Searching for thanks to give

MH900422849 (Cornucopia)This has turned out to be the most difficult blog post I’ve ever written.

It’s about giving thanks.

Now, granted, that kind of subject shouldn’t be too hard to write about…but you haven’t had the month my wife and I have had.

One Sunday morning about four weeks ago, we started get brownouts and power surges whenever we ran electricity here at the house. I couldn’t turn on the microwave, flip a light switch, or even let the water pump come on without losing power and hearing sizzling downstairs. (My lovely wife described the sound as “Frankenstein’s lab” – and that was, unfortunately, a perfectly accurate description)

Being a Sunday, it was a herculean task contacting an electrician. Most were unavailable (including two who supposedly ‘specialized’ in 24-hour emergency service and have still yet to return my call) and the two or three I was able to reach were busy and wouldn’t be able to get here for a few days. Finally, by late Monday morning, we had an electrician here working on the problem…and what he discovered was not only surprising, it was confusing.

Water had gotten inside the main electrical panel and corroded most of the breakers. What was bizarre was the fact that the water had seeped in via the cable running from the meter box into the panel. It hadn’t seeped into the house, mind you, it inexplicably had gotten inside the cable itself.

But that was only the beginning of the problems.

Not only did we discover that we were living in a 100-amp house – it was built in 1905 – but we learned that to upgrade to a 200-amp breaker box (which we would need to do, since the entire thing has to be replaced, anyway) would run about $1400.

And then something worse happened.

boiler
That’s a 4″X8″ hole blown out of the side of the cast-iron. The entire house smelled of steam and antifreeze.

A mere ten minutes after we got our electricity back up & running…the water boiler blew. And by “blew,” I don’t mean it died and stopped working. I mean it blew apart.

So after going 2 days with no electricity or water, we got to spend a couple more days with no water – and no heat, since we use forced hot water via the boiler. Thank goodness for wood stoves. I had plenty of wood available, as we go through about 5 or 6 cords of wood each season…but unfortunately, although the house was warm, I didn’t get to shower until the following weekend.

In case you’re wondering, ice-cold sponge baths suck.

Of course, our home insurance won’t cover any of this – the adjustor told us the boiler isn’t covered for one reason and the electrical panel isn’t covered for the opposite reason. I’m guessing they have NO reasons to cover anything, which is why the insurance company is in better financial shape than we are.

Oh, and our plumber spent nearly an hour over the course of two days explaining to the adjustor how boilers even work. So to recap: a guy who doesn’t know how something works was the guy responsible for deciding how and why it stopped working.

A few days after all of this began, I received a call from my mother to let me know my father had been taken to the emergency room with a severe systemic infection. He spent a week in recovery and has been at a rehab facility for the past week and a half. Mom doesn’t drive, so it’s been up to me to drive 35 minutes to pick her up, drive another 40 minutes to visit dad, then bring her back home and bring myself back home on a near-daily basis.

I’m fitting all this in while trying to be a stay-at-home dad to my 4-year-old and 1-year-old, and doing my voiceover work.

Guess what I haven’t been doing?

Other than voicing some scripts for a couple of my regular clients, I have had no time to actually try to make money; no auditions, no emails, no phone calls. It is ironic that at the point where we need as much money as we can get ($1400 for the electrical panel, $7000 for the boiler system, and who knows how much for the leaking roof – oh, I forgot to tell you about that?), I’m making less than I ever have.

And…the first snowstorm of the season is on its way and will prevent me from bringing my folks to our house for Thanksgiving. The last thing I want is for dad to spend his day alone at a rehab center, but that’s exactly where he’s going to be.

And…the toe I smashed last year when I dropped a 6-foot log on it is still causing me problems and I will probably have to have minor surgery on it this Monday.

And…my wife just broke a tooth which now needs a crown.

And…I’m having cataract surgery on my right eye in 3 weeks.

The reason I’m explaining all of this is not to sound like I’m throwing a pity party or anything, but simply to give you an inkling as to why I haven’t been around on social media much lately and why I’ve been having a hard time being thankful this year.

The view from Hackleboro Orchard in Canterbury, where we often go apple-picking. One more thing to be thankful for.

I would love to be the person who remains chipper and positive throughout all adversity, shouting out profundities like, “God doesn’t give you more than what you can handle!” while smiling cheerfully as my house collapses – but honestly, I’m not that person. I am, however, a person who is capable of taking stock in his blessings when given the opportunity to just take a deep breath and survey his situation.

After a few moments of consideration, I can come up with quite a few things I am genuinely thankful and grateful for:

  1. My kids are safe.
  2. Dad is safe; if he had been even slightly worse when they brought him in, we very likely would have lost him.
  3. The boiler could have blown in mid-February (thank God for small favours).
  4. My wife was able to get a loan from the bank to cover the repairs; we have no idea how we’ll pay the loan off, but for now, we’re ok.
  5. There will be food on the Thanksgiving table.
  6. The roof might be leaking…but at least we have one.
  7. My wife will get a nearly-unheard-of 5 days off in a row, from Thursday through Monday. I can’t wait to spend time with her.
  8. My wife’s father, who underwent scheduled knee-replacement surgery 2 weeks ago, is doing well.
  9. I’ll have at least 7 children’s poems published in 2015. For a guy who didn’t have any children’s poems published this year (or ANY year), I’d say that’s a good start.
  10. Bacon exists.

I realize I have many things to be thankful for, and I kick myself for letting them take a back seat to my troubles. Of course, I have many more blessings than just the ones I’ve enumerated here…but being able to spend time considering them is not only cathartic, it’s absolutely essential.

For me, and for everyone.

Find the time. Make your list. And have a Happy Thanksgiving.

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Did you like this post? Find something interesting elsewhere in this blog? I really won’t mind at all if you feel compelled to share it with your friends and followers!

PoetsGarage-badgeTo keep abreast of all my posts, please consider subscribing via the links up there on the right!  (I usually only post twice a week – on Tues. and Fri. – so you won’t be inundated with emails every day)  Also feel free to visit my voiceover website HERE, and you can also follow me via Twitter FacebookPinterest, and SoundCloud!

Poetry Friday: “Steam Train”

There was a time when I used to wait for inspiration to strike.  Then I decided I needed to challenge myself to become a professional writer of poetry and create my own inspiration. (Or, at the very least, seize upon any and every opportunity to be inspired)

poetryfridaybutton-fulllCase in point: Last week, writer and blogger Michelle H. Barnes featured writer/poet/editor/blogger/chocolatier Renee LaTulippe sharing one of her lyrical language lab’s lessons: sentence transformation via mood, effect, and emotion. In this series of posts, Renee encourages prose writers (and poets, as well) to improve their writing using poetic devices and techniques.

In her post, Renee used a sentence about a steam train as an example, and showed how to progressively develop the sentence into something more than “just” a sentence. As I read her suggestions and sentences – and thought about each of the photos she shared – the following four lines came to me. It’s another short poem like the one I shared last Friday, but between electrical wiring issues, a blown boiler, and a father who is in the hospital, life is still pretty nuts around here; fortunately for me, four lines was all the poem requested. Hope you like it…and be sure to visit Becky Shillington’s blog for today’s Poetry Friday Roundup!

Steam Train

Firebox flares,
steam shoots high;
smoky billows
shake the sky.

© 2014, Matt Forrest Esenwine

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Cybils-Logo-2014-Rnd2Did you like this post? Find something interesting elsewhere in this blog? I really won’t mind at all if you feel compelled to share it with your friends and followers!
PoetsGarage-badgeTo keep abreast of all my posts, please consider subscribing via the links up there on the right!  (I usually only post twice a week – on Tues. and Fri. – so you won’t be inundated with emails every day)  Also feel free to visit my voiceover website HERE, and you can also follow me via Twitter FacebookPinterest, and SoundCloud!

Poetry Friday: “Good night”

It’s been a crazy week around here. We lost power and water on Sunday, and although we have both of them finally back as of today, we’re still without heat. Fortunately, we rely on the wood stove more than the oil furnace, so we’re doing ok.

Poetry_Friday logoThe reason I bring this up is because I’ve barely had any time – or even ability – to get any work done this week, let alone write. But as a writer, I’m always ‘working’, so I wanted to share this short little vignette which I wrote while thinking about the snow that was in the forecast for last night. As always, I hope you enjoy it…and be sure to visit Keri at Keri Recommends for today’s Poetry Friday celebration and a touching tribute to her dad from Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Good night

Like Mother’s whisper,
soft and low –
the gentle touch
of Autumn snow.

© 2014, Matt Forrest Esenwine

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Cybils-Logo-2014-Rnd2Did you like this post? Find something interesting elsewhere in this blog? I really won’t mind at all if you feel compelled to share it with your friends and followers!
PoetsGarage-badgeTo keep abreast of all my posts, please consider subscribing via the links up there on the right!  (I usually only post twice a week – on Tues. and Fri. – so you won’t be inundated with emails every day)  Also feel free to visit my voiceover website HERE, and you can also follow me via Twitter FacebookPinterest, and SoundCloud!

Poetry Friday: “Revenge”

Poetry_Friday logoI don’t think I’ve ever used the word “spree” before in my life.

Why is this worth mentioning? Because “spree” was the Word of the Month over at poet/author David L. Harrison’s blog this past October.

I enjoy challenges, but have not been able to participate in the “WOM” for the past several months due to my hectic schedule. But since October marked the 5th anniversary of the “WOM” challenge, I really wanted to write something to share.

As it turned out, I didn’t get the poem completed until October 30 – which meant it only stayed posted for a couple of days before it disappeared to make room for the November Word of the Month, “brew!” So in order to keep the poem alive a little longer, I thought I’d share it here.

But be forewarned:  while most of the WOM poems are fun, children’s poems, this is…not. But I hope you like it! And for all of today’s Poetry Friday links – along with a perfect November poem by John Freeman – please visit Diane Mayr at Random Noodling!

Revenge

I hadn’t seen the hornet, hiding
under the lip
of our watering can. Unaware, I was,
of paper wasps waiting
for someone like me
to open that old, weathered shed door
behind the woodpile.
Shaken, stung, yet
resolute and undaunted, I
set about to exact
vengeance.

Armed with hubris
and two giant cans of propellant-poison,
my killing spree began
under eaves,
behind shutters, beneath deck
and stairs – my hands
like machines, I
spared no mercy
on every wood-pulp nest,
every mud-dauber domicile,
every honeycombed bell
brimming with yellow-striped clappers
ready to ring.
.
I must have slain hundreds –
laying waste to their homes and families
in liquid immolation
to save my own
from the threat of pain
and fear
and anaphylaxis.
Proud Conqueror of Nature, I
smiled in satisfaction
when, turning to the back door,
one lone, weary hornet –
in a feeble attempt to fly,
only half-alive
but with double the fury –
came out from that old woodpile
and in an instant
was barely more than an arm’s length
from my face.

With one last drop of death
remaining, I finished off
the final can, spraying furiously, franticly
determined
to not let this lowliest of creatures
have the better of me.
I no sooner heard the hollow sound
of air discharging from the muzzle
when I felt a bullet – hard and organic –
slam into my temple
with a ferocious heat.
Brushing the enemy away, I
watched a spent casing
fall to the lawn,
destined for compost.

I stepped forward
and faltering, fell to one knee, ignorant
of my circumstance
as my vision became blurred,
my muscles, weak;
breathing, labored.
Sinking to the grass, I
wished I could call out
to my wife,
my son,
someone, anyone,
but all I could do
was watch my world darken
while beside me,
the wing of one lone, weary hornet
twitched.

© 2014, Matt Forrest Esenwine

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Cybils-Logo-2014-Rnd2Did you like this post? Find something interesting elsewhere in this blog? I really won’t mind at all if you feel compelled to share it with your friends and followers!
PoetsGarage-badgeTo keep abreast of all my posts, please consider subscribing via the links up there on the right!  (I usually only post twice a week – on Tues. and Fri. – so you won’t be inundated with emails every day)  Also feel free to visit my voiceover website HERE, and you can also follow me via Twitter FacebookPinterest, and SoundCloud!

Determining the value of a wheel-barrow ride

I’ve been raking leaves for the past couple of weeks. Although we do have a fairly large lawn, it’s not nearly enormous enough to require weeks of raking. However, when one has two young children, giant piles of leaves are simply too tempting to leave alone. Hence, I find myself doing a lot of re-raking. But I don’t mind. One day, they’ll be too busy with sports or dancing or boyfriends or girlfriends or whatever to care about jumping in piles of leaves…so I’ll just keep raking until I don’t need to anymore.

The reason I bring this up is because I was going to write a post about my observations of my 4-year-old son and nearly 15-month-old daughter – but then I realized this post, from last year, aptly says it all. If you missed it when I originally shared it in November 2013, I hope you like it.

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As loving parents, we strive to provide our kids with not only their basic needs of food, shelter, clothing and such – but also intangibles such as love, happiness, and positive memories. Of course, the term “positive memories” is wide open to interpretation and can mean lots of different things to different people.

Often, those memories aren’t even what we, as parents, think are worth remembering.

Over the weekend, I got to wondering about what memories my 3-year-old son will end up with – and if they’ll be the ones I expect.

The joys of yard work

He’s a hard worker, that one.

He may only be 3, but that doesn’t stop my son from helping me outside. And it’s not just that he wants to help – he actually helps me.  When I’m cutting down branches from overgrown trees, he’ll pull the branches out of my way and toss them in a brush pile I’ve shown him. If I’m splitting firewood, he’ll gather up the small pieces of wood and set them aside for kindling.

This weekend, I was raking leaves (this time of year, it feels like that’s all I do!) and he wanted to help, so I gave him a small rake and let him do his thing. Once I had piled as many leaves  as I could into my wheel-barrow, I would pick him up, set him on top of them, and give him a ride all the way over to our compost pile near the edge of the woods.

To him, this was the most fun thing in the history of fun things…and so I had to do it all afternoon, every time the wheel-barrow was full.  He didn’t realize it, but he was helping me by keeping the leaves from blowing away. I didn’t realize it, but I just might have been giving him a lasting memory.

‘Quality time’ is relative

The reason I say it “might” be a lasting memory is because I have learned – through having two older daughters – that kids remember what they think is important, not you.  What a parent might feel is an earth-shatteringly colossal event may not even appear as a blip on their children’s recollective radar.

I have friends who have taken their one- and two-year-old kids to Disneyland, ice shows, and live children’s theatre performances…and I can’t help but wonder what the kids think. Now, don’t get me wrong – I have no problem with anyone doing any of these things. I just doubt that the kids will have any lasting memory of these experiences either because they’re a) too young to be able to remember them later in life, or b) the events simply won’t have as much impact on the kids as their parents think.

With my two girls (well, ok, technically they’re women now, but don’t remind me), many of the things they recall I barely remember. More than once, I’ve been part of a  conversation that went more or less like this: “Remember the time when mom said ‘blah-de-blah,’ and then you were like, ‘blah-de-blah-de-blah,’ and then she did ‘this’ and you did ‘that’ and then something happened and then something else happened and then you were all like ‘blah-de-blah-de-frickety-blah?!’  That was so funny!!”

And I’m sitting there, staring, wondering where I was when this hilarious incident supposedly occurred.

It may not have been the Ice Capades, but it was certainly memorable…whatever the heck it was.

A matter of perspective

Phil V
Country singer/songwriter Phil Vassar

A few years ago, country singer Phil Vassar and I were talking about kids (he has a couple of girls, too) and what it’s like being a parent trying to keep up with them while time flies by so quickly.  He related a story about how he and his family had an opportunity to meet President George W. Bush while he was still in office.

Phil told me that he was asking the girls a couple of years later what they enjoyed about their visit to the White House – and they didn’t remember any of the supposed ‘highlights.’

He asked if they recalled meeting the president. No.  He asked if they remembered what the White House looked like. Not really. Did they remember anything that happened while they were there?? Wait, one of them said…she thought she did remember something. That was the place that had the tall, fancy vase in the corner with the pink flowers that smelled so nice?

And poor Phil was the one who ended up scratching his head, trying to remember this completely random fact that was his daughter’s most captivating – and possibly only – memory of meeting the President of the United States.

Proof again that what we think is important and what our kids think is important are two totally different thinks.

Wheel-barrows, leaf piles, and fire trucks

When I rake leaves, I don’t just let my little dude ride in the wheel-barrow; I let him jump into the huge piles I create. Yes, it’s more work for me, having to re-rake and re-rake many times over…but it’s fun for him, and I hope it will be something that he remembers when he gets older. I have to admit it’s also fun for me, watching the little nut roll around in the leaves and toss them in the air, laughing hysterically as they fall down around him and on his face.

He also loves trucks – any kind of trucks. If it’s got a motor and wheels, he wants it. He may only be 3, but he knows the difference between a skid steer and a Bobcat, and the difference between a forage harvester and a combine. The day I brought him to the fire station to look at the engines close-up was a day I’ll never forget, mostly because I don’t think he blinked once, the whole time we were there.

Will it be a lasting memory? Who knows…but he enjoyed it, and that was good enough for me.

After all, ultimately it’s not about the memories, but about the experiences themselves.  And rather than second-guess myself, I’ll just enjoy my time with him and his siblings and provide them with as much happiness, support, and love as I can and let them decide what’s worth remembering.

You know, I here there’s a monster truck show coming to town…

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Cybils-Logo-2014-Rnd2Did you like this post? Find something interesting elsewhere in this blog? I really won’t mind at all if you feel compelled to share it with your friends and followers!

PoetsGarage-badgeTo keep abreast of all my posts, please consider subscribing via the links up there on the right!  (I usually only post twice a week – on Tues. and Fri. – so you won’t be inundated with emails every day)  Also feel free to visit my voiceover website HERE, and you can also follow me via Twitter FacebookPinterest, and SoundCloud!