UPS Boo-Boo

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…..

Little Reasons I Hate Driving III

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….)

Little Reasons I Hate Driving II

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….

Little Reasons I Hate Driving I

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….

Bird Dog Fog

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.

Post-Time-Change Church

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.

Leftover Lane

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!!

 

 

Toad-a-palooza

Fall is in the air, and toads are making frequent appearances in my life–many of them as some form of carbon-based pancake along the paths where my life leads.

  • Baby toad at front door squashed by my son coming home from work.  Oh, those steel-toed shoes
  • Road crunchings- These are far more frequent then I care to reveal.  I don’t know if the toads get extra tubby this time of year as they prepare for hibernation.  It seems a primary place for the pancakes is right along the curb.  Could it be their failure to clear the curb leads to their ultimate demise?
  • Walk/bike path splattering.  Unfortunately, it looked like some of the toads met their demise as an intentional effort of an angry bicyclist.  If not a bicyclist, possibly a pedestrian like myself with a lack of compassion for one of his fellow vertebrates.
  • One along the path I nudged into the grass with the hope he vacated the area before the mower came through the next day
  • One who chose to swim a couple of laps in our pool.  Guessing salt water pools are better than chlorine pools.  My daughter nearly fell in trying to fish him out with the net.  He seemed content to do laps back and forth to avoid the net and lure her every closer to the point of tipping in.

Toad-sympathy is probably just a by-product of the window wells at my house growing up.  A house in the woods, by definition, is likely to having many leaves in the fall.  Our house was no exception.  In the winter, many of these leaves decomposed in varying degrees in this slightly warmer part of an otherwise cold world.  In the spring and summer, we would handle the toads and refer to them as pets.  We never took it personally when they had the need to relieve their bladders.  We expected it and usually had their posteriors pointed away from us.

Some people probably like the more conventional “pets” of cats and dogs.  While we had those growing up too, there is something about a toad that makes them more interesting.  Whether it is the hibernating or the whole amphibious life cycle, I can’t help but look at a toad (or frog or salamander) without smiling.  God plays a part in all of us making it to adulthood.  To me it just seems more miraculous when one of our warty friends overcomes life’s obstacles and does the same.

Fall Is In The Air…

As the first week of fall arrives in north Texas (technically, has been fall for a couple of weeks), a few things happen to affirm its arrival:

  • The skimmers start getting full more quickly from leaves in the swimming pool
  • The windows can stay open while the air conditioners get a much needed rest
  • The desire to move plants around in the flower beds (or create new flower beds) comes into complete fruition, AND
  • The tire gauge light lights up on the dashboard….

I suppose it is just part of the chemistry of molecules becoming more compressed as they cool, but it affects my Saturday morning in a very real way.  As I planned my landscaping errand, I made sure I would pass a gas station with a functioning air tank.  Fortunately, DFW is full of many such gas stations.  With my route barely altered, I came up on my gas station and pump to find out someone else had beaten me there.  I pulled up next to the curb to place my car next in line.  Then, I parked myself at the pump with a finger ready to press the button at the moment the pump shut off.  With the help of a couple of my finger taps AND help unrolling the hose from the reel more efficiently, my predecessor was able to get on his way more quickly.  He may have also grunted a couple of “thank yous” and agreed with me how we were men of action to attack this low pressure issue so immediately.

My “filling of the tires” went pretty well.  I had no hose/button guy.  Despite this delay and the yanking off of the hubcaps (they seem to fit too snugly to allow the hose to properly access the tire nozzle), I was able to accomplish my task.  (I have bought an extra set of hubcaps on eBay.  I have lost a couple because I felt I could properly snug them on while at the gas station.  Deciding to not risk the frustration with myself, I threw them in the back of the van.  They were pounded back on the tires when I got back from the plant store.)  As I was finishing the last tire and reattaching the screw-on nozzle covers, another car got in line behind the other car that was waiting.  (When the car behind me showed up, I used sign language to let him know I was next.  Based on this evolving hierarchy, I believed the new seeker-of-the-air would also play by our established rules.)  As I backed out to “hand off the hose”, I swung the car around in such a way the “new” arrival would be screened out from jumping ahead of the other guy.  I just believed it was right and felt no guilt in it.

Now, with the tires filled, I again parked and sought my “black mango tea” companion for the drive to the nursery.  With the tea pot empty and a wait of 2+ minutes ahead of me, I resolved to not volunteer to pay for a tea I had to wait for.  (There policy is, “If it is not ready, you don’t pay for it.”)  With my cup full of tea and no room for negotiation on my face, I easily convinced the checkout clerk of my need for a free drink.

With my companion in the car drink holder and my dash now free of the annoying light (I am discounting the now present oil change light while writing this), I went on to purchase heavily discounted plants for heavily shaded areas of my backyard.  The goal, of course, to create a small sanctuary from the world for every season AND to give the writer something to do outside of the house so he doesn’t have his family members ask him to go on a walk.

Acorn Woman

In our neighborhood, we have the usual mix of characters.  We have the dog walkers, and we have the “I don’t care if he goes in your yard I am not cleaning it up.” dog people.  We have the exercise club and those who don’t seem to be very mobile-they sit on their back porch and watch the longhorns grazing in the field behind their house.  We have the night before trash bags and the “Isn’t there another trash day later in the week, so what if the trash bags sit out their a couple of extra day” bags.  We have those who insist on using the yard waste bags even though it is not required, and we have those who seem to be replacing everything in their house except the kitchen sink every week–they always have 5+ bags for the trash guys to haul off.

And, then we have the acorn lady….  She is friendly.  She is very committed to her task.  The question is what truly is her task.  Some days she will walk with a focus on completing her walk.  While other days, I have seen her stopped along the sidewalk loading up her pockets with borrowed squirrel food.  (If our yard is any indication, she seemed to have no shortage of acorns to “borrow” this past year–our yard is still overpopulated with LOTS of trees-in-waiting.)  One recent morning, she was seen slowly meandering down the sidewalk with frequent sideways glances into the flower beds along the sidewalk.  I was not close enough to see what drew her attention, but I know she was not moving quickly enough to pick up stray lizards wandering in the yard.

Our most popular theory is she has some form of dementia.   One day we saw her 3 different times during the course of the day.  Our dementia theory has her taking her daily walk until her dementia gives her a moment of clarity and she remembers where she lives.  While our first encounter of the day may have her constantly looking downward for those little oak-child fascinations, our later encounter may find us greeted by a glowing smile. Rarely will you see a person with a more enthusiastic smile.  She is not a good one to ask about her t-shirt or her appearance. However, if you want someone to look like they are really glad to see you, she is someone to place on your list.

I don’t know where my mind will go in my golden years.  Wherever it goes, I hope the worst place it goes is to a happy place—-a place where smiles are easy and the things I collect are always abundantly available.