Yay, You Pee’d

Today, I am going to pass on a little story my mom shared with my family yesterday.  Sharing anything from my mom can be a risky proposition.  Just ask my kids.  They are hoping the apple fell reaaaaal far from the tree.

Without further adoodoo, my mom’s pee story.  She’s hoping this story replaces her own ‘Tommy Tippee’ story from our childhood:

Hello!  Thought you might get a laugh out of one of our camping memories from this past weekend at Morraine View State Park! Paul & Melissa along with little Tyler decided to try out a new tent and see how Tyler would do on an overnight Saturday. Their tent has a little screened vestibule in front so they brought along Tyler’s potty since he has been doing so good with his potty training and put it in the screened-in section of their tent. Tyler did real good and went to sleep just fine. Tyler’s mommy needed to take a trip for toileting and hated to wake us up in our trailer as it was quite early in a.m. so she decided to use Tyler’s potty. One thing she forgot was the musical tune it played when Tyler had success using it was still on plus the “YAY” sound following the musical tune. I bet the raccoons in the woods wondered what those crazy people that camp are doing now! Haaaaaaaaaa!

These are memories that last from camping experiences. Some we can laugh about and others not I guess. All in all, our family has had many fun times around campfires and experiencing God’s outdoors. Happy summer everybody.

Grandma Becky

The Way We Swing

Miriam smacked me on my left arm, one of those playful backhanded slaps intended to get my attention. Her left hand covered her mouth in an attempt to disguise her amusement.

“Can you hear them?” she questioned in a whisper.
Well, yeah, the girls flute choir was playing quite well, especially for a bunch of 10-12 year olds. It didn’t hurt that my 17 year old daughter and her friend Kate, the leaders of the flute choir, were playing along for the little concert. Alyssa and Kate volunteered to lead the flute choir a few years ago, when they both transitioned from middle school to high school, and the group had turned into a showcase for the school’s band program. They play for community events and retirement villages, like the concert they were playing at the moment, at the retirement village where Miriam’s father lives. The girls are a very talented ensemble and their band director is very proud of them.

“They’re all talking about her.” Miriam motioned with her eyes in the direction of Kate, a tall brunette. Kate was wearing heels and a short black skirt with a sheer blouse. In any other place, her choice of clothing would be tasteful, enough that had Miriam not pointed it out, I would not have noticed. After all, I have a teen aged daughter, so I am used to seeing girls dressed like Kate was dressed.

But 80-90 year old residents of a retirement village are not used to seeing short skirts. I had to chuckle a bit as I noticed where many of the male residents were seated. Amongst the female residents, there was scandal in the air with many whispered daggers as the women leaned towards each other, unaware that their mature whispers were not quite as hushed as they thought they were. They shared the scandal with each other, then turned a sweet smile to the performers as they clapped in appreciation, their disdain hidden behind Polident grins.

I am not sure Kate was aware of the uproar her skirt was causing, although I noticed her tug at the skirt as she returned to her seat after the song was through. She is a tomboy sort, an equestrian who I have seen in jeans and tee shirts ever since she was a little girl. I am quite sure that she was oblivious to the scandal. To her, she had dressed nicely for the event, modest compared to the high school environment she is accustomed to.

Next up were Nate on alto sax and Jimmy on tenor sax, playing a lively version of ‘In The Mood’. The version they played was written to be played with an electronic track, the jazz orchestra mysteriously providing accompaniment. The whisperers turned their attention to the iPod that provided the orchestra track. What’s that thingie-ma-boob? I heard one skirt naysayer proclaim into the ear of the woman next to her. A snort snuck out of me as I tried to stifle a guffaw. As the saxophones crooned the familiar tune, the mood changed from scandal to fond memories, toes tapping as the smiles revealed memories of time gone by. I watched the faces as the music took them back to a time when their own fashion, the style of dancing that went along with the music, was likely as scandalous as the skirt they had just scorned. Youthful spirits mingled with the performing youth as the audience found common ground.

 

Odd as that may seem, it’s true. I was struck by the similarities of the two worlds as they met –

Children who spend their time in community as school and activities bring them together, a world where life intertwines in close communication, a time when identity comes from being together .

Adults who have returned from a life spent apart from the community of youth, returning to that close community as they live together. They have returned.

In a way there is a magic that exists, a bit of Peter Pan and Wendy, a mirror image as the two meet. We are social creatures, something that will never change. We really do not change, not deep down. Oh, we may change the way we whisper, our pace, but deep down we will always be the same.

And I will always sit up front.

The Life

Unless something blows up in my general vicinity in the next 45 minutes, I have to say that this has been one of the most blissfully slow evenings I have experienced in eons.  Not since I emerged from the tar pits have I had such a wonderful night.

I’m easy to please.

Bike ride.  85 degrees.  Slight breeze.  Sun.  Light traffic.  Easy pace.  Two hours.  Daughter drove by me on her way home, stopped and waved.  Surgically repaired foot did not swell, bark, or do weird things.  Nice fish dinner.  Ice cold water.  Cleared space and swept out my man cave out in the garage.  Hot shower.  Deposited the check I got in the mail today, my NCAA basketball pool winnings.  Shorts and tee shirt on the couch while listening to the Cardinals smoke the Mets.  Dog snuggled next to me with his chin on my chest (definitely my best friend).  Writing a blog.  Made a snide comment on Ned’s blog.  Kids are quiet.  I can feel the pleasant buzz of fatigue settling in as my body gets ready for bed.  Wife is out chatting with a friend.

Ahhhhhhh.

All I really need to make me happy is a pleasant evening, a bike ride, a decent meal, peace, my dog, a ball game, and a chance to empty the words out of my brain.  Oh, a cold beer might be nice.  Homemade ice cream.  A woman nestled comfortably in my arms (maybe even my wife).  Bills paid.  Chores done.

That’s it.

This can’t be real.

Hail To The Member

This meeting is now called to order.

Did I just see a yawn?  I’m used to that. This is my blog after all.  And, no, I am not calling a meeting.

Bow to the card.

I am o-fish-ull now.  This past Tuesday night I was sworn in, with my right hand raised and the index/middle finger in the air (simultaneously, not just the middle finger), I took the oath to serve my municipality as an appointed member of a city council committee.  The mayor asked me to repeat the oath after him and we both solemnly swore.  I repeated everything he said –

“Oh wah, ta goo, siam”

Not really.  The mayor was as serious as anyone can be when facing me.  It did help that he was a bit perturbed at me because I was ten minutes late for the meeting.  I had a good excuse — I had just finished a bike ride, an appropriate alibi for someone appointed to serve on a committee whose purpose is to promote bike riding in our community.

This is serious business.  Oh, the name of the committee does not sound all that exciting — Bicycle & Ped Safety Advisory.  While it does not sound like the committee has the power to do anything, thus the “advisory” role, we do have the power to influence the mark our community makes, it’s reputation.  The committee is our mayor’s baby, one that as a cyclist he wants to see succeed, and he is backing us.

In a way, I feel like I have been issued a gun without the bullets.  It would be easy to feel that way.  Our committee is able to make recommendations, such as where to put signage or signals, bike lanes, or what roads require modification for cycling, but we can not make the final decision.  We are ambassadors, hosting safety clinics and trail cleanups, serving as liason to the herds of bike clubs that ride through our town and communicating with the running clubs that use the trail systems around town.  We have a purpose and really it’s more like being issued a full squirt gun.  At least when can make someone flinch.

So I am officially an official.  I like that I am contributing to my community and I feel proud.

And I have a card to prove it.

Living on the Edge

Better than a hotel room and a equally better price.

The Ford Edge we rented was so cool and our tent is huge. No worries and such a calm, relaxing trip with my daughter.

Roughing It

2010 Ford Edge – Left Rear (Photo credit: Jim Trottier)

My daughter and I are on a short road trip together.  We’re visiting potential colleges.  Today was Grace College in Winona Lake, Indiana.  Tomorrow is Taylor University in Upton, Indiana.  Alyssa apparently has been advised that close proximity to corn fields increases learning potential.  Her strategy is real clear to me, her oh so wise father, and I am not hiding the fact that I am on to her.  She wants to show me colleges smaller than the one she really wants to go to before we visit the one she already has her heart set on, which is Taylor University.  We dropped by there this evening to pick up the itinerary for tomorrow’s tour.  Honestly, I can already see why she wants to go there.  And it feels like a good choice.  After all, there really is nothing but corn and one diner in the town.  The college is all that the little town has.

Also, we’re roughing it on this trip.  Oh, we may be sitting next to each other at a Starbucks right now, commenting on our Facebook pages while sitting two feet from each other, but we are roughing it.  Oh, we may have rented a cool Ford Edge all decked out with leather and all the goodies, but we’re roughing it.

My daughter has no qualms about sleeping in a tent.  We’re tent camping.  No fancy schmancy hotel for us.

We’re having a blast.  Also, we are monster tent assemblers.  The Taj Mahal tent we have went up without a hitch both last night and today, even while setting it up in the dark.  I can’t hang wallpaper with my wife, but I can set up a tent with my daughter.

And there you have it.

Oh, yes.  Yes you do.

Yeeps

Mammoo dogface in the banana patch.

That is about all my brain can produce at dis momentous.  I be a bit frired.  Yeeps.

Undt mein toes is tellin mein selfen dat I meinst haf pushed dem ein bitten too fardt dis veekend. 

It’s scary when I think in a fake german accent.

See my new specs?  Cool and hip, eh?  Alyssa, my teen daughter helped me to pick them out, although I had already selected them on my own.  The actual purchase required her approval, though.  A few years ago, I picked out glasses on my own and promptly was marched back to the optometrist to select a new pair.  I was not about to let that happen again.

These have a nerd feature to them — magnetic clip on sunglasses.  I think that is cool.  Practical and not close to being as nerdy as those glasses that turn to sunglasses in the sunlight.  My magnetic clip ons are nerdalicious.

My repaired left foot is feeling a bit overused at the moment.  I’m blaming the fool foot for telling me that it’s feeling great, thus giving me permission to play league softball on Friday night (double off the fence down the left field line and three hits — WHOOT), mowed the lawn yesterday afternoon, followed by two hours of singletrack on the mountain bike, then splitting a jumbo 180 ball bucket of balls with Nate at the golf driving range last night.  Nate and I played our first round of golf together this afternoon, eighteen holes.  This over fifty guy is listening to his body scream over and over right now — WTF ARE YOU CCCRAAAAZZZZZYYYY!!!!??!!!

You know it.  What better way to show it by overdoing it?  Ummmm..  whoot.  Good luck getting out of bed in the morning.  If I can lift my arm to hit the snooze, I will.  Several times.

I should show off my surgery scar.  It’s cool.  Since it has been pleasantly Spring like this weekend, I have been sporting flip flops and showing off the scar, just like the guys did in Jaws. 

“Bunion shark.  Nasty one.”

Oh, and I whipped my smug thirteen year old on the golf course today.  He’s been playing for a few weeks.  Dad improved his mental game over the winter, apparently.  Whoot again.

Oh, and Nate earned his first pay as a caddie yesterday morning.  He’s complaining about being sore.  Welcome to the world of the working stiff, son.  HA!!!!! 

HA!  HA! HA!  Undt HA!!!

Errrrrr… I had better go to bed.  I might have to actually do some work tomorrow.  All play and no work makes Stevie a dull boy.

My new glasses are hip and cool.  Admit it.

This World Is Not My Own

I’m just a’passin through.

Last night was a beautiful evening in Chicagoland, temperatures in the sixties and sunny with a slight bit of wind, one of those Mondays where I sat in the office imagining myself in spandex (contrary to my normal imaginings, which are watching Batman movies on J-Lo’s white spandex clad back side).  Of course, Mir called me at 4:25 PM, asking me if I could stop and get charcoal on the way home from work, then could some brats for the family’s dinner.

“But, but…” (and not J-Lo’s, again)

“Oh yeah, you probably want to ride tonight.  But this might be the only night it’s going to be nice enough to cook out on the deck.”

“But, but….gaaaaacckkkkk”

And I proceeded to ask if she could check in the storage bin on the deck to see if I already had enough charcoal, then run down the street to get a small bag of charcoal if there wasn’t enough.

“But, but….” It was Mir’s turn, “how do I know if there is enough?”

*sigh*

If it’s a nice evening, I can count on Augie, my retired neighbor, to be outside sitting in front of his house with more than one can of PBR surrounding him.  He gets real chatty when PBR and nice weather is involved.  As I pulled into the driveway, there he was, perched in a lawn chair and waving me over as I stopped my car.

“Hey neighbor, come on over.  I have one thing to tell you and you’re not going to believe it.”

I looked west as I set my foot out of the car.  There looked to be maybe two hours of sunlight left.  Since Augie was holding up two cans of PBR as I strolled over, I knew that a good portion of that sunlight was going to be spent jousting with Augie.  He motioned to his son-in-law, the beer sloshing out of the can in his hand.

“OK, Cardinal fan, you ever met anyone who doesn’t know who Stan the Man is?”  Augie is a good natured man, so it wasn’t a mean statement.  But I knew from his tone that I might as well have a seat.  “I would offer you a beer, but you’re probably going for a ride aren’t you?”

A half hour later I managed to sneak away as Augie’s wife pulled in the driveway.

The bright orange cord extended from one of our garage outlets and under the door into our house.  I followed it inside, down the hall and upstairs where the whine of my shop vac was screeching loudly.  Both animals were cowering at the bottom of the stairs, so I knew that Mir had been at it for a while.  Our vacuum cleaner was sitting in the middle of the kitchen where my floor obsessed wife had left it earlier, probably when she called me about the charcoal.  For some reason, Mir likes to use my shop vac inside the house, especially when she is in the mood to move things around.  Why she has to use my shop vac, I don’t know.  It’s suckage is superior to the house vacuum, but it also vents right back into the air, so it’s not really all that great for inside. 

And it’s MINE.  This world is not my own.

I should have headed right for my closet and I would have done so had the shop vac not been blocking the door.  Mir saw me.  She had that ‘I want to discuss everything in the world right now’ look on her face.  I looked west out the hall window.  The sun was sinking lower in the horizon.

Fifteen minutes later, I poked Nick the Sheltie as he slept beside me to startle him into a bark.  He distracted Mir long enough for me to escape to my walk in closet down the hall, where I pulled on my tights and jersey while Mir kept talking about all the things she wants us to spend money on.

This world really is not my own.

But I did get my ride in.  And I cooked the brats as I helped Miriam figure out why the desktop computer wouldn’t start up.  My wife growls and snarls at that machine while complaining about how long it takes to start up.  I walked over and unplugged the external hard drive that our daughter had left on, then restarted the computer for Mir, then went back out to turn over the brats.

This world really is not my own.  I did manage to prop my feet up for a few minutes at a time in between the “DAAAAAAAD” and “STEVE CAN YOU HELP ME” and….well….

 

 

Sunday Night Sounds

I know I just posted a blog, but, well, I want to write another.

At the moment, I am still downstairs at our kitchen table with my laptop in front of me.  Behind me is the furnace, which means I can hear what is going on upstairs through the furnace vents.  Nate is upstairs in his bedroom, playing his guitar and singing.  It’s nice.  Ever hear a song by Fun called ‘Carry On’?  That’s what he just finished singing.

When I listen to him, it kind of makes all of the other nonsense I experience with him seem like nothing.  It’s not, I know.  The boy and I spent quite a bit of time sniping at each other this weekend, so it’s a good thing to end it this way, listening to him sing sweetly as he plays.

He is on a bit of a high at the moment.  Caddy class started this afternoon and he got to caddie for someone as practice, earning a nice tip for his efforts.  It was a cold day, but sunny, and a good one to be outdoors on a golf course.  The course he will be caddying at is like a garden, so it’s even better for him.

And I took the time I had to myself to test my surgically repaired foot by riding my mountain bike off road, on some of my favorite single track.  Believe me, riding took a lot off of my shoulders, especially when my foot responded well to the extra effort it takes to ride.  I like.. very much.  I needed the ride as it had been a rough week at work with a lot of pressure.

Alyssa helped me pick out new glasses yesterday afternoon, then we spent the rest of the afternoon sipping coffee at Starbucks, looking at shoes, shopping for clothes, walking through my candy store (bicycles), buying golf shoes, and running errands.  I don’t get hours like that with my daughter often, so I take them when I can get them.  It makes me smile.

The clock just turned over ten PM.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Didgeridoo Dad

Today’s blog might just be one of my favorites, although I have yet to write it, which explains why I say might just be instead of is.  What excites me so is the opportunity to say/write the word ‘didgeridoo’.

I want to pause for a second.  Reading over the beginning of this particular piece, it has become apparent that I am reading one certain blog a bit too often, a blog belonging to Ted Nixon and his fugly udder Ned.  The voice inside my head sounds exactly the same as when I read his blog, a bit of a nasal upper register lisp.  If you see his blog, you will know exactly what I mean.  (oh great, I just hacked and spewed milk on my computer screen — probably because I said fugly udder)

Back to my blog.  The didgeridoo one.

My brother, Mark, is a man of many talents, a renaissance man of sorts. He looks smart. He is smart. He holds more than one college degree (more than one means several) and speaks several languages. He has a didgeridoo and his wife is proud of it.  So is he, so much so that he is inclined to show it off.  Not every man can do that.

I had to say that. It sounds dirty. You can’t take the teenager out of the man.  Or is that supposed to be you can’t take the boy out of the man?  Either way, I have proved once again my sophomoric tendency.

Mark is holding his didgeridoo in the picture.  It’s longgggggggg and hhhhhard.  Wood.  Eucalyptus, as a matter of fact.  Some poor koala bear is going hungry because Mark wanted a didgeridoo.

What was I going to say?

Oh yeah.  My brother, the one that stole all the brains in my family, plays all kinds of musical instruments.  One of his several degrees is a music degree, a performance degree.  But Mark is a corporate lawyer, so he just gets to play his music for fun.  An entire room of his house is dedicated to all of the keyboards, instruments, and recording equipment he has.  The room is big enough to fit his didgeridoo.  He plays his didgeridoo there.

Mark also plays his didgeridoo in church.  The first time I ever heard a didgeridoo was when I visited Mark at the downtown Chicago church where he lended his immense talent to the worship band.  We sang ‘Amazing Grace’ with didgeridoo accompaniment.  If you have never heard a didgeridoo, it sounds like a mother whale searching for it’s lost baby whale (I would think it’s pretty hard for a whale to get lost, but humor me here).  The sound is very sorrowful, a low pitched and sorrowful moan.

*BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

That’s how it sounds.  Trust me.  It does.

*BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

♫ Amaaaazingggg grace, how sweet the sound ♫

*BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

♫ That saved a wretch like me ♫

*BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

By that point, I was already feeling a bit wretched.  Not about to retch, but wretched.  I got to say ‘didgeridoo’, ‘wretch’, and ‘retch’ in one blog.  Cool.

♫ I once was lost, but now am found ♫

*BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*

♫ Was blind but now I seeeeeeee ♫

The congregation sang all of the verses, accompanied by the haunting moan of Mark’s didgeridoo, including the “when we’ve been there ten thousand years BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” verse.  From that day on, I hear the didgeridoo in my head every time I sing ‘Amazing Grace’, possibly due to the BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa still bouncing around the expanse inside my head.

Mark showed his didgeridoo to his daughter’s kindergarten class the other day.  They are learning about Australia, Anna’s teacher heard that Mark has an awesome didgeridoo, and she wanted to see it.  He obliged.  All of the children sang ‘The Wheels On The Bus’ while he played the didgeridoo.  OK, maybe not, but that seems mildly funny so I threw that into this story.  All of the children were fascinated by the instrument, a bit disappointed that Mark is a pale white man instead of an aborigine, and they all got a chance to make the instrument go BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Anna was enthralled, as you can see by the picture.

I wonder if Mark uses the didgeridoo to help lull Anna to sleep each night while Mel, his wife, sings to her.

♫ Luuuulllllabbyyyy and good night ♫

*BWWWaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa*