We are watching Nate, our eldest son, inch toward the isolating cave of the American teenager.  Really the kid is my hero.  He has a blend of confidence and humility that is a rare jewel.  I think he understands the true posture of humility in ways that most of us would not allow ourselves to comprehend such a trait.

This past weekend we went to the mall; a group of teenagers said loudly enough for our whole family to enjoy, “How can he walk around with his face looking like that?”  I thought they were talking about my unkempt beard, but further along in our consumptive stroll my wife asked, “Did you hear that?  Nate did.”  Nate has a port-wine stain on his face, a birthmark.  If I had realized what was said while we were in their proximity, I might be posting this from jail.  Fortunately for the group of slacking miscreants and for my police record, I am slow.

The boy wears his hair long, over his face.  His personality is dominated by kindness, though sometimes I worry that he might withhold this because of his learned shyness.  Sometimes I worry that he hides behind the hair and the birthmark; I haven’t witnessed him doing this, but people are themselves at home, which is the only place I am able to consistently observe him.  Around here he is confident in his abilities.

The medical procedure to remove a port-wine stain is not considered cosmetic; our insurance covers it due to the way a port-wine stain collects red blood cells – I don’t completely understand this.  So it is an option, one which he neither embraces, nor fully rejects.  He thinks about it.  He talks about it with Molly and I, but then, like someone who understands all of life already, pronounces that we are his parents and therefore wholly void of objectivity.  His comprehension of our relationship is astounding to me.

He was wearing the pre-teen sadness last night, so we asked for some kind of explanation, which he was unable to articulate.  But it comes back to the damn birthmark.  I think the splotch on his face has made him incredibly aware of his emotional make up.  He was looking for advice, but not ours.  So we helped him make a list of people he respected whom he could consult.  Then we told him that talking with these people about it was up to him since he disallows our slanted input.

I don’t know if he’ll be wearing the birthmark when he is 13 or 14.  I do know that because he has worn it the first 11 years of his life, he tends to accept people for who they are.  He has a rare openness.  I wish he learned it from me, but instead he learned it from something he wishes wasn’t there.  I suppose he could be a mean and over-compensating young man because of the way he has often been judged; he is not.

I wish he’d bloody a few lips with his wiry muscles.  Test them out.  “Finish it,” I say, “don’t start it; end it.”  He doesn’t feel the need just yet, perhaps one day he will.  Whether he teaches someone a lesson or if he refrains, he is heroic in his manner and wise beyond his years.  To his father he is a walking lesson in grace and compassion.  “One day,” I tell him, “people will notice and appreciate your strength of character, but for now you’re in middle school surrounded by a collection of idiots.”  I hope he remembers this when it comes true.  Because right now, I’m just a father without objectivity.

I think God is like this.  If so, the calisthenics of self-improvement aren’t very useful.  They’re not necessarily bad, but they do tend to lead us into self-sufficiency, if they are not performed with utmost humility and honesty.  You learn these things if you’re born with a port-wine stain.

“How long have you been sick,” the doc asked me.

I paused, “Um, 19 days.”  She thought that was funny.  Throughout the course of our conversation she kept saying things about 19 days.  I guess she liked the specifics.  Her use of humor suggested that she didn’t think I had some psychological disorder, a serious case of OCD, where I memorize all the details in order to give an accurate report.  Docs usually don’t joke about hypochondria either.

I never get sick so I remember the details.  The last time I saw a doctor was eight years ago with a broken hand.  Second-to-last time was 5 years before that; I had gangrene.  I wanted her to tell me that I had something serious.  No one wants to hear that they have a cold or the flu.  She did a strep test.  Negative.  I was hoping for some blood work.  Maybe mono or pneumonia.

“My eyes are on fire.  My ears feel especially pointy, like they’re preparing for launch.  Throat feels like a desert.  Even the bottoms of my feet ache.  Do you think it may be lycanthrope?”

“Probably not.  Since this sickness has been hanging around for 19 days, I’m going to put you on an antibiotic.  Gargle with saltwater.  Buy some lozenges.  Yada, yada.”  Just what I expected… an unnecessary antibiotic and a series of home remedies.

You mean I’ve been wearing this deathmask for nothing?  My chance of survival is nearly 100%.  I’m taking the antibiotic just in case.  It violates my principles, but so what?  Since I am going to live, I should probably begin blogging again.

Now for a true story:

Yesterday was a snow day.  I’ll try to not sound remonstrative, but it sucked.  I had work lined up, the kind that pays real money.  Instead all three kids got the day off.  The snow day was on the heels of a 14 day stretch of housebound illness, in which I was both a participant and also primary caretaker of the rest of the invalids, as my work currently draws the shortest straws when competing with my wife’s income.

You get grumpy during a stretch like this.  I started out the day as usual, 6 AM, reading the bible and calling down fire from heaven to consume my flesh.  February is depressing.  Read the rest of this entry »

All right, this will be my final two-post day for quite some time, I promise.  I wanted to invite you all to visit our new family business at www.cupthreads.com.

A little over a year ago my wife Molly began making items out of felted wool from used sweaters and selling them, purses and scarves, etc.  I thought, this would be a great little upcycling business, but the income levels were such that her creations quickly became a hobby.

I began to play around with an idea for making coffee cup sleeves out of the material, just for a gas at first, as something that could be made rather quickly and generate revenue as a means of keeping my wife in the crafting business.  Over the past two months though, my playtime became a bit more focused.  I figured out a way to more than double, almost triple my previous production (and I’m not a very speedy seamster, by the way!).  Additionally, I believe that we have developed a way to grow this homespun business while keeping costs very low.  (Cue: Revolution – we all want to change the world!)

So we’re giving it a shot!

Our initial target markets are coffee and tea retailers in the Cleveland area.  We think our product is unique, and once it is held in the hand of a coffee connoisseur it will be hard to NOT buy one!  While we are waiting on packaging and other promotional materials to arrive, I’d like to invite you to be among the first to own a cupThreads – upcycled and reusable coffee sleeve.

kinder.cooler.better.

These are our driving principles behind the product (story here).  Our sleeves eliminate waste.  They are made of wool (highly renewable, just feed the sheep!), but not just any wool, already used wool, thoroughly laundered by the way – Kinder for our environment.  They look rad.  You can’t deny it! – Cooler.  They also cover your entire cup, adding an insulating value to the old standby, boring, wasteful cardboard sleeves you currently use – Better.

Please stop by cupThreads.  Then return to Ream of Paper (with or without placing an order, you’re still my friends) and let me know what you think.  You can email me your private responses at cupthreads(at)gmail(dot)com.  Or gush publicly!

Also pass the word about cupThreads.com on to your caffeine-addicted or environmentally-conscious friends.  There are only 60-or-so products listed, but we have literally hundreds more that are not on the site as of yet.

If you choose to make a pre-launch purchase, enter the coupon code: reamofpaper to receive a dollar off each sleeve.  Order three or more and I’ll ship them for free!

Let me know privately if you encounter any problems with the site or checkout process.  Thanks so much.

Yes, it has been awhile.  My apologies to the three of you jonesing to hear what’s on my mind.  Officially the entire Lind household is now sick.  Sickness and shoveling snow were the two things I was planning to give up for Lent.  Alas, this dream no longer seems possible.  In addition to the plague, there was also the matter of taxes, which had to be tended to.  Could there be a more creativity-stifling exercise than taxes?

In my 3 day hiatus, I managed to get the web-portion of our new small business running.  I will include a link in tomorrow’s post.  There are a few items I am going to tweak today.

I intend to go “all religious” during Lent.  First post forthcoming (this afternoon?)…

Valentine’s Day Help for Husbands

Listen, St. Valentine is not a hero.  The truth is, no one knows anything about him, except that he was martyred.  No on knows why, though there is speculation that he was put to death for marrying soldiers to their sweethearts against the will of Rome.  This story became popular in the 15th century, around 1200 years after his life, and 1000 years after his veneration for unknown deeds.

That’s right.  We don’t know what he did.  We do, however, know what he did not do.  St. Valentine did not have sex!  He was either a Catholic priest or a monk.  Think about that.  The token day for celebrating Eros is named after someone who was not even a practitioner of its chief tenant.

Fellas, society would have you believe that you are noobs, incapable of even the smallest romance.  Read the rest of this entry »

During the Super Bowl Denny’s (the GREAT Denny’s!) announced that tomorrow they are serving free Grand Slam Breakfasts.  So Prayer Dave, End-Times Bob and myself would like to formally invite you to breakfast; our treat.  You have to buy your own beverage.

Meet us at Denny’s.  We’re talking about failure and formation.  It’s a planned topic.  So come prepared.  If you cannot make it, I will keep you posted.

Grace.