Father forgive me, it has been almost a year since my last post.  But somehow, someway, I just thought I would be fine without it.  In truth, what I discovered is that I am not.  So in the words of one of the greatest heroes of all time, Inigo Montoya, “Lemme plain, no, there is too much.  Lemme sum up.”

Sometime about 10 years ago, I decided to write a blog.  And why not?  All the cool guys were doing it, and with all that was happening with the Church and the culture, I figured I might be an important voice in the conversation……sort of a conservative religious pundit if you will.  But punditry, if there is indeed such discipline, required much more effort than I was willing to put into it.  In addition to this, it also exposed me to all sorts of opinions about culture that I would rather see in the DSM than mainstreaming as normative.  So after a short time, I just let it go.

Then, in 2008, along came a stroke, and I suddenly found myself in a condition that required some level of rehabilitation.  Writing, I found at least, was helpful as it stimulated thought and expression.  In truth, at that point I did not give a rat’s ass about punditry, nor could did I have any more chance of doing a good job at it than President Trump has in having the press say something nice about him.  So I changed the game, and just wrote.  And I wrote almost daily for five years.  My decision to pursue a degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling and Addictions Counseling, which I completed this past year, changed my need to write “for sanity.”  But I completed that work, and am finding that the “squirrels are strong in me.”

So now I have yet some additional education, a license in Clinical Mental Health and am applying to take the test for a license in addiction counseling.  I am not working anywhere in these fields, but am certainly willing to.  I am no genius by any means, but I think some of that may be connected to this thing that people call “applying.”  But that has little to nothing to do with why I need to write again.

All the school work I have done challenged my mind, or at least kept it busy.  In the words of the Dread Pirate Roberts, “What are our assets?”  For me they are keeping my mind active, but these past few months not so much.

So as I have said multiple times in my posts, I really do not write for followers……I write because I need to for myself.  If I start working as a therapist or addictions counselor, particularly as the “priest business” is not all that busy, my needs may change.  But for now I have serious concerns that I am not challenging my brain nearly enough,  And I know that scenario leads to nothing good.

I have no intention of being irresponsible, I mean at least until I get a very good offer to do so.  Until then, I will stay the course, and make sure I end this life, naturally, and within the normal markers of insanity that I have always aspired to.

Blessings,

Tommy+

No, this is not a post about temperature.  It is about my problems with addiction, particularly to education.  It is not lost on me that my high school girlfriend dropped out, and I was probably thought to be not far behind.  I have painfully watched almost every minute on the school clock I was ever present for, and yes that is intentionally worded, as I was also a (class) skipper.

Somehow, someway, by some miracle, I made it through high school, and with pretty good grades too.  I was really an uninterested participant, and when my girlfriend dropped out, a big part I blame on me, school was kind of even more of a drag than it was before.  We were still together when I enrolled in college, only 60 miles from home too.  I gave up my dream of continuing to play ice hockey to be close to her.  She dumped me after two or three weeks for a guy a year behind me who had repainted his truck to look like a Tonka truck.  I was devastated, because I knew at 18 she was the one for me.  I did love her.  Her name was Karin, and she deserved far better than me.  I saw her once a few years later, but not since.  I lasted only a short time at school.  I received played enough to receive a varsity letter in soccer, a game I had never played before, and took with me a half a credit for gym.  I left mid-semester, defeated and lost.

But somehow, someway, I knew that I was not done, even though I still did not like school.  I weaseled my way into IUSB where I actually stayed a semester, and when your GPA sucked as bad as mine, was able to improve it quite a bit.  I imagine I was on academic probation, and it was not “secret,” but I had a good job, lots of friends, wonderful people to date, and no real direction.

It somewhat puzzles me that I decided to give up the high level social life of Williamsburg on the Lake in Mishawaka to transfer into Butler University where my dad was the Director of the Counseling Center.  It is a funny thing about how they treat men in divorce.  My dad had been my dad my entire life, but for the parts I remember, I hardly was able to know him.  My mom worked all the time, and I was left to “guide myself” which I was a pro at, especially if you consider failing and trouble being a pro.

So in 1981, two years after the immaculate ejection from high school, I found myself still technically a freshman at a school full of people I did not know.  It was a fresh start, so I joined a fraternity full of pretty great guys, most of whom are still friends, and dumped down our house GPA by needing to drop Chemistry so I would not fail it.    I passed the next semester, got initiated, got some traction, still hated classes, but busted my butt to get out in 1984.

Of course now I was a candidate for seminary in my early 20’s.  It required a 103 hour Masters degree.  But why not?  I was used to the self inflicting wounds, and plus I was certain women would love the outfit, fast cars, and flashy lifestyles priests represented.  In truth, I was surprised to find myself in this place.  Everyone around me appeared to think I was called, and the evidence of my work seemed to affirm that, but I always thought that some prestigious seminary ought to be able to weed out the lowly when they saw them.  Apparently not at Virginia.

In time I was ordained a deacon in June of 1989 and a priest in March of 1990.  I really was surprised, and actually did quite well at what I did.  So in time I thought I ought to be responsible and go back for more.  So yes, in the year 1995 sometime and I do not when exactly as I do not even hang these things in my office, I graduated with a doctoral degree, a DMin, rather than a PhD, by choice, just because history will tell you I am prone to poor choices.

It was all good.  I even started an MBA after that, but only finished half of it, and graduate credits expire if you do not use them.  Amanda of course often confers upon me the Third Degree, which I probably deserve, but as I always remind her, no one looks at the two of us and thinks I am the one with problems.

But all this is to say that I received an email from Indiana Wesleyan University today about ordering a cap and gown and hood, for in less than 90 days I will graduate with yet another degree in Clinical Mental Health (which I personally and desperately need) as well as a post-Master’s Addiction Certificate.

Now this all may sound impressive, but let me say I am a semester behind because I dropped a class to look at a PhD program mid-stream.  I decided to complete this, which I will on April 29th (my later Grandma Middleton’s birthday and she and my grandpa’s – also deceased- wedding anniversary), and I am out of my mind trying to decide what to do.

Obviously my modus operandi would be to enroll in a PhD program after this, which I would if I could find an accredited one to take me.  I have a great interest in clergy health, and clergy family health, as well as addiction and addictive behaviors.  Self-study on myself, perhaps, would indicate addiction to education and degrees that I probably do not need, but it would also be a conflict of interest.

So even though I am still a priest, I will be looking for something to do.  My wife will let me drop off and pick up Ben, and beyond that I probably am a candidate for her supervision.  But for the next two years, if I happen by some additional miracle from God to pass the licensure exam, I will need to see patients/clients and log supervised hours.  After that, I can take the second exam and consult and private practice in my field as I probably should.

All the time looking for something else to do.  Were you aware there are clocks in every classroom?  I figure I am now in 27th grade….and they move no faster.

Peace!

Tommy+

We have been remodeling the main room in our basement, and it has not been a journey among the bunnies and the flowers.  Plaster, plaster, plaster.  Dust, dust, dust.  Insanity, insanity, insanity.

So imagine my joy to receive a few pictures on my phone from my grandson Issac.  I am not sure how he manages to take these, but they sure do lift my spirits.  Of course it blesses me deeply to see him wearing a “World Champion Chicago Cubs” outfit.  Lord knows, I had to wait 55 years to wear one, where his were waiting for him before he was born.  I am happy for him.  He will start his baseball life out happy, and from there who knows?  My hope and prayer for him is that he can wear these and celebrate all through his lifetime.

But I am not too good with editing and all, so I am glad you can see it is his Cubs’ jersey, but I wish you could see his face.  I will try posting it, along with two others within this text, so hopefully you can.  It has been a month since I have held him, which to me feels about 30 days too long.  I just hope these pictures do the same things they do for me on my computer which is a MacBook Pro.

I do remember complaining about how pictures always move when I take them now.  It is like those creepy Harry Potter paintings on the stairs of that creepy house they all live in (yes, I am not a fan).  But I click on a picture after I take it and it moves.  What happened to just taking a picture?  It was a major “first order” issue to me, as what is the point of having a million dollar phone with a camera, if it cannot just take a picture??  Really?  What is the purpose?

And I get it now………..being a grandparent.  His pictures move, and I see him, and I hear him.  I just cannot hold him, although I want to.  I am amazed at how very handsome he is and how much he has grown.  If they would just put him on a webcam, I would never have to leave the house.

So thanks Apple, for messing up your phones in a way I can live with. I apologize for all the things I said about you, which you probably heard from Siri.  And although I am an ardent critic of technology’s interference with the healthy life of human beings just dealing with each other, here I find some joy and peace.

Blessings to you this day my friends.  Let me know how the cutest grand baby in the world made your day today…….just like he makes mine.

Tommy+

Yep, I know.  I missed a day.  That is what stress and depression does to me.  My admission of having trouble with my brain is real, and my confession of intent to daily blog was real.  I am afraid part of what I have done is exasperate my depression.

Tonight’s main picture, or the one on top, is me feeding Ben a bottle, just a few months before my stroke.  It is how I remember me.  The picture that I have yet to pick out while I type is me now.  The two, for me at least, are a stark contrast.   In my thoughts, I see myself as the thin, in shape, guy with it all together.  I am not sure those thoughts are rational.  In truth, I am the guy in the second picture, some 80 pounds heavier, battling stress, depression, anxiety, and abandonment.  It is really not all that pretty (as much as guys can be pretty) a picture.

Of course I made a ton of life changes in order to address this disparity, but they no longer materialize in recognizable traction.  I truly feel disconnected with most people I was once close to, and I find that both sad and tragic.  I do not need to air dirty laundry, as I have too much of it, but only to find some sort of deeply buried motivation, like the kind I used to rely on, that would tell me to get up and get moving.  What is it in the now that makes me let life just have its way?

You know, deep down I know I am a good guy, and I know that I do not deserve all that I have been dealt.  But I also know that if you have been dealt an awful hand, in order to stay in the game, you still have to play your hand.  My self-pity and loathing are tiresome, mostly to me.  I know it, and I see it and feel it, yet allow paralyzation to have its way.  I know the frog in the pot analogy is a myth, but I have become that myth.  I have allowed myself to be victimized in my life all around me, what I do not need it to martyr myself by myself.

No, I am not falling apart, not am I am any level of risk personally, unless of course I say to myself, “Just keep doing what you are doing Tom, you are doing fine.”  At some point the scales need to fall off my eyes and my vision and will to fight need restoration.  I honestly believe I am, and hopefully believe I am, entering this stage.

Damn the torpedoes, I need a kick in the butt.  Full steam ahead.

Tommy+

Well it is Groundhog Day here in Indiana, and sadly, I do not have a groundhog.  I do however, have a cat.  Yes, the fact that we have a cat is one of the least-known facts about our family, and this is primarily due to the fact that she just does her own thing and is often not even interested in us.  If she had a shadow anyway, I would be surprised, as she is really only around at night

She used to be seen in the day at our old house, as she would go out a window onto the roof and sit on a pinnacle watching birds, but there is no such opportunity here as this house does not have the same kind of roof access.  She does occasionally go out on the balcony off my office and sit and watch birds there.

My office looks over the back yard, as does the balcony, and that’s where we have a garden in the warm months.  Ironically, we used to have a groundhog that would come into the garden because he liked watermelon.  The cat would watch him, but could do nothing.  In all honesty however, in all her 14 years, nothing is really what she does best.   She lives within her skill set.

But in my heart I totally believe she could care if it were winter or not.   She can’t weigh 10 pounds, and she isn’t even bothered by the dogs.  I am not sure what her passions are, or whether or not she cares if we are home (probably not, because she is a cat), but I do know she is as close as we have to a weather-predicting rodent.

So for what it is worth, I think she would say that we live in Indiana, and it is kind of cold till it gets warmer.  I can’t say that for sure, but then again she is our cat, and cats don’t talk much.

Tommy+

Well, my first instinct, as it always is, was to make an excuse about why I missed at least a day of my daily blog, so this is the best I could come up with…….I forgot.  Old habits sometimes die hard, and as I have taken such a long break from writing, my habit has been not to. I promise I was wondering what I was forgetting, as I knew it was something, but tonight in an unrelated conversation with my most intelligent child, Ben (just ask him), I mentioned the blog.

Of course right then it surprised me that I suddenly remembered it, but far less than my 9.5+ year-old son saying, “You have a BLOG?” (Followed by, “Can I have one too?”)  It led to an interesting conversation on the blog history and how it started and continued.  I remembered that I was in the living room of our home (then in Noblesville) talking to my wife on the phone with a then 10-month-old Ben in his highchair right in front of me when I had my stroke,  He was the only visual witness, and in our conversation tonight it astounded me that I had written entries most of the days of his life, with a great deal of them mentioning him, and I had never told him about them at all.

He is currently grounded from his iPad, but our conversation had me handing it to him and allowing him to get online.  He was so amazed that it was on its own site, and as he scrolled he saw tons of pictures, which incidentally I did not decide to add until a year or two in.

I told him he was too young to have his own blog, but as I remember, I think either Amanda or the kids occasionally blogged for me when I just could not.  So I offered him a non-stipendiary position on my staff, as it is actually the same pay I make.  And I also gave him my accompaniment hymnals that I have had from all the years I served as a parish priest.  ***They are expensive, but pretty worthless to me as I do not read music.  It made me wonder why I had them at all.

My interaction with Ben about the blog reminded me that I believe I one or two times either allowed my wife or one of my other kids to be a “guest blogger” at one point, but I really felt it was best to just be okay with this memory rather than trying to look for those entries.  I am sure that Ben will find them if they exist, and if he reads all of them.

I put a ***  just a little bit ago into this post as it was also a surprise.  No, it does not surprise me that my books are sometimes overpriced, but this is the marker of how far I had typed last evening before falling asleep with my head on my computer keyboard.  I use a MacBook Pro, so yes, I thought I would be fine typing in bed.  As a doctor, albeit the wrong kind to make any kind of medical diagnosis, I was NOT surprised to find that I had fallen asleep.  As we say where I come from, “”this was not my first rodeo.”  But what I can say surprised me was that I believed this was a okay idea, and even more so, that THIS TIME IT WOULD BE DIFFERENT.  I may disappoint myself, but I am pretty consistent.

So I will close this out, now this morning, in order to get Ben to school and get moving with my day.  My pictures today are of my soon to be “guest blogger,” which yes, I have agreed to.  One is as a newborn in the summer of 2007, you know, just like the Bryan Adams’s song, except like 50 years later.  The other is with my grandmother a few years before her passing.  The day with Ben, certainly not her passing, was one of the greatest days of my life.  (And yes, she would think that joke was funny too).  And the last is from Sunday night at Applebees in Noblesville, in order to show you he no longer would fit in either one of those outfits anymore.

But life changes and is full of surprises…..mine especially.  And there is nothing like a bit of stupidity on my part to make sure my life is surprising all the time!

Blessings!

Tommy+

Oh the struggle is real.  I had a little bit of time this afternoon and thought I would sit down and type an entry for the blog.  I was very pleased with myself, as my morning was very routine, and I felt I was making some good progress.

My surprise came as I had this wild Déjà vu (do not worry, I copied and pasted the cool spelling) feeling about what I had written.  I have generally learned to “go with” these feelings, so I did, and I found it no surprise that I had written an eerily similar post to one I had written on January 14th.  Some parts were even word for word.  It upset me, and reinforced what  had written yesterday, but it was also a familiar place to be for me.  I try, but sometimes things just turn out the same.

I know however that I should not complain.  I know people with similar circumstances whose funerals I have presided over.  But I find it deeply frustrating that I cannot come to accept who I am at times.  Sure, I joke about it, and smilewhiles I do it, but underneath it is deeply painful.  And although I think at times that maybe I can sleep this off, everyday I wake up to a new adventure.

I still am extremely high functioning.  And I am certain that I must be younger, thinner, and taller too.  But there is something about me that keeps driving to figure it all out.  Today is a great example.  The duplicate blog entry, and even the duplicate details, were nothing less than frightening and in ways defeating.  What I did not do was cave into the fear, I set it aside temporarily and then sat down for yet another do-over.  And so far so good, the only familiarity I am feeling is the do-over, and not the content.

But I am invested in the race, and I am committed to my own cause.  I may be no damn good at memory things, but a lot of people aren’t.  And I choose to focus upon what I can do.

I still have a lot of the day to go, and for the next six hours will be crazy busy.  But I will make it and do my best to shake this off.  After all, it is only a brain, and I am a guy.  I’ve got this!

Stay sane, but if you can’t, call me twice.  I prolly will not remember the first call.

Tommy+

I originally started this blog early in 2008.  I had no idea what it was or what it would become.  It was just something that all the cool priests were doing, and so I got onto blogspot, and I started to write.

At the beginning, I thought I could put all of the amazing, first-class, theological education that I had to good use.  After all, I had put a lot of money and time into getting Bachelor’s, Masters, and Doctoral degrees.  But how to do it was another thing.  Sure I could write, but even I was not the kind of guy who would want to read some deep theological discussion or opinion that few, other than those with nothing better to do, would take the time to read.  I think I posted maybe 3 or 4 times in the first 4 months of 2008, and posted nothing worthwhile.

Of course I had no idea that I had a date with a little thing called an ischemic stroke in mid-April of that year.  It was an opportunity for me to see pastoral care from the “bed-position” rather than the “looming-position” which is far mire customary with us priests.  But it also offered me so much more, mainly the chance to live my life with a brain full of what I believe I could call “interesting” function.

I do not remember a lot of what I thought about my blog during this time, other than what a major loss it probably was to the world of highly read theological nonsense.  In my mind, which yes I know was damaged, I imagined monumental task it would now be to write it.  I could not remember words, sometimes I wrote sentences or paragraphs completely over again, sometimes I jumbled up words, yet when I would proofread they would all look good and make sense.  I am sure it was horrifying to my wife who would proofread and help me.  But the reality of it all is what saved me, and what saved the general blogosphere, from another dimwitted theological treatise written by a priest with no business at all doing such things.  There was no doubt at all that my writing was therapeutic, but it was so really only to me, so I unintentionally started to write whatever was in my head, which seemed to work well for me, despite all those different voices.

A few years ago, if you have that kind of time to go back and read all these, you will see how I left the day to day work of a parish priest.   I really do not have any idea what I reported back then, as this is not meant to be a dairy, but I know now that I started a degree in Clinical Mental Health, that will include a post-Master’s Addiction certificate as well.  And I only know all this, because they are getting ready to kick me out of the program when I graduate on April 29th.  But as I started this blog up again, just to try and stay a little sharp, a colleague shared with me how she felt I had come a long way with my “brain” since I started the program.  I guess I had, but one of the things I did when I started this degree was to stop this blog.  It made sense then, it does not now.

I started it back up a few weeks back because I could see and feel the struggle, and the struggle was real.  And now after a totally hellacious (in the worst sense) week, I am confessing that the blog needs to go back to being my “daily driver.”  Papers for school, posts on my phone, emails, Facebook posts, all are missing words or are nonsensical and I just do not see them.  My blog post on my daughter and sister of just two days ago, though proofread, was riddled with mistakes……and the kind that frighten me.

I have been told that there are no connections, but my mom had a few strokes and she died of Alzheimer’s at 71.  Her last 10 years were full of confusion and sadness.  It is not a surprise my mind goes there, because my mind is all over the place.  I will say I am not connecting anything to her hysterectomy as a young woman.  I may be nuts, but I am not crazy.

But after some deep soul-searching, and a heart to heart with my dog, I have decided that the best offense is to actually have an offense.  I will attempt to the best of my abilities write everyday.  This of course means I need to put some trust in my memory, which of course is terrible, but if history is any teacher, I should get better in time.

If it does not, then so be it.  After all, I am just giving it a try.  But all this is to say I am writing this for myself, as I have explained many different times, as it gives me a therapeutic benefit.  If it does something for you, then that is just a bonus.

If however you find my writing theologically edifying, get yourself to the closet emergency room.  We all have problems, but yours may best be treated by someone more qualified than me.

Please enjoy these pictures of a younger, thinner, less crazy me.

Blessings!

Tommy+

I have patiently waited to post this post, for on the night that I called my sister Stephanie to explain that we had named my daughter Stephanie after her, she was honored but bitched and moaned that is was because she was in another hospital at the time and was dying from cancer.  In my politest bother voice, I told her to get over herself and get it together!  She did indeed die from cancer, but the picture shows the both Stephs when baby Steph was about 10.  My sister was wrong.  She had ten solid years to spoil and influenced her namesake, and she did.

The beauty is that now that Issac is born that “baby Steph” is the Aunt on record, and she has a lot to do.  Her Aunt Stephanie did not get everything in that she would have before she died, and this means my daughter has plenty to add to her bag-o-tricks to make the spoiling complete.  Not to worry, she has already informed me that she is already committed to be the best Aunt ever, and since she is named for the queen of all Aunts, I am not doubtful at all that she will have tremendous success.

As the grandpa I only receive a few pictures, far less than I deserve by the way,  but I have included then (okay it) here.  But I will rectify this in time. Aunts, uncles, parents and such will pass meekly in comparison to how I will deal with the boy.  I am even thinking about approaching Kenzie’s dad Randy to form some sort of grandpa’s alliance, or private fraternity. We can work it out and may even be able to buy an apartment or home for grandfathers within blocks of our little Bambino.  We will see, but we will probably outshine the others for sure

Anyway. we will get on it. as he is just over there weeks old, we need to make our moves soon!

Blessings!

Tommy

Sure, it probably seems like a bit of whining to complain about the car I am now driving, and really it is nice and all, but for those who have known me a long while you know that I am more of a truck guy.  A few weeks back, we traded in a minivan, that neither one of us like or drove all that much, and to make sure we sent it to the outmost reaches of beyond, we used my truck, which was completely paid off, to sweeten the whole transaction.  It was hard for me to do, and it does not help me that every time we pop into the car Ben says, “Dad, you really miss your truck, don’t you?”

And I do.  most people will tell you that you that when you have a truck, you always have friends, because people always want to borrow it.  And although that may or may not may be true, what I know is true is that now that I have not had my truck a couple of weeks I realize that I do not have any friends with trucks.  And I also have realized that I have needed a truck on a variety of occasions these past two weeks, and more than that, a full-sized German Shepherd looks absolutely ridiculous in a car she is twice the size of.  She is far less threat when she is going to have get out and stretch before jumping on any bad guys.

In addition to these clearly first order issues in life, I am pretty much sitting right on the road, which to me is a total lifestyle change.  Cars are low to the ground.  Sure I can now tell you the temperature with amazing accuracy, rather than saying “hey, it’s cold,” or “it’s kinda hot.” But to tell the temperature, it actually requires me to get into the car, whereas I was able to share the weather from even outside my truck.
What I can say however is that all my children are very proud of me as I have finally started driving, like many old people do, a car with a radio I do not understand.  Now if it were a Buick, which as I understand I was just 6 months too young to qualify to drive, there would be some hope for me, but alas, I believe there to be none.  I am sure when the kids drive it they will use more features, but for now it gets turned off and turned on.

Where I struggle is wondering whether or not I am still welcome at Menards.  I am sure people drive cars there, but in all honesty, I never paid any attention till now.  And how do I get my dogs back and forth to Mounds State Park when mud and wet fur are as compatible to a car as winning is to the Cleveland Browns?  It is a conundrum.

But I suppose this condition will not be terminal for me.  Life changing, yes, but certainly not terminal.  And in time I believe I will find myself struggling less and less.  After all, I am now a grandpa……..and just 6 short months from qualifying for a Buick.  I sure hope they make a truck!