This last week has not been as productive as it should have been. I’m not sure I want to elaborate on my shame any further.

The volume of rain we have been getting has been approaching ridiculous levels. We went about six months with virtually no rain, and then this last week or so we get about a year’s worth all at once. Although we need the rain, it pains me to see so much of it fall all at once. It’s all going to waste. I stand outside on my front porch and watch a river of fresh water rushing off to the drainage system that will deliver it all to the Gulf of Mexico. Meanwhile, two months from now we’ll be in the middle of another drought and all of that water will be long gone. If I were inclined to care for my lawn, I would kill for a cistern or something similar to catch and store all of that run-off rain water. Once you get beyond the cost of building the thing, you would have free water for irrigation. Oh well, it was nice to see the rain.

Anyone who has known me for any length of time (or has seen my house) knows that our family does not highly value non-human life. You tell me how long a plant can live without water and I’ll tell you how long it will last in my care. So it was with mixed feelings that the city made a contribution to the Kauffman Lawn Rehabilitation Project. The city recently finished installing a reclaimed water line leading to our property. While installing the line, they had to dig up one corner of our lot, between the sidewalk and the street. Technically, this is not considered part of “our” lot – at least I don’t think it does. Anyway, the city has been graciously planting sod to replace the grass that they’ve been tearing up. The only problem was that they didn’t have to tear up any grass while working on our side of the street (not much anyway). Regardless, they put down sod where they had disturbed the land. As a result, we now have a four foot square of green grass in the corner of our yard. I really didn’t think our yard looked that bad, but the new square of grass really highlights how horrible it really is – a kind of green badge of shame for the rest of our yard. Making matters worse, it really rained a lot right after they put it down. We haven’t gotten as much rain in the last nine months as we got in the last week. All of that rain means little to dirt, but a lot to fresh new sod. The new sod wouldn’t have looked better if, on the eighth day God had said, “let there be green grass at the Kauffman’s.”

Naturally, some of the more interesting discussions we have in the office have nothing to do with work. This week was no exception. We were discussing teachers involved in scandals and I recalled a teacher from my past that recently committed suicide due to an unflattering allegation. I recalled that this person was a very good teacher, pointing out the interesting year end project that our class was involved with. Then, I commented that many people I’ve talked to have said, “you know, it doesn’t surprise me….” My coworker was incensed. My coworker wondered aloud where all of these people were when he was “the good teacher?” We hear an allegation, the accused reacts, and we all assume the worst. Granted, it doesn’t look good, but who really knows? The accused and the accuser know, but who else? I don’t. They don’t. Maybe we should all be a little less quick to judge. Strike that, there is no maybe…we all should be a little less quick to judge.

With the exception of a rare burst of inspiration this evening, I’ve not been overly excited by the results of my self imposed deadlines to “create.” I continue to hold out hope that I’ll get better with practice. And who knows, maybe I’ll find some time during the days to come when I’ve the time and lack of distraction to do better. Time will tell.

You would think that Cheryl would know better.
I’m sitting in the dinning room after supper one evening. I can’t remember what we were talking about. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I mentioned the cost of some software that I would like to get some day. You may be thinking that this was some clandestine plot to plant seeds, but it really wasn’t. Cheryl responds: “why don’t you go ahead and get it?” At this moment, several reasons come to mind, most of which involve nonspecific memories of Cheryl saying “…we don’t have enough money for that right now….” So I reply, “Because I didn’t think it was a priority right now, with all of the things we want to get for the house.” Now, you have to admit that this was a world class response. I couldn’t have come up with a better reply if I had a night to think it over. Cheryl thinks it over and decides: “well, let’s see where we are after this month.” You bet I will!

What I did this weekend, in 20 words or less:
I played with a free, tryout version of the software I hope to buy next month.

When I wasn’t playing with my computer, we did a couple of responsible things this week. We finally made it down to Home Depot to buy Pergo, the laminate alternative to real wood that is a snap to install. We’ll see in a couple of weeks I guess (when it is delivered). We also go to see the famous Garrison-Jones Elementary School, where Beth will be starting kindergarten next fall. It’s funny how everyone refers to school starting in the fall. I can’t remember school ever starting sometime other than August, and nothing says summer to me more than August in Florida. You go running around in my back yard in August and tell me it’s fall. The occasion for our visit to Beth’s new school was parent orientation. We got to meet all of the kindergarten teachers, sit in little people chairs, and be spoken to like the little people that normally sit in them. I don’t mean to infer that they were speaking down to us, just that their classroom techniques were coming out in their presentation. The best example that I can think of was this: a teacher pointed to each of the items of a list posted on the wall, as she spoke about each item. The practice of pointing to visual aids as you discuss them is common. What made me feel like a kindergarten student was the teacher pointing to each of the individual words as she spoke them.

We spent mother’s day at our new, old standby: Jesse’s Seafood. Unlike our last experience there, I loved my food. Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my in-laws. Cheryl’s mom sat across from me and said, “I ordered my steak cooked medium.” I then looked at a cross section of her steak. I could describe what I saw in many ways. However, none of them would include the word “pink.” Cheryl’s mother can be one of the most diplomatic people I know (when speaking to someone other than a blood relative). Despite her struggles dividing the meat into digestible portions, the worst thing she had to say about her meal was: “the meat seams a little tough.” This seemed a bit of an understatement, considering the color of her knuckles at the time. They had less pink in them than the meat.

On a somber note, we’ve been coping with the prospect of losing some friends to relocation. The best man at my wedding appears likely to be headed to Virginia. While we are happy for him and the opportunity that awaits him and his family, we are saddened and jealous by the prospect. I don’t make friends easily, and making matters worse I don’t pay enough attention to the ones I’ve got. We will see them off with no small amount of sadness and regret.

Finally, I’m finishing this up on the 8th anniversary of our wedding, and I love my bride more than ever.

For all of you who yearn for the good old days of the former Soviet Union, happy May Day!

I was about to leave my greeting at that, but I feared that in doing so I may be showing off the vastness of my ignorance. So, not wishing to appear quite as dumb as I really am, I went off in search of knowledge. First, I tried doing a search on the internet. This led to the discovery of a number of sites devoted to the holiday. Almost immediately my fears were realized, I am just as ignorant as I thought. While the old Soviet Union was notable for celebrating May Day as a kind of socialist Labor Day, May Day predates Labor Day as a worker’s holiday, and originally had little to do with organized labor. May Day originally was (and remains) a celebration of the blooming visible signs of spring. In the United States and Europe, it appears May Day was the original “Labor Day”, but with a more activist flavor. Several web sites claim that May Day had it’s activist origins in the struggle for more reasonable work hours and conditions in the late 19th century. Fearing that anonymous web sites may not be the most reliable research tool, I checked the Microsoft Encyclopedia (Encarta) web site. Sure enough, the article on May Day verified most of the claims by the other sites. So, it appears that you can observe May Day without being a “commie” after all.

Wednesday was notable for a conversation I had with a recently departed, former coworker. I’ve had many similar conversations with this person, and this may have been the last. Although, I hold out hope that it will not. The coworker in question filled an indispensable niche in our office, one that will be sorely missed. She was office confidant, gossip; and, for me – affirmant of worth. Her kind words always made me feel better about myself, even when I felt that I was not worthy. Anyway, Wednesday came and went, and it meant that there was one less day that she would be around.

What can I say about the weekend? It was a weekend, which is inherently good. I didn’t mow the lawn, also good (unless you are my wife). After a prolonged stay in the Apple store (Beth was having a wonderful time with the iMacs on display), we bought Beth a new game for her iMac at home, as a reward for filling another “treat sheet.” Then, after a nice long Saturday of doing nothing in particular, we enjoyed a “first birthday” party with some friends on Sunday. My wife and I both worried that it would be a typical April afternoon, relentlessly sunny and hot. We were pleasantly surprised that the afternoon was positively lovely. Cool breezes and lots of shade ruled the day.

This week was notable in that another milestone came and went. This was not a milestone like a 16th, 18th, or 21st birthday. No one asked me if I wanted anything to go with my milestone. I just felt…well…, I didn’t feel much of anything really. I was shaving one morning, looking intently at my refection in the mirror, and there it was, a gray hair. Some people react poorly to this phenomenon. They might look in the mirror and mutter some explicative. Me, I laughed. It’s not exactly cause for celebration; but then, it’s not cause to take some medication that you might see advertised on T.V. either (…if you suffer from clinical depression or severe anxiety disorder, ask your doctor if Lipiflex is right for you! – may cause dizziness, headache, bleeding gums, loss of appetite, hair loss, or severe intestinal cramping). It was just one more thing to prove to myself that I really am growing up.

We finish our tour of the last week with another day in court. Most notable was the return of the “greedy woman defense” in family court. It’s remarkable to me that anyone believes that this will be a successful defense to a petition for child support, particularly in the kinds of cases that we see, cases where the petitioner clearly does not have sufficient means to support herself (or himself) and a child comfortably. And yet, I’m somewhat surprised that it has been so long since our old friend has paid us a visit. It was about as regular as they get before disappearing for a while.

Ah well, Beth said that she wanted to play football tonight, so I guess that’s it for now.

This is my attempt to put creativity on a schedule. Odd you say, to force yourself to do something that you should enjoy? True, I enjoy my feeble attempts to create, but I find that I rarely have the time to do it. My thinking is that maybe if I make time for it then I will do it. O.K., maybe I’m not explaining myself well, but at this point I don’t care. No one is likely to read this anyway so what difference does it make if some nonexistent reader understands my rationale. I’m writing it. I’m the only one reading it. It works for me. Everyone else can just go on with their normal lives and continue not reading this.

I figure I’ll try to update the site with a new installment every Wednesday, reporting on the events that occurred the previous Wednesday through Tuesday. I figure this will work the best for a writing week. Most things happen in my life on the weekend. Since things are happening I have less time to write about them. However, I do work full time, Monday through Friday. Putting this thing off until Wednesday gives me some time to get it all in. Why not put it off even longer, say Thursday or Friday? Well, I’m glad you were not around to ask.

Wednesday of last week was an unusual opportunity to go to court in Clearwater. Let’s see, Clearwater court = get out early, last Thursday and Friday = days off, two days off = eureka! Thursday and Friday I did as little as possible, mostly hanging out with my sister and her husband who were in town for Lisa’s wedding. I’ve learned the value in doing nothing in particular with your free time. After all, if you make a lot of plans then your time is no longer free.

The wedding was great. It began with the preparations at my parents house. Lisa doing her thing and the rest of us mostly hanging out. The photographer took some posed pictures of the preparation and we were out the door, not to return until much later that day. Beth was supposed to be the flower girl, but her duties went largely unfulfilled. First, she was hesitant to walk down the isle solo, so I agreed to accompany her. Then, about half way down the isle she announces in a louder than conversational tone, “daddy, I don’t want to carry this any more.” She was talking about her basket of flowers which she was trying to hand to me. Feeling that this was not the place to argue, I took the basket and we continued to walk. Does a girl walking down the isle with her daddy sans flowers still count as a flower girl? In any case, Beth was a hit, and made the wedding memorable for me if no one else. The reception at Innisbrook was a refreshing change of pace from the other wedding receptions I’ve experienced. The most notable welcome change? No dancing. No Chicken dance. No conga line. If you wanted to fall asleep in your chair no one was going to stop you. Cheryl did not enjoy the reception quite as much as I did, largely because she felt Beth was being difficult. I didn’t notice so much, but then I was off taking pictures more often. Oh well.

Perhaps the best part of all was the trip to Epcot on Sunday. Me, Cheryl, Beth, my parents, Christy and Mike met Mike’s family in Orlando for an Epcot encounter. The trip was one of the best I’ve had to the park. Outwardly, I’m sure I projected not nearly so glowing a reception of the park. I had this persistent monster of a headache that I just couldn’t shake for much of the day, so I’m sure I didn’t look enthused. However, I still left the park with an overall feeling of joy. Any trip that can overcome that kind of pain must have been pretty good. Further, I think it was just about the most fun that I’ve had with Beth at an amusement park. It was the first time that we all could do the same things together. There was no waiving and waiting while Beth went on another kiddie ride. There were no fits of impatience while Beth waited for a grown up to get off a “big person’s ride.”

Tuesday was notable in that it was an interesting day in court. Most of the folks in court had been wading in the shallow end of the gene pool. As my coworker noted, the missing link has been found! It was just one of those forehead smacking kind of days.

Anyway, that’s about it. I know that this isn’t much. It’s probably boring as sin (assuming that anyone actually suffered through this), but I hope I’ll get better with practice. Why I would think this is anyone’s guess. It certainly isn’t based on real world experience.

Foreword As it turns out, I never mailed this letter. I did not know where you were, and didn’t know where to send it. It seems even your parents have moved on, so here this letter has sat. I have no illusions that you will someday happen upon this letter here, so I’m not exactly sure what my motivation is in placing it here. For that matter, I have no illusions that many people at all will happen upon this letter here. Maybe this is a kind of modern day message in a bottle cast into the sea. Maybe, just maybe, someone will find this here and read about a guy who wishes he could find his old friend – and say thanks.
JK – 10/11/2001

Tuesday, June 6, 2000 (9:32 pm)

Dear Ben,

I begin to write this letter unsure of my intent to mail it. As you may or may not recall, mine is a contemplative soul; and the last few days I have been thinking about those who have had an influence on my life. In the event that whimsy leads to this letter being sent, please don’t be scarred off by the what comes next (despite what may appear otherwise, this is not a “coming out of the closet, lost love of my life” kind of letter – “Not that there is anything wrong with that” – Jerry Seinfeld ).

I am unsure of my willingness to send this letter because it expresses something that is not typically shared between male friends, particularly those that have not spoken in what must be seven years. We give up power over ourselves when we share from within, and this is disconcerting; even to the most self assured of us – and I will never be counted among the most self-assured. Furthermore, I’m not sure that this would ever get to you, even if I wanted to send it to you. On the occasions that I run into common acquaintances from the past, one of the great mysteries that is discussed is: “what happened to Ben.” Last rumor had it that you were married with child in Maine. In any case, I figure a good start would be to try your parent’s old address in Dunedin. Just the same, my journey down memory lane (so to speak) has lead to a powerful desire to share something that perhaps was never communicated in the past. In part, this is because it was hard to realize until later in life – and by then it was too late (perhaps). Often we have little trouble giving others negative feed back. We argue. We criticize. We hold grudges. But how often do we say to others: “hey, you were appreciated, thanks.”

I’ve no idea who you are today, much less where. I don’t mean this as condemnation, I just thought I would state what should be obvious. Much can happen in seven years, and those events shape the people we become. Which gets me to why I have written this letter. With the perspective that I have gained in the last several years, I have come to realize that my years in Gainesville, particularly the first two – had more influence on my life thus far than any others. I remember two states of being in those first two years at UF: camaraderie and a sense of belonging among my friends; solitude and despair when on my own. When on my own, I obsessed over the notion that I had let the “love of my life” get away. I was sure that I would find no one better, and the one I wanted was forever out of reach. This ultimately turned out to be untrue, but how was I to know then? What kept me going was my friends. You, Steve, and yes even Shad; helped me in ways and to an extent that I will never be able to express. In those two years you were a friend who’s importance had not then, nor has since, been eclipsed by any other (not including my wife). Simply put, you listened. Although it may not have seemed it at the time, your occasional reassurances meant a lot to me. I can remember one specific example that stands out. I remember walking together to a late night session of racquetball, and once again bemoaning my plight, which surely must have gotten old after awhile. But, none the less, you came through. I remember you saying that you thought we (Cheryl and I) would end up together, and that things had a way of working out. While I was not ready to believe Cheryl and I would end up together, your reassurance meant a great deal. At a time when I was love sick and unsure of my academic ability, I felt like someone believed in my potential, someone who’s opinion I respected.

I’ve no idea what you thought of me then, or what you think of me now. In school, I don’t think we were always the best of examples for each other. There are things I remember doing and saying that I am, quite frankly, ashamed of. However, from my perspective, you were the best of friends. This leads me to my regrets. I regret that I was selfish; that I received more than I gave. I regret that I was not there to return the favor in times that it may have been needed. I regret that I was less than honest on occasion with all of you. In short, I regret that I was not as good a friend in return. It is my hope that you thought of me as a friend; but reflecting on my actions and behavior back then I can not be sure, and I am truly sorry.

While I’m not sure I’ll send this, it won’t surprise me if it does end up in the mail. The last several years have added to my personality a bit of irreverence to some societal norms. So what the heck?

At this point, I feel it necessary to add the obligatory: “so much has happened since we last spoke.” It truly has. Cheryl and I celebrated our 6th wedding anniversary this year. We have a wonderful daughter, Beth, who will be three in July. We bought our first house two years ago. My sister Christy graduated from Medical school 8th (or somewhere around there) in her class, and has accepted a pediatric residency. She is now married to one of her classmates, who is a resident at the same hospital in neurosurgery. My youngest sister Lisa graduated from the nursing program at UF, and is waiting to take her board exams to become an RN. Steve is married, and his daughter Madelynn will be one in August.

Later this year it will be 10 years since my break-through evening with Cheryl after Gator Growl. Do you remember that night? That night has been just as important to me as any anniversary or birthday. Cheryl and I began our journey together that night. Cheryl and I talked until about 4am. We talked about whether I felt the same as I did in High School about her, and whether my still strong feelings were requited. Afterward, I remember waking you up to tell you all about it, and talking about it with you until almost sunrise the next morning. Among other things, I remember you put on a big grin and said, “I told you so.” It was one of the most important nights of my life, and I remember clearly sharing the details with my best friend. Everyday, since that day, has been a celebration – and I owe it partially to you.

Thanks.

Your ever grateful friend,
JK

Despite myself, I am optimistic.

My job brings me to court twice a week to work on child support cases. The cases we see are predisposed to be the the worst of the lot. They can be the ones which no other form of persuasion has prompted someone to be a good parent. We are taking the action of last resort, we are going to court. If that were not enough, the atmosphere is charged by the inherently difficult issues of money, children, abandonment, and love unrequited.

Recently I was working on a case which was tragically typical: a man was summoned to court to legally establish paternity and child support for a child he had not met. Only after learning the results of a DNA test, six weeks prior, did he even know that he was a father to this two year old child. We worked out an agreement to pay support without having to go to an actual hearing. As we were finishing up he asked a common question: “what do I have to do to see this child?” I gave my usual answer: “the easiest way is to work it out with the mother.” He allowed that they were not on the best of terms, and I noticed that they both had new “significant others” in attendance, to give them moral support. I’m no great authority on anything, and having just sat on the opposite side of the table on a deal to take an additional couple hundred dollars from his paycheck, I didn’t feel I was in the best position to give him friendly advise (and have it heeded). However, I could not help myself. At this point the meeting usually ends one of two ways. After I tell the parent that the payoff may be worth the try, I get a look which says “yeah, sure”; or, I get a response that goes something like “you may be right” – followed by the mother and father ignoring each other on their way back to their lives. This time however neither happened. It was a busy day, so I kind of hurried off to the next case and didn’t notice what they did right after we were done. However, about twenty minutes later I noticed the four of them in the hallway outside the courtroom. The mother, father, current boyfriend and current girlfriend were all talking together. I heard the mother say to the father, “give me a call. . . .” I saw the father and the current boyfriend shake hands. I saw what looked like a sincere, friendly wave mirrored by the mother and the current girlfriend.

The cynic in me would say that it was but a brief moment, and it will be awfully tough – maybe too tough – to keep that up for very long. But there was something about them all, something that I can’t put my finger on which makes me feel that they have got a chance. It is moments like these that make my job worth while. The thought that if I had anything at all – however small – to do with something that may enrich the lives of several people, it would be special beyond explanation.

Optimism ruled the day, and I am hopeful for a good start.