On May 25, 2020, a police officer murdered George Floyd, a suspect in his custody. As a reminder to Americans, we are all innocent until proven guilty in a court of law.
On May 26, peaceful protests began.
On May 27, peaceful protests continued. Eventually, rioters and outside agitators burned a Minneapolis neighborhood.
On May 28, I wrote this piece. Then I put it aside, unwilling to work further on such a heavy topic.
On November 20, 2024, I rediscovered it. I’m now sharing as part of my month of gratitude and my greater commitment to writing meaningful things.
Sometimes, there are no words.
You want there to be, but they fail.
You hope that you can say that genuine thing to alleviate someone’s pain.
Put an end to suffering.
Quell the madness.
Turns minds away from bigotry.
But there are no words
Tonight as Minneapolis burns.
The writer prides himself on turns of phrase
On vocabulary
On finding the perfect way to state a thing
But the practice, the tools, the tricks
They fail because there are no words.
A word typed
A thought, aloud.
These things are too small for a situation too large.
They are noise.
They are nothing.
Worthless thoughts shouted into the face of the heedless storm.
One day again
The words will come. But today, there are no words
Many of us are grateful that events like this are not part of our world, though we are too ashamed to say it aloud. We need to find our voices. The world becomes a better place when the meaningful things drown out the oppressors’ noise. Please take this encouragement to contribute your own meaningful things.
Thank you for reading. Hug your loved ones this holiday weekend.
A few years ago, I was invited to join a bunch of dice-rolling, whiskey-swilling hooligans at an annual tabletop gaming retreat called Whiskey Weekend.
Hooligans, amiright?
I was amazed how quickly I fit in and bonded with the group. With my neurodiversity, I don’t make friends easily or often, nor am I comfortable in social situations. One of the people I connected with quickly was Ace. I suspect this was a combination of our similar senses of humor and my willingness to play any game he rolled out. On a future weekend, I gave him some 3D-printed token holders for Everdell, one of his favorite games. His gratitude became delight when I revealed I’d bought my own copy of Everdell because of him.
About two years ago, he shared some rough news with us. Cancer. In the time leading up to our 2024 weekend, he told us he had chemo scheduled the first Saturday of our retreat. He was going to come up briefly and then jump into the treatments. He was in good spirits, and I could tell he enjoyed even that brief time with us. He offered us silicone bracelets as part of his journey – mine disappeared after Benji snagged it for his stuffies to wear – but I believe it conveyed Ace’s philosophy of staying strong and seizing the day.
Knowing how much he loved the event, I wanted to do something special. I wanted to help him feel like he could still experience some of the weekend, even from a distance. So I did two things.
The first was for the group. I 3D printed tabletop minis for everyone to paint and wrote little stories so people could mix and match. More info here. I gave Ace first pick and he was able to make his selection before he had to leave. I later heard he painted it right away and had a fun time. I wish I could have seen the results.
The second was for Ace himself. The whiskey part of Whiskey Weekend involves a double-elimination tournament where we do a blind taste test every hour. I brought little empty bottles for each entry so Ace could sample the same selection he would have gotten with us. It was perhaps a small comfort, considering Ace looked forward to the weekend more than anyone, but he seemed truly touched. I hope he was able to enjoy the drinks and think fondly of Weekends past. I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw him. I never got a chance to ask.
Friendship is wonderful, strange, magical thing. I think I’d been together with Ace less than 10 times, and yet, I quickly, easily considered him a good friend. I don’t think I knew his actual name for two years.
And so, I found myself at my first Jewish funeral today.
It’s very easy in a job – in anyjob – to get hung up on all the things you’d love to change. Or to get dragged into negativity when simple commiseration with colleagues descends into toxic complaint sessions. Having worked in a wide variety of roles, including food processing, lab assistant, retail, and several corporate jobs, I can attest that it happens everywhere.
My work division (FindLaw, a part of Thomson Reuters) is being sold to another company, and the watercooler talk runs the gamut of perspectives and opinions, which means if we’re not careful, we could spiral into endless negativity. The stress is high, and many have an irrational fear of the unknown.
What’s helpful for me, and what I’m recommending to all my mentees, is a pros/cons list. It perhaps sounds cliché, but it’s still incredibly effective. While pay, merit increases, and advancement opportunities are important, they’re not the reason I stay with a company. For me, a flexible working schedule is paramount.
My younger son, Benji, has severe autism. Sleep is a recurring issue for him. Some nights, he’s just awake. He’s somehow powered through his nighttime meds and can’t fall asleep again. One night becomes two becomes a week or more. There’s a compounding effect to this, meaning some of his behaviors are worsened, which creates difficulties at school or elsewhere in public. There have been days where I have to drop everything and run to school to bring him home.
At a recent social hour at the office, several colleagues asked how our family was doing.
I graduated high school a skinny 5’11”, 135-pound basketball player who’d spent his childhood with a ridiculous metabolism. For many of us, things changed in college. Four years later, I’d gained 30 pounds. It wasn’t muscle. Those size 32 pants were a bit snug.
Fast forward nearly twenty years – around 2015 – I stopped checking my weight. A scale displaying 220+ pounds wasn’t something I wanted to see any more. I had more willpower for that than to make any meaningful lifestyle change, and my weight continued to increase.
In fact, the only real change I would make was cutting out soda and trying to walk the dogs more. From 2012-2017, I lost maybe 10-15 unremarkable pounds. I certainly didn’t feel any better, physically, mentally, or emotionally.
My wardrobe also remained the same: layers of bulky clothes to hide rolls, folds, and not-quite-manboobs. My shirts were XL and my pants were 38 waist. The collars of dress shirts were hangman’s knots and suitcoats were sausage casings.
Five years ago, in early 2019, I was invited to a class at a local boxing club. Did I mention I hadn’t worked out in 28 years? I found workouts boring. Or intimidating: I didn’t want to be the fat bald guy in a massive fitness center who was wheezing on a treadmill or struggling under weights. And if that were true, punching something for an hour was certainly far outside my interest, not to mention my personality.
Coming into the class, I didn’t expect anything to change, even if a small voice between my ears told me that I really, really needed an exercise routine. But I’d been ignoring that guidance my entire adult life.
In that first 1-hour class, I thought I was going to die.
As I mentioned in a previous post that announced the Prologue, I’ve started working on publishing my book, Tildy Silverleaf and the Starfall Omen. As I release chapters, I plan to write an accompanying post that provides a behind-the-scenes look at the work. To skip right to reading the new chapter, click here: Chapter One – Spring in Dappledown.
I started my writing with Chapter One, not the Prologue, because getting a feel for my protagonist and her home were crucial to understanding whether I had a story worth pursuing. I needed to establish my unnamed hero, her home, and the witch she reluctantly called “mother”. The ideas flowed effortlessly from thought to word, and Tildy, as she would became known, nearly flew from the page into life.
It’s tough. I have a pragmatic, neurodiverse, and often all-or-nothing view of the world. I like to identify problems and find creative ways to fix them. I’ve often said that the old Lexus commercials of the 1990s especially resonated with me.
Lexus: The Relentless Pursuit of Perfection
As I’ve matured, I’ve come to understand that this also creates the relentless pursuit of imperfection. Nothing is ever good enough, which often means, things remain bad until they are. It’s a helluva thing to overcome to publish a book. But if I put my “reason mind” to work (If you want to publish, you have to stop puttering about), it begins to drown out the “emotion mind” that’s often loudest in my head (Just one more edit and it’ll be perfect. Just one more. You’re so close. But just one more.)
This morning, I was looking for a way to start my Monday with a positive attitude, which is tough for many of us. Part of our social contract in America is commiserating over the start of the work week. It’s probably a multi-million dollar industry, when you consider all the merchandise dedicated to grumpy Mondays.
I thought back to how good my Friday was. It started with this: A Day Bright, and Full of Promise. It was a simple writing exercise that got my brain moving, and the creative outlet got those feel-goods coursing through my veins.
Instead of simply jumping into work, with who knows what surprises awaiting me, I took a few minutes to jot this down in a coffee shop.
It was time for the school bus. Following Benji, I stepped into a beautiful Autumn morning. As though someone spoke to me, this line popped into my head.
A day bright, and full of promise
I stopped in my tracks, my brain beginning to answer the question I no longer had to consciously put into words: “What happens next?” Even after so many years of writing, I continue to be surprised by the amount of creativity sparked by that simple question. Most notably, What if I paused my writing about the lost prince and started a female-centric story about his sister?
It’s a tip I use not only for writing, but in my office job, as well. “OK, we have an issue. What happens next? And then what?” And so on.
The following is about 2 minutes’ work. It’s a minor piece of writing, but I wanted to capture it because it helped inspire me. It’s about having days ahead of you that you want to spend writing. It’s the promise that you’ll create something worthwhile. It’s the power of positive thinking, if you will.
OK, I’m going to be completely straight with you. I forgotten I’d been working on this series. It happens. Best laid plans and life gets in the way and all that. LOL
Recently, the previous posts (Post 1, Post 2) have seen an increase in traffic, so I thought I’d share a few other stories. Before I do, let me restate their purpose. For a gaming and whiskey weekend, I’d 3D printed characters for my friends to paint. To serve as inspiration for their characters, I wrote some quick backstories that they could mix n match as they desired. More info can be found here: Prologue: Stories for Whiskey Weekend.
Now, let’s meet Molli and Noe (painting by Whiskey Weekend guys).
Molli McGillman sighed. She stopped her nomad’s journey and studied the young person’s face. Another death. Perhaps, this is the one I can prevent.
One year ago, Molli had taken a strange path through the woods and fallen into a time paradox. Of course, she wouldn’t have put it into those words, and she was barely aware anything had happened. The next day, she came upon a drowned man on the riverbank. Making her way upstream, she heard cries ahead. There struggling in the water, though she told herself it was a different person, was the man whose body she’d seen. A few hours later, she saw him a third time as he crossed the river on slippery rocks.
I recently discovered a post from 13 years ago while reviewing some old websites I’d created. Some pages were worth saving, such as those I created for Boy Scout trips. The following is another such post, which I’d written to capture some observations and opinions that formed while watching coverage of protests in Wisconsin in 2011.
OK, so this is 13-year-old content and not seemingly relevant. However, the timing of my rediscovery struck me, since it’s back-to-school time and the subject of teaching and education is a topic on the national stage.
Without further preface, here is the article, lightly edited for 2024 (family changes, new info, grammar).
NOTE: My wife is a teacher. My parents were teachers. My older son and his fiancé work for the Special Ed department. My younger son’s special needs mean he is dependent upon adequate education funding. We have friends who are teachers and work in school districts. I have an obvious bias. Despite that, I consider teachers an investment in the future of our children and our country.
Watching the events in Wisconsin — the protests, the speeches, the commentary — I think I finally figured out why teachers need unions.
It’s not to ensure that these teachers working with our children are treating the kids respectfully, sometimes better than the kids’ parents.
It’s not to ensure teachers get out of work at 2:33 so they can go home to spend the night correcting papers, developing lesson plans, or buying supplies with their own money.
It was late 1998. I worked for the Suncoast Motion Picture Company, which sold movies and related merchandise. I’d recently transferred from the flagship Mall of America store to the Southdale Mall in Edina. The commute was longer, but I didn’t mind for a couple reasons. The one I’ll articulate here pertains to the clientele.
The Mall of America location was great for people watching. At the time, tourists came from around the world to see the spectacle of the largest mall in the Western Hemisphere. But Southdale, due to the prestige of Edina, attracted a number of celebrities. I was thrilled to learn Janet Jackson (whom I’ll call Ms. Jackson cuz I’m nasty) shopped there when she was in town. And she bought her movies from Suncoast.
The Suncoast where I was now a manager.
In 1998, I was still that small-town kid who’d grown up in a town so tiny it was technically a village. I’d never met a celebrity, and the prospect of meeting Ms. Jackson, someone whose music I absolutely loved, hyped me to a ridiculous degree. I’m embarrassed to admit that I was on the lookout on many shifts.
I grew up loving her albums Control and Rhythm Nation 1814, the latter of which I owned. Back in 1990, I knew everything about that album. You see, I didn’t have many albums as a kid, so when I got a new one, I poured through the liner notes, sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor beside my cassette deck. I memorized the lyrics, tracked the music labels, and learned about every musician or other person connected with the production of the album.
If you’re familiar with Janet’s music, the headline of this post is beginning to make sense.
Back to 1998. I’m working the checkout in our third-floor location, when two well-dressed men came in. I offered the usual greetings, made small talk, and helped them as best I could.
These two gentlemen were Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis. And they were aware that I didn’t recognize them.
It must have been an unusual experience, especially in the Minneapolis area. Here’s why.
When it comes to the Minneapolis music scene, it didn’t get much bigger than this duo. They formed the band Flyte Tyme, which became The Time under the influence of Prince, and the group would go on to help define the Minneapolis sound in the early 1980s.
After being fired from the band, they started Flyte Tyme Studios, and their partnership went on to earn more than 100 gold, platinum, multi-platinum, and diamond albums. Over their storied career, they’ve worked with some of the biggest names in the biz, including Lionel Richie, Herb Alpert, TLC, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin, Boyz II Men, Usher, Patti LaBelle, Mary J. Blige, Chaka Khan, Mariah Carey, Bryan Adams, Spice Girls, Vanessa Williams, Rod Stewart, Gwen Stefani, and New Edition. I particularly loved George Michael’s “Monkey” and The Human League’s “Human” songs. But those weren’t the only memorable tracks.
Forty-one of their songs reached the Top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100. They won five Grammys and got an Oscar nom for their work with Janet Jackson on the song “Again” for the movie Poetic Justice.
EDINA, MN – SEPTEMBER 1989: Singer Janet Jackson poses for photos with music producers Terry Lewis and Jimmy Jam during the opening of Flyte Tyme Studios in Edina, Minnesota in September 1989. (Photo By Raymond Boyd/Getty Images)
And speaking of Ms. Jackson, they won a Grammy for producing her album Control. Their follow-up collaboration, Rhythm Nation 1814, dominated the charts with seven hit singles and became one of the biggest albums in the world from 1989-91.
Most of that album work had been done at Flyte Tyme Studios, a convenient 5-minute drive from Southdale.
As I look back upon their visit to my store, I like to imagine these world-renown producers were taking a shopping break from their busy studio schedule. Perhaps, the perfect movie would be a nice diversion, or provide some inspiration for the their next movie project. Little did they know they were talking to a guy who knew every beat and could sing every lyric from Rhythm Nation1814, many of which they’d written.
A guy’s whose memory was about to betray him, despite his brain containing most of the information I just shared.
The Lost Royals 