I got to interview one of my favorite musical artists, Chris Glover, on an episode of The Creative Moment podcast (YouTube video below). He is now known as Penguin Prison, but I have been a fan of his from the beginning of his career. So, it was an honor to get to talk with him for the podcast.
But now… I am jealous of him.
At about the 27 minute mark in the video I ask Chris what is his main drive as an artist, what was his WHY for creating music. I totally understood his answer. Chris said “I basically can’t do anything else.”
Chris didn’t mean he didn’t have the skills to do anything else, he expanded on the answer talking about how life would be easier with a normal job, but that wasn’t him. Chris is a musician, a creative person. This is what he does.
Chris is living out his life through his music. That’s why I am jealous. To live life by surrendering to my writing would be incredible. But that is the central battle of many artists, especially ones like me that have built families and careers. I have written about this balancing act before (“It is hard to reach your goals“). And make no mistake I would not give up any aspect of my life as a husband and father to be a famous poet / writer.
Doesn’t mean I can’t be jealous of Chris though, and I believe his music reflects that surrender to his music. You can feel the joy and authentic energy in his songs. It is one of the reasons I am a fan. His music is not like any other musician’s.
I am jealous, but I am also inspired by Chris Glover. Even more so after getting the opportunity to talk with him. I am inspired to write the poetry, the blog, the stories only I can write.
In fact, the chorus of Chris’ first ever single “Stand on Your Seat” makes more sense to me now:
This morning we had day-old Krispy Kreme donuts for breakfast. We packed our suitcases and got checked out of the hotel in time for church at 9:30. We saved a seat for my son and his wife, my new daughter-in-law, of less than 24 hours.
We spent the weekend rehearsing, celebrating, and witnessing one of love’s milestones. As the father of the groom, I didn’t have a ton of responsibilities. We catered the rehearsal dinner which was held at the church. My hair takes like 30 seconds to get ready… now, my wife and daughters? Well, that started at 9 in the morning Saturday for a 2 o’clock wedding. So for those who know me, yes, I had time to think, to reflect on the deeper aspects of this weekend.
Social Media
For the most part, I put my phone away. I took some pictures, but my wife is better at that aspect of our life. I did interact a little on X and Instagram, but mostly I enjoyed the weekend. I did not post a single thing on social media about the weekend. I was letting other individuals do that. I was just present, and it was joyful. We talked, we went and got coffee, we sat by the firepit at the hotel. (My daughters and I did witness a guy riding a bicycle crash into the closed gate where we were sitting, but that is another story.)
At the reception we danced and enjoyed the dinner.
But what I really noticed was the emotions we all expressed. The genuine feelings, the tears, the laughter, the expression of living without worrying about getting the right angle for a photo, or hurrying to post a reaction. I was in the moment, and it was a beautiful moment.
Family
There were two different moments that highlighted what it means to be family. If you’re new to my blog you will need to read some past blogs to understand my complex story. I am not going to spend time covering that.
The first moment happened after the rehearsal dinner. My future daughter-in-law was carrying a tote bag with “Mrs. Boelhower” printed on the side in script lettering. When I asked about it, her face lit up with a smile. She explained it was a gift and asked if we liked it (my wife and daughters were with me). One of my daughters piped up and said, “Wow, now there are two Mrs. Boelhowers!”
We all laughed but it got me thinking…
Hold on, let me connect another moment.
The reception hall was filled with family and friends. My daughter and I were taking a break from dancing. I sat next to my ‘adopted’ dad (again, if you’re new to my blog you’ll have to catch up on the backstory) and chatted about life. My wife’s side of the family was strong in numbers, and so was my daughter-in-law’s. But there were only 9 Boelhowers. And one of those just joined our clan.
A weird mix of pride, sorrow, and resolve washed over me. I was the patriarch of this small family tree that was slowly growing strong roots. As my son danced with his new wife, I had to catch my breath because I saw, as they danced, that all the pain I endured, all the hardships I went through, the sometimes spirit-breaking decisions I made, was worth it. I had a family, I was providing, as best as I could, a life for my children that I never had.
Family is not just blood. It is choices, it is commitment, it is love given and received. My daughter-in-law will be loved just like my own children. And I will continue to nurture this little family tree to take root in a life filled with love.
It is all Connected
No, not this blog. But the idea behind the title of this blog. Sometimes it takes decades to see how two dots connect. During the church service the priest was talking about this idea, and he mentioned that he did not know every parishioners’ story that brought them to the church today, but he imagined they all had their own hardships and celebrations. But they were here now.
During the reception, I was aware of how important the moment was when my ‘adopted’ father said I could live with him and his family when I was sixteen. There was a direct line from that moment to the wedding. The story between the dots is fascinating, filled with heartache and joy, like any story. But without the opportunity he gave me, we would not be sitting together laughing and talking about life.
It is hard to have what I call The Long View. A term I use in the classroom to help my students see that their actions today will impact where they are in the future, what opportunities they will have. But when looking back (and I think we should, to appreciate the journey) we see the path, we see the benchmarks of how life brought us to today.
And we can smile, breathe in the joy, and see how it is all connected… and this weekend proved that the best connections are built with love.
Faithful readers know that on Sunday we make blueberry muffins for breakfast. That almost didn’t happen today.
First a little backstory. Yesterday (Saturday) my wife’s sister hosted a couple’s shower for my oldest son and his fiancee. It was a good day of fellowship with family and friends. And there was a fantastic brunch; two types of breakfast casserole, biscuits and gravy, homemade cinnamon rolls, and a variety of fruit. One of the trays was decorated with pieces of pineapple and watermelon hearts on skewers.
Of course there were leftovers. We came home with a small pan of breakfast casserole, biscuits and gravy, and a dozen cinnamon rolls. (My wife’s family always makes enough that you take home some leftovers!)
Last night as my wife and I talked about the day and the plan for breakfast on Sunday, the idea of just using the leftovers was a tempting option. But in my head I thought, ‘but it is Sunday, we make muffins and scrambled eggs and sausage.’ Plus, all our children would be at breakfast. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
I said that we should make our traditional blueberry muffin breakfast. My wife agreed. So, we got up early to make the muffins, but we still warmed up the breakfast casserole. A few of the kids added a cinnamon roll to their plates. And the morning was filled with laughter and conversation. We were a full family at the table.
Now, I understand that offering just the leftovers would have been fine. But blueberry muffins are a tradition. And sometimes, you have to work at keeping traditions. It is one of the ironies of life, how easy it is to do the easy thing and break traditions, or good habits you have fostered.
Our daily life is filled with moments that challenge us to choose an easy option, or an option that takes a little more work or energy, but has a better payoff and builds stronger bonds. Or, in our case continue a tradition that is central to our family. Blueberry muffins on Sunday morning.
I have coached football for almost 30 years. When I teach how to tackle, I teach the player to focus their eyes on the opposing players hips. To keep their head up. They should never see the grass of the field.
I was a running back. I was taught to read my offensive linemen’s numbers. To follow their lead.
I have coached basketball. When a player is dribbling, I instruct them to have their eyes up, never look at the ball.
I have coached every event in track and field. I was a jumper in high school and college. I never looked at the board when jumping. I coach my athletes not to look at the board because the body goes where the eyes go.
But in life, there is another part of ourselves that goes with where the eyes go… that is our heart.
This is important to consider, especially at this moment in our culture. Our eyes are practically glued to screens. As a dad I see parents just sit on a park bench as their child plays. I see it in the hallways of school. I battle everyday to get students to put their phones away. You can see people looking at their phones as they drive.
The heart goes where the eyes go. Just the fact of being locked onto the screen shows what matters to someone. Parents ignore their children, students don’t talk to anyone, people don’t even know when the light changes.
I believe that our actions show what we truly care about. At this moment, I see people care more about their phones than other people, the blue sky, a friend, because their eyes are on a screen. Their heart is for the screen.
I haven’t even discussed what is on the screen, just the action of staring for HOURS a day at a screen. Our heart goes where our eyes go.
We are missing out on relationships, beauty, and a depth to our own lives because we don’t look up. We don’t observe. We don’t think. These actions strengthen our hearts. Good and bad times strengthen our hearts, but only if we look up. Observe the complexity of loving someone. Of striving for a goal. Reacting to another’s tears. We have to see these to feel them.
If you want to know what condition your heart is in, follow where your eyes go.
It has happened. My youngest daughter knows that mom and I are Santa, Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny.
But not by me. I officially have never ended the magic of childhood. Last night my youngest daughter (11 years-old) asked my wife about it. And mom confirmed what my daughter had figured out. Ironically because the Tooth Fairy has been inconsistent.
Ironically, two nights ago my youngest daughter asked me about the Easter Bunny. About how we knew who’s eggs were whose. I said I received a magical letter that had the instructions. She asked to see the letter. I said it dissolved into magical pieces once I read it. She thought that was cool.
But as we grow older, the magic of life seems to dissolve into dust and we can’t get it back. Last night, mom informed our daughter that I still believed. My daughter asked my wife not to tell me that she knew the truth.
The magic of believing… in joyful expressions.
I still believe in Santa, in the Easter Bunny, in the magic of the idea that life should be joyful. For my consistent readers, you know I believe in expressing our love to others everyday. But there is a deeper joyful feeling in believing in the magic of this life. Of childhood, of receiving a gift, or hidden eggs, simply because you are you.
So, even though all my children know that I am Santa, I still believe…
Played a little Minecraft and am now writing this blog… all before 10 am even.
This is our second snow day in the last two weeks. February has been rough with the snow and the temperatures. Today we should get to 0 degrees.
The house is warm. The coffee good. Everyone is chilling in their own way. One daughter is playing Little Nightmares, another is writing (and texting friends I believe), and my youngest is jamming out to Taylor Swift in her room.
But a part of me wonders what other households are like at this moment. We had our first snow last week. Every day I start each class with a fun question. So naturally I asked how everyone’s snow day was. Guess what the number one response was.
Boring!
Yes, by a long shot. Boring.
Now, there were other answers, like productive, sleep, and snow. But it disheartened me to hear so many students say ‘boring’.
One of my goals as a dad and husband is to make home the best place for my family. For me HOME is more than a place, it is a feeling, it is warmth and safety. It is dinner together, blueberry muffins on Sunday, laughter and good times… especially on a snow day.
This house is now the place I have lived the longest. And it has only been 14 years. The next longest time I lived in one place was grad school – four years.
Growing up, home was an ever changing place. And the hardest part, an ever changing feeling. Too many times those feelings were not good.
Now, my children have said that they were bored. Of course I said they could read a book, write a letter, or draw a picture. But I am proud of the home we have. A snow day is an unexpected chance to laugh, snack too much, but most importantly, to just be family.
Dadlife… it is amazing to look back at these moments knowing how my children have grown. But also how the lessons from these moments still hold true… Original post is from April 2010.
“Communicate”
It was 1:10 in the morning and my 4-month-old daughter is antsy. I get up and find the pacifier. No go. She spits it out. I try again. She settles down. I creep back to my bed. Pull the blanket over me and feel the quiet darkness of sleep fill my mind.
“Augghrrr, Augghrrr, whaaaa,” she cries.
With a sigh only a frustrate parent knows, I head back to the crib. I try the pacifier again, but she is not settling down. OK, diaper? I set her down and get a clean diaper on her. Lay her down, repeat the bed, cover, darkness of sleep and she repeats her audible noise of discontent.
My wife groggily suggests a 4-ounce bottle. So, I head upstairs. I am actually waking up by this time. My wife feeds her, I fall back asleep.
In a blur of slumber and frustration, my daughter wakes me up. It is now 1:36. I go for the pacifier, again. We fall into a pacifier, spit it out, pacifier; spit it out routine with a few of those frustrated sighs thrown in for fun.
I pick her up. In the darkness, I can see her looking at me. Then her eyes close. For the next five minutes, I rock her in my arms. Victory. I lay her down, check the pacifier and head to my pillow.
1:52. My frustration level is now high. But I squash it. Let out a good 30-second sigh and head to the crib. Next trick is laying her on her belly. This time it works. With a last little sigh, from her, the night continues.
As a fall asleep, I think about how much easier it would be if she could only tell me what she wants, or what is bugging her. My mind wanders about that idea, about how many of life’s hardships are based on this premise. The ability to communicate. To communicate truthfully. To simply express what is bugging us. To tell the people around us what we need. Many times, we are afraid of what will happen if we do. What will the other person think? Does this make me look weak? Do I have the words to actually express what I am feeling?
I see the negative consequences of not communicating in the classroom and in life. I see people just continue to be “antsy” and live everyday in a constant agitated state, simply because they will not or cannot communicate what they need.
I hear my little girl sleeping soundly, I had figured out what she wanted. But, I cannot wait until she can tell me in her own words.
4:50 a.m. It is the alarm clock this time. I restrain from telling the clock what I feel this morning….
The following picture started my idea of sharing some of my older blog posts.
I shared this image in our family group chat to show what our freezer looked like when the boys were growing up.
It is funny how time changes things… even Toaster Strudels. The mixed berry flavor used to have blue frosting. There were so many cool flavors.
Then there is a family joke that I have a poem or a blog post for everything… and the joke might be true! Here is the blog post about Toaster Strudels from 2009 as best as I can confirm.
“Small Things”
This morning I was preparing Toaster Strudels for my two boys. I decided to do some frosting art. I made a somewhat recognizable reindeer and a Christmas tree with blob ornaments. The boys loved it. The rest of the morning went smoothly and the house was filled with energy.
On my way to work, I watched people run yellow to red lights, got cut off, and saw the aftermath of a wreck.
What do these two moments have in common? The small things.
Life is the collection of small moments. Our level of fulfillment in life is in the way we handle all those small moments. Many big events are the result of us not handling the small things. Traffic is an example. That simple decision when we see the yellow light, speed up or prepare to stop? A small moment.
Just hand them their breakfast, or make them smile? A small moment.
Believe Verb: to have a firm conviction as to the goodness, efficacy, or ability of something
“Believe” is my word for 2025.
There are so many reasons for choosing this word, most of them based on the different ways the world tried to break my faith in anything good. And has almost succeeded.
This is the eleventh year of choosing a word to focus on. Some years have been filled with great stories (Living by One Word), other words helped me stay focused on my goals, but this year I am trying to ignite an aspect of my life that feels tired, hopeless, and dark.
There is so much to believe in… and staying focused on seeing those elements in the everyday is important to keeping a clear view of what life is about. It is important for filling the heart, and helping maintain the energy to pursue goals, handle stressful moments, and build a joyful life.
Friday afternoon my youngest daughter and I played “How Close to the Ceiling Can You Throw the Ball?” A childhood classic!
As we dealt with errant throws and bad attempts at catching the ball when it ricocheted off the ceiling, we made up a crazy theory game, “Theory has it…”
“Theory has it you already missed the catch.”
“Theory has it that you are an elephant on another planet.”
“Theory has it you met Taylor Swift in elementary school.” (She’s a Swifty.)
The theory game got super silly, there were a few good throws at the ceiling, but we spent a lot of time getting up from the floor to retrieve the purple Pizza Ranch ball. There were no phones or screens (we would play Minecraft later). We wasted a lot of time that afternoon. Wasted time on us. Wasted time feeling joy.
It is all Connected 