My Jenna

When Jenna was born the year was 1990.
A turbulent time for musicians.
I used to play this song at the time in a band called ‘Cats’ with Paul Lirange [Fate / American Standard]
We were an electronic duo consisting of drum machines and sequencers.
Whenever I hear this song, it reminds me of that time in my life.
It’s a pretty sweet message for a daughter.
Jenna is the funkiest/craziest of my daughters with her ‘outside of the box’ thinking and her amazing creativity and intelligence.
She is her father in many ways.
Just smarter.
And female.
And with no facial hair.
Happy birthday to a most amazing daughter that makes me proud, makes me smile, makes me laugh and
makes me hide under the table when she burps louder than I do.
“And I know you could surely survive without me, but if I have to live without you
tell me, what kind of man would I be?”
I never want to find out
Happy birthday, Jenna Maureen . . .
~Dad

Fields of Music

 

Music has played a major part in my life.
No surprise for those of you that know me.
It introduced me to the love of my life, gained me acceptance in High School, been there for me
when I was down and when I was up, brought me closer to God and has never let me down.
Ever.
I associate many songs with different times in my life; Crazy Love by Poco for my DownEast years,
I Go Crazy
by Paul Davis during my insane solo piano ‘Pamela’ years,
King of Wishful Thinking, for my years with ‘Cat’s’ and
‘Won’t you come in‘ from my Martin-Murphy ‘original’ band days.
I could go on and explain every single band and song but some of you have to work tomorrow.
You know who you are. [grin]
The song in the video above somehow became a favorite of mine and whenever I would hear it on my
Ipod I would text my daughter Sarah to make sure she was okay.
It was a Dad thing but it somehow became ‘our’ song.
I love the words, the music and the sentiment behind it.
It’s a comfortable song for me and Sas.
It has meaning and is filled with love and light although it does reference the colour grey.
If only I could get Bruce Hornsby to the wedding to play it.
In a perfect world, right?
Daddy’s Little Girl is sweet but it doesn’t hold a candle to this amazing song.
Sarah, my beautiful daughter, this is our song and we will dance.
Even though I’ll look goofy as hell.
I’m a musician.
We can’t dance!

“No matter what else happens
What the future will be
In a world so uncertain
Through the clouds it’s hard to see
I will grab you and carry you
Calm your fears if you’re afraid
We’ll go walking
Across the fields of gray.”

Kiss the Bride

I realized a short time ago that my life has changed dramatically in the past five to ten years.
I’ve changed as well.
I’m more grey (and I’ve earned every single one), still trying to lose some baby fat,
no longer gigging for a living or playing much music for that matter which is a bit sad.
I still tinker away at some Scott Joplin rags that I always wanted to play but my thoughts these days always turn back to writing.
The Alzheimer drama of years ago will remain embedded in my soul but my life is following a new set of coordinates these days.
I have much to look forward to in my life;
My firstborn is getting married in less than a year,
I have a future son-in-law that is a kindred spirit,
and I have thoughts and dreams of grandchildren on a daily/nightly basis.
It’s time for my blog to change and start to chronicle all the wonderful things that have transpired.
It was one year ago tomorrow that Jonathan (Sarah’s fiancé) took me to lunch at Sam Lagrassa’s in Boston.
We had a very nice lunch and enough time to walk around Downtown Crossing for a bit before I had to go back to work.
As we were walking . . .

Jon: I have something I wanted to ask you.
Me: Okay. What’s up? [I knew it was coming]
Jon: I want to marry Sarah and I’m asking for your blessing, and Pam’s.
Me: *stopping to shake his hand*
You have it.
(what I said in my head was “you had my blessing a year ago.”)

He called Pamela at work and got the same response.
Who asks for an approval of marriage these days?
The guy that’s marrying my daughter, that’s who.
My heart was very happy that day knowing that my daughter had found her true love.
Maybe love found her, I don’t know.
But I am now slated to be a ‘Father of the Bride’.
And I’ve been told that I can’t cry when I walk her down the aisle.
Houston?
We have a problem.
I’ve also learned that eggplant is a colour as well as a vegetable.
God help me.
Wedding dresses and anything associated with them, eludes me right now.
I am a guy.
All I want is some really cool Cole Haan shoes.
And a nice grey flannel suit.
Maybe some cool socks.
And I am good.

to be continued . . .  {promise}

 

*and as far as growing older, I now use a 14 size font when I write!

Blessed

thanksgiving, blessed, turkey, football, family

I have a 20+ pound turkey thawing in the fridge,
5lbs. of potatoes waiting to be cooked and mashed,
4lbs. of squash patiently waiting for some sweet spices and butter,
2lbs of turnip, Yams for a slamming Sweet potato casserole,
bread and cornbread stuffing to be made, fresh cranberries crying for sugar
and a hungry family that will be with me this Thursday afternoon to eat, drink and be merry.
Pamela is making Pecan, Apple and Chocolate Cream pies tomorrow morning.
I have an amazing HD TV to watch the Pats and the Jets play on Thursday night.
All is going as planned and I suddenly realize I am really blessed.
Almost severely blessed.
I will be cooking for most of the day tomorrow making this place where we live smell like home for my daughters, my wife, my neighbors.
With temps in the 50′s I will definitely have my kitchen door wide open.
I have so much but also know that some have so very little.
Thanksgiving has never been a holiday that I have ever taken for granted because I know that can change in a heartbeat.
With all that in mind, I wish the same blessings for all of you that are reading this.
Whether you are near or far, I wish you the peace of a beautiful holiday.
Somewhere amidst the chaos of a Thanksgiving dinner table,
I pray you find warmth, solace, laughter and love from all things that surround you.
Peace.
To you, my friends.
But beware the tryptophan . . .

~m

At the corner of Hope & Bleeker

hope, life, love, future

Hope is not the closing of your eyes to the difficulty,
the risk or the failure.
It is a trust that ~
if I fail now ~
I shall not fail forever; and if I am hurt,
I shall be healed.

It is a trust that life is good,
love is powerful,
and the future is full of promise.

This quote is ‘anonymous’ but seems to come straight from my heart to souls of my three daughters.
It was quite simply perfect for this time in their lives.
I always tell them to never give up, never quit and never ever stop dreaming.
I need to stress the importance and ultimate need of hope.
What would life be without it?
Find me @ #1 Bleeker Street.

~m

Lush Me

Lush, massage bar, I would so eat that

One question before I start.
Would you eat one of the above creations?
If you answered yes, please continue.
If you answered no, then you answered no.
Carry on.
Take out the garbage or go for a walk.
There’s nothing more to see or read here.

Here is a picture of a funny monkey to help you forget why you came here in the first place.

monkey

I have lived with 4 women/daughters for the better part of 29 or so years.
I’m used to all the stuff associated with their personal hygiene too;
hair products, hair brushes, blow dryers (they torch at least one on a monthly basis),
gel/goop crap for their hair, conditioners, face wash [with Hawaiian pumice!], ass wash, back wash, foot wash and feminine mouthwash.
It never ceases to amaze me the amount and selection of products available.
Guys have two major categories: shaving and deodorant.
We don’t need much more.

There are some products available to guys as well that simply elude me.
Axe body spray, for one.
Oh, it’s infused with pheromones so no woman can resist you.
Let’s lay that one to rest and say that if you stink like BO or smell like Charles Manson, no pheromone spray, body wash or Godly bar of soap will ever eliminate that.
No wonder you go home alone.

Living with women I’ve gotten used to oddly named products that have no relation to anything ‘male’;
‘The Brusher’, Pink Grapefruit Exfoliate, Slick Works, Catch the Wave gel, Got2B hair motherfu*&$^ Complex,
TRESemme Simply No Frizz with *Frizz Defense!( and God knows how many more).

I used to think these products were okay as long as they didn’t interfere with my life as a hair growing Neanderthal.
That thinking changed a few weeks ago when I went to the fridge after several perfectly chilled Harpoon Leviathan Ales.

Looking into the freezer I spotted an Italian Ice that was the perfect size for a nightcap dessert.
I picked it out and saw the name ‘Whoosh’ on the lid.
Judging from the color is was a blue raspberry ice.
Perfect.
One of my favorite ‘ice’ flavors.
As I began lifting the lid off I noticed that this was not ‘ice’ at all but something called ‘Shower Jelly’.
My monkey brain screamed: DO NOT EAT THIS!

The company that made it is was called ‘Lush’.
They make fresh handmade cosmetics.
Or do they?
Their shower jellies include ‘Sweetie Pie’ and ‘Whoosh’ (the one I almost ate).
They have bath bombs with names like Butterball, Bon Bomb, Dragon’s Egg, Sex Bomb and The Sicilian
(oooh, tease me with your seductive Italian flare! Grazie!)

This company has stuff called ‘Gorilla Perfume’.
Gorilla? For a woman?
Maybe a hairy woman.
Why not call it ‘Primate Scent Enhancer’?
What’s the difference?
The names are quite amusing though . . .
‘The smell of weather turning’ . . .  (here comes the big one, honey!)
‘Snowshowers’ . . .  (get out the shovel you lazy, fat bastard!)
‘1,000 Kisses Deep’ . . .  (not going there, evah)

The other thing I almost ate was a ‘Lush’ bath bar.
These things look like little oval white hunks of chocolate imbedded with yummy things . . .  like nuts and stuff.
I almost ate a ‘Wiccy Magic Muscles’ bar that looked more like a white chocolate Snickers bar than a massage bar.
My olfactory senses slowly connected with my brain and said, “Dude? The tummy ain’t gonna like this. It ain’t food.”
Nuff said.
I had learned my lesson.

Lush has some great names for their products though;

Nutts ( a massage bar. Not touching the name)
Strawberry Feels Forever (giving them a *Beatle for that one)
Heavenilli (looks like Sushimi, minus the wasabi)(rub sushi all over my face, please)
After 8:30 (looks like a piece of carrot cake with 1” of cream cheese frosting, who can resist?)
Dorothy (a bath bar that looks like a little doggie turd on a blue urinal hockey puck)(truth)

Guys like me can’t understand this stuff.
We are happy that it makes you happy but we will never comprehend the obvious product innuendo.
And there is much of it with ‘Lush’.

Consider their Body Butters:

King of Skin
Schnuggle (so cute the name alone makes me gag)
Aqua Mirabilis (?)(is that a constellation?)
You Snap the Whip (Shades of Quentin Tarantino)
And last but not least, ‘Buffy’;

Massage our Buffy body butter all over your wet skin in the bath or shower to make you softer and smooth to the touch, paying special attention to your backside. We add ground rice, almonds and beans to Buffy to act as exfoliants; the rough textures eliminate lumps and bumps and sloughs away dry skin cells to reveal brighter, fresher looking skin. Rinse off the exfoliating bits and pat yourself dry. There’s no need for body lotion after a Buffy slaying session, because the cocoa and shea butters keep your skin beautifully smooth, moisturized and soft to the touch.

Smack my ass and call me Sally, this is true.
I would write more about this company but I have a mad date with an extravagant bath bar called, ‘Blue Skies and Fluffy White Clouds’.
And I think she’s taking me for one hell of a soapy ride . . .

For Jenna

baby, life, the future, G-day

 

My child
do not forget my teaching.
Let your heart keep my principles. for these will give you lengthier days,
longer years of life, and greater happiness.

Let kindness and loyalty never leave you,
tie them around your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.

from Proverbs  3: 1-3

Congratulations my beautiful daughter.
Your mother and I are so very proud of you today and always.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
Keep the Proverbs verse as close to your heart as you are to ours.

with much love . . .

Dad

 

Eggs

eggs, Easter, love, family, Easter Bunny, candy

 

Many years ago after Pamela and I got married, we began the creation of a family.
Sometimes it seems like yesterday, sometimes it seems like 100 years ago.
Perspective is such a fickle thing.
That I have been an absentee blogger has never been lost on my wife.
She said to me tonight, and quite casually I might add,
“When are you going to change the picture on your blog?
Write a post about the annual Easter Egg Hunt with the girls.”
I hate it when she’s right.
And I really hate to think she could be a better blogger than me.
If she blogged as well as she ‘Pinterest-ed’, she could put me to shame.
The reasons my blogging has slowed down to an incessant but slow drip is a post in and of itself,
for many varied reasons.
Tonight, though, I am here to talk about eggs.
Brightly coloured eggs.
Easter eggs.
Hard boiled eggs.
Egg salad sandwiches in a shell, yet to be born. [yum]

When our girls started walking we devised a plan for an Easter Egg Hunt to be held in the backyard on Easter morning.
We bought plastic pastel colored eggs that could be filled with all kinds of goodies, from candy and small toys (that nowadays are labeled as DANGEROUS! Your KID could CHOKE on THIS!) to dollar bills and matches.
(yeah, I’m kidding about the matches, calm down)
In New England, Easter morning could be rainy and cold so we needed to use something that would hold up to the elements.
It was the Easter Bunny’s job (namely, me) to hide the eggs in the backyard while the girls were sleeping.
When they woke in the morning to find an incredibly beautiful Easter Basket on their nightstand (compliments of Mr. & Mrs. Easter Bunny)
they were ready to don the appropriate clothes for the ‘going-to-get-mine-before-you-do’  Easter egg hunt.

Now it should be said that Mr. Bunny liked to have several Easter cocktails on the night before and while hiding the eggs wasn’t a problem, remembering where they were the next morning could sometimes be.
There are still eggs somewhere in our yard that I may never find.
I’m still looking for the elusive ‘Ben Franklin’ egg from years ago.
Can’t remember the exact year.
I’ve thought of using some power equipment to try and find it but the money I would spend doesn’t justify the means.
Right now, anyway.
Many years (and mornings after) would find the once loveable Mr. Easter Bunny reduced to the ‘Stupid-Easter-Bunny-that-doesn’t-know-how-to-hide-shit-we-can-easily-find’.
And, my moniker grows so damn lovingly.
I love it.

Fast forward to 2012 . . .

My girls have grown into young, beautiful and intelligent women and yet, I still have to hide eggs.
I am not a freekin’ Easter Bunny anymore, I am a grown 53 year old man.
I don’t have long and fuzzy ears or a cute little tail.
My ass is now flat.
I need three wallets to assimilate an ass bulge.
And I’m a crazy curmudgeon that thinks the world has gone insane.
Maybe I’m insane because I’ll still be out this Saturday night hiding eggs and loving it, rain or snow.
And on Easter morning I will still have no idea where the hell I put them . . .
In my heart, I’m hoping they keep the tradition going
because as silly as it was it’s a part of Pamela and me that will live on.
And maybe in the end, that’s what it’s all about . . .

A Happy Easter to all.

Dear Mom and Dad . . .

mom and dad

 

Dear Mom and Dad,

For every memory lost, every heart broken wide open, every tear shed,
every life forever changed, every second chance missed,
there was always that white light of hope,
a sotto-voce prayer whispered by the many that so loved you.
I am currently living in a world that is profoundly affected by the monster that took the both of you.

This Sunday morning (Pamela’s birthday) I will walk with my wife,  your daughter, Maureen, your granddaughters, Sarah, Jenna & Hannah and Jonathan, Sarah’s friend and love.

I will paraphrase your granddaughter  Hannah’s Facebook profile, “We will walk for you . . .  You may have forgotten but we never will.”

Wally and Ginny Murphy.
Mom and Dad.
Uncle and Aunt.
Grandmother and Grandfather.
The lost and never found.

There were so many things that you missed out on, so many precious moments that you should have seen, so many defining points in time that change young lives and this
insidious bastard took that away, forever.
There’s little to be gained with a ‘what could have been’ mentality but maybe that’s just part of being human.
It’s the way we are wired, methinks.
I take comfort in the knowing that you hopefully ‘see’ . . .

I will be walking on Sunday for the two of you knowing that you can see all of us moving towards a cure for the thing that stole both of you from us . . .  all too soon.

On Sunday morning we will walk to remember two (+1) people we will never forget.
We miss you both dearly . . .

~Michael
~Maureen
~Pamela
~Sarah
~Jenna
~Hannah
~Jonathan

[Murphy’s Law]