A new and most wonderful place

I am not even sure where to begin. The loyal readers of this blog, all two of you, I don't know what to say.

How do you describe pure happiness? Joy? An incredible connection? Euphoria?

I can't believe I'm writing these things, much less feeling them. They were feelings once thought inaccessible to me.

Short of being with my children in September, this week has been the greatest in my life for a long, long time. I feel guilty being so happy. But why? Aren't we allowed to be happy? Isn't that what Heavenly Father wants for us? To be happy?

Danielle has got me thinking about so many things. Going to the temple. Improving myself physically. Following my temple recommend and furthering my education. I mean, she's so KNOWLEDGEABLE about what she does, it motivates me. To see her eyes light up when she describes what she's learning is infectious. It makes me happy for her. And shows me that I can do it, too.

I want to do these things for myself, of course, but also for her, and for my children. I get the sense that my kids would LOVE Danielle. I just sense that she "gets" it as a mom, having two children of her own. Maybe the time will come. Who knows.

For now, I want to focus on improving myself. I have a lot of work to do, in so many areas. I am certain that Heavenly Father will help me along...as He has so many times before, even when I forgot to ask.

But I must say that I have never felt this loved by anyone before. I can only hope to repay the debt that I owe.

One foot on the accelerator, two on the brake

Another wonderful, fabulous night of communication for me and Danielle. How patient she is to listen to me! How wonderful it is to have someone to share so much with.

Can this be real?

I certainly hope so. It sounds so good to be talking to someone who appreciates who I am. And I feel so good to be talking to someone who clicks, who wants to be taken care of (and who wants to take care of someone).

Six hours of communication. I never enjoyed that kind of openness with anyone, including Cherie. She never gave me that kind of time.

And this young lady? She's incomparable on so many levels. She lets me be brutally honest and truthful. I was scared to tell her about a particular point in time in my life, and yet, she listened patiently, and told me something revealing about herself, too!

Where does this go? I don't know. Does it matter? It only matters that I can do my best to make her happy, and we'll see where it goes from there. That's all I can do.

A place I haven't been in a long time

I have debated whether to write anything about my latest developments. From a personal standpoint, it's my life and I can do whatever I want with it.

I have begun conversing with someone recently. Someone I met online. She is the most wonderful person I've met in a long time.

For nearly two years, I've resisted the urge to even look in anyone's direction. I didn't think I should, or I thought it was wrong, or un-Christlike. I didn't think I deserved to be happy.

And then, this week, I meet someone. Granted, it's online, but yesterday we talked for nearly seven hours online. That's right. We started talking at 9:30 p.m. and didn't stop until 4:30 p.m. The sun nearly came up when we were talking.

I don't know what to say. I don't know if it's the attention of someone, or if there's genuine attraction there or what. She's a bit younger than I am and has two children. She likes my humor. She's patient.

Oh, boy. I need to be with my children. But what is this? She's everything I ever envisioned someone in the church to be: someone with a strong testimony, who loves the Lord and the Gospel. She's going to school.

And then there's me. No place of my own. Creaky freelance job. Not much money. Kids in a different state. It sure doesn't look good. What am I supposed to do? I love my children and they need me...but I want to be personally happy, too.

I think we just let this ride out and not worry about what happens. The Lord will find a place for me, I'm sure. And when He does, I hope that He understands that I am looking for someone to love, to share life's joys with, and be a life partner.

She's a wonderful lady, this person. Makes me feel like I haven't felt in years. Makes me feel appreciated. If nothing else, it restores my faith in humankind, that there are nice people out there.

No one knows this at this point except a very dear friend of mine who lives in Atlanta. And that's only because he caught me online very early this morning. His advice? Have fun.
Perhaps that's the best thing I can do at this point.

Something bigger than myself

There are times when I wonder if a blog is one of the more narcissistic exercises one can engage in. You know, writing about yourself, your day, your trials and tribulations, successes, etc.

Sometimes, it can all be a bit much.

Which is why, today, we take a time out to discuss a place I've never been to, and a place I wish I could help.

The island nation of Haiti was hit with a giant earthquake, as everyone around the world knows, on Jan. 12. And I find myself, after reading as much of the news accounts as I can, feeling helpless about this country that I know almost nothing about. Some names come to mind, of course. Wyclef Jean. And three dictators, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, and the Duvaliers, Jean-Claude Duvalier and his father, "Papa Doc" Duvalier.

And I realize that's pretty much what the rest of the world knew about Haiti up until now. A few names. Perhaps they knew that's where "voodoo" supposedly comes from. That's pretty much all I knew. I did know that the country was one in massive political and economic strife. And viewing the pictures, reading the accounts, seeing the video and the news shows, it looks worse than any place I've ever seen in my life.

Such massive human suffering, in a country that was already suffering so much. So much physical destruction in a country with no building codes and flimsy infrastructure to begin with. Only the tsunami that struck at the end of 2004 matches this. I think the toll from Haiti will end up being much worse than the giant wave that washed upon parts of Thailand and other places.

It's as if someone bludgeoned an already crippled soul. Who would do such a thing? I almost wonder, why would God allow something like that to happen? I've not been there, but I heard many parts of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast may never recover from what happened when Katrina hit in 2005. And this is in a first-world country, mind you, with good infrastructure, a stable government and aid readily available.

In Haiti? People struggle just to sell charcoal for pennies a day. Nearly all of the country's rich forested lands have been laid barren by the burning of wood for resources. On a good day, I'd venture to guess you'd be lucky to have running water and electricity in your home -- never mind the Internet or even reinforced concrete holding up the place you call home.

What will happen to Haiti? Will it rebuild? Will it slide into a state of permanent chaos and uproar where rubble and ruin stay in the streets forever? Is it possible the people of this French-African Caribbean nation stand up and say they will no longer stand for corruption, for widespread, permanent and pervasive poverty, and create, in effect, a new nation?

The only way for it to get worse is complete anarchy -- and you can bet that even as planes from the United States and coalitions from the United Nations send flotillas of rescue workers, food, medical supplies, drinking water and triage materials to Haiti -- that the world, including the U.S. -- will be watching nervously from a political standpoint as the country tries to recover, rebuild and perhaps reinvent itself after this massive tragedy.

Making sweet music, part II

I've been listening nearly all day to barbershop quartets. I absolutely love this music. This morning, I discovered a group that's probably well-known to anyone who sings in barbershop choirs, quartets or loves "tags," those impromptu jam sessions where it's just you and your voice, and perhaps a pitch pipe.

I came to a conclusion while listening to this group, Crossroads. They are a group I'd only heard of like two days ago. I checked YouTube and heard them. I'm listening to them now, singing at a 2009 championship. They're singing a song, Lucky Old Sun. It is about six minutes of the most pure, the most beautiful music I've ever heard.

And you know something, I've heard this song about two dozen times today, and I STILL get goosebumps from listening to their tight-as-a-drum harmonies. These guys are so absolutely talented. I can't describe it. I'm getting chills just listening to them now as I type.

This is what I want to do with my spare time -- that is, time that isn't spent loving my two children as much as possible, working hard, studying or doing my church callings. I want to sing all the time, whenever I can.

This barbershop music, it simply makes you feel good every time you hear it. You can't help but smile when you listen to it. You can't help but get chills down your spine when you hear those harmonies, aided with nothing but the voice of the person next to you. And it's all positive, funny, poignant and feel-good music. I could listen to it all day.

Here's the deal. I have a voice that has been largely dormant since I left college. No more. I'm going to sing my lungs out from now on. It's what I feel the most euphoric doing. There is no bigger individual high I get than from singing. Nothing matches it.

Wherever I end up, wherever I land, I'm going to sing, and sing loud and sing proud. I have an instrument, and I think the Lord wants me to use it to make people happy.

Making sweet music

Before I ever became a journalist, I was a singer.

Not a great one, but one who could definitely hold my own, usually in choral settings, and sometimes in solos as well.

I first joined a choir when I was in the second grade, I think; though when I was in first grade, I remember singing a duet with a kid: a rendition of "Yankee Doodle Dandy." My mom remembers it better than I do. I remember the kid's name I sang with: a kid named Jason Weeks.

I joined a choir for good in the fourth grade. And I sang in choral groups in school until I graduated from college. The only year I didn't sing in choir was my senior year in high school. Had I sang then, I certainly would have tried for a scholarship to a four year institution to study voice of music instruction.

Singing is absolutely the greatest thing I can think of as a way to spend the time. There is nothing on earth that compares to it as a vocation. I'm not talking about being a husband and father; those things were taken from me and I would love to get them back. But singing is the most euphoric thing I've ever done in my life. You can have your BASE jumping, your hiking, your skydiving or cooking. I've got my voice.

Now, mind you, I'm not great. I joined a barbershop group yesterday, and I was as rusty as The Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. When my voice is at its best, it won't blow your hubcaps off, but I sure can work hard at it.

I was at the rehearsal yesterday with about 30 other men, and these guys are good. I'd never sung any of the music before, and so I had to sight read. Not very good at that, since I can't play any instruments. It was a three-hour rehearsal. The voice is rusty and needs work, and it needs some coaching. Karaoke has got NOTHING on choral or any other kind of singing.

A long time ago, I was in a barbershop group in the wine country where I lived. I didn't stick with it. I will say this. Barbershop singing, especially in quartets or doing "tags," which are impromptu four-part harmony "jam sessions" is pure heaven. It's something I think I will be doing for the rest of my life. I'm sold.

This time, I'm in this group, and there's one guy I recognize. A friend of my family's, whom I've actually sung at one of his daughter's weddings. He's been in barbershop for years. I had no idea. I knew he liked to sing, but I didn't know he was any good or much less had that much of an interest. Guess I was wrong.

I loved singing with these guys, singing the tight harmonies, even doing the vocal calisthenics that we seemed to do for like a half-hour. All of it was great. I just wish I knew the music better.

The music gives me goosebumps. I can't help it.

You know the feeling you get when you hold your firstborn in the hospital for the first time? Or that first kiss you give the woman you love? It feels just like that. And the great thing is, you are making people feel good. They smile, they cheer, and they can't help but feel wonderful.

Is there anything on Earth that does that well as the power of a song?

Hanging out back home

I've been "home" for about two months now. I've come home before, but it's usually only been to visit. The last time I spent so much time here was over 10 years ago. Being "home" makes me feel young and old at the same time.

It makes me feel young and old -- for the following reasons:

I know how to get to and from a lot of places. Like I did when I was first driving when I was 17 years old.

Hanging out with my parents. No matter how old I am, it still makes me feel like I'm in the 11th grade sometimes, talking to them. It also reminds me that I've got to get out of here soon. Not that I don't love my parents, but I mean, they should be doing their own thing rather than wondering if I've had enough to eat. Thank you very much, and I'm doing OK.

I see a lot of old references to my past -- my college, driving past my old elementary school, pulling into the driveway of my dad's house.

I've also spent a lot of time hanging out in the places where I used to work right after college. One place, Kingsburg, is like a place where time stands still. It's still the same town where you see perfectly made-up plus-sized housewives in pleated black slacks and sweaters, driving empty Suburbans through a "Swedish Village" with piped-in music playing from speakers suspended from the trees. The next block, you hear Tejano music blaring from a '67 Impala and some young guys buying tacos al pastor from the carniceria. The young Hispanic men struggling to support their young families and the overweight stay-at-home mom with the Coach purse and overscheduled four kids have paths that never cross, strangely, even though they live about two blocks away.

People make fun of a town like that, yet many would give their next of kin to live in a town like that -- a peaceful town that looks a lot like Mayberry.

A lot of things feel the same, which is to say comfortable and scary at the same time. Comfortable because I realize that my life could stay like this forever, in a seemingly holding pattern, and me doing the same thing day in and day out.
Scary because that's the last thing I want at this point. But I can see how that can happen.

There was a reason why I came home. That I can see. But there's an equally important reason for me not to stay here longer than I have to.

Just curious

For months now, I've been curious about a specific question. There have been times when I've gone a week, maybe even two weeks or longer, where I haven't called to ask to speak to the kids. For this reason alone, I sometimes feel guilty about that. After all, it wasn't their choice to be taken from me. They shouldn't have to miss out on talking to me because of it. But there's something I've always wondered. Why doesn't Cherie ever have the kids call me to talk to them? I mean, we may not be together, but again, why should the children suffer because of this? Like I said, I've been guilty of going weeks without talking to them or calling them. I've not been proud of it, either. I was explaining to their grandma that listening to the dumb ring-back tone on Cherie's phone, combined with her alleged boyfriend's voice telling callers "bye-bye now" in a sing-song voice makes me cringe. But that reason alone shouldn't be a reason for me not to call, right? Of course not. Suffice it to say, I wish she would realize that in addition to me being a sort of well-established gravy train for her, that I also am the father of those children, and I am someone who loves them and wants to be with them. There's not much she has to understand here, The simple fact that I am Isaac and Savannah's father should be enough for her to understand that I want to communicate with them on a regular basis. Countless parents get this, I'm sure, even ones with axes to grind. I don't have an ax to grind. I just have love. That's all. And I want to be able to give it to my children. It has nothing to do with being with Cherie or not, and everything to do with wanting to show my children I love them. It's harder for them to understand why they can't talk to me than it is for me to understand why Cherie doesn't see that as a priority. I'm just curious as to why she can't figure that out.