Blessed White Space
When we used to go to Disney with the kids, we would stay at the Polynesian Hotel. One of snack bars there, Captain Jack’s, had an offer that anyone who could eat their fifteen scoop, extra topping Sundae would not have to pay for it. Now of course I was living with a sane person who required I be a good example to the children in tow, but a part of me wanted to give it a try. What could be better than two scoops? Fifteen! Anyway I am sure that half way through I would have caved and been out $32.98
The point is that too much of anything is not good. We need some sort of balance in life. Now I want to stress that this is not a woe is me story in any way. I would not have missed teaching the plant classes or planting with the kids at Port Dick for a second. And I loved the time we spent at the zoo for special events and tours. Likewise our own gardens bring me an immense sense of peace. Sister Bridget’s class and the Book club have been wonderful. The time spent reading and meeting with the Franciscan group has been cherished. The social engagements that have filled our evenings were blessed events, and the Port Dick Park, the Angel of Hope, the tree planting around the village were inspirational. The time spent preparing for guitar lessons has been joyful.
And I can not thank God enough for the Zoey time! What a precious, wonderful gift to be any part of her life.
I have to confess that thrown into the mix was the decision to take advantage of a good deal, $300 worth of oak, so I would have it on hand for the summer project of rebuilding the hall staircase, only to discover that if I left it in the cellar until I had time to use it, it would turn into $1.50 in value because it would be warped beyond use. Therefore, In between other activities, I needed to do a major building project. I really enjoyed it, but it was stupid to get in that position to begin with. Now the blessed white space news!
Every Saturday morning I plan the following week. (Too many years in a classroom to let go of the habit!) This morning, I did a double take when I saw white space. Is it possible? We have all the gardens planted and mulched, well almost. Book Club is taking the summer off. We are back to a sensible, interesting, joyful stretch with lots of time to enjoy the gardens, enjoy Zoey, go to Hudson and Amsterdam and Oneonta to visit people we have not seen enough of in the last few months. We can get out to the cottage and celebrate the Fourth without needing to be anyplace else. And best of all, I can finish the hallway and start on the outside repairs, all in a slow, relaxed pace. I can get back to stretching and Pilates and exercise. I will have time for the bike riding and finally some horse time. I may get the books that have been piling up read and best of all, I may write down some of the stuff that has been flowing through my head for two months. Balance, balance, balance.
And maybe someone is offering a fifteen scoop sundae contest????

At some point in your life, you begin to know the endings. Early on, you only know the beginnings. Lives are built with certainty and absolutes. We search for defining images and reflections. We encourage and support each other in our delusions. Everything is so clear, so black or white.
“I am a teacher, a Catholic, an Irishman. I love chocolate, dogs and pizza. I don’t like succotash, cats or people that make me uncomfortable.”“ I believe --- and so on for ever.” And we are so certain we are right.
Then one day you wind up with a cat and you learn they are just as loveable as dogs. Then you meet someone who makes you terribly uncomfortable, but also makes you think and grow and you come to value them immensely.
One day being Catholic seems less important than being Christian. You learn the real history of Ireland and you see that they are just as screwed up as the rest of humanity. You retire and you are no longer a teacher, yet it is important to be something, so you recreate yourself into what you always wanted to be. If you are especially blessed, it is what you were always supposed to be.
In the arrogance of youth, you are certain you will never do “That” (Whatever that is) only to find that under the right stress you will indeed do “that”.
Immaturity allows you to hate, to reject, to throw away people who do not meet your standards. And then you see that the only one hurt was yourself. That far from “protecting” yourself, you cheated yourself out of the joy of diversity, of shared companionship.
Finally you start to attend funerals. And now you know the endings. All the contention and hurtfulness and revenge and pettiness seem just sad. What real harm would have come from forgiveness, from appreciating someone’s unique qualities? What great joy and good might have come from those acts?
And so I start each morning with a prayer asking for the Holy Spirit to work within my heart this day to remove any hate, any hurt any anger and to work to make me accepting and forgiving. It is a long, long struggle, but I am making some progress. Tomorrow I may try succotash again.

Historic Event (Effort)
OK, let’s do this together. Anyone reading this that knows me, knows I have the technological skills of a Neanderthal. It took me seven years to suck up the courage to buy a cell phone. Give me another seven years and I may turn it on. So for me to put “video” in anything other than the garbage can is reason to believe a certain geographical location known for its summery conditions has indeed frozen over. But I am going to try and add video to this blog. If Kate can do it, so can I! (Maybe)
I have had the great fortune to sit and relax in some of the most gorgeous places on the North American Continent. I have sat on the banks of the Yellowstone and watched big horn sheep dance near Lydia’s Rock. I have sat beneath the redwoods in California, sipped Guinness while watching Mt. McKinley and reclined in Adirondack darkness watching a meteoroid shower. But I can’t always spend a zillion dollars to relax. So we set out to build our own “spot”.
Our first attempt at a waterfall was a learning experience. I say that because the result looked about as real as Boscov’s basement fountains. And it did not involve a stream, or a real pond. So back to the drawing boards.
We designed together, we dug together and we cemented together, but when it came time to move the heavy stones into place, I got a recliner, a beer and watched Kay struggle with them. I expected to be called at any moment to lend a hand, but she wrestled everyone of the suckers into exactly the spot she wanted them. So the overall aesthetics are completely her doing. So far that has not diminished my ability to sit here with early morning coffee or late afternoon wine and relax. Now I could lie and say I meditate here. That does happen sometimes in the morning, but afternoons are strictly for blessed blankness. The complete cessation of thought, action or anything but this moment.
If all went well, here is the video, or maybe up there is the video or over there Look it if I get this in here I’m not worrying about where.

“To Kate Miller – Corcoran and Nick Corcoran, a girl, Zoey, born May 10”
Such a short little notice for such a miracle. It seems the English Language is limited. Lacking from the lexicon of sounds is anything capable of conveying the feeling of holding a granddaughter in your arms for the first time. Or holding any newborn of your life blood for the first time.
I have had the immeasurable joy of doing this four times. Two sons, two granddaughters. I have never been able to capture a fraction of what it felt like. So much promise, so many possibilities, so much love.
And then the great quandary. I would like to provide them with every thing under the sun, but that would not be good for them. I would like to run in front of them and remove every obstacle. But that would not be good for them. I would like to shower them with God, flowers, horses, music, books, pets, and hot fudge. But of course too much of anything will spoil them. So you hold your breath and hope you are up to the task.
Then there is the life of statistics vs your child.
When each of my kids were under the lights for jaundice, all the statistics in the world did not matter. Those were my kids locked up in that silly cubical with the ridiculous eye patches getting a way to early suntan. Wait until they are 18 on their way to Cancun for Spring Break. ( Well, maybe not so good either)
My creative style is pretty simple. I get an idea about what I want to do, and then I forget it. Sometime during a walk, or more annoyingly at two AM fresh from a sound sleep, the idea will just appear. Then it is simply a matter of capturing it on paper. So 10 days ago, I decided to write the perfect story about Sweet Z. Nothing came, because no words will describe the indescribable. How silly to try.
So, in common words, I make the same pledge I made Lydia.
I will never take a moment of our time together for granted. I will never be too busy, too distracted or too impatient to be 100% present for you. You can cry, laugh, throw up on me, invite me to invisible tea parties, play dress up, dress down, play castles or football, I will be there as much as allowed for as long as allowed.

A Dear Friend
Sometime in the near future we will betray a dear friend. No amount of nonsense about a final kindness will change the fact that we will determine that the life of a cat will come to an end.
She first entered our life on Halloween night of 2001. As I passed candy out the door, this pathetic little waif raced in, clearly using her last bit of energy to chase the scent of cooking salmon. Had she not come through that door, I doubt she would have lived the night out, she was that starved.
We adopted her, made her an indoor cat, and I don’t think she ever considered leaving again. The house rules soon became clear. I was to meet her at the food dish first thing every morning. Once I fed her I would be allowed to make coffee and collect the morning paper, but I would not be given permission to read it until I had spent the correct amount of time petting her.
The final disease seems to be a tumor on or near her spine. She has lost the use of one leg and is rapidly losing the other leg. She has reached the point where she can no longer jump up on the bed or the couch. She needs one of us to lift her to her favorite spots. This must be a special indignity for her, for she was an incredible jumper.
A year after Bob Cat came in through that Halloween Door, we adopted a second cat, Frankie. We worried a little about how they would get along, but Bob thought Frankie was her kitten. They played together for hours. The favorite game was “Chase Me.” We live in a cavernous old house with four floors. I would sit in the living room and hear them start in the attic, dash down the upstairs hall, careen down the stairs, bang through the French doors into the living room and cascade down the cellar stairs into the back room. Several minutes later, the entire route would be reversed. Sometime around the second trip Big Cat would be in the lead with Frankie in hot pursuit. As they ran past the kitchen table, Big Cat, with no discernible effort, would leap onto the table while Frankie dashed by below. Now in the rear of the chase, Big Cat would give a gigantic leap and land on top of Frankie and the two would engage in the second great game, Bite My Neck.
Because their idea of a peaceful night meant rising at four in the morning and terrorizing each other, we quickly learned to lock them in the downstairs at night. This meant that when I came down in the morning, there would be two cats greeting me at the door demanding instant sustenance. Then one morning, I was greeted by only one cat, Frankie. Bob was missing. By the time I got to the kitchen, miracle of miracles, Bob had appeared. This happened the next morning as well. The third morning I was determined to see where Bob had been hiding. I looked under couches, tables, behind curtains and then I looked up on top of our entertainment center. Two large eyes were looking back. Now let me describe this set up to you. The entertainment center is seven and a half feet tall, leaving about 16 inches between it and the ceiling. Next to it is a triangular fish tank sitting on a pedestal. The closed top of the fish tank is 58 inches off the floor. Several days later I watched in amazement as Bob, again with no sign of effort, leaped to the top of the fish tank, and then to the top of the entertainment center. Effortlessly. Now she cannot lift herself 14 inches to a couch.
What I remember most, was when I had cancer and lost my mind at the same time. Two life forces expended all their energy to keep me from total surrender. One, my wife Kathryn deserves every credit and prize that can be offered.
But Bob was there also. She kneaded, licked, and rubbed me as if I were her sick child and her sheer will would save me. I was groomed, cuddled and comforted with every bit of her strength.
So now I will spend a little too much, and work a little too hard to keep her with us as long as she is comfortable. And in the end , well, if heaven exists, I will be greeted by several dogs and cats, and one of them will be making great effortless leaps.

Everything I Learned in Kindergarten Was a Big, Fat Lie!

I remember Kindergarten. The big lessons were about being safe on the street. These lessons did not involve the proper position to hold mace when attacked, or how to kick your kidnapper in the shins and scream, “NO!” as loud as a cat in a screen door.
They dealt with crossing a street safely. Mostly it meant, stop, look and if a car was moving anywhere, stay stopped. In child talk, don’t take your 64 pound body and play chicken with a 2000 pound car.
When I first started teaching, MS. Stiles would take all the Kindergarten classes out on the playground and divide them up. Some were pedestrians and some were “drivers” Instead of cars they had three wheel bikes, but they had real streets with names and stop signs and red lights and rules. You did not get extra credit for running down a classmate as they crossed the street. Nor, despite all my bribes, could you get one of these kids to jump in front of a moving trike.
Fast forward to downtown Binghamton. Pedestrians have been told they have the right of way. This apparently means don’t look and don’t hasten. The number of times someone has wandered in front of my car, totally oblivious of my existence, placing all their trust in my reactions is countless. If they knew the guy behind the wheel had the reflexes of a glacier, I wonder if they would be as quick to step into the “red zone”.
My pedestrian life is nearly as annoying. Here I am walking down Chenango Street, approaching a corner. I stop and look both ways and a car with complete right of way screeches to a halt and stares at me. I am very happy to wait and let them go, but nope, they are stopping and waiting and if there is a six car pileup because of it, they are still waving me across the street. Note - I do not have a white stick tapping the ground, nor do I have a dog in a fancy harness walking beside me. I do have a white beard and thick glasses but I can walk a mile in 13 minutes, which I bet the driver of the car can’t.
Then there is my all time favorite. Last week I came up to a corner just as a car arrived at the intersection trying to turn left onto Chenango Street. Now this can be difficult early in the morning because Chenango Street is busy. I can see he has a break in traffic, but if he waits for me he’ll be stuck for awhile, so I turn down the side street a few feet and cross behind him, freeing him to get on with his life. Far from the expected smile and thank you wave, he shoots me a dirty look accompanied by the universal sign of derision and whirls out into Chenango Street. I wonder what my Kindergarten teacher, Ms. Jennings, would say?

We went to 8 o’clock Mass this morning and Sister Karen did the Homily. It was short and as always makes one think. She talked a lot about how we are all in such a rush we feel frazzled and how we often lose sight of God in the middle of all that. Boy, after the last two weeks, that certainly hits home with me. Then at the end she read a paraphrasing one of her sisters in Japan had written. I copy it below:

The Lord is my Pace Setter,
I shall not rush.
He makes me stop and rest for quiet intervals.
He provides for me with images of stillness
Which restore my serenity
He leads me in ways of efficiency
Through calmness of mind,
And His guidance is Peace.
Even though I have a great many things
To accomplish each day
I will not fret
For His presence is here.
His timelessness,
His all-importance,
Will keep me in balance.
He prepares refreshment and renewal
In the midst of my activity
By anointing my head
With his oils of tranquility.
My cup of joyous energy overflows.
Surely harmony and effectiveness
Shall be the fruits of my hours
For I shall walk
In the place of my Lord
And dwell in His house
For ever.