In mid-October, Becky’s mom came to town to see one of Becky’s performances (her final major performance before the inevitable break). It was at lunch after she flew in from the airport that Becky told her she was going to be a grandmother. Susan stood up and jumped up and down like a little girl on Christmas morning.

A week later, Steve and Anna drove in for the weekend and stayed at our place. Becky was busy that weekend with Nutcracker stuff, so she wasn’t able to hang out as much, so we didn’t have an opportunity to formally tell them. Instead, we hung up the ultrasound picture on the refrigerator to see if they would notice. The evening before they left (Becky was at rehearsal), Anna went to the refrigerator to get a beer and asked, “who’s baby is this?” I said, “ours.” She didn’t believe me until I pulled out the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book and all the other pregnancy literature we’d been collecting.

I told my sister, Stephanie over iChat on October 30, and my parents the next day. However, I was smart enough to hit “screen record” when I told my grandparents:

Dating all the way back to…

October 4, 2009 (wait… THAT far back? Yep).

On October 4, 2009, we were going to Las Vegas for a weekend we had previously planned with our friends, Ian & Abbi. Becky woke up early that Saturday to go teach class as usual, and, surprisingly, I was sleeping in because usually I’m up early as well.

Becky woke me up around 7:30, but not with the traditional, “I’m leaving now, have a nice day. I love you” kiss. Instead, she blurted out, “I think I’m pregnant,” and showed me the test which showed two lines instead of one.

Unsure of how accurate it was, she went ahead and took the second test that came in the box. Again, two lines.

I grabbed my iPhone and looked up the brand of pregnancy test to see how accurate they really were. 99%. So we reluctantly rejoiced at the notion that in 9-ish months we’d be parents and our lives would change forever. But that wasn’t enough for neither Becky nor I. We wanted further proof. The kind of proof that the pregnancy test would actually say, “Pregnant.” None of this two-line nonsense. We wanted it spelled out.

So I went to the grocery store later that morning and bought a digital home pregnancy test and a bag of box of donuts (because it was still breakfast-time and I was hungry).

We were to leave for the airport as soon as Becky got home from work and had enough time to change. But there was still time for a third pregnancy test, and it was, as suspected, a positive test. PREGNANT.

On the way to the airport to meet Ian and Abbi to fly away to Vegas for the weekend, we recounted the fact that these were the very friends who told us they were pregnant almost immediately after they found out two years earlier, and that is how we justified telling them that evening over dinner at The Venetian in Las Vegas.

It was the beginning of a celebration that would last until June 15…

1. The new record will be finished before my wife gives birth to our daughter. Finished is the key word there. Released, not quite sure. But we’re on schedule to finish all basic tracking by mid-April.

2. The new record will feature a rerecording a classic CGD song. Which one, you ask? Just look to my favorite town in Utah for the answer to that question.

3. The new record will sound nothing like any Nickelback album. Or at least I sure hope it doesn’t.

4. I will be posting new music soon. Hopefully very soon…

Thanks everyone for your support of this crazy little hobby of mine.

So excited to meet our little girl!

As many of you already know, my grandfather passed away last Tuesday at 95. I have many thoughts about Nonno that I was honored to share as I gave his eulogy on January 15. Though bittersweet, I enjoyed talking with my sister and brother about some recent memories, reliving old memories, and even learning a little bit of Italian for him.

As sad as it is that we have let him go, we have hope in the way God has designed the circle of life. It was the very next day as the plane landed in Salt Lake City, that Becky felt the baby kick for the first time. The baby has been active the last few days. Just a little reminder that God has given strength to those he loves for times such as these.

For those who were blessed and encouraged by the words of the eulogy, or for those who were not in attendance, the video and text of the eulogy are after the pictures:

Eulogy for Gino Secco: January 15, 2010

If Nonno had one dying wish that had to do with the funeral, I’m sure it would have been for the eulogy to be given in Italian. Unfortunately I took German in high school. But I’ll see what I can do.

On behalf of my grandmother, Bruna, my parents, Mike & Diana, my sister Stephanie, my brother David, my wife Becky and my sister-in-law Angelina, I want to thank you all for attending this afternoon to celebrate the life of my grandfather, Gino Secco.

I have been blessed to have shared the name Gino with him. In college, I went by my middle name and explained to everyone that Gino was also the name of my grandfather. To this day, many of my friends call me Gino, but Nonno would call me Ginetto which translates to “Little Gino,” because he was, afterall, the original.

It is very easy to mourn and be sad when someone close to you passes away. On Tuesday after Mom called to tell me of his passing, I was talking with a friend of mine in my office about him. She said that the memories we have of him is what will allow him to become immortal. So that’s what I’d like to share with you now.

Nonno was all about teaching his grandchildren life lessons. To me, he was inspirational, because he and I shared a passion for creating art. You all have likely seen all of his extraordinary paintings, sketches and carvings that decorated our homes for years and will decorate them for years to come.

He was my art teacher before I had an art teacher. When I was a cub scout in my early years, he taught me how a block of wood like this could become an awesome looking pinewood derby race car like this. He would take me through the process of properly sharpening a knife, sketching what I wanted the car to look like, carving it and painting it. Nonno never claimed engineering skills, and my car never won the pinewood derby. But I also never cut off my fingers, so thank you Nonno… lesson learned.

For all of the life lessons that he taught me, there is one particular word that I heard Nonno say more than any other word throughout most of my childhood. That word is “checkmate.”

Nonno taught my brother and I how to play chess. He taught us the fundamentals and strategies, and as we began our grandfather-grandson rivalry, he went on an amazing unbeaten streak that lasted at least a decade.

In my defense, he actually knew what he was doing and had at least 50 years of experience before me. In fact, looking back on it, his dominance over me would be equivalent of a 12-year-old little leaguer pitching to Babe Ruth. I simply didn’t stand a chance.

It was either sympathy or disgust that led him into buying me my first book about chess. I can’t exactly remember the title, but I think it was something like, “Make Your Grandfather Proud and Learn to Play Chess Like a Man”.

Not too long after reading the book cover to cover, I got my first victory against Nonno using a Fool’s Mate pattern I had read in the book. It only took me three moves. My dad stands by the theory that Nonno would have never fallen into that particular trap and essentially let me have the game to boost my confidence. But Nonno frustratingly conceded defeat and demanded we reset to play again. He then went on to humble me in a game that didn’t last much longer. So again, thank you Nonno… lesson learned.

Nonno was a master chef to us, and much of how we learned to cook was inspired by him. He taught Stephanie how to make crostata in high school, which she has brought to every party she’s gone to for the last five years. Maybe it’s because of her inability to cook anything else (I’m kidding, Steph).

When we were younger, Nonno would introduce us to delicious foods like rabbit (though Dave refused to eat it because he told him it was the Easter Bunny). Steph remembers making octopus with him recently. She had no idea that a huge octopus would only produce a little meat, and that so much of an octopus was inedible. Nonno suggested maybe octopus is not worth making because it’s so exhausting. Thank you, Nonno… lesson learned.

The spirit of competition was always alive in Nonno. His favorite sport was soccer. His favorite soccer team was Genoa. His favorite soccer player was probably David because I wasn’t that good.

He loved to play cards and we loved to play with him. Most recently, Nonno and I teamed up against our wives at the card game Scopa. We lost the game, but Nonno never admitted defeat. Instead, he looked at me, threw up his arms and went “Ehhh.”

When I met my wife, Becky, Nonno and Nonna welcomed her into the family almost immediately after they met her. As Becky and I’s relationship developed, we spent lots of time with Nonno and Nonna, and discovered the kind of love that could exist between a man and his wife for so long. He married Nonna in 1952 and they have been married for 58 years. Becky and I will celebrate our 6-year anniversary in a few months and are encouraged by the love that they had for each other until they were parted by death. A marriage can only be so lucky. Lesson learned.

Stephanie was pondering moments about Nonno the last few days and noted that Nonno spent the later part of his life developing the talents that we remember him for. He had not picked up a paintbrush or carving knife until well after he retired, which judging from the quality of his work seems impossible. It is easy to become overwhelmed by all the things you want to accomplish in life, because culture suggests you need to accomplish everything while you’re still young. Nonno debunked that myth at least 40 years ago.

When I was younger, Nonno and Nonna made annual trips to visit us from Maryland. Each trip, I taught Nonno a little more about how to use a computer, and every time he visited us, he would spend hours at the computer typing what he told me was his life story. When the internet became more mainstream and easier to use, we taught him how to use it as well. And then he got email. And then he got an iMac and began using video chat to talk to us in Denver, New York, Rhode Island, and was even able to video chat with his friends and relatives in Italy.

He never stopped learning, and was particularly interested in today’s technology and was always determined to accomplish more with it. At 95, Nonno was probably the oldest man to have a Facebook page, though he probably never understood how “social networking” was anything besides getting together with his friends at the Italian Club or the Sandy Senior Center.

He loved his friends at the Italian Club and the Senior Center. I’m sure he loved to tell you all about his family, but I want you to know how much he loved to talk about all of you to us. He told us all about how the Italian Club was referred to as “I quiatro gatti”, the four cats. He was so proud to be part of such a great circle of friends.

I was talking with my brother last night, and he pointed out how sharp Nonno was at such a late age. Dave sat down to play chess with him the day after Christmas and defeated him quickly in the first game. Dave thought that perhaps Nonno wasn’t able to play chess as well as he used to. Nonno followed up by humbling Dave the next three games.

Dave played for me a voicemail Nonno left for him last Sunday that he still had on his phone, and he wanted me to play it for everyone…

Nonno never lost it. He continued teaching life lessons to his great grandson, Ethan, who was 8 months old when they met last Christmas. Nonno was teaching Ethan the melody “Here Comes the Bride” as he held him for a half an hour. It was inspiring how happy they both were.

Nonno was also learning as much as he could about this world before he left it. A few weeks ago I was making salmon and potatoes for the entire family and Nonno stood next to me attentively and asked questions about what I was doing, how I was doing it, and why I was doing it. The entire time I was thinking that he surely had made salmon and potatoes a hundred times before. But I learned that for all the lessons he taught us in our lives, we taught him just as much. So for the final time – thank you Nonno… lesson learned.

Earlier I mentioned that he would have wanted his eulogy spoken in Italian. I’m sorry I was never able to learn Italian, but I hope that this will do.

Nonno, grazie per tutte le lezioni di vita che hai insegniato a tutti noi. Grazie per l’incoraggiamento nell’arte, la cottura, il calcio e l’amore. Soprattutto, grazie per essere un nonno che potrevo amirare. Lo manci già. Ciao.

(The next one is a little blurry but worth posting):

We’re very excited about the prospects of becoming parents. We also fully understand the implication that once we become parents, we will no longer receive gifts for ourselves, but rather for our baby. In fact, at just 4 months into the pregnancy, it’s already begun (yes, I’m wearing the bib, but only because I think it’s cute):

While we were in Salt Lake City for Christmas, we were able to visit with our nephew Ethan, who is about 8 months old. To prove that we are fit to become parents, here are some pictures of Ethan having a ridiculous blast with his aunt and uncle:

My sister, however, not so much. (just kidding, love ya Steph!):

Speaking of my sister, here we are flashing Christmas gang signs:

And here is Becky with Angelina and Steph:

Finally, I end this quality blog post with a public service announcement:
No matter the circumstances, never, ever eat the baby.

However, I have decided that I simply can’t “rock out” anymore the way I liked to in high school. In fact, it’s really funny to me that I’d actually still go. I think I will always enjoy a good rock CD, but it’s rare that I feel like actually going to a true rock and roll show. They’re loud and I’m getting too old.

That said… If last night was the last Skillet (or any other rock show for that matter) I go to, it was a great show to go out on. But I’m sure every few years when they return to Colorado, so will Steve and Anna, and I will throw caution to the wind and join in the mosh pit. Until then, I prefer to sit and listen to bands play music with my wife and a beer.

Part of this initiative is making it mobile, both for writing and reading. For instance, I’m writing this entry on my iPhone while sitting in front of my computer just to see how long it will take me and how good this wordpress app is.

Also, if you view this site from mobile device, it will look different, and will be much easier to read. Try it. Really.

Well that’s enough geek for one day. Steve and Anna are driving out right now from the SLC to go to the Skillet concert. So it’s time to clean the house.

Updates coming soon!

I was somewhat upset about the fact that there were huge gaps in my journal because I only wrote in it when I was struggling in school. I had opened up my heart and been burned, and so many of the feelings were written down in a journal, prayer-journal style. Many of the songs that I wrote on my first album, “Other Side of Town”, either originated or was fully written in this journal. And it certainly put things into perspective for me.

It was eye opening to back and read through them, because I got a glimpse of who I was in college – a guy trying to figure out who I was. I was using the journal to open myself up to God and let Him work in my life. So much so, that I’m quite impressed with how personal I was on paper.

My main prayer was about getting over a crush who I simply couldn’t get over. I remember those days and try to forget them, as I was a selfish, immature, self-loathing guy who couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t get what I thought I deserved. The journal follows me as I get over the crush and fall in love all over again. This time, with a keeper. The last journal entry was the day Becky and I began dating.

After reading through the last entry, I pondered why I never wrote in it again. There were many reasons. Becky became the emotional shoulder to lean on, replacing the journal. The songs I wrote became more personal, replacing the journal. I began this blog a few years later, which served as a replacement for the journal as well.

Now, Becky is my wife and is a permanent emotional shoulder to lean on. I continue writing songs that have focus and meaning to me on a personal level, and the blog stands to be one of those “back burner” projects that has been replaced with the shorter statuses of Facebook and Twitter.

Something is missing though, and it’s the need for me to write without focus. The archives of this blog is a good look at the last 6-7 years of my life, but with the knowledge that other people read it censored what I wrote, and never got to the depths of who I am, like writing in a journal can.

So I’ve picked up the journal idea again. It’s a simple, small, 100 page book that I can write in uncensored. It also serves as a songwriting journal, where I can write ideas, verses and phrases to have them all together in one place instead of on multiple pieces of paper in a bloated folder. This is a new beginning for me as a writer.

The home team takes the field as fans cheer them on. They stretch and throw the ball around a couple of times until the batter comes to the box. Ump calls “play ball!”

Pitcher looks the batter in the eyes, as the batter stares back. He loosens his arms, steps on the bag, winds up and then… throws a gentle underhand slow pitch toward his catcher on the other end.

It’s softball season. The home team: a bunch of men from a small(ish) presbyterian church. Their fans: Their wives and kids, with a few members of the congregation gathered to see their 50-something pastor putting his money where his mouth has been after so many years of baseball references in sermons. The opposing team: just another group of men from the area, their wives and kids in the stands as well.

Between soccer on Sunday and softball on Tuesday, I’ve developed a true love for competition. I’ve always been very competitive by nature, but I recently discovered that this is what drives me.

We recently attended a Derby party last week. Becky and I have never attended one, nor do we know much about it in the first place. The party was hosted and attended by her dance circle of friends, so we thought we’d go just to go, and had a blast.

What killed me was the inability to participate in the competitions going on around me. Two-dollar bets going into the hat, trivia questions about the race and the horses. And croquet! (which I could have participated in, but had to leave early).

There is no such thing as a difference between a competitive person and a non-competitive person. We’re all competitive, but vary on the different levels and the ways we participate.

I thrive on competition every day at work. Thankfully, in my job it is rarely a competition between me and my co-workers for a bonus or a commission or a way “up the ladder”, but it is simply a competition with myself to see if I can simply challenge myself to meet a self-imposed deadline, sharpen my creative skills, create something familiar in an unfamiliar way, accomplish something that will be good for the people around me.

When I succeed at the things listed above, it’s a win. When I fail (and I do many times), it’s a loss. I’d say I’m hovering somewhere around .500 lifetime average, but so few times have I completely blown it, because I understand that the spirit of the competition I participate in every day is fully driven by a forgiving God who allows for grace in every loss, and is deserving of all the credit for every win.

The first softball game of the season was a loss (13-9), but a huge win for us mentally because out of 10 people on the team, at least 9 of us weren’t quite sure what to expect or expected the 10-run mercy rule to have put us out of our misery by the end of the game.

Regardless, our heads are lifted after a loss because we’ve discovered we’re not as bad as we thought we were. Individually, and as a team.

God’s grace abounds beyond personal struggles with depression, relationships and sin. So many times we forget that He cares about every aspect, no matter how big or small on our scale that He rarely looks at. I believe He truly enjoys a classic game of small(ish)-town, slow-pitch softball, played by those He loves.