Musings

Melissa and I purchased a Honday Odyssey EX van yesterday from a local dealership. The Saturn VUE she's been driving for the past five years just isn't large enough for the four of us and with the SUV now paid off we can easily afford a larger, more expensive vehicle. We went with the Odyssey because I've always been a huge Honda fan and Melissa likes a lot of the safety features that come standard with the vehicle. Mom watched the kids Friday night to let us have our first post-Ian birth date, so we browsed around the dealership with quotes from other dealers in hand and decided on the slate green metallic for the color. The salesman, an older, retired gent, did a great job of letting the car sell itself and not being pushy, since that usually has the opposite of the desired effect with me. He took his time letting us climb around inside the car, showing its various features to us, and just chatting. So I made sure when we went back the next day that I let him seal the deal for the sales commission. What they offered on the Saturn for a trade-in was a joke, so we dipped into the savings account with a check to keep the monthly payments under $500 and will put the money back once we sell the VUE (for probably twice what the dealership offered). The rest of our Friday night date went well; we ate at a local steak house we both really like and then went to see the latest Harry Potter film since Melissa is a big fan of the series.

Most of today is going to be spent at my sister's house. She's having a cookout since her oldest son, Tony, is in town from Portland. Tony moved out west in late '05 after graduating from Miami U in Oxford, OH, in '03. Kim's lived in her current house for twenty years now, which is great for family events in the summer since it has a nice, in-ground swimming pool in the backyard. Tony flies back home this Tuesday so today will probably be the last time I see him for several years. I think my favorite memory of Tony as a child is from the winter of 1984, when he was just three years old. My sister was going through a divorce at the time and had moved back home into the house we'd lived in after my parents divorced. One of these days I'll write something about the wonderful, country neighborhood, Possum Woods, where I grew up and lived in for over fifteen years. I still miss that house, the quiet summer days where you could hear traffic on I-70 from miles away, and all the hours spent playing in the heavily-wooded backyards and nearby woods. My mom made such a great decision moving her sons out of the city, but for my sister it was an unfortunately pivotal moment in her teenage years.

Anyways, my mom had put a room addition onto the back of the old ranch house that sported this huge window looking out into the backyard and the thick woods that bordered our property. We had a pretty harsh winter that year and the snow was too deep to let Tony outside to play, so I went out back and threw snowballs against the window. Tony, standing on the couch, would act like the snow was going to hit him and would dodge around, laughing and giggling with the glee only a child can conjure. The sun was going down and I can so clearly remember standing among the trees in the very backyard I'd spent so much of my own childhood playing in, the smells, the crunch of snow, the overall stillness and pervading quiet of that patch of earth. And, of course, the smile on that blond little boy's face, who, while playing with his uncle, could forget about the impending and permanent loss of a father who would choose to move on with his life and leave behind his two children, leaving scars with which they both so clearly struggle with, scars so similar to my own and to those of my siblings. It's heartbreaking to me to watch how Megan reacts to Tony, how good he is with children, and to hear him unknowingly echo my own sentiments at his age when he firmly states that he never wants children of his own.

I made a post earlier this morning on a site I frequent almost daily talking about how these are probably the best years of my life, all things considered. The contrast of this reality to all the stereotypical, middle-aged married man jokes that get thrown around at work and with friends is kinda funny in and of itself. Why do men feel the need to constantly and vocally lament their horribly burdened plights to the world? I've always prided myself on being different, on thinking outside the norm, of not being the typical man. My mom recently chided me to "be careful" when she caught me admiring a younger woman's figure, that at my age it was very typical for men to go through our little crise and have affairs. "Mom, when have I ever been typical?" "Never, not even as a child. You've always marched to your own beat, though you've also always been your own worst enemy." So I think I'm going to make some strides in lessening my verbal panderings and put forth an effort to be more thankful in life. At least until something bad happens, at which point I'm certain to resume my surly, this world hates me attitude. :)