IRISHMAN FOR HIRE

It all started in a little field in Goldston, North Carolina on Columbus Day weekend in 2008. It had been a tough year and our family needed a weekend away to reenergize. It was a fun weekend of swimming, relaxation and a lot of kid friendly activities. And on the first day of our trip, we attended the Goldston Old Fashion Day.

As Stephanie and I sat there in a field off of West Goldbar Avenue and watched our children playing in the bounce house, our conversation turned serious for a moment. “I met you when your Mom was a little older than I am now, Steph,” I said as I watched my kids having a good time with some of the local children. “If she only knew she had seventeen years left to live, do you think she would have spent more time accomplishing all of the things that she dreamed about doing?”

“Everyone would,” Stephanie replied, “but no one knows what tomorrow is going to bring.”

Sage advice from my deeply grounded wife and there was a lot of wisdom in her statement for me to ponder. A few months later, I spent the day living out one of my dreams in Disney World. It had been years since I had had the itch to take the stage but in one afternoon, I was reacquainted with my old passion to perform. And as the day was ending, I was still on cloud nine. Unable to fall asleep, I walked around our hotel grounds and took in the sights and sounds of a brisk Florida evening and thought for a moment, “What if?”

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When my son was born, my parents gave my wife a little silver cup that I used to use when I was a toddler. The cup is beat up. It is dented. And depending on who is describing the condition of the chalice, the goblet looks like a feisty, opinionated and spirited child made his feelings known to the world by banging it on anything and everything he could find.

My wife loves the fact that my parents gave her the cup because it speaks volumes about the deep rooted convictions I hold. To her it proves that I have always had an opinion about everything and well, whether people like it or not, I am more than willing to make my opinions known. I disagree with her assessment but whenever I want to argue my case, she has proof to the contrary.

“Look,” she says holding up the little silver cup with a glint of glee in her voice, “the evidence speaks for itself!”

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There is a moment just before I fall asleep when I conjure up the most powerful prose I can ever imagine. Exquisite paragraphs that paint a powerful picture that would make Picasso proud and yet, these sentences have never graced the printed page. They exist at the moment my conscious and subconscious mind intersect and tantalize me with influential images and expressions that I am unable to replicate when I arise to write them down.

I have heard a lot about “living in the moment” on television, radio and in the newspapers lately and I am thoroughly perplexed at the vacuous meaning of the statement “to live in the moment.” I took a breath. That was a moment. I took another breath. There was another moment. And so on and so on. I live in the moment every minute of every day. And even if I try to escape the moment, I am living the escapism which is in fact a moment unto itself.

I believe what these gurus are trying to tell me is “that I must understand the importance of the quintessential moments of my life.” And that is a statement I completely agree with. Of course, that isn’t a sentence one can easily sell in a ten second sound bite. It isn’t flashy. It doesn’t have pizzazz and it isn’t chic. But worst of all, it is filled with big words that make being in touch with my life sound boring and dreadfully tedious. So I guess I am left with being told “to live in the moment.”

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A few days ago, I woke up early in the morning with a pounding headache because I had slept in the wrong position again. It was too early to start my day, so I trudged down the stairs to the medicine cabinet, took some ibuprofen, stumbled half asleep back to my bedroom and climbed sleepily into my warm bed. I laid there for a while trying to find any comfortable position that might ease the pain. But eventually, I gave up and lumbered downstairs as the aroma of warm coffee being brewed wafted throughout the entire house.

As I stood in the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, Stephanie looked at me, smirked and said, “You look like we did when we first had kids?”

“How’s that?” I asked as I stood there half awake, hair standing straight up and my head cocked to the side in an attempt to find a neck position that would stop the jackhammer in my brain.

“Like you haven’t had sleep for days,” she replied

“Great,” I said as I went into the living room and sat on the couch. “I look like a zombie. Thanks.”

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Happy New Year!!! Happy New Decade!!! (although, not technically. But for me, it counts!) I wish you all the best for a healthy, happy and prosperous 2010!!!

Today is also the second anniversary of Irishman For Hire!! And with all of your support, Irishman For Hire has become a bigger success than I ever could have imagined. To those who have been following Irishman For Hire from day one and to all of my new friends, thank you so much. It has been an absolute joy to share these articles with you and more importantly, your kind feedback and emails of support have touched me in such a positive way. I am humbled and blessed. Thank You!!

Irishman For Hire had a great year in 2009! I had four readers on January 1, 2008. And not too many more over the first couple of weeks. Luckily for me, I went into a bank one day and was shown the truth about banks and fees and I wrote my article FEE MADNESS and Irishman For Hire exploded. Thousands of readers have visited Irishman For Hire ever since that article was posted and I am honored that you have spent another the year with me as I have shared my personal perceptions of the world with you. Thank you!!!

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