When people start giving you stuff like this, grandparenthood suddenly gets real

Last month I was in the grocery store and ran into Jenny, a high school classmate and track teammate of mine. We were chatting and updating each other on our lives (as one does while standing in the produce section) when I mentioned that Chloe was due with our first grandchild in mid-September.

Jenny, a grandmother herself, lit up.

"Oh," she said, "it's amazing. You have no idea how much you can love a grandchild until they're actually here. You hear about it and agree that of course you'll love that little one, but you don't really understand until you hold them."

I've heard lots of people say things like that, and it makes me even more excited than I already am to become a grandpa.

That word "grandpa", by the way, sounds much older to me than "grandfather" goes. Your grandpa has white hair and walks with a cane. Your grandfather has salt-and-pepper hair and plenty of energy to play with you.

It's all semantics, of course, and as I've said, I really don't care what this little boy calls me. I just can't wait to meet him.

This year for Father's Day, Chloe gave me a bag of Starbucks coffee (she knows me well) and the mug pictured above. When your Father's Day presents become more like Grandfather's Day presents, you know you're entering a new phase in your life.

Well, the grandparent phase, of course, but also the phase when I will only drink out of coffee mugs 10 ounces or larger. I have no time for those useless little 8-ounce teacups...

The Starbucks mobile ordering system does what it says it will do, and I think that's admirable

Every two weeks I visit my sister Deb's salon for a haircut and conversation.

I really don't need the haircut every two weeks, but I do look forward to the conversation, so the haircut is just an excuse.

I'm there every other Saturday morning, and invariably once she finishes shaping up what hair is left on my head, I walk over to the nearby Starbucks to grab a coffee.

Before I walk over, I fire up the Starbucks app on my phone and place my order online: Small blonde roast with a splash of heavy cream.

And it's there waiting for me every time. Every time, without fail. And not that it's a complicated order or anything, but they get also get the coffee/cream ratio right every time.

Now, before I talk about how impressive that system is to me, I realize you may have your own opinions about Starbucks, whether it's the quality of their coffee, the price of said coffee, or their corporate politics. And to that I would say:

• QUALITY: You may be right, but I have no standards when it comes to coffee, so I'll drink almost anything.
• PRICE: You are undoubtedly right there. Even if you're paying for "ambience" and "experience," it's still too much. Yet I continue to make regular purchases there because, well, because I don't really care.
• POLITICS: Speaking of don't care, it would be difficult for me to care less about what Starbucks advocates for when it comes to social and political issues. I'm just there for the coffee.

Now, you could argue that we should expect brands to deliver on their promises to us, and that when they do so it is no more than the price of gaining you and me as customers. And you're right.

Still, having spent part of my career in consumer goods, I can tell you that marketing and distribution for most products is way, way more complex than you think it is. And any company that, on a mass scale, can promise you a positive experience and consistently come through is to be commended.

Because many don't, you know. And here I'm thinking of cable companies. God bless them they try, but the number of technical issues they experience and customer complaints they absorb suggests to me that most operate their networks on essentially a wing and a prayer. They promise a positive experience and deliver it a shockingly low percentage of the time.

But not my friends at Starbucks. They make it easy to use their app, easy to place my order, and easy to pick it up. Maybe I shouldn't be blown away by this, but I am.

I would like more coffee mugs, but I don't have any place to put them

When I started drinking coffee 10 years ago, there were certain things about the habit of which I was unaware.

Like the variances in coffee quality, depending on where you get it. I have pretty low standards, but even I can tell the difference among French press, restaurant, and weak Mr. Coffee brews.

Or the fact that powdered creamer is nasty and should be illegal. I could not have known that until I tried it.

There is also this: I like having a large collection of coffee mugs. I have three at home that I guess are "mine," though we have so many total mugs in our house that the hooks behind the kitchen sink are all occupied and the cupboards probably can't hold any more.

I also have three mugs at work, though one is my everyday go-to (pictured above), while the Donkey Kong and Cleveland State University School of Communications mugs are there more for display and to serve as back-ups than anything else.

So, as gifts go, I suppose coffee mugs are a lot like ties: I can always find a use for them, but I'm running out of places to put them.

Should you be looking for something to give me, I still say you can't go wrong with cash. Or a Starbucks gift card. Unlike coffee mugs, both are easily stored.

It's Ron Howard's birthday. I care, you don't, and that's probably how it should be.

NOTE: I don't like to recycle content, but this particular topic is on my mind every March 1st, without fail. Why does Ron Howard's birthday stick in my brain? I don't know, but following is what I wrote about it almost exactly six years ago on March 2, 2015.

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I am quite possibly one of only a handful of people outside of Ron Howard's family who know without being told that yesterday was his birthday.

Every March 1st (I'm not kidding, every March 1st), my wife and I have a conversation that goes something like this:

ME: Hey, guess what today is?

TERRY (thinking for a second to recall whether it's one of our kid's birthdays or something): I don't know?

ME: It's Ron Howard's birthday!

TERRY (clearly unimpressed): Oh...thanks.

Why, you might ask, do I have Richie Cunningham's birthday memorized? Because I just do. Because that's me: I fill my head with meaningless facts and dates about which no one cares. And I do so at the expense of remembering more important things, such as my children's names and my wife's favorite Starbucks drink.

NOTE: The whole Terry's-favorite-Starbucks-drink thing actually caused me a bit of pain and suffering a couple of months ago. I was going to Starbucks to buy treats for the family, and I asked her what she wanted. "You should know what I want," she said. "What's my favorite drink at Starbucks?" And I was sure I knew, except for the fact that I didn't. Well, I knew part of it. She had to remind me of the rest, which was not the right answer on my part, let me tell you. (For the record, she likes a grande skinny caramel macchiato with whip.)

But anyway, I know all sorts of useless stuff. It makes for a nice party trick, and I'm good to have around in case an impromptu game of Trivial Pursuit breaks out. But in most real-life applications, my knowledge and skills do not apply.

You probably know people like me: Not necessarily intelligent, but a brain overflowing with raw data. It's the truly talented people of the world who actually do something with this data and turn it into something useful. People like me simply recite it back on command, which like I said is kind of impressive the first time or two you see it, but after that is a bit repetitive.

One of the things I know without looking up is Ron Howard's birthday. Every March 1st, he's the guy I'm thinking of. The calendar turns and I get the itch to watch reruns of The Andy Griffith Show.

Like the one where Opie tells Andy about a mystical character named Mr. McBeevee. And Andy thinks Opie is just making him up, but he's really not. And then Opie gets threatened with a spanking when he insists that Mr. McBeevee gave him a quarter, and it turns out in the end that Mr. McBeevee is a real-life telephone lineman.

That episode? I could tell you every line of dialogue. My computer password at work (i.e., something extremely useful to me)? I had to think for almost two solid minutes just now before I remembered it. It's not easy being me.

I can only remember things that are practically of no use to me

Exactly 13 years ago today was my first day as an employee of Dix & Eaton, the Cleveland PR firm where I worked for nearly four years and which provided me with a wealth of valuable experience and skills.

I am the only person in the world to whom this anniversary matters, and even I don't really care about it. Dates like this just stay in my head and I can't get rid of them.

Things I really, really want to remember – like where I put the iPad charger or the name of my wife's favorite Starbucks drink – come and go in my brain. Sometimes they stick, sometimes they don't. But I know the exact start date of every single job I've ever had, with the exception of the few months when I was a dishwasher at Tizzano's Restaurant back in the summer of 1985. (Though I know my first day there was in June.)

The only time this type of information comes in handy is when I'm filling out an application, like for a job or a loan or something. I don't have to go to the trouble of looking back through my records because all of the relevant dates are readily accessible in my mind.

But when someone asks me a question to which I really should know the answer, and to which I really want to know the answer, I'm often stumped. Why didn't they ask who hosted "Joker's Wild" in the 70s? That I know. But instead they ask for something that's actually, you know, useful and relevant and all of that, and I can't help them.

Why are we wired this way? Why does our brain collect facts that will never, ever be needed again and hold on to them as if they were winning lotto tickets? And why does it discard the stuff that should be right at the front of our cerebral file cabinets?

I want an answer. Mind you, I won't actually remember that answer once someone explains it to me, but on the plus side, I will be able to rattle off for them all of the U.S. presidents born in Ohio. That's useful, right?

I'm 46 years old today and not even I care

Well, I mean I care. Forty-six is an age signifying the undeniable fact that you're beginning the second half of your fifth decade of life. Another year or two and you will no longer be a mid-forties person. You'll be a late-forties person.

That's all significant.

But you reach a point in life when your birthday is mostly just an interesting time for reflection and taking stock and all of that. You're not looking for any presents, unless someone wants to give you three hours of uninterrupted time in which you're free to do anything you want, including watching a football or hockey game without having to worry about a sink full of dishes, a bathroom shower that needs cleaning, or any of the thousand other things that occupy your mind at most hours of the day.

Or at least that's what I want.

But really, other than maybe a few homemade cards from the kids and a Starbucks coffee that someone is nice enough to pick up for me, I'm good. Save the presents for Christmas, which in my case is always 53 days after my birthday.

I honestly don't mind getting older. I really don't. It's going to get more and more difficult as time goes on, I realize, but for now there's little difference for me being 46 from what it was like being 45 or 44 or any other year in my 40s.

I'm not the only one, right? It's not a "Bah! Humbug!" attitude toward birthdays as much as wondering why we, in American culture, put such an emphasis on them. Other than the aforementioned caffienated beverage and a slew of very nice well-wishes on my Facebook wall, I'm not seeing the need to celebrate here.

I continue my inevitable march toward Cranky Old Manhood regardless of what the calendar says.

The best thing you can do for me is to get out of my way. (AND GET OFF MY LAWN, YOU PUNK KIDS!)

Five useless things currently in my wallet

(1) Disney-themed credit card with a picture of Tinkerbell on the front: I'm too embarrassed to show this card to any merchant, so I don't. I mean, I don't claim to be Chuck Norris or anything, but I like to salvage a little bit of my manly dignity. For the record, my wife ordered these cards for us. As far as you know.

(2) Vision insurance card: Never mind that it isn't even valid anymore. I see the eye doctor once every 47 years. And I'm not due to go again until 2035. This can be safely thrown out, and I would do just that if I didn't save every single semi-official document and/or card someone issues me. I have Romper Room Fan Club membership cards from the 70s. You think I'm kidding.

(3) Gold Starbucks card: When I go to Starbucks (which is often), I try to appear hip and cool by paying with my smartphone app, rather than the old-fashioned plastic gold card. No one is impressed except me, yet I continue using this app even when the card would probably be easier.

(4) Professional association membership card: I belong to a few clubs and associations specific to my line of work. Each of these organizations issues a membership card, and I never look at it again until it's time to throw it away. There's no use for it at all, other than to make you feel like a valued, dues-paying member. Which you should feel like anyway when you beg your employer to write the check to cover those dues. Staggeringly useless.

(5) $6 in cash: I almost never use cash. That $6 will sit in my wallet for weeks unless a child asks for money to pay some miscellaneous (and possibly fabricated) school fee, or if we go to Jerry's Dari Pride. Jerry's is a landmark ice cream store here in my hometown, and they only take cash. You want Jerry's ice cream, you bring cash. Simple as that. That $6 most likely represents an ice cream cone at some indeterminate point in my future. Unless you want it, in which case let me know and I'll drop it in the mail (the money, not the ice cream cone).

Oh coffee, my coffee

I spent more than four decades as someone who didn't drink coffee. "No, thank you," I would say whenever someone offered me a cup. "I never touch the stuff."

And it's true, I didn't. I didn't like the taste. I was good with the smell, but the actual coffee drinking experience fell far short of my expectations.

Then suddenly, I liked coffee. It wasn't a gradual thing. Just one day about a year or so ago, I started liking coffee. I can't begin to explain it.

Now it's rare that a day goes by that I don't drink at least a cup, if not two or three. My consumption doesn't go much beyond that, so you can't say I'm a total addict. But yes, I will admit that I have developed some level of dependency on the sweet, caffeine-laced elixir.

I take mine with three creams, no sugar. I always thought that sounded so grown-up: "I take my coffee with two creams, two sugars." Or "I drink it black" or whatever. Now I have my own coffee preference, and at the age of 42 I'm starting to feel like an adult.

Of course, it's a lot more hip to like coffee now than it was, say, when I was in high school. Coffee was an old person's drink. Now my wife makes it for my two high school-aged daughters almost every morning. What they drink is what I would classify as "frou frou coffee." There's a lot of sugar and flavoring and maybe a splash of coffee. More like a "coffee drink," I suppose.

I'm probably in the minority of coffee-drinkers who drink it more for the taste than for the pick-me-up. The reason, simply, is that caffeine doesn't have much effect on me. Really. If I'm tired in the morning, I can drink a cup of coffee and still feel tired afterward. I can drink coffee at 10 p.m. and be asleep an hour later.

It's kind of disappointing, actually. There are days when I would LOVE to get the coffee buzz, but my system doesn't respond in that way. Well, maybe to Starbucks coffee. Starbucks coffee has ridiculous levels of caffeine. Like you almost can't believe it's legal. There have been times when I've had a grande coffee from Starbucks and found myself a little hyper for the next 30 minutes or so, but that's about the extent of it.

As a relatively new coffee drinker, there are things about the art of coffee that still elude me. For example, why is the coffee I get in a restaurant always, always, always better than the stuff we make at work? And especially better than the coffee that comes out of our coffee-maker at home? Do they use better coffee? Better equipment? Distilled water? The blood of a goat? What's the differentiator here?

And when I get old, am I going to be one of those McDonald's Coffee Guys? You know the guys I'm talking about. They're the groups of old men who frequent McDonald's restaurants at about 9 o'clock every morning and sit there for hours drinking coffee while they argue, complain, and just generally have a good old time. Will that be me in 30 years? Is there some sort of law mandating that men of a certain age report to McDonald's every weekday morning at the same time? I guess I'll find out.

In the meantime, I love me some coffee. Oh yes, I do love me some coffee.

Learning to live in the now...now

As I type this, I'm sitting in Starbucks with a mocha light frappuchino and a piece of coffee cake, and all is right with the world.

It has taken me the better part of four decades to learn that. Dozens of times a day, I get to do things that make me happy, and for most of my life I've been utterly incapable of appreciating them. It has always been about accomplishing The Next Big Thing, whatever that may be...a new job, another child, running a marathon, whatever. I always find myself on the way to doing something, rather than enjoying what I'm doing at the time.

Does anyone else have trouble with the whole Living in the Moment thing? I do, but I'm happy to say that if nothing else, the year 2011 has made me (a) recognize what I was missing, and (b) start to learn how to enjoy the present.

Terry always says I don't know how to relax, and honestly, she's right. I'm always moving, always planning, always restless. What's wrong with just sitting? Why can't I do nothing at all and not feel guilty about it? Well, I'll tell you what, that's going to change. The only goal I'm setting for 2012 is that by this time next year, I'm going to be a pro at doing nothing. I'll be the king of inactivity.

That's not to say that productivity is bad. We all lead busy lives, and stuff has to get done. Nothing wrong there. But being in Accomplishment Mode 100% of the time is bad for you in so many ways, as I've learned over the last several months (funny what an E.R. visit for chest pains will do for you). Slowing down is not the same as slacking.

Of course, having the option to relax is a byproduct of living in a crazily affluent society like ours. If you're constantly worrying where your next meal is coming from, sitting under a tree reading poetry isn't as much of a viable choice. So simply living where we do is a reason to be thankful, and I am.

I suppose these are the kinds of things we think about on the cusp of a new year. It's a good time for reassessment, reflection and planning. We set New Year's resolutions, and if you're as tightly wound as I am, they're usually laughably unrealistic and you're forced to give up on them by mid-January. I've finally come to the realization that one modest resolution fulfilled is a thousand times more valuable than 10 crazy resolutions left to die.

How come nobody told me that 20 years ago? Well, actually, my mom did, and still does. I always thought I was one of those people who was good at listening to what their mother tells them, but I suppose not. My mom's constant admonitions to slow down and relax have, for the most part, gone unheeded.

But not this year. Not this time around. For my family's sake, and for my own sake, I guess, it's time to learn how to dial it down a notch or ten. What worries me, though, is that even as I write those words, I'm thinking to myself, "I've spent too long on this post. Gotta finish up and get some other stuff done."

Apparently this isn't going to be easy...