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SOCIAL MEDIA

Showing posts with label MISC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label MISC. Show all posts


“I’ve waited almost 28 years so another hour is easy,” I said to the couple complaining behind me. Mariah Carey was late, but I couldn’t stop smiling because I wanted the full experience. It’s possible I would have been slightly disappointed had she actually taken the stage at the time printed on our stubs. She was late, but I wasn’t going anywhere. In fact, this was the whole reason I was in New York City.

It was 18 days before Christmas, 25 days before her now infamous New Year’s Eve performance, and I was sitting a few rows from the stage with my wife by my side waiting in anticipation for the red curtains to slide open. Those around us had the luxury of hearing her in person a few times before, lucky locals, and discussed the gift that is her voice. They kindly answered questions I asked while we waited before the house lights finally dimmed.



On a pedestal lit by a single spotlight with a sheer curtain of glitter in front of her and an enormous Christmas tree behind her, she hummed a note and sang the first verse of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing backed by a piano. Then the curtain lifted revealing her completely and the choir joined in and for the next 90 minutes, I was in heaven. Her voice soared through the Beacon Theatre during each song while her laugh echoed in the aisles in between.



She brought out John Legend for a duet, a somewhat expected yet welcomed surprise once we spotted his wife in the audience. Shania Twain bounced along from the front row while other celebrities blended in among the velvet seats with the rest of us as confirmation the appreciation for Mariah’s voice stretches far, fame or otherwise. Her ensembles changed throughout the evening, but her voice remained intact – and very much live.


While it was a Christmas concert and she belted her way through most of the songs offered on her holiday collection, she also pulled a few songs from her impressive catalog to remind us just how she earned the title of Best Selling Female Artist of All Time. Well deserved, might I add. She was every bit of the legend you'd expect her to be and did things with her voice that seem practically impossible. It was beyond impressive.



Mariah Carey. Every single high note and low note and note in between proved to be well worth the wait, all 28 years and one hour. On the way out, I mentally checked off a box on the proverbial bucket list and once home, saw that she announced a tour with Lionel Richie in mid-2017. I promptly purchased our tickets. This time she’s coming to North Carolina so traveling isn’t necessary, three months and counting.


CAREY'D AWAY

February 15, 2017


This morning we woke up to Elsa’s wrath outside our window. Frozen limbs hung heavy from the trees and the lawn was a solid sheet of ice, I’m sure there was snow in there somewhere that fell fluffy from the sky before it was sandwiched between layers of freezing rain. We watched the flames in the fireplace dance to the record we played and the scent of various ingredients teased us from the pot of homemade soup on the stove. It wasn’t the kind of winter wonderland that warrants much playing or snowman building, but more so the kind of weather that encourages us to slow down and take note of where we are in this season of our lives… with our very own little ice princess... the cold never bothered her anyway. 

FROZEN, LITERALLY

February 17, 2015


For the love of Fall, we found ourselves at the pumpkin patch this past weekend. We picked through pallets of classic pumpkins and odd pumpkins and stemmed pumpkins and textured pumpkins before making a definite decision on which ones would fill our wagon. Madison’s toddler indecisiveness was surprisingly at bay as she confidently made her choices without hesitation. We ultimately came home with an assortment of small pumpkins and medium pumpkins, some orange and one cream and one green, which hug the hearth of our fireplace… the perfect spot for a milkshake after a day spent under the autumn sun.

THE PUMPKIN PATCH 2014

October 21, 2014


The blue water rippled as the breeze blew in inviting the sun to play with the sapphire undertones of the pool bottom. He watched from just over the fence as we introduced our subpar swimming techniques in hopes she would perfect them herself in due time. He watched a poorly executed breaststroke followed by a flailing attempt at floating. He watched as we splashed and laughed and dove and surfaced.

He watched without us knowing until our little swimmer pointed him out.

“Look!” she said. “That tree looks like a giant bug.” Her mother and I turned following the extension of her tiny index finger to what looked remotely like a large green bug, a tree with two antennae branching out from his shrub of a head.  In three year old terms, it was definitely an insect and a big one at that. “Get it, Daddy,” she said. “Get that bug!”

I made my way over to the fence with drops of water surrendering to gravity with every step I made and once in front of what could be considered the largest tree bug I’ve ever seen, I pretended to get its attention and swat it then squash it. Content in my effort, I turned to see the disappointed face of a little girl who immediately exclaimed that she wanted to do it. “Let me show him my Elsa power,” she said.

Then her mother and I sat back to see our daughter unleash imaginary powers of ice and snow and flakes of fury upon a tree with unfortunately placed limbs. She opened her palms and threw her arms in front of her with as much force as her toddler frame would allow, her wet hair curling under the heat of the summer sun overhead. She turned and smiled directly at us, “I got that bug,” she said.

THE TALE OF THE BIG GREEN TREE BUG

September 17, 2014


There’s an inherent need I have to string words together, to lead one sentence into another introducing a story made up entirely of their connection. There’s a pull I can’t explain that calls my fingertips to tap the keys in rapid succession translating thoughts from my mind to the screen, a therapeutic conversation completely silent in vocal effort yet loud and clear in purpose and intent. Regardless if I wrote in this space or not, I think there’s a part of me that would always write something somewhere.

For a while, I went without writing. It felt like the severed relationship of a friend I’ve known since childhood yet two years ago I reacquainted myself. Two years ago I sat down in the corner of my living room and allowed the glow of a table lamp to shed light on a familiar feeling of joy and bliss in the literary form. Two years ago I created this place to rediscover a passion I knew as a young boy and became close to as an adolescent only to abandon entirely as a young adult, a passion as much of a part of me as anything else could be.

On a warm Tuesday night in June, when my daughter was born, there was a silent promise to become the best person I could be in effort to help her discover the best person she could be. After all, leading by example is more than just a phrase… it’s a way of life. While I certainly fail more than I succeed in keeping that promise, it’s imperative that she know dreams are worth chasing and if you run hard enough you might just catch one.

TWO

September 14, 2014

By now, I'm sure there aren't many who have not heard of the ice bucket challenge as it is currently dominating social media in effort of bringing awareness to ALS (amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, often referred to as "Lou Gehrig's Disease"). I was nominated this weekend to participate by pouring ice water over my head or donate to the charity within 24 hours, as the challenge goes. I immediately chose to donate; consequently, I'm challenging whoever is reading this to do the same.


I was reading Pete Frates' story earlier (he's the inspiration behind the challenge) and found myself incredibly proud of people in general for listening to a voice amidst a struggle and now continuing to spread the word at a time where he can't vocally do it himself. The amount of exposure this disease is getting as a result of what is arguably the most successful charity campaign of our generation... maybe all time... is nothing short of genius and is quite an amazing thing to watch.

ALS ICE BUCKET CHALLENGE

August 17, 2014

I turned 30 years old yesterday and among the many well wishes and the happy sentiments were a few apologies and even some sympathetic looks. I’ve said it before (last year) that I’ve always looked at age 30 as a milestone representing the threshold between young and old; however, as this particular birthday approached, I not only realized this milestone is far from meaning I’m old but it also brought with it a feeling of hope and excitement that I’ve missed from numerous ages before.

My thirties will see my daughter transition from ages 3-13 and within that time frame her mother and I will see our efforts of parenting challenged and rewarded at every turn. Maybe we’ll explore the option of having another at some point… another child, another house, another career.  

Or maybe not.

Maybe my thirties will find me in the best shape of my life by replacing current habits with healthier options. Maybe I’ll find that better version of myself that I’m constantly in search of… a more patient, a more kind, a more understanding version of myself that my thirties will encourage into fruition. 

Or maybe not.

Maybe my thirties will pave the road to dreams achieved and reveal doors to open that present more to chase. Maybe I’ll finally write one of the novels I’ve written over and over in my head and climb the mountain of publishing a manuscript of my own.

Or maybe not.

Maybe I have disillusions of grandeur regarding the next decade of my life, but there’s only one way to find out. I’ll take each year as it’s given to me and give myself completely in return. Maybe by some standards, age 30 is a depressing one offered to dwell on the glory days of your twenties and teens... but I think not. 

There’s no maybe about that.

THIRTY

July 3, 2014

To know me is to know that me and Mariah go back (like babies and pacifiers). It’s not a secret that I think she has the greatest voice of my generation and arguably all time. Some love her and some hate her, but at the end of the day no one can argue with the undeniable talent and force of her pipes.

The woman can sing.

A few weeks ago, Mariah released her fourteenth studio album titled Me. I Am Mariah… the Elusive Chanteuse and it should come as no surprise that I purchased it that day. A day that also happened to be Madison’s last day of preschool in which I took the afternoon off work to spend with her once the farewell festivities came to an end. An occasion that both Allison and I were surprised to find Madison as upset by as she was and once we dried her tears I made it my mission to cheer her up so I pressed play on Mariah’s most recent offering of vocal perfection and waited.

Let the record show, I’ve never forced the musical catalog of Mariah Carey on my daughter. She has, however, heard the name and seen a performance or two (or a dozen) to recognize the name and the voice and the face yet I’ve never made her sit and listen or watch Ms. Carey sing. She did that all on her own and who am I to argue with good taste?

That afternoon we listened to the song selections completely through once and then Madison requested a few songs on repeat and while she’s not a stranger to the word no, I found this more a time of picking your battles and this wasn’t a request worth denying. There’s a song on this album where Mariah sings with her twins and Madison made it her mission to memorize every giggle, every key change, and every melismatic run she could within the four minutes from beginning to end. 

We let the CD play in the background throughout the afternoon as we assembled blocks into castles and puzzles into completed pictures and as I broke away for a moment, I heard something from the other room… attempts at high notes. I immediately grabbed my phone and recorded what I intended to be a video shared only with her mother and maybe her grandparents as one of those things only we would find entertaining yet I found myself posting it to my Instagram shortly thereafter. 

She still sings songs from this album, a valid attempt at note for note at the top of her lungs when in the car and she requests certain tracks all on her own without any prompting from me. Her mother cringes at a few subject matters approached lyrically and I agree the words may not always be age appropriate, but the break from a certain soundtrack is very much needed. See for yourself…


HIGH NOTES

June 17, 2014

I wrote a post and read over it several times, like I do, and had every intention of posting it here in place of this one, but I didn’t. Obviously. For the first time in a long time I second guessed myself and the composition of words I put together. It wasn’t the words themselves, it wasn’t even the purpose of them or the story they told or the passion behind every letter. It was the thought of having it misconstrued or worse… understood. My fears and insecurities, like anyone else’s, often find their way to the surface and bubble up with such force that I’m left with no choice but to sink under them and wait. Wait for what? Wait for them to dissolve back into the water of reality, wait until they find their way back to each other and to the light, wait until I’m able to ignore them all together or else collect them and accept them and expose them for what they are. Truth. Honesty. Transparency. I keep telling myself I write for me, but the real reason is to make someone feel something. Anything. To dig up a feeling as a reader that one hasn’t felt in quite some time, to relate, to ignite the spark of an extinguishing fire, to accept or reject, to repeat or discard, to just feel something and to do so is like finding magic. I just have to believe it can happen and it will.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC?

May 21, 2014

There’s an epidemic slowly taking over the world like a frosting of ice disguised in an animated storyline and catchy songs about snowmen and freedom. If your household is remotely similar to mine then it should be no surprise Frozen references are found every where, every day and I’m starting to worry this movie is completely taking over our lives.

ONE -- We introduced Madison to her first chapter book with Frozen. We knew the movie would be part of her Easter basket so we wanted to seize the opportunity of reading the story before watching it. Every night before bed her mother and I took turns reading a chapter (two chapters, if she asked) finishing the night before Easter. We like that Madison got to imagine the characters and settings before she actually saw them because, let’s be honest, books are almost always better than their movie counterparts anyway.

TWO -- After witnessing Elsa climb a snow covered mountain with her cape flying behind her in the winter wind she created, Madison wanted to do the same. She doesn’t have the royal violet threads of an ice queen hanging in her closet so she improvised with one of her favorite blankets that she has yet to use for its intended purpose since. The number of times I’ve fixed her cape rivals the number of times we’ve seen the movie and listened to the soundtrack… which is a lot. More often than not, the cape prompts singing or singing prompts the cape, either way they almost always happen in unison.

THREE -- For Easter, Madison asked for a fish and what kind of Easter Bunny could refuse to deliver on that request? Once the initial excitement of receiving said fish subsided, the task of naming it was presented in which she chose to name it Madison. Obviously, this choice could lead to confusion down the road especially considering she had named several other things Madison that same week so Allison and I invoked our parental veto and asked that she choose something else. She went with Sassafras only to change it to Elsa a few days later.

FOUR -- In addition to watching the movie no less than several times a week and singing every song ten times that amount, we’ve now resorted to acting out the scenes. She’ll quickly shut her bedroom door and when her mother or I ask that she keep it open, we’re met with the response “go away, Anna” to which we have to retort by asking if she would like to build a snowman. We watch as she creates snow magic in the palms of her small hands standing in the middle of our living room and scream for help when she strikes someone across the temple with an invisible stream of ice and we do it all fairly often.


FIVE -- There is something worth noting about the Frozen soundtrack in that I fear there is some sort of subliminal, underlying message that encourages the listening and then singing of every song. On more than one occasion, Allison and I have both been guilty of singing along around the house or in the car or (in Allison’s case) in the shower as her and Madison fill the bathroom with the vocals of their very own Songs of Frozen concert. Madison knows every word to every song from every character in every scene and although her note selection could be considered a bit of a fixer-upper… if you will… her singing is probably my favorite part of this Frozen phenomenon.

SIX -- After dressing like the characters and naming pets after them and incorporating their dialogue in our every day vocabulary (thank you, Frozen, for teaching my toddler the word fractal) and acting out scenes until our heads hit our pillows at night, she has started to wake us up in the same spirit of the movie. Last Saturday morning, she came into our bedroom and padded her bare feet across the hardwood floor stopping just in front of my still sleeping face before taking her index finger and her chubby thumb to pry one of my eyes open exclaiming the sky is awake so she’s awake so it’s time to play. So I did because, honestly, it would take a cold-hearted individual to argue with that logic.

--
For more of Madison's random moments, follow me on Instagram.

SIX WAYS FROZEN IS TAKING OVER OUR LIVES

May 15, 2014

The night before Easter, my wife and I wanted to do something exciting for the toddler in our home. We knew the endless photographs offering suggestions on Pinterest would inspire us, but before we resorted to pinned pictures from the boards of strangers we remembered this idea we stumbled across several weeks ago. However, we modified it a little. 

Thanks to a day or two of rain we were left with a soggy yard showing no signs of drying up before sunrise, so we opted for an indoor translation using “bud vases” and Nerds candy as our soil, we then let her plant three jelly beans in each and the next morning the jelly bean seeds had bloomed into lollipops (with the help of Easter Bunny magic, of course). 

She won’t always find these little moments as entertaining as she does now so I figure we better take advantage of them while we can and spark her imagination in the process. It may or may not be a coincidence that her mother loves jelly beans and I the Nerds so this tradition-in-the-making is a win/win for everyone involved.


BLOOMING BEANS

April 21, 2014
















The hearts, tied together by a single string, still hang from their door with a painted message welcoming me into their house, the house that easily represents my home away from home, a visual reminder of my childhood and proof that grandparents are the most amazing people a child is lucky enough to know. I still feel their presence when I step foot across the threshold of the home they inhabited together. The smell of nostalgia is thick as the dust that has accumulated on the belongings they’ve left behind, a museum of a life they shared with three children of their own that still continues a journey through their children, through me, through our children and one day through their children.

A dining table sits holding memories in place of the plates we ate from every Thanksgiving crammed elbow to elbow, cousin next to uncle next to brother next to niece, we sat and laughed and unintentionally took for granted the time we had together. Now within the walls that watched meal after meal throughout a lifetime hold those same smiles paused between the four edges of frames, pictures of moments frozen, illustrating a time when we were all physically present to pass Grandma’s homemade biscuits and her cucumbers soaked in a pool of vinegar and pepper.

Year after year we shared a space, their space, with the same people we share a last name with… at Easter and birthdays and random occasions in between and when the year threatened anew we gathered ourselves in the living room at the front of their house reserved for Christmas and the decorations and the lit tree that accompanies the celebration. Some sat in chairs, most sat on the floor (my chosen spot as the youngest and, at the time, the smallest member of the family) while they took their places on the cushions of a couch that felt the warmth of very few others and hardly ever on another day than the 25th of December. We exchanged gifts and gratitude and glances full of unspoken feelings that went without saying but now linger like the aftertaste of bitter words one is forced to swallow when all they want is the opportunity to let them out. 

After they passed, numerous questions arose with what to do with their belongings. The dishes and pots and pans she spent so much time with preparing food to fill our bellies on a stove where the behavior of the burners was memorized and the knobs were far more temperamental than accurate. The candy in mason jars and bags left open on a table beside the chair he often occupied in front of a television sharing thoughts of Perry Mason by day and the hopeful guesses of wheel spinning contestants by night. The stool in the den I jumped off with a tattered housecoat tied around my neck like the cape of Batman before my age became double digits. The endless collections of two people who built a life in the same home where they built a family and extended an open invitation for us all to enter whenever we wanted, they were the backbone of a familial body with far more limbs than they could have predicted yet they formed a relationship with every single one of us. 

They tied our hearts together by the strength of a surname and left us hanging on the door of a home full of love they left behind. Those hearts, tied together by a single string, that still hang from their door with a painted message welcoming us into their home and into their lives proving that grandparents really are the most amazing people a child is lucky enough to know.

THEIR HOUSE

April 14, 2014

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