I'm not blogging, ya dunderhead!

Well, 2011, I Think You Should Go. Now.

2011-12-31T23:59:00.002-06:00

It wasn't that bad of a year. The past 6 months have been a bit of a joy, and there are lots of things I wish I had done differently... but what year isn't like that, eh?

I'll just be glad to see this one go. I was already not thrilled to death with it, but now it's just... I don't know. I'm just over everything, the bulk of the everything being me and what passes for a mind in my head.

There were a couple of paragraphs here. I deleted them. Suffice it to say today turned into a bad day, but I've decided not to go on about it here just yet. The short version is: I'm a f***ing idiot.

Anyway, Happy New Year, everybody. It'll be better next year. Maybe not tomorrow, but... at some point next year, it will be better.

Right?

Except for the "Legal or Biological Relation" Part

2011-06-30T22:48:00.000-05:00

I'm getting ready to send a kid off to college.

Eighteen-plus years ago, on the night he was born (big ol' ice storm here in Kansas City that night, and I remember it well), I'm pretty sure I was hanging out with Jhoneric Campbell... But maybe not. He might be able to remember better than I if he ventured out on that night. It seems like I did.

Not to go to the hospital. Not that this kid was born at the hospital. The ambulance couldn't get to where his mother was, and nobody with sense was going to drive in that mess.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did, but only to go rent a video or something.

Anyway, I keep going through the whole "explaining who this kid is to me" thing, and I've decided I'm just going to post a blog entry about it and refer everyone here. Anything short seems to be either seemingly inaccurate to the point of being dishonest or just insufficient.

The lady at the DMV probably summed it up best last year when she said, "Well, you're his father today."

If you follow me here, or follow my photoblogs, or if you're a friend on Facebook, you already know Cody is around a lot. He lives a few blocks from me. He was in my 7th grade class back in 2005-2006.

Thanksgiving of 2004 was probably memorable to me--I'd just have to figure out which one it was. I'm sure I could if I worked backwards. Maybe it was the year I did nothing for Thanksgiving, but told everybody I had plans. I don't know.

That particular Thanksgiving his father passed away. He didn't live with him, and I'm not sure how often he saw him, but I know it couldn't have been the easiest situation in the world, no matter what.

I also know that his 6th grade year wasn't the best for math. He went into it feeling he did pretty okay with math--maybe even pretty good. He left it thinking he couldn't do math at all.

So when he got in my class, where I was bound and determined to make sure he (and his classmates) could do the math, and he realized he wasn't bad at math after all, I think it was a big deal.

As for me, I'd nearly died the summer of 2005. You can read all about it back in the archives for that time. Fun stuff. Then, early on in the school year (early September), my mom passed away.

It wasn't too long after her funeral that he approached me and told me how he'd thought of himself where math was concerned. It wasn't too long after him staying after class to share that with me that he stayed after class to tell me he wished I was his uncle or older brother or something.

So, there I was having faced my death and dealt with the death of my mother. There he was feeling better about math and wishing I was his uncle or older brother or something.

I think of it as, "I adopted him in my heart." It was that moment, after school, in my room, just after the final bell. There were lots of thoughts in my head about death and leaving this world with nothing to show for it, and my mom leaving this world without me having any way of showing her I was passing on all of the stuff she passed on to me, and it was just... I just decided to adopt him in my heart.

We connected. I noticed he wasn't making it to school often enough, and we talked about it (I think with the whole team).

There are connections that happen every year. If you have a student you can't reach, you can see if there's anyone who has connected with them, and see if they can help, or if they have suggestions. So I became the go-to teacher for Cody.

I helped him with math a little bit during his 8th grade year, but actually worked more with a friend of his most mornings before school. Sometimes Cody would stop by and get help, too. However, he asked me at the first of the year if I'd go to all of his football games. So I did.

After 8th grade, he started mowing my lawn. I'd have to give him a lift over, as I didn't live in the Northland at the time. And the "looking after him" I started in 2005 just continued...

I tutored him through Algebra I, mostly at Perkins or some similar. I tutored him through Geometry, again in Perkins and so forth until I finally moved up north.

Oh, and there were more football games. And wrestling matches (at least one, anyway). And track meets.

I tutored him most of the way through Algebra II... maybe all the way through it, but eventually he either got confident enough that he didn't need me, or decided it wasn't as important as he thought. Either one is valid, really.

The whole reason I found the house I live in is because I was tutoring him so much. It was down the street (well, and around a corner) from his house, and I wanted it as soon as I saw it. Of course, I knew there was no way I was ever going to own a home, so I just tucked it away in the "whatever" column and moved on.

It was some time later when I got approved for a home loan (after applying on a whim, really). I drove by to see if that house was still for sale, and sure enough it was--had been on the market for... I don't know, about a year or so at least.

Now he's out of high school and getting ready to go off to culinary school.

He's the closest thing I'm going to have in this life to my own kid, I'm pretty sure of it. My family and friends have almost all been told that if I die, he is to be treated as if he were my kid--that means looked after, whatever, right?

I don't think Jesus ever said, "Life is rough. You need a helmet. Be a helmet for others." But he should have.

Say

2011-05-14T23:21:00.000-05:00

I was just thinking today that I may have never shared the story of my sister's nickname, Say (she actually has more than one nickname, but this one I'm responsible for).

When I was but a toddler, my sister took me everywhere with her. I was around her a lot, especially when Mom was in the hospital giving birth to Dane with I was almost 18 months old.

I think it was when Mom returned from the hospital and I was given to her that I looked around and said, "Where say go?"

Mom was baffled. Everyone else in the room was baffled, I assume... assuming others were in the room, and it seems like Mom mentioned there were others, but I have no idea who they might have been. Nobody knew what I was talking about, even though I asked at least one other time, "Where say go?"

It wasn't until my sister walked in and I exclaimed, "There say is!" they realized I was referring to my sister Lynne (called Rusty at the time) as "Say".

And it stuck. The end.

Well, that and the fact I can't ask where my sister has gone off to without thinking of that story... mainly because I always word it as, "Where Say go?"

And yes, upon her return, I say, "There Say is!"

"Mom, You Ignorant Slut" (A Belated Mother's Day Memory of My Mother)

2011-05-09T20:01:00.000-05:00

This is not a story about my mother as much as it is a story about the complete and total ignorance of youth.

It was the late 70s. I was in either late elementary school or about to enter Junior High. Saturday Night Live was mostly the original cast, and I tried to watch it when I could--just because it was so "adult".

For some reason, Mom and I were standing pretty close, face-to-face. She might even have just gotten a hug from me. I have no idea. I just remember we were face-to-face. Wanting to say something funny to her, I flashed on this little tidbit from the Weekend Update part of SNL:

"Yes," thought my young and ignorant mind, "That's funny."

I looked her in the eyes and said, "Mom, you ignorant slut."

I remember she was smiling at the time. You know how things go to slow motion in your mind in a life-or-death kind of situation?

Oh yeah, totally there.

Her face started to cloud over (in slow motion--or that's how I remembered it later, of course), and I could see something was very wrong.

I blurted out as fast as I could and in a very panicked voice, "I don't know what it means! I don't know what it means!"

Yes, my quick thinking saved my life that day. I was instructed that if I don't know what a word means, perhaps I shouldn't use it. (Never mind that I had a good idea of what "ignorant" meant, but still used it.) I was, however, allowed to live.

That's one of my favorite stories to tell about my own ignorance--not just because it shows how ignorant I have been in the past (and thus may be in the future), but it's apparently crazy funny--at least Brenda seems to enjoy the story... and I enjoy that she enjoys it.

I Know You Aren't Keeping Score, But...

2011-03-03T19:04:00.000-06:00

I'm trying really hard to average a post a day on here. I'm behind by one at the moment, and it's making me crazy.

Okay, crazier. Or more crazy. Whatever. I teach math.

Anyway, I keep meaning to post things in the morning and then again in the evening, so I can get caught up... but then the time comes in the morning and I'm either running behind or have even less to say than I usually do (because I thought about typing "or I have nothing to say," and realized that's the norm on here anyway) in the morning... or if I get something posted in the morning, I don't get around to it in the evening.

Again, not that anyone is keeping score. It's just a goofy rule I've made up in my head.

Like the one I had as a kid about turning on the bathroom light before I stepped into the bathroom--otherwise something "bad" would happen. I'm not sure what... monsters attacking, maybe?

I had another rule about the sleeping bag I used to sleep in. If my foot went out the hole in the bottom, it would be chopped off.

Now my rules have no dire consequences. They're just goofy rules I try to non-blog by. I suppose my brain likes a challenge, but it terrible at rising to one.

Anyway, here's a non-blog post for today... just me, rambling about how I never get around to writing like I want to.

Next up: me rambling about how I never learned to play the piano. Or something.

Goodness Sakes! Excuse My Dear Aunt Sally!

2011-03-02T06:21:00.000-06:00

This is old news to my friends on Facebook, but yesterday morning my status was asking non-math folks what was confusing about the order of operations.

(Warning: Math review)

For those who don't remember, that's:
1. Operations inside grouping symbols
2. Exponents
3. Multiplication and division
4. Addition and subtraction

(That's the super-simplified version, which is as complicated as we get in 7th grade.)

I have kids who seem to be struggling with it (confirmed by the quiz results yesterday, by the way), and this is one place where I'm at a loss as to how it is confusing or difficult.

Fractions, I get. I remember what confused me about fractions. That memory serves as a nice jumping-off point for finding other ways working with fractions might be confusing or difficult. Decimals, long division, even multiple-digit whole number multiplication. Yes, I get it.

Heck, I can even related to that panic one might feel when asked "What's 6 times 7?"

But the Order of Operations? C'mon! What's difficult about it?

There had to be an answer, of course, as I have so many kids who struggled on a quiz where the only steps needed were the last two (multiplication/division and addition/subtraction). I tried to take math fact fear out of the equation by making the first four problems along the lines of 3 + 2 x 5... I mean, who doesn't know 2 x 5 (or even 5 x 5, should you not remember to do the multiplication first)? Who doesn't know 3 + 10 (or 3 + 2, should you think the addition goes first)?

So the cool thing is this: lots of help from the Facebook friends.

The first was a reminder that some students are going to be freaking out about the arithmetic involved, no matter how simple it might be.

The next was the confusion as to why the Order of Operations exists--when you're working with one operation, you just go from left to right, and you don't even have to worry about that when working with addition and multiplication.

Exponents in the presence of parenthesis can be confusing--which is something I can keep in mind as we delve deeper into the whole Order of Operations thing.

A couple of people gave ideas as to how to make it "easier to remember" or "easier to understand" beyond the whole mnemonic device I used as the title of this post (although usually it's "Please Excused My Dear Aunt Sally," but as students get older some people change "Parenthesis" to "Grouping Symbols").

And one math-phobe expressed she found the Order of Operations easy to understand (comforting, even), because it was a simple list.

Oh, and lots of funny comments from my non-math friends, too.

So I think I have found a new way to irritate my Facebook friends and also get some insight into what's confusing or difficult for my kids--I mean, I have an imagination, and I do use that to figure out where the kids might get confused. However, extra brains on the task can't be a bad thing, right?

Anybody Want to Research for Me?

2011-02-28T20:21:00.000-06:00

So I was thinking about writing on a few topics, share a few stories, and so on... But I'm getting the feeling I've written on them at some point or another, and I don't want to show my Alzheimer's hand this early in the game.

Therefore, if anyone would like to do some research for me, do me a favor and go back and see if I've written on any of these topics:

1. My guardian angel story
2. The time Scott and I almost hopped on a train just to get away from our lives in Ralls County
3. The time I "got lost" at the mall in Omaha
4. My high-school obsession with iguanas
5. The time I spent the night in the theatre at Jewell, just to see if I saw Mona, the ghost that haunted the place
6. My wreck one month after I turned 16, the blackout, and the flashbacks
7. States I've travelled to and/or through

Yeah, that will give me some "on deck" topics for when I've run out of nothing to say.

(That is, if I haven't already written on all those topics...)

Okay, get researching!

The Tale of My First (and Only) School Paddling...

2011-02-28T15:45:00.000-06:00

I was a joy as a student in 8th grade. I'm sure of this. I'm sure Mr. Carrol (Carroll? Caroll? Carol? Whatever.) thought I was his best students ever! Of course, he was a coach, so I wasn't too concerned with what he thought. That's how I rolled in grade 8, peeps.

It was in his Social Studies class, however that I had to take a geography test in which you identified (and spelled correctly) major U.S. cities. I can't remember how many there were. I just knew if I needed one, I could find one on a map (or, as it turns out, go to mapquest), so I did not feel this was information that needed to be taking up space in my head.

Everyone who did poorly had to write the cities they missed twenty-five times each.

Seriously.

This, of course, meant war.

So I wrote them out, and then cut the cities up so that I had a lot of little slips of paper with a city name written on it once. I'm pretty sure there were close to 1000 little strips of paper.

Mr. C. took me to the office to see Mr. Ray. In a wonderful Malaprop moment, Mr. Ray responded to my claims that I did the assignment as instructed (I just went above and beyond the call, right?) by saying, "The assignment was to write the cities twenty-five times each, not make graffiti."

After a pause, Mr. C. quietly said, "Confetti."

What 8th grade kid wouldn't love that moment, right? However, I had the sense not to crack up laughing. I have no idea who I borrowed it from and if I returned it promptly.

I was put into the conference room with the slips of paper and some tape, and told I would have it all taped back together by the next day, or I'd get a paddling. It was toward the end of the day anyway, so I taped some up, then took the paper bag containing my "graffiti" on the bus with me at the end of the day.

This kid who was two years older than me grabbed the bag and said, "What would you do if I threw this out the window?"

I shrugged and said, "Nothing."

Out the window it went.

Turns out, being bullied by an older kid who--despite my pleas to not throw my precious project out the window--threw my beloved project out the window anyway does not equate to any sort of sympathy in this situation (actually, I didn't even play it off that way... I just said, "This older kid threw it out the window.").

And so I got the paddle.

I remember it hurt right then, but by the time I got back to class, it was fine.

The important part was: I didn't have to tape up those stupid little slips!

Remembering Eighteen

2011-02-27T15:06:00.000-06:00

Yes, I remember a lot of being 18. I remember having to register for the draft. I remember not feeling any different than I did the day before.

I didn't smoke, so being old enough to buy cigarettes was no big deal. I remember being excited I could vote, but we had a presidential election the November before, so it would be a while before I got to vote for a president.

I've said several times over the past week or so that I could never survive being a parent. I think having a kid turn 18 would be the worst of all. Where did the kid go? (Well, speaking from experience, I know the kid is still in there somewhere, just under the surface, usually. Or that's the case in the darkness behind my eyes.)

Cody turned 18 this week. Jordan turns 18 in just a little over 20 months. It's just strange.

Now begins the string of graduation ceremonies... And then I guess the nearest nursing home after all that's over, eh?

Anyway, back to school tomorrow to prepare more kids for 8th grade and beyond. Gives me something to do while all these kids I know are growing up!

Not Like I Ever Have Anything to Say, but...

2011-02-26T10:22:00.000-06:00

I'm going to try to post twice today, as I was so beat last night from travels, unpacking, gift-giving, and grocery-shopping... and cooking dinner...

Where was I?

Oh yeah, I was so beat, I didn't get any blog-posting done. I watched Groundhog Day (or most of it), and decided to just call it a night.

I guess I'm strange (or not in the majority, anyway), but I enjoy snow. I'm a little sad I wasn't here for the snowfall. Snowfall is to my eyes what wind is to my ears and skin. I love a windy day. I find it very calming to hear the wind rushing around my ears and feeling it move over me. Snowfall does the same thing. I could sit in the chair by my front window and watch it snowing for hours if I wasn't so worried the neighbors would mistake me for dead and call an ambulance.

Maybe I'll make a snowman today. Most likely not, but I haven't made one (or a snow angel, for that matter ) for a while, and it's about time. I need to do something to make up for missing that snowfall!

The flight back was uneventful. Didn't say much at all to the guy next to me. Was that rude of both of us? Probably, but I think I irritated the guy next to me on the way there (the guy on the other side of me on the way their didn't say a word, and I returned the favor... and on the way back, I was on the emergency exit row, so there was no seat between me and the window)... so I didn't think it would be a good idea to talk.

And I'm so confused about the use of cell phones (or whatever the best term for them would be) on the plane. I didn't hear them say it was safe to use them on the first flight, but people with me said they did. Then on the flight back, I for sure heard them say to not turn them back on at all (unless in airplane mode, which is a complete freakin' mystery to me on this new phone--a search for "airplane mode" in help gets me nothing at all). So did my group mis-hear the Chantho-voiced (or Diagnosan-voiced) steward one of the many times she spoke over the speaker during that first flight, or does the phone thing vary from plane type to plane type? Whatever, I don't know that I'll be flying again for a while, anyway.

Anyway, I'm home, there's snow, and the kids didn't have school one of the days I was gone. This means my plans for Monday are all prepared already! Hooray!

I Could Live Here...

2011-02-24T23:30:00.000-06:00

I finally got to drive down the 10 today. I haven't been on that interstate since... 1994, maybe?

I noticed as I drove to visit Kathy that I could live here. It's beautiful. There are mountains, and that sort of deserted beauty that a desert seems to have. Where Kathy lives, you can see crazy numbers of stars. And the weather kicks butt.

Thing is, there are lots of beautiful places I could live.

Colorado. Now that's beautiful. I could live there for sure.

California: also beautiful. Seeing the ocean put my mind in such a good place back when I lived there in 1993 and 1994. I could use that sort of calm mind on a regular basis.

Germany... it's been years since I've been there (December of 1987 and January of 1988), but from what I remember, plenty of beautiful stuff.

Sydney: Also plenty of beauty. The nearby Blue Mountains were also very beautiful.

London and other bits of England: loved them. Could easily live there.

Heck, I even found beauty in New York City. Not a traditional and natural beauty, mind you, but more of a beauty that comes from the sheer life force of a place.

So the big question in my mind is this: Why don't I notice the beauty around me back home?

The follow-up question in my mind is this: What do you mean you don't notice the beauty around you back home? What do you think taking a picture a day is all about?

The follow-up statement to that follow-up question is: Okay, that was two questions. Two questions can't be a follow-up question. That's a follow-up question with a follow-the-follow-up-question question.

And the follow up statement to that follow-up statement is: Yeah, whatever. You still understood my point, right?

And from there: What do you mean? I am you!

And finally: Would you both just shut up so I can get back to the point?

My point is, familiarity may not breed contempt, but it does breed a kind of laissez-faire attitude about having an opinion one way or the other about the view.

But Arizona is really kinda beautiful. That was my original point. Kyrie might not appreciate how I took it down the road instead of around the block, but I made it back with it, didn't I?

I Really Love to Teach

2011-02-23T17:41:00.001-06:00

No irony intended in that title. I enjoy teaching. I enjoy finding new ways to reach students. I love thinking of ways to help students. I become frustrated with myself when students aren't "getting it" (although I still spend a few moments being frustrated with them, I should admit). I really do love to teach.

This summit I'm at is giving me all sorts of great ideas--and it seems to be saying a lot of things I've "felt" all along, but they're backing it up with actual research.

I really stink at sifting through research, I should say.

Anyway, I'm excited, and I have all these ideas, and I wish I could start work on some of my ideas tomorrow. I can't. But I want to.

If 80-and-out stays in place, this semester is the first semester of the last half of my teaching career (assuming I leave at the end of the school year I become eligible to leave... which I plan to do, because I love to teach, but the b.s. is just too much most days). So I may be halfway through. That seems odd.

But I want to make this last half way better than the first half--I mean I want to be a better teacher. I want to help more kids find success is math (or whatever I teach in the next 12.5 years).

All this to say I'm excited about this summit. Maybe it'll all blow up in my face and I'll be all resentful that I was ever excited about it, but right now, I'm hopeful.

So let me have this, people.

Phoenix!

2011-02-22T23:25:00.000-06:00

Okay, so I surprised most of my friends by saying, "I'm going to Phoenix" today. I didn't mean to. I really have had this on my schedule for quite some time now.

It's just how I roll these days, I guess. I tell people on a need-to-know basis, not because it's top secret--but because I don't think to tell people.

So I'm in Phoenix for a Professional Learning Communities Summit. I don't know what that means, but I know it's about me being a teacher leader and... other stuff.

I'm mostly stressed about what I'm going to eat while I'm here. We should all have such difficult problems, right? So it goes.

I'm an hour in the past, by the way. I should call someone so they can tell me what's going to happen in an hour. Do you think that will work.

Oh, and I woke up at 4:00 this morning. I just happened to wake up, and thought about going back to sleep for 15 minutes--and almost did, but decided I should take the time to get ready for the trip (you know, pack and stuff). I guess it's good I did. I spent the day a little stressed about what I may or may not have forgotten.

Okay, more news as it arises over the next few days.

So... probably no more news, right?

Another Random Memory (In Which Shawn and I are Stranded on Top of a Garage)

2011-02-21T22:21:00.000-06:00

This happened back in the late 70s when I was still in elementary school. I'd have to know for sure when Mike Couch moved his old garage to where it is now (at least I think it's still where it was moved to... I haven't been back home for a while) to know for sure about when it was. It was pre-move, anyway.

For whatever reason, Shawn and I decided to climb on top of the garage. You have to understand, being Shawn's friend was often an exercise in "What to do if your friend suggested doing things that you know you shouldn't do." We have such hits as, "Pulling a little cart around behind the riding lawn mower, going as fast as possible to jump over our make-shift ramp", and "Elementary school kids take a drive out in the country while the adults are away", and "Let's see what chewing tobacco is like." What I always did, by the way, was go along while feeling very bad about the whole thing. Not "guilty" so much as "bad". Just a sick kind of, "We shouldn't be doing this, but I have to go along because that's what I do," thing.

So we climbed up on the garage. It had one of those corrugated metal roofs, and the roof was at a pretty steep slant. I don't know how long we were up there before my brother Wade (and a friend--Mike Stuart, I think) took the ladder down so we couldn't get back off the roof.

Luckily (not) for us, I realized the well house was right by the garage. All Shawn and I had to do was slide down to the edge and drop onto it. Three, maybe four feet, max!

Granted, the area around it was a brick patio, but that wasn't important. I had an idea, and we could make this work.

It did work, too. That is to say, we got down, and we didn't die, and there were no major injuries.

About one or two feet into our scoot from the apex of the roof, we started to slide. That would be an uncontrollable slide. There was no stopping us.

It was all great fun, while being a little frightening--but we were going to land on the well house (which seriously took up over half that side of the garage, so how could we miss) and I was thinking all would be well and I will have saved the day.

Of course, we missed the well house entirely. We both landed on our rears on the brick patio.

We subsequently laughed so hard we cried. I'm amazed we didn't try it again.

I feel this experience has tainted my problem-solving process, now that I think of it.

January 29, 1967 - February 18, 2034

2011-02-21T01:06:00.001-06:00

When I was in college, I worked out what day I was going to die.

More correctly, I figured out a day that would be freaky for me to die on. Especially if I end up having a 19-year-old son on that day.

See, Grandpa Riggs passed away, it was Valentine's Day. He was 65. He had a son who was 17. The son was Dad.

When Dad died, it was two days after Valentine's Day. He was 66. He had a son who was 18. That was me.

So if I die on February 18, 2034, and if I have a son who is 19... well, first of all: how freaky would it be for me to have a kid, right? But that poor kid only has 49 years left to live and is for sure going to kick the bucket on February 20--and have a kid who is 20.

I may have some of those numbers wrong, by the way. I was home at some point during my college years and found an obituary for Grandpa Riggs. I got that info from there, and I used it to figure out my "wouldn't it be cool if..." death date. It's been twenty-some-odd years, and I have no idea where that obituary is now. So maybe my kid will be 17, because maybe Dad was 19...

The only thing I remember clearly is the date. I hope I make it. I would love to be breathing a sigh of relief just after midnight on February 19, 2034.

But, you know, whatever. Just wanted to make an official note of it, just in case.

Marilyn and Me

2011-02-19T21:49:00.000-06:00

Marilyn getting her face painted at Applefest, 2007 (September 29, 2007)

I don't know that I think of God as Rube Goldberg, but I sure am more likely to think of her as Rube Golberg than Death as Rube Goldberg (I won't go into the full rant about the "Final Destination" movies... consider yourselves lucky).

My friend Marilyn died this past December, early in the morning on the 7th. There's a beautiful story about her dying moments that caps off what could easily be called a graceful dying couple of years. I won't share it here. I don't know the full details. That's not what I'm writing about, anyway.

Marilyn had four kinds of cancer, and lived much longer than she was told she probably would. She also crammed a lot of living in that time, as well.

I may have met Marilyn at some point prior to going to church at First United Methodist in North Kansas City, but if so, I don't remember it. My first memory of note where she is concerned was at a W.O.W. night, when she told me she thought I should go to Cursillo. I had no idea what that was, and had no idea what would happen at such an event, but she seemed to feel strongly that it was for me.

I got the paperwork in, went to the weekend, and it seriously changed my life.

If you were wondering where Rube Goldberg comes in, we're there:

In a way, I think of Marilyn like some necessary piece in the Rube Goldberg machine that got me to where I am today in my faith. I can identify a lot of the pieces: my near-death experience (for lack of a better "term" for it), Jhoneric's upset at wishing me dead that very same day, Andy coming to see me at the hospital, Bert passing on to Andy news of my mother's passing, subsequent talks with Andy, and about a fifteen other things that came before and after and between those events.

Marilyn was in there, big time. She told me after that weekend how she knew it would mean something to me to go.

So whether she was the fan that blew the sailboat across the kiddie pool to knock over the glass with the golf ball in it, or she was the sailboat, the pool, the glass, the golf ball, or the pulley that activated the fan, she was an important piece in my journey. (Not to imply that I'm there yet, mind you.)

One of the last times I saw Marilyn was at my second Cursillo weekend. I was working that weekend, and she got herself assigned as my "buddy". If anyone were to ask, I wish I could say in person what it means to me that she prayed with me and for me that weekend this summer. If anyone where to ask, I wish I could say in person what it means to me that she was very adamant that she would be my buddy, or what it means to me that we had time that weekend to just sit and talk, and I got to know her better. If anyone were to ask, I wish I could say what it means to me that she enjoyed the recording of Sarah McLachlan singing Prayer of St. Francis that I brought for that weekend.

But I don't like getting upset in front of humans. I don't know if I could do it in front of Ben & Tricia's current dog, even. Their dog Killian was the best at hanging out and being all cool-dog when random upset hit me in front of him. I think Guinness would just jump in my face and try to lick my tears or something.

The point is, I don't do emotions well with humans present.

So now, in my continuing faith journey, I have to ask myself how often I'm a piece in a Rube Goldberg machine. I have to go further and ask myself how many times am I supposed to be, but fail to do my little part.

Marilyn seemed to be so good at having a caring heart with eyes of love that really looked at those around her and saw what she needed to be doing. Perfect? Probably not. But better at love than I am? For sure.

So, if you're reading this, Marilyn, thank you. Thank you for playing your part. Thank you for making me think about mine. Thank you for being you.

Things I've Learned from Binx

2011-02-18T21:35:00.000-06:00

Binx is spending the night here. As we were going through his "Bedtime at Mark's" rituals (which used to only involve me singing every song I could think of, then several versions of "Mary had a Little..." where Binx picked the animal and then edited the color of fleece/hair/fur/skin/outer-covering as I sang, but has now evolved into stories, conversations, and singing), he shared all sorts of knowledge with me, which I share here with you:

My sister's name is really Mary Nana Riggs.

Wade is missing two toes, and we should find them and tape them on for him.

The sound of my heater kicking on is actually a snake.

Jordan's favorite color is the same as mine.

Binx's favorite color is orange.

Binx is firmly of the opinion that a couch or love seat in a home means someone sleeps on that piece of furniture..

Binx's stuffed animal frog is his nephew.

That's all I can remember now. I'm sure there were other things. And for the curious, tonight's version of "Mary had a Little..." was "Mary had a Little Dog." It's fur was brown as dirty snow.

It's Been Another Long Day

2011-02-18T00:13:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a long day. Except for a couple of stops to pick up people or items... or to change clothes, I didn't really get home until about 9:00, and even that stop was fleeting.

And then I was up until 1:30, which is this other story that I'm not going to get into here, but suffice it to say I need to get to bed much earlier than I have been.

And then tonight...

Conferences had me at school until 8:00. I had to run to the store, so there was another thirty minutes or so. Really, I got home about the same time I got home last night. It's just tonight I didn't have call to go out again, and then stay up much later than I should.

However, I'm up much later than I should.

So it's another long day. I'm having all kinds of ridiculous thoughts go through my head. I need to return Adam's call, but I don't know if it's too late to do that now or not.

I am wondering what happened to the guy I thought I was going to be, and I wonder if he's staying up too late in his version of reality. Probably not. He's got his act together.

I'm also thinking about everything I need to do tomorrow for my part of the in-service. Mostly I wondering what my part is supposed to be, even though I'm sure someone has told me, and told me repeatedly.

I'm also trying to figure out my plans for the weekend.

And, of course, I'm thinking about how much I like not having plans for the weekend, so I can just do nothing... which leads to my wasting a weekend and finding myself wishing I'd made plans.

You can please some of the people some of the time or whatever, but don't plan on getting on my good side. There's no pleasing me, apparently.

Anyway, a bunch of random ridiculous thoughts. I'm also wondering what it will be like to fly in a plane for the first time in over a decade--heck, for the first time in almost eighteen years, I guess. Maybe just seventeen. Heck, I wonder if I'm on that there no-fly list thing. That would suck. I ain't tryin' to walk to Arizona!

I wish I could lay my inability to sleep on the thoughts running around in my head, but I don't know these can actually be called thoughts!

Well, that's that. May your lies be halfway around the world before your truths get their shoes on.

What a World... What a World...

2011-02-16T23:40:00.000-06:00

I should start off by making clear that things are pretty decent right now. Nothing too major bothering me. I mean, there's plenty I can complain about, because I just have great skills in that department, but nothing major is going on.

I wanted to share some quotes about what an awful place the world was, but there were too many good ones to choose from. Seriously, Google "quotes about life being hard" and be amazed. Pick the best one and pretend I used it here.

I'm not down on the world for any particular reason. I was just thinking today about how Dad died twenty-six years ago on this date, and my thoughts brought me around to my whole nearly-dying thing back in 2005, and as I thought about it, I had a bit of a revelation--or a repeated one, if I somehow realized this before.

In that moment when I accepted I was going to die, and there was nothing I could do about it but just observe and learn, part of me was really happy about it.

Don't start looking into putting me on a suicide watch or anything. I'm not saying I want to off myself. I'm saying part of me was just so relieved and... well, really happy at the thought of being done with this world.

I don't know that I've ever realized that before--or maybe I did, but had blocked it out.

I'm not shocked or upset by it--or not much, anyway. And I'm glad I'm here, and hope to be here for quite some time.

It's not that I was all like, "Hooray! I get to meet my heavenly father" and whatnot, as I wasn't much of a church person at that time.

I was just glad to be getting out of this mess of a place. Sure, "devil you know" and all that, but once I accepted I didn't have a choice, I took my silver lining where I could find it!

Mom always said, "This world and one more." It was something to be said when life was difficult or times were not the best. I think of that a lot. I don't know what sort of feeling I attach to it, however. Mostly I just remember Mom and wonder what she thought of it all at the end of her life.

Nobody's answering that one for me, of course. It's just what I wonder.

And My Post-Timequake Apathy Returns...

2011-02-15T22:11:00.000-06:00

So there's this.

That just makes a person proud to be in education. It in no way makes me want to just stop making any decisions at all and give up--well, it does, but only in every possible way.

This recent bout of P.T.A. makes me want to re-read Timequake. It helped me realize I was sick, but now I'm better, and there's work to be done.

It's easy to forget when every day you struggle with large numbers of students behind on the most basic of basic educational must-haves, and worse yet no desire or their part to want to actually do anything about it.

Seriously, I cannot spend twelve more years like this if I give up my P.T.A. for good!

So I need to either find my copy, if I still have it (stupid fire), or buy another copy and re-read it. It's probably my favorite Vonnegut book, and I miss it. It makes me laugh.

If you're wanting to get me a late birthday gift, or late Valentine's Day gift to apologize for not loving me enough, or an early Pi Day gift, get me a copy of Timequake, okay?

And now, in an effort to make my P.T.A. go away, here's this.

The World Belongs...

2011-02-14T22:08:00.000-06:00

So here's a funny Terry Pratchett quote:

"There are, it has been said, two types of people in the world. There are those who, when presented with a glass that is exactly half full, say: this glass is half full. And then there are those who say: this glass is half empty. The world belongs, however, to those who can look at the glass and say: What's up with this glass? Excuse me? Excuse me? This is my glass? I don't think so. My glass was full! And it was a bigger glass!"

--from The Truth

I share it because it's been on my mind lately. Not in any deep way or anything. It just makes me laugh, because it's just so true--or at least is true in my mind.

Valentine's Day is here (and almost over). It's no big. It makes teaching fun, because what we lack in the school day is too much manufactured drama, and this day fills that void.

I'd think this day would be useful only if it got you off the hook for the other 364 days where you didn't tell your sweetie how sweet and great and wonderful they are. I mean, beyond giving a reason to raise expectations, what's the point, really?

I should think if you're in love, every day is a big deal, and you don't need this day to be all like, "P.S., I love you."

Anyway, the world doesn't belong to me. I'm not sure what my glass is, but it's not the one described in that quote.

So I have nothing to report except I love a lot of people, a lot of people love me, and I'm better off than I have any right to be.

That, I can love.

My One Proud Moment from the World of Sports

2011-02-13T21:58:00.000-06:00

First, a disclaimer: I have this nagging suspicion I've shared this story on here before. If I have, it's not my fault. I wasn't myself when I wrote it, and thus I don't remember it, so technically I'm not at fault.

My one proud moment from the world of sports is all about a baseball game against Palmyra back when still young enough for other kids my age to want to play baseball (around 7th grade or so, kids lost interest, and I started having to play on the older kids' team, which mean a lot of time in right field and much disappointment at bat).

Palmyra was the team we hated to play, and hated to lose to--which were one and the same, really. If we played them, we lost.

They had these awful kids on their team that--if I remember correctly--were twins. They'd say awful things to you if you were near enough to hear them, but far enough away from any umpire they wouldn't be heard by the wrong person. I'd love to give you an example, but I have none. I just remember they were terrible.

It would make for a much more pleasing narrative if I could say this particular incident involved one of those twins directly, but I can't remember if it does or not (I can't even remember if we're talking about twins or not).

We were in Center, playing Palmyra, losing badly. Nothing new about any of this, really.

It was the late 70s, so that should help you imagine what the people in the stands were wearing.

I was pitching. Brad Gibbons was catching. Matt Harris was out in right field. Six other people were spread all over the place. I have no idea who they were. I'd assume John Richard (or however it's spelled--I remember learning how to spell his last name and not mix it up with the last name of our classmate Marilyn (Riechards, I think), but I haven't needed that knowledge for over twenty-five years now) was on the team, and if I had to guess, maybe John Taylor, maybe Joe Wisner, maybe Chad Laird... or maybe not. They weren't directly involved in my proud moment.

For all to be right in the narrative world, the bases would have been loaded. I have no idea if they were. I'm pretty sure at least one base had a runner on it, but that's as good as I can do.

Again, it's not important.

Also not important is how much I hated pitching. I still cringe at the thought of being that responsible for what's happening with a team at a sporting event. I absolutely hated pitching. I wanted to catch, or play second base, or center field... but not pitch.

One of the pitches I threw to this particular batter (who may or may not have been one of the guys who may or may not have been twins) was just right for him to hit it flying out to right field.

We were all ticked off. It's just how you were when you played Palmyra.

Matt got the ball and threw it as hard as he could to me.

It didn't matter that we were going to lose no matter what. It didn't matter that over thirty-some-odd years later the details would be very hazy in my head.

What did matter was, by God, this kid was not going to make a home run, but he obviously was. And that was infuriating.

I caught that ball, and turned and threw it as hard as I could (actually, probably harder, inasmuch as that's possible) to the backstop--not even to Brad, really. I wasn't aiming. I was just ticked off and wanted to throw the ball as hard as I could.

My aim was terrible. It went right to Brad. Brad caught it and tagged the guy out.

No lie.

It was the greatest feeling in the world! We got the guy out! Matt to me to Brad and he's out! I was on top of the world for several minutes, until Brad took off his glove and his fingers were bleeding around his fingernails because of how hard I threw the ball to him.

For the record: he didn't care. He was just as excited as I was that we got that kid out.

So we lost the game, but we got that kid out. And I made Brad's fingers bleed. What a day!

16 More Things to Hate About Me

2011-02-13T00:24:00.000-06:00

I kid. I was pondering upon what to write (maybe I could write about why I feel pressure to write daily... hmmm...) tonight, and the topic I almost went with is a little morbid and I can see how I might come off as creepy in it (or more creepy than usual, anyway), so we'll hold off on that one for a few days more... or for all eternity.

Anyway, in the tradition of using this space for those annoying e-mail questionnaires and other "do this and forward it" e-mail things, I thought I'd do the "Sixteen things about me" one. Jimmy just posted his on his blog, and I figure why not steal the idea, since the 16 things aren't likely to match, anyway.

Write 16 random things about yourself that people probably don't know.

(Side note: this is a tough task, as I'm always sharing stuff people don't want to know about me with anyone who will listen. But I'll try to go with things that most people probably don't know.)

1. My sister suggested I be named Aaron Travis Riggs. Mom didn't like the name Aaron, however.

2. I flipped my car less than a month after I got my driver's license. I'm still missing several minutes of time where I climbed out of the wreckage, stood at the side of the road until I was found by a couple of guys driving along that particular blacktop, was taken to a nearby home and cleaned myself up some. I "came to" while talking to the people in their kitchen. Tell me that's not freaky. You're talking to someone, and in mid-conversation they "wake up" and say, "Where am I? How did I get here?"

3. When in a show, I can memorize lines very quickly, but I tend to put it off as long as possible.

4. I broke my leg roller-skating in the 7th grade, and my left leg is shorter than my right because of it.

5. I got an F in Chapel Choir at Jewell because Dr. Brown refused to sign my drop slip.

6. One of my favorite teachers in high school was a social studies teacher, but social studies was my least favorite subject.

7. I have never seen the movie Animal House.

8. I have an uncontrollable fear of large dogs with deep-sounding barks.

9. I hit a small pole with the car I flipped (mentioned earlier) about two weeks before I flipped the car, and managed to hide the dent from Mom and Dad until I could figure out how to tell them about it. Luckily the whole "flip the car" idea came to me...

10. When I was in junior high, I wanted to be a Muppeteer.

11. I sang a four-word solo at the Christmas Concert my senior year in high school.

12. Freshman year of high school, Lori Barney said to me, "With a face like that, you could never be serious." I took it to heart.

13. I have no feeling on the end of my tongue.

14. My first three years of college, I was a triple-major.

15. I would like to live abroad for at least a year, but probably won't get around to it.

16. At a basketball game in Monroe City (I think it was Monroe City, anyway), Karen Hawkinson gave me a Hardee's lid and told me I had to keep it as souvenir. I kept it for about twenty years before it finally got thrown away. Don't tell Karen I don't have it any more, please.

Stuff I Forgot to Do, Episode 549

2011-02-11T22:41:00.000-06:00

This is going to sound more morose or just plain sad than I mean it to. I just wanted to prepare you and also lay the groundwork for my explaining that it isn't really all that bad. I hope you're ready.

I meant to have a lot of kids. Well, I meant to have at least two kids.

Really, I'm not joking. I wanted kids. I remember reading an issue of Popular Science when I was a kid, and they used to have (maybe still do... do they still make Popular Science?) this section where they shared a blueprint for a home. I remember finding this blueprint for home in one issue back in the late 70s or early 80s that I thought was way cool. I imagined living there with my family, which would include two kids named (don't judge) Linus and Lucy. I mean, because how cool would it be to name your kids after Peanuts characters, right?

Shut up. I was young.

Anyway, I meant to have kids. There were obviously a whole lot of issues with my knowing myself.

Maybe not the most important contributing factor, but a major one is this: I can't stand humans much. I mean, I love them and all, but... enough to get in a romantic relationship with one? Nuh-uh. No thanks. I have a hard enough time with my non-romantic relationships. I can't imagine how badly I'd screw up a romantic one. And at forty-four, I'm not all that interested in finding out.

So for those of you with kids, who are frustrated or irritated or just wishing you'd never had them (even if you're only in the middle of a few minutes of wishing it): I think it's better to have them and occasionally wish you didn't than to have wanted them and never got them.

Of course I just jinxed myself. I'm somehow going to end up with ten kids now, and be raising them until I'm well into my 70s.

Maybe I Peaked at Elwood P. Dowd

2011-02-10T20:49:00.000-06:00

Don't get me wrong, things are going well enough, and I'm lighter than I've been in well over a decade. I'm not meaning to complain at all.

But there are times when I wonder if I peaked my junior year in high school when I played Elwood P. Dowd in "Harvey."

Okay, I don't really wonder that... but I do wonder if I had a better experience with that show than I should have.

It would be unfair to blame my love of acting and performing on that production. Really it's all my older brother's fault. I blame him for my love of writing as well. He could probably get the blame for my love of reading, now that I think about it.

When I was in 6th grade, Todd (and the rest of his drama class) brought a production to our elementary school. I believe there were several skits, but the one I remember best was Cinderfella, penned at least in part by Todd. All the genders were reversed, and the wicked stepbrothers were those two "wild and crazy guys", Georg and Yortuk. I forget which one of the two brothers Todd was, but I knew that moment I wanted to make people laugh as much as he and the other guy (I have no idea now who it was, now that I think of it) made us laugh.

Which naturally led to my teaching 7th grade math.

I don't want you to get the wrong idea, however. I don't feel like I "missed my chance" or "missed my calling" or anything. In fact, I'm not sure I have a calling. I mean, I teach mostly because there's nothing good on t.v. during the day.

I kid. But I don't know that I have a calling. Or, if I do, they're calling the phone that's part of my cable package, and has no phone attached to it... and I'm not watching t.v. at the time, so I don't see it come up on caller I.D. (not that I could answer it if it did, but at least I'd know I had a calling--just not what it was).

I just wonder what that was all about. I can remember even now, about 32 years later, exactly what I felt like at that big moment. How I saw my purpose, my life's goal... I remember it so flippin' clearly.

Whatever. I was just telling someone last night I really do like teaching. It's dealing with all the b.s. that isn't teaching that wears me down. I figure I make it 12 more years and I've got my 80 and out (assuming 80 and out is still 80 and out at that time) and then I'll retire and maybe do something else for a while.

Or maybe something good will be on t.v. during the day by that time.

Line from a Dream

2011-02-09T21:56:00.001-06:00

I woke up at 3:55 this morning with a sentence burning in my mind and just on the tip of my tongue, ready to come flying out of my mouth.

"The only s**t you don't care about that I'm going to waste my time on any more is me."

I don't know what I was dreaming about, or who I was about to say those words to, but my first thought was I had to write that sentence down. So it's on my fridge right now. I got out of bed, went to the kitchen, and wrote it on the dry erase board.

I thought it might be misinterpreted as my message to the world, so I put quotation marks around it to sort of imply that it's not something I'm saying myself, but more of a quote.

It's just I'm quoting my dream self, you see.

Anyway, I like the line. It's sorta country-music-y, and sorta angry, and way self-deprecating. I just like it. I think I might get it on a t-shirt.

I just have no idea who I could say it to. Maybe I should make a list. It'll either be very short or very long. I haven't worked out which.

I've thought about it off and on all day (I couldn't get back to sleep after that, so I never did get to see who I was talking to, or say it to that person), and have not been able to recall anything from any dream last night.

I guess I hope it was a fun dream up until that point. Seems unlikely, but I can hope, right?

A Whole Lot of Nothing

2011-02-08T22:18:00.000-06:00

I've been sitting at this computer for about thirty minutes now trying to figure out what I wanted to write about.

I thought about writing about when I lived in L.A. and tried to get on Wheel of Fortune. But some part of my brain nixed that (and was also concerned I'd already written about it on here at some point).

I thought about writing about how what we say and do means something, even when we don't mean to mean something, so saying, "I don't mean anything by it," is sort of ridiculous.

I thought about writing about the day my car died on the way in to work when I lived in L.A., and how a homeless guy helped me get it fixed enough to get in to work, and then on the way home another homeless guy helped me get it fixed enough to get home. Maybe some day. It's just not calling to me tonight.

I've got school stuff on my mind. The one I teach at, the degree I want to get next, and how much longer I think I can keep teaching... and how much longer I think I want to keep teaching. And what I'd do if I didn't keep teaching.

And then once I start thinking about teaching, I think about what I can do differently in this class or that class to get this kid or that kid to "get" what I'm saying. You never know what's going to work. Today "shortest giant" clicked as a reference to Least Common Multiple for a student, even though I first said it in that class several weeks ago. She was amazed at how it was so clear to her now. "Shortest giant" is Least Common Multiple, and "tallest dwarf" is Greatest Common Factor.

Not genius teaching, mind you. That was just explaining to them how to avoid getting all confused which is which.

Anyway, that's how I ended up writing this whole lot of nothing. I couldn't figure out what to write. So what to do, other than write about how I don't know what to write.

Right?

New Thoughts on an Old Photo, #1

2011-02-07T21:53:00.001-06:00

So this is me, at a very young age. I may have seen this photo at some other time in my past, but as far as my brain is concerned, I saw it for the first time about a month or two ago.

I'm wearing Say's glasses. I'm pretty sure I'm wearing her shirt, too. It's a Center Lion's Club shirt. It's okay if you don't know what that is. It helps if you know I grew up in the town of Center, Missouri.

That's our driveway behind me. It was dirt/gravel my entire life up until the new house was built. The part that freaked me out was seeing the street in front of our house used to be gravel. I have a picture of me on that same street showing off my mad pogo-stick skills, and it's asphalt at that time. Somewhere in there: progress.

There's a house missing behind my head. I remember when it was built a few years after this photo was taken. I remember the house you can see behind my head. A friend lived there. I can't remember a name... actually, I think two friends lived there (not at the same time). I can't remember either of their names. I remember stories involving them. Events and whatnot. One involves and Easy-Bake Oven.

Back to the photo, the only memories I have from this time exist in the form of my love for my older sister. Ignoring the glasses, I look in this photo how I've felt about her my entire life.

I need to ask Say when this picture was taken. I'd love to get a picture of me from around the time Uncle Hugh died. One of my earliest memories is going to see him on what was essentially his deathbed... and I can still remember holding my arm up high to hold the hand of the person standing next to me.

Okay, well, that ends this episode of New Thoughts on an Old Photo. Maybe they'll be another one sometime. Maybe not. It's not like you can expect me to be consistent on this non-blog!

When Simple Number Sense Escapes Grown-Ups

2011-02-06T22:39:00.000-06:00

I've been bothered for years when people mix up "Annual" and "Anniversary", meaning "25th Annual" compared to "25th Anniversary". I'm sure I posted about this on here before. If I haven't, I'm amazed.

But then I was watching this episode of Stargate Atlantis this weekend, where they people in this society the main characters encounter commit suicide the night before they turn 25.

Whatever, that's all well and good and morally questionable and whatnot, but what really got to me was the way they kept talking about it. They kept saying, "On the eve of the start of our twenty-fifth year..."

Um... no. That would be on the eve of the start of your twenty-sixth year, dude. You're in your twenty-fifth year right now.

Let me walk you through it: You turn one after you've been on this planet for how many years? Right: one. So during your first year on this planet, you're how many years old? Correct: less than one year old, or 0 years old.

Then you turn two after you've been on this planet how many years? Correct again: two. So your second year, while you are 1 year old, you're living through your second year.

Now, I hope I'm not jumping too far ahead for you, fictional character on a show that hasn't been on the air for several years, but if you walk through that year by year (if you insist), you'd eventually see that you turn twenty-five after you've been alive for twenty-five years. On your twenty-fifth birthday, you're staring your twenty-sixth year. Get it?

I guess if I really cared, I could see who wrote the episode and have them read this post. More as a punishment than anything else.

In related news, I realized this year I finally have a great example of the whole "anniversary" versus "annual" thing: Superbowl and my age.

The Superbowl is an annual event. My age is a count of the anniversaries of my birth (on the first anniversary of my birth, I turn 1, and so on). The first Superbowl was two weeks before I was born. I'm 44 this year. This year we had Superbowl 45 (I'm avoiding the Roman numerals just to avoid confusion... I know I'm required by law or something to use them here, but get bent). But we arrived on the scene at (roughly) the same time. Anniversary events are always one year behind annual events--at least as far as the numbering goes.

Now, walk away feeling more smarter and stuff, or walk away feeling more confused and stuff. The point is, just walk away.

Have I Ever Walked You Through My Family on Here?

2011-02-05T23:21:00.000-06:00

I had friends over in December, and some questions people had about who's who (and questions that led me to believe they weren't sure how to take my brother's comments on Facebook) made me think I should probably make a sort of cast of characters or something.

I'm not feeling well, I don't want to think to hard, but I want to write something, so this will do for now.

First, the sibs, oldest to youngest:

Eddie lives back home. He's 18 years my senior (or somewhere in that neighborhood--see Dane if you want the actual number of days). Most of his Facebook posts are about cooking, and most of the time what he's cooking sounds pretty tasty. It's still not enough to make me want to move back home, however. The commute to work would be hellish.

Lynne (Rusty, Say) lives in Platte City. She's 16 years my senior and like a second mother to me, as she looked after me a lot while Mom was in the hospital having Dane, and I think just generally for a long time there she looked after me. She has three daughters, and two grandchildren. More on them later.

Todd lives in Jefferson city with his wife Anne. He's a doctor. He's six years my senior. Yes, there was a gap of 10 years between Lynne and Todd. They have two kids, one of each gender. More on them later.

Wade lives in California. He's three years my senior and tends to put humorous comments on things I put on Facebook--although sometimes they seem more... um... mean than they really are. I actually enjoy them. So nobody discourage him.

Dane lives in Leawood. He's eighteen months my junior, and has a great mind for calculations, dates, and The Price is Right.

Ruth lives in Leawood as well (she and Dane live in a house together). She is three years my junior and has a blog where she doesn't ramble as much as I do. You should be over there reading it instead of this one, really, but since you're here, finish this post first.

Sara lives in Kansas City (north of the river, like me) with her partner, Kathy. They have two daughters and three grandchildren. I paused there to figure out semantics, so if Sara wants the semantics to read differently, she can let us all know with comments. Sara is five years my junior. She's the baby.

I have six nieces, one nephew, three great-nieces, and two great-nephews.

Leslie is my oldest niece and Say's oldest daughter. She is four years my junior, and has one daughter. She lives in Platte City.

Peggy is my next-oldest niece, and Say's middle daughter. She is... um... six years my junior, I think. Somebody call me out on that if I'm wrong. I'm not Dane. I can't remember half the stuff he thought of just today. She lives in Platte City.

Carrie is the next niece in line, and she's Say's youngest daughter. She has one son. She is... well, I want to say seven years my junior, but at this point I have no clue. She lives in Omaha.

Elizabeth is the next niece. She is married to Kevin. She's my niece via Sara. She has one daughter and one son.

Melanie is Elizabeth's younger sister. She has a daughter.

Jordan is my first great-niece. She is Leslie's daughter. She's older than her first-cousins-once-removed mentioned below (Adam and Alison).

Adam is the only nephew I have. He plays the guitar, but not on the MTV just yet. He's Todd's son.

Alison is my youngest niece. She is Todd's daughter. She likes to read mystery books. I know this because I had no clue what sort of book to buy her at Christmas, so I got her a gift card. She informed me she liked mystery books.

Hannah is my next great-niece. She is Elizabeth's daughter. I can never remember if she's slightly older than Binx, or slightly younger than him. I went with slightly older, but--as always--I could be very wrong.

Zach is my first great-nephew. He is Carrie's son. I call him Binx or Binxy most of the time, but that's now something he only allows family members to call him. I try to call him Zach on occasion, just so he knows I know his actual name.

Eli is my other great-nephew. He is Elizabeth's son. He doesn't like the orange light on my camera.

Debbie is my youngest great-niece. She loves the orange light on my camera. She is Melanie's daughter.

Other kids who are not blood-relations, oldest to youngest (as best as I can place them):

Cody is a kid I had in class back when he was in 7th grade. I have tutored him in every math class he's had since then, and a few non-math classes as well. He lives down the road a spell from me. Now I tutor him in getting scholarships.

Jake is the son of Patrick and Leigh. I used to refer to him and his sister as "the kids" for short, when I had "the boys", "the girls", and "the kids" I would talk about on occasion. The name still works, but it covers three people instead of two.

Max is the son of Lyndsey and Damien. Max is half of "the boys". Lyndsey is my sister from another mister. I met her my first year teaching at Eastgate. We were first year teachers together, although I was like nine years older than her (I took a bit longer getting a teaching job, you see).

Maddie is the daughter of Ben and Tricia. I've known Tricia since before kindergarten. I have dinner with her and her family weekly, pretty much. She and her sister make up "the girls".

Olivia is Maddie's sister. They are 10.5 months apart.

Tessa is Jake's younger sister. I'm not sure if she's older than Olivia or younger, but I'm pretty sure they're in the same grade.

Victor is the other half of "the boys". He's the son of Lyndsey and Damien. He's funny and brainy.

Wil is the baby brother of Jake and Tessa. I don't know a lot about him other than he's a baby and not talking much. Oh, and he has brown hair without much of a red hue (or any) which both of his older siblings lucked out and got some of.

Other kids I may mention are Max and Sofia (Jason's kids), but I'm totally at a loss as to where they fit in age-wise. Somewhere around Binx and Hannah... Sofia's the older sister to Max.

I hope this helps. I still need to do a "Cousin" edition so you have a clue about some other names I might toss about on here sometimes. Hope you enjoyed!

Hooray for Being Sick...

2011-02-04T23:06:00.000-06:00

Not really. My head is of the stuffedupedness. My nose is running away with itself. My left ear feels like it's just chock full of post-swimming goodness.

I'm not feeling too awful, really, except now that I'm thinking about going to sleep, I realize that part of this isn't going to be so easy. It's easy to be distracted when you aren't trying to fall asleep!

Anyway, wish me health, send me over-the-counter-meds, or something. I will get to sleep soon, and I'll get well soon, too! I demand it!

In other news, I'm finding it upsetting just how much I enjoy eating dried plums... also known as prunes. They are of the delicious, and I am shocked how much I enjoy them. If you had told me six months ago I'd be all into the prunes, I'd... come up with some statement of just how much I did not believe you, which would be a lot.

Yeah, that's all I got: sick and prunes. What other blog has got that going on tonight? I'll tell you: none. Because all the good stuff happens here, dag nab it!

Two Very Recent Deaths

2011-02-03T21:22:00.000-06:00

Two very recent deaths have hit me hard.

One just up and died in the middle of the street on the way home. The other was walking over to enjoy a final view of the ocean at his loved one's grave.

They were my Sims, and I cannot get over their loss.

Well, actually, I got over them very quickly... but less quickly than I thought I would. It was a few minutes, at least. The one that died in the street came as a total shock. I thought I had days left in "game time", but apparently not. Apparently there was a little moodlet or whatever to tell me death was on the way, but I totally missed it.

But Rick got to prepare. Moved to a lighthouse, had the grave set up by a bench so he could sit and watch the ocean next to the love of his life... which was how he was going to die, but then I remembered if he went and did that study at the whatever instituted, he'd get like $2000, and it'd be nice to go with cash, right?

So as he was coming back from the study, I realized he hadn't even gone up to the top of the lighthouse... so of course I had to have him check out the view. He could see the grave form there. It was nice.

By the time he got back to the ground floor, it was already too late, but Rick and I both had no way of knowing (well, maybe Rick knew, but he wasn't talking... and even if he did, it would ball all like "Sah gah dah" and so forth). As he was running to the grave, almost to the bench, Death appeared. End of story.

In lieu of cards and flowers and whatnot, I request that donations be made to the "Send Mark Money to Distract Him From His SIM Grief" Fund. Make checks payable to Mark Riggs.

Thank you.

I Like Winter (or: Why I am Getting Lynched Tomorrow)

2011-02-02T22:12:00.000-06:00

I like winter. There, I've said it. I'll be waiting for the lynch mob now.

But for real, I like winter. I love it when it snows. There is such a beautiful silence about it. I could watch it snow for hours, if it weren't for the invention of television. And the internet. And reading. And sleep.

I guess sleep was a discovery. "Wow, I'm feeling really tired. I wonder how I fix--zzzzzzz."

Anyway, I like winter.

I hate to drive on snow and ice. I don't like being too cold. I don't like making up snow days at the end of the year.

But I like winter. The major thing I did not like (maybe the only thing I did not like) about living in L.A. was the lack of winter. It made Christmas seem just wrong, and it felt like Summer, Fall, More Fall moving to Early Spring, Spring.

It's just strange.

And have I mentioned I love to watch snow fall?

Now, I don't have to leave my home most of the time--especially if there is a snow day. Maybe that's why I can still love it so much.

I love winter in winter, spring in spring, summer in summer, and fall in fall. I also tend to have complaints about them each during their own time, as well... but I don't dislike any of them, really.

All this to say, I appreciate how people dislike winter. I really do. It's just I don't feel that way. So I apologize for not chiming in with you.

How Can I Say This Without It Sounding Like It's Coming From A Dark, Dark Place?

2011-02-01T23:10:00.000-06:00

There are days when I wish I could just move far, far away from all human beings and never have any contact with them ever again.

Yeah, there's no way to lighten that up, really. I mean, you can lighten it up, but it no longer conveys the general frustration and perplexedificationness I often feel when dealing with human beings.

For years this was a fantasy of mine. They actually stole the mental image from me to use at the end of the movie Minority Report. Cabin, mountain, snow, nobody around. You get the idea. (As I've told a couple of people over the past few days, someone also stole those insect things from The Dark Crystal from a fever dream I had as a kid. Note to self: write blog entry about how Hollywood is stealing things from my mind, and has been for years!)

Now I've matured just enough to have to admit to myself I'd miss an awful lot of people. I really would. But for moments like this one, where I just hate having to pick through the pieces of evidence to try to figure out just what exactly is going through someone's head and how I can... I don't know, make it better... or at least not make it worse... or at least just duck and cover.

People, generally speaking, are awful. A person, sitting and speaking with you, hanging out, being cool and whatnot... well that's great. Like I said a few days ago--Hell is other people, and so is Heaven.

But there are days when you just get tired of trying to figure people out. I mean, there are for me, anyway. Really there have been whole months like that for me... but as I've gotten older, it has been whittled down to days.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are gazillions of people... or at least twenty... who are tired of trying to figure me out as well. I'm not saying I'm Mr. Open Book and all. I try to write this blog as a sort of instruction manual, but I keep getting distracted.

I kid.

Anyway, that's where I am right now. In just a bit over 24 hours, I've gone from feeling great about how I'm not able to figure people out to feeling downright crappy about it.

I blame the blizzard. And my brain.

But more the blizzard.

I'm Not Wired That Way...

2011-01-31T21:49:00.000-06:00

I'm not wired in a way that lets me be aware of what other people think of me.

Seriously. It's a huge issue at times. Well, it's a huge issue in my head, which is where I live most of the time. Also, it's a mess in here. Just sayin'.

Someone e-mailed me tonight, and part of the e-mail was them telling me how someone thought so highly of me, and how they aspired to be like me, and other things that made me feel a little sorry for this person who has set his goals so low. The whole time I was thinking, "Really?"

Then I looked at it logically, which I a capable of doing in lots of non-directly-related-to-me situations, and thought, "Well, yeah, I guess I can see that." I mean, it didn't make it any less sad, but I could see it, right?

And now I have to stop because I'm laughing at how I'm presenting myself as this total Eeyore or Marvin or something. I don't mean to, but that's also related to how I'm wired!

So I am now sitting here thinking how I'm just really not wired to know what people think of me. At least part of it is due to the fact most of my brain believes anything is possible, and I can be wrong about every single thing at any given moment--even about stuff that's been proven.

Don't get me wrong, despite my sister's concerns after hearing my "talking to myself and talking to my other self" story the other night, I don't mean this in an "Oh, and by the way, I'm very mentally unstable" sort of way. I just mean it's possible (not probable, mind you) that this is all some hallucination piped into my head by my co-workers on our home world where we're all a light blue-green color and have eight legs and sixteen arms. "Hey, let's try to be sort of pinkish and have two legs and two arms..."

Of course, that leads me to wonder what the hell 2005 would have been all about. What kind of jacked up virtual reality was that?

Not that I actually believe that's the deal. I'm just saying it's possible. The possible is a niggling little jiggly bit that worms in my head no matter what. It slips right past Occam's razor and wraps itself around my mind and won't let go.

So it's possible any theory I come up with about how someone thinks of me would be totally wrong. Even with the evidence, "Every time she sees me, she spits in my face and calls me gutter trash," it's possible she just has problems expressing her affection... right?

Strangers

2011-01-30T22:44:00.001-06:00

So I finally failed at getting at least one picture of me from a stranger every week. Now I'm going to shoot for the average to be one stranger per week.

Really, I could have had a stranger take my picture on Wednesday night, but didn't think of it--and I'm not sure if it would have counted if it was someone I was just introduced to (or am about to be introduced to, if I wanted to be all crafty and say, "Before Jason introduces us, would you take my picture first?" so I'd be telling the truth when I said a stranger took the picture.

Whatever. I can still make the average. Averages are easy.

It's just awkward when I'm by myself to ask some stranger to take my picture. When I was with Binx and Carrie, it was easy and natural. When it's just me, it's... awkward.

Plus, I have a nice camera. What if they turn out to be a thief and run away with it? I've lost weight, but I don't know that I can catch anybody if it came down to a race on foot!

What would be cool to have, however, is pictures of me that I didn't know existed until they were sent. Say posted some old pictures on Facebook a while back, and there were pictures of me there I either hadn't seen in so long I thought I'd never seen them before, or I hadn't actually seen them ever before. It'd be fun to get pictures like that e-mailed to me. I could post them here with a caption or an explanation or an apology or an excuse, or whatever applies.

So, if you have a picture of me, and think I may have never seen it before, send it to me! (If you've never met me, but saw the show out at the Clemens Amphitheatre near Hannibal MO in 1982, 1983, or 1985, and you brought a camera and took pictures, you may have one of me, by the way!)

If you need my e-mail address... we'll work something out.

Yes, Sartre, Hell is Other People... But I'm Pretty Sure Heaven is, Too...

2011-01-30T01:58:00.000-06:00

I like being around people. I avoid it at all costs, but I like it.

There are a lot of things in my life like that. I don't get it, but whatever. If I was ever going to understand myself, surely I would have done so by now.

I had a great birthday. I have great friends and family who helped make it a great day. I'd like to delve deeper into why I think Heaven is Other People, but it's 2:00 in the morning, and my eyes are tired. My fingers are tired. My ears are tired, but they aren't really needed for typing this post. They just wanted me to chime in for them. Not that they could hear the chime. They're too tired. And it was metaphorical.

I had a good birthday because I have good friends and family. May this always be the case.

I'm About to Turn Forty-Four

2011-01-29T00:13:00.000-06:00

According to my computer, I have less than five minutes left before I'm forty-four. I'm sure by the time I publish this post, I'll be forty-four.

Remember when certain years meant something? I mean certain ages, really.

Five was big. I remember asking Mom how old you had to be to go to school, and she told me I had to be five. I was very big on school. I don't know that I ever wasn't--except maybe once I figured out the whole grading scam thing, where your grade really isn't a reflection of what you know, but a reflection of what a good hoop-jumper you were. That peaked my junior year, when I skipped a lot.

Anyway, I remember when I turned five, I went to Mom all excited to find out when she was taking me to school. I remember being very disappointed to learn I had to wait over six months--although I'm sure she didn't tell me it would be that long, and if she did I'm sure I didn't understand it. But I was disappointed it wasn't going to happen the day I turned 5.

Ten was also big. You got to be double-digits! So much of childhood is about wishing your life away without realizing it. How often do you wish you could be single-digit aged again? How sweet was life at 8, right? Youth is still wasted on the young. You'd think someone would have fixed that by now.

I don't remember that birthday specifically. I mean, I may remember it, but I don't associate it with turning 10, so I'm not sure of anything that happened then. I do remember thinking that things would somehow feel different once I was 10. I also remember they didn't.

The next big one, in my opinion, is 13. I mean, you're finally a teenager! Now you're a member of that secret club of people aged 13 to 19! Now you get to... continue living your life just like before, only saying "-teen" at the end of your age.

Okay, not that big a thrill, really. But still, it seemed like it was going to be.

Now 16, that was a big deal. Now you could get behind a wheel. Now you could drive, pending getting your license and whatnot. I passed the test with flying colors, even though I hit the cone or whatever during the parallel parking (he didn't notice I hit it, but I sure did). However, I was in two big wrecks before I got out of high school, so maybe passing with flying colors isn't a good indicator of how good of a driver you are going to be.

But 16 was a big deal, to be sure. As my friend Andra pointed out in college, "Now, not only do you still have to go places you don't want to go, but you have to drive yourself there!"

And then there's 18. You're an adult. You get to register for the draft. What could be better than that, right?

Oh yeah, 21. That's better than 18. So long, fake I.D.! I've got a real one now! (For the record, I never really had a fake I.D., and never really needed one.)

Oddly, I remember my 18th birthday a bit better than my 21st, and not because of alcohol consumption on my 21st. I just remember a gift from my 18th birthday (my first computer mouse). I remember I went to some club or another in Kansas City for my 21st. I want to say Epitaph, but I'm not sure. One that Jhoneric always talked about I never got to go to. I think that was the Foolkiller. Yeah, I went to Epitaph for my 21st birthday, and had one drink. I also bought a bottle of vodka, which I owned for years and never opened. I don't know what happened to it, though. I'm pretty sure I had it at the last place I lived, but maybe not.

Then, what's left? What's the big deal after 21?

I think insurance rates were supposed to go down at 25 or something, but I don't really know. I think after some age or another I need to start getting a prostate exam regularly. I guess when I turn 56 I can celebrate that I'm old enough to retire (assuming Missouri keeps the whole 80-and-out thing until then) from teaching. I suppose I can celebrate getting a senior discount at... whatever age that is.

Really, at this point I only keep track of my age to show off my counting skills.

But a birthday is a good excuse to have people come over. Since I like having people around, that's a good thing. I look forward to seeing friends and family tomorrow (strike that--today). That I'm another year older is just a nice excuse to get them here.

P.S.: It's now 12:13a.m. on the 29th. Technically, I'm still 43 for another seven hours or so, but legally, I'm 44. Happy Birthday to me!

It's Time for One of These Again...

2011-01-27T22:08:00.000-06:00

Before I start anything else, let me just say the lesson today wasn't a total bomb or anything, but it didn't go as well as the one the day before. Better than expected, though, and I can live with that!

Now, here are my responses to one of those "Tell Me the Answers to These Random Questions So We Can Bond" things that go around and around the interwebs...

1. Were you named after anyone?

Yes, I was named after a lot of people. There were a lot of people born before I was, and I was named after them. There have been a lot of people named since I was named, too. So a lot of people have been named after me.

Also, the story of my name (as I recall it) is that Say suggested "Aaron Travis", but Mom didn't like "Aaron", but kept the "Travis". I have no idea where the "Mark" came from. Maybe it was the first one-syllable name that popped in her head.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Actual tears, or pretend ones so I could pass for human?

Actually, I don't remember. I mean, I'm sure it's been within the last... you know... while or so. Are we talking actual cry, with noise and ugly face? Do just tears count as crying? Horrible to admit, but it might have been that Stargate Universe episode a while back. Seriously, way too emotional for me.

3. Do you like your handwriting?
I don't even acknowledge that it exists. It's dead to me.
4. What is your favorite lunch meat?
No, really, that's the actual question. I am not making that up. I love doing these, just because it makes me wonder about the mind of the person who wrote it. One day I'll start one of these, and see if it comes back to me with all my crazy questions intact. One day. I swear it.

Also: turkey.

5. Do you have kids?

I'm not sure why any teacher does, really. That's a "no" from me, thank you. I prefer to experience parenthood vicariously through friends.

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you?

I'm not drunk enough for this question to make sense. (I'm not drunk at all, actually, but I mean to imply I think you'd have to be drunk for this question to make sense.

I mean, if I were another person, would I be friends with myself--that is to say, "the other person I've become"? What? I mean, if I were someone else, I'd be... someone else. I have no idea what sort of person that person would like.

So the answer is "probably not, because I'd be so confused."

7. Do you use sarcasm?

No. Never. (Rolls eyes.)

8. Do you still have your tonsils?

Yes, on a chain around my neck.

No. I remember being in the hospital to get them out. I remember three things from that visit, actually. There's the storm memory, the cup-o-soup memory, and the inflated rubber glove chicken memory.

9. Would you bungee jump?

Maybe when I'm closer to my goal weight. Maybe.

10. What is your favorite cereal?

Honey Bunches of Oats with Almonds. This answer will never change, no matter how often you ask it.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off?

On the rare occasion I wear shoes with laces, I do not.

12. Why was there no question #12 on this survey when you got it?

I don't know, but there wasn't. Shush up about it, and maybe nobody will notice.

13. What is your favorite ice cream?

Mint chocolate chip. This will also never change.

14. What is the first thing you notice about people?

The first thing I notice is whether or not they seem to be interested in talking to me... although I tend to avoid it at all costs, either way.

15. Red or pink?

That's sort of surreal. Um... if those are the choices, and we're not talking about anything in particular (like room color, threat level, and so on), I guess red.

16. What is your least favorite thing about yourself?

This blog ain't long enough for me to answer that question, really. But I'll try:

I'd say my least favorite thing is how much I let fear run my life and make my decisions.

But I'd be wrong, because my least favorite thing is really that I continue to do so even though I've long ago realized it.

17. Who do you miss the most?

Mom. It still hurts something awful to wake up from a dream where I'm talking to her.

18. Do you want everyone to complete this list?

Not if they're going to expect me to read it. I mean "everyone" is a lot of people. It's a big planet!

19. What color pants and shoes are you wearing?

That really assumes a lot. It just so happens, I enjoy sitting at my computer without any shoes, and without any pants. In fact, I have nothing on below the waste.

Go ahead, judge me. I don't care. You can judge me, your friends can judge me, the other customers here in this Internet Cafe can judge me! I don't care.

I'm kidding. Black, white, and grey pajama pants, and brown slippers.

20. Do you think anyone will notice there isn't a question number 20, either?

They will if you don't shut up about it.

21. What are you listening to right now?

I can hear the clock in the bathroom ticking. I can hear me typing. I can hear something on the desk rattling as I type. Occasionally I hear noises from outside.

22. If you were a crayon, what color would you be?

Whatever color I was, I'd judge other crayons by the content of their character, not the color listed on the paper wrapped around them!

Also: cornflower.

23. Favorite smells?

Cinnamon rolls baking. Snow. Lots of things Tricia cooks.

24. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?

Bowman called me after school to find out where I kept extra copies of this week's homework in my room. I was really hoping it was going to be the prank call I made to Sheri this afternoon, though.

25. Do you like the person who sent this to you?

Stupidest question ever. Like I'd answer it honestly if I didn't, right?

Also, it wasn't sent to me. I took it from Bryan's wall on Facebook. I do like Bryan, though. He's funny and has a great accent. Also, he likes grits.

26. Favorite sports to watch?

Baseball. Live only.

27. Hair color?

Brown, with more and more grey every day.

28. Eye color?

Hazel. The kind of hazel that really brings out the bloodshot.

29. Do you wear contacts?

I don't even wear the glasses I'm supposed to wear... so: NO.

30. Favorite food?

I'd have to say it's Tricia's goulash. Hands-down. This answer hasn't changed the last several times I've done one of these.

31. What do you think question number 31 was before it got deleted?

"What is your favorite color of armpit hair?"

32. Last movie you watched?

Start-to-finish? Probably Season of the Witch. At all? I'd have to go see what movie channel I just stopped on. I watched a bit of Superman IV... and some other ones. I have no idea.

33. What color shirt are you wearing?

A blue long-sleeved shirt. If you've seen me in winter months, you know the kind i mean.

34. Summer or winter?

Well, when I had my colors done, they said I was an autumn.

Actually, I don't know what this question means. Which do I prefer? Well, when it's winter, I try my best to enjoy what's great about winter. And when it's summer, I try my best to enjoy what's great about summer. So this means during the winter I enjoy summer, and during the summer I enjoy winter.

Don't make me choose between the two. I'll lose it.

35. Hugs or kisses?

Who is giving them out? I'm okay with both, usually.

36. Do you think it's possible these didn't actually get deleted, but the person who created the original e-mail just couldn't count?

Very.

37. Most likely to respond?

While living and awake, I suppose.

Oh, nobody. I'm not sending this as an e-mail. But if someone goes to the trouble of answering all of these in a comment on here, odds are it will be someone I've never met.

38. Least likely to respond?

While dead or asleep, of course!

I kid. But the question doesn't apply here. Moving on...

39. What book are you reading now?

I'm not reading now. I'm on the computer. Duh.

I just finished the latest Sara Paretsky novel. I'm between books. I've been reading Games Magazine. I have some comics on loan, and eventually I'll go through them.

40. What is on your mouse pad?

Is that a euphemism? If so, what for?

Also: I don't have one.

41. What did you watch on t.v. last night?

I don't know that I watched t.v. last night. I'm pretty sure I didn't, actually.

42. Favorite sound(s)?

Binxy's laugh. The laughter of kids in general, especially ones I know and love.

43. Rolling Stones or Beatles?

If those are the only choices, either one will do just as well.

44. What is the farthest you have been from home?

I'm going to guess Sydney, Australia. But it's possible other places were more distant.

45. Do you have a special talent?

I know way too much about stuff nobody cares about.

46 Where were you born?

Levering Hospital in Hannibal, Missouri.
47. Whose answers are you looking forward to getting back?

We've covered this already. I don't expect to be getting any back, so the question does not apply.

Okay, the melatonin has kicked in. Good night!

A Good Day

2011-01-26T21:43:00.000-06:00

Today's lesson was great!

I don't mean my plans were great--I mean it was great the way it went. So "went" would have been a better verb, both because it's not as passive as "was" is... but it's easier to just keep typing and explain that, rather than go back and fix it.

As I was saying, it went great. I am totally set up now for tomorrow's lesson to be a complete and utter failure. I've been sensing that for a couple of hours now.

We're working with integers (those would be the whole numbers (0, 1, 2, 3, ...) and their opposites (0, -1, -2, -3, ...). (Yeah, I put 0 in their twice. It only shows up once on the actual list. Don't judge me.) We're coming up with algorithms for adding and subtracting them. We spent today nailing down algorithms for adding. We'll spend tomorrow and the next day nailing down algorithms for subtracting them, so I can then point out the very easy shortcut that means they won't need those algorithms most of the time.

Why find algorithms for subtraction when just about everyone on the planet will subsequently tell them, "Just add the opposite" for the rest of their lives? Two reasons.

First, I remember learning to perform the four basic operations with integers. I remember feeling there were algorithms that would work for subtraction, but I was forbidden to try to discover them--and I wasn't going to spend my own time doing it! However, I was a strange kid, and that's not the main reason I teach them.

The big reason is most kids (or at least the ones I teach most years) have no idea how to figure something out. I'm talking generally, not just with math. It's sometimes frightening how "Show me the answer" they are about most anything that isn't a video game (although cheat sites are popular with them, I'm sure, so maybe they're that way about video games, too).

I'm not saying this to rag on them. I'm saying there's a need. I seriously saw kids working and figuring things out today that I never would have thought would even be willing to try.

Maybe it's the manipulatives, maybe it's my love for the subject matter, or maybe it's just that I was in a wacky mood yesterday and today and cracked a lot of jokes. Maybe it's what I feel has been a good introduction to the concrete-representational-abstract process in this unit (a rocky start switching to representational yesterday, but I got my act together and today was so smooth it... deserves a metaphor here. Whatever, it went well.

Tomorrow, we work with manipulatives to figure out why subtracting a negative seven means the number we get is seven greater than where we started. It could go really well. It really could.

But I'm not getting my hopes up. Or I am hoping--hoping for the best.

But I'm going to have plenty of back-up plan... for the worst.

Another Random Moment from My Past

2011-01-25T22:00:00.000-06:00

It was 1997, I believe. It was the start of a long string of community theatre and Martin City Melodrama & Vaudeville Company work for me. It was the first rehearsal for the Bell Road Barn production of Godspell.

We were in a house that was part of a campus, or part of some organization or another. It wasn't a house for people to live in, at any rate. I knew two people in the room, but didn't realize I knew one of them (Jesus... well, he wasn't Jesus, but was portraying him in the production... I knew him from Jewell, but didn't realize I knew him yet... the guy, not Jesus... where was I? Oh yeah, Jesus and Leigh... that's actually Leigh, not someone portraying Leigh from the story of Jesus in the Bible).

So we're all sitting around not talking at all, which is rare in a room full of actors, but whatever. There was this high-pitched squeal that wasn't really loud, but was easily heard by most anyone paying at least some attention. After a few minutes of everyone sitting and waiting for the director to show up, someone said, "Does anybody else hear that high-pitched squeal?"

Someone else replied, "It's the heater."

Some more silence ensued. After a pretty well-chosen amount of time I piped up and said, "Does anybody else hear that voice saying, 'Kill them... kill them all...'?"

After the appropriate amount of horrified and uncomfortable silence, Leigh finally gave out an exasperated, "Riggs!"

Real Thoughts on Imaginary Conversations

2011-01-24T22:24:00.000-06:00

I'm gonna throw this out there, and hope it's something everyone does, and I'm not feeling all awkward after I tell you, as if I'd just said, "You know how when you're at someone else's house and you go to use the bathroom, and you look behind the shower curtain to see what their bathtub looks like," before I realized nobody else does that.

I have imaginary conversations. Often.

I should be clear: I don't believe they really happen when I have them. At least, not on the intellectual level or whatever you want to call the level that knows things like "Hitting the button several times will not make the elevator come faster" or "The fact I just picked this line will not cause it to suddenly become the one with the slow checkout person."

However, on one of those other levels that knows for a fact if you hit the button a lot the elevator gets there faster and the only sure way to make a checkout person work more slowly is for me to get in his or her line, I sometimes live as if these conversations happen.

If I've known you for over, say... a year, and especially if you've ever acted strange or have come to me with a problem I wasn't sure how to handle, or if you've ever been really ticked at me for good (or bad) reason, I can tell you now we've had an imaginary conversation in my head. Or... I've had one with an imaginary you.

It's like breathing. It just happens. I can stop it if I think about it, but then I drive to the store or walk to my car or sit down to eat and the next thing you know I've had this whole conversation and gotten really angry about how it turned accusatory or sad at how poorly it went or happy with how funny we both were. And the intellectual me has to tell that other part of me to remember it didn't just actually happen.

Seriously, so many people I know are two people to me. They're the people they actually are, full of mystery and spontaneity--but they're also the people they've been in my imaginary conversations. Well, the people they were in the most recent one. That person changes often.

Now, before I get you thinking I'm too crazy (if it's not too late for that), I'll say I for sure know who is who. Really. There's no question. I don't get the two confused at all.

But I do find myself really angry with people who have confessed things to me in imaginary conversations, or accused me wrongly. I sometimes laugh at myself for getting so worked up before I realize the important fact the conversation didn't actually take place.

So, the next time I seem to be acting outwardly hostile at you for what you're pretty confident is not good reason, you might just throw that out there. "Are you mad about that imaginary conversation we had?"

I Don't Have Anything to Add to This...

2011-01-23T21:56:00.000-06:00

My sister Ruth has a blog. This isn't news if you follow my lack-of-blog faithfully (which--of course--your should be).

Yesterday she posted this entry. I loved what she had to say and laughed out loud so many times (the loud, barking kind--the kind that makes you glad you no longer live in an apartment, as it would startle the people living upstairs), I'm opting to share it today.

It's my brother's birthday, and thus would have been a great day to go on and on about him and what a great brother he is for many different reasons (and I'm really not being sarcastic there). I considered actually talking about what's great about all my siblings, but I think it'd cheapen it if I knew it was really so I could do the birthday thing and get a link to Ruth's blog entry snuck in there somewhere.

So I'm doing this instead. My brother is probably dealing with enough of a shock knowing that I think he's a great brother.

Baby steps.

Wednesday Night Epic Trip to Liberty and Back

2011-01-22T19:37:00.002-06:00

First, some important data: According to MapQuest, the distance from my home to Cody's work (not really in Liberty, but "by" it) is 7.21 miles, and the trip should take 11 minutes. Also, there was a crazy amount of snow that started falling Wednesday afternoon and it kept it up into the night. Cody originally was not going to go in, but his phone was at home charging while we were running errands, and he didn't know the number, so he was the last person to call in. And now our story begins...

Text from Cody, 4:18p.m.: Hey they said I had to go in

Text to Cody, 4:18p.m.: Ready now?

Text from Cody, 4:20p.m.: In a bit like 5

Text to Cody, 4:20p.m.: Ok. Fire a text at me.

Text to Cody, 4:28p.m.: Omw

Text from Cody, 4:34p.m.: (816) 413-3155 for the idiot that doesn't know his work number

(Note: That was a forward from Cody's phone, so I'd have his work number in case the whole, "Don't have my phone because it's charging, but need to call in" thing ever happens again.)

Text to Cody, 7:00p.m.: No school tomorrow.

Text from Cody, 7:02p.m.: Nice!

Text from Cody, 8:27p.m.: Hey could ya get me now please? :-)

Text to Cody, 8:27p.m.: On my way!

Status update, 8:28p.m.: Mark Travis Riggs is headed back out into the snow. I'll status update when I get back home!

Text from Cody, 8:31p.m.: Cool

Status comment from Becky, 8:37p.m.: Why? Are you crazy? Yes, rhetorical question!

Text to Cody, 8:42p.m.: Next exit is yours, but traffic is at a crawl here.

Text from Cody, 8:43p.m.: Ok am ready too

Text to Cody, 8:43p.m.: Well, it may be a while!

Text from Cody, 8:44p.m.: That slow?

Text to Cody, 8:44p.m.: I'm about a tenth of a mile further along thasnll

Text to Cody, 8:44p.m.: Than when i first tested

Text to Cody, 8:45p.m.: Tested

Text to Cody, 8:45p.m.: @#*% auto correct

Text to Cody, 8:45p.m.: Texted

Text from Cody, 8:46p.m.: LMAO

Text to Cody, 8:46p.m.: :-)

Text to Cody, 8:46p.m.: Am parked just past exit before yours.

Text to Manchion, 8:48p.m.: If you're bored and can research what the hell is going on on I-35, before Liberty, that would be cool.

Status comment from me, 8:51p.m.: Picking up Cody from work. However, currently parked on I-35 North before 152 exit. Have no idea what the hold-up is, but imagine it isn't pretty.

Text to Cody, 8:51p.m.: Movement!

Text from Cody, 8:52p.m.: Lol

Text to Cody, 8:52p.m.: False hope. Stopped again.

Text from Cody, 8:52p.m.: @#*%

Text to Cody, 8:53p.m.: So it goes. At least I have Facebook!

Text from Cody, 8:54p.m.: Haha true that

Text to Cody, 8:55p.m.: You okay there? Nobody gettin' pi**y that you're hanging about?

Text from Cody, 8:55p.m.: No not at all

Text to Cody, 8:56p.m.: Um... Somebody just got out to walk their dog!

Text from Cody, 8:57p.m.: No way I wish I was there to see that lol

Text to Cody, 8:57p.m.: Must have been a potty break. Back in the truck now.

Text to Cody, 8:59p.m.: What's the address there? If they end up turning us around I'll have Garmin find an alternate route.

Text from Cody, 9:00p.m.: Idk lol

Text from Manchion, 9:02p.m.: Doesn't look like an accident, just really slow... around 23 mph according to kmbc...

Text to Manchion, 9:02p.m.: Try about 23 mph slower than that! Lol

Status comment from Cathy, 9:04p.m.: Mark Travis! You are a TRUE friend! Be safe and update! Love you!

Text to Cody, 9:04p.m.: Got it. Didn't think to call the restaurant! Duh me!

Text to Cody, 9:04p.m.: Got it. Didn't think to call the restaurant! Duh me!

Text to Cody, 9:04p.m.: Ignore that...

Text from Manchion, 9:04p.m.: Hmmm... weird, let me keep looking, now I am intrigued!!

Text to Manchion, 9:05p.m.: Lol... Well, if you have something better to do in this universe filled with better things to do, I'd understand!

Text to Cody, 9:08p.m.: More movement!

Text from Manchion, 9:09p.m.: I think they may have closed an exit ramp...

Text from Cody, 9:09p.m.: Lol ok

Text to Cody, 9:10p.m.: The real kind

Text to Manchion, 9:10p.m.: $#@*

Text from Manchion, 9:12p.m.: Yup. Watching Inception. Weird movie.

Text to Manchion, 9:12p.m.: Agreed

Status comment from Becky, 9:24p.m.: Be careful! Keep us posted. Stay safe.

Status comment from me, 9:25p.m.: About a half mile further on than my last post! Lol

Text from Cody, 9:29p.m.: You almost here

Text to Cody, 9:29p.m.: I am 1.1 miles from the exit.

Text from Cody, 9:30p.m.: @#*% its really backed up huh

Text to Cody, 9:30p.m.: Yes. It is of the frustrating.

Status comment from Becky, 9:38p.m.: Oh no!

Status comment from me, 9:40p.m.: Yes. Have no idea what the deal is. Still in the same spot.

Status comment from Becky, 9:44p.m.: Watching news now. 129 and Barry is ok. 635 NB ramp to 70 E stopped. Nothing else on there at the moment. Will keep you posted!

Status comment from me, 9:48p.m.: Thank you! Just moved 0.1 miles!

Status comment from me, 9:50p.m.: Make that 0.2 miles!

Text from Cody, 9:53p.m.: How far are you now?

Text to Cody, 9:54p.m.: 0.9 miles from exit. Thought we passed the problem, but there must be more than one.

Text from Cody, 9:55p.m.: @#*%

Text to Cody, 9:56p.m.: Sorry you're having to wait so long.

Text from Cody, 9:56p.m.: Its fine

Text to Cody, 9:57p.m.: Well, at least you'll have a very boring story to tell your grandchildren.

Text from Cody, 9:58p.m.: Lmao!

Text to Cody, 9:59p.m.: So frustrated I could weep.

Text to Cody, 10:01p.m.: If you're bored, start thinking of an exercise routine for me.

Status comment from me, 10:04p.m.: 0.3 miles! Now 0.8 miles from the exit!

Text from Cody, 10:05p.m.: Lol well I could look some up

Text to Cody, 10:06p.m.: Oh, I am sure you have better things to do. I'm in a better place now. Moved a bit.

Text from Cody, 10:07p.m.: That's good is it gonna go faster now?

Text to Cody, 10:08p.m.: No. Stopped again. But one of these times has to be THE time, right? I choose to believe it will be this next time.

Status comment from Becky, 10:09p.m.: ‎35 SB and Jarboe, wreck, stand still, semis are stuck. 39th and Woodland messy. Fire at independence ave and Quincey. Nothing about where u r yet.

Status comment from me, 10:11p.m.: Dang! Get me the number for KMBC 9. If they pay me, I'll do an audio report via phone!

Status comment from Becky, 10:11p.m.: I 70 wb and 435 wreck

Status comment from Becky, 10:21p.m.: ‎221-9999 try that one

Status comment from Becky, 10:23p.m.: Get this! One of channel 9's staff is stuck where u are and has been for almost 3 hours. He called them and told them he doesn't know why either.

Status comment from Becky, 10:24p.m.: Stuck in the line of traffic like u, not in a ditch.

Status comment from Becky, 10:24p.m.: He said 35 n almost at 152. Dang!

Text to Cody, 10:27p.m.: At exit!

Status comment from me, 10:28p.m.: At exit!

Text from Cody, 10:31p.m.: K just come to the front.

Text to Cody, 10:50p.m.: Home, in case you were worried I wouldn't make it!

Status comment from me, 10:50p.m.: Home!

Status update, 10:52p.m.: Mark Travis Riggs is home, safe and sound, with no idea what the heck was going on at I-35 North and 152... But is very grateful to Kyrie Okerstrom Manchion and Becky Dunn for trying to find out for me!

Status comment from me (on 8:28p.m. post), 10:54p.m.: @Cathy: This whole thing reminded me of the time I went to New London on a bus Freshman year to paint windows for Art Club (remember that Christmas fundraiser?) and Mom had to come get me because of the blizzard everyone knew about BEFORE I got on the bus. She was one angry woman!

Status comment from me (on 10:52p.m. post), 10:57p.m.: is, me... what's that about? Whatever. I'm home and I'm glad. Was running out of CDs to listen to in the car.

Status comment from Becky (on 10:52p.m. post), 4:11a.m.: Whew! Glad you made it! :)

(My aunt Rachel "Liked" that last comment.)

Move Along, There's Nothing I Said Was Going To Be Here To See Here Yet... But If You Want To See Something...

2011-01-22T01:15:00.000-06:00

Chris, a guy I went to high school with (actually, he was the class of '86, but we'll call that statement close enough for blog work) has a blog over at http://networkedblogs.com/dhbwU. He's doing some creative work there, which makes me think I should get back to work on doing that sort of thing.

Again, my day did not turn out according to plan, so I still don't have that project I was going to post yesterday ready to post today, either. So go read Chris' blog. Seriously.

Come back tomorrow. We'll have the place all prettied up for you.

This is NOT the Blog Post You are Looking For...

2011-01-20T23:11:00.000-06:00

Yeah, if you came here for the story of last night as told by texts and status updates, that got put on hold during flat-tire-a-thon today.

Actually, there was no -a-thon about it. There was really only one flat tire that sucked the joy out of my life for about... let me get back to you when I feel the joy return.

The short version is: flat tire, Tires Plus, led to believe it wouldn't be long, turns out I should have been told it was going to be quite a long wait, lost my temper, walked home, had a snack, walked back with boots on so as not to nearly give myself frostbite like I did on the way home, wait some more, finally get on the road again...

Bonus: visit Patrick & Leigh and family!

And then back home to eat lunch as dinner after decided lunch had more vegetables and fruits, so it was the way to go.

Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll get that other post up.

I should really never make plans...

Except I teach, and it's kinda required.

Guess What I Just Spent 150 Minutes Doing...

2011-01-19T23:23:00.000-06:00

We had an early release day. When we got the news, there was no sign outside that snow was on the way--other than the leftover snow from before, which reminded us it was the appropriate time of year for snow.

I was on my way to the store when Cody texted wondering if I could help him run a few errands. No big deal (and it wasn't).

During the errand-running, he mentioned that he wasn't going to try to go in to work, because of the weather, and I made a mental note not to make my relief to obvious. I have been occasionally giving him a ride to and from work since he found himself without transportation after the last big snow event here in K.C., and as much as I love to drive through lots of snow, I'd really rather not.

Actually, the pizza delivery gig a few years back makes me less nervous about it, but I still don't like doing it.

After we ran the errands and I got home and was about to eat my lunch (very late), he texted to say he had to go in to work anyway.

No big, like I said. It's kinda nice. I'm almost 100% sure I won't ever have kids, so this is my shot to get a taste of at least part of it--the part where you do stuff you wouldn't normally do, like drive places you have no reason to go to, at times you have no reason to be out and about.

Yes, there's a lot of snow on the ground at this point, but--other than some moments where I wondered if I'd make it up a hill here or there--it was pretty much to Liberty, back from Liberty, all done (okay, technically not Liberty, as it's on the other side of I-35, but may as well be).

As is my tradition, when I got the call that we had no school, I sent him a text. He texted back, which made me think maybe he got a ride home, as I'm sure at one point I told him he shouldn't text while working--but maybe I haven't shared that bit of "wisdom". I held off making dinner, however, in case he was at work and texted later.

At about 8:25 or so, I was thinking about starting dinner... and then I got the text.

No big. I texted that I was on my way, put my shoes on, grabbed my coat, and headed out the door.

What happened next should only have happened if I'd texted "I'll be right there."

The streets were crazy snow-covered. The interstate was also crazy snow-covered, but less snow there than the streets. And then, just after I passed whatever the exit is before the 152 exit (the one I needed), I see lights ahead of me (nobody was ahead of me the whole way to Liberty). Once it's for sure too late for me to even try to do the stupid "back up on the highway" thing, I realize it's vehicles, stopped.

And there I sat. Maybe I should piece together the texts and the status updates on Facebook to sort of tell the story from that point on. It went on for about two hours. There's a big positive message about the power of positive thinking and everything. It's a big boring dramedy. Dramady. How does one spell that, anyway?

Ah. Dramedy. First known use in 1978. Thanks, m-w.com!

In fact, that's what I'll do. Tomorrow's post will be the story of the traffic trip as told in texts and status updates. I think it might be really cool and fun.

If you think so, too, I have to warn you I'm probably totally wrong about it being really cool and fun. But I want to do it anyway.

But I will tell you the end. I sat for about two hours between those two exits, usually moving about a fifth of a mile at a time. Once we moved, we moved, and it was like an L.A. traffic jam, in that there was no evidence of what the problem was when traffic started moving.

The trip back home took something like twenty minutes, maybe.

Now, wait with bated breath for the whole story as told by texts and status updates!

P.S.: Blogger's spell check does not recognize dramedy or texted. That seems outdated to me.

A Very Important Message About Television

2011-01-18T22:02:00.000-06:00

I'm lying. This isn't important at all.

However, I'd like to apologize in advance to everyone involved in the production of the series "Harry's Law".

I enjoyed your show last night. That's like a death-wish to a series.

I tried really hard not to like it, but I've liked Kathy Bates since she was in that one movie with the guy with the face (sorry, Manchion, I had to). So I recorded it and watched it. Then I had to go and like it.

I'm watching The Cape on Monday nights as well, mostly because I think Summer Glau is cool. I'd prefer to watch her in a rebirth of Firefly, but the odds of that happening are so very slim. I'm not as into this show, however, so it may survive.

On the "not ever going to watch" is Being Human, the I'm-too-stupid-to-use-context-clues-to-get-the-British-bits-of-the-actual-series version on the Mostly Reality Shows That Are Even More Stupid Than Actual Reality Shows But Are Loosely Connected To Science Fiction And/Or Fantasy And/Or Horror In Some Way Channel (SyFy for short). I'm sure it's all well and good, but why watch the copy version on channel 63 when you can watch the real one on 263? I don't get it. I love the one on BBC America, however--because I'm that lame.

I should also report that my liking a show does not seem to have the power to reach across the ocean. It's good that I don't have that kind of power, or I might use it for evil.

What else? Oh yes, someone please rescue Stargate Universe from M.R.S.T.A.E.M.S.T.A.R.S.B.A.L.C.T.S.F.A./O.F.A./O.H.I.S.W.C. (SyFy), okay? As I've mentioned before, it's my new "Lost" (in that I have to watch it the night it's on, not the next day).

And while we're on the topic: You kids get out of my yard!

Kill the Smurfs

2011-01-17T23:06:00.000-06:00

Back when dinosaurs called Apple //e and Apple //c computers roamed the earth... along with Amigas and who knows what all else, I thought I'd like to be a programmer.

Then I found out all the math involved, and while I was good at math, I was not a fan of it. I mean, every year they'd start off talking about sets, but never seem to do anything with them, which was very irritating. Also, everyone else seemed to take so long to "get it" and I'd get bored and distracted and the next then you know I'd missed out on about ten important things.

Most importantly, there was all the homework that was required if you wanted a decent grade.

Anyway, I've dabbled in the world of programming. Nothing recent, mind you, and nothing more advanced that a couple of games in BASIC or some neat screen-saver-looking things in LOGO. I probably still have the disk that contained my Yahtzee program on it (I don't know that it will still be any good or still on there twenty-five-plus years later). I loved writing that program. I loved figuring out how to make it do the things I needed it to do. (I have a similar feeling whenever I make a complicated spreadsheet in Excel.)

I made a game called "Kill the Smurfs" as well. It wasn't anything fancy. A "Smurf" hopped across the bottom of the screen to a mushroom house, and a boulder was placed up at the top of the screen at some randomly-selected position. Your job was to hit the space bar at the right time so the boulder would smoosh the Smurf.

Yeah, that was it.

Give me a break. It was my first game.

I added to it over time. I tried different things with it. And I always meant to "complete" it at some point...

I'll get right on that.

Brad Graham and I worked on a couple of game ideas together. I remember one was based on Mark Twain's characters. I can't remember if the Alice in Wonderland game I got pretty close to completing started as an idea we had or what.

So it's 2011. At the in-service the other day, the coach that could be blamed for saving my life by "making" me go to the hospital back in 2005 tells me his college-aged son has authored an online game (at http://www.addictinggames.com/the-ninja-game.html, to be precise) and that it's reached something like number four on the "popular" list there.

I went to check it out, not sure what to expect. I mean, I didn't expect something like my "Kill the Smurfs", but I certainly didn't expect something as cool as what I found. (Note: You may not find it as cool as I do, but if you're familiar with any of my work in BASIC, you'd have to say it's way cooler than that!)

So go check it out. I'm stuck at Level 14, mostly because I stink at throwing the darts or whatever while I'm leaping.

It makes me wonder how "Kill the Smurfs" turned out in those quantum realities where I stuck with it...

Shallow Me

2011-01-16T23:26:00.002-06:00

I am not a deep person. I don't know that I ever was a deep person. So I can't decide whether I should say I've become so shallow, or say I have finally realized how shallow I am.

Or maybe I'm just escapist.

Whatever.

The deal is, my second-cousin-in-law writes and/or runs this blog/site about movies and entertainment. Maybe it's more of an online magazine. Whatever. I suck at identifying things, obviously. My point is: I don't visit it as much as I'd like, but I always enjoy what I read there, especially her stuff.

I've visited it a few more times in recent weeks because I spoke at length with her husband last month and it put me in the mind to check it on occasion. When Matt shared this article on Facebook where Shannon shares her top movie picks of the last year, I clicked it and read it and... realized I've either always been a shallow person (or totally escapist), or I've become whichever term it is we eventually decide applies here.

At first I read the list and thought, "I always go see really goofy or sci-fi or not-very-serious stuff."

Well, no, first I had an inner grouse about "Waiting for Superman", and then I thought that other bit, which was the more important bit, as I've not seen W4S and thus have no right to grouse.

So my brain, trying to salvage what little self-esteem I have left (which is very little, considering my life to date, you know) was all like, "Yeah, but you are more of a reader."

Yeah, what do I read? Escapist stuff. I mean, I think Terry Pratchett writes some pretty intelligent stuff, mind you, but it's not like stuff everyone knows because is so serious and moving and... I don't know... sells.

I think "serious," "moving," "deep," and "popular among people who think" are like stand-up comedians to me. That is to say, something I loathe the thought of seeing, but always enjoy seeing when I do.

Then again, perhaps on my journey to crotchety old man-ness, I am slowly becoming that way about everything other than sitting alone at home waiting for kids to stray into my yard so I can yell at them to get out of it.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just jaded. Maybe I'm just bored. But I do know any time I talk about the books and movies and television shows I like, I start thinking, "Wow, this doesn't read like the list of someone who likes "serious" entertainment, let alone "serious" art!

Well, enough of this. I have to go watch my DVR of Primeval, take in some Desperate Housewives, and make sure my DVR has enough room for new episodes of Chuck, Hot in Cleveland, and Fringe this week!

::sigh::

Two Weeks Until My Birthday! (Don't Go Sayin' You Didn't Have Enough Notice!)

2011-01-16T00:16:00.000-06:00

Check it out: I'm 43 years and 50 weeks old today!

Or, I would be, if there were exactly 52 weeks in a year. Go divide 365 by 7 and see if you get a remainder.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

(There's a calculator in the Accessories folder if you're using Windows.)

Okay, back?

So, yeah, I'm roughly 43 years and 50 weeks old today.

I plan my own birthday party. This is sometimes considered rude and/or pathetic. Also, maybe a bit self-centered or something. If Casey'd ever come to Kansas City for the event, I could pretend it was really a party for him.

Anyway, I want to have a party for it, so I do. I like having people around, and on my birthday I am supposed to get what I want. That's a law or something, right?

Having a birthday so close after Christmas (but not super-close like some people have, mind you) does stink a bit. It makes it hard to remember what was a Christmas gift and what was a birthday gift when I was a kid.

But here's some random birthday memories for you:

When I was in elementary school, before everyone started to sing "Happy Birthday to You," I wanted to know if I was "allowed" to sing along--but nobody would wait for me to ask before they started singing, so I got all upset and cried about it. And then I had to feel super-foolish explaining the stupid reason why I was crying, knowing how foolish it sounded as the words came out of my mouth.

My senior year of high school, Brad Graham collected money from a bunch of my friends and classmates and got me my first computer mouse for my Apple //c for my eighteenth birthday. I still have the "card" that came with it, with all the names on it... or I should, anyway. I had it before the move, anyway.

T.K. arranged a surprise birthday party for my 26th birthday--at least, I think that was the birthday. I remember the candles on the cake were off by a year. I think that might have been the last birthday party someone else arranged for me--but I could be forgetting one.

In junior high (7th grade, I think) I got one of those bowl-like sled things. I loved that thing. Too bad we didn't leave near some really great hills.

I don't remember a lot about birthdays at school (beyond the mouse story mentioned above). That seems odd, as you'd think days like that would stick out. I remember other kids' birthdays. I remember in third grade Mary Harris brought some sort of cake or brownie-like thing, and it had a toothpick with an American flag on it in the middle, and Mary said whoever got that piece got an extra piece--and she so arranged it so I got that one. I remember thinking she was very obvious about it.

But that wasn't my birthday, so pretend I didn't mention it. Or remember it as an example of how I remember things about other kids' birthdays during school, but not much about mine.

Anyway, I'm two weeks away from staring my forty-fifth year. In 54 weeks (and a day) I'll have lived the same amount of time as I'd lived on my 15th birthday three times over!

Seriously, I'm the same age as three fifteen-year-olds, but lined up instead of all together.

I'm too old to be up this late. Good night.

On Losses and the Cutting of Them

2011-01-15T01:17:00.000-06:00

Yeah, I'm gonna talk about math. Go watch t.v. or something until I'm done. (But I'm going to be talking sort of philosophical-like, not all math-like... at least that's the plan.)

So imagine you're 12 or 13, in 7th grade, and have no idea how to do the following:

1. Recall many basic math facts, such a 7 + 8 or 6 * 7.
2. Write an equivalent fraction (and most of the mini-steps that entails).
3. Long division--or, any working algorithm for figuring out what 3,527 divided by 42 is.
4. Hear the word "fraction" without figuratively wetting yourself in fear.
5. Add, subtract, multiply, and divide decimals or fractions.
6. Use a simple formula and given information to find the area of a shape.
7. Multiply a number by a two- or three-digit number.

Some of that is pre-4th grade. Some of that is 6th grade. But remember, in this imagining, you're in 7th grade.

Now, remembering you're in 7th grade, how concerned are you? Or, try this one: how concerned are you willing to appear in front of your peers?

All that in mind, how are you going to be taught how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide integers when you can't figure out to at least count on your fingers when confronted with a problem like "What's 8 plus 7?"

How are you going to work with ratios and proportions when they look like fractions, and fractions freakin' own you?

Now, I know many people who are way older than 12 or 13 and came across at least three things on that list they themselves cannot do. And that's fine, because if you're way older than 12 or 13, odds are you don't have Algebra I, Geometry, Algebra II, and whatever math you're required to take in college coming at you any time in the foreseeable future. I'm perfectly okay with your ignorance in the area of math--as long as you're perfectly okay with my ignorance in the multitude of areas where I'm ignorant.

So now imagine you're the teacher who has to try to get these 7th grade students as close to grade-level as you can before they move on.

It's a lot like trying to scoop the water out of your canoe with a strainer while you're heading toward the waterfall.

At some point every year you have to decide it's time to cut your losses and just teach them as much as you can and hope someone comes along fills in the gaps later.

They're probably not going to. I don't want to ruin the ending for anyone, but it's true.

The good news is a lot of them won't need Algebra and Geometry in their day-to-day life, so once they're through, they can just always make sure they have a calculator at all times and be really good at converting fractions to decimals and vice-versa should they work in any area that requires measuring and calculating with those measurements.

The bad news is they could have gone a lot further and been who knows what if we just could have gotten the job done.

For Your Reading... Um... Enjoyment?

2011-01-13T22:00:00.000-06:00

The following is a poem I wrote for creative writing my senior year at Jewell. I assume it was in the spring of 1989. It relates a true story from my childhood.

Walking to school
in the first grade,
I noticed the world was going to end
before sundown.
I had just walked over the new
and freshly painted
grey "bridge"
that my friend's father had built
over the "creek".
Looking back, I see a walkway over
a ditch,
but the world is different for a first-grader.
I looked up
and in the bright blue
of the morning sky
I saw the moon.
This undeniably meant one thing:
The world was going to end
before sundown.
Disbelief melted down my skin
and evaporated.
I looked again.
The full moon was still there,
smiling at me
like a skull.
I decided to stop by the Post Office
and ask Mom about it.
And if she laughed and told me I was wrong,
I would march the rest of the way to school
and tell the all-knowing Miss Wolfe
the world was going to end
before sundown.
When she confirmed my story
I would tell her there was no point in my staying at school.
I would retrace my steps on the cracked and broken sidewalk
back to the Post Office
to let my surprised mother
(complete with wide eyes
and confused frown)
know she was wrong--
and probably for the last time.
The world was going to end
before sundown.

© copyright 1989, Mark Travis Riggs

So There Was This Guy By The Side Of The Road With A Sign...

2011-01-12T22:01:00.000-06:00

I took Cody to work today, and there was this guy at the side of the road at the top of the exit to 152 or whatever it is there in Liberty, and he had a sign about being stranded and every little bit helps...

People were giving him money, but I wanted to ask him where he was going... or where he needed to go. Because if it wasn't, you know... California or something, I think I would honestly consider giving the guy a lift.

Yes, yes, he could be an insane person with a gun or a knife and a plan to kill me or worse, but... what a lot of work just to get to kill me (or do worse to me). I mean, I'd admire his dedication, at least.

But here's the thing: I didn't stop and ask him. I drove by because the light had changed and there were people behind me. I thought, "I'll swing back around and ask him." Actually, I said part of all that out loud, because Cody asked me if I was serious.

When you aren't used to a passenger in your car, you get used to being able to speak your thoughts aloud often, and forget to avoid doing it when you do get a passenger.

Anyway, I dropped Cody off and I drove back around to the old Bob's IGA shopping center or whatever that's called there, trying to figure out where I could park so I could walk up the hill and ask the guy. I figured I could try to drive up the exit again, but it was getting closer to 4:00, and a lot of people are heading home for work--so odds are I'd have people behind me again.

I pulled into the complex or whatever that my former doctor used to work from, realizing it wasn't the turn I wanted. Then, as I was pulling out to get to the next building's parking lot, I realized I needed to buy groceries before I did any long driving--and then realized I was supposed to have dinner at the Klumb home this evening, which would probably need to be adjusted now that I was probably picking up Cody from work later.

So I thought, "I'll go get groceries, call Jason about dinner, and--oh yeah, I need to go to Lowe's for those supplies for math class, so I'll do that..."

And that was that.

Then I started thinking maybe it would be easier just to buy the guy a bus ticket, and give him a lift to the bus terminal. Shortly after that, I started wondering how much bus tickets were these days, and wondered if I could call the church and ask for some financial aid in this endeavor, and...

Oh yeah, wait, that was that.

Yeah, I know, in this day and age you don't give people you don't know a lift. I know. I don't care. Something in me tells me I shouldn't care and I should help out, and usually it uses Patsy's voice to do so. I have no idea why, as I don't remember her picking up a lot of hitch-hikers or anything.

So I left it at, "If he's there when I go to pick Cody up, I'll ask then."

He wasn't. So I didn't.

If you're keeping score, Mark: 0, World: A kerjillion.

Laugh Or Not--I'm Good Either Way!

2011-01-11T23:04:00.000-06:00

So the other day Jordan and her mother were in a bit of a discussion about church. Leslie wanted her to go to a certain church with her, and had come up with a sort of exchange, and Jordan didn't want to agree to it. More importantly, Jordan wanted to discuss it and negotiate, and so on, while Leslie just wanted to enjoy her birthday party.

Eventually, Jordan decided to go upstairs. She was irritated, and as she left the party she calmly said, "See you all in Hell..."

To which I replied, "No you won't. We go to church!"

With Apologies To Brenda, Mia, And Jhoneric... And All Other Math-Phobes And/Or Number Haters

2011-01-10T22:37:00.000-06:00

I am 16,052 days old as of today. This number is divisible by 2 and 4, but not by 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, or 13 (which are all the consecutive numbers I've memorized divisibility checks for... but also not divisible by 15, 21, 35, 22, 33, 55, 66, 77, 88, 99... you get the idea).

Today I was the same age my mother was on August 4, 1974. On that day, I was 2,741 days old. The sum of the digits that make up 16,052 is 14. The same is true of the digits that make up 2,741.

My mother was 2,741 days old on February 20, 1928.

Jordan was 2,741 days old on May 4, 2002. She will be 16,052 days old on October 13, 2038.

Binx will be 2,741 days old on May 5, 2014. He will be 16,052 days old on October 14, 2050.

The prime factorization of 16,052 is 2 * 2 * 4013. I'd give the prime factorization of 2,741, but it's a prime number, so it just... is.

The closest triangle number to 16,052 is the 179th triangle number, which is 16,110. The closest triangle number to 2,741 is the 74th triangle number, which is 2,775.

When I tell Cody a story about my senior year, I stop and do the math and realize it's like someone telling me a story during my senior year about their senior year back in 1958-1959. I then stop, because I realize how boring I'm being.

Sorry that didn't happen earlier here!

Note: I did all of the calculations except for the dates--for those I used Excel, because my name isn't Dane Riggs, and Dane Riggs is probably in bed as I write this, so I can't consult him. You'll have to ask him if you want to know on what day of the week any of these dates fall, unless you have a program for that or have the time to work it out yourself.

That note is not there to try to impress you, but to alert you that I could be very wrong about most if not all of this...

Another Laugh Riot

2011-01-09T23:19:00.000-06:00

I have not felt like I'm living the wrong life for a while now, but boy howdy it's all coming back to me.

But this post isn't about that. That was just the overwhelming thought that just came to me as I began to write this.

I like a good laugh. I'll admit it. I'll also admit that I make myself laugh. Yes, faux pas, laughing at your own joke.

Whatever, I don't care. I often surprise myself and it makes me laugh.

More often, I often do crazy-stupid things without realizing it until about a second after I could have stopped myself... and that makes me laugh.

My family makes me laugh... Being around family can make my sides hurt.

My friends often make me laugh. I could go into great detail about each one of them and how they make my heart happy and keep me laughing, but some of it would be so... location-joke-y.

I wanted to share a funny story here. I feel I have been very unfunny lately, thus earning my nickname (Unfunny Mark... it's a long story, really... which means I'll probably share it here sometime, just to take up more space on the interwebness).

Anyway, I wanted to share a funny story. However, as often happens when you want to share a funny story, they all escape you. Actually, some come to mind, but I think, "Surely I told that one before."

I did just tell one today or yesterday that someone had never heard before. I thought the whole world knew it, too.

I wish I could remember it.

So you know what I don't like? Not being able to remember a funny story when I need one.

But back to laughter... I know some people find there to be times where laughter is inappropriate, and I guess I do, too. But those moments for me are much more seldom than they are for others, I think. I want to laugh at a funeral--not because it's awkward, but because life is funny.

Well, life is really awful, actually. But it's also really funny. It's a laugh riot, really. Because in the end, how much of it really matters? It matters a lot, it doesn't matter at all, and it's funny, and it's awful.

So if it's both funny and awful, why not enjoy the funny to help yourself cope with the awful?

Yes, I'm probably wrong-headed.

But I'm laughing about it.

Brother (Or Sister), Can You Spare Some Time?

2011-01-09T00:06:00.000-06:00

We know that silence equals consent when atrocities are committed against innocent men, women and children. We know that indifference equals complicity when bigotry, hatred and intolerance are allowed to take root. And we know that education and hope are the most effective ways to combat ignorance and despair.

--U.S. Rep. Gabrielle Giffords

Speaking of education and hope (with emphasis on the hope part), if you should want to do something for a kid like be a mentor or be there for them, here are some links:

YouthFriends: http://www.youthfriends.org/ (Missouri & Kansas)
The National Mentoring Partnership: http://www.mentoring.org/ (Go there, scroll down to "Connect to Mentoring Opportunities", enter your zip code, and they generate a list of oganizations for you.)
From CharityGuide: http://charityguide.org/volunteer/fewhours/mentoring.htm (Lots of links here! Also, links for online mentoring programs, although the one for icouldbe.org seems to have confused the heck out of my browser, and the vmentor.org one has some sort of issue with its security certificate.)
Big Brothers Big Sisters: http://www.bbbs.org/

I may or may not have said it before on here, but whenever I hear about one of these shootings like the one today in Arizona or the one earlier in the week in Nebraska, it makes me think we're not doing enough to be there for people as they're growing up. Any time I try to talk or write about this, I become way too aware of how "not good" I am at words. I want to say too many things that either are contradictory or seem very contradictory.

So I'll just say: if you have any time--a couple of hours a week, even--to be there for a kid who needs someone to be there, please do so. You have no idea the need there is for you... or, if you're paying attention even a little, you probably have a very good idea.

On A Lighter Note: I've Accepted A Challenge...

2011-01-07T21:59:00.000-06:00

I had a poll over on my vanity photoblog the last few days of 2010... It's still there now, but not active--but I'll eventually getting around to taking it off.

I was just wanting to get a feel for what people thought I should do with it, once the year was up. I had a few choices that were pretty clear-cut, but one was "I'll message you my idea" or something like that. (Yes, I'll be going there in a bit to get the link that you've already seen, but I can't be bothered to go see the exact words. I may be a real piece of work.)

Anyway, nobody voted for that one (whatever it was), but a friend from church (Judy) suggested on Facebook that I make it new rules. One that no picture can be taken by me, and one that at least one picture a week must be taken by a stranger.

I can report I have made it through the first week working with those new rules! I don't know that I'll make it to two weeks, but I'll try!

Yesterday I realized after I got home from school that I wasn't likely to see anyone for the rest of the evening. My first idea was to just go to the store to get something I needed but didn't have to have that instant, and have the person who rang up my purchase take my picture. I'd already figured I'd have a stranger take a picture of me with Kathleen at her birthday party (tonight's picture), but if I got a stranger to take my picture Thursday night as well, that's okay, too.

Then I realized I had gotten the picture frame I'd ordered for Say that day, so I just drove out to Platte City to deliver it. While I was there got my picture taken. What a plan! It worked!

Here's the thing: I kinda like these rules. I for sure like the rule of me not taking any pictures of myself. I hated doing it, and I hate posing for myself. When I die, they won't find great chests full of wonderful literary works (those of you who read this blog regularly will not be shocked to learn that, I'm sure), but they will find kilobytes and kilobytes of pictures of me... and those won't be so wonderful, either. I tend to be much more willing to be content with pictures others take of me.

The other rule I like, but not as much. As extroverted as I may seem at times, I'm not thrilled with the idea of asking strangers to take my picture... and less thrilled with the idea of putting my camera in the hands of someone I don't know at all. Tonight, I had Kathleen ask a friend to do it (which was the plan), because it's still a stranger, but it's a friend of a friend, so the odds of her just up and running off with the camera were pretty slim.

I guess if I stick with check-out folks and store greeters and whatnot, maybe I'll do okay. Or maybe people who are visiting the church. I don't know, but I like that it's making me think about being more outgoing.

In so many ways, I feel like a plant that's sort of closing in on itself as it dies away. That was way more dramatic than I meant, but it's also... what I mean.

I had this blog before "the event" back in June of 2005. It was my only blog. I didn't write a lot in it, though. Some, but not a lot. Then came the photo blog, and then the vanity photoblog, and finally the food blog.

The photoblog was for a specific reason. I don't know that I've really gone into anywhere. If I have, I'm about to bore you with it again. If I haven't, I'm about to bore you with it for the first time.

As I'm sure I've written elsewhere (and as I know I've said when talking about "the event" of 6/05), there was that moment where I just resigned myself to my impending death. I totally let go. I don't know that I'll ever forget it.

I read The Idiot back in college, and I don't remember a lot about it, but I remember there being a character (maybe the idiot in the title) who was supposed to be executed and somehow the gun didn't go off or something. I have thought about that a lot since June of 2005. I probably should go back and re-read the book. It will be twenty-five years since I read it sometime betwen now and May.

Anyway, I still feel like that switch is flipped. I still feel there's a part of me that's very much just... "okay" with my impending death... even though it hopefully is much less impending than it seemed to be that afternoon. Maybe it's a switch that only gets flipped once, and there is no unflipping it. I don't know.

But I know "What do I do now that I got all ready to go and now I'm apparently not going to be going for a while?" has been the general lyric of the background music in my head since then.

I just went and looked at the first STILL: Life picture*. I remember very clearly taking the picture because I thought it was funny (and I just now realized Dora gets made fun of a couple of times on that blog), but then it all just sort of fell into place: I could take a picture every day, like that guy in the movie "Smoke", but I could take a picture to sort of say, "I'm still here. I'm still doing something, even if it isn't much. I'm not still in that ambulance in front of the school, waiting to die--at least not entirely."

And out of that general thought pattern, I thought of the name... since I still had to go through life, even though I'd gotten totally ready to have to stop going through it. I figured people would either think I didn't know how to properly punctuate "Still Life" (very believable) or that I was being very cynical about how great it is that life was continuing to go on (also very believable).

I just needed to remind myself things were still going on, and I had to remind myself there is beauty and mystery and strangeness and humor all around--so I should pay attention.

I went through a phase where it seemed like a huge chore, and you can see there was a huge gap there (after 3/28/08 there was only one picture until I started back up again on 1/1/10). I took a lot of pictures during that time, many meant for that blog. I guess there's something else people can find when I'm dead. STILL: Life (the missing days). I didn't take pictures every day. I didn't want to.

Now I'm where I like taking the pictures. I like trying to think of what to take. It does get old, trying to figure out what I can take a picture of at 9:30 at night, because nothing "jumped out" at me all day, but it does serve as a reminder that I need to be paying attention. There's always some beauty, or some humor, or some strangeness, or some mystery... it's just a matter of seeing it.

I'm so not going to change the title of this post, but I think it's total false advertising about the lightness...

*Side note: I don't know what the original title was--at some point Blogspot led me to believe I was going to have to start deleting posts in order to make new ones. I did, and didn't keep track of the titles. When I learned I could put them back up, a lot of the titles were lost forever. Tragedy!

While I'm Not Listening...

2011-01-06T22:08:00.000-06:00

While I'm not listening, my brain is telling me things that are very important. My brain tells me things all the time, and I've gotten too used to not listening to it.

Or, maybe I listen, but I process and process and process... and it takes so long I may as well be not listening.

The things that are important don't ever escape me, because my brain is talking to me about them all the time. But I think I'm too busy or something. I don't know.

It's been just over a year since Brad died. I know: Brad, Mom, I do go on so. But I think I will think about those two people for the rest of my life. I've been missing Mom since not long after she went to the nursing home--the day I visited her, in fact, and knew she was no longer "there"... but instead in some time in the past, probably before I was born.

And I've been missing Brad since around 1985 or so, with about 25 years of not listening to my brain berate me about it between times.

When I ask myself why I'm able to have any success in this diet thing--why I'm actually able to do it at all, when I've never had any sort of motivation in the past, I have to wonder what is so different. Yeah, the doctor was all like, "Get this number down, or I'm gonna be all diabetes prescription meds on you" and whatnot--but... I don't know. I've heard things from doctor's before. Yes, actual things. Words, even. Talk of diet and health and death-before-45, even.

So my latest working theory is that after about ten months of finally facing the horror of my stupid teenage decision back in February of 1985, and facing the fact I'd never be able to "fix" it or even "make it a little better"... I think I've forgiven myself. I think somewhere around mid- to late-September, I came to terms with the fact time still only works one way.

And I'm not sure I realized in those 25 years just how angry I was with myself. Or, to be terribly honest about it, how much I hated myself.

Now, I don't think that's the whole ball of wax. I mean, I've got more baggage than Santa at 11:59p.m. on December 24th, I'm sure. But it sure feels "true".

Which means nothing, of course. It's just how a thing feels.

Or, who knows? Maybe I just needed to blog what I'm eating every day, and that was all it took.

But I still do a great job ignoring things. I was reading a story or experiencing some story (maybe a television show or a movie) the other day about someone who nearly died (I can't even remember what the story was now, or how the person nearly died), and I thought, "Boy, if that was me, I'd make sure my life meant something after that. I'd make sure that my being here made a difference!"

And my brain, arms crossed, smirk on its face, just looked over and me and said, "June, 2005."

So I've been thinking since then (okay, did I say "the other day", because it was more like "a month or so ago") about what I should be doing that I'm not.

I have an appreciation for the people around me that I'm not sure I had 5.5 years ago--or at least now I have a deeper appreciation. But I don't know how much of a difference I'm making.

So I'm trying to figure out what I need to be doing. I'm not talking "change of life" here, like I'm going to sell everything and travel the world helping anyone who needs it--because beyond talking their ear off, what skill could I offer, right?

But I need to be doing something--and typing a blog about needing to do something isn't enough, I know. I just don't know what I should do first. I'm not thinking anything big...

I just need to figure out how to brighten the corner where I am...

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 12

2011-01-05T22:44:00.000-06:00

Before I begin, to review the traditions I've shared so far:

1. Making cookies for Santa with Madeline and Olivia
2. Taking Dane to a movie on Christmas day
3. Going to Vandalia with Mom and my siblings to see the "Life of Christ" display
4. Chilling out to the Christmas tree lights while listening to "December"
5. Stamps as a gift for teacher
6. Christmas at Grandma's
7. Deana Mae's biscuits (that are actually rolls)
8. New Year's Day at the Reynolds' home
9. Books as gifts for the kids
10. Movie by my self on New Year's Eve
11. Fake gifts under the tree

And the twelfth traditions Going to look at lights!

I didn't do this one this year. I got to go with the Reyes family last year, or I probably wouldn't have done it last year, either.

I used to love to drive around looking at holiday light displays, and even took Jordan out with me a time or two when she was much younger. I was hoping to get to show Binx the lights a block over from my house at least, but didn't even get that done this year.

I saw a lot of light displays when I was delivering pizza. I also got to listen to every one of my Christmas CDs several times over when I had the job. The reason I probably wouldn't have done it if David and Julie hadn't asked me along last year is that driving myself around would remind me too much of the glory days of the pizza delivery "job to support my teaching hobby".

I do love seeing light displays, and if someone drives me around, it doesn't remind me of being in my car, taking yet another pizza order to another home for hopefully a decent enough tip. Also, in my old age I'm finding I want to be a passenger more and more often.

I like to see what people come up with, how they go about decorating, and so on. I love that the house a block over has what appears to be "put lights on everything, and put stuff in the yard so we have more things to put lights on" sort of approach.

I also love streets that have a whole "Christmas Town" sort of approach, where all the houses are done up all super-mega and just looking down the street makes you think of dreams you had when you were young and reindeer could fly and if you could just stay up long enough and sneak past the adults (and if you could keep hidden behind the television) you would totally catch Santa bringing your presents.

Colored lights will forever be associated with joy in my mind. I'll always remember the little girl who used to live next door when I lived in Kansas City (Olivia was her name, but she's not the Olivia I see weekly) seeing my Christmas lights on my house for the first time and just shouting out--voice full of unabashed joy and admiration--"They're so beautiful!"

That's how I feel inside as I go around looking at lights.

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 11

2011-01-04T21:43:00.000-06:00

It's not as pathetic as it sounds: the fake gift.

After I got out of college, I got my own Christmas tree. I think it I actually got my own tree. I remember feeling so adult about it. Of course, it was artificial, as that's what I grew up with, and while a real tree is nice and all, it's too high-maintenance for me.

Anyway, I got the tree, and I got decorations for it (and put some decorations I already had on it), and I think that may have even been the year where my major ornaments were Pepsi cans with the holiday themes (there were like eight different ones, and were very easy to make into trashy-looking ornaments: you just put the small end of the hook through the tab.

I had a dream of making a tree out of Dr. Pepper cans and Mountain Dew cans (brown for the trunk, etc., and green for the branches), and then hanging the Pepsi (and Diet Pepsi) cans on it.

I didn't say it was a beautiful dream.

Anyway, the next year I got the tree out (which was probably '92... and I think the first year with the tree was probably '90... I'm pretty sure I was living in Center for Christmas of '91... or staying with Danny just off the Plaza (maybe that was right after Christmas of '91). I don't know, that whole depressing "post college working jobs I didn't need the college degree for" time is just a huge awful blur.

Where was I? Oh yes, huge awful blur.

No, wait, Christmas of '92, I got the tree out, and friends were helping me put up the tree. Heather saw the can ornaments and said, "Oh, Mark. No."

Now, I don't know if it was '90 or '92 (I think I noticed the problem in '90 and came up with the solution in '92) when this tradition was actually born. I just very strongly remember wrapping up some empty boxes to put under the tree because I thought a tree without presents under it looked really depressing.

I'm sure the tree at my home growing up didn't have many presents under it before Christmas morning. Maybe it was the knowledge that come Christmas morning as an adult, it would be just as bare under the tree as it was leading up to it.

Add the fact I had little budget for gifts to others, and the odds of there ever being gifts under the tree of '92 were slim to negative.

So I wrapped the boxes. I actually kept them for a while. I don't know that I used them again under any tree ('93 I was living in L.A. with no tree to call my own, and '94 I was living in the holey trailer in that dinky village near Jefferson City... and in '95 I don't know if I still had the apartment in Jefferson City or not, but I'm fairly sure I didn't put up a tree if I did. In '96 I was living on Grant with Ruth. I don't remember if that was the year I was in "The Eight" or not, but if it was, that would be the next time I had a tree. I have no idea if I had the fake gifts or not, but I have pictures of the tree going up. That could have been '97 as well. Again, we're still in the "jobs I could have got without a college degree" years, so: blur.

Probably the first year I had my own tree was the year after Kevin moved to NYC--and I have no idea what year that was (if Kevin or someone who remembers what year that was would like to fill me in, I'd appreciate it)--the fake gift concept returned to my tree. However, I figured out it would make more sense to use the fake gifts to store things you need to have near the tree: hooks, bulbs, fuses, tape, scissors, and so on.

Now I'm so fancy with my fake gifts, I have bags that match the color of the bulbs they store. And it looks like I have presents under the tree until Epiphany, when it all comes down!

So, yes, kinda pathetic. I admit it. But it's a functional pathetic. So that makes it better.

Right?

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 10

2011-01-03T22:17:00.001-06:00

I almost posted this one the other night, but went with something else instead. I'd have to go back and see what... but here's another Christmas tradition: New Year's Eve movie.

I don't know if the first time I took in a movie on New Year's Eve was my senior year in high school or not, but I'm pretty sure I went to see Dune that night with some friends. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that was just really late at night one summer.

But I know for sure I went to see Clue (version C, I think) on New Year's Eve, 1985. So maybe that was the first one.

I have since seen several movies on New Year's Eve (at the theatre, I mean). I can't recall any particular ones, but it's something I usually think about doing. There have been years where I've been invited to parties and whatnot, but--as you can read some many posts back--the bit at midnight where everyone gets all kissy-on-my-sweetie-y, that's like... blah.

This year I almost went to a movie, but decided not to at the last minute. Maybe that should be my official New Year's Eve thing. I'm not sure what it would take to make it official. What sort of documentation would I need for that?

Anyway, it may seem lame and anti-social for a tradition, but it's mine!

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 9

2011-01-02T22:57:00.000-06:00

Today's tradition: The book as a gift.

This is actually a gift tradition with me, not just a holiday tradition. However, my sister posted a picture of me reading Binx's book to him at the family gathering, and mentioned it was a tradition, and that made me realized the book-giving thing is a tradition, as well.

It started with Jordan, I think (and I know she wishes it would end with her sometimes). I wasn't teaching when Jordan was born, but I knew the love of reading wasn't something I was just born with. I had to see people reading, and had to be encouraged to read at some point. For me it was Dr. Seuss.

Dr. Seuss gave me a love of reading, a love of writing, and a love of rhyming.

We are a bunch of readers, for sure. And I figured the best way to help Jordan in that direction was to always give her books.

Now, there have been times where she got something else besides a book, but usually a book was always part of the gift.

Now, every kid I buy for knows it's almost always going to be a book. And now that I've done it two years in a row, it's a tradition that I read to Binx from the book I got him for Christmas at the family gathering!

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 8

2011-01-01T23:55:00.000-06:00

This is really a New Year's Day tradition, but I figure since my holiday season starts right after Thanksgiving and then goes for all 12 days of Christmas, I'm good to go...

For the past 18 New Year's Days (counting the one that just ended about 15 minutes ago, as I type this), Patrick & Leigh have hosted a gathering at their home on New Year's Day. I haven't made all of them, but I've made more than enough to qualify as a tradition.

It's the day I give Tessa and Jake (and now Wil) their Christmas presents. Usually it's a guaranteed day to see Greg and Trevor, and in previous years, David and Julie (and in recent years, Tyson as well). Sometimes it has been a day to see people I don't see any other time of year. Back 16 years or so ago, people would show up having not gone to sleep yet from the night before.

Before Jake came along (and for a while after he came along), people would show up pretty early, and some people would stay pretty late. Leigh always makes ham sandwiches on rolls and a delicious potato soup. I always bring Nutter Butters, but I always bring Nutter Butters to events... and it's tradition that I call from the store to see if they need me to bring ice.

I don't remember the first year I attended. In 1994, I was living in Los Angeles, but I may have been in town for that New Year's Day--I really don't remember. I couldn't tell you if I made it in 1995, either (I was living in Jefferson City at the time, I know that much... or just about to... I may have still been living in that trailer with no heat and openings in the floor).

The crowd has changed over the years, but the event is still a sort of "cap" on the season. (As a side note, I keep thinking I'd like to have a Feast of the Epiphany every year--as sort of carry-in ongoing supper where people can eat, then help me take down my decorations to officially end the season... but I don't think I'll ever actually do it.)

This year we got to add some singing around the player piano. This year David and Julie and family were in New Mexico, where they now live. We did give them a call, however.

Time passes; things change!

I'd love to be able to share Leigh's recipe for potato soup, but I don't know it... and I don't know that I want the world at large to know it. If you want some, you have to stop by the party next year!

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 7

2010-12-31T22:47:00.000-06:00

Today's Holiday Tradition: Deana Mae's biscuits.

These are not strictly a holiday tradition. And they're really more rolls than biscuits... or, are most certainly rolls and not biscuits, now that I've taken the time to look up the difference. However, we always called them "Deana Mae's biscuits", and that's how I still think of them.

Of course, I don't have the recipe, so maybe they really are biscuits, but I doubt it. They are very much rolls. The recipe is not written down anywhere--or, if it is, don't tell Ruth. My sister Ruth worked for years to figure it out, and I think she has pretty much found it (or, as she says, gotten the closest she's ever been).

Apparently they're a variation on Kentucky Angel Biscuits, but in roll form. Or, at one point, Ruth said something along those lines.

Deana Mae did a lot of cooking and baking, as I recall. I remember when the old house was still there and the new house was finished, she made a lot of Christmas candy.

Deana Mae's biscuits don't make it to every holiday meal any more. Ruth will sometimes whip up a batch, but I think it might be a lot of work.

While there are many more reasons to miss Deana Mae than her rolls, it is something I think of every time we all get together to eat.

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 6

2010-12-30T23:55:00.000-06:00

Today's tradition: Christmas at Grandma's.

My older siblings (and older cousins... and Aunt Rachel) are going to have to let me know how accurate my memory is here. I really feel at least twice in my early years we had a big family Christmas at Grandma's. I don't remember the exact date (Christmas Eve, Christmas Day (but in the evening), or some evening before), but I remember going there. I remember getting a Wizzzer one year while there. Anybody remember the Wizzzer?

I have many memories from Grandma's. I still remember her phone number. It was one of the first phone numbers I ever memorized. I have about one memory of Grandpa, as he passed away when I was very little... but I remember him well, and Mom used to tell stories of me eating hard candy by sucking all the sugar off, and then giving them to Grandpa to finish, and how funny he thought it was. I just remember people helping him move around once. That's the only Grandpa memory I have... beyond Mom laughing and telling me that story about the candy.

Aunt Deana Mae had a daughter, Linda. Aunt Lois had a daughter and two sons, Toni, Mike, and David. Aunt Rachel had two sons and two daughters, Alan, Roy (Bryce now), Cheryl, and Karen. And then there were the (up to) eight of us. I have to add the "up to" because I'm not sure that we had Christmas at Grandma's in Ruth or Sara's lifetimes.

Aunt Rachel's family lived (and live) in Omaha (and/or the surrounding area), so seeing them was always a big deal. Karen was just a couple of months younger than me, and they were all just as crazy funny as the rest of us... so it was usually a pretty good time to be around them. I was so young for these events, however, most of what I remember are just the feeling of how great it was to have everyone there--and maybe everyone wasn't there the times I'm remembering, but it sure seemed like it.

I don't know that all of the cousins have been in the same place since then--except maybe at Grandma's funeral in 1982. Even then, I don't know if everyone made it or not. And, obviously, it wasn't exactly a joy-fest.

I keep thinking it would be great to get everyone together some Christmas, but then I realize everyone has their own families now, and I can just imagine how much fun it would be as a kid to have to go hang out with kids you're vaguely related to (second cousins, first cousins once removed, and so on) while the older folks sat around and laughed themselves sick. Or maybe they wouldn't hate it... but one of us better get a mansion first! There are a lot of kids of cousins (and some grandkids of cousins)!

Anyway, I've gotten off track a bit, talking about family... but that's one of the first traditions I remember missing once it stopped. I don't know why it stopped... or even if it was two years in a row that I'm remembering. I just remember being sad about not getting to see my cousins from Omaha, and not getting to have a big Christmas to-do, and thinking it didn't seem right without it... but then getting over it once my presents were ready to be opened.

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 5

2010-12-29T23:54:00.000-06:00

When I was growing up, there was only one present we could give our elementary school teacher for Christmas. Everybody in my family say it with me now:

Stamps.

Yes, today's holiday tradition is one from the early 70s (and maybe into the 80s... Ruth and Sara would have to report about that). No matter what cool thing we wanted to get out teacher for Christmas, Mom--who worked at the Post Office--insisted on us giving stamps.

In her defense, it's a very practical gift--or was back in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, before you had to start explaining to high school students what stamps are. Speaking as a teacher, most of the things I get (if I get anything--7th grade is not elementary school) are nice, but I find a use for them, rather than the need being there already (although the candy dish I got last year has become a very useful item... it keeps the candy I shouldn't be eating over by the front door, where I almost never go).

I don't know how many years I gave a teacher stamps. Probably seven or so. Maybe more. Possibly less. I don't know that Miss Tyner got stamps from me my Kindergarten year, but I remember Miss Wolfe getting them for sure. (Or maybe it's Miss Wolf... I didn't remember how to spell "Miss Ewens" correctly, so all bets are off!) I have no idea about Mrs. Denny, Miss Coulter, Miss Ewens, Mrs. Chipman, and Mr. Smith, but I'm pretty sure they all got stamps from me. It seemed like the most uncool, impersonal gift to give.

I guess I could hunt some of them down and ask them. I sent Mrs. Denny and e-mail once, but never heard back from her. She was about to retire, according to my principal at the time, who knew her from whatever school district he'd worked at before. On the one hand, I think, "Like they want to hear from you..." On the other hand, I have plenty of former students I'd love to hear from.

Whatever, it's almost like work. If they aren't on Facebook, I'm not going to try much harder than that! Plus, Miss Wolf(e) and Miss Coulter got married, I think!

Anyway, there's a Christmas tradition for you. I don't know that I'd advise going with that gift in this day... maybe a Netflix gift subscription would be better.

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 4

2010-12-28T22:24:00.000-06:00

At some point every Advent or Christmas season (usually Advent), I turn on George Winston's December and sit by the tree with all non-holiday lights in the house turned off.

I've written about this on here before, years ago. It's like my yearly meditation time. I listen to the piano music, I watch the lights, I watch the shadows caused by the lights, I watch the play of light and shadow on the ceiling, and I just think about my life, the world, people in my life--both past and present, what was, what is, what might have been, and what might be.

Sometimes the CD goes around several times. Sometimes I go to sleep for a bit. Sometimes I pray, sometimes I talk to myself, and sometimes I'm silent the whole time.

It's my little slice of heavenly peace.

My favorite thing to do is imagine the lights on the tree as some sort of analogy, and play with different ideas of what they lights could be. I get as many different colors as possible, all individually blinking... so it could be anything. The "little light" of different people shining out and going away. The prayers being sent up. A sped-up version of lives on Earth.

Or, just pretty blinking lights.

Sometimes I will do this more than once a season, but it happens every year--or every year I put up a tree, anyway!

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 3

2010-12-27T23:29:00.001-06:00

This one happened at least twice, but I don't know that it happened many more times than that.

A couple (or a few) times after the candlelight service at Olivet Christian Church, we drove to Vandalia (I think it was Vandalia) to see this street that had a sort of "Life of Jesus" display. There were large wooden sort of "cut outs" of people, camels, other Bible-y things... all depicting different part of the life of Jesus.

We never took any pictures. I have no idea if the display still happens or not (this would be over twenty years ago, I think). I just remember going at least twice, and thinking what a nice Christmas tradition this would be.

Of course, Eddie is the only one who lives back home now (of the eight of us kids, anyway... we still have plenty of cousins back home), and that little made-up world in my head where Mom lives forever and things never change at all... well, that was a little made-up world in my head.

It would be nice to attend the candlelight service at the church, and go see that display again. I think it would also be a pretty sad thing, as Mom isn't here to look at that display with us.

As I get older, I feel torn between wanting to establish traditions and wanting to never do anything that might become a tradition. On the one hand, it would be nice to have something people do and think, "Remember when Mark was here to do that with us?" On the other hand, it would have to someday die out, and then what would be the point, right?

So, keep that in mind as I'm sharing these, I guess. Really, I think I mostly just want to have a good memory for myself and for those who make it to whatever holiday events I'm involved in. If a tradition happens, more power to it!

The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 2

2010-12-27T01:24:00.000-06:00

Yeah, that's right, I said "Day 2". Or typed it. Whatever.

What it is is this: I forgot to post one yesterday. But instead of just saying that, I'm going to say that the first day's tradition was the one I submitted for Judy on savoringtoday.com over here.

So here's today's Christmas tradition (and I should clarify that I'm defining "tradition" as anything I've done more than once for the holiday, even if I don't do it any more or didn't do it more than twice or didn't even do it in two consecutive years):

Dane and I usually take in a movie on Christmas. I'm using the word "usually" to mean "at least twice". I really think we've done this way more than two times.

As tradition origins go, it's pretty tame and mostly lost to the mists of time or whatnot. It comes from my taking him to a movie when I'd be home from college, I think. I don't know that it always happened on Christmas day, but it's happened on Christmas day several times.

The most memorable for me was in 2008, when I took him to see "Seven Pounds". We weren't planning to see it, but the movie we were going to see was at the "Fork & Spoon" or whatever the crazy expensive dinner-with-your-movie thing is called at AMC 30 in Olathe. So I turend to Dane and he had to make a snap decision.

Good movie, whatever. Not the feel-good hit of 2008, though. Little on the sad side. Okay, way on the sad side. Morbidly depressing, really.

As the credits started to roll, some wag from the back row called out, "Merry Christmas, everybody!" And we all laughed... or all the people I care to talk about here did, anyway. All the cool people. All the people you should want to hang out with.

This year we saw Narnia Part 3, which has a name, but I can't be bothered to look it up. I liked the movie and everything, but the title is too long for me to care about at this hour. There's a whole story about some jerks taking up the seats by the handicap spot, but I'll get all non-Christmasy if I go into that here, so maybe later.

Okay, so there's the second of the twelve Christmas traditions I plan to share. I hope you enjoyed it. Maybe I'll be less tired for the next one!

It's A Party!

2010-12-06T18:59:00.000-06:00

For those of you who haven't been going back and reading every post I've ever written, a high school friend passed away back in January. I hadn't spoken to him in about 25 years (a little over a month shy of exactly 25 years, actually, but you can go back to early January and read all about that if you like), and I'm still feeling the ache of that stupid mistake.

He and his roommate had a party every year (I don't know the history of it, and know very little of the details) in St. Louis to which they would invite bunches and bunches of people, with everyone being asked to bring a toy for a gift that would be donated to a charity.

I wanted so badly to try to honor the memory of the friend that people believed I was almost joined to the hip of, and I thought a great way would be to have a similar party here in Kansas City.

Since we don't have the exact same charity group here in K.C. (that I could find, anyway), I opted for taking on a couple of kids that needed "adopting" for the holiday and figured we could also ask for donations for other gifts (even the boring clothing kind that kids who have clothes never want) to be donated to some charities here in Kansas City that could use them. (I know just the lady at church to go through for these!)

This idea has been in the works for a while, but teaching and recovering from a day of teaching seems to take up all my time these days!

Anyway, there's no way a lot of people can fit at my house, so Tricia--who was also friends with Brad in high school--was kind enough to co-host with me so we could have it at her place.

So it's this Saturday, 6:00 to 10:00. There will be food, but if people want to show off their holiday dishes, who are we to turn their food away?

If you'd like to come and you aren't fb friends with me (or Tricia), but can get in touch with me: do so! We'll put you on the list!

It's a Secret

2010-11-11T22:41:00.001-06:00

It’s a secret, you see…
How long we’re gonna have
With the ones who are here with us.

It’s a secret.

Nobody’s gonna tell
Because nobody can tell
How long we’re gonna have
With the ones who are here with us.

It’s a secret.

But we’re human,
And stupid,
And vain…

That’s no secret.

We let our tempers flare
And choose to act as though
We’ve all the time in the world
With the ones who are here with us.

For we are human,
And stupid,
And vain.

It’s no secret:

We imagine we’ll have time
To mend that broken fence—
To let some water pass under the bridge—
To let things cool down
Before admitting we were wrong.

Yet we know about the secret.

Beyond that,
We are so vain,
So stupid,
So human,
We let a parting pass
Without telling those we love
How much we love them.

We hesitate to appreciate.
We second-guess our instinct to share.
We let moments pass.
We leave things unspoken.

We keep it to ourselves,
Waiting for that perfect time.
We tell ourselves the lie
About how there’ll be some other time,
As if we’ve got some guarantee
Set in stone and bound by law.

Stupid, vain humans,
Resenting,
Ignoring,
Taking for granted.

Stupid, vain humans,
Crying for opportunities lost,
Crying for just one more day,
Just one more hour,
One more minute,
Moment.
Crying.

The secret is:
There’s no tomorrow until it is today.
There’s no later until it is now.
There’s no sometime until it is this time.
And when today is too late,
Now is no longer able,
And this time is this loss:

We remember the secret:

It’s a secret,
How long we’re gonna have
With the ones who are here with us.

Shhhh.

Thoughts On All Hallow's Eve

2010-10-31T21:32:00.000-05:00

Yeah, right, like I have thoughts...

First of all, I'm sorry if it upsets you, but I come down on the side of "pro" when it comes to peanut butter kisses (sometimes incorrectly referred to (by me, usually) as Mary Jane's... mainly because the people who make Mary Jane's also make these... and they're essentially the same thing). A picture, to clarify:

So... When I'm to a weight I'm happy with and can eat candy without worrying about keeping myself from my goal, feel free to send yours my way if you don't like them and receive them as a gift or in your trick-or-treat haul.

Apparently there is a program to send your extra candy over to the troops. It's an evil plot by dentists to "own" Halloween, but whatever. More info at http://www.halloweencandybuyback.com/

As I type, I realize it's time for the older kids to come around getting candy. At least the batch that just came to the door (9:10 or so) were all in costume, actually said "Trick-or-treat" and actually said "Thank you," without a parent there to coach them. That was nice.

Now, I know I have a sign on my door that says, "Sorry, folks, the doorbell is DEAD. Rap your bony knuckles on the door, instead!" And I realize from the street, as a parent, you might assume it said something like, "Go away, costumed freaks--I'm not even home!"

But, here's the view from the street (or from almost-to-the-street):

This kid earlier tonight was startled when I opened the door and said, "Oh! My dad said it didn't look like anybody was home. There was no car in the driveway and your lights aren't on."

Well, first: notice the garage?

Second: Wouldn't the spooky decorations lead you to believe I'm home.

Third: Wouldn't the cool lights in the windows be a bit ruined by all the parlor lights being on?

Fourth: Not related to the kid's statement, but I realize this picture is also evidence that this is probably my first time putting that fake cobweb stuff up. It's true. I've never used it before. I figured I could use it this year to make it seem like all the actual cobwebs were fake, too.

Fifth: Oh yeah, and there are too lights on! Notice the kitchen light on? What is it? Chopped liver? No, because chopped liver is not luminescent! (Oh, and props to me for spelling that right... I just checked.)

Anyway, I'll be up later than my new lights-out-by 9:30 bedtime. I figure kids might still be coming around for another hour or so (9:26 now), and I'd rather not have eggs on my house (not that they won't do it after 10:30 or so, but at least if they come by to get candy first, I can try to ward off revenge later).

Tomorrow is All Saint's Day. Today in church we had a moment during a prayer to say the names of saints (here meaning people who have passed on that we want to remember--there's more to it than that, but I'm going with that short version with a long caveat after). Here's my list, but probably very incomplete: Patsy Riggs, Lois Cottrell, Jimmy Cottrell, Deana Mae Horn, Harland Gregory Riggs, Brad Graham, William "Bud" Hickerson, Jan Ewens... and anybody I'm forgotten to add here.

Happy Halloween, everybody!

So, This Is What Passes For Christian These Days, Is It?

2010-10-26T19:30:00.000-05:00

I read a story tonight I didn't want to read. Every cell in my body was telling me not to click the link, at yet I clicked it anyway. And then I read.

--->CLICK ME<---

(If you don't read it, this post might not make a lot of sense... but that's okay. You can move on from this post and have a life free of this article. Seriously, consider not clicking.)

In answer to the question I used for the title, I'd say, "No, it isn't." But at the same time, who is letting this pass for Christian?

It's not a trick question.

Answer: Christians.

What to do with this sort of thing? I would like to say I wish he'd commit suicide. I'd like to say I wish horrible things upon him. I'd like to pile up all my anger and rage at people who are so hateful in the name of Christianity, melt it along with a lot of iron, make a giant cannonball out of it, and shoot it at his head at close range.

Seriously, I would really like to say that.

But here's the thing: This guy is just as welcome to Grace as I am. He's just as included in it.

So then I can't just get my hate on back at him. I can't just let my anger flow out in his direction until I get tired of it.

Seriously, I can't. I mean, I can, but what good will that do? I mean, yes, it will feel good in the short term, but at the end of the day, hate fuels hate, and it won't change anything.

I guess I'm more upset at all the people who will just shrug and do nothing... or tell themselves there's nothing they can do.

For real, people, how many Christians out there think this is not what Christianity is all about? You've got to start speaking up, and you've got to start speaking up three years ago yesterday, if not sooner!

I'm no biblical scholar, so I'm not able to say, "Look, let me walk you through all the confusion on this issue." But for pity's sake, google it or something!

So what to do about this guy? That he has anything to do with the education of children is sickening to me, to say the least. That he is on the school board and says this kind of happy horse hooey is infuriating. Maybe Step 1 is to write to everyone that can do anything about it and asking them to do something about it. Maybe Step 1 is to write a blog on your blog that is sometimes read by more than five people, and hope for the best. Maybe Step 1 is to mail him a Bible without all the references to Christ's teachings about love redacted.

One thing I do know is a whole lot of people are giving their permission with their silence. A whole lot of people are allowing people like this guy to define Christianity for the world. A whole lot of people need to get a whole lot more verbal. How many suicides will it take? Is there a maximum acceptable number? (I don't mean all of them, and I wasn't really asking you anyway, Mr. McCance.) Should I put a counter up on my page somewhere?

Hmm and haw all you want, but while you're hmming and hawing, other people are speaking out loud and clear for you, in the name of your religion.

Ranty? Yes. Preachy? Yes. Do I care? Not about being ranty and preachy.

So I read it. I want to figure out a response that comes from a place of love and not a place of rage and hate--but I don't want it to be like a wet noodle attacking a steel door.

And mostly, I want to say, "Please stop telling everybody this is what all of us Christians think."

Now, on a happier note:

--->CLICK ME<---

Two More Shopping Months 'Til Christmas!

2010-10-25T20:47:00.000-05:00

I hope you've all planned what you're getting me for Christmas. But first, let's talk about the treats you need to get me for Halloween.

Well, actually, all I'm allowing myself of late is less than 2 ounces of dark chocolate a day... and 16 raisins, which--according to some sites--equal a serving. Oh, and prunes, but I don't think they're very sweet.

So back to Christmas...

Oh, wait, whose house am I going to for Thanksgiving? Or whose houses? Don't bicker, just work out a schedule and I'll stop by and partake of each meal.

You know, providing it's part of "the plan" that I'm trying to eat by.

::sigh::

Are these holidays gonna suck or what?

Anyway, I really just wanted to note that in two months, it will be Christmas. Two months used to mean something when I was younger. Now it means a very short time.

When I was younger, two months was roughly equivalent to a million years. I've rambled about this elsewhere. I just thought it could bear noting again.

That reminds me--you know when you have an accident or, say, slip and fall in the bathroom at school one summer day (there's a post a few years back about that), and time seems to slow down? Apparently it really doesn't. This study basically figured out your brain is just taking in a lot of information instead of slacking off like it usually does, and the act of remembering it all later makes it seem as if you were suddenly collecting data at a much faster rate. Turns out you were collecting just as fast, but throwing less of it away.

I heard that on NPR back in August, and I keep meaning to talk about it--because I've had a couple of moments like that in the past six years or so, so it's interesting to know that my stupid over-active mind actually kept track of things for a little while.

Yeah, where was I?

Oh yeah, nowhere. There wasn't really a point to this post. I just realized it was two months until Christmas, and wanted to share.

Nothing really exciting to report. Parent/teacher conferences are halfway over. The first night was last Thursday until 8:00, with work on Friday. The second half are this Wednesday until 8:00, with school on Thursday.

Binxy's Birthday Bash is Saturday, so that's exciting news to report.

Oh, and I have no plans for Halloween, other than hanging out at the house, passing out candy to trick-or-treaters... and hoping no students egg my house, so I don't have to go to prison for beating them up.

Okay, there, I've posted again. Those of you who wished for this may now acknowledge that "Be careful what you wish for" now applies.

Oh, And There's This...

2010-10-24T16:26:00.000-05:00

First of all, I love going back and reading my old post and finding glaring typographical errors. It reminds me how irritatingly imperfect I am at both typing and copy-editing. ::sigh::

Anyway, I'd been meaning to share this for a while, and keep forgetting: Apparently blogger has a whole "stats" option now (and probably has for some time, but I didn't notice).

This means I can seriously sit for hours and just read different stats about my different blogs. There is seriously something wrong with me that I find this a semi-sane thing to do while at home, but I really do.

My "Why I'm Wearing Purple" kept climbing up the chart in "most viewed" back on the 20th, as more facebook friends shared that link. It was interesting to watch. Well, interesting to me, anyway.

It's still not the most read. My farewell to Ms. Ewens is currently the most popular.

And I think the people who view me from Korea are the ones that leave the junk comments that are obviously spam links to bad sites. I mean, that or they enjoy looking at rambling English with many typographical and grammatical errors. Maybe they're learning how not to speak the language!

Anyway, that's what I'm doing when I'm not answering e-mails, responding to comments, answering the phone... when I'm not doing anything, really. I'm on here, looking at the stats for this blog and my others.

Yes, I'm so lame I need crutches.

I Channelled Patsy Today

2010-10-23T22:23:00.000-05:00

Today as we were getting ready for Hannah's party, I was asked if I had any balloons. I asked if they were wanting to put them out front so people knew they had the right house for the party.

Upon confirmation, and upon admitting I had no balloons, I channelled my mother. Her problem-solving, her belief that you don't know you can't do it until you try, and her creativity were at-hand, ready for me to solve this no-balloon issue.

So I went to the guest bedroom, looking in the closet there, where there were some brightly-colored t-shirts that had been used to pack dishes in when I moved. I didn't know they were there, but I figured that closet would be the most likely spot to find something I needed. On the way to the room, I saw some red plastic cups that had been on the counter for a while now.

I knew I had scissors... and there it was: I'll just make something to hang out front. It will be bright, and should get the attention of anyone who drives by.

It didn't take us long, and Kevin cut himself on a plastic cup in the process, but we did it! (You can jump over to today's post on my photoblog to see the creation, if you'd like.)

Of course, Ruth parked right next to it and didn't see it. But I still feel like I channelled Patsy today.

Why I'm Wearing Purple Tomorrow (Okay, Today, But After I Sleep Some)

2010-10-20T00:45:00.002-05:00

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because there are students in my school who are afraid and alone--even more afraid and alone than all the other students, who very often are also afraid and alone.

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because there are students in my school who are part of a minority group that, as I've heard it put before, don't have people in the same minority group they get to go home and cope with at the end of a day of coping on their own--in fact, they might have less support at home than they would among classmates.

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because yelling "F**king faggot" down the hall gets you sent to the office only to be sent back to class a very short time later during the same class period. Maybe the "punishment" would have been the same for yelling "F**king n***er" or with some other racial epithet filling in for the second word, but I doubt it. Because it's very visual to be of another race. Sometimes it's very visual to be of another religion. I'm wearing purple tomorrow for those in the school who feel they have to stay invisible, not visual. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because it's not okay to bully anyone, ever, in any circumstances... unless it's a teacher bullying a class to get the kids to 'fess up to which student threw that paper wad. Then it's okay, but not preferable.

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because, statistically speaking, in a building with hundreds of kids, there are kids struggling with who they are and are getting messages from all over the place that who they are is something worse than being a murderer or something even worse than that... like a teacher or something.

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because I have too good of a memory of what 7th grade was like. I didn't get that gift of forgetting that so many adults seem to have gotten (although I can sorta slide it on like sunglasses if I'm in a hurry, and want to ignore how they feel).

I'm wearing purple tomorrow because I want all students to know that no matter how bad it gets, it gets better, and I want them to stick around to find out how right I am. How right I am about everything, not just that. But mostly that.

I'm wearing purple tomorrow. I hope you are, too.

Spirit Day, October 20, 2010

Some Things You Need To Know About JEC

2010-10-09T22:35:00.000-05:00

I have a this friend. He isn't really me while I try to confess to you I have some sort of issue or problem, and he isn't you while I try to get you to figure out it's really you I'm talking about. He's an actual friend. And this post is about him.

We'll call him "JEC". He'll know I'm talking about him, and that's okay. Friends of ours will know I'm talking about him, and that's okay, too.

I just wanted to document our friendship. He's one of my oldest friends, and I had a long phone conversation with him today, and I decided I wanted to write about him today.

When I was a young man of 18, fresh out of a town with a population of 669 people and three months out of a high school comprised of three small towns, I went to college in Liberty, Missouri. It was the furthest I could get away from Ralls County without actually leaving the state--or, that's how I thought of it. I think I could get out a map and find a college that would fit the bill better... but I digress.

I moved into Browning Hall on--if memory serves--August 31, 1985. I just checked. That was a Saturday. I can't remember for sure if it was a Saturday I first made that trek across the state or not. All I know is I moved into Browning Hall, first floor, west wing (room 116, I believe) on that day. I knew my roommate. I'd gone to high school with him. I'm inwardly laughing at my hypocrisy right now for almost telling the Senior I know that he shouldn't worry about knowing anyone when he goes to school--I couldn't stand the idea of a random roommate when I was 18!

Anyway, a couple of doors down there was this room that was tagged just like all the other rooms with the room number and the names on it. In very short time this was replaced with a paper covered in band names I'd never heard of, drawn all... 1985-punky, I guess. I remember the moment I saw it while walking down the hall. If I'd had car doors to lock, I would have. It was one of the first moments I realized I was in totally new territory.

That first weekend, my roommate was not there. I believe he'd gone early for football camp, and had a girlfriend back in Ralls County, and he went back to see her that weekend. I had my apple //c, and I sat with my dorm room door open and worked at my computer. It seemed to work as a way to get to know people. They'd stop by and ask about my computer, make conversation, and there it was.

The door at the end of the hall was very loud. You could hear whenever anyone opened it. So I'd keep my eye on the door so I could say "hey" to whoever walked by--or, if I heard a room door shut, I'd know their room was somewhere before mine (I was about halfway down the hall, directly across the hall from the payphone (younger readers, ask your parents what a pay phone is... and have them explain a collect call while they're at it)).

At one point, I heard the hall door open and close, and nobody walked by. There had been no door-closing prior to or not long after the sound of the hall door opening and closing. Perplexed, I got up and went to my dorm room door and leaned out to look down the hall.

JEC was leaning out his door, looking down the hall, presumably to figure out why my door was open (light from outside would have been spilling out into the hall, you see). He immediately jerked his head back in the room and slammed the door.

I shrugged, thinking "It's one of those guys in the freak room," and went on with my life.

JEC and his roommate Patrick (another great college friend of mine) had taken to calling me "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Man", because I looked a bit like Vincent Schiavelli, who was in the movie "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" (I think this is the reason, anyway--I'd typically get him as "actor I most look like" back then--although once I was told I could play Tom Hanks' brother...).

Anyway, what was happening while I was shrugging was JEC turned to Patrick and said, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest Man just LOOKED at me!"

By the way, I think before I die I want that on a t-shirt.

Anyway, that right there sums up a big part of JEC. But, of course, that's not all there is to him.

We became close friends in college, and were in many shows together at Jewell. We've written ridiculous musicals together, and were frequently sounding boards for one another's projects. We've mapped out a soap opera spoof series together. All this was years ago. I don't know how much JEC writes any more. I know he gave up reading at some point, even though he's the reason I read Sara Paretsky and Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. He now claims to hate reading. I don't know what happened. Or maybe he just pretends. He's the epitome of the Vonnegut quote, "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be." I think that quote about JEC a lot.

I think the best way to describe being friends with him is saying it's like a well-kept secret. His friends know how kind he is, how soft-hearted he is, and how he does not like injustice and does not like people treated poorly. However, the reason I don't use his name here is so he can continue to pretend to be something other than that. Sometimes, even his friends have to remind themselves of it. Plus we love him, so there's that.

After college, we lamented our lack of college-required jobs together often. There were times we'd talk on the phone and he'd point out we were acting like gossips by saying, "You know, there needs to be a picket fence right on this phone line." He loved my line that I wanted to say to Bette Midler when she was in town: "I don't know if you remember me or not, but I've seen all of your movies."

He wished me dead in a blog the day I nearly died. Because of that incident (and his reaction to realizing he'd wished me dead and I ended up in the emergency room nearly dead), I met the then pastor at my current church.

And I can't hang out with him without laughing. I can't talk to him on the phone without laughing. And I can't get away with things with him--he's not afraid to call me out.

So there it is: I love my friend, and I want him to know it today while we're both on the same planet, so he can read it and complain to me about it. I think I need to write more of these while the subject is still here. And JEC is a good one to start with.

Because I Don't Know What Else To Do

2010-10-02T01:33:00.000-05:00

I'm really in a good place. Oh, there's an issue with my foot I'd rather not have to deal with, and things could be better in the scheduling department, and the school year isn't going like the best ever, but really, I'm in a good place.

For one thing, I'm feeling good--probably more because I've eaten right for two days (two days... seriously, and I have this natural high from the feeling of accomplishment... I'm such a loser). And maybe it's because things are still generally okay.

Whatever, I really am in a good place.

Granted, I'm really tired right now and have to wake up in the morning to help family move, but it's all good.

Wow, I didn't mean to make this a long rant about how I'm doing okay. I just wanted to preface this next bit with, "No, really, I'm doing okay."

What are we up to now? Five suicides in the last three weeks? I think that's the last stat I read. All related to bullying with some "gay" or "faggot" thrown in for fun, mind you.

I don't know what else to do. I don't let the word "gay" go by at school without addressing the "don't do that"ness of it. I can lecture and rant and threaten detentions and deliver detentions and do my part to make sure the detentions are served and on and on... and I still feel like I'm holding up my hand and saying "Stop" to a tsunami.

So I'm just going to share this: http://blog.japhygrant.com/2010/09/30/the-proper-care-feeding-of-your-homosexual/

Use it for good. Thank you.

I've Started Another Blog

2010-09-30T21:04:00.000-05:00

Shut up. It's for a really good reason... or a reason I have deemed really good--so I don't want to hear about it.

So this summer I heard about this report that said people who try to lose weight while in some sort of online support group or have some sort of online support something-or-other are more likely to be successful. It maybe have been like 0.0002% more likely, but I don't care. It sort of inspired me. I thought, "If I tell everyone what I eat every day and what exercise I do every day, I'll maybe feel responsible for actually doing the right thing." We'll see. I mean, I can always fall back on lying, so maybe it won't work at all.

Anyway, I started the other blog tonight. It's just a journal of my food for the day and my exercise for the day, with thoughts about either (or both) thrown in for good measure. Also, I've got a secret way of reporting how close I'm getting to my goal without actually putting my weight out there on the world wide web.

Because, you see, despite all the deep emotional personal crap I've shared on here, I've apparently DO have an inner "line" I do not intend to cross. And it's "how fat I am."

I'm calling it "One of the Big Riggs" because I'm still holding out for some of my siblings and maybe a niece or two joining me on this public display of... wow, I was so close to having a good thing there, but can't come up with a word.

Anyway, at one point we were going to be "Three Big Riggs with a Leake", but that was for some diet competition or something. Now we could be "Three Big Riggs with a Lemmon" or "Three Big Riggs and a Lemmon with a Leake" depending on which niece or nieces joined in. (In my dream world, we were all part of this weight-loss blog, making a team effort, and wowing people with our ability to retain our sense of humor and inability to catch typographical errors.)

You can find it at http://weapologizeforyourweight.blogspot.com/. I'm not going to auto-publish it on the facebooks right now, so you facebook folks will have to follow it if you want to keep up. (I may auto-publish it later... or I may put up a survey about it. I don't know.)

Anyway, feel free to read through it or just stop by to post words of encouragement or chastisement or maybe a recipe. The "lifestyle program" I'm using isn't big on lots of fancy recipes, so maybe just a suggestion as to how to prepare things in a healthy way. Whatever.

Now I'm going to go read a book.

Interlude: Some E-mail From 2006

2010-09-09T21:52:00.002-05:00

The day was May 10, 2006, a day like any other day at a midwestern middle school in May. At 9:48 a.m. Jeff sent this to the entire staff:

>>> Jeffery L. 5/10/2006 9:48 AM >>>
Anyone know of someone who does carpet installation? Would you happen to know the price per square foot? Im trying to get some quotes for the new carpet in our house. Thanks

Jeff

<<<<

Then, twelve minutes later, this arrives in everyone's mailbox from Pat:

>>> Pat S. 5/10/2006 10:00 AM >>>
Anyone know a reliable auto air conditioning company.

<<<<<

Two minutes after that, this arrives:

>>> Stephanie H. 5/10/2006 10:02 AM >>>
Anybody knows someone who does fence repair? tennis court repair?

I guess we are getting ready for summer around here.

<<<<<

So, anyone that knows me knows my fingers are twitching at this point. I am required by the laws of my nature to not let this sort of thing just sit there. I would not be me if I wasn't taking advantage of this perfect set-up. So, within a minute, I sent:

>>> Mark Riggs 5/10/2006 10:03 AM >>>
Does anyone know how to get blood out of a shag carpet? We're talking LOTS of blood here.

Five Years

2010-09-06T08:13:00.002-05:00

Fifth Anniversary
by Mark Riggs

I think of you a lot when I’m with Binx.
I think of how he would have brought you joy,
And with that comes the ache as my heart sinks
Because you never got to know this boy.
It sinks, but not to where it sank before.

I guess, since time has passed, I could attempt
To keep you up to date—but what a bore.
Besides, I have lost track: my notes, unkempt
Inside my brain won’t help me any more.
I’ll hit some post-game highlights, then I’m out.

I’ve earned my Master’s. Now I wear light blue
If I wear scholar’s robes—right now I doubt
That any time real soon that will come true.
(The pay raise is what that degree’s about.)
But your fifth child has walked across that stage.

And—speaking of your kids—we’re all still here,
Each one with five years added the age
We were when we mourned you that nasty year.
We laugh; we cry; we fight; we love; we rage
Against the tide of time and hand of fate.

I’ve missed you more than I would care to share
Since long before your final resting date.
I wish that—rather than that empty stare—
I’d had one last chance to communicate
The things I’d wished I’d said when you weren’t “gone”.

But is that something new? I’m not alone.
The world is full of fools who have moved on
Since seeing all they’ve missed and could bemoan.
Try this instead: “I shall see you anon.”
Archaic? Yes, but gets the point across.

So, back to Binx: his mind makes me miss you.
And he will not know you. Another loss.
But I’ll remember you in all I do—
These thoughts are rolling stones (they’re all sans moss):
Solid Patsy rocks no tide can destroy.

If You Can Read This, You Must Not Be Having Technical Difficulties. Also, Thank A Teacher.

2010-08-31T23:45:00.003-05:00

I wanted to post tonight because it's the last day of August, and the last thing I posted was early July upon hearing the news of my fourth grade teacher's passing.

Also, a couple of out-of-town facebook friends (one of which is a real-world relative) are telling me they can't get to my blog. So if you're a Kansas City are friend of mine and you can't read this, let me know so I can come visit and see if I can figure out the problem.

I'm experiencing the most difficult start to a school year of my entire teaching career. It's very frustrating and has little to do with the kids (although this bunch does seem to have trouble shutting up and recognizing that when I said "I need you to get quiet" thirty seconds ago, I meant for more than twenty-five seconds.

The fifth-year anniversary of my mother's death is coming up. All that means is I've been working on what I think about that. Nobody needs to send a card or anything.

Maybe I should write more often. Maybe I should do lots of things. I for sure should this be saving up to get a new compressor for my a/c here at the house.

Oh, I got my Masters in Education. I guess that's something I could have written about, eh?

I have gotten this very bad habit of thinking saying it on facebook means I've said it to the world. Not that saying it on here is like saying it to the world... if so, I would have said, "This place is a dump! I want my money back!" on here years ago.

I kid.

Anyway, I'm not doing very well at getting to sleep on time, and I'm already behind on grading. Also, I need to start a blog about my health or my attempts to improve it. I should have a poll about that.

Enjoy your September, everyone.

Goodbye, Miss Ewens

2010-07-06T01:09:00.005-05:00

I found out today my fourth grade teacher, Miss Ewens, passed away yesterday morning (the morning of July 4th... I realize my being up so late may cause confusion as to what day is what).

I'm one of those people who holds a special place in his heart for his teachers, especially the elementary school ones. I could wax on as I am wont to do about Miss Ewens, but instead I think I'll just share some memories from fourth grade.

I remember Miss Ewens teaching us to sing "Green, Green Grass of Home", and what a sad song I thought that was.

I remember in fourth grade I had the job of checking the fire exit that was in our cloak room every morning, to make sure it was unlocked.

In fourth grade, Miss Ewens sometimes gave us story starters, and our task was to finish the stories. It was one of my favorite things to do.

In fourth grade, I got in trouble for repeating something mean someone had said to an elderly woman. Actually, I didn't get into trouble, but Miss Ewens let me know in no uncertain terms I was not to repeat such mean things (I think the phrase "you old bat" was part of the story).

In fourth grade, Johnny Joe Riechard wrote "The Best" on his reading workbook, but misspelled it, so it said "The Beast".

I think it was in fourth grade that I won the "most creative" award for my Valentines box.

It was in fourth grade that, during a discussion about a special about bigfoot that had been on television the night before, I pointed out that if we keep destroying the forests, eventually we'll know for sure if there's a bigfoot or not, because there will be no more forests for him to hide in. I remember very clearly Miss Ewens' reaction to my saying this, and I could tell it made her sad.

I'm pretty sure it was in Miss Ewens' class that we read (or she read to us) Henry and Ribsy or some other Beverly Cleary book, and I remember getting a few others through the book orders we had that year.

In fourth grade, one of the few low grades I got was in handwriting.

I can't remember what reading book(s) I used in fourth grade, but all day long since I've heard the news, I keep remembering Panorama--which I know was in the series we used, but am not sure if it was what I read in that grade. But I remember sitting with my reading group all in a circle, Miss Ewens talking with us or reading with us or assigning us parts for the play in the book.

I'm pretty sure I first got into the Danny Dunn books in fourth grade. I know I won Miss Pickerel Goes to Mars in fourth grade. I can't remember how I won it--it might have been for the most creative Valentines box. I just know sometimes Miss Ewens would have books for prizes, and we'd get to pick which one we wanted for our prize.

There's a story that I've seen forwarded around about a teacher going to heaven, and how this teacher keeps being guided past nicer and nicer houses, each time hearing "This is where people in this profession go," and the professions getting more and more important and/or noble as the story goes on, and the story ends with the teacher going to the nicest place ever.

I don't think Heaven works like that, but if it does, Miss Ewens deserves that nicest place.

Good-bye, Miss Ewens. Thank you for being my teacher.

Miss Ewens, 1976

I will always think of you when I hear "Green, Green Grass of Home".

For Heros Proved In Liberating Strife

2010-07-04T23:41:00.002-05:00

At some point every Independence Day, I think of Unclue Bud. It's usually a brief moment, long enough to miss an uncle I never knew, but it usually happend on this day. And Pearl Harbor Day, for some reason. He wasn't at Pearl Harbor, but if I see any flags at half mast, he comes to mind. He was going to be my topic for today's ramble, but my sister beat me to it. So I started to think about what I could write about instead...

Then I thought I'd just add to what she said. So, you might want to go back to that last paragraph and click the link to read what my sister had to say about Uncle Bud.

I've mentioned Uncle Bud several times on here, and maybe on a slow day I'll go search for those and link to them back here. Right now, I just want to add to what Ruth shared.

I didn't know a lot about Uncle Bud, or even register I had an uncle who died long before I was born. I may have been in college before I realized he died at Iwo Jima--I was never a big history buff, so it might not been until college that I actually got what "Iwo Jima" was. It's possible it was explained to me when I was younger--I say "possible" instead of "likely", as Uncle Bud wasn't a topic that came up a lot, other than when I'd see his picture at Grandma's house, or when I'd see a picture in a photo album. I just knew he died, and that was enough to make me think maybe I shouldn't ask a lot of questions.

I've mentioned before talking with Mom about him in Hardee's in Mexico, Missouri. It was just one of those conversations that stick with you (and I guess I have a lot of those, despite the fact I have many more I can't remember very clearly, but this one sticks with me in a different way). I guess it sticks with me because I finally got the courage to bring it up, or leap on something that segued into the topic of Uncle Bud.

In that conversation, Mom told me his nickname was pronounce "bood", not "bud". She never mentioned this to anyone else, and my Aunt Rachel has told me she never heard it pronounced like that. The story Mom told me was that when he was born, my aunt Deana Mae, who was very young at the time, said, "That's my boodley," instead of "That's my brother." So they called him "bood", spelled "Bud". Maybe Mom was misremembering, or maybe that nickname came and went before Aunt Rachel was born. Or maybe I've just lost it and made the whole thing up and can't remember doing so. It's a complicated universe. Anything is possible. At any rate, it's pronounced "bud" by everyone in my family now.

She told me she thought we would have got along well. When I pressed her for an explanation, she just said we both had a good sense of humor, and trailed off so I didn't hear any other explanation beyond that. We'll never know, of course.

His birthday was 9 days after mine. He would have been 41 when I was born, but only for those 9 days. About the time I'd have been old enough to start forming memories of him, he would be the age I am now. He died less than a month after his 20th birthday, so I guess it's a moot point. It's just I sometimes like to think about that other universe (or set of universes... universi?)where I knew him in person.

When I was doing some research on this a while back, I came across a scanned page that gave me more information than I had before. He was in the 28th Regiment, and his rank was PhM3C (Pharmacist's Mate, 3rd Class). It went on to explain what that rank meant in more detail, but I can't find that page now. Essentially he was attached to the Marines, but not a Marine. I can't remember if he was Army or what.

Mom told me about a man who was there when Uncle Bud died coming to visit the farm, as mentioned in Ruth's post... and Rachel told me all about it when I was over at her house one of the times I was up in Omaha since I did my online search. The two stories of how he died were completely different, but in the end it's all the same: he was shot and killed.

One of the things I found in my search for him was a reference to him in a book about Iwo Jima. That is how we all learned about him being part of the small patrol that first went up Mount Suribachi, ahead of the 40-or-so others who came up the next morning. I think about how that volunteer session went down. I wonder if my uncle figured it was climbing, and climbing was something you do in rural areas, so how hard could it be, right? You know, beyond the people trying to kill you and stuff.

Or maybe it was totally different. Whatever the case, he was gone just over a week later. But he did that. My uncle did that. Maybe it wasn't single-handedly stopping the war or saving 100 people, but it's still such an awesome thing to imagine.

Anyway, that's what I have to add about the uncle I never met. Aunt Rachel shared other stuff with me: stories of how he'd carry her back when he went to get the mail and she went with him, a textbook he had in high school... But it all just makes me wish we had the technology to at least view the past.

The title of this post is from "America the Beautiful". I love that song and wish it was our National Anthem--but nobody is consulting me on it, so I'll keep wishing. I just thought it would be an appropriate title for my contribution to this theme of "What I know about Edwin Earl "Bud" Hickerson".

More Insipidness...

2010-07-03T23:56:00.002-05:00

Yeah, that last one went on and on, didn't it? All I can say is I was way tired, and I felt it get away from me early on, but my fingers were typing on inertia and there was nothing to do but wait for them to be done.

Or something.

Anyway, I'm sure everyone is dying to know: I got the patio where I want it for now. Yes, I could go rent or buy a power washer and get it more clean, and yes, I could get a couple more chairs and another small table or two, but it will do. When I finish this post, I am going to go sit in one of those chairs and enjoy a Bud Light.

Because I can.

I have many things I want to write about, but none of them work right now. One requires a lot of math. Another I've forgotten about, but it keeps peeking its head around one of the corners in my mind, but disappearing just as I think I'm going to recognize it. And maybe there are just two things... and two isn't "many".

Whatever.

I have decided to wake up at 8:00 tomorrow. I have decided I've reached that point in old age where I think a person should wake up at 8:00 at the absolute latest. I'm afraid it's a side-effect of this whole "do something" thing.

I went to Nebraska Furniture Mart tonight (don't tell Jordan, as she is always wanting me to take her out that way for shopping, etc., and she's off at the Grand Canyon or somewhere right now). I wanted a smaller table for the... area by the kitchen that can't really be called a dining room. I want to move that big table out to the sun room. I think the sun room could make a nice little dining room. Plus, I realized today as long as I have the door open between the rest of the house and the sun room, the a/c does a great job. Sure, I'd love to get an vent in there so it still gets the heat/a.c. with the door closed, but I'm okay leaving it open.

Anyway, the NFM thing was very spur-of-the-moment. I was at K-Mart looking at little table/chair sets, trying to figure out how to budget that in, when it hit me NFM was having a big "no interest for 32 months" thing, and there I was with a NFM card! So I got in the car and headed on over, forgetting about the Garmin and arguing with myself about the quickest way to get there (not that Garmin is ever right about that, mind you) and in the end missing an exit and going a strange way I hadn't thought of as an option.

I had my window rolled down, and rolled down the passenger window a bit (with no power windows, you have to hedge your bets on how far to roll the windows you'd have to pull over to roll up).

I don't know. I got things done today, so hooray for that... and I have decided tomorrow I will be bringing homemade strawberry salsa to the annual festivities over at Patrick & Leigh's. I'm starting to think about maybe having a little garden next year.

I'm out of control. Somebody stop me!

Side note: I've got Music Choice 80's on the television as I type this, and Irene Cara's "Fame" started playing, and I got distracted thinking, "I thought that was from 1979, not the 80s." Guess what, I'm right. It even says it on the screen. Do the people who program those things not look at the date, you think? Or do they base it on when the song was in the Top 40? I'm not saying I know where it was on the charts in the 80s, I'm just trying to figure out why a song from 1979 might be considered an 80s song.

Okay, I'm distracted and rambling. I need to be up at 8:00 tomorrow. I'll have to be sure to wear my name tag at church tomorrow. Nobody is going to remember my name... or my face, since it's been so long since I've been.

Maybe Sloth IS A Deadly Sin!

2010-07-02T22:36:00.003-05:00

I had a shocking epiphany today, and--despite being too tired of typing to do this--I have to share with whoever happens to read this (I already shared it with Ben, but if he reads this he'll find out again, and more power to him). However, I'll have to keep it short, as my body is not a fan of the typing right now... Nor is it a fan of the sitting at the computer. So this will probably be only 17 long boring paragraphs instead of the standard 43...

Anyway, for whatever reason I got tired of the bags of leaves that have been sitting on what I'm going to call my patio (it may very well be a patio, I just don't have the power of the names-of-bits-of-the-house-ness) since late last autumn. It's a long story, and there is a teenager involved, so you should probably be able to piece together how this came to pass.

These lovely bags of leaves have been through that very crazy winter we just had, and have soaked up all that fun rain we've had. In short: these are some gross bags of leaves.

As I was saying (or typing), I got tired of these bags sitting there (18 bags, plus what remained of the one an un-named teen tried to move to the curb for the spring clean-up trash pickup day), and had talked to Bowman about a week or so ago, and he said he had some space he needed to fill with organic-ness, and leaves fit the bill. Last night was the night. I don't have any idea why it was the night, but my brain just locked onto this task.

I had already been to the Big K or whatever it's called these days, and they didn't have the 55-gallon trash bags I wanted. I went to Lowe's that same day and found them.

I had the bags. I knew where I could take these stupid leaves. The stage was set. I guess that's why my brain got all obsessed about it.

I went outside and started bagging the bags of leaves. The original plan was to put two bags in every giant trash bag, and it would have worked great, had the bags wanted to stay in one piece when touched. Instead, they wanted to fall apart. But it still went well. All I had to do was put a trash bag over the top of one, tip the whole thing over and pick up the plastic trash bag from its top.

Not that it was a huge fun job or anything, but there was a big feeling of accomplishment with each bag.

Then I realized there were lots of leaves sort of collected and bleched together on the patio (not to mention the bottoms of all the paper bags... they sort of stayed on the patio, too). So I thought: shovel. I even had the right shovel in my head. Not one you might use to dig a whole, but what is apparently called a grain shovel. I now own one, so I know what they're called.

Now I was on a roll... On the way to the hardware store, I called Bowman to see if I could bring the leaves by sometime tomorrow. He wasn't available, so I asked his daughter to tell him to call me back. I then called Ben to see if I could borrow his truck (the one I covet so). He was super-gracious, as always.

I went to the hardware store (where Bowman called me back and said noon would work), bought the shovel (and a citronella candle, as it was damaged and on sale for cheap), and came back home to start scooping up the mess that was my patio.

I had a plan: wake up, drive to Olathe, get Ben's truck, drive back here, load up the bags of leaves, drive them to Bowman's, get the leaves out of the trash bags, take the truck back to Ben, and then come home.

But wait! How about I cut down some of these things that have been growing and acting like I want them to be there. Pretty and all, but I don't think I want a tree growling RIGHT next to the house, disappearing between the ground and my foundation.

So after all this fun and exciting work, I went inside and caught my breath... and realized the rough draft of Chapter 4 of my thesis was due the same day I was going to be doing all this leaf-hauling.

Okay, if you've been waiting for the exciting and interesting part, you've never read this blog before... but we've finally reached today in this story...

I woke up at 8:00, made a quick breakfast, headed out to get Ben's truck, and was back home with it by a little after 10:00. This was according to plan. Nineteen bags of leaves did not fit in the back of the truck. This was not according to plan.

However, I improvised.

It took me about 30 minutes to get the truck loaded up, which surprised me, as I left about 90 for the task. I came back inside and visited with some of the family members that were here at the time, then went back out to head out.

The bummer part about the trip to Bowman's was the trash bags were too noisy, so I had to roll the windows up and turn on the a.c.--I was digging the rolled-down windows thing. This was when it happened. The epiphany started with me realizing I had to have automatic windows on my next vehicle, because the lack of these is the main reason I don't drive around with the windows rolled down as much as I'd love to. The other (and major) epiphany was this: I flippin' love getting things done! I mean, I thought sitting around and watching television and doing nothing all day was the absolute best it got, but I feel way wrong about that now!

Don't get me wrong, I doubt I'm going to go crazy and start doing stuff every day (baby steps), but I was digging this whole "doing stuff, getting things done, driving with the windows rolled down" thing.

Anyway, got to Bowman's, got the leaves out of the truck and out of my life, and headed back home--yes, home... not for another load, but while I had the truck, I wanted to get some chairs for the patio.

Got the chairs and a couple of little tray-thingies, and got that all set up on the patio (which still needs some cleaning, but it coming along nicely) and returned the truck.

You gotta understand, normally by 3:00 (which is about when I got the truck back to Ben) all I've done is wake up, have breakfast, and maybe have thought about making lunch (or whatever you'd call that meal at that time of day).

Anyway, that's my stupid "short" entry. I found out I like to actually do things. Who would have believed it?

An Ordinary Thing (Like A Light Bulb)

2010-06-21T22:48:00.002-05:00

Big, exciting news: I changed a light bulb in my car today!

I first noticed my left-turn signal blinking faster than usual the other day, and I figured I had a light out. Sure enough, when I got to where I was headed and check, no blinker working in the back.

I've been meaning to go get a bulb and replace the one that's out, but I've also kept forgetting I needed it until I was headed somewhere else.

So today, I was wanting to get out of the house, so I got in my car figuring I'd think of somewhere to go... and then I turned left.

And still I debated whether or not to take care of it right then. Really. I thought, well, I can take care of it after I go do this.

It took a moment to figure out this did not involve a this. So I turned left again to the auto parts store.

I'd like to note that I sweat something like a gallon as I did this little task. I miss nice days. We did used to have nice days once, right? Crazy hot.

Anyway, that's the big thing I did today. An ordinary thing like that.

Tonight a friend of mine is with her mother and sisters in a hospital while her father's blood pressure continues to drop. He doesn't have long, they say.

So while you go about doing your ordinary things today, if you're the prayin' kind, send up a prayer for my friend's father, that he is able to go in peace. Pray that my friend and her family can find peace as well.

You don't need names. Just tell God it's my friend and her family. She'll know who you mean.

No Wonder He Wanted To Fly Like An Eagle

2010-06-20T22:08:00.002-05:00

It's Father's Day. There's a great story there. I'm not going to share it... mostly because every time I share it with anyone, they tell me there needs to be a movie on Lifetime about it, so I'm still considering writing the script and sending it off to those folks at Lifetime.

However, I will tell you the story of my trip to Metro North Mall the other day. It was the second time I'd been there in about a week, but the first time I just drove by--I was trying to find the closest GNC (which, it turns out, is not the one at Metro North Mall... the actual closest one I could hit with a baseball if I was standing in my front yard and threw it with some small fraction of Superman's strength. I mean, like a fifth of the fraction of his strength I'd need to hit Metro North Mall with that baseball standing in the same spot in my yard... and that's not my point and it's been way too long since that open-parenthesis, eh?), and I thought it was there. The place had to have been closed--I mean, yeah, I knew the place wasn't the hoppin' spot it was in the late 80s and early 90s, but I'd expected more than the ten vehicles or so I saw parked around the place. So I didn't go in.

A few days ago, I returned and actually went in. As it turned out, I parked at the other end of the mall from where I needed to be. This worked out well, because my shocked reaction was to walk the length of the place on both floors.

Ghost. Town.

Or, you know: Ghost. Mall.

I can't remember the last time I'd been in there. I mean, I remember the last time I'd been in there, but I didn't remember what year it was. I mean, I remembered what year it was at the time I was in there last, but I cannot now remember what year it was I was last in there.

Because blogging makes my writing English good.

Anyway, the last time I'd been there, I was there for the "Go For The Grand" finals in the northland. We had some kids on our team competing, and we'd gone to watch the finals there. I remember thinking the place was kinda dead and it was kinda said... but this last time I was there? Very dead. Very sad.

You see, back in the day, there was nothing in or near Liberty. In that sentence, "back in the day" means circa August 1985 to May 1990 or so. And "nothing" means "very little to see or do that was of interest to your average college student".

Metro North Mall was where I most often went to see movies while in college. It's where Gregg Elliott and I acted out the poster for White Knights, and where Jhoneric Campbell and Jennifer Sherburne crashed an burned trying to act out the poster for Jewel of the Nile about three seconds after Gregg and I did our thing.

Jhoneric and I wrote "Toxic Mall Rats", the award winning musical (in our minds) after a visit to Metro North Mall--and we used that mall as the template for the mall in the musical. To my knowledge, no dead body was ever found in one of the fountains, and no heavy metal songstress had a concert there, and the mall never exploded, but I still feel we captured the essence of that place.

Walking around that place the other day I kept remembering what used to be in all those empty spots. There has to be no more than 20 stores there now, and I really think it's closer to 12 than 20.

The first horrible blow was seeing the total lack of Mr. Bulky's. How are you gonna have a mall without a Mr. Bulky's?

No music stores (do they exist any more?), no place to eat (unless you count Topsy's... I think those places are like the cockroaches of businesses... they can survive anywhere... Metcalf South Mall had one the last time I was in there, and it had very little else), no book store, and only one of the four "big department store" spots is occupied.

It was horrible. It really made me kinda sick to my stomach, but the emotional one, not the "O to the M to the G, I am so gonna hurl" one.

And here's the spot where I ran into that guy I knew in high school. And here is the spot where they had the Santa Train or whatever every year (and maybe they still do, but just decided not to put it out for June), and here's the spot where Spencer Gifts used to be, and here's the spot where Duff's used to be (and where I first worked as a cook)... and on and on.

I get it, I get it. We need to have the passage of time so we'll get older and realize what idiots we were in our youth or five years ago or last week or whatever applies. But man, this whole "slippin' in the future thing" can suck.

Yeah, I know, "death of another mall," big deal. It's just... wow. Death of a mall I went to often during college. I think it's just a sort of an affront to the part of me that wants to be able to say, "This happened once. We did this." Of course, those things can still be said. Just without, you know, visual aids.

The Secret Behind The "No Fear" Thing

2010-06-19T23:26:00.002-05:00

Before I start, there's a poll over there to the left. You probably can't read it at all. Try clicking and dragging as if you were going to copy and paste. I still haven't worked out the issues with this whole new layout thing, and at the rate I'm going, won't get around to it before I change the whole thing again.

Anyway, there's a poll. As I type this, I don't even remember what it's about. I put it up the other day, but Google was being a freak about posting it for some reason, and I just figured it would show up when it showed up, and then I'd post something about it here. I just noticed tonight it's over there.

Now, back to this post.

I have probably mentioned it sometime in the past six or so years that I've been occasionally expressing my thoughts with as many embarrassing typographical errors as possible on here, but fear plays a major part in my life. Way too much of a major part in my life. I mean, in so many ways, I so could not care less about things, but in so many ways that's a huge lie.

Shut up. You're all dichotomistic. Don't try to deny it. Or argue that "dichotomistic" isn't a word. Look up dichotomy and then just look the other way like you do when I make up other words like... well, I can't think up any examples right now, but you know it's true. All of it. Not just the bit about the word-making-up-ed-ness, but the dichotomy thing, too.

Argh. Where was I?

Oh yeah: fear in my life.

It's stupid the role fear plays and has played in my life. More stupid that I've realized it and yet it still plays a huge role. As much as I don't care what people think, I'm also there, caring what people think. As much as I don't care who I make angry, I care who I make angry.

However, I can firmly say, fear plays a huge part in my life. I can't follow with, "And yet I'm so without fear." I can't think of many times I've been without fear... and you can probably change that to "I can't think of any times", were it not for my dislike for speaking in absolutes.

So as I look back at some of the highlights of my fear-filled life (the Brad Graham incident of 1985, college selection, and a whole host of things I'm afraid to mention (see!?!?)), I realize the whole "No Fear" thing probably started because I was hogging all the fear, and people were actually running out.

Don't get me wrong, I don't cower in fear at every little thing... I'm certainly less afraid of physical pain that I should be--and less afraid of the general "what will become of me" than I should be.

Really, I had a destination in mind when I started writing this. I swear I did. I'll let you know if we end up anywhere close.

Okay, for instance, the whole "Dad" thing (see Ruth's post here). I didn't want to bring it up, because I was afraid it was going to stir up sh*t. I don't mind that Ruth did, because I trust her judgement a whole lot more than I trust my own. I figured it she was willing to bring it up, it was probably okay. Then I just kick myself for not having the guts to bring it up. I just don't trust my judgement in this arena very well. I also don't trust my instincts. Just a side note there.

I mean, yes, there are times that I am not afraid to stir things up, especially if I very very very very firmly believe something is wrong. And there really do need to be that many "very"s in front of it before I'll actually grab the spoon and start stirring...

But for the most part, I think if I knew I could feed and clothe myself, and keep myself warm, I'd go live in a cave somewhere and only come out when people needed me for something. You know, like reaching something on a high-up shelf for someone.

Also, I'd like a cave with wireless internet, but that's really optional. People think this isn't so where I'm concerned, but there were several years there I lived without cable to save money... You'd be amazed at what I can do without if I have to. Especially if it meant there's less chance of me stirring stuff up!

Anyway, my fear-filled life was on my mind tonight. For some reason it came to me after I read this old post of mine from a few years back. Maybe there's a connection. No, wait, there is a connection, but I'm not going to share it for a secret reason that rhymes with smear and leer and bier.

So, um... Happy Father's Day to my dad, in the Great Beyond. Happy Father's Day to the many dads who quasi-adopted me throughout my earlier years (Mike Couch, Tom VanSkike, Les Taylor, Kim Harris, to name a few--and forgive me if I've forgotten any).

Now I have to go back and re-read this to see if I'm really gonna post it... (fear, you know)

Oh, and I have no idea if we ended up where I thought we'd end up!

We Interrupt This Blog...

2010-06-15T23:31:00.002-05:00

I had a quick couple of things I wanted to say, and thought I forgot one of them, but now I remember it. There is no reason for me to keep all of that in this paragraph, and yet I do.

First, I'm playing with the look of this blog. I'm not married to what it is right now, so if you hate it, give it time; it will probably change.

Second, my sister is finally blogging. There's a link in one of the side bars (currently on the right, but I might move it). Her blog is The World Needed Another Blog, which I think is a great title, and very "her". Also, she makes me sound like some sort of total j.d. in her description of her blog, so go check it out.

We now return to our regularly scheduled blogging, already in lack of progress.

Another Jewell Visit

2010-06-09T18:47:00.002-05:00

Twenty-five years ago today, I came to Kansas City for the first time. It was some sort of pre-registration event for incoming freshmen at Jewell. The Kansas City part was fairly short... and may have technically been a look from a slight distance, as we came across on I-70 and then headed north on... some road or another. If I had to guess now, I'd say 435, but maybe we did the 291 thing. Whatever.

Anyway, the date has always stuck in my head, as it was such a huge thing for me. I wanted to get out of Ralls County (no offense, Ralls County) so bad at that point, and I had an audition for a scholarship that day, and it was a huge deal. The night before I'd spent what seemed like hours perusing the Hannibal Public Library looking for a 4-minute monologue piece. In those days way before the internet, I had no idea how to find such a thing in my rural home town or nearby towns' libraries. June 7, 1985 was one of the first times I heard my mom drop the f-bomb, by the way.

I came in from my fruitless trip to the library in Hannibal, and Mom asked if I found anything. If you've seen that scene with Edie McClurg from "Planes, Trains, and Automobiles", what came out of my mouth was not unlike what I said to my mom at that point. However, my rant was about living in a small town and a rural community--just equally peppered with f-bombs as the one in the movie. Mom's response was similar to the one by Edie McClurg's character: "Well, f*** it." Well, similar in that it was short and had the f-bomb in it.

So I went to my trusty Apple //c and started adapting the floor show from "The Restaurant at the End of the Universe" into a four-minute monologue. I stayed up very late working on that, and had to get up very early the next morning.

We had just gotten a handicap van (with a wheelchair lift), and I seem to recall the removal or the return of one of the swivel chairs in the back the night before. The library search, the conversation with mom, seeing the chair replacement/removal, and the hours spent in front of my computer with a paperback book beside me are the main things I remember from the day before.

I got a couple of hours sleep before we had to get up, get ready, and head for Jewell. In an ideal world, I would have slept in the van. However, I had a monologue to memorize. I'll cut to the chase on the audition: it was terrible, but luckily at that point to get a theatre scholarship at Jewell if you were male, all you had to do was be in the program.

I guess the Taylor family (sans Derek, if I remember correctly) came to our house, and we all left in the van from there. I remember Les pointing out a hotel he worked on when he was in the Kansas City area working. I still think of that whenever I drive by that place on I-70.

I don't remember a lot of time details. I know early on I had my audition, which started with a meeting with Kim and his son Kyle (well, the meeting was with Kim, and Kyle was there). Kyle was on his way into 2nd grade, and his head was shaved. I thought he had leukemia or something.

I know my appointment to set up my schedule started while I was auditioning. My mom met with Dr. Dunham for that part, and I arrived later. We were in the west cafeteria, not far from where me and mine often ate dinner every night over the next several years. Apparently Dr. Dunham found my mom entertaining enough not to shoo us away upon my arrival.

We didn't look at a lot of the campus (at least, it doesn't seem like we did... I was dead tired, so maybe I sleepwalked through it). I remember seeing Joy Mincey, because she had long black hair with a streak of red it in. This small-town boy was shocked that people would go out in daylight like that.

In honor of it being the 25th anniversary of my first visit to Jewell, I went on campus today. I took a lot of pictures of the quad, and my photo-of-myself for the day was outside the theatre. And I ran into Dr. Robinson! I was in her "Teaching Reading in the Secondary School" class in... 1989 or so. She was so excited to learn of another male middle school teacher... and I learned in the course of her conversation she has been teaching there for 31 years!

I walked around the library a bit, and went into the new-fangled Student Union. It's all very different. Blink, and 25 years pass.

Apparently, lots of other changes are on the way. The school wants to "modernize" the front of the library, so it looks more like the new Student Union front. Whatever. It's all good. I've got photos of what it used to look like.

I kept thinking how much has already changed since that day. I decided to go while I was on the other side of town, so just for fun I had the Garmin tell me how to get there. I had my phone with me. I was taking pictures with my digital camera. I wondered what that me from 25 years ago would have thought about all that, were we to bump into each other on the quad. But there were probably much more important things to share with that guy. Winning Powerball numbers, for instance...

Consider This A Wagon Well Fallen Off Of... Or Something

2010-04-15T23:58:00.002-05:00

Yikes! Many days have passed. Remember a couple of months ago, when I was writing daily. Those were good times, eh?

Okay, so I re-read my post about my crazy life (like two back, I think) because I got the feeling I had offended some of my commenters (and I'm going to mention at least one of you buy name, so I hope that's okay... and by name, I mean by the name I use which is your screen name or blog name or whatever... and I've gone on too long about this, haven't I?).

There was so much wrong with that last paragraph. Manchion should use it as a DOL for class tomorrow.

Anyway, I thought I should re-read the post, because I think some people took umbrage at what I said about people posting to gain readership, etc.

And I get that. I don't know if I'm going to start trying to make the pedals on this bike go backwards, but I will stop pedaling and lift my feet off the handlebars and let gravity and inertia battle it out...

I really did not mean all the people who actually SAY something, if that makes any sense. And if I was the person I meant to be when I was younger, I would go to the blog of every person who posts on here and find something positive to post on theirs. It's how I'm wired. I'm a teacher, for cryin' in a bucket! The way I discuss in my online grad school class is to find the person with the fewest responses and find SOMETHING to talk about in their initial posting. It really is how I'm wired.

However, in addition to people like Purple Cow, who actually says stuff, and Robin, who I have conversed with via comments on here and via facebook, and MANY other people who seem to be genuinely wanting to share a compliment or a thank-you (or even an opposing view, on occasion), I get some crazy spam-like comments... and if you go through, I get some comments that seem "real" until you see the similarity to so many other comments and think they are "unreal".

And the thing is, they may be real. Who knows, right?

Oh, and the blogger my brain calls "Toppo", but really it's longer than that. That person seems to be... less easily thought of as unreal.

And this Arshed person I haven't looked into yet (just meaning reading profile, checking out blog, etc., not actually, you know, LOOKING INTO like a background check or whatever), but I think is on the "Mark thinks they are real" side of things.

Not that it's some elite group everybody should want to get into. I'm just trying to lay out the map of that part of my brain for you.

Anyway, I got distracted and lost my track, which is the norm. What I'm trying to say is, after hearing from several of the people I think of as "real" (again, if I haven't mentioned you as "real", that's not to mean I don't, it just means it's late and I haven't gone through all my comments), I guess I realize I do want to take some time to read about these people.

A friend of mine in high school, who I went on and on about during many posts from early January until... I don't know how many back... I guess we have to include this one, now, too... anyway, this guy was big into the blogness. He knew people from all over, and I think he had a bit of a "no fear" attitude about it. If you knew the whole story about us, you'd see he was the poster boy for "no fear", and I was Mr. Fear 1985. So I should work on fixing that. I should go read other people's stuff. I should get to know some people, eh?

Okay, so here's my goal: I am going to read your blog--at least three entries--and comment on at least one if you comment here. If I fail to do so, then I have to prepare all of Julia C.'s recipes in a year and blog about that. Or something.

Anyway, it's late, and I've gone from silly to stupid back to silly again (but with a hint of stupid, for flavor). Good night, all.

Oh, and Brenda, I know you're real, because I've known you for nigh unto 25 years... I fell I should say that because I sense an impending comment from you...

And now that I mention it, I know all you other people I know are real too. Stop being smart-ashes.

As I Was Going Down The Stair

2010-04-01T21:46:00.002-05:00

Don't read too much into this, as I have no idea what it means...

But "I feel like the man who wasn't there," keeps going through my head, and it just feels oddly appropriate. I'd love to connect it to... well, anything, really. But I'm not doing a very good job of it. I was trying to describe to myself what I felt like (I live alone, so good company for conversation isn't a staple here), and this is the phrase my brain sent me.

It's right up there with "My heart wants to sing, but it doesn't know the words," from 1989 or so. It's better than 1992's "Listen to the clear blue world," or "Welcome to the clear blue world," which my brain supplied in a dream, however.

Yeah, my brain has too much time on its hands.

Anyway, that's what I feel like right now. I just feel very... not here.

It probably doesn't help that I'm becoming more and more of a homebody. I'm home, I don't want to go out. End of story. Really. You should be here for the pep talks I give myself when I'm considering going out to a movie or to the store.

Whatever. I just thought I'd share here, because that thought is a very good reason for not writing as often as I have: I feel like the man who wasn't there.

Nobody sees me, but they wish I'd go away!

Okay, I just made myself laugh.

Also, here are some sites to check out... I need to update my link list over there, I guess. Maybe I'll just do that instead. Both would be better, I guess...

Mike Humphrey, a guy I knew in college has a column at true/slant here: http://trueslant.com/michaelhumphrey/
Brenda (she's commented on here, and I've known her since college, as well) blogs here: http://whatyoutalkin.tumblr.com/
And photoblogs here: http://thedailythousand.tumblr.com/

And I Am Back...

2010-03-24T21:00:00.002-05:00

Okay, things got a little crazy there for a while. The last couple of weeks of class were a bit insane, and I was starting to get a little freaked out by some of the posts to my blog entries... While I love being told how people love my writing style, the similarity of the postings makes me doubt the sincerity of the sentiment... and makes me wonder if I'm in some political office and people are telling me how the "really feel" by copying and pasting e-mail content to me. It's strange.

I guess it's a way to increase readership or whatever, and that's great... but even the blogs I like to read are blogs I seldom read. Part of it is my crazy life, and the other part of it is... the rest of my crazy life, I guess.

Anyway, the facebook folks know this, but I'll share for the rest of you: I had Binx in my care for several days. I am pretty sure he's no worse for having experienced this. Jordan came over last weekend and we stayed up too late playing Super Mario Brothers Wii the night before church.

Oh, and I got an A- in that class that I was having such a frustrating time with. A smaller part of my frustration comes from the style of writing. I hate reading that sort of writing, so I loathe writing it. I don't get the style, anyway. Why do you want to make getting information such a horrible freakin' chore?

I just deleted the rest of that tirade. Gone... mourn it, yet be thankful.

So that's my life. I'll try to get back to daily posts if for no other reason than to bother people.

Oh, and I've yet to hear from the sleep study folks. I think I need to make a phone call tomorrow, eh?

Anybody Got Any Short'nin' Bread?

2010-03-10T22:25:00.002-06:00

So I went to the doctor for my "Health & Wellness Visit"... which is like a physical, but with a longer name... and fewer awkward moments.

I got to finally mention all of the things I've been wanting to ask my doctor about for a while, so that was nice.

They didn't want me to eat anything for twelve hours, which is easy to do when you make the appointment for fairly early in the morning and you don't keep much in the way of food in the house. But because they asked this of me, I started wondering last night if this meant anything in particular... especially involving the digestion system... and more specifically, the end bit of it.

So I called Say, who was busy working a crazy-long day and thus didn't answer. I left her a message asking if the doctor was going to do that thing where I'd at least like a little sweet talk before he started, and said some other stuff and left it at that. I was at rehearsal, so when Say didn't call back for a while, I found Mark, who is a nurse, and asked him. He assured me it was all about blood work, not butt work.

Say confirmed this on a message she left after I called her again during the break to ask how she could abandon me in the middle of a medical emergency like this...

Imagine my discomfort this morning, then, when the nurse got out some rubber gloves and a tube of... I'm trying to think of a non-gross-sounding word for it... and I've failed, so we'll move on.

She said, "I'll get these out, just in case..." and left the room.

Now that was a fun wait. There is some mental preparation that goes into this. I mean, I hardly know the man...

Sorry for the delay that you didn't notice because it happened as I was typing this, not as you were reading it. I was just cracking myself up with all the possible next lines. I've opted to just pretend I didn't just set up a bawdy joke.

So he comes in, we go through all the questions and the awkward non-hind-end touching that goes with a "Health and Wellness Visit"... which is all above the waist, for those of you with your mind in the gutter... or at least below the waist. And I ask my questions, and he asks counter-questions, and the whole time the pair of gloves and the tube of whatever are just hanging there in the air between us, the elephant in the room, as it were. But, you know, and elephant that can hang in the air sort of thing.

Finally, he points to the items and says, "We're not going to do that today. I think they just get those out to scare people."

I sighed a big sigh of relief, and then immediately felt bad, so I said, "Don't get me wrong. I do like you, but as a friend only..."

I kid.

Anyway, nothing exciting to report. All of the little this'n'thats I was asking about were either answered with, "We can do that if you want, but you're okay if you don't" or "Losing weight and exercising will help with that", and for the most part I called all of those in the second category before I even went in to see him.

I am going to do another sleep study, even though the one 5 years ago was enough to get me on a whatchamahookey... because it was 5 years ago and I never got on a whatchamahookey.

I'm looking forward to it, however. Apparently there are many health benefits to a good night's sleep.

Things To Do While Killing Time Because A Website Is Down...

2010-03-10T00:14:00.002-06:00

Actually, this is the only thing I'm going to be doing while waiting, and that's just because I thought I'd write something before I hit the sack...

Apparently there's a bad flu going around. It needs to miss me. Someone pass that along to it from me.

So I've got that 365 (and then some) Days of ME blog going on, right? But my hope was it would encourage other people with digital cameras to take pictures of me and e-mail them to me that same day--thus making me feel like the beautiful superstar supermodel I already know I am... but don't feel like, apparently.

However, the best I've managed so far is to ask people to take pictures of me with my camera. That's fun and all, but there are all these misconceptions now...

Misconception 1: I can be the only one in the shot.

Response: Nuh-uh... look at that pic of me putting Visine in Dane's eye!

Misconception 2: I don't like having my picture taken.

Response: Um... well, I used to not like it so much, but then realized people can see me when there isn't a camera pointed at me, so what's the point? Actually, I used cringe a little when I'd see myself in a photo, but you'd be amazed at how much looking at a picture of yourself every day can actually make that lessen...

I'm done with misconceptions. So there were only 2.

Anyway, I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and I'm just certain I'll be taking blood pressure meds by the end of the day... and my mind keeps going to the list of things I have to tell the new doctor, as well as things to ask him... and then my mind goes to all the ways there are to get sick and get sicker, and I start wondering if they'll find some secret awful thing tomorrow... and then I remember about my blood pressure and try some breathing exercises...

And I keep waiting for the district site for teachers to open back up... and then the blood pressure thing comes to mind again...

Which is why I'm going to bed now.

Why I Should Not Be Allowed To Own Sharp Objects

2010-03-08T11:52:00.002-06:00

I only wish I was lying about this.

I have cut myself again. And I'm not even goth. What's that about?

So, last night I broiled up some red meat for dinner... a late dinner, but dinner. As I was carrying my plate and utensils (utensils resting on the plate, mind you, a bad choice about which I have now learned my lesson) from the cooking area to the dining area, the steak knife started to fall.

My brain decided since something was falling, I had to catch it.

The knife, falling blade first, went into my thumb and kinda "bounced" out.

Remember how last time I said blood was everywhere or whatever? This time it really was. I thought I was gonna have a full-on freak-out.

About the time I was thinking maybe a trip to the emergency room was in order, I realized the bleeding had... well, not stopped, but seemed to have every intention of considering the possibility of stopping sometime before bedtime.

So then I got to clean up blood from all over the place, which is good practice should I decide to slaughter my own cattle.

On the up side, this has made me go see a doctor, which means it has made me finally make a decision about which doctor suggestion from co-workers would be the best one.

I've got a good feeling about this doctor. He may be the one. I didn't ask, but he appears to be younger than me--so, odds are, I won't have to doctor-shop again until after I'm dead.

Anyway, I just wanted to share, in case you were wondering why it looked like all my spaces were typed by my right hand.