eclectika

The Easiest Thing of All By Nabih Saliba It’s easy to remember the first time I laid eyes on you Every day, your beauty still takes my breath away It’s easy to admire what you’re capable of Every day, you demonstrate your capacity for greatness It’s easy to be jealous of the time that isn’t mine Every day, I see the care you invest in others It’s easy to be proud of you Every day, you push a little further into the unknown It’s easy to think of you Every day, you occupy my thoughts, dreams and desires It’s easy to wait for you Every day, I look forward to discovering new things with you It’s easy to imagine the rest of my life with you Every day, you remind me of what a joy living can be It’s easy for me to thank you Every day, you brighten my life In every moment I remember you In every moment I admire you In every moment I feel jealous In every moment I think of you In every moment I wait for you In every moment I i...

Spare Angel by Nabih Saliba He sat with his defeated stare I wondered what had put him there. "Poor soul," I thought and looked at him, as he bared forth his toothless grin. "Dear God," I prayed inside my head "If you don't help, he'll soon be dead!" Within my soul, I heard a His voice, "I've sent my angel so rejoice!" I looked around and tried to spot The angel that this fellow got When in the window I could see The angel sent by God was me

A Hair Upon His Pillow by Nabih Saliba A hair upon his pillow The scent of old perfume Both obvious reminders Someone else had shared his room There's laughter in the shower And a shirt still on the floor Just another indicator Of a night that is no more The lipstick on his collar Has been washed but still exists Like many other memories It's faded but persists The picture in his wallet Holds a copy of her smile He'd look at it quite often Though he hasn't in a while Her clothes hang in the closet Her toothbrush by the sink Now every time he sees them It makes him stop and think The bottles on the counter The wheelchair by the bed Not the promise of tomorrow But what happened here instead There's a hair upon his pillow Not a taunt to bring him strife But a blessed testimony Someone else had shared his life

Getting Along By Nabih Saliba To have patience just to listen And really slow things down So when eyes start to glisten You won’t greet them with a frown To listen is to understand Not simply wait to speak So when we lend a helping hand It’s for the thing they seek To share the pain is empathy Past understanding woe So when we offer sympathy They’ll know it’s not for show To carry someone’s burden In more than word or song Is how we’ll stop the fighting And learn to get along.

by Nabih Saliba If she should smile, the Sun would shine and all the world would flourish for I am hers and she is mine to love, to hold and cherish. If she should dream, the sky would ring as all the angels cheer it then I would sing so I could bring the way that she might hear it. If she could share, she’d know we care about the world she lives in then we could bare our feelings there so she could know where we’ve been. If she should fear, she’d stop in fright––the world would shrink and bind her so I will come to bring a light and in the darkness find her. If she would cry, the stars would fall and weigh her soul with sorrow then I shall peel away the sky and bring about tomorrow. If she would love, life opens up––a realm without a border for then the world makes sense to me, the universe in order. If I could say how much she means to me and those around her then maybe she might step aside and let the world astound her. ...

“Head down this road until you come to street with a large metal sculpture on the corner,” she said with a comforting sense of certainty in her voice. “Don’t turn there but keep going about two more blocks and you’ll see it on the right,” she finished with a smile. I repeated the directions to her and began driving down the road looking for what turned out to be a three-foot bronze piece obscured by a newspaper box—truly a marker for where not to turn. We’ve all received or even given directions like this at one point or another: clear and simple directions based on what not to do. It got me wondering about all the other types of journeys we convolute in a similar fashion. How does one find their way physically, emotionally and even spiritually in a world where tangents are easier to follow than the road itself? I was headed home from the printer ( Colorstep ) after approving poster designs for Madcap Theater . The air was crisp with Fall and the sun was beginning another glori...

Christmas is often described with many extremes—the happiest time of the year, one of the most emotionally difficult days for many who suffer depression, a controversial affront to the politically correct and even a giant commercial ploy to extract cash from all of the aforementioned. My Christmas day is finally coming to a close and I’m sitting here thinking to myself, “If today isn’t the reason for being…what is?” Perhaps I should elaborate the origins of that last statement before rambling forth with incoherent drivel about The Season, Holiday cheer and other such clichés… As evidenced by my lack of activity here [on this blog], my life has been filled with many competing demands for my time. During the past few months, I’ve become very involved with an Improv comedy club called Madcap Theater , helped my wife design and establish GreatIdeasForKids.com and enjoyed watching my children grow up into precocious little challenges. It has also been a time of soul-searching. I’ve bee...

“Life’s too short” is a phrase often used to begin arguments for seizing some opportunity or another. I know, I’ve used this well-worn phrase myself on numerous occasions. The most curious thing to me is how often opportunities flutter past me un -seized. It isn’t until the moment is well beyond my grasp that I notice how beautiful it would have been in my collection of life experiences. Each time this happens, I promise myself that I’ll catch the next one as I set my gaze firmly on all the things that could have been—this myopic perspective setting me up to miss another dozen or so opportunities most efficiently. Recently, I rustled the neat and stagnant rhythm of my life only to be surrounded by many new choices. At the end of each choice I could see exciting and frightening new directions for my life. Some of the opportunities, while beautiful and enticing were impractical for my current role as a husband and father. Others, however, danced ahead of me in tempting circles of r...

Life, especially for me, is full of surprises. I’d like to say I was one of those amazing people who have it all figured out. I’d love to say that my life has turned out exactly the way I planned but I can’t. The honest truth is that the closest thing to a plan for my life was the vague and arrogant thought that I was meant for something more than whatever I was currently doing. Looking at it now, I suppose you could simply call it restlessness. While the reasons for my current situation span the gamut from “dumb luck” to “divine providence,” I can only testify to the results—two beautiful children, a wonderful wife and the luxury of being able to spend as much time with them as they’ll tolerate. Most of my life, I’ve managed to just ‘get by’ on the bare minimum of effort. As a result, I also mysteriously managed to reap the bare minimum of success. All my life I have been told by friends, teachers, pastors and parents that I wasn’t living up to my true potential. Somewhere in the ...

My son and I were playing yesterday and, as often as I can, I had music playing in the background. We have a wonderful device called a Sonos which allows me to select and play my MP3s anywhere in the house. I remember that, as a child, there always seemed to be music playing somewhere in our house. I also remember the house not feeling like home unless there was something playing: Calypso, Classical, Air Supply, Hall & Oats, Neil Diamond, Barbera Mandrell, Earl Klugh or Chet Atkins. Of course there were many other artists, many other musical genres and no matter how little we had, I distinctly remember feeling 'richer' for it somehow. Music is a gift I can't give to my children enough. Yesterday, we were listening to a playlist I created featuring Jazz piano performances from various artists. At one point in the playlist, an arrangement of the Beatle's song, "Blackbird" began to play. My son stopped in the middle of our little game, looked at me and s...

I saw this swami once. He told me that my life would shape the world. I hadn't thought too much about that flattering moment until today. I met a very interesting young woman this evening at dinner. My wife and I decided to try a new restaurant which recently opened and, much to my wife's delight, our server was someone she knew. It turns out that my wife and our waitress are both currently enrolled in the same Improv class. At this point, you're probably thinking that I was either entertained or annoyed by the spontaneous comedy brought forth by these two women. The truth of the matter is that I found the conversation engaging and refreshing. Rather than attempt dinner theater, our server offered intelligent conversation and witty banter. Each drink refill, course delivery or clean up brought more opportunities to explore the nature of idealism, social conventions and the never ending quest for purpose. While our waitress provided thoughtful points to ponder, it was in...

Victor was one of those children with an overdeveloped mean streak—if there was a fly to lose its wings or an ant to be burned, he was the chief executioner. Victor was also one of those kids always being sent to the principal’s office or running laps for the coach. Most parents had Victor’s parents on speed dial. When it was time to learn a new dirty word, we’d all go to Victor for our next lesson—the boy was the professor of profanity. Victor had the first collection of porn any of us had ever laid eyes on. He was also the one that showed us how to decipher breasts and other parts of the female body squiggling in and out on scrambled cable channels. Eventually our parents branded Victor a ‘problem child’ and his underground popularity grew like kudzu. As we got older, we saw less of Victor as his punishments began to involve authorities with a little more clout than the school principal. It was Victor who tried to shoplift some candy from the local drug store. When the school pla...

When I was roughly six years old, my father took me to track and field day at the college where he was teaching. There were events taking place all over the field: the high jump, the long jump, throwing activities and some assortment of gymnastic events. Surrounding all of these was a giant ring of dirt where runners were warming up for different track competitions. My father needed to do something for the day’s events so he found me a seat where I was to stay until he returned. From where I sat in the stands, I could see the runners getting prepared—their legs stretching, muscles rippling and faces grim with the determination to win. It wasn’t long before my dad was back with couple glasses of water for us to drink. It wasn’t the cold soda I was hoping for but it quenched our thirst just the same. As the day wore on, I became convinced that I could hold my own against these college runners. They seemed to be taking quite a bit of time to cover what seemed a relatively short distan...

Labor Day has always been a time of rest and relaxation for me. It was also a big holiday for my mother who might spend up to a month prior to this weekend pulling together an amazing event—a massive family gathering. Our family would rent a beach house for the long weekend and gather as many relatives under one roof as possible. The kitchen was constantly in use—sometimes hectic but always enjoyable, we were never short of food or people to eat it. Out on the beach, my cousins and I would divide our time between swimming in the ocean, building sand castles or just taking long walks and catching up. At night, we’d go into the little town nearby and have ice cream and re-stock the groceries. Some evenings we'd play board games or just sit around retelling stories of our younger days. Once the ‘older folk’ went to bed, the young and young-at-heart would watch late-night movies or take a moonlit walk on the beach swapping the stories not fit to share with parents. As we got older an...

During my elementary and high school years, my father and I spent quite a bit of time discussing my future. I was of the opinion that school was simply a waste of my time and true potential. He thought I was going to be homeless. I say that my father and I discussed this during my elementary and high school years but the debate actually chased me into college. Eventually my dad gave up the fight and I dropped out of college. Armed with my low earning power, I ventured out into the world to prove my old man wrong. You know, it's really surprising how much employers care about a diploma. You could, in fact, show up for a job wielding the ever useful 'Bachelors of [the dead language] Latin Philosophy' and become the company's next big thing. I had to depend on my charm and good looks to achieve gainful employment. After the 3rd summer of living with my parents, losing my girlfriend and floating enough credit card debt to make M.C. Hammer look more like Charles Schwab, ...

My wife has secretly replaced her breasts with methane canisters. Every time she feeds our new baby girl, it isn't long before my daughter sounds like the trombone section of my high school band. While amusing, it loses its charm at 2am. I spend most of the evening between burping her and fearing the diaper change. Why fear change? Changing this baby's diaper is much like taking the cover off a cannon. I once saw a documentary about some birds in Africa that seal themselves up inside a tree leaving just a tiny opening through which they receive food and dispose of it. My daughter's range and accuracy reminds me of these birds. When the trumpeting and projectile pooping settles down, my little baby girl then decides that sleep is overrated and proceeds to stare at me. This is not the "are you my daddy? I think I love you" kind of stare. It is the, "I'm going to chew up your mind, body and soul before sunrise" look. No blinking, no smiles. Just two...

When I was a much younger child than I am now, there was a song we used to sing called, "This little light of mine." I think the words were something along the lines of, "this little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine...all around the neighborhood, I'm gonna let it shine...hide it under a bushel? NO! I'm gonna let it shine...let it shine, let it shine, let it shine..." The lyrics were about sharing one's beliefs with the world so that others could benefit from the blessings given you. While something gets lost without the music, the lyric's message to me have recently been found. I believe that each of us has a part to play in the shaping of our world. Some influence the course of events in grand, sweeping strokes open to the scrutiny and criticism of all. Others simply keep the wheels turning my maintaining status quo—both are equally valid forms of social participation. In the last several years, however, I've noticed a trend both ...