One of those days

Do you ever have those days where things just seem to go pear shaped? I mean don’t get me wrong I like pears.

But let’s just say you wake up and try to go running and it isn’t the greatest run, but you shake it off and keep on going.

Then it takes you 20 minutes to find a parking spot, making you barely there in time to start your shift at work. And while at work you burn your hand, leaving a mark on your hand, still present the morning after.

Keeping the trend going you get to your dinner meeting and have to wait for them to show up and then when they do it is another long wait until dinner, and you haven’t eaten all day.

Dinner goes well though so things are looking up, and on your way out of the parking lot, someone was driving and texting and hits your back bumper. Well enough, you pull over and they try to drive off, but get stuck at the light, so you write their information and then call the police. Waiting for the police you decide to listen to some music and when they arrive discuss the previous events while leaving your lights on. So when you hop back in your car to warm up from the frigid nighttime temps, you realize you’re still going to be cold because your battery is dead.

You come home and it is an argument once again and you realize you are going to miss your deadline on a project.

So, you put on your sweats, take a spoonful of peanut butter and take a breath.

You survived another day. You lived to breathe one more time.

Thank You Thursday 11.21

This will be quick. Brief really. I have been lacking as of late to write. I don’t know why I was on such a roll for a little while and then stopped. I just lost sight of a couple things. Like my own goals. I need to take a beat and realize I have them written down on paper for a reason, so I have to face them everyday and watch the progress unfold. Hopefully there is progress to see.

But today, it is Thursday, and I am going to continue onward in spreading my thankfulness for everyone in my life.

Unfortunately I will be extremely broad in my thanks.

Don’t worry, you’ll know who you are. And I will become more detailed, but I am trying to be brief, remember?

To my friends. All of you. Every single last stinking one of you: old, new, borrowed, blue… wait…

But in all seriousness, my friends are my family. Or they have become such in a quick turn throughout my life.

Some of you have seen some pretty dark times and stuck by me regardless. Some of you have told me what I did not want to hear, but truly needed to hear. Some of you have gotten up in the wee hours of the morning just to get out the door and run with me. Some of you have discussed far bigger things than I ever thought my little life could hold or handle. Some of you have continually guided me towards the path in life I am meant to lead, but never truly realized. And some of you have done more than guide, you straight up told me that is what I should be doing. Some of you have watched me rant and rave at the smallest of things and did not judge me. Some of you judged me and loved me regardless. Some of you opened up immediately and took me in, sheltered me, cared for me, waited with me, supported me, held me, cried with me, loved me.

You did it even when I couldn’t do it for myself. You held my hand even when I didn’t want to be there. You ran with me, cried with me, ran some more, ate massive amounts of food, drank gallons of coffee, watched endless movies, created thousands and thousands of memories I will never forget. Because a lot of them are on Instagram.

I knew I needed to thank everyone on the whole this evening, as I was reading all of the notifications on my Facebook page after work. The beauty and wonder in all your words and “likes” brought me to near tears because I was so moved by you all.

Even when I didn’t want you to, you kept going.

Even when I didn’t think I deserved it, you kept on giving.

Even when I still think I don’t, I am still getting texts and phone calls and notifications, telling me different.

Thank you. I am blessed and overwhelmed with all of you. I hope I can give back half as much as you have given to me. 

"Jack" Part 2

I'm sitting at my kitchen table right now wearing an oversized cardigan. The wool threads are scratching my cold skin. I have a cup of coffee by my hand and I am debating putting a swig of whiskey in the cup. It really wouldn't be that bad, Grandpa did it a lot. I've written a lot about him later, but there are too may words to put on paper. And not enough describe the wonderful man he was and the enormous impact he had on my life. One of my most favorite pieces of writing was the honor of writing his memorial. And today I would like to share it. 

Delbert Campbell “Jack” McCluskey is a spirited, charming, and quiet man. His heart was bigger than any other and it will be truly missed.

grandpa and me. my favorite picture. 

Born into a family of eleven children, on September 26, 1933 in Pawhuska Oklahoma. Moving later to Springfield, Oregon where he attended high school and met his future wife, Betty Lou. He went on to graduate from Oregon State University with two degrees in civil engineering and mathematics. However, in most of his subjects he found a passion for knowledge and learning and continued that self-education well into his years, found with a book in hand, with another stack on the floor. He worked for The Boeing Company as an electrical engineer for 36 years. 

Celebrating nearly fifty-five years together, Betty and Del are two peas in a pod. Finishing sentences and sharing in each other’s passions, and taught others the meaning of true love. Evidenced in pictures lining their halls with adventures and adoration. His three children, Michael Don, Lucinda Lee, and William Alan, grew up in his image and guidance. Delbert taught by experience, through weekends of camping, hunting and fishing, although Aunt Cinda liked the camping with air conditioning and cushioned beds.  Each took his characteristics into their hearts and molded them into their own, but his light continually shines through his family. His three grandchildren, Meaghan Marie, Brendon Campbell, and Colton John were the glimmer in his eye. He taught them the ways of education and sports and how important it is to lead and never follow. He taught them to stand tall and be proud of the McCluskey name and heritage.

Delbert was an active member of many of the local driving ranges, often found at the coffee stands at the local grocery stores talking to whomever walked by as well as his friends. You could not help but be drawn to such an astounding, personable and vivacious man. He would do everything for anyone before himself. He is the epitome of the good within humanity. We can only strive to reach the strength and capacity of his heart. His guidance, while not physically present now, is still there and substantially felt.

So please, raise a glass for the dearest man to grace our presence. Cheers to you, Grandpa. We will savor the box of Cheez-its. Your love is forever. And ours is for always. 

Time.

Scared is not a word I would say that I use often. And I say that because it scares me to admit that I am scared, and for a lot of reasons.

I’m scared to get up and walk in the mornings because I don’t want to find yet another injury on my body preventing me from running. I’ve had too many and I am tired of them. I just want to run, hopefully fast.

Sometimes I am scared when I am walking to my car at night; I don’t know who is around the next corner, or if someone is hiding under my car. I know they are somewhat irrational fears, but I’ve also experienced some weirder stuff. So, it could happen.

A lot of times I am scared that I’ll never be able to figure out myself. At one point in my life, I had discovered that I could be a pretty awesome person. I walked into rooms with confidence and assuredness. Now I walk into rooms with a somewhat false sense of those things. I never know what to do anymore, as though I am lost and alone, even in the most crowded of rooms. Sometimes I hide. Not like the game, but I stock up on blankets and I climb into bed and hide away for a little bit. I have even found ways to hide in broad daylight in a room full of people. I stop talking. I get quiet and I just listen.

Most of the time, I don’t know if people will like me. I am a little weird. Ok, a lottle weird. Sometimes you find those people who accept that weird, and sometimes you don’t. I once opened up to some that found my cookiness enjoyable, even attractive. And that didn’t really work out in my favor in the long run. So I stopped opening up. There are some scars there, and they are still a little too tender.

But sometimes, sometimes I open up. Not so much because I am comfortable, but because it needs to happen. It’s been festering and brewing for far too long and something needs to be said about it. Sometimes the story isn’t fully told because those details are still too hurtful. And sometimes I hold back the tears because I am just not ready to cry. Mostly because I am scared I’ll never stop again.

All the time, I am scared I am too damaged and broken for someone to keep me in his or her life. It scares me to think that that damage could be inflicted on someone else.

Here’s the thing about being scared: It makes us do some crazy stuff. And all the time, I am scared I will stop trying. So everyday, I try a little more.