It’s Mother’s Day. My boys provided many good memories for Joyce. Memories are a funny thing. You might think they are indelible. They might be. But they can also get jumbled and fragmented. I saw Mom today. It was a nice visit.
I remember seeing the video below when the album “Spike” was released. I thought the video was touching then. At the time I had sympathy. Today I have empathy. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.
It seems that the administrative and technical issues are mostly resolved. A small consideration, if you subscribed to the Matthew Musing RSS feed, it will be discontinued in about 29 days. The feed you see at the right is the new feed. Please update your subscription.
I’ve just upgraded the WordPress version and database required for the blog, so it may be a few days of inconsistent availability. It is fortunate in times like these that most days the Matt Keough Blog does not receive any visitors 
I know full well that including ”virgin” in the title of this post will send some strange search engine traffic my way. But a pithy title is half the fun of blogging.
I’m just old school enough to savor a freshly printed newspaper at my breakfast table.The experience of stepping out one’s front door to retrieve your local daily to with the birds singing, braced by the dew in the cool morning air is something that may be lost in a generation.I love to pour a cup of freshly brewed Joe and be the first to retrieve the Sports.
The very fact that I’m a happily married man is somewhat related to this enthusiasm.I met the Lovely Joyce on a blind date. In the first awkward moments, in an attempt to make conversation, I asked her what was the first thing she read in the Sunday paper. She said”Hal Lebovitz”. I knew then I had to marry her.
But the fruits of this marriage now makes it a very rare occasion that I actually lay hands on a pristine sports section. Our oldest (who is 7) will grab the sports section and consume almost every bit of data concerning the Indians, Captains or Cavs. There is hardly a day that I’ll see a page that isn’t crumpled, folded, mutilated or bearing the stain of a buttered bagel.
And do you know something? I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
But so do “cool” and “dude”, so back off. I thought that the first post of 2010 should at least fall in January. So Happy New Year, Happy Epiphany. (Both belated, of course.) Coming soon; my tale of the telemarketer.
I never really went away. I’ve just not posted in some time. Sorry if you have tried to subscribe to my RSS feed. It has man-made issues. I might work it out. I might not. Maybe I’ll just start from scratch.
Thanks to my big brother looking through old photos, the much anticipated visual proof of Matt in a mullet can be shared. This picture only hints that it would eventually hit way below my collar. It was the 80’s and I was a fan of U2.
One of the best parts about having four young boys is I get to see first-hand Christmas excitement that is enthusiastic and sincere. iTunes & Pandora on the computer and the Music Choice channels on our cable keep the boys well supplied in the holiday tunes.Of course, we also have several CDs, albums, tapes, DVDs and even one very memorable 8-track to keep the sing-along going.
Nothing beats being in the Dodge Caravan with a CD of familiar tunes cranking and having the boys belting it out in varying degrees of intelligible English from the back. It reminds me of sitting in the back of my dad’s Plymouth Fury as we drove around looking for Christmas lights and the radio fading in and out.We still listened to AM for music back then.
Maybe this year I’ll introduce the boys to the MP3 of “Santa Drives a Truck“; it could be the start of a new tradition.
This poem was originally posted at Stop Me When I Am Lying. I’m cross-posting here on the slight chance that anybody knows about this blog and not the other. I don’t know how you could make it through another Thanksgiving Day without this. By the way, I really do think that we need to remember who we are thanking on the fourth Thursday every November.
Don’t go huntin’ turducken
you won’t find such a bird.
There are no wild turducken,
the thought is just absurd.There is no call to make,
no cluck, no gobble nor quack.
You can’t drop one from your blind
and put him in your sack.But if you find turducken
on your festive plate.
Give thanks to God almighty,
your hunger He will sate.
© 2006 Matthew Keough
I’ve had a career related epiphany lately. I was in the midst of whining about having too many different responsibilities and wondering how I was ever going to balance competing interests and needs. Then it hit me. When I fret about wearing too many hats, it means I have gainful employment and I have many interesting things on my task list. There have been times – and not too far in the past – where I did not have either.
The path to contentment is gratititude for what is good in any situation. Will that sense of gratitiude slip from the top of my mind from time-to-time? Of course. But my October resolution is to try and keep my mind focused on what is good and joyful in life. (Like the little guy in the hats!)
