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!

Well I suppose since I took such a significant hiatus from this blog that I should mention that our beloved Viper, pictured above, had to be put down the day before Thanksgiving 2015.  Of course we all were devastated, particularly me, as I did not know what an amazing role he played in my life.  Yes, he was technically Scotty’s primary dog when we were showing, and a spectacular show dog he was, but he was also my constant companion, particularly after Scotty went into the Marine Corps.

At the time of his death, we already had two other dogs.  The first dog, Maggie, is a miniature tri-colored Australian Shepherd, who was a very intentional pick.  You  may wonder why a family that had a long history of raising, breeding, and showing Golden Retrievers might not get Ben another Golden, but it was about me.  Viper followed me everywhere, and I knew another Golden would just hang with the pack, so since Ben got along so well with Scotty and Kenzie’s new dog Bentley (who is a full-sized Aussie) we looked into a smaller version of this breed.  It was a good choice because to this day they are inseparable.

Of course that left Amanda kind of alone.  Viper followed me, Maggie followed Ben, and although both dogs would patronize her, she was, for all practical purposes, dog-less. This led to the acquisition of C. S. Lewis, or Lou, or Sweet Lou, or Lou Bear, or one of the hundreds of names he goes by.  He is actually on of Maggie’s siblings from the following litter, and he is what in the breed is known as a Blue Merle.  He is a looker, and Scotty when home created Lou an Instagram account called Blue_Eyed_Louie or Lewis the Aussie  https://www.instagram.com/blue_eye_louie/  He is ridiculous as he has over 2500 followers.  Of course as he is my wife’s dog, he should probably have more.

But I digress.  After Viper’s passing, I became terribly depressed.  I just really struggled with the loss not just of my best friend and constant companion, but of a dog who really did provide me the lion’s share of my emotional support. I do not want anyone to believe that my wife or family does not support me, because in all honesty they do.  But after the second or third time of ruffing up my wife’s hair and telling her what a good boy she was, it was clear I was not doing as well as we had hoped.

Of course AngelCreek, our kennel and show name, had a history of only Goldens, so I think it was quite a shock to my wife and children that I would be considering another breed.  I am not an old guy, so I do not consider this my last dog decision, but in all my life I had not ever had a dog like Viper.  I considered Goldens, but decided in only a short time that staring at a new Golden and crying all the time may not be the best way to move forward, unless you consider institutionalization a way forward.

So we talked quite a bit about a lot of breeds, and for many reasons settled on German Shepherds.  When we used to show, German Shepherds were always close by and I enjoyed watching the breed and was impressed with the people who showed them.  I was not fond of the slanted back of the show dogs, but the loyalty and intelligence of the dogs themselves.

So in time I found a breeder and a dog, Abigail is her call name.  And like Viper, who was really “Charisma’s AngelCreek SnakenShake,” Abbey has her real name “EngelBach com Gizewski,” or in English, “AngelCreek com Gizewski,” Gizewski being the name of the kennel from where she came.

And I thank Abigail every day for not being Viper.  No dog could ever be him for me, and she was never intended as a replacement.  She is a mixed line of both show and obedience lines, and up until my trainer died recently, was receiving much of the training that a police dog was.  It is all intentional.  Viper would wait for me to come home and go sit out with me in the yard.  Abbey will have none of it, and needs training and activity.  It is a sweet deal for me, and my only complaint is that my wife can call my fierce-looking tough-guy dog right over for some “belly-rubs” and she leaves me.  We are working on that.

But I am enjoying the challenges.  Abbey keeps me moving as much as she can, challenges me, and knows when I am struggling.  She does not deal with me like Vipe did, but is every bit as effective.  Viper would be with me in the moment, Abbey gets me out of the moment.

I have had some incredible companions over the course of my life, and they have never disappointed me.  So I though I would bring you up to date on the ones with me now and allow those who knew Viper to hear about him from me.  They have not just been our dogs, they are our family.  And I am thankful for them all in my life.

Peace!

Tommy+

Well I had so many positive comments on the return of this blog, that in my amazing awesomeness, I forgot completely to post yeste
rday.  I cannot say that I am surprised, however I can say that we should all be happy I am not anyone’s neurosurgeon!  As many of you know, I have a few memory problems, and they show up from time to time.  If you are a new reader, then welcome aboard….I am this stupid much of the time.

Anyway, posting a picture of my grandson Issac was a great way to start this blog up again.  Today Issac is one week old, and to my joy and amazement, he has already pooped all over his dad.  I always thought that I would be the messenger of such payback, but it is obvious that the little guy works for me.  And to his credit, he had his dad laughing and talking about it like it was a monumental event, sort of similar to graduating from the Naval Academy.  I thought it was, but of course I am just a week into the grandparent business.

On a related note, I thought I would post tonight’s picture of Issac, along with his “Uncle Ben” (maker of some delicious rice), his smoking hot grandma Amanda, and me, his grandfather (the large black blob who looks uncomfortable and photoshopped into the picture).

It was not until I looked at this picture to include it in the post that I noticed “Uncle Ben,” who is here assigned to “holding” his nephew, making two “thumbs up” signs meaning he is likely to lose his pending football scholarship to the famous Earl Schieb St. Louis Paint and Body and Therapeutic Massage University.  Obviously if you exhibit such carelessness with a baby, you probably will only be a little better with a football, even if your mom is in the backfield.  But here, no harm, no foul.  Ben actually loves the little guy.

Of course now Ben thinks it is a good time for us to adopt a little sister “for him,” with the promises of interaction, good behavior, and a blessed experience for all.  Of course I weigh this up against his cat and dog which he promised to “take care of” many years ago, meaning they both would starve if I did not feed them.  We have all agreed that Ben does not have a future in babysitting.

But regardless, Amanda and I are grandparents, and for those who have not ever seen her, yes this is an actual picture of my wife just a week ago. Yes she is beautiful, and as both a priest and therapist, let me admit that looking at the both of us, she may have some what we in the business call :issues.”  But let’s stay out of my business if you will and let me worry about why she married a guy like me.  It may take a while to figure out.

The big news however is that I have remembered to post, and that here it is.  In baseball that would be batting .666.  In theology, that would be something I might want to change.  Regardless, I am working on remembering.  And I will be asking whats her face to remind me tomorrow, if she ever comes to bed.

 About a year ago I stopped writing my blog entitled Tales of a Faithful DragonSlayer. In the 5+ years I wrote it, it evolved from a therapeutic tool to recover from my stroke in 2008 to more of a way for people to keep up with the life and times of a not-so-regular Anglican priest attempting to survive in a rapidly changing landscape (the Church). It became something that I felt was not all that healthy for my spirit, so I set it aside.

Now a year or so later I find myself in a much different place. The primary reason for my writing the blog was for myself. It kept my mind sharp, and allowed me to express myself in ways that stretched and exercised my mind. It allowed me to release what is clearly my unorthodox sense of humor, but it evolved to the point that I avoided things I believed in, not wanting to get into political or theological debates with others, as it truly is my own personal conviction that if you want to disagree with me that is your God-given right…..even if you are dead wrong.

But my discomfort about such things led me to back off, and to some extent cower down, which is not only contrary to my style, but offensive to my own personal theology.

It brings to mind a trend that is happening in our country which disturbs me very deeply……..we have surrendered the right to be ourselves.

I am writing this entry on an airplane returning to Indiana from attending my Aunt Winnie’s funeral in Sarasota, Florida. Aunt Winnie was my grandma’s sister, and her voice and her presence in my life personally was an unbelievable comfort to me since my grandma died in the late 1970’s. It was a wonderful gathering of family that she herself probably would have enjoyed the most.

But what may surprise some who read this is that in my family I am a minority. Yep, this right-wing, racist, homophobe, hateer, and all the other crap I have been called over the years comes from a family of liberals, some who would make Barry Sanders look conservative. And some even still attend and are active members in good-standing of the Episcopal Church whose shameful and offensive treatment of me as I left at the end of 2006, not even Stephen King could concoct. Yet there I was Tommy, and there were my aunts and uncles and cousins, and quite frankly though we joked about religion, sexuality, and politics, none of us gave a damn about head locking another. In my family, of which one of the finest women I have ever known we were there to honor was a matriarch, We love each other first. Family is family, and if I just lived in Cleveland I could cancel out more of their votes.

But I had an Epiphany there, and I need to write. And I need to write about the truth as I know it and believe it. If you are offended by it, remember just like David Thorne does (yes, I am a fan), I write my blog for me.

In fact, I feel healthier already, so much so in fact that if I had a personal trainer and a therapist I would fire them both. But for now I will just take things one step at a time.

And so we are clear, I also moved this to FrTomTirman.com, not because of some repressed narcissistic tendencies that suddenly surfaced, but because of all the junk mail that came into my box through my Google (I am sorry Alphabet-cha) account right after I signed back into my blog about a month ago. Coincidence? Oh I am sure! But it was enough for me to move it, and will allow me to do a few other things as well.

The best part however is that I already know how to spell my name!

God Bless!

Tommy+

I do not want to be envious or jealous, but I want my dog’s life. I have had a busy day and really, I am exhausted, but for the last part of it I took our dog Viper. It was not that he didn’t want to go the rest of the day, I just didn’t take him. He however know what he wants,tries to get it, and knows how to enjoy it.

So this is obviously not him in the picture, as it was too dark to take one, but it captures the context, for as we were driving home I looked in my side-view mirror, and there he was with the window down, head out the window in the cool air, fast asleep.  I was in the front seat, as my license is to drive whereas his is just to be a dog, and my knee was aching, I was tired, cold, and feeling a great deal of admiration for the glorious example he was setting. And this just proves his versatility, as he is technically a retriever. (stay with me, I am here all week)

But the question is, how can a grown man feel this way? The dog isn’t supposed to be the master, it is the other way around.  Or is it something like marriage, where I only believe I am in charge?  I don’t know, as these are deep thoughts and I pretty sure I cannot think of them until I ask Amanda for permission.

I will confess however, that in my 53 years on God’s good earth, I have never considered such aspirations. I have always seemed driven to aspire to something more “socially acceptable,” and in all honesty I am not dissatisfied with my path. But perhaps my life could be edified in some way by adopting Viper’s philosophy.

In truth my life would be far better if I was happy to see everyone, and I just enjoyed every moment with a deep sense of comfort and satisfaction…..especially those moments I was awake.

Goodnight my friends and God Bless!

Tommy+

Yes, another “oldie,” but a “goodie” as they say. But it certainly expresses in a humorous way how I am feeling tonight…….like I have been bitten by a shark!  Not that I would know, mind you. You may find it surprising to discover that Indiana, although it does have a few miles of beach on the northern border of our country, is actually void of sharks…..unless of course they are there on vacation.

But I feel bitten as so much is going on at once that it has been a bit overwhelming. And although my experience is more among the common Indiana squirrel (crazious rodent indecicivous) the analogy is still good. A bite is wounding in some way, and it often draws more sharks. The need is to get to a safe place, but as I said, I am from Indiana, so my tendency is to dart off in 50 random directions, often all at once, like a squirrel. I think this is one reason why squirrels never can never keep jobs, as they appear over-worked and random. But in fact, as I have maybe 20 of them that live in my yard, I can say that they are pretty efficient.

A bite however hurts. And it definitely can slow you down, and a random non-intentional path does nothing to get you out of the water, yet it’s important to do so…….for staying in the water often leads to more sharks. I know that the back fill behind all this may be vague, after all I went from quite a few years of continuous daily blogging, to s stutter, then a stop, then an absence, to a pre-Thanksgiving dissertation on the correlation of shark and squirrel theory. But in all honesty it is just me attempting to process my life. And as a man (supremious delusinati) from Indiana (Deus nisi pro eo), I know the path to happiness is to have less of a shark life and more of a squirrel life. It’s okay to be busy, but do your work and be prepared.

So Ben’s shark suit no longer fits, in fact many of his costumes don’t, but the lesson of seeing it is not lost on me. The picture also makes me smile…..another good lesson. Life can bite in places (generally in my gluteous maximus), but we still have plenty for which we can smile. 

After all, the shark-handler (mommious sexious) is my wife. Yep, life can be hard, and sometimes even bite, but everyday I get to come home to that. (and a much older shark).  It’s all about perspective I suppose. So really, I guess I can say, I should really be happy I am not her. After all, she has real problems living with all the sharks and squirrels.

Goodnight my friends and God Bless!

Tommy+

I have to confess, I am doing an awful lot of paddling, but I do not believe my progress is really commensurate with the amount of work. It’s not that I need to produce a masterpiece, because I don’t, but I do like to feel I have accomplished something, and that I am not currently feeling.

I have truly shifted gears in my life, not giving up that which I love, but refining it in a finer way. I feel as if I have come a long way to get to this point, but often it looks as if I am no further from the shore than I was before. It is often frustrating, but when I pull back and look objectively, I can see the progress. Even returning to this blog is an indicator of progress, for as I have stretched myself I began to need to write it again for a bit of cognitive therapy. My mind works best when firing on all cylinders, and writing helps me to process my day.  I never did any such thing like it before my stroke, as it was something akin to keeping a diary to me, and far too identified in my generation with the realm of “girls’ things.”  But post-stroke, some sort of processing is absolutely necessary. And this blog is the medium I have chosen. For those of you who don’t know, I write this just for me, and I almost always have. Some people however are just twisted enough, or bored enough, to join me on the journey.

So anyway, I suppose all that means is this is a post that doesn’t say much of anything, yep, no progress, but that is just how I feel. 

It may be a rut, but it’s really only a temporary one. All of them are.  I need to brush my teeth, go to bed, and call it a day.  There will be time for more paddling tomorrow!

Goodnight my friends and God Bless!

Tommy+