Morning Glory

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

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

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

CIMG0364 CIMG0369 CIMG0370 CIMG0374 CIMG0375 CIMG0380

The Internet Timeout

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

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

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

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

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

 

Bleeders Can Be Choosers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

 

Meatloaf Fingers

CIMG0283

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

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

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

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

Fun Parents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blessed Eggs

As the “alarm clock” (My mother calling from a time zone to the east) went off this morning, the day began.  With everyone needing to be out of the house by 10:00 (or so I thought), the coffee got going and the breakfast options were decided.

I had boring toast. Even though it was some special new flavor from the discount bakery, it worked well with peanut butter, so I was content. My wife pulled out the eggs to get her diet its necessary protein fix.  I wrongly assumed the eggs were for her, when she had already decided they were for my son.  As my son (the one heading to a day of food prep at Chick Fil A) watches my wife make his eggs for his breakfast this morning, I scold him for letting her do it.

He casually replies, "I am making the toast."
Unfazed, I reply, "I could make toast in a body cast."

My son and I laugh.  My wife glares.  My daughters look annoyed as they turn up the volume and continue watching the DVRed “Once Upon A Time.” As my sons scrambled eggs are plated with toast on the side, my wife finishes the carton with the eggs that will serve as her breakfast. Before putting the egg carton in the trash, she glances on the inside lid.  She is rewarded with a bit of inspiration.

CIMG0360

Psalms 118:24 This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.

Prior to realizing this message was inside the carton, I was just glad to get eggs at $0.79 a dozen from Aldi’s .  (Below cost, but it certainly sucks me in the door.) Now that I know this message is there, I think I will smile a little bigger knowing somebody, somewhere cares enough about my eggs and my day to sneak in a bit of encouragement.  If an egg carton can encourage, what can I do to encourage the people I interact with today?

My Son, The Network Marketer

My son gave me a call yesterday afternoon.  He let me know he would be late coming home.  He was going with his friend to an “opportunity meeting” of a particular network marketing company.  He assured me he would not “get in”, and we left it at that.

A few hours later, right before the meeting was going to start (I can only guess his friend was really talking up this opportunity before the meeting), we had a text conversation that went something like this:

Son: I think I am going to sign up. I can make my money back quick.
Me: Please don’t!
Son: Why not?
Me: It is your money, but I will not support you unless we talk about it first. Your
friend makes money when you get in. I discourage this highly!

He then went “dark” for a couple of hours.  He had signed up for this “great” opportunity.  Unfortunately, he seemed to be following in my footsteps:

  • In my early 20s, I did join Amway. (My brother joined first.  I just followed him along to the meetings and the events.) It was a social outlet.  I didn’t have the conviction to sell the product.  I bought a few items, but always seemed to be buying things I didn’t need to keep up my “points”.  I used the excuse I was too young when it came to contacting “successful” people. I did sponsor a few, but either I was not very good at it, OR they were not really that interested.  If I had the chance to talk to my son first, I would have told him about this.  Maybe it would have changed his actions.
  • In my 30s, a friend joined Shaklee.  He was really sold on a couple products they had available.  (I believe they were for air filtration.)  I made no effort to build a Shaklee business by getting my friends in.  I advertised in the local “suburban” newspapers and tried to sell the product.  I forgot how long I did this, but I don’t believe I got one phone call.  If my son wanted some of my thoughts on network marketing, I would let him know that despite any claims he may have heard or who endorses the company, the product does NOT sell itself.
  • In my 40s, I signed up with Ignite.  They sell energy and gas in a few southern and north eastern states.  They started in Texas (where I live now).  So, although Texas is a big state, there are many companies that resell electricity in Texas.  Although I believe Ignite/Stream has a quality product, there are other choices.  If you are shopping price only, they are probably not your cheapest choice.  But, they will be there tomorrow.  Within the next couple of months, Ignite will also offer cellular services.  They are not the only company or the first company to provide wireless service through a network marketing organization.  If someone buys a service “product” from me, it is either because I was first to ask OR they are related to me.  Selling a utility is more than just the product-you are also depending on their customer service and support.  Many people are hesitant to switch providers for services/utilities they rely on.  Some will, but some will refuse.  Since my sons new network marketing company sells services, I would have been happy to explain this to him before he paid his substantial membership fee.

Will his money be wasted?  I doubt it.  I hope he can develop a business and be successful at it.  (I am NOT negative network marketing, but I am aware of the statistics and facts.)  If he does not have the success he thought he signed up for, then losing a little money in pursuit of a dream-no matter how sincere-is not such a bad thing.  We can hope our kids will come to us and seek our feedback on many thing ESPECIALLY things we have already gone through.  We can also hope they attend college for 4 years with straight A’s and get the perfect degree before marrying their perfect spouse and before having their perfect little house full of kids.

If raising kids had a formula that guaranteed each kid would clear life hurdles perfectly when the equation was completed, the government would legislate it.  (Of course, this would guarantee the perfect formula would still fail.) Despite my excessive blabberings/encouragements/rants/stale-jokes and sermonettes,  I continue to have a number of experiences my kids haven’t brushed up against yet.  When I am not volunteering “guidance”, I am listening for a dad’s favorite question, “What do you think, dad?”

 

 

 

Geraniums Reincarnated

It was supposed to be “first frost” night in north Texas a couple night ago.  Just like kids coming down to see what Santa left them, I rushed outside to check if my uncovered geraniums survived their night of peril.  Now that they have proven themselves worthy, I will probably try and stretch their life out a few more days/weeks.  My interaction with geraniums was not always this way.  When we lived in Ohio, we handled them completely differently.

In Ohio, geraniums seem to really grow!  Texas heat has made an exception to “everything is bigger in Texas”.  We planted 3 geraniums here.  They grew, but they certainly were not full.  In Ohio, geraniums were usually planted after the last frost.  (Rarely later than 5/15.  And, if the weather from 5/5 looked good, we would often plant them earlier.  If we committed to covering them if a frosting occurred, we might even plant them a few weeks before the last frost.)  We usually planted a few new geraniums.  Our little trick (Actually, my grandmother’s trick.  She did about what we did, but she wintered hers in a dark corner of her basement.) was pulling geraniums from last year out of the basement and seeing which ones could be reincarnated and brought out of their winter slumber.

It has been a few years, but this is what I remember us doing:

  1. After providing the geraniums as much time as possible by covering them a few times during the weaker nights of frost, we determined the freeze was coming that could not be survived.  (Or, we were going out of town and didn’t want to risk it.)
  2. I dug each of the geraniums, shook the dirt out, and set them down on a piece of newspaper in the garage.  I let them dry out for a few days or weeks OR until I remembered.
  3. I then hauled them downstairs and let them winter in a dark corner of the basement.  If I was a good voodoo practitioner or Dr. Frankenstein, I would mist the roots of my subjects to try and get them to not dry out so much that the roots were brittle. (My grandmother was much more committed to the project.  In her dark portion of the basement [almost the size of an entire room w/ no window wells or windows], she had “clothes lines” stretched from one side to the other of the room.  She would attach the geraniums to the line w/ the roots side up.  She would have already pruned most of the green off of the top of the plant (the bottom when attached to the line).  She would periodically mist her roots and play “plant whisperer” with them. [Whose a good full geranium?  You are!  Who loves the Miracle Gro? You do, don’t you?  Who thinks you are the prettiest geranium on the whole street?  I do.]
  4. Somewhere in April or early May, I would find the nasty spiderweb friendly part of the basement where i deposited my precious-es.  I would bring them outside and put them in a bucket of warm water.  They would soak awhile and hopefully provide some clear clues that they still had life dwelling within them.

The mortality rate was high.  If I got over 50% of them coming back, I was happy. Of course, the true mortality rate was not apparent until they were in the ground for a couple of weeks.  The biggest did not always survive, and the smallest were often pretty spunky.  We did have one of the geraniums that survived multiple years. (maybe 5?) He was wide and had an attitude.  Fortunately, he backed it up with beautiful, endless blooms….once he recovered from his amnesia.

When we moved to Texas, our geranium collection did not make the trip with us.  I was sorry to see them go.  (I didn’t really see them go.  It just wasn’t practical considering the many miles and the happy years they gave us.  Unfortunately, they likely ended up in a trash can rather than dying in the ground as the full moon beamed down upon them.) Fortunately, although Texas is not fond of geraniums, it does allow amaryllises to stay out all winter long. So, although it is not a completely fair trade, I will enjoy the blooms I am given!

Courting An Old Friend

I don’t know if I truly have fewer friends now then I did when I was younger. (I am certain I see them less often.) I have very good relationships with my kids, so that is likely where the focus of my friendliness has been directed.  However, as the kids get older and I get glimpses into what the crib/nest/home will look like when it is just my wife and I consistently sitting down at dinner together (my wife and I do get along well so it is not very disturbing), I start wondering who will be in my “friend circle” when the kids are all out stretching their early adult wings.  And, is at this point I consider the “courting” of an old friend…

This specific friend and I have known each other for over 40 years.  It is no exaggeration to say we were very good friends back in “the day”.  We both attended a small Christian school together for most of elementary school.  And, while we went to different high schools, we usually saw each other once a month or so.  When it came time to go to college, we both joined the National Guard and went through Basic Training together.  (The tuition reimbursement was the reason I served our country – sad I know.) Due to different health issues, neither of us finished our obligation, but both did make the effort to serve.  As we moved into early adulthood, we developed different interest and different friends.  While I dated less often, I became engaged and married first (he was in the wedding).  My friend was better looking then me. He wanted to make sure he didn’t miss the right gal when she came along.  So, he made it through his 20’s without getting married.

When our 30’s rolled around, my wife and I were having kids.  He came to visit a few times, but the relationship was certainly changing.  Where I had been fortunate to marry a woman with a career that far exceeded my potential, he continued to work hard and not get any great breaks.  I am sure I may have lacked sensitivity sometimes. I am sure I said some things that may have been taken much more personally than they were intended. I am sure life’s experiences have made me a better person than I was then.

In our 40’s, my wife and I did foster care.  We had quite a few different kids in our house.  And, if our friends didn’t have kids and didn’t like lots of kids, they were even less frequent visitors than they were in our 30’s.  Our kids grew and stayed active in soccer or gymnastics or whatever other activity was appropriate for young girls and boys.  The last half of my 40’s was spent in Texas, so social ties from my previous life were even scarcer.

With the arrival of a new decade and a new set of life’s events, I wonder if our friendship can still find enough mutual energy to be revived?  After getting your number a few months ago, it took me multiple months to text you.  When the text sat idle for a couple weeks, I figured I had the wrong number or there was no mutual interest.  After your eventual reply, I find you now have a Facebook account.  It doesn’t look like you have changed much at all!

Truly, I am not sure if friendship revival is a likely outcome.  While I selfishly crave the sincere compliment of a very old friend and the memories of the good old days that would unavoidably occur, I am concerned that his emerging out of the time machine into my life anew might be better in the virtual than the reality.  LOTS of time has past and LOTS of experiences have been lived and forgotten.  We are no longer the same people.  Assembling the puzzle pieces of our previously shared lives and connecting them to our present lives might be more challenging than either one of us has the energy to expend.

If we don’t ever really reconnect, I wish you the best.