Month: November 2014

Interviewing New Neighbors

Once you live in a neighborhood long enough, the “For Sale” signs are bound to go up. The person across the street sold over a year ago. And, this weekend we have another neighbor moving out. We are jockeying for parking space in front of our house while trying to discourage parking in front of our mailbox until after the little white truck w/ the nice Jamaican postal worker deposits our letters and catalogs.

Fortunately, we are not completely concerned about our new neighbors. You see, we have interviewed them already. It was not completely intentional. When things are very deliberate, they are often not as insightful. As my son and I came back from a walk (I believe it was a Sunday afternoon), there were 2 or 3 cars in front of the neighbors house. At the time, I thought I met the husband, wife, grandmother and the 3 kids that were a part of the family we would soon call neighbors. The most notable fact I collected was they had a daughter who was an 8th grader. (My daughters are 8th and 9th) I went home and spread this fact to my daughters. They replied with, “I hope she likes playing outdoors and crafts.”

Later that week, we were standing in a line to deal with a small issue in court. As the line moved slowly and lawyers were able to cut to the front of the line to hasten their passage through the metal detector, the line had a couple of curls in it. While one of the curls brushed against our part of the line, this conversation followed…

Linewoman: Haven’t we met you before?
Me: If you are going to be our new neighbors on Cattle Prod (not its real name) street, we have!
Linewoman: We are excited to move into the neighborhood! We like the location, and it was just time to get a larger house! (the line started to move again) We can talk more inside.

Once inside, we both had our separate issues to get resolved. Our attorney quickly worked through our issue. As we were walking out, I tapped our would-be new neighbor, and said, “We will have something to talk about at our first cookout.”

This morning, the neighbor who is moving out dropped by and dropped off the key we let him have just “in case”. Our conversation went something like this…..

Neighbor: Well, today is the day. I hope the trucks don’t get in your way, but tonight will be our last night in the house. I hope we have been a good neighbor!
Me: You sure have! We have had issues with the neighbor on the other side and the one across the street before they moved out. You have been nothing but a help whether it was the pool pump or any other issue. I thank you for that! Have you met the person who is moving in?
Neighbor: My wife has. She thought it was a mother and a couple of kids. She thought they seemed nice.
Me: One Sunday afternoon, I met them. I thought the mother had a husband. I guess we will find out soon.
Neighbor: Yes, the close date has been pushed back. We have sold to the relocation company, but I think the house will sit empty a week or so before they move in.
Me: Better go supervise their packing. If things are going into storage before you find a house, you don’t want any problems when you open the cartons in Connecticut. (He told me the headhunter was so surprised someone would want to leave Texas and move to New England.) You have been a good neighbor, and I thank you for it! Best of luck to you and your wife!
Neighbor: Thanks, Andy! Have a great Christmas.

As our best neighbor leaves, we are very hopeful the new neighbor does not disappoint the expectations developed through the interviewing process. As little influence as we had on the final decision of who would move in next door, we are truly hopeful the minimum expectations are met. We have had enough car dings and bipolar mood swings out of our neighbors. Just give us a family (any of the definitions of family apply even if somewhere on the LGBT spectrum) with a couple of kids (preferable one within a couple of years of my daughters) who have minimum distinguishing features (this includes tattoos, piercings, and/or clothes or hair styles) but with a desire to try and be a good neighbor, and we will be fine.

Your Neighbor May Not Be Very Nice If…

Although these may look like an innocent pile of leaves, they really are not. And, if you are curious, they are not some random swirling of leaves who all decided to congregate at approximately the same place. We are pretty sure it is a plot crafted by our neighbors to get back at us for something beyond our control….

When we bought the house almost 5 years ago, both our neighbors and us had swimming pools. As an additional bonus, we had an elm tree hanging over our pool. It ALSO hung over our neighbors pool and our back fence. When we moved in, the tree was well established. It is not a mutant tree we bought from a catalog nor is it a tree that has benefited from any type of dark magic. It is simply a tree with natural tree-like tendencies. And, when it gets close to winter time (commonly referred to as autumn or fall), the leaves fall off of the tree. They are not vindictive. They do not follow bizarre whims or mystical vortexes that propel them into places other than where God intends for them to go. Sometimes it is windy, and sometimes it is not. Once the tree decides it is done with its foliage, it is a VERY random thing. Sometimes the randomness of these actions will allow these leaves to fall into someones pool. And, if your neighbor has a big tree with lots of foliage, it would seem almost impossible to believe all leaves would avoid your yard/pool entirely. When these random leaves arrive in someone’s pool, it is likely they will float (or sink) and arrive in the pool’s skimmer. Once in the skimmer, the leaves are all packed into a little basket until the faithful owner arrives to take the basket to the garbage or compost pile or….

Now, back to our picture…Just to the right of the leaf piles, we have our property line. (It does not follow the driveway, but it is just to the right.) It is our contention our neighbor chooses to dump his skimmer basket in his front yard just to the left of the property line. It is also our belief that our neighbor hopes the wind blows the leaves into our yard. And, if he is really fortunate and cheers the leaves on really loudly, he might be rewarded by some of the leaves he rescued from the skimmer arriving in our garage! (In the spring/late-winter when the same tree drops lots of seeds, we also find similar piles of seeds in the front yard.)

The same neighbor has been known to mow our thin strip of grass to the left of our driveway, so I am trying to remember this as I fail to find any rational way to explain his “skimmer-dumping” habit. I usually have to satisfy myself with thinking it is their teenage son who has become frustrated doing the extra pool maintenance. In his teenage mind full of distortions and perceived unfairness, the dumping of the skimmer trash on the edge of our yard is the only fair way to resolve the incredible misfortune he has been forced to endure.

In other ways, the neighbor is completely fine. He does wave or engage in brief conversations if we are both out at the same time. (I have been known to wait a little longer in the house before going outside to give him time to leave. Their driveway is on the other side of the house, so this is not a very frequent phenomenon.) While realizing I am not a perfect neighbor, I will have to be content “hoping” he treats his other neighbor better than he treats us. If the worst he is going to give me is something biodegradable, I will be grateful. And, if the worst I give him is a little bit of a tongue lashing via a blog, then maybe we are about even…

Kind Of Parallel Lives

As I was entertaining a toddler today with hand gestures at Panera while his mother and grandmother were chatting , I got an chance to strike up a conversation with his grandmother. Even though the conversation with “Granny” was brief while mom was in the bathroom changing juniors diaper, we found out we had quite a few things in common.

Me: How many grandchildren do you have? (asked while she was clearing off the table and depositing everything in the trash can just to the left of my table.)
Granny: I have 3. Two in Florida and one here with one more on the way. We had two kids of our own..
Me: We have 4 kids. Two of each. Fourteen months between the boys and 16 months between the girls. (Her daughter who was in the bathroom was pregnant with #2-18 months between her kids.) Right now, we also have 2 exchange kids.
Granny: When the kids were younger, we had 7 exchange students. Four from Germany; 1 from Switzerland; 1 from Finland, and 1 from Chile.
Me: I am sure there was quite a contrast between the European and South American exchange students! In the past we also did foster care. (I don’t know if I was trying to “top” her accomplishments or not, but I did seem to want to find an area where I had exceeded their families desire to “do good”.)
Granny: We adopted a sibling group of 3. The oldest two moved out when they turned 18. The youngest is still at the house. When he turns 18 in two years, he is probably going to leave too. I told him I would get him back to Pennsylvania, and then I guess I will be done with him like I am with his brother and sister.
Me.: When you told me before, you said you only had 2 kids….
Granny: Yes, I know. They just never felt the same. I adopted them at 11, 10, & 8. They just never felt the same. Jenny (who is now done with changing diapers has joined us) was 23 when we adopted them. I kept our adopted daughter from getting pregnant, and I kept our adopted son out of prison. I had higher goals, but those are the only things I really think I accomplished with them. (she pauses) When the last one leaves, we will be done.
Me: Wow, well God bless you for doing that! I know it must have been hard! My wife and I had a sibling group of 3 for awhile. We didn’t adopt them, but the family that did, watched them leave their families as soon as they graduated from high school. They packed up their things and moved to Florida with their older siblings. I hope it is something you are glad you did even though it wasn’t what you hoped for.
Daughter: (She was noticeable irritated. The adopted siblings didn’t seem like a favorite family discussion.) Okay, mom. Time to go. (Looking at her mother.) After the baby is born, I am hoping to take some hot yoga classes, will you be able to come and watch the kids while I go. Since they are 5:30 in the morning, I wanted to……

I felt sorry for the mother and daughter. I am sorry their family didn’t get the support and counseling they needed. (okay, it is hard to know everything in a brief conversation. ) And, of course, I feel sorry for the kids who were adopted and either never felt loved OR would never let themselves be loved. Also, I feel very grateful my family never went forward with any adoptions. We could have, but chose not to jump so far into the unknown. However, I am slightly jealous in a way. With all of the blessings my family has, it would seem like we have a responsibility to share them in a larger way then we presently do. Maybe the “idea” for doing sharing our blessings is just a conversation and a Panera visit away….

Orange Laptop

Although I like my technology, I don’t stay on the front edge of the technology curve. I have had a couple of laptops. I bought an Ipad over 3 years ago before my wife and I went to Europe, but my most recent addition seems to get the most attention.

My son got a Chromebook for school this year. He enjoyed its features and its ability to be so easily mobile. I put it on my list of things I would like to have sometime soon. And, as our exchange student needed to borrow my Ipad for the first few months she was here, the Chromebook moved up the wishlist considerably. I tried to make one of my old laptops work, but it did not possess the mobility I needed. As my birthday approached, my wife went ahead and greenlighted the purchase of the Chromebook. So, I purchased it and handed it over to my wife to add to my gift stash. (She got a cruise for her significant birthday while i got a laptop…)

Even though it is “only” a Chromebook, I did personalize it with an orange shell. While the shell allows me to tilt the computer to assure proper typing angle, the non-screen orange shell-side does catches quite a few eyes. While I was at Panera recently, a little boy could not take his eyes off of it. He kept turning around in his highchair. His mother kept adjusting the chair to make it more difficult for him to see it. Not to be deterred, he kept cranking his little head around to have his eyes tickled by the neon orange “TV” without a changing picture.

My daughters and others have also commented on my orange laptop. It looks kind of like a Macbook. The orange cover distracts and allows anyone looking at it to just think about how something that color must be cool. Cool or not, it is a great little laptop. If it leads to a few conversations and a few more ideas for postings, it will have more than exceeded my expectations.

Would You Like A Paper With That?

Happy Thanksgiving to all! Do you have your ads yet?

As my wife and I got up this morning, she made the coffee while I wondered out to Walmart to get the paper. (I do feel badly they are working today. However, due to a dispute with the “Fort Worth Star Telegram” over their vacation policy when subscribers “hold” their paper, we are not getting a paper over the past few weeks. It is my hope my wife and I will come to a resolution before Thanksgiving arrives next year.) As I drove the mile or so to acquire our paper, I found I was not the only one on a similar trek. As I walked through the doors, I quickly looked to the right where the papers are usually stacked. With the “paper” area completely clear, I quickly glanced to the left. Fortunately, a space on the left was full of papers! I grabbed one, used the self checkout to pay when I found the bar code, and after a couple of “Happy Thanksgivings”, I was out the door and heading home.

As I pulled into the garage, I noticed a small problem with the paper–it was “The Dallas Morning News”. The shrunk wrap bag of ads was still prominent, so I was pretty sure the presentation of the paper would be well received.

Me (to my wife): Do you want the good news or the bad news?
Wife: They were out of papers with ads?
Me: No problem with the ads; I just grabbed the wrong paper. I just hope you like their puzzles, too!

After looking over the ads, eating our crockpot pumpkin oatmeal w/ coffee, and doing some initial shopping strategizing, the food prep continued.

Our little re-purposed, brightly wrapped tissue box is waiting to gather all of the Thanksgiving notes (What are you thankful for? Write it down and stick it in the box.) today’s attendees deem worthy of the effort. As we set down at our meal, we pass around the contents so they are equally distributed to all who share our table. You may or may not get your written contributions to read from the box, but you will hear your “thanks” read to those you are sharing the table with.

Regardless of how you express “thanks” in your home, please make a special effort to be thankful for the abundance of blessings – both appreciated and under-appreciated. May all of our lives be richer for this “holiday pause”. May we look across our lives and find some area where we struggle to be thankful and commit to trying a little harder. May we look across the table and commit to be nicer or more patient with someone with whom we are sharing this meal. And, since we are Americans, may we forget what we don’t like about our country for a few hours. May all of our eyes be open to see the blessings that are daily all around us!

Morning Glory

After a couple of cloudy days and one VERY rainy day, it was good to be able to go outside on a walk Sunday morning!

The sky seemed a little bluer and the animals (upright and those on all fours) seemed to a little happier to greet the morning. Every living thing seemed to be celebrating the bright new day with its own special glow. (Maybe not the longhorns…)

The fall color is fleeting at best in Texas, but if you are patient and lower your expectations (Midwestern fall expectations will set you up for disappointment), you can find trees with fantastic color. And, although it is difficult to find an entire tree line with eye-popping color, the right perspective can allow you to see the beauty a Texas fall offers.

The Internet Timeout

As I have tried to get away from the distractions of life and the responsibilities associated with my various roles, I have been finding the available wireless internet access points that are free. While I am inclined to at least get a drink prior to getting comfortable, I am pretty sure I have seen the guy sneak into McDonald’s and pull his computer out without having any qualms whatsoever.

The timeout probably does not effect most normal people. If you are surfing, eating your meal and leaving once the meal is completed, or just stopping for a quick snack, you may not encounter this dreaded phenomenon. The slayer of a great ideas and the denier of great thoughts! What is it? The “free wireless boot”!

I experienced this today while enjoying my tea at McDonald’s. I realized I probably overstayed my welcome, but I was not warned or given any grace in the matter. I went to publish something I worked hard to craft only to find my connection was not very interested in staying connected to me. The laptop (a chromebook, so I don’t know all of its nuances) said the wifi was present. All of my tinkering and attempting to salvage the situation resulted in the perfect edits ending up as unsaved characters on an otherwise compliant screen. I have since tried to publish it, but I am convinced my memory and editing skills were far less superior when I tackled it later in the day.

My Panera shove was not nearly as disastrous. Although my wifi connection and I temporarily lost interest in each other, I was able to rekindle the relationship before anything ephemeral or “brilliant” was lost for the ages. (If it is not obvious, my tongue was firmly planted in my cheek as I typed this.)

Certainly I can try and find a muse residing where the internet is always free and non-judgmental. I could even attempt to forego all of my responsibilities when my office door is closed. However, since I don’t trust myself and my unceasing efforts to assign blame and avoid the capturing of even one good thought, I am likely to continue to seek inspiration beyond the cluttered desk and boring walls of my self-proclaimed den. My den is a place where ideas may not go to die, but they certainly to not live as freely or as vibrantly as when they are grown while drinking someone else’s coffee or tea.

Bleeders Can Be Choosers

As I prepared to punch the nearly quarterly clock at “Vampires R Us”, I was soon to find out my blood letting of choice was not available! A compromise was reached, and this is how it went….

The same pleasant lady greeted me at the front desk at Carter Blood Care. (I have periods of blood giving frequency. Presently, I am trying hard to give at every opportunity. My favorite giving of choice is “double red”. They pump blood out and then pump it back in after the red blood cells are removed) My goal is to only submit myself to a needle every 16 weeks. This gives me the satisfaction of doing good and only having to deal with the annoying screening process as infrequently as possible. Less annoying means I don’t make excuses for doing something good. Our encounter went like this:

As the greeter got me to sign in and gathered the necessary IDs, she asked me,"What    blood type are you?"
Without hesitation, I said, "O+". (I didn't say "plus sign", it was just easier to
type.)
"And, what type of donation did you want to do today?", she inquired.
"Double red.", I said without hesitation.
With a slight pause she stated, "We are not taking double red for O+ today, but we can use your platelets or whole blood. Can I go ahead and get you going on a platelet      donation?"
Now, my turn to hesitate. "How long does it take?"
"It may take up to 2 hours.", she informed me.
"Since I haven't done platelets before, I guess I can do it once.", I replied with     additional hesitation.
"Great! With platelets you can come back and give again in 2 weeks. (Note my previous  comments about quarterly time clock punching.) Have you taken aspirin in the past 48   hours?"
"Unfortunately, I have.", I mumbled.(Aspirin thins the blood & frustrates the platelet gatherers.)
"Then, lets go ahead and get you in for whole blood today!"
"Okay. At least I will get out quickly.", I said as I acquiesced.

The rest of the donation went pretty uneventfully. My “screener” had to spend some extra time making sure our cruise in the Caribbean did not give me a “fail” for today’s donation. One woman I met in the reception area was there for “mommy time” while doing platelets. She was trying to sell me on how great it is doing platelets. She brings her own movies and just enjoys herself for 2 hours. Unfortunately, while I was giving, I saw her walk out after leaving the screener’s door. For some reason, she didn’t make it past the screening process. Maybe an aspirin or a tattoo or a fail on any of those other crazy questions regarding where you have been, who you have been with, or what you have done to your body lately.

After meeting my “blood collection technician”, I couldn’t help but ask if she was pregnant. (I guess it takes guts to ask this of the woman poking you with a needle, but sometimes I just need to know. The same question at a garage sale we hosted did not turn out as well…) She answered “yes”, and we had a brief discussion on, “If you are going to have a toddler boy with long hair you should at least dress them in something not gender-neutral to save ‘friendly’ people from any embarrassment when asking what you call your daughter.” Since it only took 8 minutes to fill the bag, it did not allow for much additional conversation. Once the bag was full, she gave a tug on the needle and asked me to put a little pressure on the “entry point”. The blue, stretchy wrap she used to circumnavigate my arm had a duel purpose. Besides holding the gauze in place over the wound, the “blue, stretchy wrap” roll doubled as my squeezy toy I was instructed to squeeze every few seconds while my blood was filling the bag.

It ruined my day to be told I would need to limit my tobacco and alcohol usage, but some how I found the strength to rise off the gurney to engage in the final part of the ritual – the snack. Once the snack and liquid were consumed (They asked I sit 10-15 minutes before leaving. Really, more of a guideline then a rule.), I had a brief dialogue with the nurses closest to the snack area.

"You feeling okay?, she asked.
"Considering it is my first time giving, I guess I am okay.", I said while taking a    step with a slight deliberate stutter in it...almost a tripping motion.
"Could almost give in your sleep, huh?", she replied in a non-concerned manner.
"Pretty much", I said as I tripped the rest of the way out the door. (not really)

The greeter/good-byer couldn’t help but ask if I would schedule my next appointment. I don’t blame her persistence. However, I am the kind of guy who digs in his heels if he has to continue saying, “No” to the same question. Since they didn’t want my blood in its desired form today, I did have some concern whether they would even want my old, boring O+ on January 15th. As good as it feels to give blood to help others, bleeders can be choosers.

Meatloaf Fingers

As we made a recent trip to Sam’s and bought a “tube” of hamburger, the hunk of meats fate had already been decided. One-third of the meat was for a meatloaf, and the rest of it was going to be browned and frozen to make a rapid appearance in some other meal. (A “rapid” meal might be tacos, Hamburger Helper, or a meat-enriched spaghetti sauce.) Since I am the one who prepares the meat “best” and has the time (Best is generally in reference to browning the meat–I don’t like the chunks very big. My wife’s tolerance are not quite as stringent.), I spent part of my morning dividing and conquering the meat.

It is my contention that meatloaf cannot be made by using a spoon to mix the ingredients. (Simple ingredients of meat [80/20 is best – 90/10 is to dry], onion soup mix, a couple of eggs, and a couple handfuls of quick oats) I suppose a glass cooking dish could also be used to do the mixing, but I really need to have the sides of the bowl to allow the meat and ingredients to be more successfully mixed. If you insist on mixing your meat while using a spoon, I suppose it may taste okay, but your fingers will never achieve the nirvana that is “meatloaf fingers”. When mixing the meat with your fingers, a chill starts in the fingers and work its way almost to the elbows. As frostbite nears and the fingers are approaching unresponsiveness, the fingers are allowed a couple of brief breaks from the meatloaf. After two such breaks, the eyes and fingers typically agree-the meatloaf can now be handed off to the oven.

Prior to sticking the meatloaf into the over and after it was chilled for a few hours (the chilling may or may not be necessary, but making it ahead always seems to be a good idea.), the loaf is divided into thirds-1/3 is plain, 1/3 gets covered in ketchup, and 1/3 gets deluged in barbecue sauce. About an hour an a half later at 350, we are eating.

I am proud that we make the effort to eat meals together frequently. I feel so very blessed my kids have their favorite meals and make special effort to make sure they are home for those meals (and sometimes making an effort when it is not their favorite meals). As my wife and I watched a “family-ish” commercial the other day, I commented, “We may not be perfect parents, but we have tried really hard to eat meals together.” If we had it all to do over again, the only thing I might change is finding some way to put a little more love in each meal we sat down and ate together.

Fun Parents

As I sat down at McDonald’s today to tap into their internet and slurp on an slightly sweetened iced tea, I was greeted by a family sitting two tables in front of me.

The dad in his early 20’s had droopy jeans, a knitted hat pulled over his head with a bit of hair sticking out, an unshaven face, and a couple of tattoos above his elbow peaking out from under his t-shirt. The mother had her back to me. She had shoulder length black hair with a black t-shirt. The youngest child (under 2) was in a highchair with his hair combed into a rooster type style. The older brother (no older than 4) was facing me, but blocked by his mother. He looked to be his younger brother PLUS 2 or 3 years.

As I notice the youngest brother begging pancakes off of his father’s plate, I see the smile on dad’s face as he continues to fill the nearly perpetually gaping mouth. I see little brother reach for dad as he goes to refill his Dr. Pepper (Don’t leave me dad.) . I see mom haul little brother to the bathroom to change a diaper. I see big brother watching everything going on while keeping the hand moving from plate to mouth. I see how both boys are wearing clothes that could easily be described as pajamas. I decide I will say something to the parents (see Blessed Eggs), but as they get up from their table, they go into the play area.

When they emerged from the play area, I couldn’t help but make a comment. I am not sure it was the best comment, but it was the one I had:

"You must be fun parents.  Not every parent would let their kids wear pajamas on a     drizzly day."
"Thank you. The boys insisted.  They just got their new pajamas yesterday.", she       replied.
"You guys enjoy the rest of your day.", I said with a smile.
"You, too.", the dad said with a bigger smile

It isn’t your appearance or my standards that make you a fun parent. It is how your kids see you. I have no idea what this family’s home looks like, but I know this family knows how to love their kids. I am not so arrogant to think my words made any difference in their day, but saying the words did in mine.

Syrup on the pajamas? No problem. I am sure this loving mom will have them washed for bed tonight.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy