STUPID PEOPLE – doing stupid things

After the first run of the bulls in Pamplona (Spain) this year, it was Stupid People 0 – Smart Bulls 8. Translated, that 8 people were badly hurt and the bulls went home without a scratch. Two Americans were seriously injured, but only if you consider getting gored in the armpit by a 16 million pound ferocious bull with very long, sharp and spiky things sticking out of its forehead, as being serious. A British male was spiked in the groin area (ouch) and if you happen to be a man, you can imagine how serious that might be. It could also promote an instant gender change, but in this case it didn’t; stupid people - doing stupid things.

Please tell me: why would anybody voluntarily try to outrun six heavily armed bulls (remember those long spiky things on their forehead)? It does not make any sense at all. And don’t give me “it’s part of a long tradition” crap, because whatever your answer, it is still stupid people doing stupid things. I do hope the Pamplona bulls have a really good time; I really wish they do.

Human beings like challenges; I’m one of them. Some confront extreme dares and in many cases it involves the plausible possibility of getting hurt rather bad (ask the British dude or would that be ‘dudette?) or die. And ‘no’ I’m not even close to be in the death-wish-challenge category. I have no interest in dying before my natural time, caused by some stupid dare, including long spiky horn-things.

In a boxing ring, which kind of sounds old-fashioned these days, the purpose is to knock the crap out of the opponent. In cage-fighting it’s even more violent; sure they have rules, but you can still be hurt extremely bad. So why challenge that possibility?

I do admire the physical abilities of extreme rock climbers. How they can attach themselves to a vertical wall with so little to hang on to, with the sole support of some talc, long fingernails, feet and nerves of steel, I will never fathom. It must be a thrill so high that they have to do it, so insane that they can’t find a way back to normality, where they could make a much more logic (and safer) decision. But in that world, the challenge is: ‘I either make it to the top or I fall down and die’. For me, those odds sucks big time (and my nails are not long enough – luckily). 

I still think it is stupid people doing stupid things. “He died doing what he wanted to do and loved…” To me that sounds utterly pathetic as he was 32 with a wife, two young children and a full life ahead of him – and now the thrill is gone, especially for the wife and kids (and their cute bunny named Fluffy).

Devon Staples died on July 4th in Calais, Maine, after he lit and placed a piece of firework on top of his head as a joke. Hello, anybody home? Fireworks are pretty much categorized as explosives (duh) and as we like things that explode we gladly buy these sticks of ‘dynamite’ and make them go off. Lots of movies survive solely because everything pretty much blows up for 1-1/2 hour, or the time it takes to inhale a butter-flavored super-large bucket of popcorn. So here we have a young man who ended his life doing something stupid – really. I’m sad that his life ended, but I’m also going: ‘what’s wrong with this picture?’

Perhaps the newspaper was getting it wrong, but Devon’s saddened father expressed afterwards that ‘firework retailers are simply supplying people with bombs. That doesn’t make sense to me.’ Excuse me? I’m lost for words; what part of ‘fireworks’ don’t you get? Should it say on the package: Do not activate on head, stick into ear or up your nose or into any other bodily cavity – just in case…?

And talking about pathetic: As a young boy back in Denmark, every New Year Eve we were given a big box of fireworks as well as a big lit cigar (to light the fireworks). There were some heavy rockets and some rather powerful ‘explosives’ involved (the good old days). Four years in a row (yes FOUR), one of those medium strong sticks exploded by my right ear, as I did not throw it fast enough – yes, four years in a bloody row – how repeatedly stupid was that? I would scream because it hurt – a lot, and then run back home where my mother was ready with, of all things, a stick of butter. She would quickly drench my boo-boo ear with the butter and off I’ll go to make more things explode… I mean twice would have been acceptable, but four years in a row? How stupid was that? Had I learned nothing?

Just a few days ago in central California, a suspected burglar died in a chimney – true story. What happened was that the owner of the house came home and wanted a bit of heat and coziness, so he lit a fire in the fireplace. After a few moments he heard somebody scream and to his astonishment he realized it came from the chimney. My first thought would have been that Santa Claus was making a trial run… and got stuck.

But it was a burglar hiding in the chimney. The house-owner called 911. When the emergency unit arrived, they broke down the chimney, only to find the suspect dead. I really don’t know how to deal with this, other than ‘how can we be so stupid’. 

Of course I’m totally amazed that we have not had more of the same kind of incidents with the millions of Santa’s traveling up and down as many chimneys every Christmas – or are those fatalities kept under wraps so we don’t get scared and frightened when Christmas arrives? We all want Jolly Santa – not Dead Santa.

There are actually so many stupid people doing stupid stuff and it totally baffles me, because some of these stupid things they do are so, well, really stupid. Let me finish with one of my favorites:

A young adult (debatable) enter a liquor-store, pulls out a gun and asks for money. The clerk hands him whatever is in the till. Then this young person points at some bottles of whiskey behind the clerk. “Give me one of those”. The clerk looks at this young robber and says (bless his brave heart): “You don’t look old enough to legally consume alcohol…” The robber thinks (I doubt it) for a moment; then he pulls out a picture ID, hands it to the clerk and says: “See, I’m old enough…” The clerk look at the ID, quickly memorize the name and address and hands a bottle of whiskey to the kid, who run out as fast as he can.

I’m sure you get the gist of the story, and ‘yes’ the police was waiting for this stupid person as he arrived home with the money and a (free?) bottle of whiskey.

Life is already full of chances that we challenge every day. We drive cars, we fly, we sail, we get married (only kidding), we smoke, we drink, we eat saturated fat food and we cross the streets. The list is fiercely long and thinking about some of it, can be rather scary. But that is life and we try to make it through a normal existence by being careful about what we challenge and how. So why should we worsen those somewhat fair odds by trying to outrun bulls, explode things on our heads, hide in chimneys or do other insanely stupid things?

Some extremists in the death-defying-challenge-department might look at us ‘normal’ human beings as boring, compared to living on a vertical mountainside, where long nails and talc might keep you from falling to your death, as being exciting. But, Dear Reader, I do prefer a somewhat boring life likened to an exciting death – anytime, as I’m not that stupid…   

DEATH – it’s so bloody final

No matter how real death should be for all of us, it’s a subject we do not talk about often – if at all. Perhaps it’s because we don’t want to awake an eerie omen or create a bad jinx, as it could possibly bring an earlier end to our own lives – so why push the final envelope – at all? Instead we hide behind a shield of invisibility, hoping that infinity is the true reality - not death. And that’s all fine, but the part I have yet to fully accept, is that death is still so bloody final.

I was 8 years old when our teacher read a message from classmate Peter Arnoldi’s mother. Peter had been hit and killed by a car. I can’t remember any emotions from that day, as lack of life experience reigned; but reading the message today tears me up, as I do vaguely remember Peter; for one thing, he was so bloody young, so why die?

My first emotionally real-life ‘death-encounter’ involved my grandfather; a man I adored from I was born. My father, his wife and I were sitting in the first row at the funeral with this casket thing right in front of us; I was 17. There was standing-room only for this great man’s final farewell. When all was said and done, the casket was slowly rolled into a flaming inferno for his cremation – right there, for all to see. That image literally burned itself into my memory-bank; I still shiver thinking about it.

During planning a class-reunion (25 years) some million years ago, classmate Ernst worked for the Danish police and was utterly resourceful finding 26 of the 31 first-graders from 1953. It was nice ‘working’ with Ernst, reviving an old friendship. I was in California and he was in Denmark; snail-mail, faxes and phone-calls.

Then I didn’t hear from Ernst, so I called him and was told by his wife, that he had suddenly died. But how could that be? He was the same age as I – so that would be impossible… I mean, I just talked with him…

As logical and realistic-minded I think I am, I’m still utterly puzzled that I have not been able to fathom the, at times (always?) harsh realities of death – my own included. Best pal Michael died at 68; lovely family member Lasse died at 62. John Lennon at 40; George Harrison at 58; Steve Jobs and Robin Williams, etc. All before their ‘expected’ time; what the heck is going on?

My father died in 2000 at 87 and my mother died last August at 95. So we ‘comfort’ ourselves by attaching ‘lived full lives’ to their passing. I know my mother was tired of living, so she finally found her peace. But I’m not so sure about my father. He died from cancer, but the last couple of times we visited him in Denmark, he was as life-energetic as ever; and a few months later he was very dead – still is.

My mother’s husband was 64 when he succumbed to severe illness – just as he had decided to retire. He wanted to say goodbye to friends and family, asking them to the hospital – and they all came. Then he asked for the proverbial plug to be pulled – his choice. Come on, at 64?

I find that I write this with an arrogant attitude, with a matter-of-fact ignorance and some form of held-back anger. I’m sure it’s based on anxieties, obliviousness, my possible fears and insecurities about death. No, I’m not worried about my own death being jinxed by actually bringing this subject to the surface, but it’s one of these very realistic issues that I find I must get to know, get to understand and then (finally) be able to live with (at least before I die (ha ha)).

But one thing I clearly realize from the above: We are all influenced by so many people on our way through life, and in most cases more so than we realize (or admit to?) The true fact is that death will always be the ultimate reminder of how precious life is – let’s never forget that. Praising and appreciating loved ones, friends and family after they die, is all fine and lovely, but too often it leaves us with: ‘oh, I should have, I could have… why the heck didn’t I – and now it’s too late’? We must remember, that praising, appreciating, not taking anybody for granted, loving, caring and laughing, are all a lot more effective with people when they are alive, as the morbid damper on this kind of interaction is always death – duh...

We can all do better in this department – so why not start today – okay? Make those calls and send that E-Mail, implement more hugging and kissing, show love and respect more freely. Do it now – don’t regret later that you didn’t. Tell them how important they are in your life. And do it often; it doesn’t hurt at all. Spreading happiness is not bad – it makes all of us feel better and appreciated, much more alive.

I’m hitting 70 in 2016 (June 18, if you absolutely feel like sending me some cash). I do, of course consider my own death, and I admit, more often than I should. Don’t get me wrong, I’m alive, utterly happy and very healthy. I enjoy life as a very fortunate individual; I cannot ask or wish for anything else than what I have today, stuff I do and the fantastic friends and lovely family I’m in the middle of; all this together with my very best friend ever (my wife), two lovely sons and a fabulous daughter-in-law.

My everyday retirement-life is full of stuff that needs to be done to function in a stress-free zone, but more so full of stuff that I like to do. At times it’s hectic, very hectic; at times I do feel pressures, but I simply handle it piece by piece and get it done. I am an avid photographer (the amateur kind); I write a lot of stuff, including this blog; I read for fun and especially read to learn, which is even more fun – a lot; I walk the dog twice daily (or she walks me), I exercise, eat fairly well and find happiness in a lot of stuff around me. Life is good, very good – so thoughts of my death should be tabled for another day – way out in the future; don’t you think? But thoughts about my ‘passing on’ do pop up – and I don’t like it when it does…

From I was a teenager I theorized that I would outlive my last parent’s death by at least 5 years. So if this holds water I should hit at least 100. Triggered by that thought, I then calculate how many years I have left; yes, utterly pathetic - really. But it does help underscore my life as is and what’s really important, because then I concentrate on the quality of my life even more so, and that’s not bad.

Reality is that my wife and I do make some ‘considerations’ with the time left; I’m 10 years above in age, by the way. No, it’s not casket & urn-shopping (yes I will be cremated – Yuk, just the thought) or where the ashes will be spread, or any other morbid (good term) stuff. It’s more the practical realization of age overall and therefore dealing with related issues.

We have been traveling a lot in our lives before and together – very fortunate. We like traveling, so the last few years our travel-planning has been brought forward a bit (actually a lot). The reality is that some of these places will, for me at least be ‘a last time visit’. Yes, it’s bloody gloomy when we look at it that way, but it is a stark reality, which we have to learn to accept, no matter how much we hate to admit it. 

The whole death-thing is just hanging out there, staring at me with those probing eyes, with me going: ‘huh, what?’ The utter fact for me is, that I’m not really afraid of dying, but I’m more so afraid of not living – a huge difference.

Life is great and I find that I appreciate it more and more – if that is even possible. I embrace my surroundings 24/7 with its many people and stuff to do. Whatever age you are, please enjoy life and please appreciate the living in your life before they die – memories are lovely, but you can’t hug memories and tell them how much they mean to you, because – that would be weird (and sad), huh?

For me, these days death is more so a sporadic thought. I have accepted that the end will eventually come, if I want it to or not. So instead, I increased the enjoyment of living years ago, and that doesn’t really leave a lot of time to speculate and contemplate the conclusion of it all; so I stay happy. But no matter what, to me death is still so bloody final, Yuk… 

Now, go make it all a really great life – please…  

CRAPPY DAYS – and I’m not alone

We all have crappy days – I hope; I know I do. To ‘excuse’ my once in a while unholy crappiness, I decided a long time ago, that it’s like a natural safety-valve that holds back compressed anger, frustration, anxieties, insecurities, boredom, overall yackiness and other uncomfortable stuff. It’s like if I don’t periodically let some steam out (dark, nasty smelling clouds of smoke, actually), I would probably explode in a horrific, though colorful way. With that image in mind, you can understand why I don’t exactly embrace crappy days – a lot.
 

I hate people, who are crappy, as well as I dislike crappy people; I have a hard time accepting the occasional day of crappiness somebody is going through. It ruins my otherwise eternal (yeah, right) positive, happy and energetic attitude – and then I get crappy too; that’s the part I really hate.
 

I despise being in a crappy mood (‘crappy’ pronounced: ‘shitty’). It irritates me no end, as I for the most part have no bloody clue why I’m in that unstable stage of emotions – I really don’t know. I figure that with my intellect, life-experience and overall positive attitude concerning being somewhat well-balanced, I should be able to get out of it fast, no sweat. But I can’t. I desperately try to figure out the reason I’m off tilted, but for the most part, I can’t for the life of me find any reasons at all.
 

I have preached the use of the ‘negative-positive’ lists for ages and though I do practice what I preach, especially when I’m crappy, I find that even being such a lucky guy in all of life, I still have a hard time ‘crapping’ out, and that makes me even crappier… if possible.
 

Since we all visit Crappyland occasionally, let’s do the cop-out thing by looking for anybody or anything to blame for our day of crap, no matter how utterly pathetic that is. Oh hey, how about this one?

His name was Thomas Crapper, born in 1836 and died in 1910, in case you care. He was a plumber and the founder of Thomas Crapper & Co. in London. No, Dear Reader, Thomas did not invent the flushing toilet, but he did make it rather popular as he installed a lot of them to great relief for so many, even today. He also has his company name on a manhole near Westminster Abbey (a large church-thing…) that is somewhat a tourist attraction. Unfortunately I missed that when in London last May – oh crap… (Thanks, Tom).
 

So you get the connection – huh? Poor Thomas might not have appreciated this kind of fame, but we freely and blatantly blame him for at least being the namesake of our foul moods, shit that happens and those blah days we love to hate – sorry Thomas, really.
 

I try to stay away from using what we consider foul language – something I unfortunately have a hard time with – seriously. But I do not consider ‘crap’, ‘crappy’ or ‘crappiness’ part of that equation. To me any ‘crap’ is more so uttered with the greatest respect and in honor of Thomas & his flushing toilets.
 

During foul moods, I desperately try to keep it all within myself, trying not to affect my surroundings too much; I do not always succeed and for that I am utterly sorry. Being in the car on ‘crap-day’, I cannot find anybody who is not a jerk, bad driver, stupid, etc. Yes, I should probably not drive at all those days, but I do. I walk the dog and somebody smiles, wave and do the jolly ‘good morning’ thing. I throw them a pretend smile and think: ‘what the hell is YOUR problem’. Even my dog can feel the heat and gives the passer-by the ‘I’m sorry, he’s in such a crappy mood today’ look.
 

Tess, our wonder dog, is as sweet as a dog can be. She ‘swings’ with the mood in our home which for the most part is happy and fun. When I was in bed with a broken leg some years back, Tess was by my side constantly – being all worried. Our moods are picked up by her and she reacts accordingly. But when its ‘crappy-day-for-Peter’, she has a special hiding place she sneaks into at times; bless her lovely heart.
 

She is also a reason for me to ease up and try to get back to normal. The way she looks at me when I’m swearing away being crappy, is so sweet, innocent and concerned, that you have to be a real jerk not to acknowledge that she is very worried, hurting and disturbed. Then she'll lick my hand a lot (which I really don’t like, because I have seen how she cleans herself – duh…), snuggles up to me wherever I am and stays by my side like the formidable Velcro-Dog; just a true sweetheart (sigh) – and who wouldn’t give in to that?
 

I spend time by myself several days weekly; my choice, really. It’s not often I communicate with anybody other than Tess and Mindy (our cute cat) during those days, other than SMS’ing with a few friends, wife and children (adults, actually). At times I desperately try to machete my way through the dense jungle of crappiness, by grabbing the phone and call a good friend; that's another way to open the safety valve, to let some of the nasty crappy-steam escape – and for the most part, that works somewhat.
 

Another way to get back to the charming and delightful mood I normally expose (yeah, right) I play music really loud. Music always makes my moods turn more positive. When my wife returns home from work or from wherever, just her being near makes most of the crappiness go ‘poof’.
 

At times some of this doesn’t work, and I think that perhaps I don’t want it to work. I’m very confused in that area of being crappy. 'Get out of it’ is easy said, but at times really hard for me to do, no matter how much I want to be Happy & Charming Peter again; I might never figure it out.
 

At times I get depressed; not that I want to end my life or anything close to that, but a depression I cannot explain. When I was a boy and drifted into those moods, my mother for some excellent parental reason, dealt with it in a matter-of-fact way. She would ask me ‘why?’ and I would answer ‘I don’t know’… (of course in Danish…) My mother would then ask me to go into my room and come out when I felt better; so I did and it worked.
 
Today I find that my depressions quickly morph into crappy, and I’m fine with that, as it is somewhat easier for me to understand and deal with.
 

Kind of weird, but as it is not something that happens often, I’m certainly not concerned about all of this. My main issue is that I do not want any of my crappiness to interfere with the people I love and care for. I hate it when people are crappy, so why should anybody love and accept my crappiness, no matter how charming it is?

I truly believe that we all need to release the build up steam we collect from life’s daily challenges. I highly suggest accepting having crappy days at times, but then get it done with, and make sure that it doesn’t hurt anybody else and it’s all legal. But of course, if you find yourself in foul moods too often, it is time to seek help, to find out what causes it and then deal with it in a positive and constructive way, please.
 

Pretty much every time I use the term, ‘crap’, ‘crappy’ or ‘crappiness’ I do think of that poor plumber and his unfortunate legacy, so I send him a ‘sorry Thomas’; that in itself, does make me smile a bit, which helps me slowly move out of being in a foul mood – and then it’s time to say ‘thank you, Mr. Crapper', as I’m convinced he was a really nice guy (sigh)…

  

BABIES & KIDS – from dislike to love

I despised babies. From the foul odored poo-poo diapers and vomit, to how adults were constantly drooling and talking in weird voices anytime a baby was near. But the dislike was more so because babies took all the attention away from me. I successfully refused to be drawn in, never sat next to one, and certainly never touched one – ever, until I was about 41, seriously. But things can change, can’t they?

When my friends started to multiply, our relationships ended. I hated being around their slobbering babies, with the constant crying and the never-ending demands and more nasty smelling poop diapers – I mean, it was Yuk on the highest level; I was surely convinced from early adolescents, that there would absolutely not be babies in my future – at all. But wait, there’s more…

I fell in love with my wife the moment I saw her. I was 38 – she was 28. Early into our relationship, I (gently) understood that our future together would include children. Surprising myself, I slowly accepted this revelation. The timing must have been right, as especially my partner was perfect. So ‘Peter having babies’, started to rhyme – though I was still utterly stunned; my mother was as well, for the longest time.

Sixteen months later we were married and fourteen month into our marriage, we were ready to expand the world population. I more so needed to get ready, as I did not have a clue what to do during pregnancy, delivery and especially after the baby came out. So I read many books about babies and how to maintain them; we took Lamaze classes and I slowly became an ‘expert’ - I thought. But soon after the birth part, I found that nothing I had read or studied could prepare me for parenthood – nothing at all. It was very much a ‘learn on the job’ deal.

But I was as prepared as could be when the water broke and delivery started. It was a struggle convincing the baby to come out, as it had one arm over the head through the birth canal. But the three of us worked well together, and our first-born finally arrived. Yes, I was the ‘delivery coach’, and it was weirdly exhilarating.

I had never felt so euphoric on this level in my whole life. Holding this baby, feeling the warmth from his body, the tiny heartbeats, his breath, his skin and the way he looked around so curiously, is a feeling and emotion I still cannot explain. I found myself kissing him and telling him how much I (already) loved him. It was one of the most wonderful days of my life so far (besides marrying my wife). Just thinking about that whole process tears me up a bit – but don’t tell anybody, please.

It was decided to keep him in the nursery overnight for observation, while we, exhausted and excited new parents, retired to our hospital room.

I got up early the next morning to get our new son. On the way to the nursery, I smiled as I thought about how pathetically stupid and ignorant I had been in the past concerning babies. How could I have been so oblivious? I especially chuckled out loud about that thing how ‘all newborn babies look alike’. How silly was that? From the moment he was born I had neither blinked nor taken my eyes off him; I would of course be able to recognize him in a heartbeat. ‘All babies look alike?’  What utter nonsense.

The nursery had about 10 cribs occupied by new babies. I acknowledged the on-duty nurse and quickly scanned the room. There he was – our lovely new son. I eagerly crossed the floor and as I reached into the crib to pick him up, I heard the nurse smiling as she said: ‘Peter, he is over there - in the corner’. My face quickly changed to a deep red. I giggled in utter embarrassment as I walked over to the genuine baby Steiness; I even double-checked his name-tag. So they had been right after-all: ‘all babies do look alike’. Well, at least that morning they seemed to.

Even though I ‘theoretically’ felt prepared for parenthood, I soon found that I was not ‘hands-on’ prepared at all. But by ‘need to’ I learned quickly. Certain whimpers were for food, a slightly different whimper was for diaper change and my favorite whimper was ‘I need to nap with Dad’.

As I wanted to participate in all aspects of our son’s upbringing (though breastfeeding was unfortunately out of my league), I quit my day-job, became self-employed so I could work from home. This way I would look after the baby while my wife returned to work. Though working from home met some lean times, it was one of the best decisions we ever made. Being able to share the care of our son with my wife had him constantly with one of us, and most of the time, with both of us.

My world had shifted dramatically - a wonderful wife and now our beautiful and healthy son. Days and nights were filled with foul (!) diaper changes, feeding, burping, napping, baths, laundry, strolls in the park and lots of playtime. I immediately found an enormous satisfaction and joy being with him. Hugging him, kissing him and loving him, was such a privilege - a privilege I had never experienced before (except with my wife – duh…) This privilege doubled when we had our second son, a couple of years later.

My wife and I shared the parental responsibilities. The result of this early, positive and plenty shared parent involvement, is surely visible today. The relationship between the four of us is solid, respectful and loving. We know and acknowledge how fortunate we all are and we have never taken our little family for granted.

I used to despise babies as they smelled bad and took the attention away from me. Well, now I like babies (okay, for the most part) and children and not just my own. Children have such positive and exciting energy, and as long as we (adults) guide them correctly, they will succeed in whatever they pursue. They are academic sponges and they really want to learn; we just have to show them how, by making it all interesting, challenging and fun.

Look at their faces and look into their eyes – we see eagerness and a zest for life. All we have to do is supporting this positive attitude – and we can certainly all learn something from that as well – so go ahead, please.

For a few years I was fortunate to work with school children from ages 6 to 12. As a volunteer, I created a drama class and clocked in over 3,000 student hours. I wrote and directed four variety shows with eager involvement from the kids; it was an absolute blast.

I coached soccer for many years and the player-list reached over 1,300 youngsters from age 5 to 19 years old. I loved them all dearly, and as I eventually retired from drama-class and soccer, I do miss spending time with ‘the kids’ and their energy – but I have only superb memories.

From disliking children to have my own and even surrounded myself with so many other kids, was for me a dramatic, surprising, but wonderful turn-around. I am sure I have taught these youngsters some positive aspects of life, besides variety shows and soccer, but that will never compare with what they taught me about fun, love, compassion and respect through those years.

Being an involved parent by taking the time and making an effort with our children, any children, actually, gives all of us tremendous rewards. By acknowledging and live by, that every day is a new experience for us as parents as well as it is for our children, we are heading in the right direction. Working together using fun, love, compassion and respect, will only make our days together better and better. I know – I learned ‘on the job’. And ‘yes’ I am still utterly surprised - seriously... Poop diapers and all…