Part of this St. Pat’s Day I’ll be jetting East for a short visit with family and friends. In the meanwhile…

As fellow Goodboy Ron “Cubby” Myerow notes, even Quint looks a little confused about where the Goodboys will be playing this year.

Patience, my little pretties! A little birdie tells me a 10th aniversary return to Portsmouth and Pease Gold Course is in the cards but nothing’s official yet, and all Goodboys will just have to drink their Killian’s Red speculating about when the official word will come down.

Soon, I promise!

Happy St. Patrick’s Day from the Goodboys and Goodboys Nation weblog.

“If you had the luck of the Irish, you’d wish you were English instead.” — John Lennon, “The Luck of The Irish”

…and I find the water has stopped! Pretty much right where I placed my stick. There will be no high surf advisory for today after all.

‘Now we’re getting some place’, I says to myself. ‘I’ve not only proven the water is coming from my system and not my neighbors (no small relief there!), but also that the problem is likely something wacky with my box’. (Of course, replacing that box – were it to come to that – would mean $400 clams heading out the door, but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.)

I took a seat in the shade of the tiki bar and stared at the small stream now evaporating in the morning warmth. A orangey-purple butterfly fluttered in to check my coffee out and headed for more aromatic pastures. What to do now. Well, the next obvious step was to see if I could avoid the flood happening on Wednesday altogether. That’s the skippy.

On Tuesday night I shut the box off. On Wednesday morning (yesterday) nothing happened. No water anywhere. I called the landscaping company that had originally installed the box two years ago and told them what was happening.

“That’s impossible”, the lady who answered the phone responded after I explained my state of affairs. “The only way you’d get water running is when a program is running. No program, no water.”

“I have no program running but I have water – every Wednesday and Sunday morning.”, says I.

“Sounds like you might have a problem with your box”, says she.

“I hadn’t thought of that”, says I (without any trace of sarcasm). “But if you have someone who can come out and take a look at things I’d sure appreciate it.”

“It’ll cost you $100 for the service call”, she says. “Book ’em, Dano”, says I.

So today a long haired guy with tatoos everywhere and blue topaz studs in both ears pulls up in his van. We head out back and I recount my sad story from the past few weeks to him.

“That’s impossible”, he says, “the only way you’d get water running is when a program is running. No program, no water.”

“I have no program running but I have water – every Wednesday and Sunday morning.”, says I.

“So why not just program your box to run the station when the water is already running?”, says he.

The two of us stood there in the quiet of the morning, he fussing with the box, me wondering what kind of a jackass God created in me. I’m thinking to myself, ‘so that’s what $100 gets you these days – sage advice that could have been communicated over the phone for free’.

He was the one who broke the silence between us. “Y’oughta dump that pail of water [a pan used for our A/C condensation outflow that I keep filled with water for the birds], it breeds mosquito larvae.”

“I like mosquito larvae”, says I. “Reminds me of the summers back East.” I was kidding. From the look he returned, he obviously didn’t get the joke.

“Suit yourself.”

Five minutes later – fifteen full minutes after he arrived – his truck disappeared around the corner and I’m $100 lighter in the checking account.

So what to do now? Well, I’ve programmed my box so that I will now water on Sunday and Wednesday mornings instead of Tuesdays and Saturdays. Maybe the station that’s producing the water will now at least do so during a regularly-programmed time. Or maybe it won’t. Maybe I’ll find the floods on Thursday and Monday mornings during yet another unprogrammed time.

Now that would be interesting…

I live in a desert but despise watering systems.

Go figure.

It all started three weeks ago on a Sunday morning while talking with Mom on the phone. We’re in conversation when all of a sudden I notice this burgeoning pool of water gathering at the north end of my backyard lawn. ‘Hmm, I thought, that’s strange. The only time on Sunday that water and grass are supposed to comingle is at 8:30 AM, and then only for all of two minutes. But here it is, 11:30 AM, and I have water appearing where it shouldn’t and in a quantity it shouldn’t. Isn’t that so very odd?’

(Of course, that’s what I might have thought to myself; the words I used were more like “Holy $#@% where the $#@% is that coming from???”)

So for the next two weeks, every day I’d take a peek out back around 11 AM to see what was going on. Monday – nothing. Tuesday – nothing. Wednesday – I’se got me a flood. Thursday – nothing. Friday – nothing. Saturday – nothing. Sunday – the flood returns.

But this time I was ready, so I rush out to the watering system box and open it up to see what watering program is being displayed. I’m expecting a rogue event made operational by mistake – perhaps that crazy landscaper Carmelo up to his old tricks. But what do I see? Nothing. Nada. No program currently operating. And yet, there it is, a flood of water once again. On schedule.

The following Tuesday I ask Carmelo what he thought. After all, while he wasn’t the one who installed the system he knows a little bit of everything. So I tell him my problem and he smiles and says something in Spanish I don’t comprehend. But he’s smiling and shaking his head – the universal language for “You’re on your own, dude.” OK, I get it. I’m alone in a desperate world.

The next day is Wednesday, and there’s a new flood. Thank you God, I say to myself – at least now we have something predictable going on.

This past Saturday night I spent a restless night in bed, wondering if the flood would return the following morning. Thoughts were flooding my brain and cascading through my head. What if the flood doesn’t return? What if it does, but at an entirely different time? What if the water is not from my system, but from one of the neighbors on the other side of the wall? All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall, right? Say, that’s a pretty damned good song…

OK, I’ll admit, my thoughts were wandering. But in this Pleasant Valley Sunday existence where rows of houses that are all the same, with charcoal (actually gas grills) burning everywhere this is nothing short of a calamity. OK, well maybe not a calamity, but a mystery for sure. And when you live in a desert and that mystery involves the waste of water, well that approaches calamity stage.

Sunday comes. It’s 10:30 AM, and the water is beginning its now bi-weekly ritual. I mark its progress carefully with a stick, then head out the front door to the control box and shut it off. I then proceed to pour myself a cup of real coffee, check a few e-mails, contemplate whether its surf music or Hawaiian music on the stereo today, and wonder if the Aqua Velvets’ “Slow Dance With a Fast Girl” from their “Guitar Noir” CD isn’t the most romantic surf tune ever composed. Weighty thoughts, I know. I look at the clock and see that twenty minutes have passed. OK it’s time. Taking a deep breath, I head out back for a peek…

To be continued

My wife’s cell phone rang at 6:15 AM this morning. No big deal, I was already 1 1/2 hours into my workday – that’s right, it’s bad enough I’ve been working late nights, now they want to take my early mornings! – so I was wide awake when I picked up the phone.

[He]: Hello, is [sister-in-law’s name here] there?

[Me]: Umm, do you know what time it is?

[He]: This is [name withheld] from Aaron’s Leasing in Inverness, Florida. Is there a [sister-in-law’s name here] there?

[Me]: Well, at 6:15 AM in the morning I’m not sure anyone’s really “there” (if you know what I mean)…

[He (obviously not getting the hint)]: Is she available?

[Me]: No she’s not, she hasn’t lived here for over a year. I don’t know where she is.

[He]: Well, do you have a number where I can reach her?

[Me]: No I don’t, sorry.

[He]: Have you spoken to her recently?

[Me (telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth but offering no more info than that]: No I haven’t. (Not mentioning, of course, that my wife spoke to her sister last weekend, but that’s not what he asked…)

[He]: Do you know why I am calling?

[Me]: Is this one of those Publisher’s Clearinghouse calls to say she’s won a million bucks or something? Because if it is you can just send the check to me and I’ll be more than happy to take care of it until I hear…

[He]: Do you know a [former brother-in-law scumbag’s name here]?

[Me]: Haven’t spoken to him in at least ten years. last time I heard, he was either running a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise or – no, that’s not right – he was attempting to street-sell his wife’s Oxycondin to strangers out in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken – yeah that’s right…

[He]: You understand this is a serious matter, don’t you? I really need to get in touch with her.

[Me]: Hey pal, at 6:15 in the morning the only thing serious is a call from my mother or father, or both – y’understand, right? Lemme ask you somethin’ – how’d you get this number?

[He]: Well there’s this matter that needs to be resolved and this number was given as a reference.

[Me]: That figures.

[He]: What figures?

[Me]: The ‘Sun-shiney State For Shady People’.

[He]: Excuse me?

[Me]: That what they call Florida. Nothing I hear from there surprises me anymore. ‘Course, nothing I’m hearing from you surprises me either…

[He]: So you’ve heard from [sister-in-law]?

[Me]: No, but I watch “Cops” reruns a lot.

(phone goes dead)

How does one explain a day of near perfection? Today seemed like as close to a perfect balance of spiritual peace as I can ever remember. No pressure to be anything I am not, no spiritual battles within, no demons circling around me, just several opportunities to dwell in the spirit of the Lord in a variety of ways.

1. My morning Matins in the prayer grove – a warm morning so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the bougainvillea all leafed out again towards their summer bloom, their branches reaching out in all directions, a silvery sky shimmering in the morning light. Psalm 42: “As the deer longs for the water-brooks, so my soul longs for thee, O Lord.”

2. We blessed our house with Holy Water from the Jordan River (courtesy of St. Thomas the Apostle Byzantine Catholic Church), hitting all the rooms and praying, “This home is blessed and sanctified by the sprinkling of this Holy Water in the Name of the Father+, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen” The rabbits didn’t appear to like the water too much, but that’s OK.

3. I attended the official ground-breaking ceremony at the property of the future St. Mary Magdalene Catholic Church. It was nice to be out in the fresh air on a glorious day and to see the excitement of a thousand people come together to share fellowship and pray and celebrate what ought to be a beautiful shrine to the Lord Jesus Christ. Funny to see Fr. Greg and a bunch of diocesan priests in their robes wearing hard-hats to break the ground. There’s still a lot of find-raising to be done, but it is a joy to see and feel the excitement of building a new Catholic community from scratch and to know I will be a small part of it in the weeks and months ahead.

4. There’s no small amount of joy and satisfaction at being able to sit on a patio on a still afternoon, the air fragrant with flowers, a chilled Pinot Grigio in hand, surf music playing softly in the background, to tell your wife you’re as spiritually happy and at peace as you’ve been in a decade or more. I feel as if God has allowed me this small moment of comfort if only as a preparation for what I know is new hard work to come. But that’s OK – I know the way of unification with God’s will and the Holy Spirit is always a cross one must bear, but for this small comfortable break I am thankful. It’s been a long hard road, but if I ever doubted my own calling I never once doubted God’s inherent goodness. To be able to spiritually take a long deep breath and exhale in peace and satisfaction is no small blessing indeed.

I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty tired of the steady drumbeat of banking institutions, insurance companies, and American automakers either on the verge of collapse, in need of another bailout, or both. Last fall, when the first shoes dropped in the form of Bear Stearns, Goldman Sachs, and AIG, all we heard was the bleating hearts of Wall Street and Washington crying, “We can’t let them fail!”, or, “If we let them fail there will be a collapse like nothing you’ve ever seen before!”, or (in the case of GM), “They’re too big to allow to fail!”

So what did George W. Bush – that latter-day Herbert Hoover whose presidency looks more and more with each passing like the disaster it truly was – do? He started the gravy train of bailouts we continue to see to this day, handing out millions upon millions of taxpayer dollars to Wall Street fat-cats and failing institutions as if they were Nibble Rings to the Richard rabbits. And like the latter, all they did was gobble them up and beg for more.

Like Dr. Phil is wont to say, so how’s that workin’ out for ya?

I’ll mince no words here. What President Bush ought to have done then, and what President Obama ought to do now, is let them fail. All of ’em. AIG. Morgan Stanley. GM. Bank of America. Citibank. Let them know what bankruptcy means and what getting your financial house in order for the creditors and bankruptcy judges means, and send a message to the entire financial establishment out there that the government is not going to continue to prop you up anymore at the expense of the American taxpayer, American investors, and the nation’s economic well-being and future.

I mean, where does it all end? Do you just keep printing money? Where are you gonna get it from? And at what expense to the nation’s future? At what point does propping up these failing and failed institutions compromise our ability to keep truly vital financial institutions like the FDIC and critical government programs like Social Security and Medicare solvent?

You see, I don’t believe anyone anymore. I don’t believe that allowing any of these big names to fail will do any greater harm than this slow, sad decline to who-knows-where we are currently experiencing. I don’t believe keeping homeowners in foreclosed homes or close-to-foreclosed homes has any lasting benefit to the housing market. Let these companies fail, and let these homeowners find rental properties they can afford. Then let the market forces and good old-fashioned American ingenuity take care of the clean-up. It’ll happen, I guarantee.

If you don’t believe me, if you think I’m just another mean-spirited, conservative supply-sider spouting Republican talking points, ask yourself this question: what happens trillions upon billions of dollars later if after all these bailouts we’re still in the same mess? Has anyone thought of that?

The strategy employed thus far by the Bush and Obama administrations seems both without thought and without end. Keep dialing for dollars until we come up with a better solution. The markets know this, and the American taxpayer senses it and sees it for what it is – that’s why there’s no confidence out there. And until a definitive action is taken, one that says to all those companies, people, and politicians lining up with their tin cups, ‘NO MORE!’, it will continue to remain that way.

I see the current economic situation as a boil that needs to be lanced. The whole thing has become infected to the point where the entire body is feeling the pain. Well it’s time to lance that damned boil – sure, it’ll be painful, and there’ll be a lot of blood and ugly puss that comes out, but at least it will be done with and the process of healing can begin.

Until then, all we’ll be doing is experiencing death by a thousand small cuts, with no end in sight. President Obama, be bold and be decisive – after all, you’re the only one right now who can do it. Stop the insanity and stop the damned bailouts, and let’s start getting this country’s shit together.

Let’s look at the whole dust-up between President Obama and talk-show icon Rush Limbaugh in a different way: what would happen if President George W. Bush had, for example, made a point of calling out film director Michael Moore following the release of Farenheit 911. You know the mainstream dino-media would be apoplectic with outrage, accusing the President of partisan politics and encraching upon Moore’s right to free speech. Fortunately, that President undertood how pointless such an action would be – after all, why give an egomaniac an even larger forum for his partisan views than he already has, right?

It reminds back of back in the ’70s when Monty Python’s Life of Brian (still one of my all-time favorite films, BTW) was first released. Originally known of and sought out by only die-hard Python fans, widely-publicized accusations of heresy and demonstrations sponsored by the Roman Catholic Church and other Christian activists brought the film more publicity than its makers could ever have dared to dream, and the film became a box-office smash.

What amazes me about the first forty days of the Obama administration is: 1) just how tone-deaf it appears to be politically, and 2) how much influence he is giving former attack dogs of the Clinton administration. Taken together, it makes me wonder if the guy has an original idea in his brain and just how politically savvy he really is.

Let’s take item #1. A lot of people voted for the Prez believing he was going to change the status quo in Washington and usher in a new era of decisive leadership. Many hoped his presidency would bring to an close years of endless partisan bickering and bring the parties together to put the country back on solid economic footing. They also hoped his presidency would improve the image of the U.S. on the world stage. So what has Obama accomplished in his first 40-odd days in office? Pick a fight with a popular radio talk-show host heard by up to 20 million listeners a day, treat a visiting world leader and ally in incredibly shoddy fashion, and show the Russians just how inexperienced you are in the world of foreign relations.

Me, I just don’t get it, and it makes me wonder who the hell is really running the show in the Oval Office. Why on earth pick a fight with Rush Limbaugh? To motivate liberals and excite Democrats? Hey Barack, the election is over – you won. I mean, what have you accomplished? Risk permanently alienating a significant voting bloc, a portion of which might be suspicious of you but were nevertheless willing to cut your presidency some early slack? Reveal yourself to be exceptionally thin-skinned when it comes to criticism? Oh yeah, that’s a quality that will serve a president well going forward. More than that, however, I think it just serves to dampen the spirits of people hoping that you were above petty partisan bickering and concerned only with bringing the nation together during a severe economic crisis. Make no mistake, all this has does is make you look smaller in stature – and not only here, but around the world.

And don’t think world leaders pay no attention to this kind of thing – especially during your first days in office.

Taken together with the missteps in foreign affairs mentioned above, this Limbaugh affair makes President Obama look petty, weak, and easily manipulated – not characteristics you want heavies like the Russians and Iranians to see so easily exposed. At least from the outset, this appears to be an administration that is tentative, uncertain of itself, overly sensitive to criticism, and reckless in its messaging, both domestically and internationally.

Which brings me to my second point. It should come as no surprise that this idea of demonizing Limbaugh results from a plan hatched by former Clinton administration hacks and flacks. Why would a President who ran on a platform of “hope” and “change” align himself with people more accustomed and attuned to the poisonous politics of years gone by and allow himself to be drawn into a mud-slinging match that not only diminishes him, but crowds out the economic agenda he has been trying to push forward? Politically it just isn’t smart.

Look, the biggest concern Americans have is the economy – the value of their homes and their investments, their 401Ks, their employment situations, the future of the job and housing markets, and they’re looking to this new President for short-term action and a long-term vision. But what are the airwaves and cable networks all atwitter about? Is it the President’s so-called “stimulus” plans or his articulated vision for the country’s economic future? No, whatever he might be trying to communicate is being drowned out by this pissing match with Rush Limbaugh. It’s stupid and inane, and exactly what people were hoping we could get past with the election of a new President.

Is this dust-up with Limbaugh intentional on President Obama’s part? If it is, he’s not as politically astute as I thought. If it is not, it illustrates just how little control he has over the overall message coming from the White House on a daily basis. And as President Bush found out to his own detriment, once you lose control of your message, you lose control of your administration. During these harsh economic times, that should be the last thing any President would want to have happen.

Today was one of those days you wish you could bottle and keep for the months ahead when the onslaught of heat will be almost unbearable. A bright day, but with lots of high clouds to keep the sun at bay, temps in the low ’80s, and just enough breeze to move the air around.

If the pool wasn’t still 62 degrees it would have been a perfect day for a long, relaxing swim.

The air continues to be thick with the sweet aroma of the fruit trees. It’s not just our lime and lemon trees, but the neighbors’ lemon and grapefruit trees as well. The scent permeates everything to the point where you feel as if you’re walking into a dream-like world. The house is filled with the delicious aroma of sweet citrus. The bees seem pretty happy as well – there are hundreds of them around the trees. From my desk I can see them darting from one flower to another. Lovely.

Tonight I was in the middle of a lengthy e-mail to our India group when I received an e-mail from a fellow project manager announcing he will be taking some time off for a family emergency; seems a brother-in-law who had been terminally ill had taken a final turn and was near death. I asked him for his name so I could include him in my Compline, and he asked me to keep his wife in my prayers as well, as she is angry and full of bitterness over her brother’s situation.

Needless to say, my e-mail all of a sudden seemed quite unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so I folded up the tent for the night.

Deciding to take a soak in the tub, I was reading Henri Nouwen’s “The Genesee Diary” when I came upon an entry of his I remembered well from the first time I read his book more than fifteen years ago. Bemoaning his inability to keep the world outside the monastery from intruding on the “monastic experience” he sought, he quoted from St. Paul in Romans 12:2 – “Do not conform yourself to the standards of the world, but let God transform you inwardly with a complete change of mind.”

Wow, I thought – some things never change. In fact, the more I think about it and compare myself now to how I was back then, feeling my way to a new “change of mind” following my conversion experience, I’m more conformed to the world than I ever was. I work 70 hours a week, fight to squeeze in any kind of life during the work week, including my morning and evening prayers, and use my weekends to catch up on the sleep I’ve lacked during the week. If it weren’t for Saturday Mass at St. Mary Magdalene, my weekends would be a complete veg-out. So St. Paul’s words are not just a chastisement to me, but a condemnation of my life as it is presently constituted. I doubt God is impressed by all the work I’m able to send over to India, or the utilization numbers that help keep senior management happy and our team gainfully employed.

Maybe Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection holds the key. In his fine book “The Practice of the Presence of God” he writes of turning mundane manual work into prayer and a gift to God. So maybe by still being at work tonight when that e-mail from my co-worker came in and being available to assure him I would be praying for his brother-in-law, wife and family, I could offer him some small measure of comfort and give my workday a purpose it otherwise wouldn’t have, thus making it a prayer in its own small way. At least I hope so.

At any rate, this kind of sobering news certainly gives plenty of food for thought and makes these fragrant days seem all the more precious to me.

Ed. note: Even in the worst of times and during a winter that seems like it will never end, it’s always summer in the dreams of some corner of Goodboys Nation. Consider this e-mail I received today from fellow Goodboy Ron “Cubby” Myerow:

As I lay in bed with my knee on a pillow and watch the golf channel, the weather is stormy 10 + inches of snow.

And i’m watching Fred Couples play a round of golf against John Daly.

Just thinking that Goodboys golf is not too far around the corner.

I picked up a new driver, (Pure Golf) to go along with the set of clubs that I have. It has a (12 degree loft) I used it with Killa [ed. note: Goodboy Steve Kowalski] a week ago up on Rt. 114 at the driving range.

I love the club because the high loft cuts down on my hooks & slices.

See, Cubby knows. Well, I can tell y’all that summer ain’t far behind. It almost got to 90 here today. But since everyone needs a little taste of July right now, here are some summer lyrics from Brian Wilson and Bob Norberg, circa 1962:

“Your Summer Dream”

Drive your car down to the sea
All the while you build a scheme
Take her hand and walk on with her
Make it real your summer dream

Smell the warm and salty air
See a wave reflect a beam
Stop and find a pretty shell for her
Make it real your summer dream

See another couple over there
To them an ordinary day
Soon you wonder where the time has gone
The sun has almost slipped away

Now it’s gone and you’re alone
In her eyes you see a gleam
Time has come for you to show your love
Make it real your summer dream

There, feels better already – doesn’t it? Thought so.

Originally, the plan was that I would be at Phoenix Sky Harbor Airport right now waiting for my flight back east. Of course, Mother Nature had other ideas, so a cancelled flight leaves me in sunny, mid-80’s Phoenix while my peeps in New England dig out from one of the biggest storms of the winter. Look, I like a big snowstorm as much as anyone, but I’m not willing to get my jollies by testing the veracity of the American airline industry, so it looks like I’ll be spending the week here in the Valley of the Sun instead.

I feel bad about how long the winter has been back East. I almost feel guilty knowing that Monday morning will bring nothing but leaden skies and white snow cover everywhere, whereas here it will be green grass, sun, and warm temps. My apologies. All I can say is that no matter how gloomy everything looks there is a place where the sun is shining, the sky is blue, and the desert foliage brings forth flowers of every color. Believe it or not, Spring is coming – even to the most northern of climes.

Until that time, however, this will have to suffice. Don’t be afraid to crank it up.