This poem / observation was jotted down in my note app as I was on my walk. I also took this picture to reinforce the idea.
One of the reasons I like to walk everyday is the mental aspect, the way my mind can drift and be inspired by the world around me. As I continued on my walk I thought about how much a home is like a tree.
On average, most people (6 out of 10) live within 100 miles of their home town. And most of them are only 30 miles away (2022 Census).
Even wind-dispersed seeds of trees travel just over a mile, but can reach 18 miles.
I thought about how my desire to create a stable home for my own family influenced aspects of my personal life, my goals. One of the biggest aspects has been coaching, specifically football. But also my writing goals. This town is not a poetic mecca by any means.
But the thing about trees is that they are beautiful in their strength and characteristics; leaf shape, color, and their bark patterns. Trees withstand the seasons by changing with the weather.
We have been in this particular house for 15 years. My three oldest children are out in the world, two are over 100 miles away while one is in town. I have three more children at home, one of them will be a senior and ready to make the decision of which college to attend.
I do not know where the wind will take my children, but they know where home is. It is a strong blue house… sitting pretty close to heaven.
One of the fun aspects of writing this series is the chance to listen to albums again. There are so many great albums. Honestly, this series has actually been in the works for over 6 months. I got to thinking about it after I read the answer from Mike Jones of the band Jesus Jones. A favorite band of mine who’s Doubt album was in the running for this series.
Kind of the last filter I used for selecting the albums was the desert island question. If I had five albums only, what would I want to listen to? So, there are albums that I love that are not part of this series, but the fourth album may be the one that most defines me. Ten by Pearl Jam.
For those readers who know me in real life, you know that my college years were a turbulent time. And if you are into music like I am, you understand how a song, an artist, an album can affect your life. Plus, I saw them perform at The Ranch Bowl in Omaha just as they were breaking through as a band!
“Once” may be the coolest intro song I know. There is a melodic fade in, then a driving guitar and Eddie Vedder extending the word “I” and off we go.
“Alive” and “Why Go” are two songs that connected with me. I don’t want to go into the personal stuff, but both songs are powerful stories about youth and dealing with big questions. Questions about family, truth, and life. “Alive” ends with the question about who answers the question about the narrator being alive.
“Why Go” was number 10 of my all time top 100 songs. It tells the story of a girl in a mental hospital. Part of the story line is about staying an individual while also questioning if it is worth going back home. The energy of the music and the depth of the theme combine for one of the most emotionally elevating songs I know.
“Jeremy” continues the sad exploration of the damage parents can have on a child. The song was inspired by a true event, that just emphasizes one of the harshest aspects of this life. Now, as a father, these stories break my heart.
I’m going to jump to the last track “Release”. The tracks in between do not shy away from questioning life, “I don’t question our existence / I just question our modern needs, “ from “Garden”.
I’ve heard it said that we connect to music (and even poetry) because the artist found a way to say what we feel better than we could. “Release” is that song for me. Eddie Vedder says this song is about learning the truth about his father and step-father. For my faithful readers you know through my writing about my issues with my own father, so I think you can connect the dots for the importance of this song.
Ten is an intense listening experience. In fact there is a few seconds of silence after “Release” before the listeners are taken back to the melodic music from the beginning. This time the music stays on that vibe while you hear mumbled vocals as the vibe continues to wash over you. Kind of like an emotional cleansing as it fades out… but I usually want to start the album over.
This morning I stopped at The Blue Moon for a coffee, a Pooh Bear latte (part of my yearly summer challenge to drink their specialty coffees). My youngest daughter got a breakfast sandwich. We sat on the couch, chatted a little about the rest of the day. But we were mostly quiet, partly because she was hungry (just got done with morning weights) and I was people watching.
The Blue Moon is a hot spot for the older generation to gather and chat while enjoying a coffee. Every morning you can find tables brought together and groups of people talking, laughing, just enjoying the fellowship of friends. The afternoons are more subdued, that is when I try to go and write.
This morning there were about 10 older ladies at a table beside us. Conversations flying. Across the sitting area was a young boy, probably about 10 or 11 years old. He was by himself, I figure he was a grandson and tagged along with his grandmother. He had an empty juice bottle and some crumbled up napkins on the table. But what struck me was how he was just sitting there with an iPad in front of him, the volume loud enough I could hear it, but could not catch everything that was on the screen. And he didn’t move, at all. His face was illuminated by the screen. I watched as different colors shifted on his face.
Now, I know that a young boy may not feel comfortable talking with a group of older women, I get that. Besides the idea of reading or coloring or doing something active, he was silent and did not move at all. His silence struck me, I see the way screens silence people, even in my classroom and even my home.
Let’s throw in AI just for the fun of it… Open AI just released GPT-Live which will listen and talk to you in real time. A quote from them, “We’re launching GPT‑Live, a new generation of voice models that make talking with AI feel much more like having a real conversation.”
I’m going to let this sit for a second…
I always wondered why the cool advancements in technology always seemed to correlate to making technology more human.
And now technology wants to silence you even more to other humans.
Yesterday we (my wife and three youngest daughters) went to Lincoln to get new tennis rackets, had lunch together, and visited the children’s zoo. Yes, we had phones, taking pictures and sharing some of them on our family group chat. We even rode the little train around the zoo. My two oldest boys added a few comments about the memories they had of the train and the zoo when they were little. We talked at lunch and had fun getting new tennis rackets for my two middle daughters (one chose some crazy colors for her strings).
As a dad it was a great day, it was filled with smiles, conversation, and laughter.
At the moment my house is pretty silent… and yes, we are all on screens. I am writing this blog post, I can’t see the screens of my daughters, but it is the classic position; phone in hand, face blank. My wife is working on her computer. The house is silent.
I am not against technology. I am concerned about its ability to silence us in lots of different ways, and what that will cost us as a society, as a person.
I would rather enjoy my coffee in the middle of the noise of people enjoying fellowship, then sipping on it in silence, screen illuminating my blank eyes.
I have 21 years left if I live to the national age of death.
That means I have 1,092 batches of blueberry muffins left.
Time can be measured in so many different ways. Our lives are filled with milestones, beginnings and endings. At times our lives seem so routine, while at other times it feels like chaos rules. We feel anger. We laugh. There is pain and discovery. There is life.
But time moves forward. In two years I will have only one child left living at home, and less than a thousand batches of blueberry muffins to make.
Honestly, as I consider these upcoming milestones, I am sad, reflective, and grateful that I have built a tradition that my life, my children’s life, could anchor to in good and troubled times. No matter what time has in store for me, for my family, we have at least 1,092 batches of blueberry muffins to enjoy.
On Aug 17, 2025, I got a new pair of shoes for walking.
I had an idea to wear them only for walking and to record my steps after each walk. I was going to try to make it a year, but due to different circumstances, I made it to the end of this month, 8 months total.
I walked a total of 549051 steps… 245 miles.
We all know the idiom, “Walk a mile in their / my shoes” as a reference to understanding someone. I took notes sometimes after a walk. During these last 8 months, I had a colleague lose two of their grandchildren in a car accident. My oldest son got married. I walked on Halloween but didn’t get to walk with my youngest daughter on her last trick-or-treat trip, she was at a friend’s house.
I walked through hundreds of grasshoppers in August. I walked in the school on nights when my daughter had musical practice. I walked on a 65 degree day in February. I took notes for poems, some that are still notes. I walked on Christmas day, reflecting on family and how time was moving so fast.
The miles simply represent my life, as they would for you.
As I totaled the steps, I noticed something interesting. No matter what the day, or the route I took (I have a couple of routes I walk in the neighborhood), no day ever had the same number of steps. Ever.
So no matter how many times I took my ‘medium route’ in the neighborhood, the step count was different.
I understand there are a number of reasons for the differences, but that proves the point that even in the routine of our life, each day is different. Has a different step count because of the smallest changes to how we walked through the day. How we lived that day.
Maybe to understand ourselves better we should pay attention to how we walk in our own shoes.
And so my idea for this blog post comes to an end as I transfer the shoes to work shoes.
Next year starts 2026. As we have done since 2015,each member of the family chooses one word for the next year. We each share the reason behind the word, and then design our display. This year we are using small wooden clipboards.
As you can see from the picture my word is MAGIC.
There are a number of reasons behind my choice for the word. I want to create more magical moments, which I tried to do this Christmas, actually, when Santa visited our house for everyone. There were 8 filled stockings under the tree (my six children and my new daughter-in-law and my son’s longtime girlfriend). And yes, Santa visited my wife, even if she didn’t get a stocking, she had presents under the tree.
But to have magical moments I have to be active as a father, a husband, and even as a poet. Magic doesn’t happen staring at a screen. It happens when my children laugh, my wife smiles, someone replies to a poem I wrote.
I have some really big goals this year. Accomplishing them will be magical. Jon Finch once said, “Magic is the poetry of impossibilities, each trick a stanza in the verse of wonder.” And I am a good poet.
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.
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.
It is all Connected 