Life

The Road Rager

Apparently, I still have enough testosterone to get myself in trouble while driving!

My daughter had a birthday party at 5:30, so with traffic it was not a stretch to think the 20 minute drive could stretch to 30 minutes. And, “traffic” really came down to one intersection. When we were backed up one light before the backed yo light, I started doing a bit of self-talk. (Not sure if I was talking out loud or in my head, but I am sure the dialogue did take place.)

“We will be lucky to make it through this light in 4 lights. I hope he doesn’t want to turn into the Home Depot. He should go straight and turn at the next light and come in the back way. Boy, the left lanes (the road has 4 lanes. The left two are turn lanes, and the right two are the going straight lanes. The far right lane has the option to also turn right. I was positioned in the straight-only lane.) are clearing out quickly. I am sure somebody is going to try and sneak in so they don’t have to wait in the long line. I hope they don’t do it to me. If I am lucky, I should get through the next light, but these cars sure don’t move very quickly. I REALLY hope I can make it on this one. Oh, good. It looks like I am going to make it.”

At this point, I am sure I started talking out loud. As the light turned yellow, I was just getting into the intersection. And, the guy in the car next to me (my left) wanted to skip all of the waiting and sneak right in front of me from the turn lane w/o waiting. It was at this point, my testosterone kicked in briefly, and I gave the car enough gas so I would stay ahead of him. On the other side of the intersection, there is a train track. And, since the nose of his car was just ahead of mine, I yielded to him. Prior to yielding, I made a hand/arm gesture trying to ask the question, “Why should I let you in when you came from the turn lane and decided to go straight?” (In my mind, this “him” is a petulant little child who may be living in the body of an adult, but is a very sad little boy deep down. He expected the world to submit to his whim and if it doesn’t submit, he has to throw a temper tantrum to show why you should never deny him what he obviously deserves. He was likely the type of child who got everything he wanted, and when he did get in trouble, his parents would blame the adult who found fault with their fantastic, beautiful son. )

If only this was the end of the incident, I would not have fully learned the lesson that I needed to. As we drove toward the next light, I tried to switch lanes a couple of times so I would not be behind him. Each time I switched lanes, he would switch lanes ahead of me. The closer he was to me when he switched lanes, the bigger he shrugged his shoulders. I think he was trying to say in his “I am more important than you way”, “How does it feel when somebody cuts you off?” My response would be something to do with waiting my turn and using the lane for its designed purpose. I resolved at this point to try and keep an appropriate distance from him while trying to get my daughter to her party in one piece.

With two traffic lights to go before I made a right hand turn, I was trying to drive carefully. As he was still in front of me, I knew I would make no sudden moves. But, when traffic opened up enough, I switched into the left lane. I was working on passing him, when he pulled out in front of me leaving me almost NO room to brake. He didn’t need to get over…he was still working through what he perceived to be my personal affront to his manliness. (His wife or girlfriend was in the front seat and maybe he wanted to impress her. Since I had the minivan, he must have thought it would be really impressive to mess with the dad driving some portion of his family around. ) He shrugs his shoulders and feels really pleased with himself for his incredible victory in this battle of minds. This is where my rarely used “long horn” seems to beep for a second or two. (A short been would not have allowed me to vent adequately) His head swells with pride knowing he has gotten to me so superbly. He has a little trophy to put on his shelf with all of the sports trophies he garnered for being a participating bench-warmer in various soccer and t-ball teams. His favorite trophy is probably the one for “Most likely to be thrown out of a game for being a bad sport” and the most accurate trophy from High School was for “Most likely to be involved in a drive by shooting”.

At the last light after pulling my head together and realizing what a psycho I am dealing with, I stay at a distance behind him in the far right lane. Once the light changes and he clears the intersection, I put on my turn signal and turn right. I still had a bit of emotions to gain control of, but I survived and learned a very valuable lesson. I do not think I would have let him ahead of me as he entered the intersection in the wrong lane. After viewing his actions, I would, however, assume he was a psycho immediately. I would turn at the first light and camp for a couple minutes so he would be WAY beyond me. Let him get to his destination w/o having to deal with getting revenge on some crazy old man in a minivan.

As much as I ranted here, I did say a prayer for him and myself. Neither of us handed it perfectly, and I can only control what I learned from the experience. I pray we both become better people and have experiences to get us to the point where we are supposed to be. (If I rant any more right now, it will make me seem like I need LOTS of help after the little party we shared. ) Fortunately, I walked for 6 miles afterwards with the last mile spent with a good Christian guy. I have put this little learning experience into perspective. Life happens, and if you don’t learn from the bad experiences, ask someone to bump the record player to get you our of the annoying rut you are in.

Easy Salmonella?

What started out as a simple day where the only real plan was making fajitas on the grill, did have a few complications!

With both boys off at 5:00, it looked like we could have one of those rare meals together. (We do very well eating together IF the kids are at the house. The “Chik-fil-A wrinkle” is whether they will be off when dinner time arrives OR if they will be far enough removed from their break to make dinner something they will consider.) We had a partial package of chicken breast in the frig, so I put on my marinading hat. (Of course, this can be understood to mean tenderizing hammer/mallet and my fat-removal knife.) I grab a convenient cutting board, and I start trimming and pounding. A few pauses for coating the chicken in the marinade, and 5 breast later, we know the chicken will be our best all tex-mexed for dinner. I clean up my mess (put away the marinade ingredients, clean off the cutting board, & put the covered chicken into the frig) before going to get the girls.

Knowing the boys can eat a bit of fajitas, we stop at Sam’s on the way home to get another package chicken. Once we get home prepping the chicken is on my mind, but the fresh hummus we had been planning means lunch, and lunch is our priority. After some tweaking to our first hummus venture and the introduction of the roasted red pepper (roasted a couple of days before and refrigerated in anticipation of this blessed blending in my new food processor), I praised the girls for reaching the pinnacle of hummus perfection in only two tries. They took the praise, and prepared the veggies for the hummus dipping. After arranging the celery, carrots and thin pretzels nicely on a plate, we sat down to eat. There was no double-dipping as we all dipped into the hummus container. All 3 of enjoyed it very much. And, the container was greatly depleted of its marvelous hummus-ness before we hung up our taste buds.

And, no, I haven’t forgotten the salmonella in the title. As we were cleaning up the kitchen, I noticed the cutting board I had cut chicken on earlier. It was sitting in the exact spot I would have expected the veggies to be cut on. Her quick “yes” answered the question I had hesitated to ask, “Did you use this cutting board for the veggies?” (I had scraped the board and the board was made of plastic, but yet it just was not “good” to reuse the board after the previous food that had been playing on its knife etched surface was a protein known to carry “bad” things.)

After running through a quick lecture on “if it is in the sink do NOT use it without asking first”, I did the obligatory Google search on salmonella. As it turns out, the site I went to informed me we would know in 12 – 72 hours if we were sick. And, as I write this, we are sitting on 56 hours. I am VERY hopeful it will just turn out to be a great life lesson for my daughter, but if not, I will still love her. I am guessing my stomach will ultimately forgive her. (She did make homemade granola bars today, so I am guessing my stomach has already warmed up to the idea.) Maybe further research will prove hummus has salmonella killing qualities…. If I am “clean” in 16 hours, I am willing to swear on a can of garbanzo beans that it does!

Post-Monsoon Mushrooms

Due to the “much” rain in north Texas early this week, some of the fruits of the rain are creating the inevitable contrast with the grass (presently green). I am not talking about greener grass (although it is true). I am not talking about swimming pools that are still nearly overflowing. (In our pool, the pool will drain the water off until it gets below a certain level.) I am, of course, talking about the mushroom.

I saw many different varieties on my walk today. I had no confidence in any prior mushroom recognition skills to pick one up and start chewing. The varieties were all similar: some sort of toadstool type of thing. (Not good for eating anyways) Seeing that many made me think of how mushroom were a lot more numerous up north. While I am at it, it is worth noting the growth in the beds. The fungus loves the moisture. Its mottled brown kind of wavy growth is certainly not something you would plant. However, the fungus seems to either be a free additive in the bags of mulch or it is a special treasure the flower beds reserves for extra wet conditions. (My kids know they can expect to hear, “There is a fungus among us.” whenever I hear the word.)

It also must be noted the anger mushrooms seem to bring up in people. It seems observing a mushroom minding its own business is too much for people. They (or people like me) seem to find it overly compelling to either kick off the top of the mushroom or manually remove its lid. Fortunately, I have some restraint. I am usually content destroying only one of family of mushrooms. Some of my lesser brethren cannot resist the urge to destroy not only the family but any extended family that dwells in close proximity. (In the above picture one of the mushroom family was deceased and on the sidewalk…not at my hand or foot…)

Is there a moral here? Probably not. I hope in my observations someone might find a smile as their brains dance through the memories each reader has access to. And, if not, feel free to borrow some of my memories-none of mine are copyrighted!

Less Facebook = Happier Life

My mood the past few days has not been what I like for it to be. I have agonized over it, and I can come up with really only one solution—-Facebook!

It is not the post from friends. It is not the invitations that I have learned to ignore and delete. And, it is not even the constant gnawing of “what a pathetic life I live” by reviewing all of the many pictures from foreign places I may never see. (Somebodies bucket list is getting a good workout. If only we could assign bucket list items out. When we live out our assigned item(s), others can live vicariously through our experience, and we through theirs…..but, that might be another future post.) No, I am referring to the groups I have that ALL repost the same stories or variations on the same story. And, to be even MORE specific, it is all of the political stuff I like to stay current on. (Since I lean right [honestly more than lean], there is lots of information out there to make me go crazy.

So, this morning, I did a purging. I went through my political groups and with the exception of only a couple, I have stopped following them. I wish them well, and hope their groups continue to grow. But, I cannot be part of any future growth. I have read their stories, watched their little video ads that play before the “real” video (they do make some sort of money off of that–they have to), and I have become visibly frustrated by the bickering and failures of our government to honor its laws and to work together to produce results that those outside of Washington can claim as successful.

If the government is not there for me, then I don’t need to be reading every nuance of a story on Facebook that is documenting the fall. I don’t need to become enraged reading the spin from various conservative or liberal media outlets. And, frankly, I don’t need to waste time dealing with what I already know to be the truth – the spiral downward is an inevitable part of the human journey.

On a happier note, I see my mood improving already!

I will journey onward keeping tabs on the plummet downward – the speed and the pitch downward vary, but the direction seems unavoidable. With this knowledge, my happiness and satisfaction must be sought from other than providing influence on the national level. I will fully be the dad, husband, and citizen I can be. I will visit Facebook to keep up on friends. But, I will NO LONGER use Facebook as a way to peer into the lives of our representatives in Washington. Many of them serve a different master than I or we have an entirely different idea of what our Master seeks from us.

So, I may give a “like” or provide a comment OR even post something of my own. My lack of involvement is nothing personal, it is just me.

Grunting By Degrees

My daughter was sitting in the backseat reading this morning on the way to her summer workout for cross country. I, trying to be a good father although teenagers make you sometimes wonder if you have anything worth salvaging, asked her how her book was going. (This was a book we had reserved online at the library. We had made a special trip to pick it up. An earlier inquiry received a simple, “Okay.”)

Due to my love of reading, I was looking for some response with a little passion. When I received a grunt, I took it as a sign the book was going the right direction. However, it was my next question where clarity arose.

“What has happened in the book to make you like it more now?”, I ask.

She replied, “It is not really getting better. I just want something to read.”

It is then I determined the lack of clarity a grunt offers. A grunt starting with a “N” sound, would certainly be on the negative side of the spectrum–at least as well as can be offered by grunts. If the grunt started with a “Y” or in my case, anything other than a “N” sound, it is categorized as being more positive.

Due to the failure at my first attempt interpreting the grunt, I may need to give additional attention to any additional syllables–if they are available. Until then, I will treat most grunts in the affirmative. And, if done with enough enthusiasm, the grunter may decide to refrain from the grunting and even speak English. Fathers can be SO demanding!

New Ninja Move

On Father’s Day my family (actually it was me acting with the encouragement of my family) got me a Ninja food-processor/blender. Of course, I was VERY grateful for their generosity. Since the boxe has been opened, they have made me a smoothie, peanut butter, hummus, and a couple of things made for breakfast-they didn’t offer me any of the breakfast drink, but since they used it early morning, it did affect my sleep a bit!

So, when my daughter came to me saying, “You want to see my new Ninja move?” I fully expected her move to have something to do with spinning and sticking arms and legs out in an attempt to simulate the blades on my Ninja. However, this was not her intention at all! She just did a “karate” style move and wanted my admiration. Once I explained to her what I expected, she wished she would have thought of my interpretation first!

Even as my daughters move into and through the teen age years, I hope I can continue to have an active mind and an appreciative set of eyes to admire the ladies they are becoming!

We Are Secret Hoarders….

We didn’t wake up one day and determine this was a good day to be hoarders. We didn’t all of a sudden think, “passing up a real good deal is not worth it if I have a square foot of floor space available. I should spend all I have to fill that space.” And, we didn’t even say, “I need a hobby–I should hoard.” The consequences of the decision are something we don’t yet fully understand. As the picture above indicates, our bathtub is no longer usable. A corner of our bedroom is the proud parent of a growing stack of tubs and boxes. The end of our bed also has a stack allowing only a narrow passageway out from my side of the bed.

Fortunately, our hoarding (not real hoarder but stuff not tucked semi-neatly into a closet) is because of a little mistake I made when changing the water filter on the refrigerator a couple weekends back. I popped out the old filter and popped in the new one. The process seemed a little different then previous filter changes, but water still came out, so in my mind, all was good.

Jump ahead to Tuesday (I believe I had some other semi-traumatic events that took place in the mean time, but since they are not relevant to this story, I will leave those for a future posting or to be erased in the sands of time when my brain starts failing its memory test) Judy find water sitting in her closet. Clothes in our bathroom (right outside of her closet) are soaking wet. Since we always had a basement before, we thought “maybe” something went wrong within our concrete slab…possibly a slab leak. A call to a plumber had us prepared for the worst.

Sometime right before the plumber arrived, I thought back to the water filter changing. I got in there and pulled the filter out and made extra sure I got in seated correctly this time. The “whoosh” convinced me the lack of “whoosh” before was probably the reason for the water problem. The plumber still came and allowed me to write him a small check for the privilege of telling me I should be more careful when changing the water filter.

Drying out the closet and the issues that followed will be saved for another post. Believe me, the really easy part was creating the mess. It was the cleanup where my patience was truly stretched.

Sense of Taste is What Counts

Boy, the Oreo packaging looked good. They took this brand the women (and young girls soon to be women) really love and tried to expand it. Although they get credit for trying, the experiment was not a very successful one at our house.

The cookies made an entrance into our house a couple of weeks ago. The consuming was fast and furious the first couple of days. As the picture indicates, their are 4 orphans remaining. And, I believe it is the same orphans who have been snuggled together for the entire period since the cookies lost their coolness. As cleaning for a graduation party nears, I am guessing these 4 punch-oreos will spend their eternity snuggled together wishing they could have been born chocolate.

A Tear In the Time Space Continuum

After running a few errands last night (picked the girls up from school, picked up son from school and taking him to work, ran to Trader Joe’s in downtown Ft Worth so the girls could replenish their need for some sort of “cookie spread” stuff, a quick meal at Chik-Fil-A, and a few items at Sams), we were on the drive home. When to my amazement, I looked up and saw the RacTrac lowering their price on gas. I was already kicking myself for not getting gas at Sams for $3.219. When I saw this (see above) price change, the ability to cut across 2 lanes of traffic to make it to the turn lane seemed like a privilege.

After pulling in at the pump, I needed to verify the pump matched the sign. And, it did. I took a look around the lot and everyone appeared to be dressed in the appropriate dress for our temperature and era. (It just seemed so very ironic that I was able to watch them change the gas price. It is like a small tear was opened up just for me to creep into it. ) Maybe other peoples lives are more exciting then mine. As I was filling the car, I expected others to be going, “Can you believe they just lowered the gas price? I wonder what the special occasion is? Is there a price war going on? Maybe I should look to see if one of the other stations is cheaper?” Without any of this dialogue to distract me as I waiting for the gas to finish pumping, the “tear” theory seemed to become much more of a possibility.

I completed the transaction…making sure the gas price did not spike somehow in mid-fill-up. As we left, I again looked at the other patrons. They all looked fine. However, it kind of seemed like their lips were moving extra slow and their movements were somewhat choppy. My daughter snapped the picture as we left just to make sure I had not imaging the whole thing. Fortunately, the needle on the dash went up to full, so wherever it was I got the gas, it was substantial enough to actually take up space in my tank. Also, I was very careful to leave the “tear” the same way I entered. My obvious concern was if I entered the continuum in the wrong place I might run into myself back at the house.

Finally, the new day was born and ran my girls to school again. The gas station who sold me the cheap gas was now back to the price my gas was lowered from. Neighboring gas stations had raised their prices almost 25 cents.

The summer blends were supposed to be at the pump on May 1st, so the only “real” thing I can figure out is the gas station was told to change the price 25 cents. They got confused and temporarily lowered instead of raised. (Later that night a gas station in close proximity to this station raised theirs 25 cents. ) My biggest disappointment is I was only on a 1/4 tank when I stumbled upon the tear–fumes would have been better. 😉

Friday Morning Driving Karma

With a slightly late start and the traffic lights wanting to admire my naturally handsome smile by making pausing and stare at numerous of their kind, I was a little bit more intense than usual as I took my disguised school bus (going to school, but not yellow–yes, I felt it a little awkward, too) toward the schoolish direction.

As I drove the street of my special school shortcut, a parked car on the right entered into traffic. At the STOP sign just a few yards from his house, he turned right. Unfortunately, so did I. With a speed limit of 30 and this vehicle barely going 20, I was looking for any excuse to get around him. When he pulled to the right curb, I thought he was going to park and stop. My instincts were false. He kept driving and my effort to pass him was greeted by a need to immediately floor it to get around the on-coming traffic. All was fine. The car with the problem (I realize I also had a problem, but from my perspective, it was all him-it was only when reflecting back on it to I even suggest I was slightly in the wrong) made a right hand turn and cleared the road. My daughters gave a slight jump. I made some sort of experienced-dad comment like, “That was more interesting than it should have been.” The drive to school continues.

This week has been a bad week for trains. Karma was not to be robbed. We here the horn announcing the trains impending road blockage. As the track come into view the gates are down and the train is slowly crossing the tracks. (Many times this train will stop on the tracks. Yes, we have sat through it a few times. We have tried to outrun it to the south and cross before it blocked the tracks, and we have strategized on ways to avoid it in the future. The “leave the house early” has saved us many a delay, but see paragraph above….) Today, we chose to turn right before our normal crossing place and be satisfied with crossing the tracks at a road slightly to the north. This did work out…kinda. Because of the cars backed up on the other side of the train, the “plan” of turning left after crossing the tracks on the different road did not work so well. By the time we made the left hand turn and wound our way through the residential streets seeking our normal school path, the train had cleared our “regular” spot. Karma-One; Andy-Zero.

The school drop off went okay. Yes, we were later. Yes, there was more traffic. Courteousness remained. I was on the road again ready to avoid any Karma remaining in my morning drive. I did avoid most of it. (maybe he laid no additional traps or I was too slippery for him to catch me. As a rule, I do cut through another neighborhood that runs past our church to avoid a few lights and LOTS more traffic. I may have scored a point or two against Karma here. If I didn’t see it, it can never be tallied. I have far better things to do than seek out traffic reports of alternate routes to defeat a fictitious nemesis.)

As I made my last “real” shortcut, Karma did try again. This time it was a car accident on a two lane road where the accident was in my right turn lane swelling into almost two lanes. After staring at a bumper wondering if a turn was available while the traffic light seemed VERY slow to change, I took the matter into my own hands. A quick left turn gave me an alternate option to my desired road. The rest of the drive home was nothing a little normal traffic light patience could not handle.

With a possible recognition by Karma of my elusive nature, I was able to pull into the driveway 5 minutes before the trash truck arrived. With the trash out, Karma (I hope) will put me back into the “to-do” jar. And, with any luck, my name will not be drawn again for quite some time.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy