to passing, it’s time to step up and say some prayers.

So, I did. And I didn’t pray for a miracle like “remove the tumors from his brain and rid him of this filthy disease!” because I knew that wasn’t going to happen. I would pray for stuff like “be with our family in this troubling time” or “help us get through the grief when he dies.”

And I noticed that I could pray for other things. So, I did. Personal stuff I’m not going to get into, but I prayed for it.

And then my grandfather died on November 8th and it was very, very hard and it still is, but our family’s getting through it.

Now get this. I’m telling this story to myself about a month ago when these words came out of my mouth: “and I noticed that when I was praying, I felt a tremendous comfort in it.”

And it was like an epiphany. I don’t know where those words came from. I know it sounds foolish to say those words came from God, but I almost feel like they did.

Because that was my prayers being answered. As I was praying, they were being answered. Because I’d ask for His help and he would give it to me—through prayer. All the help I was asking for, it was coming and I realized it because I obviously kept praying, but I didn’t know I realized it. I hope I’m explaining myself right.

Even though my grandpa’s dead, I still pray every night and I don’t see that tradition being broken anytime soon. Because maybe I can’t see His effect right now, but all it might take is something as simple as a little conversation with myself to notice.