Many of you know that Mark was like a brother to John and I.  Needless to say, this has been a very tough time for my family.

I’ll try and be back later in the week with a new blog entry.

It is rare when I have trouble writing about a good experience.  It is even more rare when I visit a place that totally rocks my world.  I’ve been on a “Jackson High” since Tuesday night.  Everyone needs to see this magical place at least once.  Within minutes of arriving, I saw an antelope and a rainbow.  My friend Jen tried to tell me, but I could never fully believe her until I came here myself.  She was right.

I’ve been in Jackson for the past few days and I can honestly say it is unlike any place I have ever been.  I’ve seen antelope, moose, elk, bison and two amazing national parks.  I’ve lived in the shadow of the Grand Tetons and explored the wonders of Yellowstone National Park.  I’ve witnessed an eruption at Old Faithful and taken more amazing pictures than I ever have before in a 48-hour period.  I also experienced the first earthquake of my life (4.8 magnitude!).

Most importantly, I’ve spent some quality time with a dear friend who put her life on hold for me.  Seeing her in her element was the best part about Jackson and because of this our bond has become even stronger.  I’d be lying if I said her move away from Boston hasn’t influenced my decision to move to San Francisco.

Thanks Jenni for an amazing three days.  Everything you said about Jackson was true, and more.  I am very sad to leave you and can’t wait until our paths cross again.

I hope to get back to Jackson sooner rather than later.

See you soon!

Before I moved, I wondered when the moment I would cry was going to be.  I knew it was going to happen sometime in July, but I wasn’t sure when.  It actually happened days after I left town.  The closest I came to crying before that was when my brother and I finally parted ways on Route 128 in Burlington.  He was headed back to Maine, and I was headed back to Burlington one last time.  I’ll never forget that image.

The crying moment actually happened on Saturday.  It was when I was pulling away from Paris, IL the town where my friend Kevin lives.  Ironically, my tears were not because I moved.  Moving away from Burlington was a lot easier than I ever thought it would be.  I cried because I was leaving Kevin and I’m not sure the next time our paths will cross.  He doesn’t read the blog, so it will be easy to share this here.

Leaving Paris was very difficult for me.  It was the most anticipated stop on this trip because Kevin and I never get to see each other.  I’ve written about him before, so I’ll spare you the gory details.  Whenever I’m in Paris, I am always struck by how different it is than any place that I’ve lived.  We were on the way to go canoeing and his kids were all excited to see how big the Dairy Queen was in one of the neighboring towns.  This was astonishing and something I would never have even thought twice about.  The lifestyle in Paris is very unfamiliar to me.

Paris is the type of place where everyone knows everyone else and their business.  Paris the type of place that you can buy a round of drinks for six people and only be charged $12.  Paris is the type of place people drive right by without ever even knowing it was there.  Paris has payphones and jukeboxes.  Most importantly, Paris is the home of one of the greatest influences in my life.

I took the scenic route to Paris because I was ahead of schedule in getting there.  Kevin had taken his daughters to the movies, so I had some time to kill.  To do this, I took some backroads and it was right around sunset.  With the sun setting and the cool midwestern breeze blowing through my car, I had a moment of clarity.  I was free and clear to head anywhere in the world and I was heading to Paris to see Kevin.  For that one brief, singular, moment in time, life was perfect.  I live for moments like that.

I’ve learned so much from Kevin.  To truly know the “Truth About Mike,” you have to know that a lot of who I am and who I have become is because of Kevin.  He is one of the finest people I have ever come across in my life.  I can root for guys like Tiger Woods because I don’t set my moral compass by celebrities; I save that for guys like Kevin.  He’s not perfect and has certainly made his share of mistakes, but he always has his heart in the right place.

I look up to him, and there are very few people I can say that about.

A friend has this as her Facebook status:

Tracey is pondering how you can spend everyday with someone for years as a child, and then go to HS and just do the smile & wave in the halls. Soon you are adults and you do a quick hug, and catch up in the grocery store. Then you let a few more years pass and you hear they have passed away. How did I let so many years go by without calling?

I liked what I wrote in my response, so I will now post it here:

Don’t beat yourself up, Tracey. Life is funny that way. It takes us all in weird, strange directions. It brings us kids and marriages and sometimes divorces.

One of the things that makes Facebook great is that you can somewhat stay in touch with a click of a mouse. Even a “likes this” click lets someone know you did at least think of them. We can’t spend all the time we want with all the people we want. We have to keep our inner circles small so we can hold those in it tight.

Live every day to the fullest – that’s all you can do.

About a month or so ago, my Chief Artistic Consultant Keri asked if she could do another guest blog entry on my birthday.  I was very surprised and after the wonderful job she did last year, I couldn’t possibly say no.  This is quickly becoming my new favorite Truth About Mike tradition.

Check back tomorrow to see what she has to say!

Without you, there is no Truth About Mike.  Actually, my life would probably be completely different if that was the case.

Thanks for being a friend for all these years.

Happy Birthday!

EDITOR’S NOTE: Happy “Glee” day!

I am writing tonight with a heavy heart.  For this is the end of an era.  Last night, Phil and I moved “my” poker table from my house to his.  I moved the table because I have begun the process of getting rid of all the stuff out of my house.  I figure if I do it gradually, moving out will be all the easier.

This table is more than a table.  It is an heirloom.  My friends and I started playing cards (and bumper pool) on this table in Todd’s basement over twenty years ago.  When I decided to sell my house, I asked Todd if he wanted it back.  Surprisingly, he said he didn’t have the room for it.

I was stumped.  I couldn’t just craigslist it (like I have been doing with a lot of other stuff lately).  I couldn’t trust the table in the hands of some stranger – it just wouldn’t be right.  Thankfully, Phil just moved into a new house.  He stepped up and offered to the be curator of this most precious of items.

When I bought my house in 2003, it was a return to Pleasantville.  Adding the table to my screened-in porch made the house a home.  It was a part of my past intertwined with my present.  For the past six years, the table has served me well.  It has been the playing surface of more poker games than I can even count.  It has survived tough New England winters and the windblown snow that snuck its way into the porch through the screens.

After some appetizers and drinks at Chili’s, Phil and I went back to my house and disassembled the table.  The top section is reversable with a soft leather surface on the back side (excellent for sliding cards on).  To my surprise, it was was more emotional than any other piece of furniture I have ever moved.  The twist of each bolt symbolized the twists and turns my life will soon take.

As we tried to put the top section of the table into Phil’s wife’s SUV, we ran into a problem.  It didn’t fit.  We tried every which way and every which angle.  It was like the table knew it’s fate and didn’t want to leave.  The main section of the table fit in the SUV just fine, along with the pool balls and cues.

Determined to begin this new era of table ownership, I wouldn’t be daunted.  I decided to lower the top down on my convertible and throw the top section in the back seat.  It fit, but stuck out pretty far.  Our plan was to have Phil follow me down Route 128 to his house.

During the drive, I was quite worried.  I was worried that a cop may see this silly maneuver and pull me over.  In retrospect, I was probably also over the legal limit after my three drinks at Chili’s.  I was also worried that the top of the table might fly out the back of my car hurling itself towards Phil’s vehicle (actually, I was secretly hoping for this – it would have made a much better blog entry).

Thankfully, we made it ok and cops/crisis were averted.

Today, the table has a new home in Needham.  It has left Pleasantville for the foreseeable future.  A part of me is gone, but the torch has been passed and a new era begins.

Carry the torch well, Phil.

Maybe I will be lucky enough to possess the table once again someday.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Happy birthday to NEIL! who turned 21 on Saturday.  Birthday shots on me next time you are in town!

Yesterday was a great day.

There are times when a day surprises you out of the blue.  Yesterday was one of those days.  Surprisingly, it was the best day out of a very busy weekend.

After getting to bed at about 3:30am, I woke up around seven to start cleaning for my open house.  Yesterday was my second open house.  My realtor doesn’t really believe in them because she thinks that people who attend open houses are just window shoppers and that serious buyers will make an appointment.

My next task was to drop my friend Mike off at the airport.  Mike is from the Bay Area and stayed at my house for the SoSH debauchery this weekend.  After dropping him off, I was driving through the Ted Williams tunnel and I got pulled over.  I took the Ted instead of the usual Sumner Tunnel because I was emailing behind the wheel and missed the turn.

(As an aside, I played soccer for the first time in like 25 years Friday night.  We had such a great time that my friends and I are now looking around for an indoor, co-ed soccer league we can join.)

While I was driving, I saw the cop but didn’t really slow down because he had a “Transit” police car.  Before yesterday, I really didn’t consider them “real” cops.  I didn’t think anything of it as I blew by him.  His first question to me was, “How fast do you think you were going?”

I had no idea, so I guessed 55mph.  He politely informed me that I was doing 65 and then asked me if I knew the speed limit in the tunnel.  I had no idea that it was 40mph (of course).  After checking out my paperwork, he comes back and says:

“You caught me on a good day.  After looking at your record, I can see you are no stranger to speeding (I smiled to myself here).  However, you’ve been clean for five years and I don’t want to ruin that for you.  Next time, slow down – especially when you see a police car.”

Phew.  I thanked him and went on my merry way.

During the open house, my plan was to take Miley to Sheepfold.  After grabbing a coffee, I remembered that my cousin Michele was having an addition put on to her house and I drove my to check it out.  Michele lives here in Pleasantville, but I’m always surprised that I don’t see her more often.  This is my fault as she (and her husband) is usually busy with her daughter and has a bun in the oven as well.

As I was leaving Michele’s house, my iPhone buzzed.  I always talk about how the iPhone changes lives and yesterday it changed mine.  An email came in from my friend Tats and it was regarding my friend Carrie and Che’s cookout.  I had totally forgotten about it because of all the SoSH festivities planned for the weekend.  Carrie was surprised that I forgot because she said I was the first person to RSVP.

At that point, I turned the car around and headed to Carrie and Che’s house.  I had Miley in the car, but figured that I could leave her in there and at least make an appearance.  I’m so glad my iPhone reminded me because I had the best time at the cookout.  Carrie told me to let Miley out and Che gave me a rope to tie her to a tree.  She was pretty well behaved and only knocked over one kid in her usual over-excited state of being.

The other day, I posted about how I don’t get to see my high school friends enough.  The cookout was all high school friends and their kids.  Our dynamic has changed.  We went from watching each other run around and act crazy to watching our (well, their) kids run around and act crazy.  Add in some reminiscing and cornhole and a really great time was had by all.  If it wasn’t for my phone, I would have spaced on the cookout entirely.  Life changed.

Lastly, the open house went really well.  We had 9 visitors in 90 minutes and two of them seemed really interested.  I think September will be the month in which my house finally goes (*knocking on wood*).

These are the type of days that I live for.  Everything fell into place and it was an unexpectedly great day.

Thanks iPhone!

My very first “official” post on this blog was titled People Matter.  I can’t think of a better phrase to describe what I’m blabbering about all the time.  It is fitting that I chose to start with those words.

People do matter, especially the people that matter.  They make everything better and enhance the quality of life through the senses.  They make songs sound better, days brighter, food more tasty, fabric softer and the air smell cleaner.

Last summer, I had a falling out with a longtime friend.  It was a friend I’ve had for over twenty years.  It was a friend who’s letters would always brighten up the dorm lobby when they arrived.  It was a friend who was a confidant for some of my deepest and darkest hopes, fears and dreams.  Most importantly, said friend was my Patriots lifeline.  This friend was the person who got me through that traumatic Super Bowl loss to the Giants last February – because that’s what true friends do.

A few years back, I heard someone say to shrink your inner circle so you can hold those in it tighter and closer.  I loved that advice, followed it, and it truly hurt me when a part of that circle was gone.  As for my Patriots fandom, nothing felt right last season.  Everything was “off” and it seems fitting that my team lost its star quarterback just minutes after the first kickoff.

There’s something to be said about continuity in life.

In retrospect and with great difficulty, I will say that the fault was mostly mine (51% to be precise – it does take two to tango).  I spoke/acted before I thought and didn’t really realize the repercussions of my words/actions until after I delivered them.  Sh*t happens, I guess.  Nobody’s perfect.

Anyways, time passed by without contact.  I distinctly remember coming home from the first game; I heard the news that Tom Brady’s injury was season-ending, slumped down on my couch, and threw my head in my hands in disgust.  Instinctively, I reached for my phone.  After remembering that my Patriots lifeline wasn’t available anymore, I put it back down.

Holidays came and went.  The 2008 Patriots season ended unceremoniously with the Pats missing the playoffs.  Things would happen during the season and I’d be in my seat at the Blade feeling empty because I couldn’t fire off that panic text.  I missed the reassuring response that would come in the way that only my friend could deliver.

All aspects of life are better when shared, even football games.

Friday night, I ran into said friend.  The sight of my longtime friend brought everything back.  After a few quick words, quick laughs and a quick hug, everything seemed normal again.  It was like we hadn’t missed a beat.  Time heals all wounds.

Over the past few days, I have been amazed at how much a healed wound can lead to an enhanced state of mind, and state of being.  My smile has been bigger, my stride has been swifter and stuff that normally would have bothered me (hello six game losing streak and getting swept by the dreaded Yankees) really didn’t seem to matter.

I have my friend back and all is well.

Tonight, Brady returns to the football field (for an exhibition) for the first time since that fateful day last September.  I go into this season as hopeful as any.  Unlike last year, in case of football emergency, I can break the glass and my lifeline will be there.

To Mr. Brady and my friend, I say: Welcome back. I really missed you both.

To the other teams in the NFL, I say: Beware. Brady’s back, the Patriots look as strong as ever, and my circle is whole once again.

It’s going to be a great ride from here on out.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Get well soon, Sarah! My blog simply isn’t the same without you reading along.

People tell me I go to a lot of weddings.  I don’t know if this is true or not and there really is no way to quantify it.  After my divorce, I had a hard time going to weddings.  I’d try and think of excuses why/ways I couldn’t go, but always ended up going.

It was that whole, “till death do you part” stuff that always got me.  I’d cringe and literally have to think of something else while those words were said.  It was like I was becoming more cynical with each passing wedding.  I thought to myself, how can people get so damn excited about weddings when the divorce rate in this country was an astonishing 55%?  It didn’t make sense and all seemed like a sham to me.

(As an aside, the whole Pollyanna-dude becoming cynical is an ugly scene – think of Spock’s blood boiling in the third Star Trek movie.  OK, maybe not that bad.)

This past weekend I went to my friend Emily’s wedding up in the White Mountains.  In addition to my normal wedding issues, I was slightly worried about attending this one because the only people I’d know there were the bride, her immediate family (parents, brother) and the groom.  I can have a good time anywhere and am pretty good interacting with strangers, but there is nothing worse than having a bad time at a wedding; You can’t escape.  Mr. Baseball and I were once at a wedding where we were seated at the same table as the band.  We both shared a laugh when we learned that they sit the “B list” guests with the band.

(As another aside, I don’t know why I don’t go up to the White Mountains more often.  It is so beautiful up there and not far of a drive at all.)

It turns out my fears were unfounded.  I had a really great time.  The rain seemed to have a copy of the schedule of the days events, because it held off just long enough for the ceremony to be held outside.  Emily’s family (especially her mother and brother) was so nice in introducing me to everyone.  I entered not really knowing anyone and left with a whole bunch of new friends, an invitation for steaks, crabs and a place to stay in Baltimore, smoked a great cigar, too many free drinks (gotta love open bars), funny family stories, Red Sox/Yankees trash talk and an extra box of homemade Kolachki (yum).  They were all so nice that it felt like I was part of the family.

(As an even another aside, my new comeback for the whole “26 World Series Rings” thing that Yankee fans love to trot out is that NONE of them were broadcast in HD – Yeah, you can go ahead and use that one as your own.)

It is that type of communal spirit that makes weddings great.  They are a re-affirmation of love and are always mini-family reunions. Everyone (usually) looks great, there are kids running around, and smiles rage through the room like a rushing river.  Furthermore, weddings usually always have great food, good drinks, good music and bad dancing.

After the last dance of the evening, the DJ guy directed everyone outside.  As first I was really confused, but I overheard someone say that it was time for the fireworks.  It turns out I overheard correctly.  All of the wedding guests were treated to a 10-15 minute fireworks show.  It was done by the bride’s parents and both Emily and Tim were quite surprised by it.

Knowing how much Emily loves fireworks, it was a great touch.  Out of all the weddings I’ve been to, I’ve never seen a fireworks show.  It was even better nestled in the middle of the Presidential Range of the White Mountains.  When we got outside, it seemed like every constellation in the universe was visable.  It was one of those sights you don’t see living near the city.

(As my final aside, it is always funny to listen to people’s reactions to fireworks. They ooh and ahh as if the exploding thingys can actually hear you.)

As those fireworks went off under all of those stars, my faith in weddings was re-affirmed.  Sure there are a lot of marriages that fail, but for all those marriages, many actually work out.  Just because some marriages end in divorce, it doesn’t mean people should stop getting married.  Every new marriage is an attempt to right the wrongs of past failed marriages.  Love never stops trying and will always find a way.

The best part about the marriages that work out is that they last years and extend into forever.