Sunrises

When I stepped out the front door this morning, the first thing I noticed was the beautiful sunrise peeking over the tops of the houses across the street. The horizon was blend of pink and orange, bold against the neighboring blue sky. I took a moment to appreciate it, I pointed it out to my wife, and then I continued to my car.

Most of my commute is such that this wonderful scene was over my right shoulder, out of sight. My focus turn to traffic and work and all the mundane elements that make up my commute. The last leg of my drive finally turns back as I wind my way to the parking lot. As I turned, I remembered the sunrise but I knew it was too late. Gone were the pinks and oranges, replaced by brilliant blue, beautiful in its own right. I was glad that I'd taken the time earlier to appreciate the sunrise for what it was.

This morning's sunrise reminds me of my sons and the various stages of childhood. We've watched baby and toddler phases come and go, each much more fleeting than I could have imagined. Sometimes, when you're in the midst of it, you don't notice it slipping away. But then you look away for a moment and it disappears, replaced by something else, also wonderful. To be sure, we've also run into some pretty gray and dreary days but I know there's another sunrise coming soon enough. I just need to remind myself to take the time to appreciate it when it arrives.

Working with young people

I work with a number of younger colleagues. Our interns, in particular, are easily a generation younger than me. You might think this would make me feel old, but around the office, it really doesn't. After all, we are all doing essentially the same type of work. Our office is pretty casual so we're all dressed in jeans. If anything, working with this group makes me feel younger, as if they are my peers. This is true as long as we keep our focus narrowly confined to the job at hand. Sure I may have a bit more experience to draw on, but the challenges of our current development are new for all of us. In this respect, we are peers.

It doesn't take much of a widening of focus for me to be reminded that I am essentially working with children. A passing reference to a bygone operating system by me or, worse yet, a cultural reference by them. One morning, I eavesdropped from my cube as a small group discussed favorite bands. I did not hear a single name I recognized. Another day, they were discussing exercising - one of them had decided to take up running and had gone out for a three mile run the night before. Now, I've been diligently running that distance two or three times a week for almost a year. I strained to hear what sort of pace he managed on his maiden voyage. It was disheartening to learn that, if he and I were running together, he could give me a one mile head start and we'd basically finish three miles at the same time.

My coworkers are friendly and we joke around a bit but I know they don't see me as a peer. I feel it in the words of support when they see me heading off to the gym for a lunch time run. I sense it in their understanding looks when I have to run back to my cube for my reading glasses before I can check the report they've handed me in the hallway. I know how they see me. I remember my first job out of school. I remember the forty-somethings and fifty-somethings that I worked with. I remember how they were fun and smart and we worked well together. I also remember how old I thought they were. They had families and reading glasses and spare tires and all sorts of other symbols of middle age. I still recall being concerned when one guy told me he was planning on taking up running. I was worried the venture would be too much for his heart. He told me this at his fortieth birthday party. I think about it now and I realize he wasn't as old as I thought he was. Today, I'm sure my colleagues view me the same way.

Going to funerals

This past summer and fall, I've found myself at more funerals or visitations than I'd prefer. In truth, I'd prefer to not have any of these to go to. Sometimes it seems like these sorts of things go in cycles - I feel like I'd been death-free for a year or two before this.


For all the death I've experienced in my life, I am woefully inept when dealing with someone who has just lost a loved one. I never know what to say. Maybe my own experience has taught me that almost anything I utter will sound hollow to someone in the early stages of grief. Gratefully, experience has also taught me that, for the most part, what I say isn't all that important. The grieving person has bigger things on their mind than analyzing my words. After the fog of grief has lifted a little and they look back, they'll probably not remember what I said, just that I was there.


That's not to say that I don't remember anything that was said to me in those situations. I remember a few things. I wish I remembered more things that were helpful - that would give me some material to use. Instead, I tend to recall the lines that I heard multiple times - repetition has fixed them in my memory. You would think that if numerous people are saying something, it must have some merit. Yeah, not so much. I kind of think there are lot of people who, like me, are struggling to find the right words and in the end opt for a line they've heard going around the room.


When we lost our son, we heard a lot of comments about God having a new little angel. We received poems about angels and even some little angel figurines. At that moment in my life, I wasn't real happy with God and I frankly didn't get any comfort from the statement. I also heard about God's great tapestry and how some threads are shorter than others. I'm sure someone spent a lot of effort coming up with this metaphor and I'll admit it's kind of cool in a cerebral, logical way but it avoids addressing why my son had to be one of the short threads. It just doesn't help. But then, there aren't really any words that anyone can say that will make everything better so perhaps all attempts are equal as long as they don't offend or cause more pain. In my case, there were some people who tapped into what I needed to hear. Their statements were less along the "he's in a better place" line and more in the "this sucks, it's so unfair" vein. The former comes off as trying to tell you why you should feel okay while the latter assures you that it's okay to feel the way you do. In the early stages of grief I needed to feel the way I felt and I appreciated those who understood that. 


I'm hoping my death cycle has passed and I am funeral-free for awhile.

Time

I need to talk to Einstein, or whoever happens to be the current expert on time. I'm pretty sure something's messed up in the grand scheme of things. Time appears to be speeding up. I think we should get our experts together and figure out a way slow it back down before it's too late.


When I was a kid, years were substantial things. Like a giant bridge that stretched out over the ocean. At its start in January it was impossible to see or even comprehend the other end. By October or November there was a vague sense that the journey across was nearing completion. Even so, those last months remained steady and true, refusing to rush to the finish. Now, it feels like the bridge is across a little creek and we're sprinting to the other side. Years just aren't what they used to be.


Once we get the experts together, I think they should also consider the "summer effect". While I have observed that time is speeding up in general, it seems to be even worse during the summer. They tell me this past summer was three months long but it felt more like three weeks to me. Definitely something they should look into.


So, experts, you have your work cut out for you. I'd appreciate it if you'd get this straightened out at your earliest convenience, preferably before December. I sense that I am already woefully late with my Christmas shopping.

Pets

We have three cats living in our house. I would like to say that the three cats are our pets but I think it is more accurate to just state that we have cats that live in our house. They aren't real loving animals, not the sorts of cats that climb into your lap and contently purr or fall asleep. Ours mostly wander around the house, only making themselves noticed when they want something. Occasionally the fat one will climb onto my lap - I suppose she considers me a kindred spirit. But when she is on my lap she remains somewhat tense, constantly clinching my legs with her claws. I've termed the experience "catupuncture" and I don't think it has any redeeming qualities. The cats don't seem to like us very much. I don't take this personally because they don't appear to like each other either. For the most part, each cat flies solo and invisible, like a furry little ninja.

There are occasions when all three cats suddenly appear in the same room with us. This always makes me a little uncomfortable. It's like the little ninjas have finally decided to attack. Or worse yet, I fear they've come to stage an intervention. I would hate that, having to listen to the cats take turns sharing how insensitive I am to their needs.

When the cats are all together, it really hits home that we have three cats. That's a lot of cats. We are at the limit of allowed mammal pets per a city ordinance. It makes me feel like we're on the verge of having an animal hoarding problem. But it only feels that way when all the cats are together and that doesn't happen often. Mostly, the house feels fairly animal-less. In fact, I think we could easily accommodate another pet. If I understand the city code, it would have to be a reptile.

My Right Ear

I wish I were more symmetrical. To be more precise, I wish my right ear were more like my left ear. While I'm wishing, I also wish my ears were level with respect to my nose. Now that I regularly wear reading glasses, I've noticed that the metal frames get bent out of shape as I try to get them to rest evenly on my ears and still appear level on my face. The plastic frames eventually just break.

But, back to my right ear. There's something not so right about it. When I go running, I wear earphones with little clips that fit over my ears to hold them in place (the earphones, not my ears). These were a recent addition, necessitated by the fact that ear buds don't stay in my right ear. Even with the clips the right bud pops out and hovers just next to my ear. The left ear is fine and never gives me trouble.

It's odd that if I just put a pair of earphones on they feel fine and both sides seem stable. It's only when I run that the right side works itself out. Perhaps it's not my ear at all - perhaps I am somehow contorting my face or jaw and pushing the ear bud out. It would not be the first time I was doing something weird with my face and not realizing it.

Dave

Last week, I needed to pick up my oldest son from school after work. To avoid rush hour traffic, I meandered through some back roads of the northern suburbs. As I drove one road in particular, I thought back to the first time I'd ever been on it.

Back in the mid-eighties I moved to Saint Paul and started my first real job after college. The company was located not far from where I work today. The company is long gone, as is the young test engineer I was back then. There were a lot of things I loved about that job, the company was good to its employees, the product was innovative, the employees dedicated. It was here that I first met Dave.

Dave was a manager but I technically never reported to him. I did, however, work with and support his team. After six months of work, Dave pulled me aside one afternoon to tell me that while he was pleased with the work I was doing, I had made one flagrant mistake - I'd accepted too low of a starting salary. He'd already talked to upper management and my base pay had retroactively been raised 15%. At the time I was dumbfounded. Partly because after living off next to nothing during college, I was already making more money than I could comprehend and partly because this man I barely knew had gone out of his way to help me, even when I didn't know I needed it. But then I would soon learn that was just the way Dave was.

Not long after our meeting, my old Monte Carlo finally died and I purchased a spiffy used 1983 Escort. I hadn't had it very long when one afternoon it wouldn't start as I was leaving work. I popped the hood and within about five minutes Dave was there by my side. He spotted the problem quickly - a loose and corroded battery connection. Even though our company likely had plenty of tools, Dave was sure that he had just the right steel wool and wrenches in his garage. Before I knew it, we were climbing into his truck and heading off on a mini road trip.

The route to Dave's house took me down the same road I was driving last week. I still remember riding along in his meticulously clean vehicle. When we got to his house, he had no trouble locating the supplies we needed - his garage was tidy and ordered. We didn't run back to work. Instead, he invited me in and found a couple of beers in the fridge. Eventually we made our way back to my car, where Dave got me up and running again.

We worked together for about five years. During that time I knew Dave always had my best interests at heart. Truthfully, he cared about everyone he knew. He gave me a nickname - the only one I've ever seriously had. Only he used it, but he did so with such ease that it felt like it was mine. Sadly, our company decided to relocate to California. Most of us scattered to new jobs in the metro area. Over the years, I kept in contact with Dave and even flirted with working with him again but the timing was never quite right. In the past few years, our communication had dwindled - not much beyond Christmas cards. Still, I thought of him often - like during my drive last week. In my heart I knew I should make an effort to contact him.

Yesterday, I received an email from another friend from those days letting me know that Dave had passed away unexpectedly. I sat and stared blankly at the screen most of the afternoon - allowing a mix of sadness and regret to wash over me. I know that life is short and precious - I just hate being reminded of it.

The Girl Who Hates Vegetables

I know it's never wise to assume things about people but I've never claimed to be particularly wise. I assume the girl on the assembly line at the local Subway hates vegetables. The store is close to my work and I frequently stop in for lunch. If you just watched her face as she touched the "free fixings" you'd think she was handling raw chicken or toxic waste. She makes no attempt to mask the look of disgust as she adds minuscule amounts to the sandwiches. The first couple of times I asked her to add more. Now, I just accept my lot and instead consider it the price I pay for the entertainment of watching her in action.

She seems to dislike some items more than others, like spinach for instance. I prefer it over lettuce. I recently watched her lay four spinach leaves, edge to edge, across my six inch sub - all the while grimacing as if she was fighting back the urge to vomit. The spinach was followed by two tomato slices, each pinched between thumb and forefinger to limit contact even though she was wearing gloves. Asking for onion is almost pointless, a single strand draped across bun. Finally, two banana pepper slices and a single jalapeno slice round out the sandwich. She always looks up, ready to add something else, but her eyes are pleading for you to be done. I get the feeling that, in her mind, she has dumped heaps of veggies onto the sandwich - more than any person could care for. I also think she feels that with each added topping the quality of the sub is diminishing. When you tell her you're done, you can sense her relief.

Sometimes, as I stand in line waiting to order, I listen to the people in front of me: "can I get more lettuce?"; "a little more onion, please". Each of these requests is met with a look of disgust and mild shock and she reluctantly complies. You would think she would realize that if almost everyone is asking for more, she must be adding too little initially. Instead, she continues to ration, unable to comprehend that her tastes differ so from the average customer.

I've contemplated ordering a veggie sub but I'm afraid of how she'd handle it.

Old Pictures

As my wife and I approach our twenty year wedding anniversary, I've had occasion to browse through old photos of our time together. I mostly only look at the last decade or so since that's about the time we bought our first digital camera. Having an archive of pictures online and accessible from my laptop makes taking the occasional stroll down memory lane pretty simple. It's been so enjoyable that I briefly considered going through all our old albums and scanning their contents. It would be great to have digital access to everything but when I think about the amount of effort it would take I can't see it ever happening. I guess I need a more compelling reason before I'm going to work that hard.

Looking at old photos of one's self can be a humbling experience. A number of times I've looked at a picture and thought, "What am I wearing?" Apparently, we must have gone for some time without any full length mirrors in our house. That's the only explanation I can come up with for some of my wardrobe choices. I actually renamed one file "awkward.jpg". It's a shot from long ago of my wife and I standing near some trees at a state park. She looks great. Me, not so much. I'm wearing some almost powder blue shorts that are just a wee bit too short and just a little too snug. I'm not certain if the snugness is behind odd posture I've chosen. It's as if the upper and lower halves of my body couldn't decide if they should face my wife or the camera. It's makes me uncomfortable but I'm thinking about printing it and placing it in my bedroom as a reminder to honestly check the mirror when dressing for the day. I feel bad for the goofball in the photo, even worse when I remember how much I liked those shorts and how often I wore them - in public.

Browsing through the years, I can watch my hair thin a little, gray a lot. My weight went up then down then up again and then back down. Beards came and went. I parted my hair on the left because the right side receded more. Eventually, the left side was worse and so I started parting on the right. Finally, I went with a shorter cut that doesn't really part anywhere. My wife went through a variety of hair styles from short to medium length, straight to permed. It's easier to note changes in fashion from my wife's picture - shoulder pads, floral prints, etc.. If you just looked at me, you might think fashion was fairly static for quite awhile. Apparently, for about five years, I only had one shirt I deemed appropriate for special occasions. At least, I assume that's the reason I'm wearing it in posed Christmas photos from multiple years.

The last time I was looking at these pictures, my sons joined me. They seemed to enjoy seeing what Mom and Dad used to look like. To them I'm sure we've always kind of looked like we do now. For the most part that's true but I think it's good to remind them that we were once younger. It hopefully gives us a little more credibility when we try to help them with the many issues involved with growing up. My younger son has known us for the shortest amount of time so, to him, the old pictures seemed the most foreign. He relied on his brother for confirmation that these were indeed Mom and Dad. Apparently, he thinks this is the sort of thing I might try to fool him with. Even though I was sitting with them, I tried to remain silent as I pulled up different images. It was fun to listen to their reactions. Here's a snippet I remember from a shot of me during some of my heavier days:

N: Is that really Dad?
B: Yeah.
N: Really? Because it kind of looks like Dad but not really.
B: Yeah. (pauses and looks at me) I don't think you were running much back then.

Only to the refrigerator.

At some point, I'll actually get to the running part.

When I was young, I did very little stretching before running. I may have gone through the motions, imitating other runners, but it was all for show. I didn't really work at stretching anything.

Then, one day as I was running, the front of my leg tightened up. It didn't hurt much but the pain returned the next time I ran. After that, I began stretching that specific muscle group before running. It helped.

And I was good for a few years - stretch the quads, go for a run.

Until my shoulders and back started aching. You wouldn't think you'd need to stretch your upper body too much when you're running, but it turns out you do. Another stretch.

Once again, I was good - stretch the quads, stretch the back, go for a run.

I think my calves were next to complain. I recall this being the most sudden and jarring pain, bad enough that I couldn't finish the run. Yet another stretch.

And I had a new routine - stretch the quads, stretch the back, stretch the calves, go for a run.

This served me well for a number of years. Sadly, one day as I was finishing my run I felt a twinge in the back of my leg. Before long, my hamstrings were crying for help. I added them to the mix.

At this point, I felt like I had everything covered - stretch the quads, stretch the back, stretch the calves, stretch the hamstrings, go for a run.

After a couple of years of running, my inner thighs realized everyone else in the leg was getting attention and demanded some as well. It was true, I'd neglected them too long. I remedied the situation.

My present routine is stretch the quads, stretch the back, stretch the calves, stretch the hamstrings, stretch the inner thighs, go for a run.

Some days, I spend more time stretching than I do running. This wouldn't concern me if I thought I was really done adding stretches. History tells me this is likely not the case. In fact, I have a new pain that's been showing up despite all my current efforts. The pain seems to be in my hip, or maybe my butt, or maybe my upper hamstring. Anyway, I haven't quite figured out how to contort myself to stretch it. When I do, I guess I'll add it to the mix.

Scent Ninja

Yesterday, I brought my own soap to the gym. I have nothing against the soap they supply but I had a bottle of "body wash" I'd received as a gift just sitting on a shelf. I decided I should use it up. I'm not a huge fan of liquid body soaps - I'd much prefer a good old-fashioned bar, which is what I use at home. I guess I kind of like that buffer between my hand and my body. Liquid soaps require much more contact than I comfortable with. Still, I had this bottle and it was easy enough to bring it along. The soap at the gym is also a liquid body wash, so there's not that much of a difference.

There are a couple of things that I immediately noticed about my new soap. First, was its color: bright purple, almost iridescent. Second was its scent: strong, spicy, and vaguely familiar. I lathered up liberally, not terribly concerned with running out - after all, that was the point of bring it in the first place. It's called a body wash and I took that quite literally, applying the soap from head to toe.

I go to the gym a couple of times a week, during my lunch hour. It takes the full hour to get to the gym, run, shower, and get back. I have time for everything on my lunch hour except lunch. I'm usually a little damp as I slip back into my cube. I'd like to believe this is because I didn't towel off well enough. I know it's really because my body is slow in switching out of "sweat mode". Yesterday, I was again rushing to get back in time.

As I drove back to work I was aware of my new scent. I tried to convince myself that I was smelling the towel in my gym bag, but I knew that wasn't the case. I sniffed an arm and confirmed that, indeed, I was the source. The smell wasn't overwhelming but it was definitely noticeable. I typically try to be scent neutral, to not contribute any odor be it offensive or not. I don't always succeed at this but I try. I know guys whose cologne announces their arrival seconds before you see their face. That's not who I want to be. I'd rather be a scent-ninja, invisible, in the shadows.

As I settled into my chair, I sat there, smelling myself, waiting for the odor to wear off. Instead, the smell seemed to be getting stronger. I hoped that, as my moist body dried, the odor would abate. I closed my eyes and tried to remember where I'd smelled this smell before - it was certainly familiar. Then it struck me - this was the same scent as the deodorant I favored back in high school, back when I was no scent-ninja. A flood of memories and emotions washed over me without rinsing out this odor from my past.

Chasing Rainbows

Last Saturday morning I ran a 5K race. Actually, it wasn't really a race, it was a fun run. Most of the organized runs I do are billed as fun runs or run/walks. This particular race drew a few thousand participants, many in costume. The race began by crossing the Stone Arch bridge in Minneapolis. It's a beautiful place to run, but the bridge is considerably narrower than the street, where everyone lines up at the start. Traffic jams are inevitable. The situation is often exacerbated by large costumes. But, hey, it's a fun run.

I've run this event in the past and I like it for a couple of reasons. First, I enjoy seeing the costumes. There are some pretty creative folks out there. I would never consider running in a costume myself, but I admire those who do. It's not that I have anything against costumes, it's just that I feel like I'm on the edge of being able to complete the run as it is. I once had a bad run because the collar on my T-shirt felt weird. I can't imagine how poorly I would do if I were in a gorilla suit.

I admire the costumes, but I also make mental notes of any that I want to avoid at the starting gate. As I mentioned, the race start is very congested, wide or multiple person costumes only make things worse. On Saturday, there was one group that I noticed in particular. It was comprised of two fellows in leprechaun outfits and their buddy dressed as a rainbow. The rainbow arched out on each side, like monstrous shoulders. Alone, he took up the space of three people. I decided it would be best to line up either beside or in front of him.

As we gathered for the start of the race, I lost sight of the rainbow. I chose a spot in the middle of the pack and kept watch. Too late, I noticed the rainbow and his friends near the front of the group on my side of the street. They appeared to be drinking beer as they waited for the race to start. The street was packed and I had no choice but to stay where I was. The race was started. Everyone took four steps forward and compressed the crowd. Eventually, I was able to start again, walking at first.

As I moved along, I forgot about the rainbow. I remembered the other reason why I liked this race, the crowd. Normally, I'm not a crowd person - I find crowded parties absolutely draining. But, I love running in a crowd. I enjoy dodging around other runners, looking for open gaps. The crowd is like a gentle tide, pushing me along to the finish. Gradually, the field opened up as the faster runners stretched out ahead. Even so, I ran the entire race with people around me and it was nice.

About half way through the race I spotted the rainbow ahead of me. My immediate thought was "I am not going to get beaten by a rainbow and a couple of drunk leprechauns". It was a hot day and I was feeling exhausted - this was just the motivation I needed. I fixed my gaze on them and matched their speed for a short distance. Then I quickened my pace, ever so slightly. Slowly, painfully slowly, I was gaining on them.

As I mentioned, this is a fun run. The race is sponsored by an Irish pub and your registration fee also entitles you to a couple of beers. The beer is available at finish line or at a beer garden set up about 3K into the course. I was just making my move to overtake the rainbow when he and his buddies veered into the beer garden. I marched on, semi-triumphantly.

Focusing on the rainbow had been such a nice distraction. It helped get me through a difficult time when my body wanted to quit. But now, here I was in the final phase of the run and suddenly once again aware of my aching legs. I scanned the crowd looking for someone, anyone I could latch onto and keep pace with. Too many of the people around me looked too fit - I feared I would not be able to keep up with them. Finally, I spotted an old guy with a few extra pounds - my clone. I came up within a few yards of him and then matched his pace. We ran like that for almost 2 kilometers, sure and steady. Then, with about 100 meters to go I saw the finish line. I broke into as much of a sprint as I could muster, passing my pace-clone. He made a token attempt to run with me but then dropped back to his former pace. I crossed the finish line utterly exhausted.

Later, as I was waiting in line for food, a woman approached me and asked me if I knew my finish time. It turns out she had been running just behind me for the last part of the race. I had been so focused on the guy in front of me but it hadn't occurred to me that someone could be using me for the same purpose.

Relief

I ate breakfast at the kitchen counter this morning. Sometimes I take my bowl of cereal out to the back porch on cool mornings like this, but today I stayed inside. It's easier to read the newspaper at the counter. The light is better and I can spread the sections out in front of me, leaving my hands free to hold a bowl and spoon.

I almost went with toast instead of cereal. I could have chosen between whole wheat or oat grain, and I know there are at least two kinds of delicious jam in the refrigerator. It was tempting. I went with cereal largely because I didn't feel like waiting for the bread to toast. I chose something that claimed to be heart-healthy but I don't know if I believe it - it tasted too good. We have quite a few cereal choices in the house, a mix of grown-up, healthy, responsible offerings and kid-friendly, sweet, marshmallowy ones. I try to stick with the grown-up ones, but sometimes it's hard to resist the Lucky Charms.

I didn't think too much about my breakfast choices as I absently flipped through the newspaper. I mostly just read headlines, dropping occasionally into the first paragraph of some articles. In the World News section, there was a brief article about the famine in the horn of Africa. I read it and moved on to the next article, all the while scraping the last bits of food from my bowl.

Before long, I was into the Sports section and then the Comics. As I prepared to work on the sudoku puzzle, I got up to refill my coffee cup. As long as I was up, I considered having another bowl of cereal. The box was still out, so it would have been easy to refill. Instead, I decided that I'd had enough. I closed the box and returned it to the pantry, wedging it back into place on the bulging shelf. As I returned to my stool, I took one last look at the toaster. No, I would have toast tomorrow.

My wife had used the car the night before and, when I started it, the radio came on tuned to NPR. I caught the tail end of another famine story before switching over to the local sports station (the local pro-football team announced their first round of roster cuts - ten players no one has ever heard of). The station was broadcasting from the State Fair and the program was a mix of sports analysis and a discussion of the merits of mini-doughnuts and cheese curds.

As I sat down at my desk, I thought about my morning and about famine. I know famine is a terrible thing and I have felt moved to donate to relief efforts. But, I also know that famine is likely much worse than I can ever comprehend. I just don't have that frame of reference. I can imagine being hungry but I don't know that I know what it is like to be starving. And I can't even bring myself to imagine what it would be like to watch my children starve, or even be hungry for that matter.

I don't often ask anything of my readers but I urge you to consider donating to famine relief. Do a Google search on Horn of Africa famine, to learn more.

My Skeptical Buddy

My youngest son, N, and I have developed a habit of watching Ancient Aliens on the History channel. We watch with a skeptic's eye. N, in particular, likes to argue with the "experts" on the television. He's only nine, but he's always been sensitive to statements that include words like "has to be" or "must". The experts are often quick to make the 'alien jump' (e.g. "the flat topped structure must have been a landing pad for spacecraft"). N is just as quick to point out the flaws in their logic - could have been and must have been are very different things. Even when the speaker takes a somewhat more cautious approach by sprinkling in "likelys" and "probablys", N still takes issue, pointing out numerous other explanations, often more plausible.

I enjoy our time watching the show. I like the fact that my son is not willing to accept just anything that's thrown at him, that he is able to discern when a statement has a shaky basis. Once, while we were watching the show, I asked him if he believed that aliens visited our planet. His response was typical, "I don't know if they did or didn't. And neither do these guys."

My Troll

There is an evil little couch potato living in my head. He hides in an undefined area between my conscious and subconscious. I feel him lurking there, licking his orange, Cheetos-stained fingers.

I dislike this troll and his endless commentary. He's obsessed with TV schedules, always certain something "good" is on. He's equally curious about the refrigerator and the pantry. To him, a snack and a show are a heavenly combination that should be enjoyed whenever possible. I try to ignore him but it doesn't stop his constant chattering.

If I decide to go for a run around the neighborhood, he suddenly becomes a meteorologist, citing temperatures and heat indexes. He hates it when I exercise and he does his best to discourage me at every turn. As I start out, he's singing in my ear, trying to get me to quit. My joints and muscles are often providing backup to his discouraging song. I turn up the volume on my iPod, an attempt to drown him out.

After the run, he's still there. Having lost the exercise battle, he tries to use it to his advantage. After such a workout, surely I deserve a little rest, a little TV time, maybe a small snack? But I know with him there is no 'little', no 'small'.

The troll and I have a complicated past. There was a time when I was more receptive to his suggestions of indolence. I think he hangs around because he hopes to rekindle that torpid magic. I've tried to tell him that I've moved on, that I'm a different person, but the troll is not convinced.

The Streak

Cold sweat. Shallow rapid breathing. The sense of panic as the surrounding air seems to press against me. I reach out, groping for the wall. Once I find it, I lean heavily into it, hoping to steady myself against the spinning room. This is it, I think to myself. vertigo has beaten me - today, the streak ends. I wait. Gradually, the spinning slows. I focus on my breathing, trying to take slow, deep breaths. Maybe this isn't the end of the streak after all. I ease myself away from the wall and take a few cautious steps.

Back in 1987 I bought a bottle of wine. I don't remember why I bought it or how I picked it out. I suspect it was recommended by a colleague. I wasn't much of a wine drinker back then and my palate was decidedly unsophisticated. It was a white wine, on the sweet side. The bottle sat on the counter in my apartment for quite some time, pining for the opportunity to be served at a suitable occasion. What became painfully evident was that such occasions were rare occurrences in my life back then.

Finally, one Friday evening in November I decided I'd waited long enough. The suitable occasion would be that it was Friday and that the work week had been a long one. Plus, the only food I had in the apartment was a box of crackers and part of a brick of cheese - obvious companions for my lonely bottle. I made up a plate of crackers, each with a thick slice of cheese. I uncorked the bottle and poured a little wine into one of the two wine glasses I owned. I sipped. It was fruity and delicious, especially when consumed with the crackers and cheese. I curled up in my Pier One Papasan chair, plate of crackers balanced on my lap. I sipped wine, ate crackers and watched cable TV. This was dinner that night. By the time I went to bed, the crackers were all gone. The cheese was all gone. The wine was all gone. I awoke the next morning feeling nauseous. The feeling worsened when I got out of bed. I stumbled to the bathroom. I vomited. Then, I felt better. And the streak began.

Even though vomiting had made me feel better, I was still bummed out that it had happened. As far as I could recall, I had been vomit-free throughout the 80's up to that point. Four years of college had not been able to coerce me to toss my cookies yet, here I was, beaten by a cheap bottle of wine and some stale crackers. On the bright side, the incident did give me a clear stake in the ground, a starting point for a new stint of being puke-free.

And so it continues. My sons have never seen their father lose his lunch. My wife of almost twenty years has never witnessed me blow chunks. Over the years, stomach flues have occasionally ravaged our household, taking down all members. All have puked but one. One soldier stands tall, even while cleaning the messes made by the others.

This is not to say that I have not fallen ill. There have been times when I have felt absolutely awful, when I probably would have felt better if I had vomited. But, I've fought it off. I really, really don't like the sensation. Plus, I have my streak to consider.

Spam

I don't trust software. I've spent over 25 years in the software industry. I've worked on many - big user applications, simple utilities, hardware drivers, embedded firmware. I am very familiar with software. And that is why I don't trust it.

I don't trust it because I know how difficult it is to write error-free code. On a system with moderate to high complexity it is nearly impossible. Despite the developer's best intentions and testing efforts, there are always nooks and crannies, dark corners where bugs can hide. On the best programs, these are obscure situations that are unlikely to occur. The problem gets even harder if the program must interact with humans. People do such unpredictable things.

This all leads me to a piece of software that I trust the least - the spam filter on my email. I would hate to try to write such a piece of code. It's really the worst-case scenario. Not only does it interact with humans, but it must combat humans and other programs that are purposefully trying to outsmart it. I admire my filter but I have a hard time believing it always makes the right choice. The fact that I rarely see spam in my inbox does not reassure me. Instead, it makes me worry that the filter is too restrictive and may be throwing legitimate emails away. Because of this paranoia, I occasionally sift through my spam folder.

A few months ago, I was looking through my spam folder when a single message caught my eye. At first, it looked similar to the rest of the junk in the folder. It purported to be in regards to a lawsuit/settlement over a PC problem. There were other messages in the folder about lawsuits and settlements but this one just looked different. I cautiously opened the email to get a closer look.

A few years ago, I bought a rather expensive laptop. After a couple of years of intermittent problems and manufacturer recalls, it finally died. The warranty had expired on it and I was disgusted with the computer and its maker. After reading online about other people having similar issues with similar computers I realized that the problems with my laptop were severe. I was aware that there was a movement afoot to get some sort of restitution, but I didn't hold out much hope that I would ever see anything. I put my expensive laptop in the closet and forgot about it.

One of the things that caught my eye with the email message was that it listed my laptop model number along with the details of the problem, which I had earlier researched. I did some further checking and convinced myself that the message was real. The email led me to a web site and to court records. Weeks later, I was packaging up the dusty laptop in a pre-paid shipping container and sending it in for a replacement.

My replacement laptop arrived yesterday. It seems nice - maybe not top of the line, but probably better than my original laptop given that 5 years have passed.

I'll likely use it when I occasionally check my spam folder in the future.

Sifting

I was looking through the pictures from our recent vacation. I remember back in the days of film this exercise would take just a few minutes with the picture total easily being under 100. Our recent week off netted just under 700 pictures thanks to the wonder of digital cameras. It's easy to take a lot of pictures with a digital camera because they feel cheap. When I used to use a film camera, each potential photo was calculated, assessed and only taken if it was deemed worthy. I think I was like that at first when I switched to digital as well. Over time, my approach has changed. Now, instead of waiting for the perfect shot, I just take lots of pictures, hoping that a few of them will fall into that perfect category.

But, as I mulled through the vacation photos, it struck me that these pictures aren't all that cheap. I started thinking about the amount of time I'd already spent trying to sift out the great and good from the mediocre and poor. And then there is the cost of storing the pictures. Unless a shot is completely dark or blurry, I have trouble deleting it. I save everything and I worry about my hard drive failing so I back it all up - to two places. Yes, there are costs to having so many photos. Still, I am often struck by the wonderful images that are captured along the way. They are often shots that I know I would never have thought of taking with a film camera.

In this mix, there is a shot of N running in knee-deep water in Lake Superior. While the colors are pretty, I would not have wasted a precious film exposure on it. I wouldn't even have considered it - the light was wrong, the camera too far away, there is nothing really  remarkable about the scenery, just a lot of lake. This picture, which I would like not have taken with film, is one of my favorite from the lot. When I look at it, I can sense the exhilaration my son was feeling at the time. I'm terrible at explicitly capturing moments of emotion like this. My focus is often right-brained, striving to convey information (e.g. Two sons, eyes open, smiling faces well-lit standing in front of Devil's Tower.) I get so wrapped up in capturing the data that I overlook capturing the moment. It's strange because, after the fact, I find the 'data' pictures pretty but kind of boring. My favorites are the ones that reveal how people were feeling at the moment the picture was taken. Thank goodness my digital camera can help me capture those - even if by accident.

Vacation - June 2011

I was on vacation last week. Sometimes, our vacations are driven by place (e.g. "Let's go to the Black Hills"). Sometimes, they are driven by people (e.g. "Let's visit our friends in Arizona"). This vacation was a little bit of both - good friends in a beautiful place.

We did a little hiking during the week and this gave me a chance to reaffirm something I already knew about myself: When hiking with a group, I like to be last ("bring up the rear", so to speak). I'd like to think this is because I have some innate need to be the protector, the one who makes sure no one gets left behind. In reality, I fear my desire to be last is driven by something less noble. Being last ensures no one can photograph you from behind as you struggle to ascend some rocky trail. Nobody's backside looks all that great in those conditions, especially when juxtaposed against the surrounding natural beauty. If you are ever behind me on a hike and you feel the need to "capture the moment with a photo", please at least have the decency to pick a time when I'm near a large roundish boulder and not when I'm squeezing between two skinny trees.

I also attempted to practice a little meditation on this vacation. One day, in particular, found us on the sandy shores of Lake Superior. It was a sunny afternoon and I lay back on a beach towel, closed my eyes and just listened to the lake. The waves were breaking at regular, deliberate intervals. With each crash, I imagined any stress in my body being scrubbed, each recession was a gentle rinsing. It was as if I was a pan that had been left on the burner too long, its contents scorched and blackened and Lake Superior was a determined dishwasher, intent upon restoring me to my original condition. It was quite relaxing and I managed to meditate myself to sleep. I awoke to find that apparently my "original condition" included a sun-burned face. Even so, it was rejuvenating.

All in all, a wonderful time.

Running at the track

As I mentioned in a previous post, I've begun regularly running again. The weather is finally nice enough that I could run outside, but I still mostly run indoors at the Y. I do this because it is convenient to go to the Y over my lunch break. The indoor track at the Y is pretty small - it takes fifteen laps to make a mile. I usually run 50 laps. Keeping track of the lap count is almost as difficult as the running itself. I have a rule that if I'm unsure of the count, I always assume the lower number. I suspect I usually run two or three extra laps because of this.

As the weather has gotten nicer, there are fewer and fewer fellow runners joining me on the track. I often have it to myself or have to share it for a few laps with a walker or two. There are three runners that I've shared the track with from time to time since winter. I thought they'd all left me for the summer, but then one of them was at the track yesterday. I've never spoken to any of these people, of course. They have a few common traits: they are male; they are younger than me; and they are faster than me. I don't know their real names, but in my mind they are Blondie, Sarge and Ron.

Blondie is the youngest of the bunch, probably not much over twenty. He's rail thin and runs really fast. The first time he passed me I was impressed by his pace. My admiration morphed to disdain when he quit after three laps. Anyone can run fast for three laps, I thought to myself. Over the weeks I began to be annoyed with this upstart and the disruptions his brief sprints brought to my running experience.

Sarge was at the track yesterday. He's probably in his early thirties. With his crew-cut and broad shoulders he looks like he should be running in camouflage shorts. He runs precisely, there is very little bobbing up and down. He also runs on the balls of his feet - his heels never seem to touch the ground. I've had a lot of chances to study his form - he's passed me many times. Whenever I get passed by anyone I find myself trying to justify it in my mind. Usually, I tell myself that they aren't running as far as I am. This was true for Blondie, I'm still not sure about Sarge.

Finally, there's Ron. I'd guess he's somewhere in his forties and closest to me speed-wise. I think of him as Ron because he has hair and a moustache reminiscent of Will Ferrell's Ron Burgundy character from the Anchorman movie. Ron runs effortlessly and I think he could probably go faster if he wanted to. Instead, he runs just a bit faster than me. This means he doesn't pass me as often but when he does it takes awhile. I sense him behind me for half a lap before he gradually moves into the passing lane. Sometimes, I slow down a little just to get it over with. It's awkward. Still, I kind of like it when he's at the track because it reminds me how funny Will Ferrell can be. I like to think of funny things to take my mind off the pain. Of course, it often also takes my mind off the lap count.

Counter-clockwise

Thursdays are counter-clockwise, I know this to be true.

The indoor running track at my local Y has designated that runners should run counter-clockwise on Thursday and Friday, clockwise on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Saturday and Sunday have directions as well, but I rarely run at the Y on the weekend, so I don’t know them.

I think the reasoning behind changing directions is to save wear and tear on the joints. The track is slightly slanted at the corners and running on this uneven portion probably grinds one’s knees disproportionately. If we didn’t change directions occasionally, we’d eventually end up lopsided, only able to run along the sides of hills like mountain goats. Instead, we change directions, grinding our knees evenly and gradually getting shorter. Of course, all of this only works if you run on the right days. I don’t know how they decided to assign the directions the way they did. I’m sure it was arrived at after an in-depth study of the running habits of a large sample set of members. Or, maybe someone just made it up after realizing that changing directions every day wouldn’t work since many members run every other day. At any rate, I typically run on Tuesday and Thursday so the system works for me.

Last Thursday, as I stretched before my run, I noticed a woman walking clockwise around the track. I stretch right next to the board where the direction signs are posted so I glanced quickly to make certain they hadn’t been updated. No, Thursday was still counter-clockwise. Next, I double-checked my mental calendar and assured myself that it really was Thursday. I was standing near the door for exiting the track and, as the woman approached, I hoped she would leave. Alas, she strolled past the door, intent on walking another illegal lap. As she passed me, I made a small production of staring at the directional arrows. I studied them as if they were the Mona Lisa, hoping she might feel compelled to check out what I found so interesting. She ambled on.

I stretched some more and felt myself becoming annoyed with the woman. The “don’t make waves, go with the flow” part of my personality was telling me that maybe I should run clockwise as well. The track is fairly narrow and going the same direction meant we would cross paths less often. The “we have rules for a reason” part of my personality was adamant that Thursdays were meant to be counter-clockwise lest we all become lopsided. I stewed and stretched some more. Finally, the “don’t go out of your way to look like an idiot” part of my personality noted that I’d be running for at least 30 minutes. During that time, the woman would likely finish up and leave the track. At that point, I’d be alone, running the wrong way on a Thursday, like a fool. I set out counter-clockwise.

The woman gave no indication of surprise or care as I approached and passed her on the track. We met often over the next few minutes. Finally, she stepped off the track near the exit. I noticed her studying the directional arrows before leaving, perhaps finally realizing her faux pas. As the door closed behind her, I felt my mood improve. Order was restored to this little part of my world.

Vignettes by B

With the winding down of another school year, the boys have been bringing home schoolwork. Among the papers in B's backpack were a couple of vignettes he'd written. He gave me permission to share them with you.

Cats      by B.
I have three cats and they are all odd. One hides at the slightest noise, one sits around all day doing nothing, and one leaps around like a bird chasing imaginary prey. When I look at them funny, they look back and their eyes say: "I don't care. I don't care what you think of me." They have no acknowledgement of what people think or have thought about them. People may be able to keep them in cages and as pets, but I personally think cats are smarter when you look at people socially, always worrying about what people will say or think. Cats are wise in that they are the carefree, the worriless, the relaxed, and the bravest. Yes, we people could really use a lesson on how to break free, and to be oneself. So I look at my cat and ask "How do you do this?" Of course no reply comes, only a soft, caring purr.

Hiking       by B.
In Canada we hiked all the time. Sure it was just a vacation, but we were on the trails a lot. I love it. The trees dancing in the wind, the water gurgling and laughing along. There I walk along the trails, there I stand at the top of a hill, looking down at the rest of the treetops. There the world is a painting, beautiful and abstract, to jump into and explore. By the end of the day I can look back and remember it in the photos on my camera, a small tribute to the amazing outdoors. The next day we explore and venture out again, taking in all the wonders around us and surveying the perfect landscape. More photos snapped, more wide-eyed gazes, more clean, calm fresh air. The pristine outdoors. Eventually we must leave, and we take with us the memories, the pictures, the experiences. We will go back someday, and remember the wonders, with new ones to come.

Recital

“I really don’t want to do this.”

The voice from the back seat dripped with despair and anxiety. I drove on, listening to muffled sobs, trying to think of something reassuring to say. Nothing I tried seemed to help. We were driving to my son’s first piano recital and he was nervous and scared. I tried to project an air of calm confidence but I knew how he felt and I knew there were few ways to make it better.

“I’m going to embarrass myself. Dad, I really really don’t want to do this. I’m scared.”

His pleading tore at my heart but I drove on. We pulled into a parking spot, I turned off the engine and we sat. I watched as other cars pulled up and people hustled to the building. Most of them had that grand-parent look to them. I didn’t see any other students - probably already inside, I surmised. We didn’t have an entourage. Not because we don’t have people who would have been interested but because we neglected to note the date of the recital on our calendar. We would have missed it completely except we had a lesson the night before and his teacher mentioned that we should be here by 7. My wife and older son were already committed to a boy scout camp-out. It was just the two of us and the thirteen other students and their extended families. N felt unprepared and I felt like it was partly my fault. That fact made his sobs all the more painful to me.

He was in a good mood earlier. I’d picked out some nice clothes and he’d eagerly gotten dressed. We had thirty minutes before we needed to leave so I suggested he run through his piece once. The piece is entitled “March of the Gnomes”, chosen by his teacher because she learned of his love of gnomes. N decided to perform it while wearing a gnome-style hat with an attached beard. He took my advice and sat down at our piano, adjusted his hat, and began. He played through the piece almost perfectly, probably the best he’s ever done it. He smiled, obviously proud.

I began preparing to leave. I told N that, after such a good run through, it might be best to step away from the piano and leave on a high note. He did not heed my advice. He wanted to try one more time, just to see if he could get it perfect. He tried. This time there were a couple of rougher spots. Upset with himself, he launched into a third attempt. More mistakes. I looked at the clock, we needed to leave. Crying now, he tried a frantic fourth time. Midway through the piece, he lost his place completely. This had never happened to him before. Panic set in as I shuffled him out the door and into the car.

As we sat in the parking lot, I explained that even if he didn’t want to perform, we still had to go inside and talk to his teacher. She was expecting him and he couldn’t just not show up. N has a great deal of respect for his teacher and I explained that she may be able to help him feel better. We went inside.

The recital room was packed. Fourteen families turns out to be quite a crowd. Most of the other kids were sitting up front, in a row of chairs off to the side of the piano. We found his teacher and I explained the situation. She tried to calm N down with some breathing exercises. I sat down in the audience. N sat next to me, clutching his music and his gnome hat.

A couple of minutes later, the last student arrived. The teacher brought all the other students together in a huddle near the piano. I urged N to join them to hear what last-minute instructions she was giving. He reluctantly complied and positioned himself on the outskirts of the group, occasionally glancing back at me.

As the huddle broke, I watched as his teacher gently put a hand on N’s shoulder and guided him over to an open chair along student’s row. Without really thinking, he sat down at the end of the row of chairs, beside another little boy clutching a sheet of music. He sat and stared back at me, still unsure how he had gone from sitting next to me to suddenly sitting at the front of the room. He looked scared, probably because he was scared.

As the teacher began her introductory remarks,I checked the program, hoping that N would be playing near the beginning. Sitting in that chair, waiting to face the crowd seemed like torture. I just wanted it over with. Alas, I looked to see that eleven other students would play before him. So much for getting it over with quickly.

Soon, the recital was underway. I alternated my attention from the piano to my son, trying to assess his mood. As the night progressed, I detected a slight improvement in his demeanor. Gradually, he was focusing less on me and the crowd and more on the other students and their performances. He almost, almost looked like he was enjoying himself.

Finally, his turn came. The crowd chuckled as he strode up to the piano in his gnome hat and beard, but he looked serious. After a brief moment to compose himself, he started playing. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t too bad either, certainly on par with his peers. He finished, stood, pulled off the gnome hat and bowed a big bow. He was all smiles as he returned to his seat.

After the last performance, the room turned into a sea of motion as parents and grand-parents reunited with their pianists. N was a bundle of excited happiness as he received congratulatory remarks from some of the other adults in the group. He posed at the piano and I took a picture to capture this triumphant moment.

On the drive home, the voice from the back seat was a happy, chatty one as he worked through expelling the pent up energy of the night. A couple of my favorite quotes I heard as I drove:

“I don’t know for sure if how I feel now is worth how I felt before, but I think it is.”

and

“I’m so happy that, I think if someone slapped me, I’d still be happy!”

Me too.

Rod, again - Chapter 26, Off the cuff

From his perch behind the buffet table, Chet surveyed the crowd. Rico had been right, things had gone well. He’d received compliments on everything from the appetizers to the cake. Cindy’s father had taken great care to make sure the guests knew there would soon be a restaurant where they could enjoy this fare any time. Chet was almost done cleaning up; most of his helpers had long since gone and he was anxious to go home and relax as well. He moved around the table and then pushed it against the wall. The DJ was getting set up and Chet helped him move more tables to create a small dance floor.

Rod leaned back and looked at Cindy. He thought about the nervousness he’d felt earlier in the day and wondered how he ever could have doubted himself. Cindy noticed him looking at her and smiled.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just very happy right now.” Rod replied.

“Me too. I’ve never been happier. It’s been a good day, Rod. There’s only one thing left for us to do.”

Rod looked at her quizzically.

Cindy nodded at the DJ, who had just started playing the song they’d chosen for their first dance. “Let’s go, honey. The people demand to see you dance.”

Rod groaned and then grinned. “They don’t know what they’re asking for. They’ll be sorry...”

Rod led Cindy to the center of the makeshift dance floor and the two danced slowly. As they moved around the room, Rod felt every eye on him. He couldn’t wait for other people to join them. Sensing his discomfort, Cindy urged Debbie and Rico to join them as they glided past. Soon, a handful of couples were dancing as the first song melted into the next.

Cindy looked at Rod and nodded toward Debbie. “I think you owe her at least one dance, don’t you?”

“Are you sure?” Rod asked. “It wouldn’t bother you?”

Cindy laughed. “Oh, it’s no bother. I plan on dancing with Rico, the soon-to-be male model. I think I can cope.”

They glided over and switched partners. Rico and Cindy disappeared into the crowd of dancers. Rod looked down at Debbie. “Thanks for everything.” he said. “You’re a good person and a real friend.”

“I’m glad you found someone, Rod.” Debbie replied, happily.

The two moved together easily and didn’t speak again until the song was over. Debbie looked up at Rod and said. “Goodbye, Rod.”

“Goodbye, Debbie.” Rod said, stepping away. As he did so, he felt a momentary tug on his sleeve - so transient that he might have imagined it. Rod wondered if maybe Debbie had grabbed him, just for an instant, instinctively. Maybe her brave face was just a facade. He looked at her, but she showed no hint of being anything but happy. Maybe it was his own wishful thinking, Rod thought. Maybe, deep down, he wanted Debbie to be more broken up about seeing him get married.

Rico felt the sweat beading on his forehead as he danced with Cindy. He didn’t know her very well and it felt awkward to have his hand on her side. He was grateful when the song ended and he could step back. Unfortunately, as he pulled his hand away, the button on the sleeve of his suit coat caught on Cindy’s pit pocket and he accidentally pulled her closer.

“S-s-sorry. My sleeve got caught on something.” Rico explained as he freed himself and stepped back.

“It’s okay Rico.” Cindy replied, smiling. “Thanks for the dance.”

Rico reunited with Debbie and the two danced a couple of more songs before making an early exit. On her way out, Debbie stopped by the DJ and requested Neil Sedaka’s “I Go Ape”. The song had been a favorite of Rod’s, although she wasn’t sure if he still liked it or not. She hoped he would appreciate the gesture but she wasn’t hanging around long enough to find out. She was much more interested in spending some quiet time with Rico. Plus, they needed to work out some logistics regarding his trip back with her. The two returned to her hotel room, where they talked and spent entirely too much time on the phone with the airline, trying to arrange seats together on the flight to Minnesota. Finally, around two o'clock in the morning, Rico left to pack, promising to return to the hotel by seven-thirty so they could ride together to the airport.

Debbie laid down and closed her eyes. It had been a tiring but pleasant day. Before long, she was sleeping soundly and didn’t stir until the muffled sounds of other residents passing through the hall woke her. Debbie rolled over and squinted at the bedside clock and then sat up suddenly when she realized it was after seven. She quickly climbed out of bed and picked out some comfortable traveling clothes. After a brief bathroom visit, she hurriedly packed her bags, pausing briefly when she felt a hard lump in the fabric of her orange dress. Odd, she thought, I thought I gave Rico the last Chiclet. She shrugged to herself and stuffed the dress into her bag as she heard a knock on the door. It was Rico. He grabbed her bag and they were off.

Meanwhile, across town at another hotel, Rod crawled about on his hands and knees scanning the floor while his new bride slept. He’d searched the room twice already and knew there was little chance he’d find anything this time either. The diamond cuff-link was gone. Maybe no one would ever ask him about it. Maybe, just maybe, it could be his secret.

The End.

Rod, again - Chapter 25, I could sure use some gum.

Debbie returned to her seat and smiled at Rico. He smiled back and she leaned over for a kiss. Rico abruptly turned away and looked forward.

“Ah, y-you may not want to do that.” Rico stammered.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss you?” Debbie asked, cautiously.

“Well,” Rico began. “While you were gone, I noticed Chet walking across the courtyard. I went over to say hi and stuff. Anyway, he’s getting all the food ready and he’s kind of nervous. One of his helpers messed up a recipe and made it too strong, you know, for Rod’s taste.”

“Rico, what’s this have to do with you kissing me?” Debbie asked.

“I’m getting to it.” Rico continued. “I told Chet it was probably fine but he didn’t think so. He let me try a bite so I could test it. Anyway, he was right. It was real strong. Chet decided to throw out the whole batch.”

“And?” Debbie prodded Rico.

“And I’ve got some nasty garlic breath.” Rico confessed.

Debbie sighed in relief. “Hang on.” she said, crossing her arms casually. Rico watched as Debbie fidgeted slightly and then uncrossed her arms and opened her hand. She held a single spearmint Chiclet.

“Here,” Debbie offered. “Take this. Sorry if it’s a little warm.”

Rico took the gum from Debbie and slowly put it in his mouth. Unaware of the existence of pit pockets, he attributed Debbie’s resourcefulness  to some sort of ninja-magic. He stole one last glance at her as the ceremony began.

The wedding itself was simple, tasteful and wholly uneventful. Even Miss Trudy, perched on Patsy’s lap in the front row, kept her hissing to a minimum. The couple had only recently begun regularly attending a church, yet the pastor, an amicable older woman, had gotten to know them well enough to deliver a personal, if brief, message. The entire ceremony was rather short and most guests spent more time in their chairs before the wedding than during it. Given the lingering heat in the courtyard, no one complained when things ended early.

Chef Chet did not witness the wedding. He was far too busy in the complex’s party room, preparing to receive the couple and their guests. He flitted about, checking on dishes, instructing servers, poking at floral arrangements. His nervousness was infectious and soon much of the staff was on edge. To his credit, Chet realized the affect he was having on them and tried his best to remedy the situation by calming himself. He was helped considerably with this by the appearance of an old friend.

“Rico!” Chet exclaimed. “What are you doing in here? You should be at the wedding!”

“It’s just wrapping up.” Rico explained. “It went a little more quickly than expected. Debbie thought I should give you a heads up that people will be headed this way soon.”

Chet made a mental note that Debbie was now his best friend. “Tell Debbie I can’t thank her enough.” He said, anxiously. “I thought had at least another twenty minutes. Don’t those two have any musical friends? A good solo or two always works to drag a wedding out a bit.”

Rico smiled and looked around the room. “Chet, everything looks and smells awesome! I think you’re ready now! People are gonna love this.”

Chet smiled and took a deep breath. “Thanks Rico. I sure hope so. Cindy’s dad has already agreed to help me get the restaurant going. I just don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You won’t.” Rico assured him. “You thought of everything, you’ve planned carefully and now you’re executing the plan.” Rico realized the staff was watching and listening. “And your staff looks professional and prepared. Chet, this is going to be incredible! Now, take a breath and get ready. I need to scoot out and find Debbie. We’ll be back soon.”

The mood was much more relaxed as Rico left the room. Chet watched him go and wondered when Nina’s order-boy had become so wise.

Rod, again - Chapter 24, Closure

When Cindy returned to check on Rod before the wedding, she found him sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. It was evident that something was bothering him. He did not look up when she entered the room.

“Hey Rod, it’s almost time....Rod, honey, are you okay?” Cindy rushed over and sat next to him, taking his hands in hers.

Rod looked at Cindy. “Something doesn’t feel right.” he said.

“What do you mean, Rod? What doesn’t feel right?”

“I don’t know,” Rod said as he stood and tried to loosen the collar on his shirt. “I don’t feel right, that’s all.”

“It’s these silly clothesl.” Cindy declared. “I know they’re not really our style, but it’s just for one day.”

Rod nodded meekly and stared out the window. “Lots of folks out there.” he mused.

Cindy followed his gaze. “Hang on, Rod. I think I know someone who can help you. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Cindy hurried out of the room and Rod stepped closer to the window. As he watched the crowd, he noticed Cindy’s friend, Sissy, walk up and say something to Debbie. Debbie stood and the two women walked toward the apartment. Rod was still staring at Debbie’s empty chair when the door opened and Cindy and Debbie walked in.

“Here he is Debbie.” said Cindy. “He says the clothes make him uncomfortable. I figured you’re the clothing expert, so maybe you could help him out.”

Rod stared blankly, first at Cindy, then at Debbie. Before he could speak, Cindy excused herself and left him alone with Debbie.

“You look, great, Rod.” Debbie began. “What’s troubling you? Is it the jacket or the pants?”

Rod shrugged. “It’s fine. The clothes are fine. You shouldn’t have come. Cindy misunderstood.”

Debbie nodded and gave Rod a pained smiled. “What’s really the matter, Rod?”

Rod sighed and collapsed onto the couch. “I don’t know. I thought I was ready, but then I saw you and Rico out there. I mean, you’re beautiful and smart and I guess I realized what a fool I was to leave you way back when. It hit me that if I hadn’t left, we might be hitched by now.”

Debbie sat down next to Rod and put her hand on his shoulder. “Oh Rod, I think you’ve just got some pre-wedding jitters. You can’t project what might have been based on how we are now. We were different people back then and if we’d stayed together, it’s unlikely we’d have turned out anything like we are now. I got my first break in the fashion industry because of someone I met on the bus. If you remember, you used to drive me to work. If you hadn’t left, I would have never been on the bus. And you, what are the chances you would have had your, your...transformation back in Minnesota?”

Rod nodded. “Still, we had some pretty good times and I left for no good reason.”

“You had your reasons, Rod” Debbie said, quietly.

“No. I was happy. You were happy. I just drove away.” Rod whispered.

“Rod, you left because you didn’t love me.” Debbie confided.

“Debbie, that’s not...” Rod began.

“No, it’s okay.” Debbie interrupted. “Rod, I’ve spent more time than I care to admit trying to understand why you left me. I thought we were in love. I thought things were good. But we weren’t in love, I can see that now.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve seen you with Cindy. You two have something more than we had. You love her, Rod, everyone can see that.”

Rod blushed and looked back at the window. “I just don’t want to make a mistake.”

“Then don’t.” Debbie remarked, curtly. “Marry her already. Now, I’m going back to my seat.”

Rod smiled. “Thanks Debbie. Please don’t tell Cindy this wasn’t a clothes issue. I don’t want to make her feel bad.”

Debbie nodded and opened the door to leave just as Cindy arrived. “So,” Cindy said, hopefully. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much better.” Rod responded. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Great! I’ll meet you at the altar.” Cindy exclaimed as she and Debbie left the room.

As Debbie turned toward courtyard entrance, Cindy touched her shoulder. “Thank you.” Cindy said, knowingly. “He needed to see you. I knew you could help him.”

Debbie looked at her. “So, you knew this wasn’t about clothes?”

Cindy smiled. “Yeah, but don’t tell Rod. I don’t want him to feel bad.”

“I thought you didn’t like secrets.” Debbie remarked.

“I don’t.” Cindy replied. “Which is why, in twenty or thirty years, I promise to tell Rod that I knew that his discomfort before our wedding was not a clothing issue. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” Debbie agreed. “Now, I’m going back to my Rico, er, seat.”

Rod, again - Chapter 23, The groom gets ready

Rod peeked through his window at the courtyard. After mulling many possible wedding venues, the courtyard made the most sense. After weeks of noticing one another around the apartment complex, this was where he and Cindy had first really met. Standing in the rain that night seemed almost like a dream now. Cindy and her mother and friends had done a wonderful job decorating the space. The wedding would start in the early evening, giving the courtyard a chance to cool off a little. Already, most of the guests had arrived and found seats.

Meeting Cindy’s parents had gone well. They were as wonderful as Cindy had assured him. Given how kind Cindy was, he should have expected it. Rod double-checked the diamond cuff-links, a gift from her father. Rod didn’t wear much jewelry, certainly nothing as fancy as these. He’d accepted them graciously but later he and Cindy had shared a laugh about the fact that his cuff-links had more carats than her engagement ring.

Rods mother had also lived up to expectations, meaning things had been rocky with Patsy. She arrived last night with Miss Trudy and her friend Mavis. The three had driven down from northern Minnesota; a trip that took nine days. It would have been quicker, Mavis noted, but Miss Trudy needed frequent stops for fresh air and exercise. Rod wondered what sort of exercise Miss Trudy was doing - from what he could tell, she mostly laid on his mother’s lap and hissed at anyone who looked at her. After nine days of listening to Miss Trudy’s complaining yowl, one would think that Mavis would have been irritated by the slow pace of the trip, but she seemed to be of the same mind as his mother when it came to that cat. Maybe his mother had finally found a friend.

Rod’s mother wasted no time dropping some less than subtle hints that Miss Trudy was available to act as flower cat if they were interested. Cindy tried her best to be tactful but when his mother pulled out the feline-sized white lace dress, she was unable to stifle a sudden chortle. She tried her best to disguise the outburst as a cough, but the room was noticeably more tense. Rod prepared himself for an ugly confrontation but none occurred. His mother was obviously angry, but she chose to internalize it. For this, Rod was grateful.

Rod checked his hair in a mirror and then returned to scanning the crowd. So many people - most of them friends of Cindy. Other than the people at work, Rod didn’t have many friends or family. As he gazed at the crowd, a flash of color caught his eye - a deep orange dress with a floral pattern. He didn’t recognize the woman wearing it at first and he gasped a little when he realized it was Debbie. She was beautiful, that much was certain. She had her arm wrapped around Rico’s as the two shared a laugh. Rod watched them and tried to understand the emotion he was feeling; envy? anger? nostalgia? He wasn’t sure what he felt, but it bothered him that he felt anything at all. He turned away from the window just as Cindy popped into the room.

“Hi there handsome,” Cindy said, cheerily. “You look almost good enough to marry.”

Rod smiled. “Thanks, you look beautiful yourself. Your dress is incredible.”

“Why thank you, but Debbie really deserves the credit. Did you notice that she made it?”

“I think I may have seen her out there with Rico.” Rod admitted.

Cindy scanned the crowd. “Oh, there she is! Rod, look at the two of them, they look so happy! Isn’t it just super that they found each other?”

“Yeah, they look happy.”

Cindy kissed Rod and the cheek as she headed out of the room. “Well, Mr. Piston, I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t gotten cold feet. It won’t be too long now! I need to check on my parents, they’re stressing about your mother’s cat. Don’t worry though, it’ under control.”

As Cindy left, Rod took another look at the woman in the deep orange dress and tried to assess the temperature of his feet.

Rod, again - Chapter 22, The Day Before The Big Day

Rico fidgeted with his keys as he waited in the baggage claim area of the airport. If he’d read the arrival information correctly, Debbie should be appearing at the carousel to his left. He scanned the crowd of people jockeying for position but didn’t see her. He was wearing a neon green T-shirt, just like he’d told her. It would be easier for her to spot him. Rico stood and tried to be conspicuous.

Debbie tapped Rico’s back. “Hey, there.” she said, happily. “I’m over here.”

Rico turned, somewhat confused, and smiled at Debbie. She was motioning to the carousel to the right. Rico grimaced as he realized his error. “Sorry,” he said.

“No problem. You’re close,” Debbie put her arm around Rico. “And that’s where I like you.”

They made their way to the carousel and Rico retrieved Debbie’s suitcase. Rico led the way, trying to remember exactly how to get back to his van. As they stepped outside, Debbie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was an oppressively hot day but it still felt refreshing after being cooped up in an airplane.

“I’m glad you could pick me up,” Debbie said, as Rico unlocked the van. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get away from work.”

“I asked Nina and she said no, so I quit.” Rico replied, plainly. He loaded Debbie’s suitcase into the back of the van and climbed into the driver’s side.

Debbie watched him, dumb-founded. Finally, she opened the passenger side door and slid in. “Just like that?” she asked. “You just quit? What did she do?”

“She thought I was kidding at first. Then, when I started to leave, she got angry, real mad. She was yelling at me when I left. She called me later and tried to get me to come back. I think she was even crying a little.”

Debbie nodded. She knew that Rico cared about Nina and she sensed his discomfort discussing this topic. “So, does this mean you’re going to give modeling a try?” she said, hopefully.

Rico started the van and glanced at her before turning his attention to the road. “I thought I might. That is, if you still want me to.”

Debbie smiled. “You know I want that! Will you fly back to Minnesota with me? I can arrange for your ticket if you’d like.”

Rico laughed. “I still don’t know if I can do it. What if I mess up?”

“Rico, all you need to do is wear fancy clothes, walk and look good. I think you’ll be fine. Besides, I already have a team working on a new ninja-inspired line. You’ll be a natural for it.”

Rico nodded. The thought of donning some ninja apparel was tempting. He glanced at Debbie again. He still suspected she might be part ninja, or at least related to one; maybe a second-cousin. “Let’s just get through this wedding first. I’m still not sure how I got invited.”

Debbie chuckled as she recalled the wedding invitation she’d received. It had originally read “Debbie Glass and Guest” but someone had crossed out ‘Guest’ and written ‘Rico?’ above it. Debbie guessed that Cindy wanted to nurture the relationship. Exactly what I would do, Debbie thought, if I was getting married and my fiance’s girlfriend suddenly showed up. Debbie liked Cindy. In her mind, she was going as a friend of the bride more than a friend of the groom. It wasn’t that she felt any animosity towards Rod, she just didn’t really know him anymore. He had changed. Good for him. He’d found love. Good for him, again. She’d found Rico. Very good for her.

Rico explained that he regularly spoke with Chet. Apparently, the wedding was going to be quite extravagant and Chet was almost giddy about some of the things he’d created. Rico’s mood improved as he talked about Chet. Rico tended to strongly empathize with those around him, feeling their sorrow and joy as if it were his own.

“Sounds like tomorrow’s going to be a pretty fun day,” Debbie noted.

Rod, again - Chapter 21, Debbie prepares

Debbie looked at two dresses spread across her bed and picked up the blue one. It shouldn’t be this difficult to choose an outfit for a wedding, she thought. After staring at herself for a few minutes in a full-length mirror, she tossed the blue dress back on the bed and grabbed the yellow one and repeated the exercise. Uninspired, she put the dress down and went to her closet. Somewhere in her vast wardrobe, she hoped to find the perfect dress, the perfect look.

She was still a little surprised to be invited to the wedding. She liked Cindy, but they didn’t know each other well and that whole ex-girlfriend of the groom thing usually ensured exclusion from the event. She took the invite as a sign that Cindy really believed that she was over Rod. Debbie paused as she thought about this; she was finally, completely over Rod. He had changed so much. He seemed like a better person, but also a different person, not the guy she once dated. She was glad for him and for Cindy. They seemed happy together.

Debbie realized she was excited about the wedding - not so much because of the event, but because she would be seeing Rico again. They’d spoken often since she’d returned home, but he hadn’t yet come for a visit. He was still working for Nina, whose unpleasantness grew with each day she was unable to find a replacement cook. Rico was unhappy at work, but he stayed out of a sense of obligation to Nina. Debbie aimed to get Rico out of the situation while she was in Phoenix.

Debbie thought about the telephone conversation she’d had with Cindy earlier that morning. Cindy had called to let her know that the dress had been delivered intact and undamaged. The dress reportedly fit perfectly and Cindy was pleased with every aspect of it. Debbie wondered if Cindy had noticed the little decorative pit pockets that she’d added at the last minute. They weren’t part of any of the design drawings, but Debbie just couldn’t resist including her unique signature.

As she idly flipped through dress after dress, Debbie wondered if she would ever find the right one. There was always a certain pressure, as the head of a design firm, to look stylish. Plus, she wanted something that would make Rico take notice. She pulled out a deep orange dress with a bold flower print. Perfect, she thought. She knew the dress accentuated her best features. Rico would see her now, she thought. And he’ll come back to Minnesota with me.

Rod, again - Chapter 20, Chef Chet

Debbie and Rico left the couch and joined the others in the kitchen. Cindy, Rod and Chet were discussing wedding catering ideas. Cindy smiled at them, noting that they were holding hands. She liked Debbie, especially if she was interested in Rico and not Rod.

“Hey, guys.” Cindy said. “Chet’s got some great ideas.”

Chet smiled sheepishly. “Well, they’re not all mine. I mean, you guys already have a pretty good idea of what you want.”

Rico looked at Chet. Ever since he’d picked Chet up that evening, Rico had noticed a change in him. Gone was the grumpy fry-cook, replaced by a pleasant and professional chef. It didn’t make sense, Chet was out of work. Rico assumed that would make him even more crabby. Instead, Chet seemed almost happy.

As the talked returned to cake and hors d’oeuvres, a low growl filled the room. “Sorry,” Debbie said, blushing. “I haven’t eaten in awhile and all this food talk is killing me.”

“Oh, my!” Cindy exclaimed. “Let me fix you something.” She opened the refrigerator and began scanning its contents. “Let’s see, we have carrots and celery, maybe some fresh spinach?”

Debbie smiled as her stomach growled in protest. She needed something more substantial than rabbit food. She glanced hopefully at Rico. “Thanks, Cindy, but I don’t want to impose anymore. I think I’ll head out and find something on my way back to the hotel. I’m beat.”

“I-I haven’t eaten yet.” Rico stammered. “I mean, if you’re looking company.”

“I would like that very much.” Debbie said, smiling.

After making certain that Chet had a ride home, Rico left with Debbie.The others moved the conversation to the living room. Rod and Cindy were pleased with Chet’s understanding of what they desired. But Rod could sense some hesitation in Chet’s demeanor.

“So, Chet.” Rod began. “Do you think you’d like to cater our wedding?”

Chet sighed. “I’d like to, but...I’ll need access to some equipment. I’ll need to talk to my boss.”

“Boss?” Cindy interjected. “I thought you were out of work?”

“No. I have a job, sort of. Even before I quit Nina’s I’d been looking for an opportunity to start my own restaurant. I finally found this little cafe and bakery downtown. The owner’s been there forever and he’s looking to retire. I’ve been working for him while I try to figure out a way to finance buying the place. He’s a pretty nice old guy and we get along well. I think he’ll let me use his stuff, I just need to check.”

Cindy smiled at Chet. “Chet, you simply must do our wedding! You need to meet my father. He invests in new businesses. He could help you start your restaurant!”

Chet looked at Cindy, astonished. He’d been struggling to figure out how to obtain funding. Restaurants are a risky investment and the bankers he’d contacted were reluctant to take such a chance. “Do you really think he’d help me?” Chet asked.

“Trust me.” Rod said, chuckling. “If his most trusted advisor recommended it, he would.” Rod looked over at Cindy and smiled.

“Sounds like I’ve got some work ahead of me then.” said Chet, grinning.

Rod, again - Chapter 19, Debbie comes clean

Cindy walked Debbie down the hallway to Rod’s apartment. Once inside, she released her grip and ushered Debbie to the sofa. Debbie sat down and quietly waited as Cindy joined her and Rod settled into an easy chair. For a moment, the three sat quietly, exchanging glances. Finally, Debbie cleared her throat and sat up. Since her capture, she’d been considering how to explain herself. She could see that, on the surface, one might come to the conclusion that she was some sort of obsessed stalker - the ex-girlfriend that never got over Rod and wouldn’t let anyone else have him. She was sure that was how Cindy saw her now and she realized that it was Cindy she needed to convince. Rod was almost irrelevant to the conversation. He wasn’t upset, just confused. Cindy, that girl she’d just met but felt like she’d known forever, needed to understand. Debbie felt like she could make her understand. After all, they were kindred spirits.

Debbie took a deep breath, calmed herself and began speaking. She fixed her gaze at Cindy and spoke earnestly. She started with the initial letter from Cindy’s father and took Cindy step by step through the design process, noting that the groom’s name was never mentioned. She cited an inexplicable connection she felt with Cindy as the reason why she came to Phoenix personally. Cindy smiled a little at this - she’d felt a connection as well.

Debbie hesitated as she started to explain that first night in the hotel - studying the route because she was often nervous when driving in a strange city. Cindy nodded, another thing they shared. Debbie described her anxiety when Spencer informed her that the groom was Rod. Here, Debbie admitted that she’d behaved irrationally. But, she was distraught, surely Cindy would have felt the same. Cindy smiled sympathetically. The hotel room felt so confining and she just needed some air. She was acting on instinct, Debbie explained. Is it any wonder she followed the path she’d just been so keenly examining? Cindy leaned over and patted Debbie’s knee before reaching for a box of tissues. Both women had moist eyes. Rod watch, somewhat dumb-founded, unsure if he should keep listening to what appeared to be a very private conversation.

Once at the apartment, Debbie explained that she just needed to know. To really know for sure that it was the same Rod. She was anxious, nervous. She’d entered the apartment building to erase some of the unknowns - to help her when she returned the following day. Once in the hallway, she heard someone and feared it might be one of them. She was embarrassed, so she ran down the hall and out the side door. Debbie paused and touched Cindy’s hand. She admitted that she should have gone back to the hotel at this point but she didn’t. She still didn’t know, for certain, that it was really the Rod she knew. She entered the courtyard and saw the two of them through the patio window. When she realized it was him she left. Debbie paused again, sensing that Cindy wanted to speak. Rod stood and quietly slipped out of the room.

“But, why didn’t you tell me earlier, when we met?” Cindy wondered.

Debbie shrugged. “I should have. I almost did. I didn’t know how to bring it up. It felt so awkward. When I came over here, I expected Rod to be with you. When he wasn’t, well, I thought he’d show up any minute and then we’d clear the air. As the meeting wore on, I realized I might be gone before he came back. I guess I hoped I could just sneak back to Minnesota without either of you ever knowing.”

Cindy nodded and the two women sat for a few moments in silence, looking idly at Rod’s empty chair. Suddenly, Cindy turned to Debbie. “There’s one thing I don’t get.” she said, slowly. “Your plan would have worked if you had left when we were done. Why were you in the courtyard tonight?”

Debbie grimaced, obviously embarrassed. “You told me about the security you’d hired. I was worried they would hurt Rico.”

“Rico?” Cindy responded, surprised. “You know Rico?”

Debbie nodded. “I met him in the courtyard last night. I know it sounds silly, I mean, I barely know him, but I like him. I think he’s sweet.”

“And cute.” Cindy added.

“Very cute.” Debbie confirmed, with a grin.

“Really?”

Both women turned at the sound of Rico’s voice. While the women were talking, Rod had left to let Rico and Chet into the apartment. Debbie blushed and put her hands over her face. “Ah, well there you have it.” she said, sarcastically. “I believe I have completely embarrassed myself with every person I know in Phoenix. It must be time to fly home.”

Rico stepped over to the sofa and wedged himself between Debbie and Cindy. Cindy stood and walked over to Rod, giving Rico and Debbie a little privacy.

“You shaved.” Debbie noted.

Rico was momentarily confused, then he remembered the moustache. He pulled it from his pocket. “I can put it back on, if you like.”

Debbie grabbed the moustache. “No, no. This thing has no business on your face. Trust me.”

“Do you really have to leave soon?” Rico asked, quietly.

Debbie nodded. “My flight is tomorrow morning. I have a business to run back home.”

Rico nodded, unsure of what to say.

“Have you ever thought about visiting Minnesota?” Debbie asked, hopefully.

Rico shrugged. He wasn’t really sure where Minnesota was. “I’ve never thought about it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. It’s just that, well, plane tickets are expensive and I don’t make very much money. Plus, I don’t know if Nina would let me take a vacation anyway. She’s going to be pretty mad at me when she finds out I talked to Chet.” Rico frowned, suddenly worried that he might get fired.

Debbie put her hand on Rico’s shoulder. Poor sweet Rico, letting Nina push him around, not realizing how much Nina depended on him. “Rico, have you ever thought of pursuing another career, something a bit more lucrative?”

Rico shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I don’t know how to do anything else. Plus, I’m not real smart.”

Debbie smiled at Rico. “You’re smarter than you know.” she said, assuredly. “And I can think of at least one job that you would be awesome at. Have you ever considered being a model?”

Rico frowned. “Do you think I’m smart enough?”

Debbie chuckled. “More than smart enough, Rico. Trust me.”