Morning cat

One of the cats was staring at me as I got ready for work this morning. It inspired the following:

Here kitty kitty,
Don't give me your pity.
I'm not as pathetic as that.
It's true that I pet you,
And feed you and vet you,
But I'm not a slave to a cat.

Sure, little feline,
Go make your bee-line,
Straight to your dish by the sink.
It's true that I feed you,
But I shouldn't need to,
If you were as great as you think.

I know you're content,
That your box has no scent,
Is a thank you too much to request?
Instead, as if bitter,
You'll scatter the litter,
You really can be such a pest.

I hear you crying,
As if you were dying,
When really you just want outside.
But if the time comes,
When you grow some thumbs,
That choice will be yours to decide.

So you see kitty,
It's you I should pity,
Surviving on what I have done.
So don't give a smirk,
As I head off to work,
And you take a nap in the sun.

Sleep tight

It's cold this morning and it snowed last night.   I'm always the first one up, and this morning I knew I would be spending some time shoveling before heading off to work.   Part of my routine in the morning is to check on the boys before heading downstairs.   N in particular has a habit of kicking off most of his blankets.   This morning I found him under a sheet and the corner of a blanket with two other blankets on the floor next to his bed.   I picked up the blankets and made sure he was properly covered.

And then, I waited for it.

I only had to wait about a second before he burrowed down into the blankets and let out a deep satisfying sigh.   I love that moment.   Throughout my life I've been the recipient of enough blanket tucks to know just how good it feels.   I love knowing that he feels that feeling and that I could be a part of it.

Something to carry with me as I clear the driveway in the dark.

Itch

I was getting dressed for work the other morning and my shoulder itched a little.   It can be so dry this time of year that it's not uncommon to feel a little itchy now and again.   This time, when I reached across and gave my bare shoulder a good scratch, my fingernail caught on something.   I pulled my hand away instantly, fearing I'd somehow ripped my skin with a razor-sharp nail.   I examined the nail - no sign of gore.   I wasn't sure if I found this reassuring or not.   I guess its always good to not be bleeding.   Still, that was the only theory I had for what had happened - uncertainty can be so unsettling.   I reached my hand around and slowly and gently ran my fingernails across my shoulder.   Ugh!   There it was again, definitely some sort of flap being pulled back.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me to do this earlier, but I finally went to the mirror to examine things closer.   Did I find some chunk of dead, lifeless, bloodless skin dangling off my body?   No.   I found the band-aid that the nurse had put over my flu shot - partially pulled up.

Getting Ready

Well, it's that time of year again. The stores all have their trees up, the radio stations are playing Christmas tunes - 'Tis the season, I guess. I've done a little online shopping, but I'm not quite in full Christmas mode. I'm still savoring the last remnants of Thanksgiving - it was just last week, wasn't it?

Around the house, things are transforming from one season to the next. Gone are the turkeys and pilgrims, making way for the Advent candles and calendar. Once again, I wish I would have hung up the outdoor lights a couple of weeks ago when it was warmer. Instead, I'll continue the tradition of waiting for a "nice" day that doesn't come. Eventually, I'll settle for a day that's not bitterly cold or windy - the December definition of a nice day. By then there will be sufficient snow or ice to make mounting a ladder a truly exhilarating experience. And once again, I will likely buy new lights rather than try to get the ones from last year working.

Ah, this truly is a season of preparing.

Happy Thanksgiving

There's a dog that lives near us that is missing its right front leg.   I've seen the dog out for walks and it seems to get by just fine.   In fact, the casual observer may not even notice that there's a leg missing.   I saw the dog in his yard last night.   He was sniffing along the fence, checking out the perimeter like most dogs do.   At one point, the dog leaned a shoulder against the fence for balance as he lifted a leg and marked a spot.   Up until that point, it hadn't occurred to me that missing a front leg would pose special difficulties for a male dog in need of some relief.   I was heartened to see that the dog had learned to cope so well.

What does this have to do with Thanksgiving?   Well not much, really.   I can't recall the dog's name right now, but if I owned him, I would definitely call him "Tripod".

How ya doing?

"How ya doing?"
"Good, thanks. And you?"
"Great, thanks."

How many times have I heard or been a part of that exchange?   It's really not that different than two people saying hello to each other.   It's become understood that just because someone asks how you are doing, it doesn't mean they really want you to tell them.   It's just a nice thing to ask, and we all want to be nice.   Likewise, since we know the response they are expecting, the nice thing to do is give it to them, even if sometimes we aren't doing so great.

Every now and then, you meet someone who is completely sincere when they ask this question.   They honestly want to know how you are doing.   I'm always thrown off a little bit by these people.   I give them the standard response and then realize they're still waiting for more - for details.   These people are rare. They are the caring souls that make this world a better place.

Yesterday, I learned that one of these people had passed away.   I feel sad for his family, for my family, for anyone who knew him, because I know how greatly they will miss him.   I can't think of a time when he didn't ask me how I was doing.   He would then follow it up with questions about what I was doing and why.   Honestly listening and caring about the response - such a simple thing but such an extraordinary gift.

The next time I ask "How ya doing?", I'll try to follow his example and really listen for the answer.

That can't be me

I was sorting through some pictures on our computer recently.  There were quite a few to go through.  Back in the film days, the camera only came out for vacations and special occasions.  Now, anything can merit a snapshot.  The boys are especially quick to grab the camera.  Their favorite subjects seem to be the cats and each other.  I remember one of them using a film camera once.  It took about a minute and a half before the 24-exposure roll of film was used up.  Even then, they didn't fully grasp the finality of the situation, hoping instead to be able to go back and erase some earlier shots to free up some room on the film.

So there I was, sorting through pictures, making folders with meaningful names like "Misc Oct 2008".  I'm happy to say I didn't run across many pictures of myself.  For vacations and such, I'm often the one with the camera and thus I'm seldom actually in the shot.  I don't particularly like looking at pictures of myself.  Everyone but me is so familiar looking.  There's my dear family with a guy who kind of looks like me, but kind of doesn't.  He'd at least look more like me if he'd part his hair on the same side.  That's the real problem - I've gotten used to the mirror-image me.  I know the image I see in the pictures is what everyone else sees everyday, but it's not how I see myself.  Everything's flipped around from where it should be and it just seems wrong.  And another thing, that guy in the picture could stand to lose a couple of pounds.

I prefer to continue basing my self image on what I can see in the bathroom mirror, not what the camera reveals.  If I can't see the beginnings of a bald spot on the top of my head, then for me, it doesn't exist.  And with a little help from PhotoShop, it won't exist in the picture either.

Hot Drinks

The building where I work has a little break room with a few vending machines, including one for coffee.  When no one is actually buying a drink, the little display on the coffee machine scrolls the following message: “The Best Coffee in the World”.  Could I really be so lucky as to have the world’s best coffee so near by?  No, it turns out, I’m not that lucky.  I tried the “coffee” from the machine and it is not the world’s best.  It is hot and it is a liquid.  The similarities to coffee end there.  Even though I chose the strongest option, the color was a sort of translucent light brown.  It had no real odor or flavor and yet somehow managed to produce an aftertaste.  I don’t know if it contained any caffeine or not but evidently there’s something in it that gives me a headache.

The machine offers a couple of free “complements” that you can add to your drink.  They are labeled “Sugar” and “Whitener”.  It’s curious that a machine that was so cavalier with the truth regarding its coffee is painfully honest about the “whitener”.  No claims that this stuff will affect the flavor in any way.  All it’s going to do is make the color whiter.

The machine also dispenses hot chocolate, vanilla latte and something called “Butterfinger”.  As you can well imagine, I was intrigued by that last one and had to try it.  It was very much like drinking a Butterfinger candy bar.  I’m not sure who decided that the Butterfinger was a good candidate for a hot beverage flavor, but it wasn’t too bad.  The orange foam was a tad unsettling, however.

Semantics

One of N's favorite activities is building things out of boxes. I'm not sure why he likes it so much since it inevitably involves at least one or two meltdowns when things don't go as planned. He is quite creative and often the design he envisions goes beyond the capability of mere cardboard. At that point, the passion of the artist erupts in fits of fury as he attempts to force the material to succumb to his will.

He was having one of these battles recently. I let it go for awhile, hoping it would resolve itself – this hardly ever happens. Finally, I stepped in and tried to help - always a dangerous action. Sometimes he wants help and sometimes he doesn't. I figured I would start by showing him that I recognized how he felt. Unfortunately, I chose my words poorly:

• Me: Hey, Is that thing not working out?
• N (crying): It won't work! It keeps flipping up and now it's totally ruined!
• Me: Can I help you?
• N (still crying): It's not going to work! This is the worst day of my life!
• Me: Listen, I appreciate the fact that you are frustrated...
• N (shouting): You're glad I'm crying? (with extreme incredulity) You're glad!?
• Me: That's not what I said.
• N (accusing now): Yes it is! You said you appreciated it. That means you're glad. You're mean, Dad!

Another fine parenting moment. I had successfully converted his sadness and anger toward a piece of cardboard into hatred towards me. Maybe not exactly what I had planned but at least it was something I could work with. I was pretty sure I could get him to stop hating me. That cereal box, on the other hand, was never going to magically mold itself into a cat drawbridge.

I tried to explain that appreciate had other meanings, but I was met with looks of suspicion. I felt like a politician trying to distance myself from an unfavorable remark that everyone knew I had said (e.g. "I never said he was un-American"). N was not in the mood to hear it, and my explanation only served to fuel his skepticism.

Since that night, N and I have discussed the various meanings of the word appreciate. I think he understands what I was trying to say but he maintains that I should have said it differently - I wholeheartedly agree. Of course, now that we've discussed its usage, whenever I see him upset, I tell him I appreciate how he's feeling. It usually works to diffuse the situation as he gives me a knowing look of mock admonishment.

For reference:

ap•pre•ci•ate

transitive verb appreciated -•at′ed, appreciating -•at′•ing

1. to think well of; understand and enjoy; esteem
2. to recognize and be grateful for; be thankful for
3. to estimate the quality or worth of, esp. favorably
4. to be fully or sensitively aware of; notice with discrimination
5. to raise the price or value of

N heard #1, I meant #4.

What's that say?

Due to a condition beyond my control (aging), I’ve found that I now need to use reading glasses.  I’ve never needed glasses before.  In fact, I don’t really like wearing glasses – not even sunglasses.  This is mostly due to the fact that I don’t have a good head for them.  My noggin is just too darn big and I suspect that my ears are uneven.  I received a pair of reading glasses as a joke when I turned 40.  I didn’t need them at the time but over the next few years I found myself occasionally popping them on when the print was fine and the light was low (and no one was looking).  Mostly, I could get by without them by holding things out at arm’s length.  Finally, last year, my arms weren’t long enough to compensate.  Suddenly, it seemed, I needed my reading glasses all the time.

I now have about eight or nine pairs of reading glasses.  I keep a couple pairs at work and the rest are somewhere in the house.  I figure if I own enough pairs there’s a reasonable chance I’ll be able to find one of them.  They still don’t fit on my head properly, but like so many things related to aging, vanity has given way to necessity.

Don't talk to me, I voted

It turns out the local “get out the vote” chapter has an office in the same building where I work.  Yesterday the halls were filled with excited, energetic young people “mobilizing”.  There was much hustle and bustle as they came and went in small groups.  I admire their enthusiasm, but I found their intensity just a little frightening.  I was glad that I’d voted before coming to work.  My little red “I Voted” sticker served as a sort of protective bubble – allowing me to walk freely among them without concern

Halloween

We had a pretty good Halloween this year.  B’s costume, which was ordered online, finally arrived in the mail on Friday.  I had been a tad worried it might not make it in time.  B, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm about the whole affair.  The web site had stated “guaranteed delivery by Halloween” so he felt confident everything would be fine.  As it turns out, he was right.

N went as a robot – homemade from cardboard boxes and other items we scavenged.  N is always building something out of cardboard, so it was not surprising that he wanted to make his own costume.  I must admit, I really enjoyed helping him with this.  Okay, there was one uncomfortable moment when, as I was rattling off various design options, N looked up at me and said, “Dad, am I going to get to do any of this?”  I promptly shut my mouth and let him take charge.  In the end, N characterized our relationship this way, he comes up with the ideas and I figure out a way to make them work (thank you, duct tape).

The robot costume was pretty cool.  N got many compliments throughout the night.  The boy who lives next door made a point of telling anyone who would listen that N made it himself with his dad.  I’ve always liked that boy.

I'm sorry you're short

As I sat at my park bench the other day, I watched a young couple walking by.  They stopped to admire the golden leaves on a maple tree about ten yards in front of me.  The woman leaned in and said something to her fellow.  She must have asked him to get a leaf from the tree since he began to attempt to do just that.  Now, the tree wasn’t terribly tall and the branches weren’t all that high, but still they were outside this guy’s reach.  He tried the full body stretch.  When that didn’t work, he switched to jumping.  When that failed it was back to the stretch.  Who knows?  Maybe he grew since the last try.

I tried not to watch, but they were directly in front of me.  At some point, I think he became aware of me sitting there – I detected some quick glances.  I would estimate that I’m easily six inches taller than this guy.  I could have my pick of any of the leaves from the lower couple of branches on the tree.  I suppose I could have gone over and gotten one for him, but I don’t think he would have appreciated it.  If anything, I think he was maybe worried I might do just that.

The frustrating thing was that there was another tree behind him with equally lovely leaves well within his reach.  I found myself trying to catch his eye and then turning my gaze to the other tree.  Eventually, he noticed the other tree.  He wandered over and leisurely selected the finest specimen for his girl.  As he pulled the leaf from the branch he shot me one last look.  Did I detect some hostility?  I think so.

As they walked away, I wondered if I’d imagined it or if this guy was actually upset with me.  We had not exchanged any words, only a few brief glances.  I suppose I could have done a better job of looking the other way – I’ll try to remember that in the future.  When I got up, I fought the urge to pick any leaves from the big people tree.

Small Dose

The human mind has an incredible ability to protect itself when confronted with overwhelming sorrow. When the pain is too great, the mind is thrown into a “state of shock”. Somewhere, buried inside us, is a trip-wire that finally closes the floodgates when we are suffering. The system isn’t perfect. It seems the only way to guarantee we don’t feel the pain is to initially put us in a state where we don’t feel anything at all.

It would be great if once we started feeling again the outstanding pain could just be discarded. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Instead, this big vat of sorrow is set aside in reserve, to be doled out in smaller, manageable amounts over time. The frustrating thing is not always knowing when you’re going to get a dose. To be sure, there are certain places and dates that you expect to elicit some sadness. It’s the unexpected cases that always get to me. Also, the reservoir seems to be bottomless, although it may just be that the doses are mercifully small.

Over the years I’ve built up a tolerance that dulls the sharpness of each dose. Now it often manifests itself as a sudden feeling of melancholy that disappears almost as soon as I comprehend that it has arrived. In some weird way, it’s almost comforting. Like an old acquaintance stopping by just long enough to say hello. Like I said, it’s almost comforting.

Mr. Busy

I have a fairly regular routine that I try to follow. Weather permitting, I walk to a small park where I sit at a bench and eat my lunch. It takes me just under half my lunch time to get to the bench. After I've finished eating, I have roughly the same amount of time left to get back to work. This process works great when I bring my lunch. Yesterday, I did not bring my lunch and instead needed to stop and buy something along the way.

This stop, while brief, still put me in a situation where I needed to hasten my stroll in order to get to the bench at my normal time. I'm not typically a real fast walker so I figured I had plenty of room for a speed up. I've always considered my gait to be something of an amble. I recently looked up the word "amble", and it appears that it is a term often used when speaking of horses. Since I'm not a horse, maybe I don't amble, maybe I saunter, I don't really know. I suppose some might say I mosey, but I've always felt that a true mosey requires one to hitch their thumbs in their front belt-loops. I don't do that so I don't think I really mosey. I prefer to stick my hands in my coat pockets. This keeps my hands warm on cool fall days plus it eliminates the potential for any excessive arm swing. Excessive arm swing can turn an amble/saunter into a sashay. And I prefer not to be someone who sashays.

So there I was, ambling along. I figured it wouldn't take too much to get back on track. Maybe lengthen my stride or hasten my pace. I started by trying a faster, consistent pace. It was effective but I felt like I looked like "Mr. Busy" zipping along the sidewalk. I switched over to a longer stride. Again, effective but not real comfortable - let's just say I could sense the potential for a certain undergarment to "ride up" into a region I prefer it not visit. Apparently, my clothes were not designed for repeated wide-stride operation. I switched back to Mr. Busy mode. I've got to say, I felt almost robotic zipping along. I was soon too wrapped up in the moment to care what others might think. I marveled at my consistent stride length, perfectly spaced within the sidewalk sections. I was a model of efficiency, passing folks left and right - focused solely on getting to my park bench.

When I arrived at the bench, I checked my watch. My speedy walking had made up the time spent buying lunch and then some. I was there a full five minutes earlier than usual. I settled in for a relaxing bite and a slow stroll back to work.

More Fall in Minnesota

Today, the wind was blowing in fierce gusts, each time stripping more of the last of the leaves from the trees. It was as if God, preparing for a long winter's sleep, was bending down and blowing out the candles on another year.

Or if you prefer a wee bit of poetry....

Mother Nature did sneeze,
And blow off the leaves.
How sorry I felt for those
Poor naked trees.

Fall in Minnesota

Ah....the cold.....the rain....the smell of wet, dead leaves.

Like living in a giant glass of iced tea.

Squirrel Data

I think I know too much about squirrels.  That's not to say that I know a lot about squirrels - I just know more than I'd prefer to.  A couple of weeks ago I was out walking and I happened upon a squirrel that did not run away from me as I approached it.  The whole incident unnerved me as the squirrel was not exhibiting what I considered normal squirrel-like behavior.

Anyway, because of this, I had squirrels on my mind.  Often, when something's on my mind, I enter the topic into my search engine and see what comes up.  And so, I learned about squirrels.  And I really wish I hadn't.  I've looked up plenty of other topics like global warming, buckypaper, bailout plan, big bounce theory.  Each of these and others like them gave me little tidbits that I could store away for those moments when a conversation needs a quick boost.  Plus, I felt the topics reflected well on me - giving the impression of someone who is smart, informed, interesting.

But squirrels?  I can tell you from first-hand experience that if you happen to be chatting with someone and you sense a lull in the conversation, it will not help to offer, "So, did you know squirrels can't digest cellulose?"  Uncomfortable silence.  In their eyes I can read what they're thinking, "Why does he know that?"  At this point, the smart person would drop the whole squirrel topic.  The person who knows too much about squirrels may feel compelled to add, "And if you feed a squirrel nothing but raw peanuts it will suffer from severe malnutrition."  Now you've completely creeped-out the person you were talking to.  In their eyes you're some wacko with a squirrel fixation.

And so, I need to purge Family Sciuridae from my brain

Just the candy please

A conversation last night:

N.: "Dad, we need to get out the Halloween decorations."
J.: "Why? This isn't one of our holidays."
N.: "Well, it's not a Christian holiday, but we can still celebrate it."
J.: "We can?"
N.: "Yeah! We can still do the fun stuff like costumes and decorating and candy."
J.: "Oh."
N.: "Yeah, we just don't do the worship the devil part."

No one can accuse us of not knowing where to draw the line.

Web Spiral

I got myself caught in one of those web spirals recently. While speeding along the information highway, I took an off-ramp into a quaint little village. After visiting for a bit I could have hopped back on the expressway but instead I opted to take a back road. This, in turn, led me on to other side paths, each a little more intimate until finally I was on a gravel driveway standing outside someone's home. Okay, enough with the lame (or is it lane?) metaphor, here's what happened.

I was bored (isn't that how it always starts?) so I typed "squirrel" into my search engine. I've had squirrels on my mind of late (more about that in an upcoming post). Anyway, this led me to a Wikipedia page with more information than I really wanted to know about squirrels. Normally, this is where I stop but this time one of the links at the bottom of the page stood out - it just had a funny sounding name. So, I followed it. It led to a page dedicated to squirrels written by a man who obviously loves squirrels. There was a section with numerous updates going back to 1995. The entry that caught my eye was the most recent one. It contained the words "more to come soon" - and it was dated January, 2003. Over five years ago…what happened? There was such enthusiasm and care evident in the site that I wondered why it had been neglected. I feared the worst - maybe squirrel-guy was a tad presumptuous with his "more to come" promise. Perhaps he should have said "more to come unless I'm killed by a rabid squirrel I was trying to pet". I needed to know. I followed a link to the parent page of the squirrel page.

The parent page showed a picture of squirrel-guy and his wife. Besides the squirrel page link, there were a few others, including one for his wife's gallery as she is apparently an artist. I followed it in hopes of learning more. There, I found a small blurb dated May 2008 mentioning something about an art showing. Not much personal data. I imagined a grieving widow, throwing herself into her art (avenging his death by only painting rodents in unflattering poses). Then I noticed a link to her blog. The blog was pay dirt - an entry for today already. I searched the page for mention of her husband. There it was from just a few days earlier. Her blog went back to 2004 and I confess I searched much of it for more references to him. I needed to find out why he'd given up on his page. Had he been wronged by a squirrel? What I found was a man dedicated to his wife and children, supporting them and trying to launch his own career. From the scraps I could gather, I imagined a man just too busy actually living to bother with updating a trivial web page. I could even see him reading the old squirrel page and laughing to himself, recalling how much effort he used to put into it. Maybe his last entry should have said "more to come unless life takes over".

Family Slang

Over a century ago, a British social reformer named Helen Bosanquet noted that nearly every family has terms or expressions that seem silly or meaningless to those outside the clan. She referred to these as family slang. As the result of a dinner conversation just over a year ago, we added one of these to our group.

One night, as we were starting dinner, B. told us a story. I don't remember much about the story. It was probably something that had happened in school. The relevant point was that the story provided him the opportunity to say the word "butt", which I remember him relishing. After he had finished, we acknowledged the story appropriately (nod, chuckle). Then A. and I
began a discussion that, while it was a good story, it was maybe not appropriate for dinner conversation. We further wondered if perhaps a less crass word could have been used. The conversation went something like:

J. - "Maybe you could have said backside instead."
A. - "Or bottom."
B. - "I guess I could have said behind."
N. - "Or bahooney."
J. - "Bahooney? Iv'e never heard that one. Who says bahooney?"
N. - "I do."
J. - "Since when?"
N. - "Since now. I just started using it."

Since then it has become my preferred option. I'm sure we have other family slang that I am not even aware we are using. Paul Dickson wrote a book on the subject, "Family Words" . I haven't read it yet but it sounds like it might be fun to look at.

Too Much Caffeine

Let me start by apologizing for the twisted nature of this post. Due to some quite excellent coffee, I wasn't sleepy Saturday night. Instead, I ended up watching a bunch of bad late-night television. On the last show I watched there was a person who was kidnapped. The bad guys were going to cut off a body part from their captive to send to the authorities as proof that they had the person (I don't know why they felt the old trick of taking a picture of the person holding the current edition of the paper wouldn't suffice - maybe Photoshop ruined this option). Anyway, as you might suspect, the whole "cut off a body part" angle turns out to be much more intense than "snap a Polaroid". Thankfully (whew!), the hero arrived just in the nick of time and saved the day before any parts were severed. Soon the bad guys were beaten and hauled away by the police. The captive, grateful to her hero, seemed to have survived the ordeal with surprisingly little if any emotional scarring. Thank goodness. Roll the credits. Justice prevailed. Show over. Time for bed.

As I lay in bed, it did get me thinking...Suppose you were kidnapped and your captors told you they were going to cut off one of your toes (I know, ouch!) to send to the authorities. Suppose further, they told you that you could pick the toe to go. How would you pick? Would you:

1. Choose the toe you think you'd miss the least, no matter how gnarly it may look.
2. Choose your best looking toe, knowing that it would be examined by many authorities, family and possibly the media.
3. Choose a toe that was some compromise of 1 and 2.
4. Other (please explain).

I spent far too much time thinking about this Saturday night (again, it was most excellent coffee and I drank a lot). I really never came to a good resolution other than that I was going to make an effort to take better care of my most useless toes.

Random Thoughts

I bought a sleeping bag rated for temperatures down to -32 F even though I have no intention of ever using it in those conditions.

A sleeping bag rated for temperatures down to -32 F is uncomfortably warm if the temperature is above 50 F.

I typically don't use a sleeping bag in conditions where the temperature is less than 50 F.

Sometimes it's more work to look like you're working than it is to just work.

Whether a smell is good or bad is relative to its context (e.g. what's good for cheese is bad for socks).

Sometimes I look at our cats and wonder what purpose they're serving in our household.

I've never tried using my laptop on my lap.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary has two definitions for "laptop" but neither is "the top of one's lap".

I don't think your lap has a top because that would imply it has a bottom. But your lap bottom is just your bottom.

Lap is one of those words that looks/sounds weird to me if I fixate on it.

Parallel Universe

I work very near the University of Minnesota. Because of this, when I go out at lunch I’m typically walking amongst a group of backpack-toting students. I pick up snippets of conversation here and there and it reminds me of my own college days oh so many years ago. I think about the concerns and cares I had then compared to where I’m at today – so very different. From the bits I hear, these kids I walk beside seem not that different than I was. Their priorities are much like the ones I had. They are welcome to them, I’ve got a new set. I don’t think either outlook is less valid. Both are shaped by the amount of experience behind us and the amount of opportunity ahead. It’s only natural that as those amounts shift we would change.

I can’t remember any “older” people wandering around campus when I went to school. They were probably there and I just didn’t notice them. Similarly, I think I’m mostly invisible to the group today. It’s strange to think that we can share the same sidewalk, same cafes and even the same park bench and still be in such different places.

Ya want some cash then?

Originally posted 10/01/2008
Our neighborhood drive-up ATM speaks with a British accent. I suppose it should make me feel cosmopolitan, but for some reason, it annoys me. I have trouble resisting the urge to talk back to the machine and even mock it a little. I mean, I'm just trying to get a little cash so I can pick up a lunch or two during the week. I don't need the ATM gettin' all pretentious on me. If it was up to me, the ATM would use a dialect like the one used in the movie Fargo (e.g. "Putchyer card in da slot dare."). That would be so cool.

Answer the question please

Originally posted 09/29/2008
I watched the presidential debate the other night and found it somewhat frustrating. At this point in the campaigns the candidates have had ample opportunity to tell us who they are and who they claim their opponent is. The moderator is there trying to ask that perfect question that will tell us something new, something unexpected, something to sway those who still haven't decided. But that doesn't seem to be what the candidates want. If they had something else they wanted us to know they would have already thrown it out there in a 10-second sound bite or a 30-second TV ad.
So instead, we're left with this game of seeing which candidate can more deftly reframe the questions to fit their standard talking points. Since there's no real new substance in their answers we judge their performance on how presidential they acted. Did they get rattled? Did they rattle the other guy? It's really unfortunate because the moderator, Jim Lehrer, is a seasoned professional who asked some well-thought questions. The candidates had an opportunity to give us a deeper understanding of who they are. Apparently, neither felt it was worth the political risk. I guess maybe that tells us something about both of them after all.

Is that my head? Really?

Originally posted 09/30/2008
I took a walk today. It was chilly but the sun was out so that made it tolerable. As I walked, I happened to notice my shadow cast before me. I was struck by how bizarre my "shadow head" looked. My hair looked like something dreamed up by Dr. Seuss. I put hand on my real head and tried to locate the source of the weirdness. Oddly, I couldn't feel anything really out of the ordinary. A stroll past a reflective shop window confirmed that things were pretty much normal on the top of my head. Apparently, the shadow revealed an inherent wackiness to my hairstyle that I've come to accept as "normal" for me. Ah, ignorance was bliss! Now that I know, it kind of depresses me - I've never been much of a hat person.

It's the tooth, honest!

Originally posted 09/29/2008
Once upon a time there was a little boy with a loose baby tooth. Eventually, the tooth fell out. The little boy was excited and happy. He put the tooth in a plastic baggie for safe-keeping. The little boy proudly carried the it around the house, eventually leaving the baggie and tooth on the kitchen counter.

By a means still unknown, the baggie was moved to a drawer where clean, unused baggies were kept.

Some time later, the boy's mother was in the kitchen making a turkey sandwich. She took a fresh tomato and sliced part of it for the sandwich. The boy's father took a baggie from the drawer and put the rest of the tomato in it. He then placed the baggie in the refrigerator. The next evening, the boy's father was making spaghetti for dinner. He remembered the tomato in the refrigerator and thought it would taste dandy in the sauce. So he remove the tomato from the baggie, chopped it up a little, and tossed it in the pot.

The family sat down to an enjoyable dinner. Enjoyable, at least, until the boy's father bit down on something hard. Further investigation revealed that it was indeed the boy's tooth. Understandably, this put a bit of a damper on dinner.

This could have all been avoided if the boy would have allowed the tooth fairy to do her job.

Hyphen or Dash?

Originally posted 09/24/2008
I was out for a walk the other day and I got to thinking about hyphens and dashes. I have no idea why my mind drifted to this topic but I pondered it nonetheless. I figure there are probably a couple of different types of people out there; those who always properly refer to a hyphen as a hyphen and a dash as a dash and those who call just about everything a dash, unless they're trying to impress someone - then they say hyphen. I fall into the latter group.

When I returned from my walk, I went online to my favorite search engine and typed in something like "hyphen or a dash". It turns out there are a number of people who have spent a good deal of energy describing when to use a dash versus a hyphen. The more impassioned sites seem to go beyond mere grammatical usage. They assign an almost regal quality to the hyphen while regarding the dash as definitely working-class. Using a hyphen to do a job meant for a dash is insulting to a character of such fine, well, character. And the reverse, using a dash where a hyphen should be - well, that insults hyphens everywhere. Plus, it puts the poor lowly dash in a situation where it can't possibly succeed.

Yes, there are people who care deeply about this subject. I am not one of them. Frankly, it just seems like there are bigger things to worry about. Like the proper use of commas. Oh yeah, I suppose things like world hunger, war and genocide probably rank right up there as well.

Hi Kitty

Originally posted 09/22/2008
Sometimes when I talk to the cats I try to use terms that are are more familiar to them. For instance, if I pass one on my way to the bathroom I might say, "Hey kitty, I just need to use the 'box'." I figure it's probably pretty tough on them trying to understand English. I try to help out where I can. Is that so weird?

Good Kitty

Originally posted 09/16/2008
We recently adopted another cat into the household. Some friends were having allergy issues and asked us to take in their kitty. We already have a cat named Tess. Tess was perfectly happy being the sole feline, but we decided to "do the right thing" and add this one to the mix. She has very long hair and always looks a little startled. She came with a name but I soon nicknamed her "the rat" as she tended to scurry quickly through the house, trying to avoid us and Tess. As the weeks have passed, Tess has gone from despising to tolerating the rat. The rat even occassionally enters a room to be with us. Now, Tess has some issues regarding food. She's a tad overweight and tends to watch her dish pretty closely. She's always eaten her food quickly and the addition of the rat has only exacerbated this. Often, this rapid intake is followed by an equally rapid expulsion. This morning was one of those times. As I was enjoying my coffee I could hear Tess wolfing down the food I'd just put in her dish. Soon there came a pause followed by the unmistakable sounds of a wretching cat - nothing quite like it. I made a mental note that I should probably clean it up. Then something both wonderful and disgusting happened. The rat appeared and took it upon herself to do the "clean up". I think I like the rat.

Signah?

Originally posted 09/11/2008
N. was doing some reading the other day. I was sitting next to him on the couch listening as he carefully read me a story. At one point, things came to a halt and I could hear him quietly trying to sound something out. It was evident by the way he was wrinkling his nose that he wasn't having much luck. He'd wanted to read the whole story "by himself" so he was reluctant to accept my help. Finally, he relented and showed me the word he was stuck on, "sign". I explained to him that the g was a silent letter. He'd learned about silent letters and after that he was able to sound out the word just fine. He looked at me and grumbled, "I don't why there even are silent letters. It's like they're only there to trick you when you're trying to learn how to read."

A Good Cup

Originally posted 09/09/2008
Part of my morning routine involves brewing coffee. I'm not as fanatical as some folks, but I try to use a decent bean and filtered water. I follow the same routine pretty much every morning. I'm not super precise in my measurements but given that I was alseep just a few minutes earlier, I think I do okay. The coffee rarely comes out bad and is usually pretty good. But, every now and then the stars align and I get just a perfect blend. It's the kind of stuff that makes you want to pour a big cup and go sit on the back porch and sip (I felt that way even before we had a back porch). It's so good it makes me wish I had another coffee lover with me so I could share my awesome creation. This morning's coffee was not awesome but it was close. Close enough to remind me that wonderful coffee was still possible and that it could happen anytime.

Do I Smell?

Originally posted 09/05/2008
I got to work today and realized that I'd forgotten to put on deodorant this morning. I hate it when that happens. Now I have to spend my day trying not to sweat. Luckily, I have a job that requires little physical exertion and since I'm aware of my lack of "protection", I'll do my best to limit my movement. I'm torn as to whether or not I should turn on my fan. On the one hand, it would keep me cooler. On the other hand, if I do reek, I'd rather keep it to myself.

How old are you, Dad?

Originally posted 09/03/2008
Last week we were at the school for a "Meet the Teachers" event. B. is starting the 5th grade, N. the 1st. In one of the rooms they had one of those antique school desks where the seat for then next desk is attached to the front. B. and I were looking at it:

Me: "Do you see this old desk? I used to sit at one of these in one of my grade-school classes."
B.: "Really?"
Me: "Yep. Do you know what the hole in the top of the desk is for?"
B.: "It's an ink well."
Me: "Yep. Of course, I never had to use one of those."
B.: "Oh, because you used a slate?"

Next, I'll have to break it to him that my school had more than one room.

J.A.G.B.N.

Originally posted 09/03/2008
When I set up this site, I toyed with calling it jagbn instead of jabn. You see, B. and N. had an older brother, G, who they never knew. He was only with us for 5 months but 11 years later I still think of him often. In the end, I went with jabn because I envisioned the site being more specific to the current happenings of our family. Sadly, G is not directly a part of our daily routine, although I know the experience of knowing him and losing him influences me every day in ways I cannot fully understand.