Just give me food

I went to Subway for lunch today.  I seldom go there with a craving for a particular sandwich.  Instead, I stand in line, mulling over my options.  The number of decisions you need to make just to get lunch at Subway is pretty amazing.  Bread type; Sandwich size; Filling; Cheese type; Toasted or not; Toppings; Condiments; Meal deal.  Sometimes I go to Jimmy Johns instead solely because I can complete my order with a simple, "I'll have number two, to go." (Until this very moment, I've never realized how similar that statement is to, "I have to go number two." - gross)

As my time to order neared, I was still unsure whether I should go with a foot-long or a six-inch sub.  In fact, the only thing I was certain of was the type of bread.  Most of the people in front of me were ordering foot-long subs.  So as not to appear inferior, I went with the foot-long as well.  This was actually helpful since it narrowed my choice of fillings.  I had been waffling between tuna and roast beef, but I knew from experience that a foot-long tuna was more than I could eat.  This notion of a meal, especially a sandwich, being too big is relatively new to me.  I've gone through most of life finishing off whatever was put before me without a problem.  Lately, though, I've come to realize that I don't have to eat until it hurts to ensure that I get enough nourishment.

So, I went with the roast beef.  As is my habit, I skipped the cheese.  This made the question of toasting easier - I don't see the point of toasting if there's no cheese to melt.  That brought me to the vegetable/topping section, which I consider the most daunting.  Surely, there are culinary experts out there who have looked at the Subway options and have paired complementary elements.  I wish Subway would put fewer resources on Jared and Michael Phelps and instead work out something with Emeril or Rachael Ray.  Then I could have just ordered a roast beef sub prepared Emeril-style and been done with it.

In the end, it was an okay lunch.  It wasn't the perfect sandwich, but then, that's my own fault for not being a chef, I guess.

Road Blocks

I love math.  When my boys bring home math homework, I'm always a little envious.  I poke my nose into what they're working on, just to get a sniff of the topic.  Equivalent fractions?  Yum.  Least Common Denominator?  Love it.  Sometimes I linger, hoping to be called upon to provide assistance.  To me, a math problem isn't that different than the newspaper's sudoku puzzle I do every morning.  Finding the solution is fun.

My sons are good at math so I only get limited chances to indulge myself.  I think I tend to go a little overboard, explaining not just the concept but trying to convey some of its inherent beauty.  To me, there is so much beauty and wonder in the relationships between numbers.  Surely, a divine power had a hand in creating something so perfect.

My boys are confident in their abilities regarding a variety of subjects, particularly anything related to science.  My oldest son, B, often takes my copy of Scientific American before I get a chance to read it.  He is fearless as he tackles articles about complex theories.  He assumes he can understand it and usually does.  Having confidence is so important to learning.  A lack of confidence can sit like a road block, blocking the path for even the most intelligent traveler.  I've got a few of these road blocks, erected over the years.  Some were built after an initial failure understanding a topic.  Some were put up based on an assumed failure without actually trying.  I know they are out there and I know they sometimes impede me, but they are difficult to overcome.  Some of mine are silly, like I know that I will never understand the proper way to use a semicolon.  I could read a book on grammar right now and study semicolon usage but I just know I wouldn't understand it.  After all the studying, it would remain a mystery to me.

Another thing I find absolutely mysterious is knitting.  I've never tried knitting but I know I couldn't do it.  My wife knits and I've watched her.  The cats and I are equally fascinated.  I cannot comprehend how the yarn can be held together but not just be a big knot.  It is simply magic to me.  She might just as well be pulling rabbits out of a hat.  I am not troubled by my inability to grasp this.  Life should have a little mystery.

Tooth Fairy

My youngest son, N, has always been a bit of a skeptic.  If something doesn't seem logical or plausible, he's not likely to believe it without proof.  At a very early age, he decided that Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny were all phony.  I remember he was particularly incredulous about the Easter Bunny.  Why, he asked, why would a rabbit hop about with a basket full of chicken eggs?  Was it even possible, he wondered, for a rabbit to hold a basket and hop at the same time?  He was not buying it.

With Santa, he saw a problem with logistics.  How does he get into the houses?  How can he cover so much ground in one night?  What about kids who don't celebrate Christmas?  If the elves are making the toys, why do they look like the same ones he saw at Target?  At age four or five, he let everyone know that he did not believe in old St. Nick.  Now, at age eight, I think he's learned that if someone wants to give him gifts and say they are from Santa, it's best to just play along.

The Tooth Fairy is probably the character he found the least preposterous.  Still, he had some issues.  He wondered why the teeth were taken.  After talking to his friends, he found a disparity in payments.  Again, there was the issue of how she was getting into the house undetected, although it seemed like a fairy would have an easier time than an overweight elf in a bright red suit.  Initially, he declared that she, too, did not exist.  He made this declaration long before he had any personal interaction with the Tooth Fairy.  He had not lost any teeth at the time and wouldn't for at least a couple of years.

I think, over time, a couple of things have happened.  First, much like he did with Santa, my son has reasoned that if there's an upside to pretending to believe, then why not play along.  Secondly, he's with a group of classmates who are all losing teeth, getting money and talking about the Tooth Fairy.  No one seems entirely certain as to her existence.  So many kids, so much uncertainty.  I think without definitive proof that she doesn't exist, he's willing, in this case, to leave open the slight possibility that she might.

Yesterday, he lost one of his front teeth.  He'd been wiggling it for a couple of days and finally got it free.  He placed the tooth in a Ziploc bag along with a digital camera and a note.  The note contained a brief greeting to the Tooth Fairy and a request that she take a picture of herself.  One of his friends had told him that she'd asked the Tooth Fairy to leave a picture and that the Tooth Fairy instead left a note explaining that there were no cameras where the Tooth Fairy came from.  Because of this, N left detailed instructions, both written and pictorial, explaining how to operate our camera.  The whole works went under his pillow.

This morning he was excited to see that the Tooth Fairy had visited him during the night.  The note and tooth were gone, replaced by money.  But he was more interested in what could be on the camera.  Would he finally have the proof he sought?  What he found was a single, very close-up and slightly out-of-focus picture of a nose.  We reasoned that the Tooth Fairy probably held the camera too close to her face - maybe her small size made it impossible for her to do anything else.  Anyway, it was still quite a prize.  N looked at each of us and then at the picture, satisfied that it was different enough.  Finally, he declared, "That is definitely a fairy nose!"

I suspect second grade recess will be very exciting today.

Looking In The Mirror

I was looking at myself in the mirror this morning and I got to thinking about how nice it was to see both eyes staring back at me.  I take it for granted now, but I really should know better.  I had eye surgery a few years ago to correct a problem where one of my eye muscles was pulling too hard.  When looking in certain directions this over-pulling would cause my eyes to mis-align.  When that happened, I would experience double-vision.  Apparently, I've always had this problem but it tends to worsen with age.  In college, I recall seeing double vision if I stayed up too late or had one beer too many.  Over time, I learned to "shut-off" one image and only use the other.  I remember, though, that I could consciously switch between the two if I wanted to.

As I mentioned, this was only a problem when looking certain directions.  If I looked down or to my right periphery, there was no problem.  Looking up and to the left was absolutely the worst.  Looking straight ahead wasn't usually an issue as long as I was looking at something more than twenty feet or so away.  Any closer and I'd see two.  Because looking down worked so well, I gradually and unknowingly began tilting my head back.  It was the only way I could easily see a computer monitor.  I also tilted my head back when I walked, especially if I happened to meet someone to talk to - I'm sure I looked like a bit of a snob.  By the end of the day my neck and shoulders often ached.  It was this pain that finally drove me to seek treatment.

As I looked at the mirror this morning, I was reminded of all the times I looked at myself with only one eye looking back.  I remembered standing there with my head turned such that the mirror was in my right periphery.  Both eyes would be locked in, nicely aligned.  Then, I would slowly turn my face toward the mirror, pausing if I felt an eye drifting.  It took an enormous amount of concentration, but sometimes I could keep them aligned as I faced the mirror.  I would stand there, holding my gaze, unable to move or look away.  As soon as I relaxed, the eyes would separate. 

I had learned a few tricks and techniques for coping with the problem.  For most of the day, I could largely ignore that there was an issue at all.  The big exception was the mirror.  Every morning I was reminded that something was amiss.  I could try to compensate, but it's really difficult to brush your teeth with your head tilted back - I know this from experience.

So, as I lingered at the mirror this morning it wasn't vanity.  I was just taking a moment to appreciate that handsome guy looking directly back at me (okay, maybe there was a little vanity involved).

In the dark

I'm often the last person to go to bed at our house.  I have a ritual of checking that any doors to the outside are locked and secure.  Three of the four doors can be checked by just looking at them - the deadbolt switch is big and easy to see.  The front door requires a key to lock.  The only way to really know if this door is locked is to try twisting the key or opening the door.  By the time I'm checking doors, we've typically been home and settled in for a while.  The boys are tucked in bed and most of the lights have been shut off.  The house is assumed to be locked up tight.  My little door checking routine might seem unnecessary except that every now and then I find one unlocked.  It's almost always the front door, the one that can't be visually checked.

I'm usually the last one up because I'm watching something on the television.  I wish I could say that I only watch good TV like biographies and documentaries and nature stuff, but that would be untrue.  In fact, I'm more likely watching something less educational.  I can watch the educational stuff when the boys are up - you know, to set a good example.  No, after the news, I usually flip between late night hosts and maybe a retread action movie or two.  I don't watch very long but I seem to need a dose of tripe at the end of the day to purge my mind.

My path from the couch takes me past the three doors that I don't need to be near to check.  The fourth door, the one I need to physically touch, is completely out of the way - it's always a special trip, I'm never just passing by.  As I'm passing through the house, I'm also switching off any lights that are still on.  By the time I get to the front door, all the lights are usually off and I must cross the living room in the dark to get upstairs.

Now, I could leave the dining room light on until I returned from the front door.  I could avoid having to feel my way through a darkened room.  I could.  But, I kind of like the challenge.  I like that moment when your eyes adjust to the darkness and you realize it is not all blackness.  Our house, so familiar after eighteen years, is less so in the dark.  Walls and doorways spring up a foot or two from where I expect them.

I'm often gathering and analyzing data at work.  I've learned that there are times when you can be too precise with your measurements and too fine with the granularity.  You can get so lost in the minute details that you fail to see the bigger picture - like looking at the ripples on the edge of a tidal wave.  The darkness acts a filter for me when I look around our home.  As I head upstairs, I look to the right and see a dark blob.  That's B in his bed.  Ahead, another blob.  That's N.  I turn to the left and enter the bedroom where I find A, asleep.  It is reassuring to know that even in the darkness, especially in the darkness, I can find the things that matter.

George Washington's Nose

Had a conversation with N this afternoon:

Me:  So, how was school today?
N:  Good, except Jerry "accidentally" got ice chunks stuck in George Washington's nose.
Me:  Accidentally on purpose?
N:  Well, he said he was sorry.  He was pretending the ice chunks were boogers and they got stuck.
Me:  Where do you have a statue of George Washington?
N:  On the playground.  But it's not a statue of George Washington - just his nose.
Me:  Did you make it?
N:  A bunch of us did.  Actually, we found this big piece of hard snow that sort of looked like a nose so we made it into one.
Me:  So you added some details?
N:  Yeah, digging nostrils is really hard work.
Me:   I would think you guys would be naturals at that.  Given all your experience.
N:  (smiles)
Me:  How do you know it's George Washington's nose?
N:  That's just what we decided to call it.

Quality Control

I've written quite a bit lately.  I think I wrote a couple of blog entries yesterday and couple the day before that.  I wrote them, but I didn't post them.  I didn't even save them.  I wrote them, re-read them and then hit the delete key.  They just weren't very interesting.  Even now, as I write this, I get the sense it will be imminently delete-able.  I'm going to fight the urge to do that.  I'm going to make myself post this entry even if it is boring, just to let those of you reading know that I am trying.  For whatever reason, the quality control part of my brain has decided to take charge.  It's marching about inside my head with its little clipboard and lab coat.  It analyzes everything I write with a critical eye, seeing if my work measures up.  Lately, its found my efforts lacking and has relegated my words to the recycle bin.  I'm trying to reason with it now.  I need to post this entry, just to let people know.  It's purpose is to relay information, it's not intended to be clever or interesting.  Quality control agrees, this piece is not clever or interesting.

Fast Cars

It's that time of year again.  Time to dust off the tools and clear some space on the workbench.  It's time to transform the workroom in our basement into a high performance pinewood derby car manufacturing facility.  This is my sixth year of helping with the design and manufacture of these things.  Last year was the first (and technically only) time both boys needed cars for racing.  My oldest son is done with Cub Scouts now, but there is an open race for non-scouts after the official races are finished.  I think he wants to enter it, so I guess we'll be a multiple car family again.

I mostly help out with the manufacturing end of things.  My design input is usually me discouraging them from wanting anything too complicated.  I need to remind them that they are bound by the laws of physics and, more importantly, the capabilities of the tools and the tool operator.  I like straight lines.  I'm a big fan of the wedge cut.  It looks aerodynamic and it requires a minimum of power tool time.  I like to minimize my time around things that are designed to cut quickly and efficiently.  I'm about half way through my pinewood derby years and I haven't lost any parts yet.  I'd like to keep it that way.

It's really hard, when your working on these cars, not to take over and do everything.  One of the reasons they added the open race for non-scouts was to give some of the dads a place to race their own cars.  With my oldest son, I tried to give him a little more responsibility each year.  This did not extend to the use of the bandsaw however - if one of us is going to lose a finger, I'd prefer it be me.  In some respects, I was forced to give him more control because I needed to focus my efforts on my younger son's car.  To be honest, it was a bit of a stressful time.  It was my oldest son's last race and I wanted him to go out with a fast car.  It was my youngest son's first race and I wanted him to start out with a fast car.  In the end, they both had fast cars.  Not the fastest, but respectable.  If you're really fast, you "get" to advance and race again at the district-wide competition.  My oldest son qualified for this in his second year.  He was really excited at first.  He was less so as he watched the other kids playing with their cars after the race - his had to be preserved until after districts.  The district race was nearly two months later.  By then, the pinewood derby was a distant memory in his mind.  We went.  He raced.  We came home with a participation certificate.  He took his car in the back yard and launched it down the slide - happy to finally be able to play with it.  Now, we do enough to ensure a respectable showing but we aren't too wound up about it.

I think every family has their own tried and true methods for ensuring a speedy car.  The internet is full of them.  I've heard plenty of them from friends, family and co-workers.  I'm struck by the variety of things that people point to as the secret to their success.  I keep these things in mind when the boys and I are working on the cars.  My sons love all things science and they're always up for a discussion of how the laws of nature can be accommodated to give us the best outcome.  Sometimes, we implement the advice of others but we have a few things we've come up with on our own.  These are the steps we will cling to and someday pass along as the secret to our success.

It's Your Time To Dance, Big Guy

Christmas is slowly disappearing from our house.  It was present everywhere yesterday, but it's been vanishing tonight.  The mantle is bare, its holiday trimmings removed but nothing yet taking their place.  The tree is still up but most of the ornaments are gone and it won't be long before the lights have been removed.  The tree itself will go out to the curb Thursday night and be picked up Friday morning.  The chair that was moved to make room for the tree will soon be back in its standard spot.  Yes, soon everything will settle back into its normal place.  It's cold outside.  Really cold.  Without the chaos of Christmas to distract me, I can focus more of my attention on how cold it is.

We have a tradition in our family that we leave the tree up until at least Epiphany.  It's our own reminder that Christmas lasts more than just a single day.  Tomorrow is Epiphany.  The tree's days are numbered.

I was helping my wife carry some ornaments to the basement and I remarked that we made it through the holiday without Dancing Santa.  We received Dancing Santa a number of years ago from my wife's sister.  Dancing Santa is about eighteen inches tall.  He stands on a little gold platform with a button on it.  When you push the button, Santa sings the opening lines from "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" while dancing.  It can be quite annoying, especially when the button is pushed repeatedly.  This year, Santa never came out.  I thought my wife had purposefully left Santa in storage but she informed me that she simply couldn't find him.  It bothers me when things are lost, even things I don't like.  I needed to find Santa.  I poked around in the basement and eventually found him, tucked away in a back corner, as if someone was intentionally trying to make him hard to find.  I tried to remember if I was the one who put him away last year.

My wife suggested that we let Santa come upstairs for a day or two.  The boys were excited to see their old friend again.  I think his batteries will likely be spent by tomorrow.  I have to admit, with all the Christmas decorations going away it was kind of nice to have something to occupy the open space.  I might even suggest it as a new tradition - Dancing Santa comes out after the ornaments are off the tree.