Annoucement

Folks,

There's a great new web site out there...www.themadranters.com.  They host a weekly podcast, and have been gracious enough to allow me to co-host a few times.  It's great fun hearing the streams of ranting about whatever subject is in their heads for the week.  It's smart and entertaining.  Best of all, is that they've given me a second place to post my blog entries so even more readers can benefit from my insight.  There's also book, TV and movie reviews that I and others contribute.

Have a look.  You certainly won't be disappointed.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

The Difference a Day Can Make

This time it was an Ashton, a pint glass of Beefeaters and tonic, and the company of three gentlemen whose presence make any leisure activity better.  These are the things that helped to reboot my weary psyche.  It’s something that I had needed for a very long time.  Until it was over, I wasn’t even aware of how much it was needed, but by-god it feels great.  Such simple things can give us a massive shot of psychological and emotional adrenaline.   

As we sat at the bar, exchanging tales of yore, sipping our drinks and reliving the days exploits on the golf course, I wondered how I could have missed such a simple solution.  Up early, first off the tee (and not playing as badly as expected) a great cigar at the turn and five hours of nothing existing but this outing with friends.  If there is a better recipe for a great day I don’t know what it is.

It made me think that as we work and parent and husband and coach and care, we stretch ourselves without knowing to what limits.  Like butter scraped over too much bread.  Hehe – sorry, I couldn’t resist that.  It creeps up on us, at least it did me.  As the days progressed, I was busy but not unhappy about it.  Life just churned along, but the longer things went unchanging, the long it seemed to be.  It didn’t seem to me that anything was out of the ordinary.  Those days turn into weeks and then months.  Then one night I found myself awake in front of the TV at 3am because I couldn’t sleep  - AGAIN.

As I sat watching Frasier reruns I realized that I was bone weary and mentally dragging.  Not just that night, but in general.  “Well,” I told myself, “guess I just need some sleep, things will get better soon.”  Of course things did not improve.  I don’t mean to sound too pathetic.  I was not, and am not as miserable as all that.  But life has a way of creeping in you, settling in, weighing you down and making you feel like that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Well damn it, it’s not.  I have a wonderful wife, two great sons, family I love, and the best group of friends I could ask for, so what’s up?  Why would I be dragging so slowly?  Guess what I discovered.  Sometimes you just have to do something for yourself.  Sounds simple, doesn’t it?  Sounds like something we all do anyway.  I found it was not as common as I thought.

Now, before you all start thinking I’m a big whiny puss, please stop.  Know that I realize I’m not working in a coal mine.  I don’t exactly have a hard life.  I’m generally a pretty happy guy.  But even jolly fellows like me need a shot in the arm every now and then.  If you were as selfless, generous and accommodating as yours truly you would understand.

So as it turned out, a chance to play a great golf course presented itself and I took full advantage.  I didn’t hurry right home.  We played a leisurely 18, lingered at the bar just a little, stopped in to visit my mom on the way home and once there had a refreshing dip in the pool.  It was a great day.  It was what I needed to change my general outlook.  It’s a kindler gentler Pete that has emerged and I think those closest to me will notice a difference…geez, I really hope they do, or I might just be that curmudgeon I was evolving into.

Anyway, be careful.  You think you’re being a good dad, and husband, and son, etc by keeping on the good path…and you are…but be good and selfish now and then.  As long as it’s not and expense of a loved one, you’ll thank yourself and be fortified for those long stretches when it just can’t happen frequently enough.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

How Much Should They Know?

We all like to tell tales.  Whether they are of good times or bad, of triumph or spectacular defeat or of general youthful jackassery, it’s all great fodder.  I enjoy few things more than being with a group of good friends exchanging stories.  Some I’ve heard (and told) dozens of times, and some are brand new.  Briefly living vicariously in those spinning yarns feels pretty darn great. 

There is a point, however, that I think the stories either need to wait or even be buried completely.  And that’s when it comes to my sons.  I don’t know if I can put a finger on exactly why, and maybe the reason is different depending on the content, but my instincts tell me to either tone down, delay or completely suppress certain telling of adventures of my younger self.   And this is conflicting a bit.

I don’t want to portray my life as different than it actually was/is, but there are certainly some things they don’t necessarily need to know.  It may be obvious, but that’s the way it was with my dad as I grew up.  The older I got, the more I learned about his past.  I never felt that was anything but right.  And I think it served a purpose.  It harkens back to a previous article (Hammer Away, My Friends).  Just as you don’t need to be best chums with your adolescent kids, your children don’t necessarily benefit from knowing everything about you.  I’m not suggesting living a double life or being overly mysterious, just that little Timmy knowing your every dark secret is probably not the greatest idea until he’s old enough to understand all the necessary context.

As parents, our past is a great teaching tool.  My mistakes have made for fantastic guidelines with which to steer my boys.  Thankfully I have NO end to the list of mistakes from which to refer.  I mean, who hasn’t strapped on a ball gag and snorted a shot of tequila out of a strippers navel while being ritualistically whipped by a….oh, hehe.  That might just be me, but live and learn I say.

See, there is no context I can envision in which my kids would need to hear that story.  If they did, it would only start to break down whatever respect (stop laughing) they might have built up for me.  And it’s not even that I don’t want them to get it in their head that they shouldn’t do that.  Weird as it might be, it would be OK with me IF, and it’s a big IF they were old enough to get into such a thing.  But one, I don’t want to hear about it; and two, I don’t want them to think I would openly condone or suggest they go out and try it.  At the right age and maturity level they’ll get to those sorts of things on their own.  No good comes from putting my tacit stamp of approval on certain things until I think they are ready for it.

There is a built in filter that I have developed, distilled from years of hearing and not hearing my parent’s escapades.  I think back about my perception of them as I grew up the dynamic that was established in my home.  It worked and it was comfortable, so of course I’d like to replicate that for my kids.  I think that doling out my past judiciously is a good way to keep that dynamic within a range that works for me and the kids.  Someday they’ll get to hear the rest of the story I started above, that is if the hypnotherapy can dredge it out of my repressed memory.  In the mean time, we’ll exchange more appropriate anecdotes and hopefully make some together that they may or may not tell their kids some day.

RALSTON HAS SPOKEN

Reflections on Simple Pleasures

     As I sat on my deck after a wonderful weekend I found myself content in what I once would have considered almost ridiculous pleasures. This happens to us all, I think, as we get older and mature. Although I'm not sure that's always a good thing. Our tastes change, to be sure, but there's something to be said for one's internal consistency. Would it be so bad if my aspirations rose "only" to wings and beer? Certainly not, since sometimes that's exactly what I want. But by and large, I find myself in a more adult world. A world of leather bound books and rooms at smell of rich mahogany.
     Last night I had myself a large (nearly perfectly made, thank you very much) gin and tonic. I'll point out, since I find myself becoming kind of a snob about it, that it's Sapphire gin...just adds a bit more taste. Of course I served it in an Eagles pint glass, but that couldn't be helped. Along with my nearly perfect drink I had an Oliva Series G. That's a cigar...told you I was becoming a bit of a snob. A fantastic smoke that I relish more and more, especially with a cocktail or (more often) a good stout or lager.
     Even just a handful of years ago, I would have viewed that last paragraph as a load of pompous crap.  But the development of these different tastes has been a pleasure that I'm glad has happened.  More so because they are in addition my original set of preferences, not a replacement for them.
     Of course all this is really just common sense.  Tastes change.  Almost always will over time.  But it begs the question, "Am I happy about it?"  The simple answer is yes, especially since I derive so much pleasure from this more, I'll call it refined, palette.  However, there are a couple things I consider when pondering this about myself.
    First is that I find that enjoying the new pastime of cigars and gin comes with more alone time than I'm used to.  That's not a bad thing at all, I like it actually.  But it feels strange to choose something that may limit time with family and friends.  I suppose that says something about my true nature, but I'll let you judge me on that point.  As I imagine it, there are fewer things better than hanging at a shot-and-a-beer joint with a group of friends, playing shuffleboard and generally carousing.  Feels funny to so easily put that aside.
     Second, and harder to come to grips with, is the feeling of growing ever so slightly pretentious.  Not sure pretentious is the right word, since the feelings are genuine.  I'm not trying to put on airs, it's just the way things are.  Unless left with no other option, I can't bring myself to intentionally choose a light beer.  I find myself with a taste, generally, for cigars a bit beyond my financial comfort.  Although I haven't been able to get past paying too much for something I'm going to burn and inhale...just wrangles me a little.  Also, give me Tanqueray or better.  I actually have no idea if that is a "great" gin, but I know lesser ones when I taste them and I turn my nose up at them.  Geez, I sound like an ass-head just writing that.
     I suppose my point here (is there one?) is that it's nice to embrace these new directions.  Don't go quietly into that untested night.  When you ponder things, anything, having had these new experiences and growth, you'll have a wider perspective.  Wrap your arms around that which you once eschewed.  You don't know what you might be missing.  It'll feel unnatural at first, but you might just be finding your next favorite thing.