Some things are better left unsaid, or better yet ignored completely. Children are always coming up with frustrating questions, but there is one that all parents dread having to deal with. "THE" question. As one could imagine, I generally come out with creative answers for most of them, so many of them in fact that my boys are catching on to the idea that Daddy is the pretty much not the "go to guy" for many of life's lingering mysteries. (For example, last week the 6 year old asked me why elderly people sometimes walk funny, and I told him it is because their adult diapers are full and often chafe.)
The latest barrage of questions actually started a couple of months ago when Josh was watching an awards show with Taylor Swift and suddenly announce that she was dancing nice and it gave him action in the pants. Then last week the three year old backed me into a corner with this gem, "Daddy, how does a baby get into Mommy's belly?" to which I responded, "With a big bottle of wine, and extreme begging!" I heard a squawk from the other room, and realized it was a good time to go for a long walk.
A couple of days later, I was cleaning out a drawer of old papers and the like and stumbled across an article that Josh's doctor gave me when he was 5, stating that it was a good time to discuss sexual matters with your child. I got to thinking about when I learned about the birds and the bees, and how I was oblivious to the concept, and would have remained happily so, but my father sat me down and read from a book about the whole process. I distinctly remember how nervous he was even to the point of shaking as he explained it all to me. I talked to my wife about what the article said, and we decided to gently approach the subject. I took Josh aside and asked him if he ever had heard the "F" word before. He thought about it, and said; "Just when you say it I guess, but sometimes my friend Blaine says dammit!"
We discussed about how boys were different than girls. Not physically of course. More like women are irrational and emotional, yet they are able to rule the planet with a special hidden power that emanates from a special part of their body called "a rack." I also explained a mans ongoing dysfunction of making decisions with their private parts instead of their brains, and their apparent inability to read a map while taking a trip into the unknown. We discussed the proper names for a body parts, so he would stop calling everything in that region his "pee-pee." I asked him if he had any other questions, and after a moment of thought, he asked; "How do you change the oil in the Kia?" I was starting to tell him how you carefully remove the cover, get out a bottle of oil, pull out the dipstick..." at which point my wife burst into the room and asked me just what the hell I was telling him, and told me to get back on script. Sometimes even the innocent explanations sound wrong, but maybe it is just the juxtaposition of it all.
Josh wanted to know how a baby actually grows inside of mommy, so me being the analytical buffoon that I am, got out a pen and paper, explained cellular division theory and the six stages of mitosis. Maybe a bit heavy for a six year old so I tried to bring it back to his level and talked about how a chicken egg grows. Josh kept nodding and acting like it was very interesting, and I was so proud that my little genius was absorbing all of this so well. I put down the pencil and said; " Any more questions?" "Yes Daddy, will you make me some scrambled eggs? I am hungry now."
I have now decided that when it is time for him to learn more, that maybe I will just drop him off at his grandparents and let them explain it, although this could turn out badly as well. I remember when I was a little boy, and hearing my 13 year old sister asking my parents if it hurt to have a baby. My mom, in the manner that has served the Italians well for generations replied; "You betcha it does, you ever try having one, and I am gonna knocka you teeth out!"
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Thursday, February 6, 2014
The Crush
Kids these days. They grow up so fast. Just yesterday my son was a few days old and today he announced that he loved a classmate. Normally this does not warrant any special attention from me, as he frequently tells me he loves one friend or another. He even signed a birthday card to one of his guy friends,"Love, Josh." I had to have a talk with him about the rules we have in society over that one. The talk where we set boundaries about proper macho behavior, such as no talking to dudes while you are peeing in a public restroom, and guy hugs are only to be performed when drunk and/or at a funeral. I let Josh know that it is still OK to grab a guys butt on the football field, as long as you are the quarterback trying to run a play.
This afternoon as I went to pick up Josh from kindergarten he jumps in the van, buckles up and then announces a girl gave him a gift. "A girl gave you a gift? What kind of gift? What is her name?" I asked. " Her name is Jasmynne, spelled with a "Y," and two "N's". My first thought was that was a great stripper name. My second thought was that her parents must be part of some religious cult from the 1960's
Josh then showed me his prize, it was a little tiny flashlight. This changed the game a bit. He would have to reciprocate in some appropriate manner. "You should give Jasmynne a present, Josh. Do you like her?" Josh emphatically answered "YES!!, I love her, and she is my best friend!" Things just got real. I started the harassment. "OOOOOHHH, Josh has a a girlfriend, and he LUUUUUVVVVVVVS her! He wants to MAAAAARRRYYYEEEEEE her and move into an apartment with her.
Josh was quiet as he thought this one over. "Daddy, Can I have my allowance so I can get her a ring with a diamond in it?"
"Josh, how do you know she loves you?" I asked. "Corbin told me, and she just laughed when he said it!" Uh oh. She is not afraid to let him know. Not to mention that he seems very comfortable with the idea. When I was his age, the idea of girls being carriers of cooties overrode any ideations of hearing wedding bells.
"Josh, when do you have time to have dates? It seemed like a question that would stump him, but he said, "We meet at the playground and sometimes we kiss each other." At this point I slammed on the breaks of the van, pulled over and took ten deep breaths. "YOU KISSED HER?" I tried not to yell this but I think the guy in the next vehicle still heard it.
Josh seemed very mater of fact and explained that they would kiss on the cheek. He took a close look at my beet red forehead, and backpedaled. " No, I was just kidding, we have not kissed. But I am going to kiss her soon." Well then, I have nothing to worry about do I? At least her does not have a specific date in mind. Although, Valentines day is just around the corner. He will need to get her an appropriate gift. One that is reciprocal to the degree of present she gave him, but not one that will land me an angry call from a crazed parent. Or worse, get Josh punched in the arm by Jasmynne.
I got that punch once. I was in 3nd grade, at St. Pauls Catholic School. I had it bad for a girl named Amy Keller. Even back at the tender age of 8, I had an appreciation for the whole Catholic schoolgirl outfit, plaid skirt, knee socks and the white shirt. It still sort of works for me, provided the wearer is over 21. Now, kids learn early that it is a horrible mistake to confide a secret love to ones parent. I made mention of it to my mom and the next day I was sent to class with a little box of candy that I was told I had to give to little Ms. Keller. Fortunately, she was out sick that day, so I just slipped it into her desk with a little note. Unfortunately, Sister Mary Lizardo saw my action and hissed out my name as she slithered back to confront me. "What did you take from her desk?"
I pissed myself, and started to stutter: "N,N,N,Nothing, Honest Sister. I just left her a note!"
"Give it to me!" I reached in the desk, took out the note and the Whitman's Sampler, then handed it over. The Serpent then read the note, smiled sweetly then softly said to put it back, it would be our secret. JUST KIDDING, she made me read the note to the entire class. "Dear Amy, I like you, would you be my valentine?" I was the center of ridicule. I was mortified, and felt so small. Never mind that it was mid October, and Valentines was months away. Never mind that I was now scarred for life and would never have the courage to ask a girl out again until I was 25.
Thank God it was Friday and maybe the class would forget this little travesty. Then next week, I was sitting at my desk, and felt a sharp pain on my arm. Amy was smiling nervously and thanked me for the present. We never made eye contact or spoke ever again. The next year I transferred out of that school to a place that had never heard of vindictive nuns or autumn valentines.
This afternoon I called to Josh and asked what he wanted to do about a present for his new squeeze. He thought about it and disappeared for a while. after about twenty minutes he emerged from his room with a broken item from his toy box. "Here Dad, can we wrap this for her? I looked at it and beamed. Nothing says lovin like a Tonka truck with no wheels and 3 Sesame Street stickers on it.
"Sure Josh, lets do that right away."
I have a feeling I won't have to pay for a wedding dinner any time soon.
This afternoon as I went to pick up Josh from kindergarten he jumps in the van, buckles up and then announces a girl gave him a gift. "A girl gave you a gift? What kind of gift? What is her name?" I asked. " Her name is Jasmynne, spelled with a "Y," and two "N's". My first thought was that was a great stripper name. My second thought was that her parents must be part of some religious cult from the 1960's
Josh then showed me his prize, it was a little tiny flashlight. This changed the game a bit. He would have to reciprocate in some appropriate manner. "You should give Jasmynne a present, Josh. Do you like her?" Josh emphatically answered "YES!!, I love her, and she is my best friend!" Things just got real. I started the harassment. "OOOOOHHH, Josh has a a girlfriend, and he LUUUUUVVVVVVVS her! He wants to MAAAAARRRYYYEEEEEE her and move into an apartment with her.
Josh was quiet as he thought this one over. "Daddy, Can I have my allowance so I can get her a ring with a diamond in it?"
"Josh, how do you know she loves you?" I asked. "Corbin told me, and she just laughed when he said it!" Uh oh. She is not afraid to let him know. Not to mention that he seems very comfortable with the idea. When I was his age, the idea of girls being carriers of cooties overrode any ideations of hearing wedding bells.
"Josh, when do you have time to have dates? It seemed like a question that would stump him, but he said, "We meet at the playground and sometimes we kiss each other." At this point I slammed on the breaks of the van, pulled over and took ten deep breaths. "YOU KISSED HER?" I tried not to yell this but I think the guy in the next vehicle still heard it.
Josh seemed very mater of fact and explained that they would kiss on the cheek. He took a close look at my beet red forehead, and backpedaled. " No, I was just kidding, we have not kissed. But I am going to kiss her soon." Well then, I have nothing to worry about do I? At least her does not have a specific date in mind. Although, Valentines day is just around the corner. He will need to get her an appropriate gift. One that is reciprocal to the degree of present she gave him, but not one that will land me an angry call from a crazed parent. Or worse, get Josh punched in the arm by Jasmynne.
I got that punch once. I was in 3nd grade, at St. Pauls Catholic School. I had it bad for a girl named Amy Keller. Even back at the tender age of 8, I had an appreciation for the whole Catholic schoolgirl outfit, plaid skirt, knee socks and the white shirt. It still sort of works for me, provided the wearer is over 21. Now, kids learn early that it is a horrible mistake to confide a secret love to ones parent. I made mention of it to my mom and the next day I was sent to class with a little box of candy that I was told I had to give to little Ms. Keller. Fortunately, she was out sick that day, so I just slipped it into her desk with a little note. Unfortunately, Sister Mary Lizardo saw my action and hissed out my name as she slithered back to confront me. "What did you take from her desk?"
I pissed myself, and started to stutter: "N,N,N,Nothing, Honest Sister. I just left her a note!"
"Give it to me!" I reached in the desk, took out the note and the Whitman's Sampler, then handed it over. The Serpent then read the note, smiled sweetly then softly said to put it back, it would be our secret. JUST KIDDING, she made me read the note to the entire class. "Dear Amy, I like you, would you be my valentine?" I was the center of ridicule. I was mortified, and felt so small. Never mind that it was mid October, and Valentines was months away. Never mind that I was now scarred for life and would never have the courage to ask a girl out again until I was 25.
Thank God it was Friday and maybe the class would forget this little travesty. Then next week, I was sitting at my desk, and felt a sharp pain on my arm. Amy was smiling nervously and thanked me for the present. We never made eye contact or spoke ever again. The next year I transferred out of that school to a place that had never heard of vindictive nuns or autumn valentines.
This afternoon I called to Josh and asked what he wanted to do about a present for his new squeeze. He thought about it and disappeared for a while. after about twenty minutes he emerged from his room with a broken item from his toy box. "Here Dad, can we wrap this for her? I looked at it and beamed. Nothing says lovin like a Tonka truck with no wheels and 3 Sesame Street stickers on it.
"Sure Josh, lets do that right away."
I have a feeling I won't have to pay for a wedding dinner any time soon.
Monday, October 28, 2013
AARP : Declares Kids Shows A Danger For Senior Citizens.
Editors Note:
I am going to interrupt my normal subject matter with some pieces that I wrote a while back. Over the next few days, I will be posting some satirical material. I hope you will enjoy them.
-Mark
PHOENIX, AZ. –
Researchers for The American Association of Retired People have found that senior citizens who are forced to endure certain children’s programs have an 80 percent higher mortality rate than the national average. During a double blind study, people over the age of 50 who were exposed to the insane babble of Barney, Tele-Tubbies, or Veggie Tales videos while babysitting their grandchildren were likely to commit suicide 200 times more often than those in the control group.
Senior men over the age of 73 were found to have a higher incidence stroke or heart attack after watching "The Doodle Bops", presumably because the chick is kinda hot. One heart attack victim, Harold Niemeyer, was interviewed in a Miami- Dade I.C.U. after experiencing a myocardial infarction. He stated: “I would still like to tickle her ‘Ivory’s’ and not the ones on her keyboard dress, if you know what I mean.” Mr. Niemeyer’s wife then reportedly pulled the plug on his respirator.
Other more extreme cases were found during the case studies. Three percent of all grandparents who were repeatedly subjected to Second Hand Singing, or “S.H.S.” from toddlers who continually and loudly sang songs The Barney Song, were actually found to die of massive brain trauma.
Even the musical numbers of seemingly innocuous Sesame Street characters such as Elmo and Cookie Monster were found to have correlation to nervous breakdowns with repeated exposures. Mayo Clinic Director of Geriatric Medicine, Dr. Schlomo Chen, weighed in with his latest findings; “The unfortunate truth of the matter is that many of these children’s songs have catchy tunes, and become self propagating ear worms that the victim continues to hear long after the children have turned off their videos or CD’s and have gone to sleep. In fact, hearing the “Elmo Song” one too many times was reportedly the reason that actor James Gandolfini perished while vacationing with his family in Italy, earlier this year.
As it turns out, “C” is not for cookie, it is for “crazy”.
Adult subjects over the age of 80 were found to have markedly lower susceptibility to S.H.S. Clinical researchers were initially bewildered by the drop in traumatic incidents, until it was discovered that post octogenarians either were completely deaf, or no longer were aware enough of their environment to give a damn.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Ya Don't Say!
I am rounding the corner into a new phase of middle aged fatherhood. One where both of my children are past being babies and are on their way to normal little children. It is a relief in one sense, as they are getting are articulate and able to express their needs and desires without crying and pointing. " I want some juice", or "Can I have an XBox?" Unfortunately, they are also able to express their feelings of outrage at having a older and therefore defective father. I get asked questions like: "Daddy, why are you fat?" or "My friend Tommy says his grandmother knew you in high school, Is that true?" and my favorite; "Daddy, when I grow up can I be better than you?"
One problem (and by extension, their problem) that I am experiencing is selective and non selective hearing loss. The older I get the more I tune out. In my defense, there is a lot of noise to filter. Kids are always humming, screaming, or incessantly begging. The TV is always on. Washer and dryer always running. The wife constantly crying out to God to forgive for whatever she did so she can be set free from this hell.
I have developed a hearing filter that allows only certain kinds of sounds in. Calls to dinner. Items breaking or about to get broken get priority processing. inappropriate dialogue on broadcast media. Any of these will trigger a physical response which sets my body in motion to stop the potentially damaging behavior. Case in point, I was making breakfast this morning and heard something from PBS that triggered the filter. I leaped into action and changed the channel because the narrator said they were going to have a dinosaur *mating* game. My feeling is that if I cannot watch mating rituals on late night cable TV, then my kids cannot see it during the day. There were of course dueling squeals of displeasure, and my wife came to the rescue and switched it back, because they were only having a dinosaur NAMING game. My bad.
I may be at a bit of a disadvantage because our household is frequented by lots of non native English speaking peoples as well as those who do speak English as their first language, they just learned it in a different part of the world. I routinely have to mentally transliterate three year old, British, Chinese, Indonesian, Vietnamese, and various Latin accents. I have gotten good at it and sometimes am called on to translate one accent to another for the benefit of our diverse gatherings.That being said, sometimes the filter does not work as well as it should, sort of like the word recognition program needs tweaking.
Sometimes I can blame the misunderstandings on toddler speak, for example:
"He has a bag eye." (He is a bad guy.)
"Daddy, Cam eye have a gun?" (Daddy, can I have some gum?)
"My wand duh no men." (I want some ramen.)
Other times what I think I hear is plainly inexplicable:
"The green plate is alert." (We are going to be late to church!)
"This puddle pizza wuzzle fit!" (This puzzle piece does not fit.)
My hands down favorite however was:
"I sh** on France!" (I ripped my pants)
My wife says I need to have my hearing checked, but all I hear is; "Unique calves earring stacks." I think she wants me to get something from the dairy store, but I just do not know what.
One problem (and by extension, their problem) that I am experiencing is selective and non selective hearing loss. The older I get the more I tune out. In my defense, there is a lot of noise to filter. Kids are always humming, screaming, or incessantly begging. The TV is always on. Washer and dryer always running. The wife constantly crying out to God to forgive for whatever she did so she can be set free from this hell.
I have developed a hearing filter that allows only certain kinds of sounds in. Calls to dinner. Items breaking or about to get broken get priority processing. inappropriate dialogue on broadcast media. Any of these will trigger a physical response which sets my body in motion to stop the potentially damaging behavior. Case in point, I was making breakfast this morning and heard something from PBS that triggered the filter. I leaped into action and changed the channel because the narrator said they were going to have a dinosaur *mating* game. My feeling is that if I cannot watch mating rituals on late night cable TV, then my kids cannot see it during the day. There were of course dueling squeals of displeasure, and my wife came to the rescue and switched it back, because they were only having a dinosaur NAMING game. My bad.
I may be at a bit of a disadvantage because our household is frequented by lots of non native English speaking peoples as well as those who do speak English as their first language, they just learned it in a different part of the world. I routinely have to mentally transliterate three year old, British, Chinese, Indonesian, Vietnamese, and various Latin accents. I have gotten good at it and sometimes am called on to translate one accent to another for the benefit of our diverse gatherings.That being said, sometimes the filter does not work as well as it should, sort of like the word recognition program needs tweaking.
Sometimes I can blame the misunderstandings on toddler speak, for example:
"He has a bag eye." (He is a bad guy.)
"Daddy, Cam eye have a gun?" (Daddy, can I have some gum?)
"My wand duh no men." (I want some ramen.)
Other times what I think I hear is plainly inexplicable:
"The green plate is alert." (We are going to be late to church!)
"This puddle pizza wuzzle fit!" (This puzzle piece does not fit.)
My hands down favorite however was:
"I sh** on France!" (I ripped my pants)
My wife says I need to have my hearing checked, but all I hear is; "Unique calves earring stacks." I think she wants me to get something from the dairy store, but I just do not know what.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Whatever Floats Your Boat.
Weather is a funny thing. We have been experiencing a drought, but that all came to an abrupt end last week. Rains came and made up for lost time. Now I am not saying we had a flood of biblical proportions, but being that it is Colorado, I am sure that someone loaded up their boat with two dime bags of every variety of marijuana known to man. The rising waters got so bad that my wife mumbled that she would like to kill me in my sleep, hollow out my carcass for a boat, and call it Noah's Mark.
It was not long until the rumors of impending doom started circulating. I heard from an absolutely credible source, the internet, that our water supply was contaminated. I called the city government and they denied it, but suggested that if I was worried I could drink bottled water or boil the tap water before consuming it. Now, I am not normally paranoid, but I thought that it would not hurt to get a few bottles of water. I went to the store and found out there was a run on water. Sheeple and their panic. I laughed at them as I loaded up my van with 50 rolls of toilet paper and 200 bottles of water. I had to hide this from my wife because, well you know, she did not need an excuse to turn me into a canoe.
Soon we got word that our waste water treatment plant was submerged and we were stricken with a no flush order. This put us in a panic. No flushing, no washing dishes, no showers or doing laundry. What to do? First, I taught the boys to pee off the back porch. Did not take much coercing, the 2 year old thought this was the best thing since Disney themed diapers. Next I had to think about how to deal with the other biological waste issue. A neighbor mentioned that if kitty litter was good enough for cats, it was good enough for people. It sounded good so I tried it. It was not working at first. In the first place, the kitty boxes kept breaking under my weight, and secondly, the cat nearly scratched my back to pieces when I tried to use her box. Then reason prevailed and I came up with a plan. I constructed something that I called "My totally bitchin, 2x4 - Home Depot bucket - kitty litter $h*tter"
Now that I had our immediate needs met, one of the oil companies decided to donate the use of porta- potties which they had set up around the neighborhood. Pretty soon it became evident that there was such a thing as "Flood Crisis Economics". Even in a podunk town like ours, you can see that there are the "Haves" and the "Have Nots". Soon the redneck elite had rented their own porta-potties. The local news highlighted some people who are actually embellishing theirs, cause nothing screams Martha Stewart Living, like an upholstered outhouse.
Before long, I had to go back to the store to get other supplies, and saw they were already out of water, but sure enough they had a stack of Charmin T.P. that reached the ceiling. I asked a manager why they were hawking toilet paper when they knew we could not flush. Her face turned the color of cat meat and I got out of her face.
Now, let it not be said that my Boy Scout survival training had been lost on me. I gathered a list of essential items to save my family. A boxed set of Breaking Bad DVD's, two cartons of smokes to use for currency when the money system failed, Kevlar body armor and a Mossberg 590 riot gun to fend off looters and zombies. Oh, and 4 cases of Twinkies, cause those darned things have a great shelf life.
We were adapting, my wife figured out a method of washing dishes in buckets and we started using disposable plates as much as possible. After a couple of days however we had a new problem. Maybe it was the fact that the sewers were backing up, maybe it was rotting debris in the flood plane, which by the way turned out to be about 300 yards from the house. In reality it was none of the above. We all just needed a shower. Our solution? Bathe in the kiddie pool. In retrospect, it may have been better if I had waited until dark because the neighbors were horrified at the sight of a fat yeti singing and soaping up on the back porch. (By the way, the neighbors are equally disturbed if you wait until dark, and stand naked in the back yard, shaving your head under a water hose in the middle of a lightning storm.)
Eventually the rain stopped and we had sunshine again. It was only then that we realized how bad it really was. We could not leave town, because all the roads were either closed or washed out completely. Here is a video just a few hundred yards from my house:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10201117583674263&l=5938359666390599106
Despite all that has happened, our family is actually quite fortunate, as we are blessed to have people reaching out to us. We have had several families invite us over to shower, wash clothes and have a meal. We are very grateful, because at best we are inconvenienced. Many others are homeless. within 1 mile of us, over 200 homes are being condemned due to contamination or outright destruction.
It was not long until the rumors of impending doom started circulating. I heard from an absolutely credible source, the internet, that our water supply was contaminated. I called the city government and they denied it, but suggested that if I was worried I could drink bottled water or boil the tap water before consuming it. Now, I am not normally paranoid, but I thought that it would not hurt to get a few bottles of water. I went to the store and found out there was a run on water. Sheeple and their panic. I laughed at them as I loaded up my van with 50 rolls of toilet paper and 200 bottles of water. I had to hide this from my wife because, well you know, she did not need an excuse to turn me into a canoe.
Soon we got word that our waste water treatment plant was submerged and we were stricken with a no flush order. This put us in a panic. No flushing, no washing dishes, no showers or doing laundry. What to do? First, I taught the boys to pee off the back porch. Did not take much coercing, the 2 year old thought this was the best thing since Disney themed diapers. Next I had to think about how to deal with the other biological waste issue. A neighbor mentioned that if kitty litter was good enough for cats, it was good enough for people. It sounded good so I tried it. It was not working at first. In the first place, the kitty boxes kept breaking under my weight, and secondly, the cat nearly scratched my back to pieces when I tried to use her box. Then reason prevailed and I came up with a plan. I constructed something that I called "My totally bitchin, 2x4 - Home Depot bucket - kitty litter $h*tter"
Now that I had our immediate needs met, one of the oil companies decided to donate the use of porta- potties which they had set up around the neighborhood. Pretty soon it became evident that there was such a thing as "Flood Crisis Economics". Even in a podunk town like ours, you can see that there are the "Haves" and the "Have Nots". Soon the redneck elite had rented their own porta-potties. The local news highlighted some people who are actually embellishing theirs, cause nothing screams Martha Stewart Living, like an upholstered outhouse.
Before long, I had to go back to the store to get other supplies, and saw they were already out of water, but sure enough they had a stack of Charmin T.P. that reached the ceiling. I asked a manager why they were hawking toilet paper when they knew we could not flush. Her face turned the color of cat meat and I got out of her face.
Now, let it not be said that my Boy Scout survival training had been lost on me. I gathered a list of essential items to save my family. A boxed set of Breaking Bad DVD's, two cartons of smokes to use for currency when the money system failed, Kevlar body armor and a Mossberg 590 riot gun to fend off looters and zombies. Oh, and 4 cases of Twinkies, cause those darned things have a great shelf life.
We were adapting, my wife figured out a method of washing dishes in buckets and we started using disposable plates as much as possible. After a couple of days however we had a new problem. Maybe it was the fact that the sewers were backing up, maybe it was rotting debris in the flood plane, which by the way turned out to be about 300 yards from the house. In reality it was none of the above. We all just needed a shower. Our solution? Bathe in the kiddie pool. In retrospect, it may have been better if I had waited until dark because the neighbors were horrified at the sight of a fat yeti singing and soaping up on the back porch. (By the way, the neighbors are equally disturbed if you wait until dark, and stand naked in the back yard, shaving your head under a water hose in the middle of a lightning storm.)
Eventually the rain stopped and we had sunshine again. It was only then that we realized how bad it really was. We could not leave town, because all the roads were either closed or washed out completely. Here is a video just a few hundred yards from my house:
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10201117583674263&l=5938359666390599106
Despite all that has happened, our family is actually quite fortunate, as we are blessed to have people reaching out to us. We have had several families invite us over to shower, wash clothes and have a meal. We are very grateful, because at best we are inconvenienced. Many others are homeless. within 1 mile of us, over 200 homes are being condemned due to contamination or outright destruction.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Got Milk?
It has been 124 days since I lost my job, which amazingly enough is
exactly the number of times I have pissed off my wife for being at home
all day. I have tried to figure a way to hide, but it costs too much gas
to ride around in the car all day, and the library has classified me as
a loiterer. As it turns out, being unemployed is not nearly as enjoyable as I had remembered it. There is the obvious set of issues, like not having enough money to make the bills, not being able to afford basic necessities such as ice cream or decent coffee. There is the depression and fear. We have slashed our expenses to the bone. Still we struggle.
A couple of weeks ago, a dairy farmer I know asked if I wanted to get out of the house for a couple of days and come visit him on the farm. It seemed like it would be interesting to learn how a dairy works, so I jumped at the chance. I went out to see the operation and as I was admiring the huge tractors, he offered to let me drive one! I was stoked. I had driven a little old tractor once, but these were much bigger and newer. I climbed up in the cab, got some instructions then went off to mow a field. It was quite large. One lap took about 20 minutes. However the sheer rush of being 10 feet in the air, choking on dust, smelling the exhaust of about 1700 head of cattle and feeling the roar of a big diesel engine beneath me was exhilarating. Before I knew it, I was singing songs. "Old MarkDonald mowed a farm...."followed by the theme song to "Green Acres." I felt like I was doing a decent job, and just as I started to regain some confidence that maybe could be a productive member of society again, THE TRACTOR BROKE! As I was turning the 8000 pound machine, it shuddered and the front tire popped off the rim. I called the farmer and he came out with another tractor and some tools and we took off the tire which turned out to just be old, so it was not really my fault. Just the same, I got sent home until it was fixed.
A day later I was summoned back to finish what I had started. Fortunately it went better this time round. The tractor did not have A/C and I had to endure the 130 degree cabin temperature. I was whining to myself about it when suddenly I had a vision, or maybe just a heat stroke induced hallucination of my uncle Kenneth laughing at me and ridiculing me about how when he was farming, the tractors did not have cabs, roofs, or windows, much less air conditioning, so I should shut my pie hole and man up.
I got the field mowed and asked if there was any other odd job I could do. The farmer was obliging and set me up with a tractor that had A/C and asked me to disc the field I had mowed earlier. This seemed like more fun, and I got to it. I started out in a section that had just had a few tons of manure, the green stuff spread all over it. I have heard it said that manure smells like money, so I must have been driving though a few million dollars. As I navigated the tractor through the bovine sewer, the cab got a lot darker. I looked out the back and side windows which were entirely coated by hundreds of thousands of flies. They were everywhere. I tried banging on the window but they were persistent. It was sort of creepy. I finished disc'ing that area and moved on. Still the flies clung to the glass. I do not know what came over me, but I lost all presence of mind and opened the door to try and wave them off with a rag. Boy howdy. Turns out the flies like air conditioning more than I do. I quickly closed the door but I now had 400 new friends who were content to hang on the ceiling and take turns flying up my nose. I got done for the day and went back home.
The next day I went to do more work in the fields. When I opened the tractor, about 200 of my friends were waiting for me, and wanting to know what I brought for breakfast. Turns out that they are big fans of continental breakfast, and they took over my zucchini muffin and tried to drink my coffee.
I was doing a pretty good job, making good time, when suddenly the tractor lurched and seemed to get lighter. I looked out the window and saw that I had lost my disc apparatus about 50 yards back. I tried to get it reattached a pin had fallen out and it was soon apparent that I needed help. I called the farmer, who as it turns out had gone to town and he said I needed to get one of the other workers to help. Now, it might be important at this juncture to explain that possessing a working knowledge of the Spanish language is often very helpful on a farm in Colorado. I found someone and tried to ask if he could help me. He gave me a blank stare, and so I tried to remember back to high school when I took a couple of years of Spanish. I vaguely remembered this one word, "ayudame" which is pronounced something like 'ayeyoodahmay'. Unfortunately, I articulated it as 'eye YOU DAMN mee'. I do not know what I actually said, but the worker, looked at me and said "What da hell is wrong with you, gringo estúpido?" I did not have a good answer for him. He came and helped me get the disc attached again, then he told me he needed the tractor for a while, which I think is secret dairymen code for; "You have done enough damage for the day."
A couple of weeks ago, a dairy farmer I know asked if I wanted to get out of the house for a couple of days and come visit him on the farm. It seemed like it would be interesting to learn how a dairy works, so I jumped at the chance. I went out to see the operation and as I was admiring the huge tractors, he offered to let me drive one! I was stoked. I had driven a little old tractor once, but these were much bigger and newer. I climbed up in the cab, got some instructions then went off to mow a field. It was quite large. One lap took about 20 minutes. However the sheer rush of being 10 feet in the air, choking on dust, smelling the exhaust of about 1700 head of cattle and feeling the roar of a big diesel engine beneath me was exhilarating. Before I knew it, I was singing songs. "Old MarkDonald mowed a farm...."followed by the theme song to "Green Acres." I felt like I was doing a decent job, and just as I started to regain some confidence that maybe could be a productive member of society again, THE TRACTOR BROKE! As I was turning the 8000 pound machine, it shuddered and the front tire popped off the rim. I called the farmer and he came out with another tractor and some tools and we took off the tire which turned out to just be old, so it was not really my fault. Just the same, I got sent home until it was fixed.
A day later I was summoned back to finish what I had started. Fortunately it went better this time round. The tractor did not have A/C and I had to endure the 130 degree cabin temperature. I was whining to myself about it when suddenly I had a vision, or maybe just a heat stroke induced hallucination of my uncle Kenneth laughing at me and ridiculing me about how when he was farming, the tractors did not have cabs, roofs, or windows, much less air conditioning, so I should shut my pie hole and man up.
I got the field mowed and asked if there was any other odd job I could do. The farmer was obliging and set me up with a tractor that had A/C and asked me to disc the field I had mowed earlier. This seemed like more fun, and I got to it. I started out in a section that had just had a few tons of manure, the green stuff spread all over it. I have heard it said that manure smells like money, so I must have been driving though a few million dollars. As I navigated the tractor through the bovine sewer, the cab got a lot darker. I looked out the back and side windows which were entirely coated by hundreds of thousands of flies. They were everywhere. I tried banging on the window but they were persistent. It was sort of creepy. I finished disc'ing that area and moved on. Still the flies clung to the glass. I do not know what came over me, but I lost all presence of mind and opened the door to try and wave them off with a rag. Boy howdy. Turns out the flies like air conditioning more than I do. I quickly closed the door but I now had 400 new friends who were content to hang on the ceiling and take turns flying up my nose. I got done for the day and went back home.
The next day I went to do more work in the fields. When I opened the tractor, about 200 of my friends were waiting for me, and wanting to know what I brought for breakfast. Turns out that they are big fans of continental breakfast, and they took over my zucchini muffin and tried to drink my coffee.
I was doing a pretty good job, making good time, when suddenly the tractor lurched and seemed to get lighter. I looked out the window and saw that I had lost my disc apparatus about 50 yards back. I tried to get it reattached a pin had fallen out and it was soon apparent that I needed help. I called the farmer, who as it turns out had gone to town and he said I needed to get one of the other workers to help. Now, it might be important at this juncture to explain that possessing a working knowledge of the Spanish language is often very helpful on a farm in Colorado. I found someone and tried to ask if he could help me. He gave me a blank stare, and so I tried to remember back to high school when I took a couple of years of Spanish. I vaguely remembered this one word, "ayudame" which is pronounced something like 'ayeyoodahmay'. Unfortunately, I articulated it as 'eye YOU DAMN mee'. I do not know what I actually said, but the worker, looked at me and said "What da hell is wrong with you, gringo estúpido?" I did not have a good answer for him. He came and helped me get the disc attached again, then he told me he needed the tractor for a while, which I think is secret dairymen code for; "You have done enough damage for the day."
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
From Riches to Rags.
One week ago today, a coworker messaged me in the morning with the news that she had just been laid off. I felt badly for her and offered the standard lame encouragements; " In the long run you will be better off!" or "This place was not good enough for you anyway."
Well, no good intention goes unpunished. Half an hour before I was ready to go home for the day, a manager called me into their office and told me that due to poor quarterly earnings, I among many others were being released, effective immediately. I smiled and shook their hand and professionally and calmly said goodbye. And by professionally I mean I demanded a free corporate logo coffee mug from my boss in exchange for my company owned laptop. (Yes Nathali, I really did that.) I walked out of the building into sure oblivion, climbed into the car, and called home. My wife answered the phone rather testily and said; "WHAT do you want now?" Perceiving that she was having a bad day with the kids, I decided not to add to her troubles and just said that I loved her and even if I lost my job and we were dirt poor, that I was sure there would be some homeless shelter that would take her and the kids in. Then I hung up.
I drove home and tried to assure myself that I would find something soon, when a friend who runs a contracting company called me. He had heard that I was let go, and he proceeded to tell me how hard it was for people our age to find work again. Because that was really going to help. I told him another call was coming in and asked if he could hold. Then I hung up.
Everything would be fine. I would use this time to regroup, re-baseline, re-envision, and realign. This was a positive thing. I just knew it. In my heart of hearts, I KNEW it. KNEW IT! That is until 3:13 a.m. when I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming and holding two clumps of hair that I had just pulled off the sides of my head. I did not know what to do. There I was, heart pounding, alone in the dark, with no hope or sense of direction, crying out to the heavens for an answer. Suddenly there was a blinding light, and I felt a blanket of coldness all over me. Dessy had flipped on the light, poured a glass of ice water on my head and told me to chill out before the neighbors called the cops.
I got out of bed and started to look for jobs online. I filled out all the unemployment forms. I made plans. First, I would take this time to research a new career. I would lose a ton of weight (which I would need to do if I expected to fit into my good clothes for interviews). I would do more with the kids. I mentally calculated what amenities needed to be cut out so we would not lose the house. - (all of them!) I made a pot of coffee and tried to get some perspective. I drank it from my new mug.
As it turns out, once you fill out all the preliminary forms, you have a waiting period of a week or so where there really is not much you can do except clean out the house, the cars, the lawn, and the bank account. Nothing to do at all. Just wait, and try to not to get bored. So I have decided to do what I do best. Torture any poor soul who has the utter misfortune of crossing my path. Unfortunately this means my kids will suffer the most. They will bear the brunt of my boredom. They will be subject to the vast majority of my sarcasm.
Take Josh for example. He is actually getting very good at recognizing sarcasm and is starting to be a pro at delivering retorts. The first day of Daddy staying at home, he asked why I did not have a job? I told him that it was because I was a useless drain on society. He fired back, " Daddy, when will you die?"
Tonight, he was eating a slice of watermelon and mentioned that he had eaten a seed and he did not like the taste. I told him that if he ate a seed, it would grow in his belly and the leaves and vines would grow out his backside. He said; "Oh, I cannot wait for show and tell at school Friday!"
You cannot help but be proud.
As proud as I am, I am a terrible influence on him. the other day, as I drove him to school he told me that one of his favorite girl friends did not like him anymore. She was telling him he could not sit next to her. "Josh", I says, "The secret to getting a woman to like you is to ignore them. If you act like you do not know they are alive, the will chase you to the end of the earth. Don't be mean, just don't be nice." After class, Josh gets in the van and said that my plan did not work, the girl still did not sit next to him. I thought a moment, and said; "Maybe you should take up smoking Camel straights, chicks love a bad boy. Two days later, I get a call from his teacher on what constitutes appropriate parental guidance.
As I embrace this new phase of my life, I am looking forward to having lots of exciting stories to tell.
Well, no good intention goes unpunished. Half an hour before I was ready to go home for the day, a manager called me into their office and told me that due to poor quarterly earnings, I among many others were being released, effective immediately. I smiled and shook their hand and professionally and calmly said goodbye. And by professionally I mean I demanded a free corporate logo coffee mug from my boss in exchange for my company owned laptop. (Yes Nathali, I really did that.) I walked out of the building into sure oblivion, climbed into the car, and called home. My wife answered the phone rather testily and said; "WHAT do you want now?" Perceiving that she was having a bad day with the kids, I decided not to add to her troubles and just said that I loved her and even if I lost my job and we were dirt poor, that I was sure there would be some homeless shelter that would take her and the kids in. Then I hung up.
I drove home and tried to assure myself that I would find something soon, when a friend who runs a contracting company called me. He had heard that I was let go, and he proceeded to tell me how hard it was for people our age to find work again. Because that was really going to help. I told him another call was coming in and asked if he could hold. Then I hung up.
Everything would be fine. I would use this time to regroup, re-baseline, re-envision, and realign. This was a positive thing. I just knew it. In my heart of hearts, I KNEW it. KNEW IT! That is until 3:13 a.m. when I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming and holding two clumps of hair that I had just pulled off the sides of my head. I did not know what to do. There I was, heart pounding, alone in the dark, with no hope or sense of direction, crying out to the heavens for an answer. Suddenly there was a blinding light, and I felt a blanket of coldness all over me. Dessy had flipped on the light, poured a glass of ice water on my head and told me to chill out before the neighbors called the cops.
I got out of bed and started to look for jobs online. I filled out all the unemployment forms. I made plans. First, I would take this time to research a new career. I would lose a ton of weight (which I would need to do if I expected to fit into my good clothes for interviews). I would do more with the kids. I mentally calculated what amenities needed to be cut out so we would not lose the house. - (all of them!) I made a pot of coffee and tried to get some perspective. I drank it from my new mug.
As it turns out, once you fill out all the preliminary forms, you have a waiting period of a week or so where there really is not much you can do except clean out the house, the cars, the lawn, and the bank account. Nothing to do at all. Just wait, and try to not to get bored. So I have decided to do what I do best. Torture any poor soul who has the utter misfortune of crossing my path. Unfortunately this means my kids will suffer the most. They will bear the brunt of my boredom. They will be subject to the vast majority of my sarcasm.
Take Josh for example. He is actually getting very good at recognizing sarcasm and is starting to be a pro at delivering retorts. The first day of Daddy staying at home, he asked why I did not have a job? I told him that it was because I was a useless drain on society. He fired back, " Daddy, when will you die?"
Tonight, he was eating a slice of watermelon and mentioned that he had eaten a seed and he did not like the taste. I told him that if he ate a seed, it would grow in his belly and the leaves and vines would grow out his backside. He said; "Oh, I cannot wait for show and tell at school Friday!"
You cannot help but be proud.
As proud as I am, I am a terrible influence on him. the other day, as I drove him to school he told me that one of his favorite girl friends did not like him anymore. She was telling him he could not sit next to her. "Josh", I says, "The secret to getting a woman to like you is to ignore them. If you act like you do not know they are alive, the will chase you to the end of the earth. Don't be mean, just don't be nice." After class, Josh gets in the van and said that my plan did not work, the girl still did not sit next to him. I thought a moment, and said; "Maybe you should take up smoking Camel straights, chicks love a bad boy. Two days later, I get a call from his teacher on what constitutes appropriate parental guidance.
As I embrace this new phase of my life, I am looking forward to having lots of exciting stories to tell.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Preamble to Disaster, a Holiday Tale. Part Two.
Over the years I have struggled with the Holiday season. I keep trying to find the lost magic that I felt as a child. Perhaps the my memories are contorted from multiple head injuries, but there are soft focused visions of snowy Currier and Ives-like scenes with warm and fantastic Christmas parties complete with twinkling Christmas lights in the background and everyone there is smiling, looking splendid in their L.L. Bean sweaters, enjoying the crackling fire beneath the perfectly adorned hearth while sipping fine champagne.
In reality the holidays are very stressful to me, because I have the battle of reality vs. fanatasy. I am responsible for engineering and orchestrating this controlled yuletide train wreck and heaven forbid I screw it up and subject my kids to the reality that this is nothing more than building the foundation of deep seated feelings of sullen inadequacy and years of expensive psychotherapy.
So here we go.
Twas the night before Thanksgiving..... and at 9 oclock at night, I was standing in checkout line at Wal-mart with all the last minute supplies needed to for our dinner off to a great start. And by "dinner" I mean, the scene of the crash. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. put on a pot of coffee, and started to prepare the dinner. As fate would have it, I was forced to make another trip to the store. Let me tell you, Walmart at 5:50 in the morning is a much more pleasant place to shop than usual, because they have not started up the "Slovenly Fat Guy in Sweat Pants Parade™." yet, and most of the other undesirables you would normally encounter are still sleeping off their hangovers or have not bailed out from jail yet.
We made it through Thanksgiving without any episodes salmonella poisoning from undercooked bird. We did not eat to excess, and managed to not totally frighten or otherwise scar the minds of our two exchange students. Oh, had I forgotten to mention that? With the arrival of the new school year, we decided to join the university program that pairs families with foreign students, to allow them to have a family to adopt while they are so far from home. I think the idea is to foster a safe environment for cultural exchange, and to allow the homesick kids to have surrogate families who will love on them. There was a an application process and a background check but when we were awarded a couple of students anyway, I knew their vetting process was horrifically flawed.
For me, the Christmas season kicks off as soon as the dishes are cleaned up after the Thanksgiving dinner. I am not a fan of the "Black Friday" thng myself, mostly because the images of people fighting over a big screen TV, or pepper spraying each other to get the very last discounted Xbox, just muddies up the whole "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to all Men" concept. That being said, my wife is still bragging about how she loves her brand new Ipad. I hear the Octegenarian she sacked will get their broken hip replaced by New Years Day.
Each year I have specific rituals that I like to do, one is to watch the shows I have cherished since childhood, another is to read stories to the kids about the Nativity, as well as teach thm about other ways that people celebrate the holidays. My favorite activity is to go see the big Christmas light displays all over the region. We loaded up the van and headed down to Denver to see the biggest display, which I have missed in the past few years due to poor planning, illness, bad weather, and the like. On the way we detoured to see another famous display, and arrived at dusk, and sure enough, it was not on. We waited, drove around, came back and still no joy. Finally we saw the owner walking outside and I rolled down the car window to inquire about the time of the show only to be told that we were two weeks too early. As we drove away I am sure he heard my annoyed family asking why I did not check the website for show times.
Josh, the 4 year old has been getting very excited about the main event. He has been talking about Santa, and asking me daily if I know what is going to happen on Christmas eve. You can hear the excitement in his voice, because he loves the season. He sings holiday songs all the time, and I realized that I may have failed in the explaining of the Christmas holiday to my kids because Josh keeps alternatively singing "The Dreidl Song" and "Joy To The World!"
Inasmuch as Josh is really excited about Santa, he seems to have a certain sixth sense about who is and is not really Santa. The two of us were shopping for a Christmas tree the other night and as we walked into the store, there was an elderly man who did not appear to be in good health, sporting a shaggy greyish white beard, sitting in a wheel chair ringing a bell for a charity. He looked at Josh and in a feeble raspy voice wheezed, "I hear you have been a very good boy this year! Ho Ho heaghhh..." Then he touched his red and white Santa hat which lit up and played a greeting card quality digital version of "Jingle Bells." Josh Looked at me and whispered something that I did not discern. I asked him to repeat it and in a slightly louder than required tone he said, "Daddy, I smell pee pee. Can't we just go into the store now?" It seemed like a good time to usher Josh away and sheepishly mutter that we might be close to the stockyards, but we all knew that saving face was a ship that had sailed at this point. We found the fresh tree section and picked out a fine specimen that would grace our living room and provide fond memories for years to come. Yea, about that. I am a touch color blind and largely cannot discern greens from shades of brown. Apparently I picked out a tree that could best be described as in it's twilight years.
The tree was put up and we invited our host students over to have night of decorating and traditional holiday treats. Unfortunately, at least in our household of mixed cultures, this does not always shake out to be eggnog and sugar cookies. I need to put voice to an observation here. Indonesian food is neither festive nor Christmassy. I do not care what you think, serving up sambal terasi made out of blazing hot chilis and dried shrimp paste, with a side of plain white rice, is going to send Santa and all his reindeer packing for the north pole.
The kids decorated the tree, and all was good. Good that is, until one week before Christmas. That was when the tree up and died. It is dropping needles faster than faster than a heroin addict in a police raid. It is like a match waiting to give birth to a fireworks display. I want to take the thing down now but everyone says I should play the odds and see if we can hold out until Boxing day. It has me a bit rattled. We only have about a day and a half to go so maybe we won't become holiday news story.
With the big event only hours away, Christmas eve service in 4 hours, company arriving in this evening, the kids channeling their excitement into shrill squeals of delight, roast in the oven and about 6000 more cookies to bake before midnight, I want to wish you all a very warm and Merry Christmas, and I urge you all to sit back and think of the real reason for the season, and if that is not possible, imagine me, struggling to make the holiday brighter for my neighbors by adding a special touch to my driveway.
In reality the holidays are very stressful to me, because I have the battle of reality vs. fanatasy. I am responsible for engineering and orchestrating this controlled yuletide train wreck and heaven forbid I screw it up and subject my kids to the reality that this is nothing more than building the foundation of deep seated feelings of sullen inadequacy and years of expensive psychotherapy.
So here we go.
Twas the night before Thanksgiving..... and at 9 oclock at night, I was standing in checkout line at Wal-mart with all the last minute supplies needed to for our dinner off to a great start. And by "dinner" I mean, the scene of the crash. I woke up at 5:00 a.m. put on a pot of coffee, and started to prepare the dinner. As fate would have it, I was forced to make another trip to the store. Let me tell you, Walmart at 5:50 in the morning is a much more pleasant place to shop than usual, because they have not started up the "Slovenly Fat Guy in Sweat Pants Parade™." yet, and most of the other undesirables you would normally encounter are still sleeping off their hangovers or have not bailed out from jail yet.
We made it through Thanksgiving without any episodes salmonella poisoning from undercooked bird. We did not eat to excess, and managed to not totally frighten or otherwise scar the minds of our two exchange students. Oh, had I forgotten to mention that? With the arrival of the new school year, we decided to join the university program that pairs families with foreign students, to allow them to have a family to adopt while they are so far from home. I think the idea is to foster a safe environment for cultural exchange, and to allow the homesick kids to have surrogate families who will love on them. There was a an application process and a background check but when we were awarded a couple of students anyway, I knew their vetting process was horrifically flawed.
For me, the Christmas season kicks off as soon as the dishes are cleaned up after the Thanksgiving dinner. I am not a fan of the "Black Friday" thng myself, mostly because the images of people fighting over a big screen TV, or pepper spraying each other to get the very last discounted Xbox, just muddies up the whole "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to all Men" concept. That being said, my wife is still bragging about how she loves her brand new Ipad. I hear the Octegenarian she sacked will get their broken hip replaced by New Years Day.
Each year I have specific rituals that I like to do, one is to watch the shows I have cherished since childhood, another is to read stories to the kids about the Nativity, as well as teach thm about other ways that people celebrate the holidays. My favorite activity is to go see the big Christmas light displays all over the region. We loaded up the van and headed down to Denver to see the biggest display, which I have missed in the past few years due to poor planning, illness, bad weather, and the like. On the way we detoured to see another famous display, and arrived at dusk, and sure enough, it was not on. We waited, drove around, came back and still no joy. Finally we saw the owner walking outside and I rolled down the car window to inquire about the time of the show only to be told that we were two weeks too early. As we drove away I am sure he heard my annoyed family asking why I did not check the website for show times.
Josh, the 4 year old has been getting very excited about the main event. He has been talking about Santa, and asking me daily if I know what is going to happen on Christmas eve. You can hear the excitement in his voice, because he loves the season. He sings holiday songs all the time, and I realized that I may have failed in the explaining of the Christmas holiday to my kids because Josh keeps alternatively singing "The Dreidl Song" and "Joy To The World!"
Inasmuch as Josh is really excited about Santa, he seems to have a certain sixth sense about who is and is not really Santa. The two of us were shopping for a Christmas tree the other night and as we walked into the store, there was an elderly man who did not appear to be in good health, sporting a shaggy greyish white beard, sitting in a wheel chair ringing a bell for a charity. He looked at Josh and in a feeble raspy voice wheezed, "I hear you have been a very good boy this year! Ho Ho heaghhh..." Then he touched his red and white Santa hat which lit up and played a greeting card quality digital version of "Jingle Bells." Josh Looked at me and whispered something that I did not discern. I asked him to repeat it and in a slightly louder than required tone he said, "Daddy, I smell pee pee. Can't we just go into the store now?" It seemed like a good time to usher Josh away and sheepishly mutter that we might be close to the stockyards, but we all knew that saving face was a ship that had sailed at this point. We found the fresh tree section and picked out a fine specimen that would grace our living room and provide fond memories for years to come. Yea, about that. I am a touch color blind and largely cannot discern greens from shades of brown. Apparently I picked out a tree that could best be described as in it's twilight years.
The tree was put up and we invited our host students over to have night of decorating and traditional holiday treats. Unfortunately, at least in our household of mixed cultures, this does not always shake out to be eggnog and sugar cookies. I need to put voice to an observation here. Indonesian food is neither festive nor Christmassy. I do not care what you think, serving up sambal terasi made out of blazing hot chilis and dried shrimp paste, with a side of plain white rice, is going to send Santa and all his reindeer packing for the north pole.
The kids decorated the tree, and all was good. Good that is, until one week before Christmas. That was when the tree up and died. It is dropping needles faster than faster than a heroin addict in a police raid. It is like a match waiting to give birth to a fireworks display. I want to take the thing down now but everyone says I should play the odds and see if we can hold out until Boxing day. It has me a bit rattled. We only have about a day and a half to go so maybe we won't become holiday news story.
With the big event only hours away, Christmas eve service in 4 hours, company arriving in this evening, the kids channeling their excitement into shrill squeals of delight, roast in the oven and about 6000 more cookies to bake before midnight, I want to wish you all a very warm and Merry Christmas, and I urge you all to sit back and think of the real reason for the season, and if that is not possible, imagine me, struggling to make the holiday brighter for my neighbors by adding a special touch to my driveway.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Preamble to Disaster, a Holiday Tale. Part one
Once again the holiday season is upon us. I know it is here, not so much due to the appearance of actual festive decorations at the stores, (The Wal-mart had Christmas sales going 3 days before Halloween) but rather, because I have received my annual "Just In Time For Christmas" furlough notice from work. Well, this wouldn't have been so bad if I had more than 50 cents in my bank account, but with the upcoming holiday demandments causing my wallet to constantly hemorrhage cash, I have been wondering if my checking account will eventually bleed out.
Now, were it that sarcasm had any monetary value, it is conceivable that I would be a multi-millionaire, based purely on the sheer volume of venom that tends to flow from my lips. Unfortunately I have not seen many people lining up to compensate me for that unique talent. So I am destined to another month and a half of laying awake at night, worrying that on Christmas morning my poor children will give me the "Santa screwed us over and it is Daddy's fault" look.
Preparing To Be Thankful.
It is well known to those even moderately acquainted with me how I am a cheapskate of biblical proportions. I love the pre-Thanksgiving sales where you can get a 20 pound turkey for nine bucks. I fill the freezer with a few of them so we can have them throughout the year, much to the dismay of my family. I had a budget for about four birds this year and was about to make my move when an unexpected wrench was thrown into the works.
Someone at church had a flock of fresh hormone and preservative free, locust fed, all natural free range turkeys that they were selling. Dessy was all over this concept of having a chemical free Thanksgiving, and sent me to work out the details. I came prepared with questions like; "How do you pluck them?" and "Are they still alive?" I was imagining the horrified look on my kids faces as I tried to dispatch the turkey in the back yard with an axe then chase the headless blood spurting bird down the alley. I was assured that the bird was cleaned and ready to cook. It may have been prudent of me to do a little more research before making the purchase. By the time I got there, only one turkey was left. So I bought it. All 36 pounds of it.(That is about 16 kilos to you metric system adherents.) It was huge. I brought it home and put it right in the freezer.
We were set. Right?
It was three more days until Thanksgiving, and Dessy told me we should probably thaw the turkey. There are several ways to thaw a turkey, like soaking it in cool water, or thawing it in the refrigerator. I prefer the cool water method because it is faster. Dessy pointed out that the turkey looked too big for the sink, so I said that the next option was to soak it in the bath tub. We could combine it with the kids bath time to save water. I am assuming that the agitation provided by the children splashing around would help to thaw the bird faster. Once again, Dessy had to be the voice of reason here, and she declared that the thawing would be done in the refrigerator.
I took the turkey out of the freezer, and realized that maybe it was bigger than we had originally thought. It occurred to me that we may have some unforeseen issues here, not the least of which may be that we do not have the right equipment to make a bird this big. Dessy got out our large roasting pan, and of course it was overflowing on all sides. I tried to set the pan and bird combination on the lowest rack of the oven and it nearly touched the upper broiler element. We may have to do some creative thinking to successfully roast this bird, like having to set the oven to the "Clean" setting in order cook it all the way through.
To get the turkey to fit in the refrigerator, we actually had to take out a shelf. I Googled the proper way to thaw a bird and discovered that the standard rate of thaw is one day per 4 pounds which means that technically I should have put the bird in the fridge 7 days ago. So to help it along I ran an extension cord to the fridge, put my wife's curling iron in the cavity of the bird, plugged it in, then closed the door. Our dinner guests will be none the wiser except that my wife’s hair will smell like turkey guts and the stuffing will have overtones of burnt Asian hair.
Next comes the brining. The way I figure it, we do not have enough time to sequentially thaw, then brine the bird, so I need to combine the process. It occurred to me that we will need a lot of salt to brine something this big. I have a bag of ice melt out in the garage, but Dessy said to save it for the front walk when it snows again. It also came to mind that if you add salt to water, it draws the heat out of the object in the water, much like making ice cream in a hand crank mixer. The wheels in my brain started cranking, and I came up with a plan. My folks still have a 300 gallon stock tank out in their barn. I can put the turkey in the tank, fill is with relatively clean well water, add a couple of the salt licks left over from when they owned a horse 20 years ago, and then plug in the tank heater to keep the water at a nice simmer. Drop in some potatoes and carrots a few hours before dinner and you are good to go. My plan makes for easy clean up too, we just hose out the horse stall when we are done.
Happy Thanksgiving....Now on to Black Friday!
Now, were it that sarcasm had any monetary value, it is conceivable that I would be a multi-millionaire, based purely on the sheer volume of venom that tends to flow from my lips. Unfortunately I have not seen many people lining up to compensate me for that unique talent. So I am destined to another month and a half of laying awake at night, worrying that on Christmas morning my poor children will give me the "Santa screwed us over and it is Daddy's fault" look.
Preparing To Be Thankful.
It is well known to those even moderately acquainted with me how I am a cheapskate of biblical proportions. I love the pre-Thanksgiving sales where you can get a 20 pound turkey for nine bucks. I fill the freezer with a few of them so we can have them throughout the year, much to the dismay of my family. I had a budget for about four birds this year and was about to make my move when an unexpected wrench was thrown into the works.
Someone at church had a flock of fresh hormone and preservative free, locust fed, all natural free range turkeys that they were selling. Dessy was all over this concept of having a chemical free Thanksgiving, and sent me to work out the details. I came prepared with questions like; "How do you pluck them?" and "Are they still alive?" I was imagining the horrified look on my kids faces as I tried to dispatch the turkey in the back yard with an axe then chase the headless blood spurting bird down the alley. I was assured that the bird was cleaned and ready to cook. It may have been prudent of me to do a little more research before making the purchase. By the time I got there, only one turkey was left. So I bought it. All 36 pounds of it.(That is about 16 kilos to you metric system adherents.) It was huge. I brought it home and put it right in the freezer.
We were set. Right?
It was three more days until Thanksgiving, and Dessy told me we should probably thaw the turkey. There are several ways to thaw a turkey, like soaking it in cool water, or thawing it in the refrigerator. I prefer the cool water method because it is faster. Dessy pointed out that the turkey looked too big for the sink, so I said that the next option was to soak it in the bath tub. We could combine it with the kids bath time to save water. I am assuming that the agitation provided by the children splashing around would help to thaw the bird faster. Once again, Dessy had to be the voice of reason here, and she declared that the thawing would be done in the refrigerator.
I took the turkey out of the freezer, and realized that maybe it was bigger than we had originally thought. It occurred to me that we may have some unforeseen issues here, not the least of which may be that we do not have the right equipment to make a bird this big. Dessy got out our large roasting pan, and of course it was overflowing on all sides. I tried to set the pan and bird combination on the lowest rack of the oven and it nearly touched the upper broiler element. We may have to do some creative thinking to successfully roast this bird, like having to set the oven to the "Clean" setting in order cook it all the way through.
To get the turkey to fit in the refrigerator, we actually had to take out a shelf. I Googled the proper way to thaw a bird and discovered that the standard rate of thaw is one day per 4 pounds which means that technically I should have put the bird in the fridge 7 days ago. So to help it along I ran an extension cord to the fridge, put my wife's curling iron in the cavity of the bird, plugged it in, then closed the door. Our dinner guests will be none the wiser except that my wife’s hair will smell like turkey guts and the stuffing will have overtones of burnt Asian hair.
Next comes the brining. The way I figure it, we do not have enough time to sequentially thaw, then brine the bird, so I need to combine the process. It occurred to me that we will need a lot of salt to brine something this big. I have a bag of ice melt out in the garage, but Dessy said to save it for the front walk when it snows again. It also came to mind that if you add salt to water, it draws the heat out of the object in the water, much like making ice cream in a hand crank mixer. The wheels in my brain started cranking, and I came up with a plan. My folks still have a 300 gallon stock tank out in their barn. I can put the turkey in the tank, fill is with relatively clean well water, add a couple of the salt licks left over from when they owned a horse 20 years ago, and then plug in the tank heater to keep the water at a nice simmer. Drop in some potatoes and carrots a few hours before dinner and you are good to go. My plan makes for easy clean up too, we just hose out the horse stall when we are done.
Happy Thanksgiving....Now on to Black Friday!
Monday, October 8, 2012
The Sins Of The Father.
No one I know thinks that I am a role model. I do not get invited to a lot of events because of my propensity to blurt out something horrible. So it is no wonder that my kids are at a disadvantage when it comes to appropriate speech. Even at church, people approach me warily and tell me how wonderful my kids are then I catch the look from them that implies that it is just a matter of time til I ruin any hope of them becoming pillars of the community.
My wife has some growing concerns and decided to approach me over the words that Johnnie the 23 month old has been articulating. Dessy was mortified that he has begun to voice terrible words and of course blames me. Fortunately I had good news for her, "Die die" is Johnnies way of saying "Tante Ari" and I explained that he was was not actually saying "Dumba$$ but rather talking about "Thomas," like in Thomas The Train which is one of his favorite shows.
Yesterday at church, I was approached 3 separate times by women who have been involved with the teaching of my son Josh. All 3 had glowing reports on what a wonderful child I have, how intelligent he is and how he remembers everything that is taught in class. I could not be more proud, right?
Well, that same evening I am sitting on the porch watching the boys play with the next door neighbor kids. As always the boys start roll playing and soon have their assigned roles as motorcycle daredevil and pit stop mechanic, or some other imaginative game. I was absorbed in my own thoughts when suddenly I heard the kids arguing over the roles. "I am the cop, You are the bad guy" or " I want to be the cop!" This went on for a few seconds then the kids kicked it up both in volume and intensity. The neighbor kid yells, "Imma COP." Josh yells back, "I'm the good guy, you're a bastard!" At first, I did not believe my ears, but I called Josh over and asked what he said and he confirmed it.
I was trying to be stern when I told him we do not use those words, but I was not able to hold a straight face at all. As it turns out, he learned it from the neighbor kid, so I was off the hook for being the bad influence, at least this time anyway.
My wife has some growing concerns and decided to approach me over the words that Johnnie the 23 month old has been articulating. Dessy was mortified that he has begun to voice terrible words and of course blames me. Fortunately I had good news for her, "Die die" is Johnnies way of saying "Tante Ari" and I explained that he was was not actually saying "Dumba$$ but rather talking about "Thomas," like in Thomas The Train which is one of his favorite shows.
Yesterday at church, I was approached 3 separate times by women who have been involved with the teaching of my son Josh. All 3 had glowing reports on what a wonderful child I have, how intelligent he is and how he remembers everything that is taught in class. I could not be more proud, right?
Well, that same evening I am sitting on the porch watching the boys play with the next door neighbor kids. As always the boys start roll playing and soon have their assigned roles as motorcycle daredevil and pit stop mechanic, or some other imaginative game. I was absorbed in my own thoughts when suddenly I heard the kids arguing over the roles. "I am the cop, You are the bad guy" or " I want to be the cop!" This went on for a few seconds then the kids kicked it up both in volume and intensity. The neighbor kid yells, "Imma COP." Josh yells back, "I'm the good guy, you're a bastard!" At first, I did not believe my ears, but I called Josh over and asked what he said and he confirmed it.
I was trying to be stern when I told him we do not use those words, but I was not able to hold a straight face at all. As it turns out, he learned it from the neighbor kid, so I was off the hook for being the bad influence, at least this time anyway.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Things I probably should not have said at work this week.
It is only Tuesday, but already it has been a stressful week at work. Most of the people at my office are feeling the strain. Everyone has a different way of dealing with it. Some take lots of cigarette breaks. Others eat their way to inner peace. Some have a few drinks after work. Me, I do not like to let stress build up inside until it boils over. I prefer to let it out in the form of subtle passive-aggressive commentary.
So I give you, the printable version of things I have said at work so far this week.
1. "I am sorry, but it is difficult to take your suggestion seriously because it looks like your mommy dressed you this morning."
2. "I am sorry, am I making you nervous? No? Would you like me to?
3. "Hey Mark, have you taken a look at this problem Metric?" (Me) - "You're a problem metric!"
4. "If it were not for the fact that you would actually be better off, I would try to have you fired."
5. "Wow. And you said that with such a straight face. OMG, you actually thought that was the solution!"
6. "Did you learn that at the Community College of Dumas?" (I made sure the 'S' was not silent.)
7. "I found a book on Amazon.com for you, "How to Pretend U iz Smart, For Dummies."
8. "The boss in 'Dilbert" was not meant to be a role model."
9 "I am sorry that you feel that I do not respect you as a person or your work. But you are right, I don't."
10. "I don't want your thanks. If I needed accolades and positive affirmations I would still be working in the chorus line at the Moulon Rouge."
So I give you, the printable version of things I have said at work so far this week.
1. "I am sorry, but it is difficult to take your suggestion seriously because it looks like your mommy dressed you this morning."
2. "I am sorry, am I making you nervous? No? Would you like me to?
3. "Hey Mark, have you taken a look at this problem Metric?" (Me) - "You're a problem metric!"
4. "If it were not for the fact that you would actually be better off, I would try to have you fired."
5. "Wow. And you said that with such a straight face. OMG, you actually thought that was the solution!"
6. "Did you learn that at the Community College of Dumas?" (I made sure the 'S' was not silent.)
7. "I found a book on Amazon.com for you, "How to Pretend U iz Smart, For Dummies."
8. "The boss in 'Dilbert" was not meant to be a role model."
9 "I am sorry that you feel that I do not respect you as a person or your work. But you are right, I don't."
10. "I don't want your thanks. If I needed accolades and positive affirmations I would still be working in the chorus line at the Moulon Rouge."
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