My World Shook Today

Twice, in fact.

At 1:51 pm, the shaking was quite literal:

I once toured a century old Cone Mills fabric plant. The heart of the factory was the huge room that held around 100 automated looms, all sitting on the second floor of the building. That floor was made of solid oak beams, and when all the looms ran, the floor vibrated, so loudly that I could not think.

My desk started vibrating like that at 1:51; in fact, the entire building thrummed, a deep bass rumble, like it was on top of a huge diesel engine. This only lasted a few seconds, but the questions -- Did you feel that? Was that an earthquake? -- lasted significantly longer.

---

This is my daughter Gigi. Today, she joined a proud and profound tradition in our family, second generation on her mother's side, third generation on mine. She became a teacher.

Gigi, it's been a hard wait these past 15 months, trying to find that first job in your degree field. You didn't give in to the despair I know you had to sometimes feel; it's frustrating and beyond frustrating to train yourself for four years, to know without doubt that you can do the job, if only someone will take a chance on you.

That is not only admirable, it is the root of all human success. You've kept the faith with yourself; now, you get to pass it on.

I am quite proud of you.

Old News, Part One

Lisa and I have been to Harrisonburg twice this year. The first time was January 8th, for the Shifflett holiday gathering. We used to do this on Christmas Eve, but it's gotten too difficult to get people together from four states and have the celebration the occasion demands. So, we aim for the weekend closest to Christmas. This past holiday season, Christmas and New Year's Day were on Saturdays, so we opted for the following Saturday.

We spent the 3.5 hour drive listening to a book on CD, something suspenseful, probably one of the Ludlums Meki gave Lisa for her birthday. Between that, one serious snowfall just south of Roanoke, and a snow-covered Shenandoah Valley that just begged for Lisa to break out the camera, we never cut on the radio.

Once we got to Harrisonburg, we were busy with last minute preparations for the party. And once the family got in, we were happily engaged in catching up on the last year, eating, and exchanging presents. And after that, once the cleaning up was done, we all collapsed.

Meki likes to take in Headline News first thing in the morning, which always means a bit before daylight when we're there. Actually, I think it means the same thing when we're not there, just not as early as during her Queen of Trash days.

On January 9th, we learned about the Tucson shootings the day before. You've likely heard the hullabaloo. Jared Lee Loughner and his Glock 9mm pistol. Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords wounded while holding one of her "Congress on your Corner" events.

Federal judge John Roll visiting his friend Giffords; congressional aide Gabriel Zimmerman; Dorothy J. Morris, Phyllis C. Schneck, and Dorwan C. Stoddard all attending the event; they died.

As did 9 year old Christina Green, who was born on September 11, 2001, recently elected to her school's student council and was at the event to learn more about how our government works.

Before the next week was out, the political scavengers were circling. Now, for the record, I do not believe that the ads Sarah Palin ran in the past that had Gaby Giffords name targeted with the crosshairs of a rifle scope were the reason Loughner attacked. Neither do I believe Ms. Palin's rhetoric that this was an isolated event completely uninfluenced by the nasty partisan politics of the last few years.

Scratch the surface of any decently competent historian, professional or amateur -- I'm very much an amateur in this arena -- and you're going to find a centrist. We know that history is messy, and that the simplistic cause-and-effect explanations that those on the political extremes love are never sufficient to explain what really happened.

That said, shame on those who tried to exploit this tragedy for their own ends. Shame on them; they worked to diminish us all.

Gabrielle Giffords' survival and recovery after being shot in the head seems miraculous. I sincerely hope so.

As I write this, I've heard the news that Jared Lee Loughner has been declared incompetent to stand trial, being able to neither assist in his own defense nor to comprehend the charges against him. He will be further evaluated to see if he becomes competent to stand trial. I do not know, being neither a mental health nor legal professional, what is involved in this process.

I do know this. Loughner was competent to choose to go to Congresswoman Giffords' event, carry a handgun, select targets, and pull the trigger. There is no doubt that he was the perpetrator. If there is to be any justice here, Loughner should never walk the streets a free man again. Never. Never.

Marching To The Beat Of A Different...Guitarist?

David is, among many other fine things, a guitarist. We were driving from some point A to some other point B during his last visit a couple of months ago, and, being fans of classic rock, we were listening to Boston's debut CD. Long Time was playing, the song reached the bridge between the first and second verses, and as it went into the brief strummed acoustic guitar passage, David said, "This is my favorite guitar riff." I made some sound of absent-minded agreement, and we went on with our day.

I didn't think about this exchange for probably another month, until the next time I heard the song. Then, I really thought about what he said.

I think of a riff as a lead part, but the piece David commented on was definitely rhythm guitar. It is a catchy piece of musicianship, one that lingers in the mind, but it's rhythm guitar. David is intensely serious about his music, so he's very qualified to recognize a riff. But, it's rhythm guitar!

Music is one of life's great pleasures, both intellectual and visceral, and is there any real reason I should have hesitated to embrace a new perspective on it? On mature consideration (don't laugh), I didn't think so, and I have found that my musical enjoyment is enhanced by listening to it a bit differently, a bit more attentively.

So, here's a thank you to one of my favorite guitarists, my youngest son David.

A Promise

To my son Andy, you should consider my home your refuge, for as long as I live, no matter what.

5/17: At The Bottom Of The Ramp, Waiting For My Daughter

Monday, May 17, sometime between 8:00 and 8:15 pm, I was standing next to a stage in the athletic center of Valparaiso University, holding a bouquet of roses. My daughter Gigi was in a line on the other side of the stage, waiting her turn to cross the stage, shake hands with the chancellor of Purdue University North Central, and receive her bachelor's degree.

I had time for memories, fleeting impressions:

• October 4th, 1988 - a shell-shocked afternoon, after the doctor told us that Suzanne's last non-stress test didn't look so good, and we needed to come in the next day to have labor induced.
• October 5th - a blur, from getting up, to arriving at the hospital, to the start of labor, to the maternity nurse being 7 months pregnant herself, to the doctor dealing with us and another patient in labor, to the arrival.
• October 6th - after a night in a cramped recliner, I went home to wash up and change. The fall sky and the turning leaves were more vibrant than I had ever seen before.
• Gigi, at two years old, running to me across a playground with her arms held high to be picked up and hollering, "Hold you!"
• Gigi, at seven, clinging to me and crying like she's never stopping after being told that her mom and I weren't going to be living together anymore (Nobody said all the memories were happy).
• My pride in Gigi as her participation in high school show choir gave her a world of confidence and made her bloom.
• Taking her, during a Christmas visit, to the empty parking lot at work and having her practice driving a car with a manual transmission.

And then she was coming across the stage, holding her newly minted degree, stopping at the top of the ramp for a picture, then coming down the ramp, approaching me. I handed her the roses, we hugged, and she whispered, "Thanks, Dad, I love you."

As I walked back to the stands, my ex-wife gave me a thumbs up. My wife gave me a knowing smile, and she was entitled. I bought the flowers and gave them to Gigi, but they were Lisa's idea.

Gigi kiddo, congratulations. We love you.

To Lisa, On Our 6th Anniversary

It seems just barely believable that it has been 10 years since we first met and became online buddies in the Dean Koontz forum on Usenet. Or that it has been 9 years since you became my most important confidant in the implosion of my second marriage. Since you sent me the "Our friendship is as rare as a rose blooming in the snow" email.

I cherish the memory of the day we first met in person in Roanoke, of knowing then and there that I had at last met the other part of myself, of hoping against hope that you felt the same, and of the joy coming in the next few months upon realizing that you did.

I am proud that I managed to surprise you by proposing on your birthday, and that I did it "right", with bended knee and a diamond ring held out to you in anticipation.

I look forward to this day each year, for it means celebrating a union that is good and strong. It means that we've made it to another milepost, surely having passed the time with a great deal of laughter, with some exasperation for the habits we each have that drive the other crazy, but with the determination that we will learn a bit more patience with each other every day, and with an always deeper commitment to each other.

Nothing worthwhile comes without attendant struggles, but being your husband is singularly easy. How could it not be, when I have you for my bedrock?

I love you, I am grateful for the happiness you have brought into my life, I hope I return that happiness to you in full measure, and I am looking forward to the rest of our adventure together in this life.

Happy anniversary, honey.

Short Visits

Lisa and I were at home a week ago, having exchanged our Christmas gifts to each other and listening to freezing rain and sleet coming down. I had just called Dad and Mom to let them know that we weren't traveling to Whiteville after all.

That was the second time we changed travel plans in two days.

We originally planned to go see them this week when the kids got here from Indiana. I talked to my ex's partner on Wednesday night, and she told me that they intended to be on the road to North Carolina on the 27th, returning home on the 30th. I checked the Weather Channel web site and saw a great deal of snow in their forecast. That made me believe that they would not be able to make the trip, so I told my parents that Lisa and I would see them on Christmas Day.

That was the first time we changed travel plans.

I got a call in the middle of Christmas afternoon. It was Gigi, with welcome news. They had already started their trip south, expecting to stop overnight in Ohio and get to Greensboro on the 26th. This was most unexpected, given the forecasts, and I felt like I'd gotten the best Christmas present since I was a kid. I called Dad and Mom again to let them know that the kids were going to be here for a couple of days after all and to that we were coming down for a day trip on the 28th.

That was our third change in travel plans, and the most pleasant.

Dad was grilling inch-thick steaks when we got there, along with seasoned potatoes in foil. Lord, but we were all stuffed! We exchanged gifts after lunch, I played tech support for Mom's computer -- Internet Explorer was giving her problems, imagine that -- and my cousin Denise and her daughter Alex stopped by. Alex is 10 months older than Gigi, and they're thicker than thieves. I got to enjoy just sitting and listening to two or three other conversations for a while.

After Denise and Alex left, we went to visit Aunt Mildred, Dad's oldest sister by 10 years. She has a bad back, can't hear very well, and is a bit forgetful, but she's getting around better than Dad these days. She always makes coffee when I visit, even though she doesn't drink it anymore. And what coffee does she have? Decaf Fresh Market Christmas Blend. We gave it to her a couple of years ago, and she keeps it in the freezer. It still tastes fresh, and she's just a joy.

At home, we watched a lot of TV on DVD that the kids either don't usually see or were quite behind on: Seasons 1 and 2 of The Big Bang Theory (Everyone loves "The Saturnalia Miracle" episode!), and Season 1 of Better Off Ted (Who wouldn't want to work for Viridian Dynamics?).

Since they were departing for Indiana very early on the 30th, I took them back to their aunt and uncle's house the evening before. On the drive home, I felt, as always, the emptiness they leave behind. It doesn't persist quite as long as it used to, and why should it? My children are growing up well, and they have reached ages where it's natural for them to make their own ways in the world. Time has caught up with the changes in my role as a parent.

Compare And Contrast: A Trans-Siberian Orchestra Concert And A US Airways Flight

In the past two days, I've attended this year's TSO concert in Greensboro and taken a flight on US Airways to visit my kids at Thanksgiving. Let's examine a few aspects of the two experiences.

Food. We ate a meal at CiCi's Pizza before the concert. It's certainly more expensive there now than when I could take all the kids and feed all four of us for under $15. Still, it's filling (very), there's plenty of variety, the pizza is quite tasty, and we were satisfied.

I took a couple of breakfast bars on the flight out Greensboro, Chex Mix Turtle bars, to be exact. They're my favorite quick breakfast this side of Chick-Fil-A's chicken burritos, but they left me feeling hungry.

My connecting flight was through Philadelphia, and I had enough time to get a larger breakfast of scrambled eggs, home fries, and sausage. Yummy, and reasonably priced for airport fare. It's a little bit surreal that I got this from an Italian eatery...

All told, the concert experience wins the food battle.

The wait. We got into the parking lot at the Coliseum with very little delay. TSO scheduled two shows in Greensboro this year, the four o'clock show started a half-hour late, and since they perform for 2.5 hours, we had to wait to enter the arena for the 8:00 show. Of course, that show started about 20 minutes late...

Both of my flights arrived at their destinations on time, but they were stuck on the tarmacs before departures. In fact, the flight from Philadelphia to Indianapolis left Philly about 20 minutes late, but we still arrived early in Indy.

This one's a tie.

Seating. There was more room on the airplane than at the Greensboro Coliseum. The flight wins this leg.

Noise. Who are we kidding here? TSO puts on a rock concert, wired for sound and light and light and sound, and they rock hard. Next category.

Speed. Greensboro to Philadelphia to Indianapolis in less than six hours, including 2.5 hours of airport wait time. Point to US Airways.

Atmosphere. The air at the Greensboro Coliseum was smoky from the pyrotechnics used in the show. The air before the flight from Greensboro was foggy, enough so in Philly to make us wait on the runway. Tie.

So, Eddie, who won? I did, in every way imaginable.

The Lil' Spittle Maker

He drools. He sticks one leg straight up in the air when he licks his nethers; I think of this as his "little teapot" pose.

There are commercial opportunities to be had here. I wonder if anyone is cybersquatting on TheLilSpittleMaker.com.

Homecoming

This past Sunday was Homecoming at Pleasant Plains Baptist Church. My parents' church, the one I grew up in. It was also the final celebration of the church's 175th anniversary.

The usual order of the day at Homecoming is, as with the invitation to family and friends and former members, to invite a former pastor to come back and deliver the message. This time, instead, there were three speakers, members at Pleasant Plains, who gave testimonials to what the church has meant to them, to the history of the church.

The most noteworthy of the speakers, to me, was Dan Gore. He's a scholar, a farmer, a preacher, and an accomplished storyteller. He rambled a bit, as all the best Southern spinners of tales do, and one of his vignettes concerned a heavy church bell installed in the steeple belfry back in the 1930s. About a year after they got the bell, several church members were concerned that it might be too heavy for the structure to bear long-term. Several trustees of the church were nominated to climb up in the belfry and inspect the bell. Dan's dad Scott was one of the trustees, so he got to tag along.

The stairwell up through the steeple was dark, Dan recalled, but there was plenty of light at the top. They examined the timbers holding up the bell, and one of the trustees said, "You couldn't blow that out of there with a charge of dynamite."

That's all there was to the story, except for two small details. The trustee didn't pronounce the word "dine-a-mite"; he said "din-a-mite". And the trustee's name was Don Ward.

My granddaddy. I heard him say "din-a-mite" many, many times.

This was a new story to me. It's been nearly 30 years since Granddaddy passed away, but for a few minutes last Sunday morning, in a rare and precious gift, Dan Gore brought him back to life for me.

RIP Alton Mathis

Here are the basic facts. He was born in June 1918 and died in October 2009, age 91. He lived his entire life in Newport, Arkansas, except for his time in the Army during World War II. He made his living as a farmer and service station owner. He was married to Liz for 62 years and survived her by a little over 6 years. He was the father of Mary, Dianne, Ronnie, and Kathy. He was a grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-great-grandfather 37 times over. His oldest grandchild is my wife Lisa, and she misses her Papaw more than I can adequately convey.

Here's my own surreal moment concerning the man: I was 45 when I first met my grandfather-in-law at a family reunion in 2005.

During that visit, while we were watching a baseball game, Papaw asked us if we "could hear those birds chirping." He was adjusting the volume on his hearing aid at the time, and yes, we could hear "those birds".

A little later that evening, he encouraged Lisa and I to take his bedroom and "do what young people do." I refer you back to how many descendants the man has.

The rest of that visit, and a similar one in 2006, were full of the details of daily life, the kind of things that enrich a family without making for riveting reading for those outside the family.

Sadly, I didn't see him again in this life. I did get to hear many kind and admiring things said about him this week, from his fierce independence and self-reliance to his delight in holding his youngest grandchildren on his lap. I didn't know him nearly as well personally as I would have liked. I do, however, know quite a few members of his family very well, and I know Alton Mathis through them. My life has been deeply enriched through his, and I can only say, "I miss you too, Papaw."

Did I Say...She?

We took the cats to the vet overnight Tuesday when we went to visit family in Whiteville, and the professionals there had something different to tell us than the volunteers at the SPCA. The new cat is a three year old guy.

We haven't figured out his name yet.

She Followed Us Home, Can We Keep Her?

Lisa and I have been discussing getting a companion for Blazer. Earlier this week, a co-worker sent me a flyer from the SPCA of Guilford County, about their "Adoption Frenzy" this weekend. We went to take a look around, and this two year old girl came back with us.

We're trying different names. She's sort of responded to Piper and Tempe, so far. Something will work out soon, I'm sure.

And, of course, Blazer is going to learn to tolerate her. One step at a time.

Sunday morning edit: I believe her name is going to be "Tempe", as that what she actually responds to.

David Turns 16 Today

Today has been a reprise of a couple of years ago, of sorts. David is here in Greensboro, and he's flying back to Indiana tomorrow. I captured him doing something he truly loves, and I'm very proud to share it with the world.

Happy birthday, son. I have loved these past two weeks, listening to you play your guitar (and Lisa's keyboard), riding along while you drive, watching movies we haven't watched in ages, and catching up on Burn Notice. I wish you could be here longer, but work, school, and friends beckon. Lisa and I both love you, more than we can adequately tell you.

Sleepy Man

Last night, like many nights lately, I settled in our reclining love seat after a big dinner, popped the foot rest up, laid myself back, and fell asleep about 9:30. Lisa woke me about 11:15, and we went to bed. I got myself in bed and was almost out before Lisa came out of the bathroom. She leaned over and said, "Sleepy man." I was just awake enough to respond: "Somnambulist hero of legend, when only stillness and even breathing will do." She said something back, but I was already drifting off again.

That often happens with us, a silliness where we riff off of each other. Our dialog is often juvenile, puerile, intimate, or some combination of the three. We laugh until it hurts, sometimes until we cry, and our world is a better place for a while.

Today's Treat

David has been here for the last week. Tonight, we finally got to see live music together. The Astanza Project was playing at the Tate Street Coffeehouse. They're a flamenco/gypsy/latin/fusion trio, two guitarists and a percussionists. All three are virtuosos on their instruments, and two hours passed like ten minutes.

David critiqued the guitarists -- he has been playing for several years -- with a touch of envy. I believe this evening just might be an inspiration to him.

Comfort Day

Yesterday, I spent my morning reading the first half of Gone Tomorrow, the latest volume in Lee Child's Reacher series. Then, in the afternoon, Lisa and I finally caught the Star Trek reboot and had an early supper at our favorite Mexican restaurant. I then proceeded to fall asleep in my favorite recliner at 8:30, missed the penultimate episode of Pushing Daisies, and woke up just enough to drag my sorry carcass off to bed slightly before 1:00 am.

Sounds nice and comfy, eh? So why was it a "comfort day"? Summer planning, my friends, summer planning.

What We Really Enjoyed in Gatlinburg

Well, we're a couple of hours away from heading home. Our anniversary trip is nearly complete, and here are our favorite things from the week:

1. Room 119 at Zoder's Inn, with the creek and the ducks.
2. Supper at Blue Moose Burgers & Wings.
3. Lunch at The Old Mill Pottery House Café & Grille - the Fried Green Tomato BLT and the Vegetarian Panini.
4. The show at the Sweet Fanny Adams Theatre - Pretty went up on stage!
5. Old standbys - Ripley's Aquarium of the Smokies, the Pepper Palace, and breakfast at the Applewood Farmhouse.

Celebrating the Fifth

As I'm writing this, I can hear the soothing sounds of a mountain creek just outside the room. Lisa and I have been feeding ducks from our balcony and taking lots of pictures and videos.

Zoder's Inn is our favorite vacation spot. We've had wine and cheese at 5:00 each afternoon the past couple of days, milk and cookies at 8:00, dinner in-between at new restaurants.

We're in Gatlinburg, TN, where we got married on April 30, 2004. We've known each other for 9 years, been husband and wife for 5 years, and we're the best of friends. I couldn't ask for more from a helpmate, and I have reason to believe she's pretty satisfied with me.

Pinging Andy White

I saw a bumper sticker on an SUV Monday evening when I was on my way to a Relay For Life meeting and immediately thought of you. You'll understand why, I'm sure:

Carolina: The Force

Duke: The Dark Side