Karma-nitas

Hello loyal audience. I know it's been a while since I last posted. Yes, I have a calendar and I do know how to read it.


***


I've been busy. I'm sorry. Geez, you want your money back?


***

My Ex works at a local restaurant. At least, I'm pretty sure she still does. I love this restaurant, but I won't ever go there again. I am absolutely paranoid that she's going to spit in my food.

Is it really paranoia if they are out to get you?

Today it suddenly dawned on my that I spent the better part of sixteen years letting her stick her tongue down my throat. And I generally liked it. So why should I care if she spits in my food?

Spitting is a pretty much universal sign of hatred or contempt.  It's typically directed at the face, but some cultures direct it at the feet - we've all seen it in the movies. Obviously there are physical risks to spitting, such as TB or the flu, but it's primarily a social taboo.

In the middle ages spitting was perfectly acceptable behavior and it was actually considered ill-mannered to suck back saliva to avoid spitting. It wasn't until the 1700's that spitting was seen as something that should be concealed and in the mid 1800's it became gauche to spit on the floor or on the street in mixed company. Spitting in general went out of favor after the 1918 influenza pandemic and with it the collapse of the cuspidor manufacturing base.

Not coincidentally, the mid 1800's saw the development and adoption of Semmelweis's germ theory of disease. By the 1870's Joseph Lister was applying the germ theory of disease to surgical procedures and hocking Listerine. I imagine that it quickly became obvious that spitting wasn't sanitary and eventually became socially unacceptable and vulgar.

Outside of a baseball diamond of course.

So why does it bother me that the Ex might spit in my food? It's not embarrassment, because nobody other than her co-workers would ever know there was spit in my food. It's not hygiene, because I spent the better part of sixteen years swapping bodily fluids with her.

It's control. I don't want to give her the satisfaction of degrading me. And that's why I'll never be able to taste those damn Carnitas again.

***

As most of you probably know by now, I am not a religious man. I don't believe in ghosts, spirits, heaven or hell. I'm more like Crash Davis. I like to believe in "the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch and that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."


That about sums it up. I believe this life is what matters. There are no 72 virgins. There is no paradise. The only paradise is the one we create every day with and for the people we love.


But, if I was going to believe in any metaphysical mumbo jumbo, it'd probably be Karma. The concept of Karma can be found in Hindu, Jain, Buddhist and Sikh philosophies. According to Wikipedia, Karma is a concept of "action" or "deed" that drives the entire cycle of cause and effect. Karma applies to the totality of our actions and reactions in this and previous lives, all of which determines one's future. If one sows goodness in this life (or previous lives) one will reap goodness. And vice versa.


Granted, since it requires reincarnation it kind of violates my first two paragraphs.


Basically, if you're a Hindu and you're getting shit on all the time it's not bad luck. It's because you were a bastard in a previous life. And if you don't want to be shit on in your next life, you should suck it up and focus on doing good deeds now.


It's a lot like Catholic guilt in the sense that everything bad that happens is your fault. Or if you're Jewish, you deserve it.


It's often summarized by "Life is a field, and Karma is the seed. You reap what you sow. Exactly what you sow - no more, no less." This concept of reaping what you sow was adopted by Christianity in Galatians 6:7-8:


⁷ Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows. ⁸ Whoever sows to please their flesh, from the flesh will reap destruction; whoever sows to please the Spirit, from the Spirit will reap eternal life.


Consequently, the concept of Karma is quite readily accepted in the West. You'll never get an Evangelical to admit it, but it's definitely of eastern origin.


But the rub is that you can be as good or evil as you want in this life, but it won't affect you until you die and get reincarnated. It wasn't until the '60's that John Lennon popularized the concept of "Instant Karma". In Instant Karma retribution is immediate - no waiting. Lennon believed that good or evil action would be rewarded / punished in this lifetime. He believed that good actions were the key to happiness and fulfillment.


He summed it up pretty clearly:


Instant Karma's gonna get you, 
Gonna knock you right on the head, 
You better get yourself together, 
Pretty soon you're gonna be dead, 
What in the world you thinking of, 
Laughing in the face of love, 
What on earth you tryin' to do, 
It's up to you, yeah you. 

Instant Karma's gonna get you, 
Gonna look you right in the face, 
Better get yourself together darlin', 
Join the human race, 
How in the world you gonna see, 
Laughin' at fools like me, 
Who on earth d'you think you are, 
A super star, 
Well, right you are. 


It's a comforting thought. Real or not, it plays to our innate sense of fairness and justice. We want to see the bastards get what they deserve. We want to see OJ in jail. We want to see Osama bin Laden with a bullet in his melon. We want to see the Yankees lose in the playoffs.


Not the Shelby Township Yankees! They kick ass.


We need to believe right action is rewarded and bad action is punished. Otherwise we're just suckers, right? Why spend your life being good when you could have spent your days being a selfish prick who took advantage of his friends and neighbors.


On the downside, I don't think avoiding cosmic retribution is the best reason to 'not be an asshole'.


I always had a problem with the concept of doing good purely to get into heaven as a kid. It seemed to cheapen the concept of our eternal reward. If you're only doing good things to go to heaven, wouldn't God know that? And doesn't intent count? If you accidentally tripped and dropped a piano on a pre-school field trip, God wouldn't hold it against you, would he? You didn't intend to kill ten toddlers. Sure, they're still dead, but it was an accident.


Same for doing good deeds. If you're only doing them to get into heaven, isn't it a purely selfish act that should damn you to hell?


And while we're on the topic of dead pre-schoolers, why didn't God step in to stop it? He's supposed to be the omniscient / omnipotent one, not me.


I'm working hard to not be an asshole. Not to get into some imaginary heaven. Not to avoid cosmic vengeance. But because I want my Dad to be proud of me.


It's a good enough reason for me.


***


Those of you that follow me on Facebook probably know that the Ex has been working hard to build up her bad Karma this month. I won't recount the gory details, but she's still pretty pissed off at me and sees no problem leveraging the kids.


Yesterday was the one year anniversary of her leaving me to run away to Mississippi. Today would have been our 16th wedding anniversary. Last Sunday was Father's Day. Is it any wonder I've been having a bad week?


I don't know if Karma is paying me back for all the stupid shit I've done in my life. I don't know that I deserve it, but I can't say for sure that I don't. I do know that the Ex has dug herself one Deep Karma Canyon with her actions in the last year. Mountains all around and no happy ending in sight.


So what's my point?


I'm not really sure. Normally this is the point in the post where I tie everything together and we all feel better. But I'm not feeling it today.


What does Karma have to do with spitting in my food?


Hell if I know.


I do know I've got to wrap this thing up and get on to my weekend.


In summary, I'm not overly concerned about spit in my food cause it's pretty unlikely the Ex contracted TB in the last twelve months and I must have been a real bastard at some point to deserve the shit sandwich I was served 366 days ago.


But if Karma is real, I shouldn't be worried about spit in my food any more. That bitch owes me big.

Oh, and I've still got my pride, but I had to give up the damn Carnitas to keep it.

Peace.

The New Normal

Life is good.  The Indians are in first place.  Spring in Michigan is only four or five more weeks away.  And my divorce is finally over.

At approximately 11:00 AM on April 7th 2011 my marriage was legally dissolved.  In the eyes of the State of Michigan I am single.  No more invitations addressed to Mr. & Mrs. Kraus, no more joint tax returns, no more walking on eggshells.  My house is officially MY house.  It's me and Waffles against the world.

The sun came out as I exited the courthouse.  That's not a metaphor - it literally came out.  For one split second I was almost certain it was shining just for me.

Me and dog are slowly adjusting to our new "normal".  He's upped his napping to 14 hours a day.  I rarely sleep.  We take two to three long walks a day.  He barks at trucks that pass by, I ogle the neighborhood moms.  It's not a bad life.  The strange thing is that after everything I've been through I have an overwhelming urge to just be alone.  Which makes me lonely.

Odd. 

For those of you that care, I get 174 overnights a year with the kids (that's a lot).  I got the house and the dog.  She got anything else she felt like taking.  The kids aren't going anywhere.  It's a great deal for me.

I'm still not completely sure how I felt when the papers were finally signed.  I was relieved.  I was sad.  I was elated.  I felt a profound sense of disappointment.  I was excited for my future.  I felt like a failure.  I was confused.  I'm still confused and I'm still adjusting.  But now that the ugliness is over I can finally relax and let my guard down.  Right?

Right?

Tuesday I got a call from the police.

Does anyone like to get a phone call from the police?  Best case, this is cause for confusion.  Tuesday was no exception.  The officer identified himself and asked "Are you okay?"

What? Am I okay? I could probably give you a list of five people that would argue that point.


On the plus side, at least someone still cares if I'm alive.  Granted, he's paid by my tax dollars to care, but it counts.

"Um. Yeah. Why?"

"Well Mr. Kraus, we got a call from someone in Ohio who told us your ex-wife posted some pictures of you hanging from a tree on her Facebook account. And some pictures of her with guns.  The caption on the lynching pictures read 'It's cheaper than therapy.'"

"What?"

"Yeah. We're sorry to bother you Mr. Kraus, but procedure is to follow up on these items. Do you know where your ex-wife works?"

"Actually, no. I used to, but I have no idea if she still works there."

"Do you have an address for her?"

"Um. No. She never told me where she moved to."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really. That sounds bad, doesn't it?  I think I can get it off the divorce papers."

"Okay..."

At this point the officer realized he was dealing with a dipshit who didn't have the common sense to protect himself.


And I don't even know where to start analyzing this.

The Ex and I have no Facebook friends in common.  She purged everyone who had any contact or communication with me.  Everyone.  I don't know a single person that she and I are both still in communication with, much less that I would call a friend.

This means that someone who doesn't even know me found the pictures disturbing enough to call the cops on my behalf!

Wow.  I really want to see those pictures now.

The cops did say that the report came from out of state.

The officer didn't provide any advice on what I should do to protect myself.  Captain Kirk thinks I should keep my head on a swivel and vary my routes and patterns.  Apparently he's been watching too many episodes of Burn Notice.

She's an angry ex, not a burned spy.  I hope.

I'm going to write this off as wish fulfillment on her part.  These last eight months couldn't have been any easier for her, and she's still got an enormous attorney bill to pay off.  If she wants to envision me hanging from a tree, more power to her.  She's not my problem any more.  I'd rather she moved on, but I'm not going to overreact.

But if I don't answer my phone for more than 24 hours, call the cops.

I'll leave you with a really crappy video embed from "Parks and Recreation".  This is Ron Swanson talking about the proper way to burn an ex-wife effigy.  Make sure you stand a SAFE DISTANCE away when you throw the isopropyl alcohol.

Funny stuff.

"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die." - Carrie Fisher

The Art of Conversation

I love getting mail about my blog. The responses I get are generally thought provoking, ofttimes touching and always inflate my ego. It's comforting to know there are other people out there.

And every once in a while I delude myself into thinking I may have helped someone else in a similar position.

This week I got a doozy. Johnny-Boy is my most articulate friend. But if you're familiar with my friends, that's no great compliment. I know I retired this blog earlier this week, but that was before I decided to publicly deconstruct a touching, personal, emotional letter from a friend for few cheap laughs.

And this is why I only have 60 Facebook friends...

Johnny-Boy is in purple, your humble scribe will be playing for the blue team.

***

Hey Bob,

Very interesting blog post.  I figured it would be better to reply privately rather than post a response visible to the world.

Too bad you didn't realize I'd post this anyway.

The unfortunate fact is, you'll never completely know why she decided to leave.  Frankly, she may not really know why she left either. Even if she told you right this minute why she left:

(a) you probably wouldn't believe her;
(b) she might not know the true reasons herself.

You are preaching to the choir brother. After thinking it over, I completely agree on both points.

You can drive yourself crazy speculating why she left, and it's not going to give you one bit of relief or peace.  At least it didn't for me.

This is about me John. Always remember that. I'm not your f'n therapist.

Even if you did know, would it make you feel any better?  Would it be preferable to hear that she left you because [fill in the character flaw or perceived shortcoming here]?

Truthfully, probably not. I would probably be crushed if she picked one of my obvious character flaws. I think I've convinced myself that I could somehow "fix" my mistakes in my next relationship, but the fact is that it's unlikely I'd be able to affect any real change anyway. And I'm not convinced I'd necessarily think of her criticisms as 'flaws'. I expect some of the characteristics she disliked are simply part of me.

Woody Allen said it best -- "The heart wants what the heart wants".  i.e., what we long for often cannot be explained or described rationally, but we simply "know" what we want, and it's difficult to swim upstream in that river.  (Granted, Woody said it in the context of banging his adopted daughter, but the idea still holds.)  I suspect that's what happened with your ex.  It's not something that you could have changed or done differently.

That was laugh out loud funny. And touching. "The heart wants what the heart wants." As a closeted romantic, the thought is very appealing to me.

I know, this is all hard to hear for an engineer type who applies the scientific method to everything.  But you really couldn't have done anything differently -- and even if you could, it would have required changing yourself in a way that would have made you somebody other than who you are.  It's not as though you made some "mistake" that you could have "fixed" or that you can "fix" the next time around.  Unfortunately, sometimes just being yourself isn't enough.

"Unfortunately sometimes just being yourself isn't enough." That hurt. But you are right, the changes that would have been required probably would have forced me to give up being "me". I'd never considered that before and I must admit to being shocked by the thought.

I also had the feelings of "everything is gone for good".  Yeah, in the sense of you and your ex and the kids as one family, those days are past tense.  But there's a lot more to life than just being married.  You still have your kids.  You'll still be able to have a lot of great times with them, and to be a good parent to them.  You still have your friends (and have probably gained a few new ones in the process).

I have gained many, many new friends. You know who you are. Not enough to get over 60, but a lot.

You still have your job, and your home, and money in the bank (maybe not as much as before, but you're not going to have to give blow jobs for rent money).

Like anyone would pay me for a blowjob... Try raising venture capital with that business plan.

It's cliche, but you have your health.  Maybe some of the good things are gone for good, but other good things will sprout to take their place.  You don't have to deny your ex's place in any of those memories, or make them any less good because she's in them.

Very true.

The last point I'll mention is that you're not exactly right (I was going to say "you're wrong", but that sounds nicer, don't you think?) when you say that it's only going to get worse. 

I'm never wrong. But I'll concede "not exactly right."

Yeah, the trial won't be fun.  It'll probably (I say "probably" because I never had to go through a contested divorce trial) feel like getting reamed up the ass with an umbrella.

You've never experienced a contested divorce, but you have been reamed by an umbrella? Kinky. At least I know what you West Side Singles do on the weekends.

But in a lot of ways, it will be anti-climactic.  Emotionally, the worst is over.  You've been split for almost a year now, and had almost a year to adjust to the new reality.  No, you're not completely over the experience yet, but you're a lot farther along now than you were last summer.  There aren't any more major surprises in store.  It's hard to see because it is not a type of progress that can be measured, but that doesn't mean it isn't real.  It's like one of those Zen / Buddhist things that Meixner used to talk about in AP English -- you'll know that you are ready to begin healing when you are done.

A Ms. Meixner reference? That's a low blow John. Are you trying to get me to cry? It's not going to work.

Life experiences are not like mountain peaks where you can see which ones are the tallest.  Knowing which part of the process was the worst is something you can determine only when looking back, never ahead.

You just jumped the poetic shark. But I know what you mean.

I lied and am going to make one other comment.  You mentioned the weather.  Don't be surprised if that really is a factor (I'm sure you've heard the term Seasonal Affect Disorder, or SAD).  Face it, we live in a region of the country that has weather that sucks hind tit from December through March.

At least you're not Detroit!

Unless you are truly strapped for every penny in your post-divorce budget, I'd suggest setting aside a few bucks throughout the year and taking a vacation somewhere around next February.

That is a great suggestion!

Four to five days of sunny and warm weather will reset the clock on the SAD-o-meter and make the craptastic winter more tolerable.  (This is "do as I say, not as I do" advice, as I haven't taken a winter vacation since I got divorced; I was going to do something this winter, but then started dating somebody regularly, which has its own positive effects.)  Pick a place like Puerto Rico or southern Florida or somewhere else that will be 70+ and sunny when it is snowing back home, and go enjoy yourself for a few days.

Congratulations on finding a squeeze. Not to be obvious, but unless she's wanted by the po-po she'd probably like to go to someplace warm too.

Assuming you and your ass-brella can get through the Homeland Security metal detectors.

Hang in there and good luck at the trial.

With friends like you it's a shoe-in.

Thanks.

Melancholy Flowers

There are a lot of great songs about memories. Just off the top of my head..

Weezer, Panic! At The Disco, David Guetta and of course, Cats.

Sometimes I feel like this whole divorce is a bad dream that I am trapped in and I just can't wake up.

I find this to be really odd. I can still clearly remember my life prior to June 22nd. I remember the family trip we took to Washington D.C. in April. I remember how much fun we all had together and what a great experience it was for me, my wife and our kids seeing the various museums and monuments.

I have the pictures to prove it.

I remember having dinner at the top of the Holiday Inn overlooking Georgetown. I remember the picnic on the banks of the Potomac with my mother and my half-sisters. I remember how much fun my son had riding the Metro through the city. I remember Cordie smiling in the morning sunshine.

I remember going fishing on Lake Ontario and the excitement of the kids. I remember stopping in Picton for ice cream. I remember Cordie catching perch and playing in the boat. I remember swimming at the beach.

I remember Christmas morning opening gifts and our Christmas dinner. I remember decorating the tree and putting the lights on the house. I remember shopping for my wife and wrapping her presents while hoping that this year I finally got it right.

And then I remember that it's all gone. No more Christmas mornings together as a family. No more family vacations. No more laughter, no more hugs, no more photos. Everything that made life worth living is gone for good.

I still have no idea why my wife felt she needed to leave. I wonder if she really understood the impact of that decision on our children, on me, on herself? Did she realize the true cost of her "vacation" when she made that decision? If she didn't, would she do it again?

I feel like I'm going to wake up and everything will be back to normal and my wife will love me again. I feel like this is all a big mistake.

And then I feel pretty damn stupid for feeling this way.

"We have it all, yet we have nothing" - Megamind

I know it's not exactly Shakespeare, but it fits my mood. I find myself very mel-on-kaly of late. I'm depressed over the lack of resolution on my divorce, the length of the Michigan winter and the affect all of this is having on my kids. It's tough. This is easily the hardest thing I've ever had to go through. It's much worse than eighth grade, my senior year or the death of my father. Sometimes it seems like everything good has been sucked out of the world.

And it's only going to get worse.

My trial starts in four weeks. We failed to reach an amicable settlement. It's going to get very, very ugly very, very soon.

I desperately want to blame myself for this. I want to know what I did wrong so I can force myself to feel like I deserve this. If it made sense perhaps I could forgive myself. But not knowing is my curse. The Ex doesn't realize it, but the fact that I will never know why she left is the worst thing she could do to me. The hurtful words, the greed, the false accusations - those roll off. But the 'not knowing' drives me insane. It eats at me every day to not know where it went wrong. To not know what brought this ugliness about. To not know why she felt the need to throw away everything we built together over 16 years. To not know why she needed to damage our children in this way. To not understand why she chose someone else over me.

I'll never know.

I think my divorce may have to do with the power dynamic in our relationship. The Ex was always the dominant member of our partnership. I was the submissive. It was this way from the very beginning. I never realized this during our marriage - it's only become apparent after the fact.

I can't say this for sure, but I think the cognitive dissonance between her need to be dominant and her economic subservience to me may have been the root cause of her unhappiness and the reason our marriage imploded.

I know she was very unhappy with her career. I think my (relative) success ate at her. I think she was very, very uncomfortable being dependent upon me financially. As long as I was submissive to her, we made it work. But when I demanded an end to her inappropriate emotional relationship it all boiled to a head. I wasn't just financially dominating her, I was now trying to control her emotionally, and that was too much. I think I've written before how I can't remember ever saying "no" to any request from her. This might have been the peanut butter that kept our marriage sandwich together.

In this light, her need to hurt and destroy me is understandable. It's dominance behavior. She wants desperately to regain control over me, and she's going to do it financially through the courts. She's trying to turn my own "weapon" against me. She's breaking free of my control. It's not greed driving her behavior - it's her need to see me broken. To see me crawl. To make me kneel before Zod. Perhaps even to free herself.

Funny aside, Zod never actually says this to Superman - he addresses that line to the American President.

Unfortunately, I've been responding to her every attack by becoming more resistant, more angry, more dominant, more controlling. This escalates the tension and animosity even further and raises the stakes of our dangerous game. Somehow we need to get this train off the current tracks before we go off the cliff.

If you think about it, my desperate need to blame myself for this is more evidence of my need to be submissive. It's certainly consistent with my taste for strong, assertive women.

Perhaps all relationships are about control. Perhaps everything comes down to a simple battle for dominance. Maybe my psychological analysis of the situation is total claptrap.

Maybe I won't have to do this again if I can figure out what I truly did wrong this time. Maybe this is a good place to end this blog.


A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser. - William Shakespeare 

They Can't All Be Good Ones

Last night I was watching an episode of "House" with the kids on the DVR. It was the episode where House gets dragged to dinner with Cuddy's mother and drugs her (and Wilson) to avoid having to deal with her bullshit. They also saved Shaggy from a bad case of chickenpox.

I love "House". The prick doctor reminds me of Best Friend Brian.  Complete jackass with a god complex, but you still love him cause he's so damn cute.

In a non-gay way.

Except he's actually gay.

Maybe I should just drop it?

At the end of the episode, Taub says to his wife, "I think we should get divorced." Taub's the one who cheats on his wife with anyone who holds still, but then gets upset when she develops feelings for some guy she met on the internet.

Yeah. That one hit a little too close to home. Awkward!

The internet part - not the cheating.

Asshole.

His wife replies that she loves him and comments that they've been together a very long time.

He responds, "But are you happy?"

The answer is clearly no and the scene concludes with Taub walking out the door.

My divorce went nothing like this. At no time did my ex-wife ever ask me for a divorce. Or even state that she wanted a divorce. Not once. When she left me, she packed the kids up in the middle of the night and ran to Mississippi for a month. When she decided to divorce me, she filed in secret. Then lied to me and the kids about her whereabouts and secretly flew back to Mississippi, all the while hoping that I would be served in her absence.

Sounds a little cowardly, doesn't it? Maybe that's just the way divorce works in the real world. Or maybe my ex is just a selfish, petulant child. I'll leave that to be answered by my future biographers.

People rarely have the courage to face their problems head on. If they did, disagreements would be resolved quickly and divorce would be rare (or at least less common). The Ex was famous for avoidance. It's her go-to move, right after scorched earth revenge.

Can you imagine how different this would have played out if my ex wasn't a coward? We'd have discussed our problems rationally. She could have made her case that she wasn't happy and felt that a divorce would be in her best interests. We'd have eventually agreed and could have seen a lawyer together. The lawyer would have explained that there was no way in hell any court in Macomb County would ever allow her to move the kids to Mississippi without my consent and we would have worked out a custody agreement that benefitted both of us and provided stability for the kids.

She'd probably be in Mississippi already and she'd be about $30K richer.

Instead, she's likely to lose custody, has pissed away a small fortune on legal bills and may end up in jail on Monday for being in contempt of court. The kids have been irreparably harmed by her selfish, thoughtless behavior. Oh, and we're still at least three months away from any resolution.

But I got a lot of great material for my blog. Whoop-de-doo!

And no, I do not want my Ex in jail. I just want to be left alone.

But I would feel a lot safer.

Why can't life be more like the movies (or TV)? Everything would be neatly wrapped up in 90 minutes and there'd be neat theme music.

I need my own theme music. If you have any suggestions, feel free to post below. I'm thinking about "Cheated" by Mike Posner. Check it out.

Enough about that. Three more sentences and I'll be accused of hosting a pity party.

When I would get a little too full of myself, my Dad would say "The world needs ditch diggers too." I think he meant several things by this. First, that I should never underestimate the importance of the garbage man. And second, I should never overestimate my own importance. The guy driving the garbage truck may not have an advanced degree (other than English), but if he stops picking up the trash for a couple weeks he becomes more important than your doctor or the mayor.

Ask the French or Italians - they have a garbage strike every summer.

Finally, I think he was telling me that the world won't run without all the various roles and positions being filled. It would be nice if we could all go to medical school, but we still need farmers and machinists and police men and teachers and ditch diggers. There was room for everyone in my Dad's world. He taught me to respect everyone who did the best they could to fill their respective role. I think I've fallen far short of his expectation, but I do understand his point.

I think the same holds true for most other aspects of life. Not all days can be good days. Not all years can be good years. If every day was a 'good' day, eventually we'd stop appreciating them until the word 'good' had no meaning. Perhaps rain makes us appreciate the sunshine.

And maybe I should just move to a flipping commune and develop a taste for granola...

2010 was a bad year for me - no argument there. I wasn't exactly sad to see the calendar page turn last month. I'm hoping that 2011 will be a building year for me. I'd like to establish a new foundation and get a little stability back in my life and the kid's lives. I think when all is said and done, the kids and I will come out of 2011 with a full head of steam and a lot of momentum for 2012.

At BobKrausCo, 2010 was our painful restructuring, 2011 is our building year and in 2012 we will be back on top. Wait and see.

Speaking of the kids, I'm running out of things to do with them this winter. We've done the sledding thing, the tobogganing thing and the skating thing. What else is there to do with a nine and six year old? I'm sick and tired of winter sports. I want to get back to baseball, long walks in the park, camping and fishing.

I think I've got spring fever and it's still January. This does not bode well for the next eight weeks.

I can't wait for reports from Spring Training. You can mark it down - the Cleveland Indians will be competitive in 2011. I'm predicting two games over 500. That pitching staff is poised to take a big step up, and the hitters are a lot better than people give them credit for. The Yankees are already drooling thinking about Shin Soo Choo in 2014.

No, I'm not crazy. Clevelanders have no imagination. And yeah, I think the Browns will win 9 or more games next season too.

No John, the Cavs will still suck.

Speaking of baseball, one unexpected fallout from this damn divorce is that it's going to totally screw up my son's spring and summer baseball leagues. I'd like to sign him up, but I'm afraid he won't be able to participate. Since we have no agreement on custody and no resolution in sight, I don't even know for sure where the kids will be this summer. And even if they are still in Michigan, I'm pretty sure the Ex won't let him play. She wouldn't take the kids to their weekly swimming lessons that I signed them up for, and I'm pretty sure she won't be making an exception for baseball.

It's tough enough being a single parent, but it really sucks when your Ex is more interested in trying to hurt you than she is in doing what's right by your kids. I read a Facebook post that said something to the effect that "you need to love your kids more than you hate your ex". Wise words. I'm trying very, very hard to live my life with those words in mind. It's difficult, but the kids are worth it.

So no, they can't all be good days. But maybe getting through this shitstorm of a divorce will make me appreciate the good times and good people even more.

And there will be a lot of good times to appreciate in the coming years.

Peace.

Clunky Transition Days

This has been a good week (for bad writing).

In "man points" I'm up like 50-2. Man points are like "bravery points". One gets "man points" for doing "manly" things. In my case I've successfully fixed a broken trash compactor AND washing machine in the same week. That's a big deal in "man world". Fixing one major appliance is a coup. Fixing two? Unheard of. I need to invent a new adjective to describe it.

I fixed the washing machine using a bobby pin. For real. I'm f'n MacGyver bitches!

I'm definitely basking in the afterglow of successful appliance repair. In the words of the bard, "It's Miller time baby!" Or Captain Morgan time at a minimum.

First clunky transition.

But I'm still a little blue. I suppose the sadness comes and goes. It generally hits me whenever I reflect on what I've lost due to the divorce. My friend Farone told me "getting divorced is like a death in the family". I didn't understand him at the time, but he is right. I'm definitely grieving.

I've said it a hundred times - on the whole I was very happy with my marriage. Now that it's over, all I have left are the memories. And other than the last year, almost every one of them is good. I still have a picture of the Ex and I from my college graduation on my desk at work. Every holiday I think of the good times we spent together. It's very much a grieving process. Its over, I've let go and I certainly don't want her back, but I still miss what I lost.

A lot.

Maybe the sadness will be attenuated by the passage of time. The anger certainly has been. Sure, when I have to live under the same roof as her, she still pushes all my buttons and pisses me off. But on the whole I've pretty much let go of my animosity. If it wasn't for her constantly antagonizing me, I pretty much wouldn't care anymore. Pretty much all I want is to be left alone.

Is the fact that I care less and less every day the reason she tries to push my buttons? Last week I absent-mindedly asked The Boy "Why does mommy leave all the lights on in the house?"

He matter of factly replied "To aggravate you." He even used the word 'aggravate'. I was flabbergasted. How petty is that? And who is the child? It turns out his mother actually instructed him NOT to turn off the lights.

Back to me my favorite topic. Me. And appliance repair.

Second clunky transition.

The trash compactor was easy. The door wouldn't stay closed. It turns out that there is a maximum density for trash compaction and after that, the excess garbage just blocks up the machine and knocks it out of level. Apparently teenagers will continue to force trash into the jaws of the machine at any cost to avoid emptying the container.

I seem to remember doing something similar as a child.

Third clunky transition.

Growing up, my parents had a trash incinerator in the basement. I've never known anyone else who had a personal incinerator. We had to separate our garbage into "rubbish" and "trash". We called the burnable stuff "trash", which would be fed into the incinerator and turned into heat and copious quantities of air pollution. I almost feel sorry for our neighbors who had to smell it. I don't remember clearly, but it can't have resembled a burning cinnamon yule log.

There is no way in hell that the EPA would ever allow one of those smog belching beasts to be installed in a residential basement now, would there? Not to mention the risk of fire.

As a kid, it was my job to take the trash downstairs to feed the beast. The incinerator was made of green steel. It was about the size of a tall end table and had a lid that was about 12 inches square on top and lifted up with a squeaky, groaning, moan. I thought the bag of trash would spontaneously combust as soon as it passed the entrance to the incinerator. I would heave the lid open, toss the bag in and slam the lid back down before the beast pulled me in.

This was usually followed by me running up the basement stairs at top speed before the lid slammed closed.

Fourth clunky transition.

So it's been a good week. But unfortunately for me, Sunday is coming. Sundays are the worst day of the week. It's the day the Ex and I hand off the kids. Depending on the week, it either means the beginning or end of my parenting time. Regardless or whether I'm coming or going, transition days suck. If I'm leaving, it's the loss of my time with the kids. If I'm coming, it's having to live under the same roof as the Ex.

The first day with the kids is always difficult. The transitions are tough on them too - maybe tougher than they are for me. I suppose they need time to adapt to my slightly different parenting style. I'm the heavy. I'm the one who doesn't put up with misbehaving or disrespect. The Ex is the boo boo kisser. I'm the one who holds them accountable for their poor choices. I'm a believer that both styles of parenting are required. The kids need a sympathetic shoulder that will comfort them when things don't go their way. But they also need someone who will tell them to get up and walk it off.

Too much 'boo boo kissing' and they grow up dependent and soft. Too much 'walking it off' and they grow up hard and aloof. I want my kids to be strong and capable, but also sensitive and respectful of other people's feelings. It's a tough line to walk. Especially alone.

I'd say child rearing is the single most difficult challenge related to the divorce. Rewarding, but difficult.

I think the transitions may be tough on The Ex too. Most of the visits from Shelby's Finest generally occur near transition days. She may be feeling some of the same separation anxiety I get when my parenting time ends. Of course, my anxiety occurs at Gary's house and we rarely need to call the cops.

It's also tough having your whole life tossed upside down every seven days. I've been living out of a suitcase for so long, at this point it's starting to feel 'normal'. Even when I'm at home, I find myself folding my laundry and storing it in my duffel. By the time this is over I'm going to be like Crocodile Dundee. He slept on the floor of the Plaza Hotel because he couldn't get comfortable in the bed.

Maybe I'll get a chest of drawers that looks like a suitcase.

I've been trying to keep the kids active. In the summer finding activities for the kids is easy. Now, it's getting more and more difficult due to the weather.

Fifth clunky transition. And probably the worst.

Last week I took the kids ice skating. I've never been ice skating before in my life. I was a little apprehensive to say the least. My 42 year old butt bruises a lot easier than it used to and takes a heck of a lot longer to heal.

But here's the thing - we had a great time. And I'm a pretty decent skater. I can't roller skate or roller blade to save my life, but I get around damn good on ice skates. I don't know that I can say ice skating is inherently different than roller skating, but I can tell you that it is possible to slide sideways on ice skates. If you do that on roller skates, you eat pinewood.

It's very similar to moving around on skis. At least to me.

Both kids had a great time. I got to skate with each of them and they both had fun learning and trying out something new. For those of you that care, The Girl seems to be a little more natural skater than her brother. By the end of the session she was skating by herself.

Big f'n deal. Right?

Well my point (if I have one) is that while I grieve for the old life I lost and the memories associated with it, it's never too late to do new things and make new memories. I can say with almost absolute certainty I will go ice skating again with my kids. And that will be an activity I will always associate with just us. There will be no memories of The Ex. Good or bad.

And that's my point.