My Daughters Embarrassing Parents

At this Saturday’s cross country meet, it was one of those “close” meets. It was less than 15 minutes from the house, so we got to sleep a little more than most Saturdays. And, this may have been part of the problem with our excessive energy levels and the need to “share” it with the unsuspecting masses. (The above picture is of both my daughters at the sidewalk running the perimeter of the course. It appears someone with limited mental capacities took two big steps through the wet concrete while nobody was looking. And, nobody looked again until after it dried. The secondary theory is some super hero living among us stepped on the sidewalk without “turning down” his super powers. He inadvertently burnt a “hole” into the concrete before he realized what he had done. As you can see from my daughters footwork, the steps weren’t baby steps…)

Having sat in the intermittent sun for over 2 hours, having endured nearly 3-4 races already of primarily 2 miles each (The HS boys run 3 miles) and with it getting on toward lunch time even though our commute home was short, we were excited to have my youngest daughter run her race. As all of the girls lined up on one end of the field, there is always some narrowing of the course that takes place by design. They know not all of the kids will maintain that line for very long as they work their way down the course. So, by the time the course goes a couple of hundred yards, the width of the course is probably 1/2 the width it was originally. On Saturday’s run, my wife hops out to take pictures of the runners (specifically my daughter and teammates as they line up). As she looked to the left and saw all of the parents encroaching on the course, she could not help but put her I-want-to-help-people hat on. Even though she did not have any event related paraphernalia on, she started pushing and/or strongly requesting the crowd back up so the cross country runners would have a little more space to jockey for position before the course “officially” narrowed. Her words did not fall on deaf ears. They people backed up without much hesitation. She acted like she had authority, and I suppose most of them pulled out the GPSes on their phones and realized the course went right through where they were standing. Regardless, the athletes got a little more space to shuffle into the position where they would run/walk the better part of their race.

I used the term athletes above somewhat loosely. I am truly confident some of the girls found out the day before they were running a race the next day. I believe many of them were walking before they were 100 yards into the race. One whole team of girls provided the entire tail for this beast that weaved its way through the course. After my daughter and her teammates worked their way through the course, my opportunity to embarrass “my ladies” presented itself.

The last 100 yards of the course was a straight away right behind the teams tent. I was impressed by many of the girls who hit this last stretch. They seemed to be able to pour it on and pass 3 or 5 or 10 people in that last stretch. It made me wonder how many of these “2 Milers” were really sprinters masquerading as 2 milers. When the sprinters stopped appearing, we had a huge quantity of the “participant” class. I started walking down the line yelling out words of “encouragement” to the runners. Things like, “You aren’t allowed to walk once you turn the corner.”, “Don’t be last. I can walk faster than you are running.”, “I don’t tolerate any walkers back here–get moving!”, “You can rest all weekend. Right now, you need to finish your race strong.”, and “You may have walked most of the rest of the race. Right now, you need to finish for yourself and your team.” I probably did get a little more colorful at times. If I said anything else, it was quotes like these that provided my inspiration. Although my lips may not have always obeyed my self-imposed rule, sometimes, in the moment, the creative “encouraging” phrases just can’t be held in! 😉

I was mostly relieved of my duties as the last few girls struggled in. Faster fellow teammates were running/jogging alongside their slower counterparts in matching jerseys. Everyone at the race-participants and parents-realizes someone has to be last. If done correctly, you can be in last place with class. I am not a proponent of the the fluffy, “Everyone is a winner.” Everyone who tries and tries to always be there best, is a winner in my book. Bad days excluded, not all girls who ran this race were winners. (More accurately stated, they probably don’t have a winner’s attitude. Without the proper foundation, they don’t have anything to build on.) I am not blaming coaches or any of the other parents who were there this weekend. If parents make kids their priority, maybe kids will find the inner winner. As middle schoolers or older who don’t already have a winning attitude, there is likely to be lots of losing in life before they find their inner winner–if they ever do.

Now, back to those embarrassing parents….it is our job to take pictures when they don’t want to pose. It is our job to give hugs and tell them we love them and are proud of them no matter who is around. And, if the coach says something inappropriate to them and makes them want to be done with cross country forever, it is our job to tell them not to quit and to get up on Monday at 5:00 AM so they can go through another week of fun. Behind every “winner” is a parent (or an adopted “parent”) who is willing to be whatever needs done to best prepare their kids for life….or the next meet. I love my winners!

The Kind Of Story That Can Make Your Weekend

In a world where a teenager in a nearby town uses affluency as a defense in a drunk driving crash (there are numerous other stories that put teenagers in a bad light), it is good to find a story where teenagers in a town just southeast of me did something good.

Two girls on the court decided they would make the day of a girl who was pranked if either one of them became the homecoming queen. There will still be youth in my kids generation that will make me doubt whether the country can survive them. (We have, however, survived the past 6 years.) It is acts like what was done by these two young ladies and the school that allow me to keep my fingers crossed!

Tonight’s Walk Around The Neighborhood

After enjoying our 4th Asian/2nd Korean meal since our exchange students arrived, my wife and I took off on our walk. After we settled into our walk pace with only the occasional yo-yo-ing as either my wife or I assumed the lead, we dodging a few sprinklers and the set of grandparents walking all of their grandkids, the walk really only had two, make it three, alright four is my limit, highlights.

As we rounded one of the 4 courts we walk (the walk in total is about 3 miles), an older hobbit-like gentlemen with a 4-pointed cane visually separated himself from the HOA-demanded, brick mailbox. As we got closer to him and prior to him looking up, my wife said, “How are you doing tonight?” Without missing a beat, he looked up and said, “I hate healthy people!” (His response was definitely an exclamation point.) Instead of risking saying something that might falsely assume he was joking, I simple replied, ” We like you too!” In my one previous encounter with this neighbor, he did seem a little eccentric. I am not completely sure what the “boring-psychotic” spectrum looks like, but this guy just graduated out of eccentric.
Over the past 2-3 weeks, we have continued to pass the same location at just over our half way point in our walk. At a built up stone wall with grass behind, there is a brush that I do not believe has moved during the whole period. Initially, I thought the girl who gets on the school bus there used it to kill time and get beautiful prior to getting on the bus. (This was the theory after the “she-just-left-it-there-this-morning” hypothesis soon was realized to be horribly incorrect.) My present theory unless I become brave enough to try and physically move the brush is the many hairs on the brush have become semi-sentient. They will/make themselves to go into the soil, and they are now bringing nutrients and moisture up into the brush, the giver of life. Should I start to see a stem, I will go to the tree under the cover of darkness and dig it up so it can be transplanted in my backyard. I do not know what a crop of brushes will look like, but it is sure to sell on eBay.
The house that has been “Just Listed” for the past month has apparently reached its statute of limitations. The real estate police came out and let them know once you exceed 30 days, the word “Just” can’t be used on your real estate sign UNLESS it is the name of your realtor. Also, on the same real estate sign, they have 3 baby signs underneath the parent signs. (I believe the three say, “Pool”, “Unbelievable”, “Must See”, respectively.) We are convinced the listing price will go down $10,000 per “baby” sign removed.
The “Yard of the Month” sign finally moved yesterday. The other house had been allowing the sign to camp in their yard for the past 5 or 6 weeks, and I think their bushes, perennials and annuals were feeling the pressure. When plants can’t relax, no amount of water can relieve the stress. The newly appointed “yard” seems to be dwelling in the yard with the second best flowers in the neighborhood. The yard with the best flowers must be a recent recipient of the coveted award or they must be behind on their HOA dues. We thought planting all of our roses in the spring would have paid off, but the sprinkler guy adjusted all of the heads in the front bed, and the petunias all died. We will be sure to be early with the dues next year!

We enjoy our walks, the Texas fall night, and the healthy bodies God has blessed us with. Although not all walks bring the incredible insights I received this evening, I continue to be grateful my wife is by my side, and I can always hold out hope the kids finally did the dinner dishes while we enjoyed our walk.

Da Do-Rag Rag

My daughters (exchange and bio) went to a birthday party today (as I post this it was almost a week ago) for a daughter of one of my wife’s work friends. With the party being for a 4 year old, the theme being pirates, with my wife providing decorated pirate cupcakes & cookies and with almost no RSVPs to the party, there was some concern what percentage of the attendees our bus of 5 would provide. (My two daughters and the two exchange students did allow the party to be an international as well as domestic success!)

When they came home, they had all participated in all the many planned activities. Besides the art project above (notice the do-rag incorporated into the art – this is the Wikipedia approved spelling of do-rag), there was a less than delightful boy there who is soon to become a big brother to, as unfortunate as it may be, twins. All of the girls complained of how this boy stepped through and NOT around people playing games or eating food or just talking. Our exchange students did not deny that there are also bad kids in their native countries, but this kid was certainly on the wrong end of the behavioral spectrum.

With so much art work bearing do-rags and so much talk of pirates, a synapses was some how bridged in my intermittently creative brain. I am sure I don’t view Shaun Cassidy as a pirate (although his hair is long and as Joe Hardy in the Hardy Boys show there may easily have been an episode with a pirate mystery of some type. His brother, David, got in some trouble lately.), his song came to mind. The full pirate-version lyrics have not come to me, but the simple change in title seems to be a no-brainer.

Beyond “Pirates of the Caribbean”, (I have also read another series of fantasy books lately that has flavored my thoughts on pirates – The Liveship Trilogy. Good at times; slow at others. Very good character development.) my knowledge of pirate romance is not well researched. Some thoughts….

Eye could make some reference to eye patches.
“Walking” should mention “walking the plank” at least once
Someone the pirate needs to be at port and not on the pirate ship. And, with pirates having a less than good reputation with women and vices in general, it would seem the pirate should have a huge conscience.
Or, maybe the whole song could still be “Da Do Rag Rag”. But, it would be a pirate looking back on his life as a pirate now that he is a family man. He still wears his do-rag and thinks of the special bonding that took place when he was united as a team with a bunch of scalawags despite the activities being done as the “male bonding” took place.

If the lyrics roll off of someones keyboard, I would like to see what they look like. (It is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Writing a song and singing one about pirates would certainly help you meet your quota!) Until then, I will try to sever all relationships with any brain cells holding onto songs from past teen idols.

DA DOO RON RON
Shaun Cassidy

I met her on a Monday and my heart stood still
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
Someboy told me that her name was Jill
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Yes, my heart stood still
Yes, her name was Jill
And when I walked her home
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

I knew what she was thinkin’ when she caught my eye
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
I looked so quiet but my oh my
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Yes, she caught my eye
Yes, but my oh my
And when I walked her home
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Well, I picked her up at seven and she looked so fine
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
Someday soon I’m gonna make her mine
Da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron

Yes, he looked so fine
Yes, I’ll make her mine
And when I walked her home
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
Yeah, yeah, yeah
da doo ron ron ron, da doo ron ron ron
(repeat & fade)

Read more: http://artists.letssingit.com/shaun-cassidy-lyrics-da-doo-ron-ron-q1r8vct#ixzz3DKkTs7um
LetsSingIt – Your favorite Music Community

Milk To The 4th

We like milk. Well, at least we used to. Now it seems regular milk is simply not good enough for our population of mammals. Where once we had a total of 3 types of “cow” milk (Our kids drank 2%, my wife(on the rare occassions she drank milk) and I drank skim milk, and our undernourished foster child drank whole milk) living in our refrigerator, we now, today as I write this, have a variety of things that have never seen the inside of a cow.

The milk-ish products in our frig include the following:

Gallon of 2% milk: Our only shout out to the milk of my youth. (Growing up, we got milk directly from our neighbor who milked the cows. We got whole milk that was unpasteurized and unhomogenized. Once the milk settled out, my mother scraped off the cream that rose to the top and made yogurt. I don’t remember eating any of the yogurt, but she told me she used the dehydrator to make it. My daughter has heard this rumor and wants me to put the dehydrator on my Christmas list so she can experiment. Since getting the blender for Father’s Day, she has had far more fun with it than I. Why shouldn’t she ask for it?)
Almond milk: My mother has been buying Almond milk at Aldi’s for a number of years. She has been cheering its merits for quite some time. I have tried it, but remain a traditional mammal. The non-traditional mammals will drink it knowing full well there is no guarantee when or IF the carton will be replaced when emptied.
Soy milk: This one was one I did not really ever planning on drinking. Our Chinese exchange student doesn’t ask for much, so when she requested the soy milk, it seemed hard to turn her down. She drinks it very diligently….a cup in the morning and at night. [I believe.] (My experience with Chinese students [I am guessing adults, too.] is they are very disciplined. And she certainly is that. She likes sweets, but limits (at least she gives all appearances of limiting) her consumption of them. She may sneak an extra cookie into her lunch, but she is rarely seen getting a snack after dinner.)
Coconut milk: This one is my fault. I had this incredible plan to make a Caribbean feast for dinner. I had 15 or so skinless, boneless chicken thighs marinated w/ a bottle of Caribbean Jerk marinade. Since I was such a good planner the night before, I had set 4 cups of beans in a bowl with 12 cups of cold water. They expanded nicely and after cooking in the crockpot all day, they were ready to be blended with some rice in an INCREDIBLE (or not) Caribbean Beans w/ Rice. Since last time we made rice, I doubled it and there was barely any left over for school lunches. I determined I was going to get ahead of the curve and double it. The plan was good, but I failed to factor in the impact of the coconut milk on the flavor of the rice. Needless to say, the rice wasn’t a hot mover at dinner. When the containers came out for pre-packing tomorrow’s lunch, the rice was almost completely absent from the festivities. Only one container had the rice paired with some broccoli. I don’t fault them for not being more enthusiastic. A happy, satisfied cook is much more likely to experiment and sometimes hit one out of the park. Right…..a half gallon of coconut was purchased for the bean and rice experiment. It was cheaper than buying 2 cans, and it may tempt us into other experiments.
Hazelnut creamer: We have had one of these in the frig for quite some time. I am NOT a black coffee drinker. My wife sometimes dances with the black brew. I am also a recovering sugar user–why does my wife stay married to me? I usually don’t use full strength creamer. I will splash the creamer and make up the difference with milk. I have attempted to take walks with other flavors of creamer, but I usually reach the bottom of the cup unsatisfied.
Chocolate Caramel creamer: Since my son moved back home while commuting to school, he has revealed a variety of new habits. The habit that pleases my wife the most is his graduation to coffee drinker. As an added bonus, he usually has coffee in the morning and another cup in the nightish time. The chocolate caramel is definitely his creamer of choice. My daughters have also been known to make an iced coffee where this creamer is an ingredient. If our youngest son would only start drinking coffee, my wife would know her job as mother was a successful one.

I suppose milk to the 6th might also have been an appropriate title. Having sometimes been overly a purist, I was not sure exactly if the creamers qualified for a “power of milk”. In my desire to be accurate, I may have inadvertently offended any whose entire dairy consumption comes from their coffee cup. (Better milk than those little, non-dairy creamer cups–yuch!)

Also, I have failed to address any cheese present in the frig. For those who are curious:

we have mexican shredded cheese for our frequent tacos, carnitas, and fajitas
cream cheese for any of those bagel purchased at the discount bread store,
American cheese-we really don’t eat it. It is only to show our support for America–kind of like putting out the flag on various holidays,
Provolone-one of the best cheeses ever. When it goes on a hamburger, the meat gives it a big hug and takes a bite out of its neck in a pseudo-vampirian embrace,
Mozzarella-the pizza cheese of choice–as long as it hasn’t already gone moldy,
Parmesan- a nice thing to have around for those Italianish things us Americans think we do so well.
The final holdout…sour cream– not a cheese, not a milk. It is a big glob of dairy goo that is all too necessary when I make banana bread.

Maybe at some future day, I can give a tour of the vegetables presently residing in our frig. (Even more exciting, the ice cream and dairy products residing in our freezer.) It is not as good as an adventure movie, but may compete with “Honey Boo Boo”. (I doubt they have many vegetables in their refrigerator.) Making a milk “suicide” (in my youth, a suicide was a little bit of each soda/pop available at the fountain. Cream soda was essential for a good one.) might just be the right way to bring closure to my dairy adventure….

Learning To Breathe

If you came here looking for something profound and life changing, you need to change the station now. This is exactly as stated….

As I attempted to refill my black mango tea cup today, the sweetener was not set up correctly. As I poured a small taste into my cup of both non-sweetened and sweetened, it was clear there was a sweetener issue. The staff at QuikTrip confirmed the sweetener issue and made up a new batch. And, because of my wait, they provided two coupons for a free drink refill. As I attempted my second draw of tea, I must have been distracted because it did not go so well. I coughed and hacked and drooled on the floor. As I attempted to clean up my mess and draw a normal breath, my tea princess popped her head around the corner to check on me. I thanked her and let her know I would make it.

I have been breathing all of my life. (Well, since I believe life begins at conception, I guess “darn near most of it” would be a more accurate statement. Breathing without lungs is something not even an illusionist like David Copperfield could get away it.) And, with the exception of the time frame just mentioned, I have been drinking (i.e. milk, tea, coffee, water etc.) most of my life. Maybe I have been occasionally choking most of my life as well. It is bad enough having a self-inducing coughing/choking fit in your home with just your children or siblings to mock you. When you have such an attack in a public place where you have already drawn attention to yourself, every one of the spittey, drooley, frothey, projectile balls flying from your mouth seems like a reason to be referred to you as an aging member of society with compromised bodily functions.

I am not that old. I don’t look that old. But, I do creak more along with more of all of the other noises that are part of the human experience. And, maybe living in my body for a number of years now makes me sensitive to the odd looks and personal questions more than I should. I was young once with an absolute certainty I would never age. I used to look at older people and wonder how they were able to function in a body so lacking in youth. Now, the mirror, my ears, joints and hairline confirm I am on the path to what I saw as old. Fortunately, I continue to reset the boundary. Although I am older, old is reserved for people in the cemetery–I have PLENTY of time!

Cross Country Morning Madness

The beginning of the school year revolves around pretty much one thing–cross country. Yes, there is school and homework and various other social things. But, these other things are only added to the calendar if is does not interfere with cross country. So, as much as my daughters enjoy (not always) cross country, here is a somewhat unbiased look at its impact on our lives:

Wake up time: Cross country practice starts at 6:00 AM through almost the end of October. Since they don’t drive themselves and can’t walk there, my wife an I alternate between assuming taxi duties. After my wife’s dropoff, she usually drives in to work and fires the computer up early to be prepared for any of the east coast meetings she needs to participate in. When I return to the house at about 6:20, I usually drag for a couple hours before crawling back into bed OR I go immediately back to bed. Even when there are exceptions to adding more sleep to my beauty (or something like that), I often do not function at to high of a level without hoarding some more “shut-eye”.
No weekend off: It would be one thing if it were only during the week, but all of this training has to be put into action sometimes, and the sometime is almost always the weekend. Since it gets warm later in the day, the meets also occur early morning. As it is our coaches desire to arrive at all meets an hour before the first heat so the course can be walked prior to running, the kids sometimes need to be at the course 2 to 3 hours before they actually run. When the meets start at 8:00, it makes the adults coffee addicts for a solid couple of months.
Four girls out the door: They try so hard, but it is hard. When they leave the house, they need to have their lunch, a water bottle, a couple of snacks, a change of clothes, and shower supplies. If it were just one or two kids, I could keep track of things a little more closely. When 4 girls (no matter how responsible and/or sincere in trying to get everything) participate in this daily morning ritual, it is no surprise when a couple times a month an extra trip needs to be made to school to fix a “whoops”. (Snacks are not a “whoops”; lack of clothes definitely are!)
Prepacked breakfast and lunches: Even though they do provide cereal for the kids to eat prior to school, they usually need something before their morning cross country work outs. The quality of this morning snack depends on their planning (both the night before and the morning of) and their pickyness. Almost all lunches are packed the night before. This causes the front of the refrigerator (at least 2 of the shelves) to look like something nearly any engineer would be embarrassed to claim any knowledge of. Each girl may have 2 or 3 plastic containers and possibly a sandwich bag with a pita/wrap/bread inefficiently balanced on top of a few other soon-to-be consumed items. This is a little chaos–far less chaos and inefficiency if it were necessary to get everyone up 10 minutes earlier to pack their lunches in a semi-sleeping state.
Leaving something in the taxi: This is usually a pretty simple “turn around and remove” the forgotten item. It is the “turning” around I dread. This morning, I started turning around as soon as I heard my cell phone ring. (I don’t get many calls at 6:00 AM) Even though it was an early hour, the other drivers seemed to be bothered when I took up 2.5 lanes waiting for a opening. As I have been known to say when we leave the house, “Don’t forget your pants.”, I will now add, “Don’t forget your waters.” as I prepare to pull out of the school parking lot.
Differing schedules: This year, I have 1-middle schooler, 2-high schooler, and 1-cross country photographer. The middle schoolers don’t practice every day, and the photographer really doesn’t have to be there for practice. (The taxi driver goes into a rant if he/she has to drive the school route to many times within a 2 hour period.) Due to this schedule, two (or one) or our students are forced to be there early with nothing specific to do. When the season started, the coach held the line saying they couldn’t go into the school. With this rule softening, the “non-practicers” can hang out in the school and safely do their homework without over-straining their sand-encrusted eyes.

Now, that I totally discouraged everyone from encouraged their kids to do cross country, I will try (some may call these big stretches but I prefer to view it as just being optimistic.) to point out some good things:

More opportunities for dates: As we drop the girls off at the school so they can take the bus to the meet, my wife and I get chances to have more little dates together. Although breakfast is not my favorite date meal, it is better than nothing. (It would be better if Texas had a few Bob Evans restaurants….) Our conversations are often somewhat superficial as the “talking” part of our brains are content to hide their wit until after coffee or mental boredom becomes impossible to bear. If you can like your spouse consistently at a time prior to 6:00 AM, you should have a good marriage. 😉
Self-esteem in the kids: Both of our bio-daughters are pretty consistent-to-improving in their meet participation. Our Korean exchange student has never run competitively before. She started getting up early shortly after arriving–no matter how much her body’s clock fought her. She ran despite the pain and all out rebellion of most of her muscle groups. She endured excessive sunshine (based on info I have, Koreans like cloudy days with some rain. Full sunshine is an allergen that makes them run to shade while practically abandoning all concerns of personal safety.) As she ran her first meet on a difficult track and completed the course in front of many other runners, you could see the satisfaction on her face of having accomplished something. (My daughters were 2 – 5 minutes ahead of her in time. The coach is convinced she was not winded enough at the end and she can cut 4 minutes from her time—ohhhhh, cross country coaches!)
Part of a team: The coach acts like a coach. She praises rarely, and criticizes freely. Whether it is loyalty to the coach or it is all of the runners uniting against a shared dictator, the team is very supportive of each other. The high school kids cheer on the middle school kids. Because the team needs 5 “good” times to have a chance of placing at the meet, even the slowest athlete is given very positive encouragement to “hang in there”. (Since it is a small school, no matter how slow the 5th member of the team is, there would not be a team capable of competing without him. )

If my youngest daughter participates her senior year, we have 4 more years of this madness. It is not our desire for our girls to get good enough to get any type of scholarship out of this sport. We know it is one of the experiences that makes them more interesting people. It is an activity that balances them as people. And, as parents, we are not supposed to think of our comfort. Children are a gift, and we owe it to them to let them know it. Comfort is for cruise vacations; life is a series of experiences shared with others–regardless of the time of day you need to be there to be bathed in it.

Faux Fall

I just like to say it….it certainly has the makings of a good tongue twister!

Up north where I spent the first 40+ years of my life, we had Indian Summer. And, although this is not politically correct, it is a term used to designate a few warm days of summer like weather (high 70’s or 80’s) that occurs after the first frost of fall. It still creeps down to fall-like temperatures at night, but the daylight temperatures give a last fleeting glance of weather not available in the Midwest until a few months have passed in the new year.

I have designated “Faux Fall” as a glance of fall while summer is otherwise still fully operational. The air conditioner can get a few days off (allergy suffers and those who are not in tune with these weather aberrations will continue to burn the electricity they wouldn’t need to if they would only open their windows) and the rooms can get aired out. For our exchange students it was literally “a breath of fresh air” as the windows were opened. Summer in Texas made it a little harder to love their visit to the US. Now they know what the fall will look like, they can hang on a few more weeks until summer hits the “pause” button until next year.

Spicy Hands

As a father and “exchange” dad of 2 to 4 daughters (depending on how you want to count them—presently, there is a very strong case to be made for the 4), I don’t make it a habit of smacking their bottoms. (The teenage years are challenging years as the “new” father/daughter dynamics emerge, but it certainly is not as often as it used to be.) After some events of this weekend, I find out the kids (I am hoping it does not cross gender boundaries.) play a game called “hot hand”. (Maybe “kids” is throwing the net out there too widely…it might just be my daughters or whatever other girls are inhabiting our house at the moment…) Apparently, the winner in hot hand is the one who is capable of using their hands to smack some one in the rear and have in sting significantly.

The whole “hot hand” thing only came to my attention when I heard the girls talking about “spicy hands”. Our Korean exchange student claims this is what they call someone who has the American equivalent of a “hot hand”. (After dinner last night, the 4 girls were in the family room together trying to come up with “girl” stuff to talk about. Once they got started and spicy was mentioned, three or four more spicy body parts were mentioned including spicy foot, spicy elbow and I know I definitely heard “spicy toe”. ) It is worth mentioning at this point what “hot hand” meant in my youth. A hot hand was the star basketball player who was having a difficult time missing the basket. (Rarely me…although I am pretty good at killing flies. The key to killing flies with your hands is not swinging where they are at, it is swinging where they will be. Flies typically spring backwards a little before taking off. So, my fly killing success comes from clapping my hands about an inch above the surface they are sitting on. I don’t always get them, but since I am such a good clapper and have my eyes clouded w/ fly blood, I often have a “hot hand” after either an attempt or a success.) And, when boiled down, “hot hand” was just someone with a good streak of luck going. Regardless, our Korean exchange student was going to get her definition of “spicy hand” broadened…..

(I am sorry this is another blog post that mentions carnitas. They will not be the star; they are only a necessary evil to justify the “spice” for the broadened “spicy hand”.)

When we go to Sams and buy pork shoulder butt (it is the carnita meat of choice), it comes in a two pack. With one of the butts being quickly spoken for, the second one is too expensive a cut of meat to sit too long in the frig. So, we make another batch of carnitas and freeze it. A key ingredient in our carnitas is the jalapenos. Since our Chinese student cut the jalapenos last time, I felt it was fair for me to ask our Korean student. (They already have both told me they will not cut onions, so I have to find something for them to do in the kitchen.) Fortunately, she jumped right in. There was 15 or so jalapenos, but I only showed her 6 of them before revealing the rest of them. I showed her “my” technique of cutting off the ends before slitting them up the middle. A spoon is used to clean out the seeds so the contact with the juices can be minimized. It is not a completely pepper juice free experience, but it makes it pretty safe.

As she slogged her way through the peppers, she decided to try some cream cheese icing my daughter was mixing. As she dipped her finger in the icing and licked her finger, she said, ” Cream cheese icing is hot.” I let her know it was the pepper juice on her hand, but she complained no more and finished up all of the peppers. She easily transitioned into cookie icer/decorator without making any more mention of the peppers. (At this point, I had chopped all of the jalapenos and onions up in the food processor. The crockpot was set up for a long cooking on “low”. As I went to bed, my brain was completely “spicy hand” free.

As everyone assembling in the kitchen to eat breakfast before church, I heard those fateful words, “I will never cut jalapenos again. My hands were so spicy. I touch my face and hands, and I could not sleep. I like to eat carnitas, but I cannot cut the peppers again. I do not like spicy hands, Sam-I am.”

With the exception of the Dr. Seuss reference, this is pretty much all true. I wanted to be a fiction writer once, but decided I did not have the imagination for it. I have found a much happier marriage when my mind takes reality and warps or twists it into some sort of sausage. It closely resembles the meat I started with but with a couple of extra spices and a casing that holds it all together.

A Lasting Impression

-ALLCOUNTRY

I will admit to not being a huge Mel Brooks fan, but I am a fan of those who are willing to do the unexpected and act in a way where the “normal” is turned on its ear. And, this is where Mel Brooks proved he is a comedienne who has comedy to span generations.

A quick glance may prevent you from seeing his humorous spin on the Chinese Theater experience. Using a prosthetic extra finger and allowing it to be captured in concrete, will give this Hollywood “star stop” a very interesting back story for years to come. Did he really have 6 fingers on one hand? I never knew he had 6 fingers. But, in a generation of smartphone owners, any legends created just for fun will quickly be shot down by a Googling public. Regardless, I applaud this attempt to make a fun and lasting impression in a world where extreme behaviors are normalized.

Walking Down Life's Road With Andy