Perspective

Things are slightly nuts right now, and that's probably an understatement depending on your current situation.  Whatever that situation may be, let me give you some perspective . . . but in reverse. 

Through the wonders of Facebook, when we're not reading about the latest (insert your favorite coronavirus-related rumor here), we have the ability to connect with the friends we've made over lo these many years and sort of keep track of one another.  Now, I want you take a moment and "review" your list of friends and look on them both as who they are now and who they were when you first met them.  Stay with me.

I have a friend on FB who regularly posts photos of the vegetables he's grown in his garden, and those photos usually have ten or twelve comments urging him on in his green thumb efforts.  If you met him today via one of his veggie photos, you'd feel fortunate you met him: he always has a positive outlook on life, and in those photos where he includes himself, he's always wearing a smile.  But when I met this guy, he was a punk.  No, I'm not saying that to paint him as a jerk who later reformed.  Literally, he was a punk rocker with the haircut and leather jacket - he was in a band whose logo he painted on the back of his leather jacket.  I'm fairly sure if you interviewed him back then and asked what he thought he would find joy in thirty years later, gardening would not be on the top ten list. 

Another friend is the lead singer of a country band that tours the nation.  The photos he posts show him singing at his various gigs and being with his band.  The guy I first met was on the border of shy; in a room full of people, he could sort of disappear in the crowd through his silence and conscious effort to avert all attention away from himself.  The man I first met and the man I see now on Facebook share similarities like they both have two arms and a head sitting on top of their shoulders, but that's about it. 

And I'm friends with a couple who have two beautiful children, and their photos and posts are devoted to being a family and the supreme joy they experience with one another.  When I first met them, they were just like that (only without the kids).  They were high school sweethearts, and they haven't changed a bit in personality or looks (he has less hair now but not much because he wore a flattop when I first met him).

There's nothing profound about this post.  It's just a reminder to look around you and see what has changed and what has stayed the same.  It'll be different for all of us, but it should give us the perspective to realize we have the power to be who we want to be regardless of who we were and the ability to maintain who we are even when life might try to make us to change: it's our choice.  Wherever you are in all that, choose to be your best.  Be well, my friends, and be good to each other.  The world's a little crazy; no need to add to it.

2019: Stretch Before Reading

When you’re young, you can run around, take a beating, and wake up the next day a little sore.  By the next afternoon, you’re up and at it again as if nothing happened.  Then, when you work your way into your late thirties and early forties, you pull muscles simply by sleeping wrong (been there).  Now, it’s quite possible that I’ll have to take a week off work as a result of writing this.  And you’re asking yourself, is it worth it?  Read on, and you can answer that question yourself.

If you have last year’s missive handy, you’ll recall that Sam left for points south in early December.  He rang in the New Year in Mexico City, and then a few weeks later, he went even further south to Viña Del Mar, Chile as a missionary for the church.  Since his arrival in the land of the Chilenos, he’s befriended around 389 cats, and that number increases by the day.  When he’s not busy looking for a feline friend, he’s out among the people serving and sharing.  As of the writing of this year’s little note, he’s been paired up with two dudes from Utah, one from Brazil, and another from Perú.  He and his Brazilian companion were quite a sight to see: Sam, at 6’4” and blonde, doesn’t exactly blend, but his companion was about 4’8” and came to Sam’s elbow.  If they had dressed up for Halloween, Erin suggested they go as Mr. Roark and Tattoo.  Opportunity missed!  Sam will be there for another year.  If you have a photo of a cat, send it to him at samuel.greene@missionary.org - or, if you have a cat that’s having behavioral problems, ship it down to him, and he’ll find a good home for Señor Finickypants.  

One of Jack’s newest hobbies is rock climbing, and he’s taken to it rather well.  He’s developed muscles I didn’t know existed (and I’m fairly certain DON’T exist in my body), which is a testament to something we’ve know about Jack since birth: when he sets his mind on a goal, he stops at nothing to achieve it.  Now, when I see the opening scene from Mission: Impossible II, I picture Jack climbing alongside Tom Cruise and beating him to the top of the rock (one, because he’s THAT determined, and two, he’s not wasting his mental energy trying to make sense of Scientology).  Regardless of my estimation of Jack’s rock climbing abilities, he’s decided to NOT go pro at the moment; in light of that, he had to find a way to make money, so he went to work for an electrician.  In this, he’s also proven an uncanny knack and understanding of the work in short order.  He started out as the low man on the totem pole and had to climb up alone in the attics and crawl spaces of homes when the temperatures were well north of 100 degrees.  Now, he’s supervising guys (and climbing up into attics and crawl spaces with them to show them the ropes - no rest for the weary).  

A short while ago, Erin caught the organizational bug and has thrown herself into a series of projects to purge our home of all clutter and things unneeded.  (I better watch my back.)  With the guidance of a friend who’s been certified in the Marie Kondo system, Erin has been able to chuck out enough old paperwork to keep a shredding service busy until next year.  The folks at the local charity drop off know Erin by name.  As many of you can attest, our home never looked like the set of a reality TV show about hoarders, but with this new outlook on organization, it’s been incredible to see how much crap we don’t have to keep!  And from what Erin’s told me, she’s only about halfway through the list of projects she’s going to conquer.  (I’d like to take a peak at this list and see if my name is on it.)

I’m finishing my second year as a loan originator, and from what I’ve been able to gather from reading pundits’ analyses and watching several different cable programs, I haven’t ruined the mortgage industry or the economy yet.  So I’ve got that going for me . . . and you’re welcome!  In case anyone was wondering, Lola is still alive and kicking (and for those of you who really only cared to know THAT one piece of information, my apologies that I made you wade through all this other muck to get to it).  If you ever find yourself in Arizona (by choice or airline mistake), give us a call, we’d love to see you.  Have a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

An Easter Message: The Value of Women

In John 20, we read the account of the empty sepulchre, and the chapter is not extremely lengthy.  However, what those select words mean to all who consider themselves disciples of Christ is profound, to say the least.   

The messages that stem from this chapter are numerous, but one of the most significant I take from it is the true value of women in the eyes of Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.  This is only my opinion, and I share it here as such. 

Verse 17 of this chapter begins with this phrase, “Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father,” and it is in these few words that I feel volumes are spoken as to how much Jesus valued Mary Magdalene specifically and women overall.  While He was in the midst of putting the crowning touch on His life’s mission and to ascend to His Father to be perfected, He arranged this short but very important and intimate meeting to take place between Him and Mary.  With the foreknowledge that Peter and John would accompany Mary to the garden, He carefully placed Himself somewhere that Peter and John would not see Him and would hurry away in their haste so He could assure that the first person to see Him is a woman, the very Mary Magdalene. 

Even His simple words of “touch me not” convey a deep and abiding respect for this woman – it was not an admonition to forbid her but a reminder that He wanted to see her before He did even one more thing and ascended to complete His mission.  In other words, the grand plan of the Father that had been set in motion since millennia before could wait a few precious moments more so He could speak with Mary, and Mary alone, to deliver His singular message of hope and love. 

In due time, the men of His life would see Him again, but this woman – perhaps representing all women – was not to wait any longer.  And while the world does not give this much thought or accord any importance, this moment in time and in the eternities demonstrates the true value Jesus and the Father give to women.  They do not view women as less than men or as subservient.  Women are equally powerful, important, and vital in the eyes of God.  May the world see what He sees in women and accord due respect and reverence!

2018, a Year in Review: Meh

Arizona isn’t the most hospitable of environments with our searing (but dry) heat and the sandstorms for which we’ve borrowed the name “Haboobs” (I’m guessing because we were looking for more ways to make 12-year-old boys snicker), but it isn’t as bad as some might think.  We do have three or four months of absolutely phenomenal weather, and when you exclude many of the people who have fled here from their own over-taxed and failing states (only to try and repeat the same stupid things that drove them out of their states), it’s a place we’ve proudly called home for almost 15 years.  Wow!  Yes, this is the fifteenth holiday missive you’ve received from the Greenes by way of the suburban fun park called Queen Creek.  Enjoy.

Soon after welcoming in the new year of 2018, Sam turned 18 and began his last semester in high school.  After a great deal of prompting and prodding by his parents (it seems “deadline” was a strangely foreign concept to him), he submitted his college applications, and he was accepted at ASU.  While finishing high school and throughout the summer, Sam continued working as an IT guy to feed his shoe addiction and sock money away for future endeavors.  On December 11^th, Sam boarded a plane bound for Mexico City to spend the next six weeks training for his mission in Viña Del Mar, Chile.  We got to speak with him on Christmas day, and in the two weeks in the training center in Mexico he’s already tried a host of different foods, which was nothing short of a miracle, if you know Sam.  If you’re bored or feeling exceptionally chatty, send Sam an email at samuel.greene@myldsmail.net.  He’d love to hear from you.  

While Jack was making his way through his freshman year at ASU, he was working for a local engineering firm keeping the world of apartment complexes safely wired for electricity.  As exciting as that sounds, he left that job as he was about to begin his sophomore year to work on campus at ASU for the sports facilities maintenance department.  One of his jobs was to attend every home football game and hoist up the nets whenever a field goal or extra point was being attempted (so you might see him on television) – it’s not exactly a full-ride scholarship as a starter on the offensive line, but we’ll take what we can get in the parental pride department. Apropos of nothing, we’ve recently learned that Jack has certain preferences for the toilet paper he likes (and doesn’t like) touching his hindquarters.  If you’re dying to hear specifics, send him an email. 

As for Erin and me, little has changed.  I’m guessing most of you have already stopped reading at this point anyway – I don’t blame you.  Erin was recently asked to head up a group of students at the high school to help them with an anti-bullying campaign.  Last I checked, no one is bullying her, so mission accomplished.  In the spring of this year, I was asked to teach the 16 year olds in Sunday School. Last I checked, no one in my class has taken to cooking meth or started a dog-fighting ring in their garage, so mission accomplished.  

We hope this finds you well wherever you are on this big blue marble we call Earth – I’m assuming no one is reading this at the International Space Station.  If you get bored, come visit us here in Arizona.  July or August is a good month: you get BOTH the searing heat and the Haboobs. 

Merry (Are Goats Non Dairy?) Christmas, 2017

Recently, as I was driving home from work, I drove by a sign on the side of the road that read “Goat Yoga”.  Yes, you read that correctly: Goat Yoga.  Now, I’m not sure if this was advertising a service to help stressed-out goats recenter themselves and find their chi or if this was a class for practitioners of this eastern discipline led by a goat - either one sounds like a fairly devilish way to separate people from their money.  While I have no idea what your average goat has going in his or her life that would cause unusually high levels of stress making necessary the need for a transcendental and calming experience every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, or what exactly one of our hairy four-legged friends has to do to be a certified teacher of yoga, I’m sure you’re having similar questions about why you’re spending the next five minutes of your life reading about the Greene family.  Let me know what conclusions you draw.  

In July, Sam started his senior year in high school.  Yes, his SENIOR year.  We recently attended a seminar being given by a representative from the state on what to expect while applying for a specific scholarship, and it’s highly likely that we were the only parents in that room who were born speaking English as their first language.  It was a very strange experience, to say the least.  With brains he must have obtained from someplace other than the collective DNA bank on offer from Erin and me, Sam got a job working in the IT department for a local company, and he really enjoys it.  With this job and the increased availability of hours to work, he’s bringing home a healthy paycheck for a high school student - good thing, too, because Sam has developed a penchant for shoes.  While he’s no Imelda Marcos, we seem to find him wearing a new pair each time we turn around.  

In the same month that Sam started his senior year in high school, Jack came home from his mission in Peru.  When we greeted him at the airport, he wasn’t decked out in a nice, newly dry-cleaned suit and spit-shined shoes; rather, he was wearing a short-sleeve shirt that had once been white with a fraying collar and shoes with holes in the soles large enough to smuggle a Peruvian child (don’t worry, they checked him in customs in Dallas: no Peruvian child).  Fret not, Jack was also wearing pants - that would have been quite the Facebook post if he hadn’t.  VERY SOON after his return home, Jack started at ASU in the engineering program.  He just finished his first semester, and it looks like they’re going to allow him to go for a second one.  Fingers crossed.  

Erin is in her second year at the library over at one of the local high schools.  She recently learned that one young man found eating a hamburger under a table in the library provided a more satisfying culinary experience than, say, in the cafeteria.  It must have something to do with the forbidden nature of the affair - now I’m beginning to see what was going through Eve’s mind with the apple.  Erin continues to be the head honcho for the women’s organization at church, so don’t cross her.  Faster than you can whistle “Despacito”, she can have you and your family stuffed with  enough casserole and Jell-O to give you heartburn that lasts for a week.  

As for me, I continue to lose and find weight fairly regularly - I’m definitely finding more than I’m losing, so I’ve got that going for me.  If you or one of your family members is one of those freaks who “can’t gain weight”, come spend a week with me - I’m confident my “regimen” will help you say otherwise.  

As always, we hope this finds you warm and well in this holiday season (your personal body temperature and overall well-being at other times of the year, frankly, don’t concern us).  Drop us a line or stop by to say hello - the goat yoga class may be accepting new students. 

Another Year, Another Letter (When Will the Madness End?)

After having been a member of the local gym for the past few years, I wish I could say I’ve learned how to eat better and take better care of myself, but if this Christmas missive were accompanied by a photograph (there’s more than one reason we stopped sending those out YEARS ago) you’d know that’s a big, fat lie.  What I have learned, though, is that there’s a direct relationship between a man’s age/weight and the amount of time he walks around completely naked in the sauna and locker room.  You guessed it: the older and fatter, the longer we all get to see them in their full glory.  It’s like a demented episode of Naked & Afraid – the longer they walk around naked, the more afraid I become.  I open with that little gem so you have a nausea-inducing rumbling in your bowels that will last far beyond the time it takes to read our annual letter – and you’ll forget everything you just read.  You’re welcome.

Sam hit the big 16 this year and got his driver’s license as soon as humanly possible.  For Erin, that wasn’t quite fast enough because from the time Sam started his sophomore year at school until he got his license, she still had to chauffeur him to and from school – possibly the longest seven months of her life (since Jack was no longer available to taxi himself and his brother).  Upon acquisition of the truck his brother had previously driven, Sam got the notion that being without an operational stereo was intolerable.  He tried convincing us that this was cruel and unusual punishment, and we just laughed and sent him back out in the 120-degree heat and cancer-inducing sun to cut the grass with a push mower.  Kids!

Back in August, Jack hit his one-year mark – his Hump Day, if you will – so he’s on the downhill side of things now.  He’s slated to come home from Peru at the end of July and start at ASU for the Fall 2017 semester.  While we’re understandably excited to have him come home, we have a feeling it might be advisable to tell him to get on the airplane with only the clothes on his back and leave everything in the jungles of Peru.  As I probably mentioned in last year’s note, it rains over 10 feet each year in his little corner of Peru so nothing every truly dries out, which means everything he has (including his own person) will have mold in every nook and cranny possible.  We might pick him up from the airport in our truck and have him ride home in the back so when we pull up to the house, we can march him in the backyard, have him strip down to his essence, and jump in the pool that’s been treated with triple the normal amount of chlorine (while we burn his clothes and shoes in an open fire pit).  Welcome back, Jack!

Back in October, Erin began working at one of the local high schools as an assistant to the librarian.  She makes it abundantly clear to everyone who asks: she’s not the assistant librarian; she’s the assistant TO the librarian.  In a way, you could say she’s the Dwight Schrute (assistant TO the regional manager) of the Casteel High School library.  That’s certainly better than being Creed, Meredith, or Kevin, for sure.  In her spare time – you know, when she’s not chasing down juvenile delinquents trying to dodge paying fines for overdue books – she’s really gotten into Pilates, so she’s now more flexible than a four-year-old with an underdeveloped spinal column.  It’s quite impressive.

As for myself, what can I say?  I still haven’t written a best-selling novel (or even a worst-selling one, for that matter) or started a rock n roll band that will be the next U2/Beatles – beside the fact I have absolutely no musical talent (which didn’t necessarily stop Justin Beiber), I don’t hang out with enough people to complete a band.  For now, I’ll stick to my snarky comments on Facebook and mildly amusing (at least I make myself laugh) posts on Instagram.  We, the Greenes, wish you a very warm and happy holiday season and hope the nausea will pass quickly!

Christmas 2015

For those of you who have been the unwilling and/or unwitting recipients of this end-of-year epistle in the past, you know that you usually reach the end of reading it even more confused than when you began.  It’s sort of like if you packed for a big trip while heavily medicated: once you’ve reached your destination, you open your suitcase to find that you’ve ONLY packed three different shoes (all for the left foot), an oven mitt, and the centerpiece from your dining room table; and your carry-on is full of nothing but chocolate chip cookie dough.  Well, you’ve been warned – read on.

Sam has had four major events take place in his life this past year:  (1) he finished his first year of high school back in May; (2) he made the honor roll both semesters in his freshman year; (3) he obtained his learner’s permit back in August; and (4) he has surpassed his old man in height.  While the last item isn’t exactly something he had much “control” in accomplishing, we think it might be the one of which he’s most proud.  (Not to steal his thunder, but it’s very possible that his father is shrinking – so he got some help on that one.)  We had the chance to attend an awards ceremony for his honor roll accomplishment, and while we were beaming with pride to see our son being recognized for his hard work, we were also a bit surprised to learn that there are twelve different ways to spell “Courtney” – for both guys and girls, some of which defy all rules of phonics and cultural traditions. 

Earlier this year, we were . . . shocked, frankly, to learn that not only did Jack get accepted to two colleges with great engineering programs but received a scholarship to one of them.  A month or two later, he received his assignment to serve a two-year mission for our church in Iquitos, Peru.  All of this was done BEFORE he had actually graduated from high school, which he did, fortunately.  With his college options and scholarship deferred, Jack spent the summer getting himself ready to depart for Peru in August.  Many of these preparations were arduous and exacting, which included going to the local doughnut shop and setting a record for the number of doughnut holes he could stuff in his mouth.  (The number is 15 for those of you are up for a challenge.)  One of the other things he had done to prepare himself was taking our Ford Ranger off a jump – he admitted this to us at the airport on the day of his departure.  He’s now in Iquitos where it rains 10 feet/year, and he’s eaten grilled anteater.  Send him an email at greene.jackson@myldsmail.net.

Erin got roped into heading up the women’s organization at church this year, which means Sam and I have to make ourselves scarce at the house on occasion so Erin can have women come over to eat cake and talk about secret women stuff.  We’re fairly sure they’re plotting an overthrow of a small third-world country – for the good of the people, of course.  Earlier this year, I had enough grey hair appear in my head to cause the folks at church to bump me up to the oldest men’s organization – you don’t get out of this one alive, if you know what I mean. 

Our door is always open to you.  Even though, as I write this, it’s warmer in New York City than here, this is still a great place to visit.  Be careful how you pack, but rest assured: we’ll make good use of the chocolate chip cookie dough. 

Christmas 2014 - Let There be Cheese!

Just like the Ebola virus, which no one hopes they’ll get but seem sure to hear that it has somehow survived despite humankind’s best efforts to stamp it out and wipe every trace of it off the face of the Earth, I present to you the Greene Family Christmas Letter for 2014 . . . even if it’s a bit later than normal. 

In the spring, Sam went out for his junior high school’s golf team and made the cut.  Making that feat even more impressive, let me point out that the coach was the school’s computer teacher whose complete mentoring and guidance for young golfers could be summed up in his own words: “Keep your head down.”  It didn’t matter if Sam or one of the other team members was topping the ball, hitting a killer slice, or was possibly suffering from athlete’s foot, that was the coach’s answer.  Let’s not be too harsh in judging the cat: he was very busy driving the golf cart with his left knee while he poured a bag of Corn Nuts down his gullet with one hand and held a 128-oz soda “keg” in the other.  And, under this Arnold Palmer’s tutelage, Sam and his team were able to make it to regionals . . . by the grace of David Feherty’s golf god.  In the fall, Sam began high school, which meant that our carpool days were over for the moment – he and Jack ride to and from school each day, which has met, thus far, with no casualties to the car or miscellaneous road signs due to fighting over whose turn it was to scrape the frost off the windshield (have Erin tell you about driving to school with her sister – that poor stop sign). 

As Jack began his senior year of high school in late July, you would have thought he hadn’t a care in the world about where he was going to go to college . . . because he didn’t, much to his parents’ chagrin.  Subtle hints like “do you have an extra $40,000 lying around somewhere to pay for college” and “the S.A.T.s don’t stand for ‘scholarships are toast’” didn’t seem to do much to rally him to the cause.  Somehow, though, he woke up one morning and decided he better get his crap together (don’t jump to conclusions, though: he’s not exactly burning up the internet with applications and emails to every school possible), and one of the major things he realized he needed to obtain was his Eagle rank in Boy Scouts so he could beef up his academic resume.  So, in October of this year, he guilted a whole slew of people into helping him paint the fire lanes at the high school as his project, and soon thereafter he completed everything else required and passed his board of review.  We’re not sure when the ceremony will be held or what form it will take, but we’ll be sure to take lots of photos to prove he actually did it.  We’ll post them on Facebook – especially the one in which he’s being presented the Eagle so I can caption it, “And the old dude gives Jack the bird.” 

As for Erin and myself, we’re trying to find ways to make a little extra money so we’ve toyed with the idea of renting our house out to a meth or crack lab, but the CC&Rs in our neighborhood are pretty tight, and I’m not sure if we can find a loophole.  When we’re not donning our entrepreneurial thinking caps, Erin continues to seek out and cook meals that will elicit the maximum amount of bellyaching from our sons; I am constantly trying out new exercises that make me sweat profusely and completely fatigue me without changing my body composition and muscle-to-fat ratio – it’s a hobby.  We hope this note finds you well and healthy . . . and Ebola free!