the smedley log - suburban scrawl

Walking man

Posted by mobile phone:
I’ve been hosting my brother-in-law Steve this weekend, for his trip to Philly to run the marathon. As a non-participant, I’ve still managed to cover a good distance on foot since the race began. I’m currently resting (and finally getting some food) at Starbucks at Market and 18th. Just locating a place not mobbed with race watchers has been an adventure.

One unexpected bit of fun arose this morning when, just after dropping Steve off, I discovered a parking spot on Race Street (which I drove down thinking the name of the street might have been a sign).

The space, while incredibly close to the marathon finish line, did pose a challenge to my somewhat rusty city parking skills. I’m even a little proud of myself for squeezing the car in without incident; I may post a picture of it when I post a couple from the marathon itself.

Father’s Day, 2007

As I wrote in another cursory dad’s day post already this morning, fatherhood is a title much easier to get than it is to earn. In recognition of that reality, I’d like to wish a happy Father’s Day to all the fathers out there who’ve really put their best effort into earning the title – especially my father.

I wouldn’t have quite the paternal appreciation I do if not for the example set by my father. I’m going to continue a tradition of sorts by pointing to last year’s post for the occasion, a post that points back even further and steals a great poetic expression from Robert Hayden.

Click here to read that post.

paternity

it would have taken
so much less effort to be
“dad” in name only.

our lady of perpetual thanks

this day of mothers
exposes the gratitude
we should always have.

TV turnoff week

Today marks the beginning of TV Turnoff Week. Taking part isn’t so difficult for me, as I might be averaging about 3-5 hours a week these days. Trying to lump in my internet use may be a bit more difficult, though I’ll keep with the current trend of relatively light posting here (except, maybe, for the daily haiku).

(via Metroblogging)

One more…

Lantern #5
by Karen Nicoloso

Godfather
Uncle Howard
Shoots many people
(with his camera thankfully)
Photographer

While I was away…

After ignoring the blog for almost a full day, I was a bit surprised to see that someone (my brother-in-law) had updated for me, with two fine poetic contributions from both a niece and a nephew, as well as a brief request for other dental considerations.

Not lost in the mix is the fact that I am now the subject of at least two pieces of poetry, and suddenly I seem to recall someone warning me to be careful what I wish for. But it made my day just the same.

And yes, the teeth are feeling somewhat better now.

Venerable Cardinal Newman…

Pray for my daughter’s teeth.

Maxillofacial 575

Maxillofacial 575
by Karen Nicoloso

Poor Uncle Howard,
The dentist stole his wisdom…
Teeth. Where are they now?

A Poem About My Uncle

A Poem About my Uncle
by Daniel Nicoloso

My dear old Uncle Howard,
He’s quite a camera guy.
You must beware that look,
That he gets into his eye.
It’s the sign it’s time to fly, fly, fly

He meanders ‘bout the house
Shooting me and all my siblings
Whether munching at our lunches,
Or immersed in petty quiblings

We must beware the sound
Of that zooming camera scope
Hearing it’s
Our last little bit of hope,
To hide behind a curtain, a table or a bed
Or maybe, just maybe do something else instead.
We could come out of our hiding,
Standing straight and tall,
Like a military person,
Backed up against a wall.

Personally I think, I’d stare him in the face
And think to myself, “Oh, what a futile chase.”
The flash would sound
And the tables turn ‘round.
And suddenly I am still,
Upon his window sill, sill, sill…

I’m standing still and not quite harmed,
Though he be deadly armed,
He chuckles and walks away,
He lives to shoot another day,
My dear old Uncle Howard,
He’s quite a camera guy

I’m not Catholic, but my Godchildren are

And so my sister and her half-dozen offspring ventured out my way to visit the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, home to the shrine for St. Katharine Drexel.

Since they were in town, I went along, never wanting to miss the opportunity to spend time with the nieces and nephews (five of whom are also my Godchildren). We first stopped for lunch at Poppy’s, where the eight of us downed the better part of two pies. Then we ventured over to Bensalem where the Sisters, along with the Drexel shrine, reside.

The shrine was interesting, and I wish I’d taken a camera (for some reason I thought cameras wouldn’t be welcome – apparently I was wrong). Among the artifacts related to the life of Katharine Drexel was a collection of worn down pencils in a glass case. They were part of a display demonstrating St. Katharine’s commitment to her vow of poverty.

Poverty strikes me as an impressive vow to keep. Considering Drexel’s background, maybe even more so. Heir to a vast inheritance, she could have chosen a much more lavish life. Instead she chose to try to serve the under-served, contributing large sums of her family’s fortune in the process – effectively putting her money where her mouth was.

I’ve just been thinking about how rare that is, how counterculture it is, given everything society conditions us to value. I’m not Catholic, but I’m always impressed by people whose commitment to serving others is stronger than the desire to serve themselves.

indelible charm

once tiny fingers
and soft, toothless smiles take hold,
there’s no shaking loose.

I wanted to see the trains

When I was young, we had a train set. It was an HO set with an oval track and some buildings and landscape fixtures molded to a large board that traditionally went under the tree every Christmas.

I used to love playing with those trains, even though my father cringed every time I got near the controls. He would often direct me to be more cautious with the speed of the train, especially around the bends, but try as he might, I had my own ideas about speed (as well as a budding fascination with derailment).

Every once in while, usually between Christmases, he’d take me with him to the hobby store to buy new cars, accessories, or parts for dysfunctional locomotives that I’d “help” him repair when we got back home. I always enjoyed the repair sessions, though I’m afraid I wasn’t much help most of the time. Still, I recall the experience fondly.

I don’t know what’s become of the old set. I know the old board was in need of replacement years ago, and I have no clue as the whereabouts of the power supply or the trains themselves. (I should ask my father sometime, I suppose.)

I was reminded of the train set this past Christmas when the son of a friend of mine was given a set by his grandfather. The thought of a grandfather setting up a train set with his grandson makes me smile.

I had thoughts of going with my friend to see a local model train display yesterday. I was expecting a call sometime in the late morning or early afternoon regarding when we’d go. The call never came – or should I say the phone never rang.

At some point between Friday night and Saturday morning I apparently turned off the ringer, so I didn’t realize when the call came on early Saturday afternoon. While I was putting around waiting for a phone call, my friend was probably wondering why I was neither answering the phone nor calling back.

If you’re reading this, I’m sorry for the mix-up. I really wanted to go see the trains.

Happy birthday

to my most senior niece.

As long as it matters…

I finally have good news for a small (but important) segment of my readership. The Flickr photoset from my parents’ 40th wedding anniversary celebration is finally up.

Of course, these are just the photos I took – I know there were a few other cameras floating around that day, but these should hold you over for now.

Click here for the “Ruby Celebration” photoset. (To find out the relevance of the title of this post, you may have to dig a little deeper.)

The ruby celebration

Over the past weekend my parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary. My parents, who rarely make a fuss about anything, stepped out of character to plan a second wedding of sorts, during which they renewed their vows and even threw a second reception. It should be needless to say, but I am impressed by my parents.

Then again, I’ve often been impressed by my parents – the older I get, the more that seems to happen. I guess 40 years is a feat, even to a total stranger, but from an insider view, it seems more so. I’ll carry my impressions a step further: my parents don’t simply impress me; they inspire me.

We hear incessantly how slim the chances of marital success are. Whatever the reasons, a startling number of ‘til-death-do-us-part’s end before death does its parting. It’s against this backdrop that all of my past relationships have fallen. I’ve encountered an attitude of expectation when it comes to relationship failure. Simply put, I’ve dated more than a couple women who’ve gone into the experience not only openly doubting the relationship will last, but that relationships, in general, can last. I think, as I have for some time, that a lot of this sort of doubt is culturally enhanced. I say that based on hearing lamentations about things like “true love” being so hard to find.

It’s a lamentation with which I can heartily agree, but I think the reason is what most people miss. “True love” is incredibly hard to find because most of us fail to correctly define it.* Without sharing any specific details, I know my parents settled on the proper definitions of true love, and that’s a huge part of how they arrived at this point 40 years down the road, still together.

I only hope some day to arrive at a similar point. I want someone whose presence I can thoroughly enjoy, but I also want someone who’ll share my foxhole mentality when things are tough. My ideal has never had to do with sharing an easy life with someone; it was, however, always about finding the satisfaction that comes with sticking it out alongside someone you genuinely care about. As a rule, the things in my life I’ve appreciated most have been those that came with the most difficulty. Maybe that’s how I know they’re worth the effort. Well, that and the example my parents began setting six years before I was born.

This is for all those out there who’ve found what I seek; may your journeys continue. It’s for all those who are still seeking like I am; may we find that dream. But most of all, it’s for my parents, who inspire me to seek such lofty ideals. Congratulations on your ruby milestone.

• * – I had started this meditation a couple weeks back when posting a quick thought on a movie quotation. I also followed this line of reasoning (quite possibly in better fashion) much earlier than that.

On the lookout for new photos

Attended the baptism of the newest niece yesterday. Wonderful time had by all. New Flickr batch to come. Soon. is up.

That time again…

Having reloaded my camera’s memory card, a few of the latest uploads await.

Sunday’s child

Sprouted early this a.m. to scrounge up the Sunday Inquirer, mostly because a little bird told me there’d be a column of interest to a local blogger like myself.

Turns out, Chris Satullo, the Inqy editorial page editor, ran a nice piece on Above Average Jane’s quest for answers to the civics question, “What’s our part of the bargain?” A well-deserved kudos to Jane for being one of the voices in the wilderness of blogging actually trying to initiate a real dialogue. (I’d say that’s why she rises to the top of my local blogroll in the sidebar, but it’s actually just an alphabetic coincidence.)

Satullo’s piece only annoys on one level, in that he does not credit the excerpts he pulls from some of the responses Jane received (which probably only registers with me because he pulled a whopping four words from my response for use as a convenient segue). But it’s still worth a look. I also encourage you to browse the responses to Jane’s question.

And in an aside, kudos to Chris Satullo, for correctly noting in the opening of his column that today, not July 4, is the actual anniversary of the decision to declare independence. (July 4 was simply the day the paperwork got filed, so to speak.)

And why is that last bit important? -just vanity I suppose. Though while I’m on that subject, I should probably give props to my mother on the 34th anniversary of what must have been 28 of the most difficult hours she’s ever endured. Way to go mom!

Esther (continued)

Here she is, finally, in all her redness…