Why is there a “Frozen Toast” button on my toaster? When it goes in, it is not toast and when it comes out it is not frozen? Was there concern a “Cold/Frozen Bread” button would have caused greater concern? What if it is a frozen bagel or something? (Please note there is a “Frozen Bagel” as well.) What if you are toasted an English muffin?
As I woke up this morning (or maybe it was Saturday), the neighbor across the street had moved their entire garage out on their driveway. After waffling on the garage-sale/not-garage-sale decision for a moment, the generic signed posted on a stake confirmed what was going on. (Not to mention the VW bug, for sale with its mouth open at the front of the driveway.)
While normally this might be a reason to rejoice as my daughters and wife anticipate something new and cheap for their mutual enjoyment, there are a couple of things I have considered/witnessed–both long and short range.
**-but maybe a garage sale with excessively inconsiderate parking
While visiting a local supermarket with a reputation for having good produce, I was enjoying having my soon-to-head-back-to-college son with us. I know we swapped some light-hearted banter while my daughter found the items on her list. (She made us promise not to get gummy bears from the bulk bins, but they were on sale. And, she didn’t care if I got a bag of the almonds that were on sale, but when I did the bag tore and made a mess within the blast zone.) I don’t believe any clementine juggling took place. We would not injure innocent fruit unless we were planning on consuming it.
As we chose a lane to check out (we really did not have a choice. There was only one lane open UNTIL I had all of my items on the belt. Once mine made it on the belt, the next lane opened up.), I looked forward to having a possible conversation with the cashier. He was a jolly gentlemen who used to be a respiratory therapist. The stress of that job pushed him into working nights at the above mentioned supermarket. (There may have been a few other stops and hops along his journey to here. If there were, he never mentioned them or I had yet to ask.)
As the groceries started going across his scanner, he asked, “So, did you find everything?”
Being a dutiful customer, I replied, “Yep. I scattered a few almonds for the vermin that lick crumbs off the floor every night. And, I sacrificed a mixture of fruits in a an effort to push back the upcoming winter temperatures.”
Still in character, he added, “I don’t often talk to someone who knows so much about what goes on around here.”
As my kids gave me odd looks, I confessed to all who would listen including the lady right behind me in line, “I know you need to make conversation with whoever comes through the line, so I figured I would help you out. A couple times ago, you told me about your past career….”
I pause for effect. The lady behind me turns her head slightly to hear this possibly interesting fact. My daughter is not facing me, but I anticipate an eye roll. My son being a bit of a clown himself is curious what I will do in my moment. And, the cashier slows up his processing of items on the belt to hear clearly if I knew about his respiratory therapy past.
“….as a male dancer.”, I finished. The lady behind me smiles. My son laughs out loud.
The cashier gives a chuckle and says, “My wife probably wishes that was the case. I have never been much of a dancer.”
As I can tell my daughter is choosing not to give me any eye contact, I embarrass her further by saying, “My daughter can’t believe her dad can’t keep his mouth shut–not even to go to the store.”
The lady behind me smiles a little bigger as embarrassment must be a natural way of trying to smother the slightly inappropriate. The cashier gives me the receipt while giving me a smile that seems to say, “Thanks for your business and for breaking the monotony of an otherwise boring day.”
While not wanting to let my moment die quite yet, I couldn’t help but say, “I know you don’t accept tips, and I don’t want you to dance for it. So, I hope you will settle for, ‘Have a good night.'”
The conversation on the drive home allowed me to relive my moment from their perspective. It is in these moments my kids character comes out. My son encouraged me to continue to be my quirky self. My daughter wanted to go home and hug her mother and tell her what a monster her father is when she is not there to supervise. (Not really….or if she did she was discrete.)
I don’t always involve so many people in my fun. Maybe, I need to make it a goal. If it is not illegal, immoral or unethical, I should go for the smile. I will keep exploring this philosophy during the course of 2016. Maybe I will blog more…..?
Leading up to Christmas, you heard of the occasional stories or saw videos of thieves stealing packages filled with Christmas surprises off of peoples front doorsteps. Yesterday, for a moment, I felt like a thief….
Earlier in the week, I ordered a new set of shoes from Amazon. I probably won’t need these shoes for a couple of months yet. I have that “be prepared” mentality. Two days ago, I received an email from UPS to expect their arrival tomorrow. (I do have a UPS account, so I am not sure if this is a unique service I receive OR if it is entirely based on what the Amazon seller includes when the packing label is created.)
Yesterday (aka “the next day”) arrived. It was late afternoon when my email arrived from UPS. I had just come back from my walk, so I found it a surprise the package had eluded my view when I came in the front door. Well, the package was not there–not tucked in anywhere–just not there.
Since I was pretty sure my email did not lie, I started to think of what could have happened to my shoes. In the past few months, someone tried to deliver a pizza to our house because of a wrong address (It was paid with a credit card by the real orderer and wonderful, thanks–not really), a repairman has shown up a couple of times at our address when there is the same number address (different street name) a couple of streets over, and probably a couple of other incidents where visitors get confused in sub-divisions where the a similar word/theme is present in every street name. Since I just got back from my walk, I “hoped” my street would provide the solution I was looking for.
As I fought back the possible negative impact of having to walk up to someone’s front door to retrieve the package, I headed toward the short end of the street. It was my goal to stay at sidewalk distance from the front doors–I assumed UPS did not have any special “signature” hiding places for each address. Once the short end of the street was reached without any suspicious shoe box size packages, I retraced my steps and headed the other direction. It did not take long to visually confirm the neighbor on the other side of our house had an appropriately sized box on their front porch.
At this point, I had to figure out what the ramifications were when walking up to a neighbors front door. I looked up and down the street. I saw no curtains pulled back or swaying as if just released by a “Mrs. Kravitz” (aka nosy neighbor). I glanced up and down the street to make sure there were no cars who might find my actions suspicious. With all bases covered, I put on the most relaxed smile I could muster and confidently walked to the front door and picked up the box. When a glanced proved it was my name on the address label, I knew I was in the right, but what if someone turned me in?
I considered taking a selfie with me and the package at their front door (I also would have taken a picture of the package address to remove any doubt), but I was concerned this would draw too much attention. Should I text the picture to him so my integrity would not be put in question but only possible my judgement? I settled for a picture of the package address with no texting. I would have evidence if ever needed.
Next time we are raking leaves (he does not seem to enjoy raking as much as me), doing basic pool maintenance (we seem to be on different schedules for doing this) or messing around in our garages (both of our garages face north so this one is not likely to happen either), we can discuss the crazy things that sometimes happen when the UPS guy only looks at the first two digits of a four digit address…..
As I began the part of my day commonly referred to as “pick up the girls”, [taxi for teens]. I got a little bored thinking of the routine of it all. (If my actions should ever rise to the level of being on an assassins radar, a routine could get me killed. Fortunately, I am not very accomplished…) As my mental cruise control continued to run unimpeded, I made the right hand turn onto the access-road/entrance-ramp. I made sure I was in the far left lane so I would not have to think further as I followed the lane directly onto the freeway. While the highway was on the left, a big box store was on the right(actually quite a few such stores). The parking lots dumped directly onto the access road. It was the hope all drivers entering the access road would exercise common sense as they pulled onto it.
Since there were many right-sided access points to the road sandwiched between the highway and the shopping area, I was fortunate (Really not fortunate) to encounter a truck. The truck was driven by a young guy who was determined to squeeze onto the entrance ramp between me and the driver ahead of me. Even though he would have to clear 3 lanes of traffic and immediately enter the highway, he saw it as an excellent opportunity to burn off some excessive testosterone….while forcing me to either find mine or deny its presence entirely. As he pulled into my lane and forced me to brake (I do admit to speeding up to try and keep him from executing his plan), an extended tap of my horn seemed in order.
As he got up to speed and we entered the freeway, I thought briefly the whole affair had ran its course. This was not the case. The lane we were in was an exit only lane. I immediately switched lanes expecting him to do the same. When he didn’t switch lanes, I made an effort to pass him on my right. Not surprisingly, I was greeted by his bumper as he whips his truck into my lane and cuts me off. He briefly slowed which forced me to do the same. Once his appetite for revenge was quenched, he sped up and thought no more of me-at least in a tangible way I could see.
Apparently, the use of my horn deeply bruised his manly pride. I will admit to exceeding the advised and posted speed on this access road. I just continue to be amazed at his need to create a collision course only avoidable by me not wanting to play chicken–he already committed. When I decide not to allow the construction merging cars to blend into my lane EVEN THOUGH they ignored all signs preparing them for this eventuality, I get flipped off. As I age and tire of having to compensate for drivers who fail to see “merge” or “yield” or “stop” signs, I have no choice but to drive on. I am looking forward to the day when the drivers who feel “entitled” to their own private freeway can all fight it out WITHOUT me having to watch their individual temper tantrums. (Some days I realize I may be having a little tantrum myself….)
Today, I had a different morning driving encounter. As I was driving the daughters to school, I noticed the traffic on the other side of the highway was not moving too fast. I resolved to take the access road that runs parallel to the main road when returning back to our home. It did throw a couple of extra traffic lights into my commute–traffic lights that seem to only let cars trickle through when a flood would most certainly benefit me. One light was a very light trickle this day.
While patience is not one of my strengths, I like being trapped on a freeway with non-moving vehicles far less. As I was within a light or two of clearing the intersection, I continued to look to the right–a turn only lane. I kept looking for turn signals of people who wanted into my lane-driver’s who wanted to skip the line I waited in and jump ahead quite a few cars–like jumping in front of my car for instance. I had nearly convinced myself I was going to make it without any intruders even attempting an attack on my lane. I don’t consider myself an “aggressive” driver, but I will certainly defend my car’s right to its little safety cushion.
So much for maintaining the safety cushion…. As a small gap opened ahead of me–not even big enough for a small vehicle–a truck stuck his nose in. Since he hadn’t given the obligatory pause to seek my permission and just plowed into the lane, I was not going to give in quietly. My horn was fully engaged until he was completely absorbed into my lane. (It must have been a couple of seconds.) As my pulse was heightened and I was still processing the special bonding I had just shared with this cowboy, he decides to honk his horn for an extended period to commemorate our chance encounter.
Fortunately, no damage to my car or me. It just was a continuing reminder of why driving is not for the perfectionist. While others may drive and be oblivious to those sharing the road with them, they do often need to have other drivers help them out when they look up after sending that text or petting the non-distracting dog on their lap. I may not like having to be friendly with these other drivers, but every time I put the key in the ignition I am taking an oath to try and work with all of those who chose to stick their keys in the ignition, too.
While I dislike the driving process, rarely do I need to read the asterisk related to my oath that mentions how some days my horn is a little more sensitive than others….
After dropping my daughters off at school, I was sitting at a traffic light waiting for it to change-something I do numerous times every day. (This traffic light was where an exit ramp and main road met–I was preparing to turn left.) While I was relaxing at the light listening to music, I received a slight jolt. A quick glance in the rear-view mirror revealed a truck had definitely got too far into my space.
I briefly paused, weighing my options. I felt obligated to hop out of the car and make some sort of a show of frustration. The driver was quick to tell me, “It didn’t do nothing.” Of course, this was hard to confirm or deny–he was after all still in contact with my vehicle’s bumper. Although I only justified my lack of further action later-sticking my nose into my bumper with a potential crazy maniac in the car behind me would not have been a good decision, the vehicle only had a couple of bumper scratches. (The towing attachment installed a couple of years ago may be a pain when going over areas with low clearances, but it may have played a part in keeping the bumper from yielding to the pressure exerted by the uninvited bumper.)
After calming down (it did not really upset me that much, but it was certainly off my normal routine.), I made my way home. My wife was still there-not having yet left for work. She was disappointed I chose not to be more firm in seeking resolution at the point of the accident. I was glad she went to work shortly and came home nearly forgetting about it. I had practically already forgotten it myself….
Due to the thick fog this morning and my daughters demand I let them do homework rather than talk, my thoughts tumbled over a phrase — “bird dog fog”. The meaning of the expression, at least in my mind, is a fog where you are grateful for someone to by driving ahead of you. In your lane would be preferable, but not completely necessary. When the fog is so thick with low visibility, a “bird dog” gives you a few extra feet of perceived visibility. If the car ahead of you is able to proceed along normally without braking, then you are likely to be able to do the same.
An informal definition of “bird dog” is a person involved in searching. All cars ahead of me are my bird-dogs because of their ability to extend my vision into the fog a few yards beyond my own limitations. The cars who fail to have any sort of headlights on are a different bird all together! This is where the vision extension becomes even more critical. Maybe driving in fog is something much easier than I realize. Maybe I am crediting myself with success where it is not due. Or, maybe I am most successful when going into a “creative zone” and letting instincts take over. Regardless, a week of high humidity is likely to have this phrase bouncing around in my head a few more days.
Today was the day all church attenders across the country look forward to…the day we get to sleep in a little. The day we get to feel a little bit like a “heathen”. Should we have chosen to awake after our normal hours of sleep, we could have made breakfast, more fully enjoyed the newspaper, or maybe even snuck in a bike ride or walk before heading to church. Should we have chosen not to sleep in, it was a chance to experience some of those things the non-churched people can choose to do any old Sunday they like. At this house, we mostly opted for sleep.
As we still seemed to pile out of the house on the later side of “leaving on time”, we were able to critique the affects of the neighbors party. Having the time change the day after Halloween made for a couple “over-nighters” who parked on the street where perfection succumbed to achieving something within 3 feet of the curb. Once we cleared the neighborhood, the digital clock in the car had to be sustain 11 clicks to register the “new” correct time. (SMART cars probably automatically adjust the clocks….like our phones, cable boxes, and computers.) A few digital clocks back at the house still need to be tickled back into the the right time zone within the next couple of days.
As we get within the last couple lights leading up to the church, a police car is set back off the road a 100 feet or so. I was driving within the speed limit, so I barely noticed. As we head toward the next light, an SUV behind me flashes his lights on quickly and back off again. Not having seen this signal often in Texas, it took me a couple of moments to realize he was signaling the oncoming traffic to watch out for the car whose driver has the ability to write them notes where fines are a possible option. None of the oncoming cars winked their headlights to acknowledge the courtesy, but it would have been a nice gesture.
The final and not unexpected observation was the church parking lot. Where first service is usually lightly attended for its acapella-ness as much as for its earliness, it was considerably fuller than normal. Our normal parking row was two rows further up then was available today. Since we were on the late side of being on time, the slightly longer walk to the church made us even a little later.
As I walked in, the pastor who often does the greeting at the front of the service was just inside the door. He had a few kinds words for the stragglers. He said, “They started singing without you.” I put my hands in a running position-one in front and one behind me, and shake his had as I pass by. I am pretty sure he was giving me permission to be a little late—as long as it does not happen again until March of 2016-when Daylight Savings Time begins again.
Last night we took a drive down Leftover Lane. It was not a completely miserable “drive”. I made sure the “cars” occupants had snacks to make the drive tolerable…..
After over a week of staring at the plastic containers in our refrigerator without fully committing to emptying them, the day finally arrived. The male members (As the father, I am technically a male. My appetite disqualifies me from sharing in complete male status) were both off work today, so the chances were good the refrigerator would soon by emptied and open for new residents (leftover food items). As further enticement, we stopped at a bulk food store where bribery was offered as a pathetic but effective closing technique. Although no signatures were captured in blood, my threats of repercussions seemed to properly prepare the diners for my expectations. I was even willing to purchase a couple of bottled specialty soft drinks to virtually guarantee our “drive” of being a successful one.
As luck would have it, they were good to their word. Despite recently consumed apple fritters with a side of gummy bears and the effects of carbonation on an already rather crowded appetite , the protein was all consumed pretty quickly. (Young men do like their hot dogs) I could also depend on my daughters cooperation when it comes to visiting Leftover Lane. Unfortunately, their portions are usually only capable of slowing working away at a leftover rather than fully demolishing it in a single visit. I am generally content being a cheerleader until everyone gets their plates full and their obligations fulfilled. This usually leaves me as getting the “leftovers-of-the-leftovers”. (It is not as bad as it sounds. Some unlikely combinations have yielded some good eating.) With a guest appearance by my wife who was not expected home until much later in the evening, we emptied five houses on Leftover Lane of their residents.
Now, we start plotting on how to refill the “houses” on leftover lane. Mexican is good. And, my son at college comes home for fall break next weekend. Chicken on the grill always makes for a nice neighbor. The houses(refrigerator containers) should fill up quickly!!
Walking Down Life's Road With Andy 