Time to Get Up

I try to take the week between Christmas and New Year's off from work. I usually end up having to go into work at least one day and have to get up early on another to put out the trash. Other than that, I fantasize that I'll be able to sleep late.

I'm not sure why, but Sam sleeps late on the days I have to get up early and gets up early on the days the days I could sleep late. On the days he gets up early, he wakes me up by standing at the side of my bed with his face about six inches from mine, staring at me, waiting for me to get up. I have no clue how I know he's there or why this works, but it does. I blink my eyes open and there he is, ready to go downstairs.

Snow Day

A blizzard is heading our way. I already have four shovels but I feel like I should go out and buy one more. This will somehow give me a head start on the storm.

Update: Yes, the blizzard came. No, the extra shovel didn't help.

Christmas Day

Christmas Day has come and gone with all the speed that I knew it would. Christmas has always been pretty low-key in our home. The stockings get sorted through and the contents examined. Some stuff is put aside to be scrutinized later. The kids then take turns opening presents. And later, everyone mellows out while I get an early dinner ready (this year, turkey, etc.)

The best part, like always, is that we could all be together.

As the family gets older I can't help but wonder how many more Christmas's we will share together. Of course being the way I am, I've wondered this for years. At the end of the day, I sit and watch as the kids re-examine their gifts and I wonder where we will all be a year from now; what changes will each of us have gone through?

Christmas Morning

I don't know how Sam did it. He had the patience to wait until about 7:00 before getting me up on Christmas morning. Even then he was subtle about it. He woke me with his "whistling" while he was walking from his room to the bathroom...back and forth several times. I suspect a lot of credit goes to Jake who does such a good job of distracting Sam and keeping him busy.

The Stocking on Christmas Eve

When I was Sam's age, my sisters and I would meet in my brother's room and wait for some "decent" hour to wake my parents. I don't know what hour that was exactly, but I do know that it was pitch black outside...and it stayed pitch black for another couple of hours.

Our method of waking our parents didn't involve gentle whistling, it involved yelling while running into their dark room and jumping on them in their bed. It wasn't as subtle as the whistling, but I don't think subtly would have worked at that hour.

Christmas Eve

I can remember climbing into bed with the excitement of knowing that Christmas was the next day. Sleep was next to impossible. I was pretty sure Santa would come, but I was never 100% certain. There was always that slim chance that some minor offense that I had (allegedly) committed earlier in the year would come back to haunt me. My siblings apparently felt duty bound to remind me of any infraction, no matter how small, and how it was going to affect the possibility of Santa even showing up. They made it pretty clear that I was probably screwed and it would be a miracle if I got anything. But I knew that Santa understood. At least, I was pretty sure... not the “I'd stake my life on it” kind of sure, but I'd certainly stake any of my siblings lives on it.

On Christmas Eve, we would sit around the living room listening to Christmas carols with only the lights of the tree lighting the room- throwing shadows on the walls and ceiling. There would already be a couple of presents for each of us under the tree that had arrived in the mail from our aunt and grandmother. We spent the better part of the night begging to open "just one" present before bedtime. Mom and Dad would finally relent, and afterward they would try to calm us all down and herd us into our beds. After the “good-nights” and back scratches, I would lay there, and struggle to sleep. I had been told previously that staying awake could be a contributing factor to Santa not showing up. But I couldn’t stop myself from listening and hoping and waiting. Next to my bed was a window and I would stare out past the pine tree weighted down with snow, past the park and past the neighbor’s house across the way, looking for some movement as I would drift in and out of sleep.

As the night wore on, I would have to get up and go to the bathroom. This was always a scary proposition at night. Our bathroom was down the hall and across from a long set of stairs that descended into darkness below. If I was stupid enough to look down the stairway on any normal night, I knew I would see an ax murderer staring back up at me from the darkness, cleverly waiting patiently for his chance to get me. I would have to dash into the bathroom and then back into bed and under the covers as fast as I could go.

But on Christmas Eve, I would stare down the stairs and wonder, was the living room empty? Or had Santa come and gone. And if he had come, did he leave any presents? ...Any for me? I stood there and listened but I couldn’t hear anything except the clock ticking in the dining room. I wasn't brave enough to go down and look. I headed back to my room more nervous than before.

Climbing back into bed, I would resume the battle to get to sleep. The silence was so still it was overwhelming. I was never up this late and it was a little creepy. I tried to relax but sleep seemed impossible. Would Santa come? Would he leave me anything? Surely I couldn't have been all that bad. It’s not like I killed someone or anything...

As the night ground on I continued to drift. In the pre-predawn hours I would once again open my eyes and try to get my bearings. I would look out my window for any sign of tracks in the snow. I listened for any movement downstairs and heard nothing but the clock. That’s when I noticed that on my night stand there were a couple of candies. Santa had come! At some point when I was asleep, somehow he snuck in and looked in on me and he left me a couple of candies. All my worries about whether he would even bother were now replaced by even more excitement... and relief . A decent hour to get up and meet in Steve's room was still a ways away, but I could wait... barely.

Every Christmas, the candy on my table always let me know that Christmas really was here and that as busy as Santa was, he had taken the time to look in on me.

Santa doesn't leave chocolates on my table anymore but he does for my kids. And even though so many years have passed, on Christmas Eve when all is finally quiet and stockings are stuffed and presents are under the tree and the candy is left on night stands, I lay in bed for a few minutes and listen to the silence and I still feel the same excitement. And I hope that my kids have experienced the same feelings: the anticipation and the excitement that someone, who doesn't have to, thinks they're special.

Dinner Time

Every Friday, assuming I have some money, I stop at the McDonald's drive through to get Sam a "Happy Meal". It's the same order every week: A Chicken Nugget Happy Meal for a boy with a Dr. Pepper to drink, two apple pies and a cup of water.

I don't know what was going on there today but it was taking forever just to get up to the point of ordering. Plus, there was the added enjoyment of listing to the Drive-up Woman blasting everyone's order through the speaker.

I'm three cars back and I can hear the order blaring through the speakers and echoing off the fence that separates the parking lot from the houses behind. I'm thinking that the people that live behind this place must be on their phones complaining to the Corporate Offices by now.

As I get closer, the woman if front of me is trying to order a "Frappuccino". Apparently this normally comes with whipped cream and a "drizzle" on top. She wanted it "her way" (wrong place) and wanted neither topping.

Car Lady: "I'll have a frappuccino, but no..."
Drive Up Woman cuts in, blaring, "YOU WANT A DRIZZLE ON THAT?"
"No, I don't want a drizz..."
"DO YOU WANT WHIPPED CREAM?"
"No, I Just want ..."
"THE DRIZZLE GOES ON THE WHIPPED CREAM."
 " *mumble*...  I don't want the drizzle and I don't want the whipped cream!", Car Lady manages to say.
"WILL THAT BE ALL?"
"Yes...Hello?"

*silence*

*silence*

*silence*

"PLEASE PULL AROUND!"

This jolts me out of the stupor I was falling into. I pull up to the speaker to order and wait
and wait...and wait...

"CAN I HELP YOU?"
"Yes", I say, "I'll have a Chicken Nugget Happy Meal for a boy with a..."
"FOUR PIECE OR SIX PIECE?"
"Four piece. And I'll have a Dr. Pepp..."
"YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT?"
"Fries? With a Happy Meal? Yes. And to drink, I'll have a..."
"WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DRINK?"
"I'll have a Dr. Pepper. And two apple..."
"IS THAT ALL?"
"No! I'll alsohavetwoapplepiesandacupofwater!"

*silence*

*silence*

*silence*

"PLEASE PULL AROUND!"

I inch around the corner. I can see the woman in the window in front of me taking the orders and while her lips move, her voice is blaring through the speaker that is now behind me. The poor woman in the car behind me is attempting to order a Chicken Nugget Happy Meal for her little girl. She's having the same amount of luck that I did.

I pull up to her window to pay. I debate about telling her that her microphone is too loud but decide it's not worth it.

Some guy's arm reaches out of the other window that's in front of me and hands the first woman her order. Its her frappuccino. With whipped cream. And a "drizzle".

There's some discussion and his hand slowly starts to pull it back in. She waves her hand at him. His arm inches back and forth a few times, his other hand waving as if to say "We'll replace it". She apparently will have none of that. He hands it back to her and she drives away.

I pull up and wait for my order. There's hardly anyone inside but it's taking forever. I hear Drive-up Woman's voice still blaring from the speaker behind me in the distance. Finally, the window beside me slides open and the guy begins handing me my order. I check inside the box to make sure that I don't have a burger instead of nuggets. Nuggets, fries and a toy. Seems to be all there.

I'm handed the two drinks and bag with apple pies and begin to leave. The woman and little girl in the car behind me pull up to the window. I pull away and head home.

When I get home I set Sam's stuff on the table and he proceeds to unpack the food. Nuggets, fries, cup of water, apple pies... "Hey", he says. "I got a girl's toy!"

I hope that little girl in the car behind me likes Bakugan figures because Sam loves the little stuffed animal that he got.

Getting Closer to the Holidays

Picked up Rachael and Jake tonight. I'm three quarters of the way there.

All Better

Nothing like starting the day at 3:30 AM with a panic attack about a problem at work, going in at 5:00 and then spending the better part of the day trying to resolve a screaming match between two employees.

All was cured tonight by putting "Frosty the Snowman" in the car's CD player on the way back from the grocery store and then driving around looking at Christmas lights while Sam hums along .

Is There Some Connection?

Apparently my putting on Christmas music is the cue to switch on the TV and start watching "Uptown Girls". Last week when I tried to listen to Christmas music, something called "Heartland" got switched on. I mean, I can almost understand last week but now the tree is up, Sam's listening to the music too... Come on, it's once a year... I guess I should burn a CD so I can go out and listen to it in the car.

I decide to go out and take pictures instead.

Leading up to Christmas

Picked up Helaina after work on Friday. Saturday morning, Rachael drove home picking Jake up on her way. Hooked up the old VCR so Sam wouldn't miss his cartoons and we went to the tree farm to get a tree. Got it home and had it decorated by 1:30. Brought Rachael to work at the mall and dropped Jake off at his school on the way back. Stopped at home, did the dishes and picked up Helaina who went with me back to the mall to pick up Rachael and bring her back to school. Back home by ten PM. This morning, Helaina took the car to go back to her school.

Now things are back to "normal"... :(

Ice Cubes

Twenty-five degrees and falling outside and I'm bringing Sam to a pool party. Granted it's indoors but still... we have to go back outside at some point. And since Sam can't swim, I'll be suiting up as well.

I shouldn't complain too much. Sam had a birthday party several years ago at the same place and that was in the middle of a blizzard. I was grateful that a few brave souls came to his party so that it wasn't a total bust. So, it's the least I can do for this friend of his.

Besides, I can't imagine a bigger disappointment for a kid than looking forward to a birthday party and then nobody showing up... but still....

We head out and I can see Sam's thinking the whole way. As we pull into the parking lot, Sam says, "I'm not sure I want to go into the pool. It's not really my thing."

I try to contain my excitement. Swimming is not my thing either. Swimming and then going out into the freezing cold is even less my thing.

"Well Sam", I say, "That's up to you. Birthdays are supposed to be about having fun. If not going swimming is whats fun for you, that's up to you." I try to say this in the calmest voice I can muster. I try to sound like this is no big deal. It's all I can do to not high five him.

We get the present, go inside and have a fine time.

And we both stay dry.

Where's the Bowl of Cherries?

Someday I'm going to write about what it's been like...

Letters to Santa

 

 

Breaking the Silence

Is there anything crunchier than than the sound of someone munching on oriental rice snacks?

I don't think so.

Thanksgiving

What a great Thanksgiving. Everyone was home, healthy and, for the most part, in good spirits. I had the opportunity to cook for everyone and like so many things lately, it reminded me of when the kids were younger.

Back then, most weekday meals consisted of whatever I could throw together when I got in the door from work... usually it was leftovers from the weekend before. Nothing fancy but they did the trick. But no matter how wanting those meals were in the way of fine cuisine, we always spent them together at the table. Everyone had stories about their day. It was a chance for each of the kids to talk, and more importantly, a chance for each or them to be heard. The table became, in a way, a stage.

Our weekend meals were more extravagant (by comparison). I had more time. We all did. Often one or more of the kids would help me cook and that was fun for all of us. The added bonus was they would always be more willing to try things that they had prepared.

When it was time to eat, Helaina would always eat more than I could imagine and still be a little bean sprout.  Jake would get up too clear his place, saying: "That was sure yummy!", or "That was dee-wicious." Rachael would usually be the last to finish having spent most of the time telling stories about the day, using the stage to full advantage. And she would almost always leave behind a plate of a mashed-up concoction that she'd "finish later".

So it was nice to be able to experience those same kind of things again, with all of the activity and all of the conversation that goes along with it. It made for a wonderful weekend.

The only downside to the whole weekend is that there is nothing lonelier than driving home after dropping the kids off at their schools.

The Long Road Home

A Total Gentleman

(I wanted to edit this quote down but there was nothing I could leave out.)

From today's headlines:
"Charlie Sheen is hitting back at porn star Capri Anderson's claims that he assaulted her during a drug fueled bender last month. The actor has filed a lawsuit against her (which) describes Anderson as "an opportunistic pornographic film star and publicity-hungry scam artist" who threatened "to embarrass him and attempt to damage his career by going to the media with her false tale" if Sheen didn't pay up. Anderson, who has filed a civil complaint against Sheen alleging assault and false imprisonment, initially told New York cops that Sheen acted "like a total gentleman," according to the suit. The lawsuit also accuses her of stealing Sheen's $165,000 watch."

Who could have predicted that being completely strung out in an expensive hotel room with a porn "actress" would have gotten so messy?

So Much for Creating a Buzz

My weekly audience viewership has completely flat-lined after reaching a peak of "one".

Showtime

Off to see a show with my favorite actress in it.

Fall

Yesterday I was raking the leaves for the fourth time in as many weeks. Yesterday though, I had help from Sam. We were raking for a while and when the pile was pretty big I asked Sam if he'd like to jump in. He looked at me like I was crazy. He wanted nothing to do with it. So I continued raking. And as I raked, I thought about when I was a kid and all the stuff we used to do in the fall, things like jumping in leaves and collecting acorns. And it made me wonder, do kids still do things like that?

When I was a kid, fall was a great time to play outside, better in some ways than summertime.. it wasn't as hot and more kids were around since none were away on summer vacation.

The street where I grew up made a big loop. All of the houses were on the outside of the loop facing the center. In the center of the loop was an oval park. The park wasn't thickly wooded but there was a mix of maples and oaks at one end and some scattered throughout. Down at the far end of the park there was a grove of pine trees.

On a typical fall weekend, the neighborhood kids would rake the leaves into huge piles and jump in them and toss the leaves in the air. This would ultimately morph into grabbing fistfuls of leaves and winging them at each other and stuffing them in each others faces. I remember going home for dinner more than once with leaves and twigs clinging to my sweater like Velcro, me sneezing the whole way with the taste of leaves in my mouth.

Sometimes we would make the leaf piles into poor imitations of snow forts. This is where the acorns came in.

When the leaf fights were done, we would spend time collecting acorns until our pockets were full. Once our pockets were full we would have to go home to get paper lunch bags and then fill them with acorns too. After everyone had collected enough, war would break out. Acorns would be flying in every direction. My lousy aim would be even worse because I would be throwing acorns blindly as I was running away...usually yelling "No fair!". Most of the others had similar battle strategies...everyone that is except Karl.

Karl was the lunatic who lived across the park from us. He was a few years older than us and had a sneer on his face that looked like he was born with a cigarette in his mouth...a lit cigarette...unfiltered. He also had a mean streak in him the likes of which I haven't seen since, thank God. Karl always had sacks filled with acorns that were larger than anyone's. These were large mutant acorns that he got from some secret stash he wouldn't reveal. I think he also had a few rocks mixed in. He would whip these "acorns" at us with an intensity that made Ahab look like a piker. When Karl showed up, it was "Game Over". The rest of us scattered to the shelter of our homes before we ended up covered with welts. We'd cower inside until Karl finally got bored and went after some other prey. Then we could safely go back outside.

Rather than risk attracting Karl again by playing something that might somehow appeal to his violent streak, we would go more low key. And slightly hidden. We would head down to the pine trees at the end of the park.

The ground below the pine trees was bare for most of the year but in the fall there would be a decent cover of needles. The neighborhood kids would rake the needles into long, narrow rows forming circles and squares into what eventually looked roughly like the floor plan of a house, which was appropriate since these were meant be our pine needle houses. Hallways from room to room weaved like a maze. Breaks in the "walls" were made for the doorways and there would be outrage if someone stepped over a wall rather than use the door like a decent person. Some of the room outlines had smaller rooms inside which were the closets. A small square would be formed in one of the corners of a room and we would crisscross sticks inside it. This was our fireplace. Across from the fireplace, mats of leaves and needles made the bed. I remember lying in those beds looking up at the tree branches, the smell of the leaves and the pine needles all around me.

And as I was raking the leaves yesterday, I was thinking about Sam not having or even wanting that experience. And I wondered if this is it the way it is with most kids or is it just Sam's style? Certainly Sam doesn't like to get dirty and he's not one to socialize, but still, he's missing out on the thrill of pulling pine needles out of this pants, the taste of leaves in his mouth. And that's not to mention the sting of acorns on his face and arms...

Screen Saver Mode... or Blue Screen?

To give you an idea of how my day is going, all I have in my mind right now is the image of Pee Wee Herman dancing on the bar while "Tequila" is playing in the background.

Dirty Business

An evening of teaching Sam how to collect the trash. In a few more weeks I hope to have him cooking me dinner.

'Tis the Season

Here on the farm, November first is always havoc. That's because the day after Halloween is traditionally Turkey Tagging Day.

No matter how early I get up, there's always families gathering down at the gate; moms and dads bleary eyed while their kids fidget with excitement As the crowd grows and anticipation builds, I like to tease them a little. I walk slowly past the window in my bathrobe, first this way, then that, a cup of coffee here, a bowl of cereal there. Out of the corner of my eye I can make out their silhouettes in the moonlight, shaking in the cold and dark of the predawn, everyone waiting for that magic moment for the crow of the rooster that signals "It's time!"

As the hours tick by, I get dressed and go back downstairs. As I slowly open the door, the crowd's chatter turns to cheers. Frost bitten fists pump the air.

"Sorry folks," I say, "just getting my paper." Their faces drop. Man, I love this time of year.

Another hour goes by and the first rays of light hit the field. A wisp of steam rises from the frost covered ground. Larry the rooster perks up and gives the signal. Another cheer goes up from the crowd.

Getting on my coat, I saunter out to the gate, jingling my keys in one hand, with a fistfull of tags in the other. I stop occasionally and lightly kick the dirt, examine the bottom of my shoe a bit. The excitement builds. The buzz of the crowd grows louder and louder. So does the chattering of their teeth.  Finally, I reach the fence. The crowd is pressing so hard it's tough to unlock the gate. I manage to turn the key and the lock drops to the ground. The crowd bursts on through. Everyone is grabbing tags from my hand as they race on by. My arm is almost ripped off. "Easy people, easy!", I say, but I know they won't listen. Everyone is eager to get their perfect turkey. "Print your name clearly people!", I say, but they're off and running. I can only chuckle to myself and shake my head. It's the same every year.

The next twelve hours are a blur of feathers, mud and more feathers. Kids are running in every direction- some are chasing, some are getting chased. Parents are trying to keep up. Squeals of excitement are nearly drowned out by the frantic gobbling of the turkeys. I spend most of my time watching, collecting ticket stubs and money and getting after the kids. "Sorry son, not responsible for all that scratchin'. Read the fine print.", I say. Or, "Hey sonny, you can ride the turkey after you pay for him."

It's good clean family fun. Nothing warms my heart like seeing families brought together by chasing live animals across my seven acres. That's what holidays are all about: bring families together and making money.

Trick or Treat

Sam was a cowboy for Halloween this year, but his heart wasn't in it. It could be because he's getting older. It could be because for the first time, he's the only one of the kids home this Halloween. Or it could be that he's never really enjoyed Halloween to begin with.

Whatever the reason, the first clue came when I mentioned to him that the Rag Shag parade was being held in town on Friday evening and that I could bring him. He didn't answer right away and he had that look on his face that said, "How am I going to get out of this and not hurt anyone's feelings?" As he was trying to come up with an answer, I tried to make it clear that this was for him, not me, and it was about having fun.

It turns out that having "fun" this year meant not going trick or treating in town. This was fine by me. It's usually pretty crowded. And while I don't mind it when it's crowded with kids having a good time, I don't want to be one of those parents dragging around a kid who would rather not be there.

Sunday night was the "real" Halloween. At the first hint of darkness, Sam put on his outfit, with a layer of p.j.'s and long underwear underneath, and we headed out about 5:30 to our usual places. Sam gamely let us take him around to the houses and he did a great job. I would wait at the edge of the lawn as Sam would go up and ring the doorbell. He would always say "trick or treat" before anyone even got the door open, and he always said "thank-you" before he left.

We went to a few houses in the old neighborhood. The Old Neighborhood is about four or five miles away and its where my parents used to live. We had been bringing the kids there on Halloween starting with my oldest. Long after my Mom and Dad moved away, we continued to go there.

For years the big attraction has been a house about half way through our route where they would give out stuffed animals rather than candy. As we got closer to this house, Sam began dropping clues that the end was in site. He would say, "Maybe a couple of more." and "It's OK if we don't do those houses over there."

He got a little hippo from the stuffed animal lady's house and as he walked away, he had that look again. I asked him if he would like to go on or would he like to head back?

With the same look that he had before, he said, "Well... I'm sure they won't mind."
"Who won't mind?"
"The neighbors. I'm sure they won't mind if we don't go to their houses."
"No Sam, they won't mind at all."
 And we headed back to the car.

We were home before 7:30.

It all felt a little sad; sad in part because it represented another end of an era. But it also felt like I had been making an old dog do a trick "one more time" and it clearly wasn't a trick he was preforming for his enjoyment.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. Sam doesn't like to call attention to himself. He's not a big candy eater. So, for some reason, stumbling up to a stranger's house alone in the dark on a cold night, begging for candy while wearing a cowboy costume just doesn't hold much appeal for him.

Maybe he just doesn't like cowboys.

Wrong on So Many Levels

Why is there popcorn on the floor of the men's bathroom stall at work? What pig is eating popcorn while they're sitting on (or standing in front of ) the toilet?

You're eating popcorn while you're going to the bathroom???

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???

Another Lesson in Life

It's pouring rain outside; pouring harder than I have seen it in quite some time. And I'm thinking of Sam.

Sam is on a field trip today and a field trip is far from his favorite thing to do.

Sam's a worrier. He worries about people getting hurt. He worries about people's feelings. He worries about doing the right thing. If there is something to worry about, Sam will find it.

Sam also likes routine. He needs to know what to expect and he is not comfortable with change... pretty much like anyone, except more obsessive. When there is change, he worries about it.

So there is this field trip and he worries about getting lost. He worries about the long ride. He worries about getting back late and having time to do the things he wants to do.

I've done the best I can to prepare him, starting when the trip was mentioned in the papers sent home. Little by little, we've talked about the trip and his worries and how it would affect his day. He's voiced all the concerns he's able or willing to, some more than once and some, I'm sure, not at all.

I've tried to give him encouragement and support, while being truthful and be positive about it.

And as of last night, he finally seemed to be ok with the idea of going on this field trip, at least willing to give it a try.

We went for a ride and talked a bit more and when we were done talking, he was quiet for a minute or two. Then, with that tense, uncomfortable expression on his face, he added, " I just hope it doesn't rain."

...

Update: Sam got back from his trip and said he had a great time.

Monday

6:40 AM- Arrive at my office. Met by a Manager who is screaming at me about all the problems "in this place". Listened to the litany for 15 minutes. Don't even have my jacket off yet.

7:10 AM- Wrong material is shipped for a job that is already late. Supplier promises it to me "right away". (Never shows up).

7:15 AM- Customer calls saying I have given him the wrong information. (Turns out, after much digging, it's his mistake).

Day goes down hill from here.

Been at work barely a half hour. Some days it doesn't pay to get up.

Random Notes From the Past

 from June 19th, 1996:

"Yesterday I called home from work. It seems that Jake had caught a toad and he had been playing with it for the better part of the day. When he went to let it go, he accidentally stepped on it, and it died. He was heartbroken. All the kids were upset. They gave the toad a little funeral, burying him by the back steps and putting flowers on his grave. Rachael went to be by herself on the swings and started to cry. Her Mom asked her if she was all right. Rachael said she just needed to be alone.

Jake was sobbing almost uncontrollably when I talked to him, saying, “M-M-My toad got k-killed. I s-stepped on him by mistake (sob). H-H-He w-was just s-starting to s-stick out his tongue (sob).”

I told him how sorry I was to hear it; that I knew he felt bad; that I knew it was an accident. I listened to him for a little while, and felt terrible.

By the time I came home, everyone seemed to have calmed down. Jake mentioned the toad again, but that was about it. Later that night, when I tucked him in and gave him a kiss, Jake said quietly to me, “I miss my toady."  I said “I know you do honey. I’m sorry he’s gone.” I patted him a few minutes and told him I loved him. He closed his eyes and rolled over.

I went to say goodnight to the girls. After kissing Rachael, I went over and sat on the edge of  Helaina’s bed. Helaina sat up and fidgeted a minute. Pulling herself against me, she said, “Daddy, you know what I might want to tell you when I get older?” I put my arm around her. “No honey, what?” “Well, when I get older, I might want to tell you that I’m scared of dying.” And she started to cry. I held her and talked with her and listened for a while, doing my best to comfort her. Finally, I kissed her goodnight and as I left, I  told the girls that I loved them both very much, and that I would peek at them later.

During the night, Jake awoke with a bad dream. I rubbed his back for a while. He couldn’t say what it was about, but I can guess. He ended up coming into bed with me, clutching his Goodnight Moon Bunny and his blankey. I rubbed his back as we both went to sleep."

How Many Fish Sticks Do You Want?

It's pretty pathetic when I can make dinner for the whole house using nothing but the toaster oven.

Those Damn Kids Must Have Been Early

Why are there empty bags of Halloween candy in the trash and it's not Halloween yet?

Sometimes, It's Better

I wish I was creative enough to be able to write about some of the simpler and more meaningful things in my life without sounding both overly sentimental and outright boring. (And actually, I guess the "boring" part applies pretty much across the board).

With three of the four kids away at school, it gets awful quiet around here; quiet at least, in the kind of background activity I like.

Last weekend I celebrated a birthday. All the kids were home for a couple of days and we went apple picking together on Saturday. It was a great time: beautiful weather, out in the country, doing something special together.

For me the best gift came after.

I was in the kitchen making apple pancakes for the kids for dinner. While I'm pealing apples, Jake and Sam are in the other room playing together. Helaina and Rachael had decided to go through some bags that were in the attic and I could hear their laughter and talk from upstairs. It was a chance to be home together. That was my real gift.

Later the next day, I got to go on a walk through the woods with Jake before I brought him back to college.

Yesterday, I drove down to UMass hoping to see Jake march to the stadium, but I was too late. I went back home wondering how he was doing. I knew he was having a busy and emotional day, and I didn't want to bother him by calling. I figured I would give him some space and hopefully catch him later in the week.

Last night, Jake called me. I could tell from his voice he was drained. And, when I asked, he said, "Yeah, a little", which is unusual for Jake. We talked for a few minutes. I told him that I missed him earlier and he said he had looked for me, which caught me by surprise. I suggested that I pick up him up and we walk around the mall for a bit. I was surprised again when he said it sounded like a good idea.

So I drove down, picked him up, and we walked around the mall with a few of his friends trailing behind. We talked a little about his day and talked a little about his plans. But mostly, it was the kind of small talk people share when they are interrupting the silence of just spending time together.

All the Ingredients

Grocery shopping with Sam: 
1 box of Ice Cream Sandwiches
2 Bottles of Apple Juice
1 Bag of Pretzel Sticks
1 Hotwheel
2 Bakugan toys on clearance

We're all set.

Pass the Popcorn!

Thank God I took today off. Otherwise, I might have missed the Rachael Ray Show which is now blaring on the TV behind me.

I'm told that after the commercial break, we're going to see Julie's "new look".

Yes!

In my heart, I am applauding as wildly as the women in the audience.

I think it is time to let Sam go on the computer and save him from this. I will throw myself on the grenade.

It's All About Customer Service.

I was in Stop and Shop the other day, third person in the "Express" line. Apparently I have a misunderstanding of what they mean by "express". I thought they meant "fast". What they really mean is that the cashier, in this case "Tracy", gets to express herself to every customer that slowly makes it through the line (which, by the way, was rapidly increasing behind me).

By the time I realized there was a potential problem, it was too late. I had already dumped my items onto the conveyor belt and I was now trapped by the people getting in line behind me.

"Front of the Line Person" decides that she wants to pay for her items as three separate transactions. "No problem!" says Tracy. She's here to help! The first transaction comes to $10.19 and FLP hands Helpful Tracy a twenty dollar bill. Helpful Tracy asks, "Do you have 19 cents? That way I can give you back a ten." FLP fishes in her mini suitcase for about three minutes for ANY sign of change. Helpful Tracy is blathering on in an obvious attempt to make a new friend by displaying her skill at Customer Service.

FINALLY, FLP tells Helpful Tracy not to worry about it; to just give her the change. But Helpful Tracy will have none of that! Keep looking, we've got time!

Another two minutes goes by as FLP continues to fish around in the "purse" eventually producing a small handful of change. She holds it out for Helpful Tracy's approval. Both of them smile at each other. I think they're in love. Between the two of them, it takes another minute and a half to figure out which of the coins add up to the elusive nineteen cents. They're laughing at all their silliness. What great fun!

After this pathetic ordeal, the register eventually spits out a receipt and, barely catching a breath, Helpful Tracy  again springs into action. She explains the entire receipt to FLP who is listening with that same rapt attention that a kid does when they're read a bedtime story. (Note to Helpful Tracy: You've got the Gas Points wrong! It takes one hundred points to get one dime off per gallon of gas! Read the explanation at the bottom of the receipt! IT'S ALL RIGHT THERE!!!).

This scene plays out almost word for word throughout FLP's next two transactions: the fishing for change, the blathering on, the explanation of the receipt (including the misinformation of the gas points), everything! What's going on here? Does Helpful Tracy have some kind of problem? Does she not realize that this is the exact same person she has been waiting on for the last thirteen minutes?

Eventually, Front of the Line Person pushes her cart away, smiling sweetly. She moves on with her "life" having been fully immersed in the Customer Service Experience. I'm hoping I can move on with my life too.

Next up, it's Over the Limit Lady's turn. OLL had been getting just as impatient as me. But OLL knew she was over the limit and so, wisely, refused to to make eye contact with me. Too bad too, because while Helpful Tracy was basting FLP in Customer Service, I had been honing my look of utter contempt, ready to direct it at Over the Limit Lady for her breach of the twelve item rule. I was ready for the eye contact.

I waited for Over the Limit Lady to turn and look at me in a vain attempt to bond over this mess. But I wasn't going to go along with it. Instead, I used my time to rehearse my routine: when Over the Limit Lady would attempt to bond, I would glare at Over the Limit Lady for a split second. Then I would divert my eyes and glare at her groceries before finally retuning my glare back at her. It would be Ice Cold. I would shake my head and frown to emphasize my displeasure.

But the eye contact never came. OLL outsmarted me, and it only served to increase my building rage.

Over the Limit Lady was now making friends with Helpful Tracy. OLL breaks the ice by joking about how she has twenty-three items when the limit is twelve, and "I hope you don't arrest me". Ha-ha! Helpful Tracy laughs. They both agree this is very funny. I'm scanning the other registers for the Manager. Helpful Tracy counts the items and sure enough, there's twenty-three! No Problem! (Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out how Helpful Tracy can count to twenty-three but has trouble making nineteen cents in change.)

This becomes another bonding experience when Helpful Tracy once again displays her vast grocery knowledge for each item she is ringing up. She has Over the Limit Lady hanging on every word.

"This is ridiculous", I think to myself. "What do I do here? What's my plan?" I'm next in line, but this is meaningless. Do I make something up? Do I say, "Oh, I forgot the soup!", leave my stuff, and then bolt down an aisle and out the exit? "I'll be seen", I think, "Maybe I know someone here and I will somehow be held responsible for holding things up even further."  I'm starting to sweat.

I tough it out and decide I will punish Helpful Tracy when it's my turn. I will refuse to smile at Helpful Tracy . "Tough love", I think to myself. "She deserves nothing less."

Finally, Helpful Tracy is up to the receipt review. "...and you just earned forty-nine Gas Points!", says Helpful Tracy. "Gas Points?" asks Over the Limit Lady, "What are those?" "It means you get forty-nine cents off a gallon of gas!" says Helpful Tracy. NO. IT. DOES. NOT. READ. THE. DAMN. RECEIPT!!!!!

Over the Limit Lady strolls away. I take comfort in the fact that she will be getting screwed the next time she gets gas. Let's see how funny twenty-three items is when that happens.

Finally, FINALLY, it is my turn. Helpful Tracy tries weaving her magic, but it is not working on me. She talks about my groceries. She talks about her life. I don't respond. She is not my friend. She has ruined any chance of friendship. Oblivious to my subliminal message of hatred, she reads my receipt. "Do you know how to use the Gas Points?" she asks. "Yes", I say, "I just used them this morning".  This does not stop her from spewing her misinformation.

Fuming, I finally am able to leave her Aisle of Oblivion. I exit the store to freedom, but as I reach the car, it hits me. I really did forget the soup.

My Cape Cod Vacations, Circa 1965: Part Three

When I was a kid, I thought Cape Cod tourists were divided into two groups: those who liked the "Treasure Island" gift shop and those who liked "The Barefoot Trader".  Both shops were located along Route 28, not far from each other. 

We were definitely "Barefoot Trader" people. I say this because whenever we left "Treasure Island", Mom and Dad would compare it unfavorably to "The Barefoot Trader"... and then we would head over to "The Barefoot Trader".

"Treasure Island" was a store that was shaped like a big treasure chest. I remember it as being huge, packed with stuff out back that I wasn't allowed to touch. In front they had the kid of gifts and souvenirs that I appreciated: pepper gum, hand buzzers, x-ray spec's and the like. Try as I might, I couldn't get Mom to buy me the x-ray spec's. Even though they looked cool with the crazy swirls, she thought they were a waste of money even though Dad was the one who pointed them out to me while he was wearing them. 

X-Ray Specs: Miracle of 60's Technology.

I ended up getting some cool looking fake stones. I think they were meant to go in the bottom of an aquarium (which I didn't own), but I imagined them to be rare jewels; rare jewels that my brother and sisters didn't have.

The Barefoot Trader was an exotic looking building with a sharp pitched roof and big windows in the front. Over the entrance was a life size statue of the "Trader" himself, carrying a sack on a stick and looking a little creepy. It was years before I realized it wasn't called the "Barefoot Traitor"...with his shifty look, it had made perfect sense to me.

Leading off to the right was a sidewalk with bare footprints in the cement, presumably from "the Traitor". The fact that these footprints led away from the building only emphasized to me that this guy was hightailing it out of there. God knows what was in that sack.

The path led over to a giant tiki head which was pretty impressive, especially at night when a spotlight would shine on it. Further around the side was a swing set. Whoever designed the place had the foresight to design in something for the kids to do to while their parents shopped. Or, the swings could have belonged to some unsuspecting neighbor. Either way, I appreciated it.

What I remember most about the Barefoot Trader wasn't in the store, but next door. Off to the right of the store and forward of the swings, was an old house that looked like it was being used for storage. It was borderline deserted- rundown exterior, no curtains on the windows, overgrown grass. Once, in an effort to keep us kids entertained while Mom shopped, Dad snuck over with us to peer into one of the windows. He told us it was a haunted house...and it really looked it.

Trailing behind Dad, I slowly went up to look through the window with him into what was a large, long room. The air seemed a little dusty and it was pretty dark, but you could make out a lot of large boxes nearly filling the room. Some boxes had what appeared to be drapes thrown over them. Along the sides of the room were what looked to be half covered up paintings leaning against the walls. Towards the back of the room was a large ornate mirror, also leaning at an odd angle.

Peaking out from behind this mirror, I could have sworn I saw one of those flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz. It looked right at me, blinked, and ducked back behind the mirror. I was terrorized. I tried to get Dad's attention but when I turned back, it was gone. Somewhere in that building there was an evil monkey flying around.

I knew better than to say anything at this point. This would be chalked up to me hallucinating from too much candy and soda. But too much candy and soda only made me hallucinate about more candy and soda. I didn't need to listen to the ridicule and scoffing that would surely follow my discovery. This was real and I knew better than to hang around. It was every man for himself. I ran back to the car. Let that monkey feast on someone else.

From that point on, every time we went to "The Barefoot Trader", I preferred to stay in the car.
The others would get out of the car and walk away toward the store and I would hear: "What's the matter with Rick?"
"Oh, let him stay in the car", would come the disdainful answer.

But I knew... I knew.

My Cape Cod Vacations, Circa 1965: Part Two

Having survived the beach at Cape Cod and once everybody freshened up, we hit the road hit the road to do a little sight seeing. There was a lot to chose from: trampolines, go-carts, Storyland. You name it, all were close by. We weren't too far from the center of Hyannis, so that's where we would often go.

Hyannis was like a lot of towns in the 60's: bustling, with a generous allotment of newsstands, pharmacies and department stores. Since this was Cape Cod, it had also had other stores and attractions unique to the area.

One attraction Hyannis had was another penny candy store. This candy store didn't have the charm of the other store. It was more brightly lit and it was set up with a large table in the middle of the room on which all the various boxes of candy were laid out. A person would pick up a basket in one corner and walk around to the adjoining corner, filling the basket as they went. This was a big mistake.

Without the buffer of another party between me and the candy, I had the basket overflowing in no time. Even allowing for the candy Dad made me put back, I still left with two small bags stuffed full. With my sweaty, sticky hands clasped around the tops of the bags, we were off to to other stores.

We would work our way down Main Street popping in and out of various places, most of which held little or no interest to me. Gradually Mom and my sisters would head in one direction. Dad, Steve and I would head in another...usually ending up at the mini golf.

The mini golf in the center of Hyannis was pretty low tech, nothing like today's courses. There was a spinning wind mill, a spinning water wheel and a blinking light bulb at the top of a eight foot light house. Everything else was stationary, like stacked barrels or an Indian shading his eyes as he looked off into the distance (probably looking for his ball). It was fine by me though. I thought it was pretty cool. And when it was nighttime, it was almost magical.

Playing mini golf would take quite a bit of time. One reason it took a long time was that it was a full eighteen holes. Another reason was because I stunk. Most of the time was taken up with either my multitudes of swings, or was spent looking for where my ball went when it invariably bounced off the wooden perimeter. Steve addressed it with the expected patience of any typical older brother. That is to say, none at all.

Dad did the usual Dad type stuff, like accidentally nudging my ball closer to the hole with his foot or "forgetting" to include most of my strokes. All this only served to inflame Steve more. Still, I always lost anyway. Usually by a lot. But I had a good time...especially if Dad played too. Steve could take comfort in knowing I had to cheat to lose. So, it worked out for all of us.

By the time we were done, the girls had caught up with us and we would all walk a little further down to the Planter's Peanut store where a life-size Mr. Peanut stood outside (assuming "life-size" for Mr. Peanut meant around six feet). You could smell the peanuts from outside. The store was warm inside from a couple of old tumblers roasting the peanuts.

Afterward, we would go back to the car and head off to a couple of gift shops or souvenir stores. Usually it would be either Treasure Island or the Barefoot Trader.

My Cape Cod Vacations, Circa 1965: Part One

I love Cape Cod and have since I was a kid, though the reasons why have changed over the years.

When I was a kid, my family and I would would often vacation on the Cape. It was one of our top three vacation spots. In my hazy memory, it's tough to recall how often we would go or how long we would stay, but it seems like it was fairly frequent. We lived about an hour and a half away and most of our trips were weekend events.

All seven of us would squeeze into the Rambler station wagon and take off with the vinyl rooftop carrier clinging to the top of the car for dear life. I got to ride in the "way back" with the remaining luggage. At the time I think I wanted that spot. But looking back, I suspect I was told I wanted it. This being the days before seat belts, it meant that I was as much of a potential projectile as the suitcases. I think this was all part of the plan.

Once on the Cape, we would head to the beautiful Sands Motor Lodge. We would wait with excitement while Dad checked us in at the motel office. I hoped it was a room that was near the ice and soda machines. (Dad would disagree. He claimed it was noisy with people traipsing back and forth at all hours. I felt it was a small price to pay for the convenience of ice cold soda).

When Dad got back to the car, the seven of us would unload into one motel room. This was made easy because: 1) The car was parked right outside of the motel room, and 2) I spent most of my time checking out the accommodations instead of helping. The fact that I had taken the initiative to find out what was in the soda machine while the others unpacked seemed to be unappreciated.

As everyone claimed their spots, my oldest sister, Karen, would puff away on an air mattress. I would fill the complimentary ice bucket from the ice machine.

The Beautiful Sands Motor Lodge (that's not us)

After unpacking and suiting up, we were off again. First stop (I hoped): The Penny Candy Store. Back then the candy really was a penny. The candy was displayed behind an old fashioned glass case like something you might have seen in an old general store. You would have to ask the woman behind the counter for one of this and one of that and she would keep a tally in her head as she dropped the pieces into a bag. It was a little slower than today's "grab and stuff" method, but it built up the anticipation.

When we reached our limit, each of us would leave with our little striped brown bag filled with the day's catch: licorice strips, some kind of candy dots that you had to bite off of paper strips (barely worth the effort), Mary Janes, refreshing colored sugar water in little wax bottles, "Squirrels" (God knows why they called it that. Don't ask, just eat.), and all the other usual standards like Atomic Fire Balls, Jaw Breakers and something that was supposed to resemble a mini ice cream cone.

From there it was a short ride to the beach.

The beach was usually crowded, but dragging our monstrous plaid beach bag behind us, we always managed to stake out a spot. Even though we had a beach umbrella, out would come the Sea 'n' Ski suntan lotion. We would all get lathered up, like it or not. Dad, being bald, would have lotion globbed on his head and nose. I don't remember it helping much, but I guess the effort made him feel better.

For me, the beach was a letdown after the candy store. I had what I wanted, why go any further? The choice between eating candy at the motel versus potentially drowning at the beach seemed like a no-brainer to me. Still, I went along with the rest of the family (as if I had a choice).  If it meant biting into sand covered licorice strips, I was willing to pay the price. Just pass me the occasional Wash'n Dry to clean the sand off of my sticky fingers before I reached in the candy bag again.

Sometimes I might venture into the water with a float. I don't think the beach had any rules back then as to when you could or couldn't use floats. If you wanted to risk your life and drift away, that was your problem. The lifeguards were only there to drag the bodies out of the way after they washed up on shore.

The floats we had back in those days were built to last. They were heavy rubberized canvas, not the cheap vinyl type that's foisted on naive tourists today. Those things could support a whole family. If it wasn't for the bright colors, you would swear they were army surplus. The biggest problem with those floats was that after a day in the water, your armpits would be raw from rubbing against the canvas while paddling.

One time, as I was bobbing with the waves, I looked up to find I had drifted so far down the beach I couldn't see the rest of the family. Paddling like my life depended on it, which it probably did, I finally made it to shore. Dragging my float behind me, I searched the crowds for what seemed like hours until I finally found everyone. Naturally, no one even knew I had been missing. I suspected it was just as well. Had they realized I was gone, they might have packed up and left. "Nice try", I thought to myself, "but you missed your chance." I settled back down on the beach blanket with my only true friend- the candy bag.

As the day went on and I got more bored, we would slowly gather up to head back to the motel. Dad would bring me and my brother to the public bathrooms before we left. They were pay toilets back in those days. I would often be the one to scoot under the stall door and open it for my brother and Dad. I felt this more than compensated for the investment Dad had made in my rapidly decreasing candy stash.

Finally, back at the car, armpits stinging form my near death experience and wiped down with another Wash'n Dry, we would head back to the motel to shower and regroup before heading out on another adventure. While the others showered, I would wash down all that candy with a bottle of  grape soda- ice cold... just the way I like it.

Hopefully we would be heading back to the penny candy store soon. I was beginning to run low.

I love you Jake.

Ouch

I'm walking along with my Sam and there's this old guy up ahead. This guy looks like he's been through Hell. He's overweight, all gray (including the skin), bags under his eyes... the works. I feel kind of sorry for him. Sam spots him too and says: "Hey Dad, that guy kind of looks like you."

Signs

Today I was heading toward the highway, and as I was going around the rotary, some guy comes barreling onto it with that frantic look like: "Gotta be first. Gotta be first." He nearly swipes me as I'm trying to get off onto the highway.

I was kind of burning up about this, but then I thought, "Maybe there was someone with him that was hurt. Maybe someone's bleeding to death in the backseat." That made me a little feel better.
A little later down the highway there was a toilet wrapped in a clear plastic bag lying on it's side in the breakdown lane.
A accident perhaps...or a sign of the coming apocalypse?

Time Marches On

I had to work late tonight and for the first time in almost twenty years, I almost missed the Fair Parade. In hindsight, I'm not sure how I feel about that.

For some reason, the parade didn't have the same sparkle, the same pizazz. Maybe it's because I'm getting older (which is obvious), maybe its because fewer of my kids were involved. Whatever the reason, it just seemed boring. After an hour, it seemed boring and long. After an hour and a half, I was numb. Even the little kids next to us were asking when it was going to end.

I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why some things were even in the parade. There was a kitchen manufacturer's truck pulling a trailer that consisted of people of various ages sitting on a few pumpkins. That's it, nothing else- no sign or anything. Is this supposed to have something to do with kitchens or the fair or what? What connection am I missing here? What's the message? At least if it they were sitting on a HUGE stack of pumpkins you might think "Wow, look at all those pumpkins"... and then watch to see if someone might fall off.

There was the "Vote No on the Biomass Plant" truck that was making me choke from the diesel exhaust as it traveled in fits and starts along with the rest of the parade. Following behind the truck, marching in the fumes, the "defeat biomass" entourage was jabbing signs in the air. At least they looked happy, but it could be that the fumes were getting to them too.

Float after float went by promoting various politicians and political wannabes, including at least two who were running for State Auditor, whatever that is. I'll bet at least a third of this parade was candidates and their groupies. It is an election year, after all. Some candidates marched along the parade route, smiling and waving at those of us in the crowd. This always makes me uncomfortable. I don't know these people and even if I did, no one normal acts like that. Am I supposed to applaud? Am I supposed to wave? Instead, I just try not to make eye contact.

Sure there were clowns and some were even scary. But not in that "It's Halloween and I'm an insane clown who is going to kill you" kind of way, but scary in that "I belong in a police line-up" kind of way. Some of the clowns looked both tired and sad as they gamely tossed candy into the crowd. If they were trying to liven things up, it wasn't working for either of us. (Hint for next year: instead of tossing candy, consider firecrackers).

As the parade trudged on, even Sam was looking to leave. The promise of cheap necklaces or Tootsie Rolls being tossed his way wasn't going to cut it.

Finally, with the end nowhere in sight, a string of at least nine heavy construction vehicles came inching along. No floats, just trucks. Very shiny trucks. I think to myself, "Why I am sitting here watching this?  I could see the same thing at any construction site traffic jam...but with dirt."

That's when we decided to get up and leave. And we weren't the only ones. Throngs of people, many with lawn chairs and little kids in tow were ahead of us making a break for their cars.

I wanted to like the parade more than this but it just wasn't happening. Maybe next year I'll work a little later.

WHY?... WHY?

Juice was on sale at the grocery store tonight and I didn't buy any because there was no one home to drink it.
Why am I being taunted this way?
I still don't feel right.

The View From the Stands, Part One

I'm not a big sports person. I don't have anything against sports, it's just not my thing. Crowds are also not my thing. So if you put the two together, attending a sporting event should not be near the top of my "To Do" list.

I have, however, attended plenty of sporting events through the years: softball games, track meets, basketball games, soccer matches, field hockey games, cross country meets, tennis matches and even parts of football games. I've always enjoyed them.

Today I watched a football game from start to finish for, I think, the first time in my life. I had a good time.  It's exciting to see "my" team get closer to the goal, but I don't get the game at all (Well, I do get that if you score a touchdown, that's a good thing. I'm not a complete idiot).

There's a lot I don't get. I don't get "Downs". I don't get the penalties (or most of them anyway). I don't get what they're doing with that rope thing with the poles at either end (looks like some rudimentary type of surveying, and I think it might be related to the "downs", but I'm not quite sure). I don't get why someone is flipping over big numbers on the sides. I don't get why they'll stop the clock sometimes and not other times.

And speaking of "don'ts", I don't want to listen to someone trying to explain these things to me.

Even though I don't get a lot of it, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy being there today.

Part of the fun is trying to figure out what the hell is going on. Numbers are resetting on the big board and I'm reading the sponsors, wondering how those specific sponsors got involved. Were they asked or did they volunteer? And if they were asked, why weren't others asked as well?

Players are switching off but I'm watching some of the other players drinking from a bucket. They're drinking from a long hose. Is it water or Gatoraid?

Whistles are blowing and players are running back and forth while I'm looking at the letters on the refs' backs trying to figure out what they mean.There's an R and a U and an L, but I can't make out the other one.

Next to the watching the marching band, the real fun is watching and listening to the people around me.

To my lower left, there's a bored little grandson playing with his grandfather's face and you can see the love they have for each other in their interaction.

Further in front of me is a young teenage man with special needs who is quite affectionate to someone who appears to be his older brother, and his brother is very giving as well. Often, his older brother has his arm around this young man and this young man frequently rests his head on his brother's shoulder. It's very touching. Later, this same young man is dancing a jig as the marching band is playing accordingly. He's quite good and several people around him applaud in appreciation.

I listen to the men behind me and it's obvious that there are a few players on our team who are idiots when we are losing, but decent players when we're ahead (one favorite expression: "What the hell was that?").

I listen to the band parents expressing pride for their children and the other children as well. I watch as they crane their necks to find their kids in the stand while the game is going on.

As the day winds towards an end, my butt is killing me on the aluminum benches. It's getting colder as the sun is going down and that damn clock keeps stopping with more frequency as it gets closer to the end.

But I stay. I stay for the the same reason I came in the first place; the same reason I've attended every sporting event. Someone I love is involved, in this case my older son.

I was here to share in that experience and to watch with pride and admiration.

And, as usual, it was great.

P.S. We won

I Stand Corrected

I have just been informed by my know-it-all daughter that I have used the wrong "to" in the post below (Should have been "too", not "to".)
Sure, I could go back and correct it, but I prefer to let it stand as a constant reminder of the nature of our relationship.

Want Fries With That?

Went to a job site in Boston today and got pretty hungry on my way back. Decided to swing by McDonald's and got a "Snack Wrap" (most meat per $$$ ratio). Had to pull forward and wait for it. Finally, the most unmotivated girl in the world sauntered over and (barely) handed me the bag. I'm' not to sure why it took so long to make the thing but I'm hoping it had nothing to do with the hickeys all over her neck.

P.S. As I was eating it and got toward the bottom, it had THE LONGEST hair in it I have ever seen. Now I'm more worried than ever.

Come Closer So I Can Thank You

Someone I will never know saved my life today.

There I was, careening towards Main Street at speeds approaching 30 miles per hour when all of a sudden a lady comes out of a side street, runs the stop sign and cuts in front of me. At first I was pissed but as we slowed to a more reasonable 15 miles per hour, I realized she was trying to save my life. She was slowing me down just like in the movie when Spider-Man jumps in front of the train!

How lucky I am, I thought, to have this protector in front of me as I drive to the grocery store. Here she is, not knowing me from any other citizen, yet she chose to protect me from the dangers of driving through town. Who else would break at every fire hydrant and newspaper machine we passed? No telling when one of those might fall into the road!

And look! There's a crosswalk. Sure, there doesn't APPEAR to be anyone anywhere near it. But you never know. Maybe that guy four blocks away will start sprinting and cross before we can stop. That's two lives saved, counting his.

Sure, she knows reckless punks like me might get impatient driving behind her, but she's willing to take the heat.

A true unsung hero and I may never know who she is.

Notes from the Past, Part One

The Scene: A small house on a dead-end street on a warm Saturday in August. It’s early afternoon. The air is warm outside, but cooler in the house. The home is quiet except for the occasional sounds that drift in from outside; sounds of distant traffic and the occasional chirping of birds.

My three small children are upstairs taking naps after a morning of cartoons and running errands to the Post Office, Outlet Store and “the Ducky Place”. I’ve given them lunch and I’m waiting while they rest, waiting for them to wake up.

I stand in the quiet of the living room in front of a large divided window, staring out past the old front porch to the postage stamp yard beyond. The sun is filtering through the leaves of the old maple tree making kaleidoscope patterns on the ground as an imperceptible breeze brushes by. Below the branches, two small swings drift lazily over patches of ground worn bare by little feet.

I can almost hear the laughter of little kids as I watch the swings tilt back and forth.

Standing there, I’m thinking about what a perfect moment in time this is, my kids safe upstairs: resting, well fed, and getting ready for the typical Saturday afternoon to come.

And as I’m taking all of this in I am suddenly seeing this as an old man, standing at this same window, in this same moment. It throws me. There is a strange mix of past, present and future, all happening at once. And I am looking back on this moment as if it was a distant memory. All of the sounds including the laughter are only echos of the past; echos of a time long ago. I linger as I wonder how it all went by so quickly...

Slowly, beds begin to creak above me, scampering feet come down the stairs, and then I’m back again...but I feel the distance that is approaching.

I’m left with thoughts of  an old man and feeling the threat of time, heavier with each approaching day. I’m left with the whispering that I’ve heard so many times since: “Enjoy this moment. It will never come again”.

Where's My Club?

I asked a "Yes" or "No" question about 15 minutes ago and I'm still getting the answer. It has turned into a cross between a story and a one person conversation with themselves. I can get up and leave the room and when I come back, it's still going.
To be fair, the answer has really been more like five minutes long, it's just that it's been repeated three times.
But the really painful part is that each time it's repeated, it's repeated slower and with more pauses. With each pause I think: "It's almost over"...and then it starts up again.
It's like a wounded animal that won't quite die. Every time you think it's gone, the body lets go with another spasm and you don't know whether to stand there and watch it twitch, or put it out of it's misery.

When Do I Start?

Lets say you walk into a job interview and the person conducting the interview stinks of Jack Daniel's and stares at the ceiling tiles the whole time.  How should this be taken? What message does this send?
I ask because I have to conduct an interview tomorrow.

Must Be Broken

I have just noticed that there is a "Stats" page behind this blog and on this "Stats" page it says I have "0" (which I read as "zero") traffic.
What does this mean? Could this mean I'm not popular?

My Life, Act IV

Me: "Sam, I'm going to put something in the compost. If the phone rings, it's ok to answer it, ok?"
Sam (looking up from his game): "Wait, where are you going?"
Me: "To the compost. Just out back. Answer the phone if it rings, ok?"
blank look
Sam: "ah...... ok."
Me: "Wait. How 'bout we practice this. Hang on a second."
Shuffle for my cell phone, find it, dial home.
**Ring**...**Ring**
Me: "Sam, you need to pick it up."
Sam: "Oh, ok."
Picks it up
Me: "Ok, now press the "Talk" button and answer it."
Presses "Talk"
Me: "You need to say "Who is this please?"."
Sam: "It me, Sam."
Me: "No. No. That's what you say. You say, "Who is this please?". Let's try this one more time."
I dial again. Sam picks it up AND presses "talk" (Excellent job, BTW!)
Sam: "Hi"
Me: "No, say: "Who is this please?"
Sam: "It's me, Sam."
Me: **blink**
Third try was the charm.
We'll review this again later.

Burning Question

Why do some chefs wear puffy hats and other chefs wear floppy hats?

I was in a restaurant a while back and I noticed there were two guys behind the counter, each wearing a chef's hat in a different way. What does this mean?

The only thing I can figure out is it must be a sign of rank. I say this because of the look of contempt on Floppy Hat Guy's face. You could just tell that when he looked at Puffy Hat Guy he was thinking "That puffy hat is rightfully mine!"

I imagined a fight breaking out between these two guys, each slapping the other with their spatulas.

I imagined coming in the next day to see Floppy Hat Guy busted down to wearing one of those sailor-type hats that a diner cook would wear.

I imagined dried ketchup still stuck in his matted hair...

Plus he had grill burns on his forehead.

I never went back the next day so I can't say if that actually ended up happening.

What's That Ringing?

Let's play "Guess Who's On the Phone".

To play you need two people- one goes to answer the phone when it starts ringing. We'll call him "Player A". One guesses names. We'll call her "Player B".

Here's how it works: Every time the phone rings, Player A has to get up and get the phone. Player B then rattles off the names of every person who could conceivably be calling before Player A picks it up. The challenge is to get out as many names as possible before the phone is actually answered.

Game play is further enhanced when Player A picks up the phone and tries to talk while Player B gets to run through the list a second time, only this time the names must be rattled off in the form of a question (i.e.: "Who is it? Is it....").

Sadly, there are no winners in this game.

Stop the Presses!

I have just been informed that: 1) "Someone's" wallet was under a box on the porch and we're SURE they will be needing it. 2) That this "someone" is upstairs right now and they still haven't found their bed sheets for College, and 3) They're not even looking for them! They're on their Laptop instead!!!

More updates to follow as this important story unfolds...

Yummy and Informative

You know what makes a story better? When the person telling the story is popping peanuts into their mouth while they're talking. Everything is better with peanuts!
Well, unless you're allergic, I guess. But still...

It's Great Hearing From Old Friends!

Just when I needed it most, I awoke to an email from some friends I haven't heard from in years. Seems the McAfee Team misses me and they are a little concerned. My software has expired (about six years ago, but they don't mention that).

Because they like me, they're giving me a Special Deal to renew! They want me to Be Protected. They care about my peace of mind (*sniff*). They've got my back.

That's what friends do.

Wait a sec... something about money... $14.99??? They want money???

Classic.

I Used to Have a Life

Two posts in two years (well, one really). That's because I used to have a life. More to the point, I used to have kids at home and they each had a life. That translated into a life for me. But right now, that feels a little distant.

One child off to college last week, one off to college today and another goes tomorrow. And this is what my life is reduced to: Sitting at the computer while the TV is blaring "Best Of American Idol" in the background. (I'm not kidding... that's a real show. It's the kind of show that typically plays on late Saturdays for shut-ins or people who want to re-live the past glories of folks who almost made it into People magazine. It's the kind of show they fill with commercials where the announcer is asking about your bowel movements the way most normal people ask about your children.)

Today it's playing and its playing loudly. It seems even more grating without the interruption of human conversation or people coming and going. Or Anything.

My one child left at home is upstairs getting ready for bed while I sit here wondering if it gets any better than this. I feel like I'm trying to kick a habit ..."Just get through the day. Tomorrow will be better."... even though I know it's a lie. But that's the way it is with us addicts...we lie. Mostly to ourselves.

Now another commercial is playing, only this time, its about a woman in a car that is stopped for a train moving over a crossing. She's desperate, she NEEDS a bathroom (and, oh great! Wouldn't you know it...it's raining!).

Apparently, these are the target groups of people who stay inside on beautiful Saturday afternoons: those who can't poop, those who can't stop peeing. And me.

We addicts are an eclectic bunch.

It's going to be a long rest of my life.