Some of you know that my first serious attempt at blogging was my coffee blog (Brotherhood of the Bean).  I started it on a whim really to see if I could get companies to send me products to review.

I think in many ways it’s success surprised even myself.  In little to no time I found myself reviewing coffee and coffee products with a minimal investment of time and energy (request for demo products, etc.).

And in the course of things, I found I really enjoyed writing again.  Note that I said I “enjoyed writing”, not that I “enjoyed writing well”.  I will always be a third or thirtieth edit is the charm type of writer, blame it on my passionate spirit that prefers content over form. lol, passionate spirit — sure… we can go with that reason.

But one lesson that I learned with Brotherhood of the Bean is that having a singular focus while in the beginning is a great focusing tool in the blog writer’s arsenal — after a period of time that is different for every writer — you just get burned out.

That’s kind of where I am with the Bean.  I just don’t feel the burning desire that I once did to work on it.  I still love coffee, it has just become something of a monkey on my back.  I know that’s horrible to say, but I just feel somewhat beaten down by it.  Crazy I know.

Despite the fact that my last post there was on April 8th, the number of hits each day is continuing to rise each day.   If there was ever a testament to the effectiveness of search engines this clearly is one such example.

So while the embers of passion for the Bean are slowly dying in my heart, the onslaught of visitors is clearly on the rise.  Ironic.  Hopefully the passion will return sooner rather than later.

I have been a bad blogger, I freely admit this much. As you can see, my last update to Eleven 22 was ages ago. In the blog world I did the equivalent of falling off the face of the Earth.

Surprisingly enough, I can’t tell you why. I suspect it had to do with the holiday bustle, winter, the numerous colds, strep throat encounters and general malaise.

One could mix in a bit of depression (mild) I suppose. I didn’t feel depressed, but I always tend to think about my Mother more during the holidays. The pain of her loss has faded to something more like a muted sadness.

More than likely, I was just burned out. I should have posted that I was taking a break, I just didn’t know at the time that I was. Ah well, let’s talk about Spring.

I have a Fever! Spring fever (I have a vision of Christopher Walken in my head right now). We start off Winter strong, its cold, our life seems to crystallize right before our eyes.

Most people hate Winter, I rather enjoy it, or should I say I enjoy the cold. As a person perpetually hot (note to self — lose weight you fool!) the cold weather lets me wear more clothes that I would normally never attempt in lesser weather.

Of course this freedom does not come with potential perils, Winter also heralds the “over heated house” syndrome that most people impose upon their thermostat.

You know what I mean, you enter a house that feels good the minute you step in from the cold, and quickly turns to a suffocating, overbearing heat. “Oh crap!” you think to yourself, as you mentally go over the layers of clothes you are wearing trying to decide which to lose first and in a manner that doesn’t offend your host.

Winter also amplifies the complaints of the terminally cold. My wife is one such person, hates the cold, hates everything about it, and is terminally cold. Doesn’t matter if we are outside or in, she is cold.

This leads to an internal struggle in my home my wife’s desire to turn our house into a sauna, and my desire to keep it pauperesquely cold. What then are the results of this struggle?

My house is a sauna, and I end up wearing a t-shirt and shorts inside the entire Winter. Yes, I am king of my castle (sic)!

But back to Spring, things are fresh, the air has a clean pure taste and feel on the skin. Cool hints of the failing Winter can be felt. Its like a green version of Fall with a healthy peppering of rain on the side.

And after the transition of Winter from white wonderland to urban gray snow, it comes as no surprise to me that everyone goes nuts the second they can run around outside in clothes that a more suited for Summer.

Death followed by rebirth. The endless cycle of the seasons. And so I have returned from my version of a blog death. Hopefully reborn, rejuvenated and ready to blog with a new perspective that only Spring can bring.

Walking through the world of Disney on my recent family vacation, you cannot help to be impressed by the level of efficiency, cleanliness, and quality of everything from costumes, to construction.

The Magic Kingdom was a magic experience for my six and a half year old son. The ecstatic energy generated from the sights and sounds could very easily have powered a small city. As you can imagine the post-Disney detox he experienced after a week of getting to decide what to see next was amusing to say the least (he says sarcastically).

Heading down to Florida I honestly found myself looking more forward to the Kennedy Space center and Sea World. Disney was just another theme park. Whee. Add to it my underlying annoyance generated by Disney fanatics I had encountered in the past, and I approached it with more than a little trepidation.

As I mentioned early, the parks are top notch. You pay out the nose to be there, but you get what you pay for. Never have I found this to be more true than with Disney.

And what I found myself realizing was that it was magical. Not because it was Disney, or because it had x, y or z. But rather because of the joy it brought my son and his cousin Zach. It was pure, it was untainted by society, by life. It reminded me of what it was like to be a kid with no cares in the world.

I realized that I would always look at Disney as nothing more than an amusement park, but for Maverick it was magical. Oh if only to be able to look at the world one more time through innocent eyes.

Lest I wax on philosophically for any longer, I wanted to talk a bit about this photo I snapped of at the Manatee Rescue area at Sea World. Walking along the top of the area looking into the water I was amazed at the sheer size of the manatees. Reading about them, and seeing them in person is really something completely different.

Walking down to the underwater viewing area where I took this photo what impressed me most was how serene and slow moving they are. Their movements seem oddly etherial, they seem to move without any effort at all.

I conclude this post with a picture of my son, being a goofball and having the time of his life.

The drive to the mall last night was uneventful, holiday music flowed gently from the radio, the defroster bathed us in its warm glow. We were headed to get pictures with Santa. In typical fashion we could not seem to find parking close to the mall.

As we got out of our cars I could see a lady start walking our way. She had a special needs wheelchair with a child in it. The lady approached us and asked if we could spare a dollar for gas, her car had run out and she was trying to get home.

After living in Chicago for a number of years homeless encounters are nothing new to us. It is sort of a given that you will get asked. A few times we offered to buy them or give them food which only served to piss them off.

The led us to believe that in most cases, not all, but most cases the request was not genuine, and we would decline. So there we were, in a parking lot, at night, in light drizzle ice rain, being asked for money by a woman with a disabled child.

We gave her money and commented to ourselves as we walked in how sad it was that we felt skeptical of the genuine nature of her request. I told my wife and mother-in-law that we gave the money hoping that it would really go to what she needed, hoping in our hearts that it was a genuine request.

Had I not had dinner reservations for my wife’s birthday and limited time to get my son’s picture taken, I would have offered to go to the gas station with her and buy her some gas. Asking for a dollar for gas might have gotten you something in the early eighties, but not with gas prices today. If it was food she needed, we were walking distance to the World market, I could have bought her food.

But I didn’t have the time for it, it was cold and she had a disabled child. Thinking back I really wish I had done more, I feel really sorry for her and her child. It really makes you stop and re-assess all the good things you have in your life that you just take for granted every day.

How old were you when Santa ceased to exist? When the reality of his existence went up like smoke in a chimney into the cold winter air.

I want to say that I was eight or nine years old at the time. I can’t recall exactly how it happened, or even where but I it more than likely happened in grade school.

Grade school is just the first of many world expansions that we find thrust upon us whether we like it or not. Holiday figures such as Santa and the Easter Bunny hardly stood any chance of survival.

My son is six and a half now. Kindergarten has been a real learning experience for him. Karin and I have delighted in seeing him grow into a little boy.

But how many years does he have left before Santa stops being real? One? Two? I can only hope for at least that, if we are lucky.

The important thing is that we have kept the “Christ” in Christmas. Santa has never taken the spotlight in our house, and my plan when the myth of Santa Claus fades is to teach Maverick about the original of Santa Claus.

To look at me, you would never think I am a religious person. I am not going to lie, I have my vices. But I am trying to be a better person and given that we are all flawed, that is about as much as anyone can hope to do in this life.

The concept of forgiveness is probably the hardest one to come to terms with for me. By and by we come in contact with situations where it is relatively easy to forgive another person who has done us wrong. Someone scratched your new car, it was an accident, you are upset, but you get over it.

Someone says something inappropriate to you, but apologizes and while you don’t wipe the slate clean right away, over time you forgive and forget.

But what about the big things? Could I forgive a drunk driver who killed a loved one, could I forgive a murderer, a pedophile, a terrorist? These are the really big things that separate the men from the boys spiritually speaking. Could I do it? Can I in good faith call myself a Christian if I can’t answer yes to that question… the unfortunate thing is that I can’t have it both ways.

We can’t do what Christ teaches when its convenient to us. It doesn’t apply conditionally, just like God’s love isn’t given conditionally. I’d like to think I could forgive someone of any offense over time, the nature of that offense might take me a lifetime to get over, but I think I could do it. I hope I could do it.

I think the problem most Christians have when they think about this kind of extreme forgiveness is that we have a tendency to look to our own strength as a measure of what we can and cannot forgive. I think at some point a person realizes that they can give themselves over to God’s will, and rely on his strength and to get you through a tough time.

We all remember the poem about the footprints in the sand…

Footprints in the Sand

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to the Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”

The Lord replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.”
Mary Stevenson

Almost as difficult, maybe even more difficult is being able to forgive yourself. I myself find myself racked by guilt many times wondering if I truly am sorry for what I have done. To put it simply, I don’t feel like I should be forgiven, the guilt of knowing what I have done is there haunting me.

An insightful gent from an Alpha class my wife and I are attending said quite poignantly — “Guilt is one of the greatest tools the devil has at his disposal”. I believe that to be a true and accurate statement, guilt has the uncanny ability to make us feel unworthy of God’s forgiveness and pushes us away from him.

Sitting here, writing this, it all makes perfect sense. Of course I should let it go, be comforted that I have been forgiven… and yet, it just doesn’t work out that way when I find myself in that situation. I can only hope that time grants me something I else besides wiping away painful memories — wisdom.

Frost covered my lawn this morning, it looked as if the slightest touch would cause the grass to shatter.  And for some reason that frost stayed with me all day.

My subconscious gave me whispers of it to keep my detached interest, but not enough to cause me to come to any major revelations, or anything so grandeur in nature.

That would come later, around seven this very evening. Frost had been changed by my subconscious to Robert Frost, the poet. And surprisingly enough to “The Road Not Taken” that you see below.

I guess it is a factor of age, wisdom some might call it that I find myself recalling decisions that I have made, paths I have taken, an paths that are no longer available to me.

What would me life be like if I have made certain decisions? I shudder to think of what it would not have been had I made certain others. Take my wife, I met her by chance at college, homecoming to be exact, on a night that I had no intention in the world of going out.

If it wasn’t for a visiting friend who was back for homecoming and insisted on going out, I would have never met my wife, fallen in love and had my son Maverick.

So much, so much that would never have existed if I had not gone to that bar that night. Its staggering honestly when I stop to think about it.

Frost’s poem is amazing in so many ways, and such a great metaphor for our own decisions.
“And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;”

The unknown, the undergrowth is always there tempering our decisions and acting as a constant reminder that no matter how much we think about a decision, the path we walk will ultimately have the potential for a disaster waiting around the bend that we could never forseen.

Two paths, one less traveled. One path that ultimately turned out to be the right one in the end. His message is clear to me, or to my interpretation at least — easier is not always better.

I agree completed. I went to college wanting to go to dental school. I had average grades, but could have done it if I had really applied myself. I took an easier path. I wanted to have fun, I didn’t think of the future, I thought of the now.

Ultimately I traded four years of fun for the very real possibility that I will work forty years in a corporate environment, chances are working for someone else. I took the easier path to the keg, instead of the less traveled path to the library. Lesson learned.

We all have had times where we have taken one road or the other, the key I think is not losing sight of the other road. Everyone needs a map to help guide us on our way, they come in many shapes, sizes and forms.

This morning it was frost on the grass and Robert Frost, who knows what tomorrow will bring.

The Road Not Taken
by Robert FrostTwo roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I had a rough week at work. Lots of stress dealing with a person whose worth to the company is questionable at best. I ran across this on hr.com and found it chillingly relevant:

Incompetence, Defined

“What do we mean when we say someone is an incompetent?” asks Matthew Budman, managing editor of The Conference Board Review. “One definition: An incompetent is someone who is defined by his mistakes. Everyone makes the occasional error or bad decision or lapse in judgment. Most of them go unnoticed. But at some point, failure becomes the norm and even that person´s defining characteristic.”

Do They Know They´re Incompetent?

Of course, it´s not only the modern workplace that creates incompetence - the Principle holds that the hierarchy itself, through promotions, transforms capable workers into shaky bosses. “In addition, incompetence begets incompetence: Managers with poor judgment hand out assignments to the wrong people, delegate tasks to those who can´t handle them, and force others out of their zones of responsibility,” Budman writes. And despite workplace personality testing, companies keep putting the wrong people in charge. “Just think of all the books you´ve seen about dealing with toxic bosses, and consider that each of those toxic bosses was, at some point, promoted to that position of responsibility.”

You Can´t Just Fire Everyone

Comparatively few workers are what Peter termed “super-incompetents,” and companies tend to tolerate those whose performance is mediocre. “Firings are unpleasant for everyone involved,” Budman writes, “and it´s no wonder that it´s the solution of last resort.” To avoid making painful decisions, organizations kick incompetents upstairs, re-route important work around them, and go through other contortions.

Complete copy of “Can We Turn Back the Rising Tide of Incompetence?” by Matthew Budman is available here.

Can play an essential part in the maintenance of a balanced view of the world and ourselves. That is my revelation for today. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t something that needs to be physical, or even something done to us by another person, but its necessary for balance.

When things go well we are happy, we are comfortable, and we get lazy. Think about that job you have, remember how on the edge you were at the beginning, how hard you pushed yourself no only for your boss’ benefit, but for your own.

Fast forward a few years, things have gotten routine, boring, safe. You come in to work, have your coffee, read some email, surf the web, get some more coffee, etc. until your entire day has become nothing but another carbon copy of the last. Before you know it your weeks start to blur and without even realizing it — you feel dead inside, a husk of the worker you once were.

Or, you go down another equally destructive path… You become narcissistic, cocky, flippant. Your work begins to degrade but you can’t see past the golden glow of your own worth that you have constructed around yourself. You end up fucking up because of your own hubris and find yourself out on your ass without a job.

Congratulations, it turns out that you are not that delicate and rare orchid that inspires people to wipe your ass and worship the ground you walk on, rather you are a mere dandelion — easily replaced by someone better, smarter and less expensive who hasn’t lost his or her hunger to succeed that you once had.

So how can you remedy this situation that is starting to spiral out of control. Simple solution — Slap yourself mentally. Write a note to your future self telling the future you to stop being an ass. Do whatever it takes, employ whoever you can, but get that slap.

Hell, just bookmark this post. It might help you in the future when and if you need it, why do you think I wrote this after all? For you? Yeah.. that’s it.

The older I get, the worse getting sick is. I stayed home from work today. I awoke with a wicked headache, swollen neck glands and a nauseous feeling that just wouldn’t go away.

I don’t remember getting sick when I was in college, living a life of wanton debauchery. Why then do I get sick now? I drink rarely, I get a good night of sleep and I exercise.

Sleep? Cuts into partying. Exercise? With this hangover?

What can I say, I was a frat boy it went with the territory. When I consider how easily that senior citizen succumb to the slightest sickness, or have minor things become life threatening issues I wonder how quickly my immunity will decline.

What role will my genetics play on my health. On one hand my Grandfather (100% German) lived to 92, on the other my Mother’s side of the family (100% Irish), has suffered far too many early deaths.

Where will I fit into the equation? Nobody likes to consider their own mortality but eventually we all have to come to grips with it. We start out in life feeling like we are invincible, nothing can touch us.

What we eventually realize is how fragile life is, and how little control we actually have over it. Oh sure, we can control factors — what we eat, how much we exercise, etc. but when all is said in done, its out of our control.