There’s an Ache in the Heart

This afternoon after work I sat down in the upstairs room to check our e-mail, just like always. There was a message from Al and for a minute I thought he was going to tell me that he had received the wedding card we sent on Monday for Tim and Debbie. But then when I opened it my heart sank. Instead he was telling us that Tim was gone. My heart just hurts so bad.

We found Tim Krekel at the Bluebird Cafe in 1998. He knocked our socks off. We didn’t even know who he was, but by the end of the night we were his. We bought the CD at the door on the way out, and when we got home we hit the internet. We found out where he was playing in his homeotown of Louisville, and began the time honored pleasure of planning our vacations around when we could see him. It was not unusual to hit the road at 4:30 when work was done and head down south to make a late show at Air Devils. And it was always a great show. But moreover, it was Tim.

I remember very clearly our first trip to Louisville to see Tim. We left in the morning to get there early in case we would have to fight for a seat. We settled in the hotel room and then headed over to the bar. I don’t remember the name, it’s changed since then, but we were the first ones there. It was us and the bartender, and he couldn’t figure out what we were doing there so early. People trickled in, and by the time the band started playing the room was full. The bartender must have told Tim about us, because he made his way to our table. He made us feel like we belonged there with him. He asked us where we were from and what we wanted to hear. And then he played the songs we were longing for. And it was always that way. Every single time we went to see him over the years. And tonight my heart hurts.

I asked John how it is that a person that we really only connected with every so often could have such a profound effect on us. He sad that it was because from the very first time we saw Tim, he welcomed us as friends. He brought us into his world for the time that we were with him. And when we were not with him, we had his music. And it became a part of our life together. His message was simple, love everybody. And that is just what he did.

If you have been reading here for awhile you will remember me sharing him with you here, and here, and here. John wrote about him here. Early on  you couldn’t find him on youTube, but now there are three pages full, and MySpace to boot. Already they are saying the music lives on, and there is some solace there, but for tonight my heart just hurts.

He would have wanted us to celebrate his life, and so that is just what we are doing. It’s a little after 11:00 on a Wednesday night, and were sitting here listening to Tim sing. And we’re singing along, and dancing too. Because that’s just the way it is and always will be. Here’s one for Tim, on the all night radio.

Father’s Day for Mom

This evening I’m basking in the glow of Father’s Day, through the eyes of a mother, stepmother and wife. I don’t know if any of you who might be reading this are from a blended family. If you are, I hope it is as much of a blessing for you as it is for me. Today I had the joy of seeing my husband with his sons, but additionally receive calls from his daughter and mine. It really is a special day, and I wouldn’t want to miss it for the world. I believe the expectation is second only to the joy when all pieces fall into place. What a great day for dad…and this mom, too.

Baskets and Buckets

Buckets and baskets. Words that have become a part of my “self-talk”. I don’t necessarily say them out loud, but I say them just the same. The frequency depends on the kind of day it is. I have shared their meaning, which on occasion has been a good thing.

My husband taught me about baskets during his days as an elementary principal. Originally it was presented as a parenting tool. The theory is that when working on behaviors with your child, you should imagine three baskets. Basket A is the “Safety Basket”, for behaviors that are a matter of life or death. Items in this basket demand immediate attention; hopefully there are few. Basket B is the “Compromise Basket”, for what you would consider to be high priority items that can be approached with communication and compromise. Basket C is for “Reduction of Frustration”. It should be full of items that can be ignored or sidestepped. Running into the street is definitely Basket A. Picking up dirty clothes could be Basket B, but may move quickly to Basket C when the homework doesn’t get done.

The baskets are a great reminder for me of what is worth my worry, and when I need to move on. Basket C is my favorite. I have used the baskets at work, and it is not unusual for someone to preface a statement by letting me know what basket they feel it falls into. Often I find myself chucking things into Basket C when I feel the frustration building. The baskets make me stop and think about when I can effect a change, and when I should call it a day.

Buckets are a reference to the book How Full is Your Bucket? It is a quick read, but well worth the time. The idea is simple. Everyone has an imaginary bucket that is full when they are happy and empty when they are sad. Other people can fill or empty your bucket by their interactions with you. In return, you are responsible for doing the same for them. Of equal importance is the idea of not letting people draw from your bucket. That’s the point where the buckets and baskets work in tandem. If you’re trying to draw from my Bucket, I’m going to put you in Basket C. Slam dunk.

What prompted this post? My husband came home with a new book today, and you know how I love children’s books. This one is How Full is Your Bucket? for Kids. Right up my alley. This one’s going in the book basket for Asher, my first and bestest bucket filler. If you don’t have time for the full blown adult version of the bucket book – this one will work just fine. I’d put it in Basket A.

It’s time…

…to move the laptop off the arm of the couch!

Some Things

Some things I can’t remember. I’ll start off in a sentence and find myself searching for a word that is familiar but won’t come. Eventually I find it, and then again maybe not. Sometimes I will have a fleeting glimpse of a long forgotten time or place in my life, but can’t quite bring it back. I figure this is just a part of getting older.

But some things come back so clearly after all these many years. Like how to bait a hook. Or how you have to hold a fish to take the hook out of its mouth, placing your hand ever so gently at the top of its head,  sliding down over the fins so the spines don’t take their toll. And how you hold the hook at the hilt and work it through the flesh in a way that causes little harm to the fish so that you can set it free to grow bigger for the next time you go fishing. My dad taught me this. Willi says that’s why I still remember. I think he’s right.