Life hits the gas pedal

Life comes at you pretty fast sometimes.

I don’t believe for a minute the notion that everything slows down as you age into your senior years.

Which is fine by me. I'd rather have exciting than dull, adventure than commonplace, an unexpected future than repetition of the past.

A new grandson, my daughter's first wedding anniversary, the death of a friend and other events have collided in the last couple of weeks to prove that life doesn’t stand still.

Speaking of a grandson ...

He is Bradley Joseph, born to my stepdaughter Kelsey and her husband Jeremy. This kid is long, long as in string-bean long, and you get the sense of a baby who will become a boy who will become a man who is tall and lanky.

Bradley’s older sister Rylin is a few months short of 2, and she suddenly went from being the baby to being the older sister, more engaged, more talking, more animated. It was like the birth of Bradley switched on something in Rylin that made her almost instantly more grown.

And all that makes the grandparents more engaged, especially in these early weeks as we try to lend a helping hand, not only with Bradley but with Rylin as well. Jane and I will be taking Rylin to water babies swimming lessons starting next Saturday a deja vu moment all over again, reminiscent of my water baby classes with my daughter Elizabeth and son David at the YMCA pool in Beverly, Mass.

Speaking of my water baby ...

Elizabeth and her husband John celebrated their first wedding anniversary by making a trip north from their home in Connecticut to the Colony Hotel in Kennebunkport, Maine, site of one of the best days of my life.

And speaking of life ...

We can't go through life without its companion death.

As I often do at a time of someone's passing, I think to the advice of Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Starship Enterprise in Star Trek: The Next Generation.

"Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives," he said. "But I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment because they'll never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived."

My friend and Seacoast Media Group colleague Tom Davis passed away on Wednesday. I didn't know he was sick, had even exchanged emails with him that morning on the sale of the group.

We spent many years at work together before our retirements - he has finance director, me as director of operations. He was the money guy who understood more than anybody how the money was earned and how it was spent, which he would sometimes calculate on a big electric adding machine on his desk, fingers a blur as he could touchtype on a key pad the way I could touchtype on a keyboard.

These new chapters in the book of life don't end, really, they seem to unfold into deeper levels of characterization and subplots, one that require us to keep living, keep reading ahead.

When texts and Facebook aren’t enough

I needed some face time with my children.

It happens sometimes - phone calls, texts, Facebook updates and Instagram photos aren't enough.

Elizabeth and David, all growed up

Even though they're grown, I need to see them, to have some hug time. I need to see them as they talk about their jobs and Elizabeth's efforts with husband John to buy a house and the fact that David is moving into a new apartment in Brooklyn

I like the empty nest, like the fact that my and wife Jane's blended family is doing well out there in the real world. But every now and then the emptiness echoes.

My day-to-day rattling around in my home office/music conservatory/secondary guest bedroom  is my way of life - my working retired life - these days.

I like the commute into work in the morning - down the hall and to the right. I like to be able to pull Martha or one of my other guitars onto my lap to play music while I contemplate work or, more likely, contemplate my navel. I like the dress code at work, very relaxed, to the point of underwear and a tee shirt some summer mornings (I know, TMI). I like that my boss - me - doesn't mind if I take an afternoon nap.

But every now and again I need to see my kids.

They were here for my  birthday and Father's Day in June, but that was two long months ago. So I arranged a weekend with Elizabeth and John at their Connecticut home and was joined by David who took the train from New York City.

We drank a little beer. And we ate a lot of food. We visited John’s parents. And we did a lot of talking. I got my face time. And I got my hugs.

Trust me, at 60 at 70 at 80 at 90 ... you will never, ever tire of hugs from your children. And sometimes you'll need to make the effort to go and get them.

A moment of tears, more moments of joy

A joyous walk down the aisle.

I didn’t cry.

At least, not coming down the aisle as I had been instructed by my daughter, the bride.

But I shed enough of tears as Father of the Bride during the weekend that saw my daughter Elizabeth become Mrs. Fournier.

The first set of tears came before Saturday’s wedding, at the rehearsal dinner, when a video of pictures, assembled by the Mother of the Groom and Mother of the Bride, was played.

As quickly as those images flashed on the screen is about as quickly as a lifetime with Elizabeth seemed at that moment. So quick. It almost felt I had left something behind -- something I should have done, something I could have done better, some life lesson I should have given.

It was a time travel of emotion, bouncing from past to present to future - looking at the images and thinking about when they were children, to seeing them now as marrying adults, to thinking ahead of them as parents.

No amount of levees were going to hold back the tears.

But that meant I was fine for the big reveal of the bride - Elizabeth on my left arm as the church doors swung open and we made our way down the aisle to a light show of flashing cameras. At that point, I was having way too much fun -- with all eyes on Elizabeth -- to think about crying.

The only other moment of tears came during the vows - as Elizabeth and John said their I do’s.

The rest of the day was too much of a party, too joyous a celebration to think about tears.

It’s amazing how an event -- for which there seemed to be such a long lead time, for which there was so much planning and discussing -- could go by as quickly as it did.

It’s taken me several days to return to the routine of being at home, being at the computer working.

Part of it was the emotional exhaustion. We all just needed some time to process the events, recover from them.

Part of it was constantly scanning Facebook looking for the latest posting of wedding pictures. I swear we crashed the Facebook server at one point because so many pictures were being uploaded at one time.

When I finished walking Elizabeth down the aisle, just before the hand-off to John, I leaned over, gave her a kiss and said, “Hold onto this moment forever.”

It was a moment of unbridled joy, one we could all do well to hold onto forever.

Past and present collide

My daughter Elizabeth’s coming wedding is a time machine.

It’s a collision of past and present with a peek into the future.

That was evident earlier this month at an engagement party in Connecticut that included the bridal party and the groomsmen.

There are eight in Elizabeth’s bridal party: One cousin, three college friends, and four high school friends.

It’s the four high school friends -- Jen, Cait, Stef, and Steph (all pictured here at Stef’s recent wedding) -- who are sending me on my time machine journeys.

Steph, Stef and Cait came to the engagement party and it was difficult to separate these young women from the little girls I knew in Beverly, Mass.

They’ve aged and grown up into engaging young women. Meanwhile, I’ve remained age neutral … or so I try to tell myself.

In a way, I refuse to accept the notion that all those intervening years for Elizabeth and her friends has meant added years on my time card.

So I’m stuck in this time warp: I’m a 30 or 40 year old man with a 28 year old daughter who’s getting married.

The time warp wasn’t helped, by the way, when my stepdaughter Kelsey gave birth to a daughter, Rylin, the day after Christmas.

Kelsey’s mom (my wife) Jane seems confused by it all too. I think she regards herself more as Rylin’s aunt, instead of Rylin’s grandmother.

I say that because she commonly calls me “Uncle Paul” when she’s cooing to Rylin. Not that I want to be known as “Grandpa Paul”, but you get my drift.

These girls/women who will aid and abet Elizabeth in her journey to get married are the little girls at Centerville Elementary, or Elizabeth’s teammates on the high school gymnastics team, or teammates on the high school lacrosse team.

The prom buddies have become half the bridemaids.

I see my daughter Elizabeth and my son David in a kaleidoscope of images -- all at once they are newborns or learning to drive, they are at piano lessons or graduating from college, they are playing on the backyard swingset or getting ready to get married.

Of course there’s nothing I can do to slow it all down. Sixty seconds is a minute, 60 minutes is an hour, 24 hours is a day.

My sideview mirror says objects may appear closer than they are.

My mirror on this time machine says people may appear younger than they are.

New role as father of the bride

I’ve spent the last few days trying to get my head around the fact that my 7-year-old daughter is getting married.

Actually, she’s 27.

But she’ll always be my little girl -- my Scoot, my Goose, my Pumpkin’.

It’s that way with children who are growing -- have grown -- and have flown the nest.

You revel in the adults they’ve become, yet you cling to the kids they were.

I’m not breaking any new ground here as father of a bride-to-be. There’s been a movie … and a remake of the movie … and a sequel to the movie.

But every father of the bride experience is unique, to a large extent, because of the emotion and personal memories we bring to the process.

There are mile markers along the road of how grown up they’ve become when we believe they shouldn’t be growing up at all:

-- Middle school? Wait, didn’t you just start first grade?

-- Driving? No, no, no. Eighth graders aren’t allowed to drive.

-- College graduation? When did you stop being a freshman in high school?

Elizabeth in my head is always many years younger than she actually is.

Part of that is my being selfish, my reluctance to accept my own aging.

If Elizabeth is getting that much older it means I’m getting that much older. Conversely, if I hold onto Elizabeth as being that much younger I hold onto my much younger self.

Elizabeth and John got engaged on Sunday. I couldn’t be happier for them.

While Elizabeth is prepared and organized, there’s still lots in the months ahead leading up to a late summer wedding.

That process will help my brain process the notion of daddy’s little girl getting married.

I’m not in denial. Indeed, I’m in full embrace of the notion.

My brain just needs to catch up with reality:

-- My Scoot owns a car.

-- My Goose is a doctor of physical therapy.

-- My Pumpkin’ soon will be a bride.