Ep 57: The agony of innocence: How my kids tortured me with laughter

Last week my wife and I took our two youngest kids to Baja California, Mexico to expose them to the land of their father’s heritage, participate in Dia de los Muertos festivities and to celebrate my upcoming 50^th birthday. As a result, this year we forewent Halloween at home.

Nonetheless, our trip ended on a rather scary note, as our 4-year-old, Olivia Luz, and I were thrown off a horse the morning of the final day of our trip in Rosarito.

Luckily Olivia landed (on top of me) unscathed, but I landed flat on my back. I now clearly understand what it means to “get the wind knocked out of you,” as it took a rather long and frightful minute to get up and catch my breath. Albeit slowly, I could still walk and seemingly had no broken bones—at most a back full of bruises, a few pulled muscles and a black-and-blue ego.

Alas, a day after our return home, I sneezed violently and it now appears that what may have been a hairline rib fracture is now a broken bone, as indicated by the ensuing excruciating pain.

According to the doctors, there's nothing you can do for a broken rib but to wait six weeks while it heals and endure the pain. Thank God, I've got a lot of Ibuprofen and Tylenol for that.

And of course, there’s our family’s sense of humor that will help me heal faster…or not.

Last night I was explaining to the littlest ones, our five-year-old Milo and Olivia, how much my injury hurts. "If I laugh, cough, sneeze—or even burp—I get a sharp pain on my side..."

Without missing a beat, Olivia Luz looked at me, smiling, "Or fart..."

Ugh. Of course, I laughed hysterically—and so much, that I was crying from the pain and had to run out of the room and pour myself a glass of bourbon.

Milo quickly caught on that I could be a great source of amusement for the rest of the evening and tried to make me laugh at every possible moment: from breaking out in hysterical laughter by simply looking at me, to spontaneously making funny noises and doing a silly monkey dance in the shower.

Despite my earnest pleas and attempts to get angry as an attempt to control my painful glee, my pleas for mercy only made things worse. I’d half-wretch and whisper-scream "Not funny!," which, of course, only made it allthemore funnier.

At dinner, Olivia likewise caught the funny-fever and looked at me mid-fork to say, "Poo-poo." My cough-cum-choke sent me gasping for air into the kitchen.

Upon my return Milo turned to me and said, "Knock-knock..." My only recourse was to run away again and pour myself another.

As a result of all this, I’ve learned that certainly “laughter may be the best medicine,” but it can also be a painful one.

Ep 56 Nutz

Today, I met Mr. Nutz. His real name is Paul Freund and he was the featured vendor today at our office. As the "Main Nut," which is the actual job title he has on his business listing, he continues a small family business called "Your Nuts!" that his wife, Shelly, started 30 years ago out of her kitchen. Alas, she passed away at 70 in December and Paul showed me the laminated obituary he carried with him, telling me with heartfelt affection "She was a genius," followed by the story of how he met her while he was working as a busboy at 18 and that it was "love at first sight." They were shortly married thereafter and for the next 50 years, in turn raising 4 boys - Darrell, Jamie, Lorne and Dr. Brin. The boys are ages 50-30 now, and the youngest is a neurology resident at John Hopkins. Paul was eager to tell me all about him. 

Moreover, true to his nom de business, he was eager to tell me all about everything- Trump is the antichrist, Noam Chomsky is God, the world will end by 2100, corporations are evil and I should quit asap, the five things that will kill you (stress, a corporate job, smoking, alcohol, and a nagging wife) and that he "hates people." After signing my name for the organic carrot muffins and oatmeal cookies, which I really didn't need to buy considering my renewed efforts to snack less, I told him I didn't believe the latter, "You love people," especially since he clearly demonstrated that he cared too much. Breaking away, he held back a smile and told me, "No, really, I hate people."

Ep 55: "You smell like chocolate"

"You smell like chocolate,"  Olivia Luz told me, after I kissed her goodbye this morning. Those four words lightened my step all the way to the train station and rightly set my disposition for the day.

My nearly-three-year-old had smelled the bite of sweet soy-infused chia on my breath that my wife, Chelsea, had made for me last night and Olivia had simply told me "like it was" 

On the flip side, she has likewise told me "You're stinky," at the end of a long day. So the unfettered truth of a child can cut both ways.

Regardless, I couldn't help but think "what if" we all simply impulsively paid compliments to others - friends, colleagues, and especially loved ones—whenever, at the moment, they came to mind - surely the world would be a better place—wouldn't it?

Albeit it seems like a simple enough axiom, after almost-50 years, I fully realize it is hard to execute due to all the fears we learn along the way: judgment, misunderstanding, mis-intention, rejection. 

Thus, to make a positive difference we must remind ourselves to embrace our original innocence on occasion—to be open to, dig for and discover, and simply acknowledge the gleaming little gems of interaction with others. By paying happiness forward, you are likely assuring its passage back to you.

Ep 54: Let's stop living in fear: The New York Times publishes its first front-page editorial in nearly a century, Dec 4, 2015 (Why lives matter more than "black guns")

Last night, Chelsea and I sat down to enjoy dinner (without the kids) at Julianna's, a local restaurant in Cortlandt Manor that we love.

However, within a few minutes of our arrival we were both distraught and literally fearing for our lives. Our trepidation proved "unfounded," but not without reason and not without consequence.

Across the way in this small one-room restaurant were a middle-aged couple with blue bandannas tied around their necks. The man kept putting the bandanna up over his face, up to his nose. However, more daunting was the t-shirt he was wearing that read in big capitalized white-against-black letters: BLACK GUNS MATTER.

This was a "nice" restaurant per se and so it simply didn't make sense to me why anyone would sport this shirt in public or have bandannas on. Chelsea and I kept nervously glancing at them, hoping they were leaving soon.

Chelsea leaned over and told me, "If something happens, the back door is right behind us." Having been trained for years by NY subway propaganda, "If you see something, say something," I contemplated calling the police to report these suspicious characters. But I balked, I bet on the notion that these people were simply expressing themselves, uncaring to the idea that they were stirring panic among patrons.

Being from Michigan, my wife reassured herself by saying it was likely more reminiscent of the culture she grew up in and not a reflection of the more liberal areas we live in. Her brother-in-law once told her "Only in New York and California do you have folk who don't equate freedom to the right to own your own gun."

Regardless, we were uncomfortable and I was perturbed and disturbed by the inciting. I suggested that maybe these were bikers, thus the bandannas. Alas, neither of us had noticed a motorcycle of any kind when we walked in.

Luckily, this out-of-place couple, soon left without incident and we tried to enjoy a rare night out when we get to focus more on being foodies‌‌ than parents‌.

Nonetheless, the moment made a great impact on me. It has compelled me to be more vocal about an issue that is stirring our nation.

I believe it is awful enough that I must be afraid of coming in and out of Grand Central every morning and every afternoon now. Thus, it is no strange coincidence that the front page of one of New York's most popular papers, the New York Post, reflected my emotions this morning reading FEAR ONLY FEAR.

Fortunately, The New York Times read my mind as well and published its first front-page editorial in nearly a century, calling for lawmakers to do more to ban the type of assault rifles used in the San Bernardino shootings and other mass shootings in the U.S. I couldn't agree more.

It's the least we can do. It makes me rather sad to know that we are so inept as a nation, so paralyzed by industry and archaic entitlement, and so utterly inane when it comes the question of what matters more—purported rights and materialism or life itself.

Here is an excerpt:

End the Gun Epidemic in America

BY THE TIMES EDITORIAL BOARD

DEC 4, 2015

It is a moral outrage and national disgrace that civilians can legally purchase weapons designed to kill people with brutal speed and efficiency.

All decent people feel sorrow and righteous fury about the latest slaughter of innocents, in California. Law enforcement and intelligence agencies are searching for motivations, including the vital question of how the murderers might have been connected to international terrorism. That is right and proper...

Read the full front page article:

End the Gun Epidemic in America

Ep 53: The Peekskill Fun Run!

I ran my first race in a year this morning, the second in over 20 years (1993 NYC Marathon). Inspired by my chat yesterday with a colleague, Lanse Natsch, I ran it as "training" run and a good base time to build from. 

My wife and three of our five kids "ran" with us. Milo and Olivia, the toddlers were the youngest among a field of 24 kids who ran a fun run once around the  track, they came in dead last, but got trophies nonetheless and were an inspiration to all. 

I absolutely loved the course because it was a tough climb up Division Street, right before Mile 2. Back in the days, hills were my forté, so although I struggled up this one, I'm looking forward to making this route a regular training run.

I did a 8:19 first mile, 17:53 second (at the top of a long hill and finished at about 28:00 (my 2 year old daughter walked out to me at finish line, so I walked a few feet with her to the tape).

On average the time converter says I did an acceptable 9 minute mile. I was happy with the results and fantasize that if I can get back to training in earnest I can reduce that mile time by two minutes. Having endured two Crossfit WODS in a row on Tuesday and Wednesday ( Abigail! and Metcon Grinding) and then two River Runs on Thursday and Friday ( New York Life Home Office Fitness Center River Run (4.43 Miles) my legs were pretty sore and stiff, so I cut myself some slack.

More critical to my diminished performance was the fact that I was catching my breath through the whole ordeal, indicating that I am significantly out of cardiovascular shape. I'm eager to improve that.

In 2013, when I'd run a 5k on the treadmill at the gym at work, roughly once or twice a week I averaged 7:20 or so on a good day. Inspired by talking to many of our colleagues about their marathon training has renewed my passion for my favorite sport (see Your Marathon Story & personal transformation). I'm sharing all this so that I might hold myself accountable to this challenge, like Jason Brooks has shown me to do.

Thank you one and all for reigniting that fire.

Ep. 52: “It’s so beautiful outside” 3-year-old Milodeus teaches Papa a lesson

The first thing our three year old son, Milo-Milodeus, said this morning as he was peering out from our bedroom, "Pop. I was just looking out the window. It's so beautiful outside."

And here I thought I was supposed to be teaching him how to live large.

Alas, in response, I thought, “Actually, it’s kind of overcast..”

Ugh. The contrasting POVs was a poignant reminder that every once in a while we must be reminded to shun our tainted perspective as adults and embrace things simply as they are and not how we (over)think them to be— skewed by our anxious agendas, the fears of what is or is not to come or disappointingly never was.

Albeit I risk banging on the drum of an old cliché, my son’s words at sunrise summarize an important chapter of a bestselling memoir I wrote ten years ago. It is not until now, after two marriages, almost 50 years and 5 children, that I realize that it was and is perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned, if only because it belies another maxim, if youth is wasted on the young, wisdom is wasted on the old. Perhaps.

And perhaps it is a child’s perspective that intertwines the two.

Here is an excerpt from that ever-important chapter of 25 Lessons I’ve Learned about Photography…Life!

Lesson 4:  Take the Long Way Home

No matter where you live or work or go, there are treasures to be found everywhere. We only have to make an effort to look for them; sometimes it is simply a matter of opening our eyes and senses to see the beauty that envelopes our daily lives.

     A good way of achieving this is by trying to see the world through a child’s eyes. To do so, you must let go of all the things you must do, and simply explore without an agenda, without the compulsion to keep track of time and place, without a care to divert you away from appreciating all the glorious details of the environment that glimmers around you.

     On occasion, we must remind ourselves to think and run and play as freely as we once did, when we were kids, when, as children, we often took the long way home or spun in circles and made odd noises until we got so dizzy that we could no longer stand up straight, so that we spilled ourselves silly onto the grass, and with our arms splayed apart we watched the clouds congeal into giant animal crackers up above, until we caught our breath and our equilibrium again—if only, so that we could do it all over again without a second thought as to how sick we might feel afterward.

     I am fortunate to be a father of two wonderful boys who inspire me on a daily basis in this manner. As much as parents serve to guide their little ones via their own errors and experience, children likewise serve to prompt us to let go every once in a while, so that we might truly enjoy and appreciate life. Watching my sons play, I am constantly reminded that kids get in trouble mostly because their organic way of being does not naturally fit into the rigid outline of an adult agenda imposed upon them.

     For a number of reasons, I am particularly fond of a photo I once took of my youngest, Dominic, when we were crossing the bridge one late afternoon from Lambertville, NJ to New Hope PA. Not only do the spray of the sunshine, the two levels of depth with the railing to the left and bridge frame to the right and the shadows cast—cumulatively make a richly textured picture, but my son's rattling of fingers against the rail reminds me to "relax."

     For the first thing I thought when I saw him doing this was, "You’re going to dirty your hands, son!" Immediately realizing how inane my worries were, I let him be and let myself enjoy the moment.

     Reviewing photos of my children often reminds me of the adage that, indeed, our little ones become big ones all too soon. It is impossible to over-appreciate every minute of their blossoming, especially when, as adults, we are so eager to regain that blissful state of ignorance and freedom.

     Ironically enough, it is the inherent qualities of a child that lead us to the wisdom we often seek as adults. “Wisdom begins with wonder,” Confucius once said. Thus, it is through my boys that I am often reminded that it is curiosity that puts us on the path toward such enlightenment.

     Far too often, as adults, we forfeit the precious traits that are inherent in us as children—all in the name of fear, conservation, propriety and apathy.

     And often for good reason.

     But just as often, we do not risk enough, we are not willing to step out of our safety zone, to try something new, to just waste time in the name of frivolity—to take the long way home.

     As a result of succumbing to the requisite pragmatism of adulthood, we stay stagnant, we diminish our potential, we stop growing, and we proceed down the straight and narrow path until we become bored and unhappy.

     This is why we need to nudge ourselves off the road every once in a while, to take a detour without fearing to get lost. If anything, we must welcome the opportunity to see new things, meet new people, have adventures, and most importantly, learn.

And by learning, grow wiser via youthful ignorance, precocious restlessness and relentless inquisition about this and that, and this again.

Ep. 51: The Little Garden That Could

This final Summer Friday I have the pleasure of staying at home to spend time with my wife Chelsea and our two toddlers, Milo and Olivia Luz.

This morning Olivia and I went out to our front garden to pick part two of a beautiful bounty. I was astonished at how quickly the next batch ripened and how bountiful it was once again. We collected two baskets full of cherry and beef tomatoes, and one puny pickle-in-the-making.

As you can see by these photos, there's plenty more where that came from. This little garden of ours sits in our front yard and is the little garden that could because it gives and gives and it keeps on giving....cherry and beefsteak tomatoes, giant squash, jalapeño peppers and even a few pretty dark purple eggplants.

Brendan, our 70-year old Irish landscaper stopped by while we were plucking and pruning, and commented, in his charming native cadence, "Wow, you're blooming! It's because you get sun all day and you planted in virgin soil," repeating the latter part 2-3 times as he is apt to do.

We love Brendan, and to show our appreciation the kids gave him a little box decorated with paint and shells. We gave him a little bag of tomatoes to take home with him as well.

He was visibly excited about the gifts, which prompted him to tell us that he was just about to throw out a big box of sea shells which he brought back from his last trip to the homeland, Ireland, but that he was now going to bring them over for the kids.

A little later on Mama Bear took the little cubs to BJ's, while I stayed home and prepared an amazing salad with fresh mozzarella pearls; cherry tomatoes from our garden and yellow heirloom tomatoes picked at the farm; chipped cured kalamata, castelvetrano, and cerignola olives, the latter double-stuffed with garlic and jalapeño; freshly chopped basil from our tiny herb garden; freshly ground sea salt; and three types of olive oil - cold-pressed extra virgin, garlic-infused and Harina-infused.

Yes, this is how we do it at Domínguez Manor. It's good to be home.