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.)
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Move Along, There's Nothing I Said Was Going To Be Here To See Here Yet... But If You Want To See Something...
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.
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.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
This is NOT the Blog Post You are Looking For...
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Guess What I Just Spent 150 Minutes Doing...
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
A Very Important Message About Television
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!
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!
Monday, January 17, 2011
Kill the Smurfs
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...
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...
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Shallow Me
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::
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!)
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.
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.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
On Losses and the Cutting of Them
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.
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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
For Your Reading... Um... Enjoyment?
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
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
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
So There Was This Guy By The Side Of The Road With A Sign...
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Laugh Or Not--I'm Good Either Way!
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!"
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!"
Monday, January 10, 2011
With Apologies To Brenda, Mia, And Jhoneric... And All Other Math-Phobes And/Or Number Haters
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...
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...
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Another Laugh Riot
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.
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?
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: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
- 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/
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.
Friday, January 07, 2011
On A Lighter Note: I've Accepted A Challenge...
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!
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!
Thursday, January 06, 2011
While I'm Not Listening...
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...
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...
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 12
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 11
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?
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?
Monday, January 03, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 10
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!
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!
Sunday, January 02, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 9
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!
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!
Saturday, January 01, 2011
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 8
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!
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!
Friday, December 31, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 7
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.
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.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 6
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 5
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 4
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!
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!
Monday, December 27, 2010
The Twelve Traditions of My Christmases, Day 3
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!
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
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!
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!
Monday, December 06, 2010
It's A Party!
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!
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!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
It's a Secret
It’s a secret, you see…
How long we’re gonna have
With the ones who are here with us.
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.
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…
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.
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.
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.
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 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 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.
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.
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.
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:
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.
How long we’re gonna have
With the ones who are here with us.
Shhhh.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thoughts On All Hallow's Eve
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!
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!
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
So, This Is What Passes For Christian These Days, Is It?
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<---
--->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<---
Monday, October 25, 2010
Two More Shopping Months 'Til Christmas!
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.
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.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Oh, And There's This...
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.
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.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
I Channelled Patsy Today
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Why I'm Wearing Purple Tomorrow (Okay, Today, But After I Sleep Some)
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
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
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Some Things You Need To Know About JEC
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.
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.
Saturday, October 02, 2010
Because I Don't Know What Else To Do
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.
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.
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