S.G.L.

When this guy came into my life in 1972, the joy and excitement and possibility seemed endless.

I was five years old. He became my younger brother, and I was THRILLED. S.G.L. My family was big on initials growing up. So that’s my brother: S.G.L.

I didn’t “learn” much from him in those early years; it was more live-and-let -live as siblings often are, I suppose.

But we had a lot of childhood fun together. As a family we did a fair amount together; we had some of our own activities too.

When I got into early adulthood he was in the mix for some of the edgy fun we had as teenagers, and college kids too. When he got to those ages, he then made his own way.

All along, I loved that he was my brother.

As we both settled into careers and our own family lives, we drifted in some ways; we dealt with big family events/crisises together, as best we could, putting forth a united front.

But it felt some distance developed over time.

Now that I think about it, I think it was more about realizing the differences we have, and making the most of the similarities and history.

Now many years later I have to say, I’ve learned a lot from him;

likely I’ve learned more from him than vise versa in the last decade or so;

he continues to teach me lessons (though he probably doesn’t realize it).

From little boys playing together as brothers to two grown men with families of our own, I’m happy to still call him “brother”;

I’m still THRILLED to have him in my life.

And so on this day I say, “Happy Birthday, S.G.L!”

What’s in a List?

I always come back to the same thing. It’s my default. It’s what ended up grounding me, proving again and again the proper path.

Sometimes I feel like I’ve got too much on the to-do list. It’s endless. And then I’m not getting enough done. Or maybe more accurately, things take longer than I estimate, or maybe my stamina falls short. Or both. And there’s still a lot to do at the end of the day or the week or the weekend.

The list is long and things just keep getting added on; then again, isn’t that life? Doesn’t that mean you’re alive? Doesn’t that mean you have more to do? Doesn’t that mean your life mission isn’t complete?

EXACTLY.

What’s next?

The next thing.

So do it.

My Office Today & a Little Lemonade from Lemons

Saw it coming if I was paying attention. Very runny nose, increasingly frequent cough, growing crankiness (for him and me), and BOOM, my son got sick. Aren’t they always sick this time of year, little kids?

Never mind.

He’s gotta stay home sick, and today ok for me to work from home (Thankful!), so here I am cranking away.

My son’s asleep for now, so ticking off task after task.

Sip tea, stretch, keep going.

Drink water, another spreadsheet, another stretch, a couple emails, what’s next?

More good, making the best out of the lemons of the day, that’s the trick, that’s the schtick, that’s my game.

In that way, I got game. And lemonade.

And the glass is Half Full.

Standing Desk.
Energy Hydration Station

Guest Post: Reflection, There and Here.

This piece was written by guy who’s an artist, a teacher, a creator, a husband and father, a person of great faith. I read this post on his facebook page a couple weeks back, and wanted to share it. He graciously allowed me to do so. Here’s some great insight and “Reflection: There and Here. Love, the Perfect Antidote to Anxiety and Depression.”

“Well, headed back to America. My heart is full, but a little piece is left behind. My friends here in Guatemala know how to live and know how to love.

We brought murals, music and skateboarding to a town that does not get those types of things. We danced with children and painted for them. We told them they were beautiful and God created them perfectly. We rapped, break-danced and painted for men in recovery. We told them to be like children and seek joy. We served with no expectations, just to love.

We hiked up an active volcano, painted at the top, and road a snow board down the ash all while lava shot out the top. We laughed together, ate together, spoke to each other in broken sentences as we struggled to understand one another. But our gestures, smiles and actions spoke louder. We planed, we dreamed, we prayed.

America, we don’t need to go places to have this. We just need to create it at home. San Francisco, I know we work our asses off just to survive and stay in the place we love. But we have to slow down. Stop and say hi to your neighbor.

Yeah you might take 10 minutes longer than you planned. But you’ll be happier for it. Show up at each other’s homes unexpected. Seek adventure in your own backyard.

Let’s stop chasing the so called “American Dream” and seek to love and serve one another. I guarantee it will reverse all the statistics we have in the states about anxiety and depression. We can do it, it’s a choice. Slowdown. Live life, LOVE.”

-Cameron Michael Moberg

More visual magic from him here:

http://www.instagram.com/camer1sf

A Lifetime of Love

A Lifetime of Love

Saw a post recently from the wife (and friend) of a college chum who died of cancer last year. He battled for about three years before it got him. They were married for something like 29 years. Like all of their adult lives. She wrote about how hard it is, dealing with the grief. And she’s doing everything right. What exactly? Staying in close touch with friends and family, especially their three adult sons; exercising plenty, alone and with others. It’s still sneaky, terribly hard.

I then got news that a gentleman I serve with in a Lions club, one of the oldest, active folks I know, just lost his wife of 69 years the day before Thanksgiving. She had been of failing health the last couple years. SIXTY NINE YEARS they had been married. Equally difficult for him, though they lived full lives together.

Two couples, four life times, stories of joy and struggle, tragedy and triumph, and love throughout.

Love lives on. Love is what matters.

Love perseveres. Love is what remains. Love, and the memories of that love, are what strengthen us, if we let it.

Love does not fail.

Jazz with Howie

Sitting in the car on a rainy afternoon. Jazz on the radio, old school. 91.1 FM, KCSM (the “CSM” stands for College of San Mateo). Smooth groove, easy on ears, heart, soul, purring, pouring out the jam.

The rain water collects on the windows, tap tap tap it falls, beads, drips down.

This place, a special park, a place to rest, to remember, to listen, to think.

Remembering my old man today, many days this way, all of us the same I bet, in this way. Those who have lost loved ones, recalling, wishing there’d been a little more time. Never enough time.

Gentle gusts of wind rustle through the trees, branches sway to and fro. Easy, smooth, Soto, Short, Challen engraved on stones across the way. So many others here too.

Dad’s here too now, on the wall, a little niche, nice for us, for me, a spot to rest, easy to get to, in between.

Nice to take a little time, for him, for me. Recharged and ready again to go again. A little rest, then forward again.

And that Jazz music?

More on KCSM found here.

All GOOD. Howie GOOD.