Let the Living Begin

Wow…has it been a year?  Yes…it has.

Mind you, while I’ve been absent from “Causal Thoughts,” my writing juices have been flowing over at “Black is the New Pink.”  I realized that all of my “Causal Thoughts” postings were becoming centered on my brother Jeff and his death from melanoma cancer.  So, rather than bog down the sometimes humorous slant here, I decided to devote an entire blog site to his memory, which inevitably led to writing about melanoma and skin cancer.  It was a good decision, and I plan to keep that blog going, but I’ve decided it’s time to return to my more casual thoughts.

However, my thought tonight is hardly casual.  My Aunt Irma died yesterday.  She was just over 93 years old and lived a good long life.  Honestly, I never really knew her.  I vaguely remember seeing her over 16 years ago when my mom and dad drove her south to see my late Uncle Bernard in Myrtle Beach.  They stopped by my townhouse in Durham and stayed for a short while.  Other than that, I have very little recollection of Aunt Irma.

She left three children…Steve, with whom I’ve had some contact on Facebook; Vicki, with minimal contact on Facebook; and Carole, who I think is closest to my age but with whom I’ve totally lost touch.

I called Dad and told him of Irma’s passing.  Unfortunately, I had to leave a voice mail.  But eventually we did talk “live.”  Our conversation was light, but there was one moment of tenderness or sadness when he stated, “well, there’s only three of us left now.”  He was talking about him and his siblings.

Dad had five brothers and one sister.  Grenfall (aka, “Sweat”) was the oldest born in 1911 and died in 1990.  I remember that Mom and Dad were visiting me when they got the news.  Irma was the next oldest, born in 1911.  Next was Earl, Jr. (aka, “Bubbles”).  He was born in 1921 and died during the Vietnam War in 1968 when I was almost 6 years old.

Bernard was next in line and the first of the Estep Uncles that I knew better.  He lived in Nitro and Cross Lanes when I grew up in St. Albans, so we would visit he and his wife (Geri first, then Pat) and kids a few times a year.  He was born in 1923 and died in August of 2003.  Kenneth was even closer to me, although never really “close” close like some Uncles can be.  I was just never the kind of person to be close like that.  But our family and his family would get together about once per month.  He was born in 1926 and still lives with his long time wife Gertie in Nitro, WV.  Robert was born in 1928 and still lives in Missouri near St. Louis.  I’ve seen Uncle Bobby a few times over the years and recall a couple long trips to St. Louis to visit his family.  My dad, Keith is the youngest…born in 1934.

I’m sharing this mostly as a blog for my kids to read later in life.  As they (and you) most likely know, my dad wrote a book about him growing up in Nitro, West Virginia during the depression and World War II.  Both of my kids have a signed copy of his book and they’ll both hopefully read it someday.  I have one as well, but I have something a bit more valuable to me.  Dad “published” his first draft in a three-ring binder, and included photos, drawings and unpublished tidbits.  To read these more “raw” thoughts is incredible and invaluable to learn about oneself.  I have to admit I’ve not read all of Dad’s published book but I have read about all of this pre-published work.  Within this piece, he shares a brief passage about Irma:

Irma Lee Estep Sandifer

Irma married Carlton Sandifer, a construction supervisor from Lynchburg, Virginia who was in Nitro building a rayon manufacturing plant for American Viscose Corporation.  They had two daughters who reside in Virginia and one son who lives in West Virginia.  Irma is known for her short stature, pleasant personality, and giggly sense of humor.

Writing this blog isn’t about Irma…or about Dad.  It’s about family…and sharing one’s experiences in life.  I recently posted that this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for life's experiences...past, present and future. And for the lives of others that have graciously affected my own.  I hope to start writing in this blog again, along with BITNP, as a means to document my life to the world, but mostly to my kids.

Let the living begin.

Being Watched

As most of you know, my brother passed away only a couple weeks ago. I decided that I wasn’t going to flood my blog with “memories of Jeff” stories, although I’m sure I’ll share some over time. However, I was encouraged to share one story…I suppose our last story...with others.


If you’ve read some of my Facebook postings, you know that I engage in a hobby known as geocaching. Basically, geocaching is a global scavenger hunt. The location of hidden objects can be found on the website, Geocaching.com. If you type in an address and find the link to a map, you’ll see that there’s most likely a hidden object nearby. There are about 5,000 “treasures” hidden within a 10-mile radius of my house. In fact, there are well over a million such treasures, or caches, hidden world-wide from country parks or city blocks and even the International Space Station. I bet there’s one near you!

Caches are rated 1 to 5 for both difficulty and terrain with 1 being the easiest. Seeing as I’m not a rock climber or scuba diver, I tend to look for ones rated 1.5 or easier. Whenever I travel out of town, I can load the latest cache locations into my GPS along with previous logs from other geocachers and a description of what I’m looking for. Caches can range in size from smaller than a thimble to a rather large water-proof box. I’ve found all sorts, although there are some types that are more common than others.

A 35mm film canister makes a perfect geocache container. Other geocachers hide the caches for others to find. One simply places a log inside for geocachers to record their find and perhaps adds a coin or little trinket. All caches contain a log on which the finder will sign his or her geocaching name (mine is MountieAl). Most small caches contain only a log. The “treasure” is in the hunt itself, not the end prize. Anyhow, one takes this small container and hides it in a tree stump or other such place. One very common hiding location is within a light pole in a parking lot. Most poles have a metal or plastic skirt at the base of the pole which can easily slide up, thus making a perfect hiding place for smaller caches underneath. And yes, most cachers will giggle when announcing they’ve found a cache “under a skirt.”

Jeff read a few Facebook postings of my intitial geocaching finds and started to ask me about the hobby. After I described it, he started looking for some in Ohio, especially while walking his dog. I remember the first day he found one…he called me on his cell phone asking questions and giving me updates. He was so thrilled at the first find, and I knew he was hooked. “Jadestep” was introduced to the geocaching world. As he always did with things that interested him, he quickly became very involved in the hobby and even helped organize a few Geocaching gatherings. He started to become one of the more involved geocachers in the Akron area.

When Jeff and I attended my step-mother’s family reunion in June, we made sure to go on a Hurricane, WV area cache run together. We found about eight caches that day…a record for me at the time. When we finished, my dad commented that geocaching was the first thing Jeff and I had done “together” in a long, long time. And it was true…somehow this silly little hobby bonded us closer than we’d been in years.

During that trip, Jeff commented that he had wanted to hide his own on a guardrail near the Walgreen’s in Hurricane. He always liked puns and many geocaches were given such titles which would also offer up a clue to the hide. His idea for this cache was “Guarding the Wal.” Jeff was always quite clever. Sadly, he never got to hide that cache.

Before I traveled to WV for Jeff’s funeral, I loaded the caches along my travel route into my GPS as I usually do. Granted, I had no intention of making this a caching trip, but seeing as how he loved to geocache, I thought it appropriate to be able to find one or two during the trip...perhaps at a rest area along the highway or near a restaurant during a lunch or dinner break. But honestly, my mind was far from caches as I drove up the day before his funeral.

The next morning, I decided to run out before we headed to the service and fill my car with gas. As I drove past Walgreen’s in Hurricane, I noticed an icon on my GPS indicating a newer cache had been hidden near the drug store only a couple weeks prior. Again, I hadn’t planned on seeking any caches, particularly on the day of Jeff’s funeral, but curiosity got the better of me. I drove past the guardrails and into the parking lot. The prize seemed to be hidden under a lamp post skirt like so many others, so I parked near the suspected post. Attached to the pole was a sign that said “Area Under Video Surveillance.”

I pushed a few buttons on my GPS to read about the cache and look for any clues. What I read gave me chills. I jumped out of the car, lifted the skirt (giggle) and grabbed the 35 mm film canister. There was only a log inside, as suspected, and I signed it “MountieAl for Jadestep.” I returned the cache to its hiding place for others to find and then sat back in the car with my heart racing. Not to sound cliché, but I had tears in my eyes as I drove away and yet, had a very peaceful feeling.

The name of the cache that I found on the day of Jeff’s funeral at the location where he wanted to hide a cache? “Big Brother Is Watching.”

Jeff, thank you for continuing to join me on my geocaching adventures…and thanks for letting me know that you’ll always be watching.

Memories of Jeff

My brother Jeff Estep passed away last night (November 15, 2010) after a brief bout with Melanoma that metastasized to his brain and lungs. He left us far too soon.

I can’t really compose my thoughts at the moment…but I thought typing random memories and thoughts may help me a bit. There seems like so few…and yet so many, if that makes sense. While I stop to think of specific memories about Jeff, I have trouble coming up with much at all. But then something happens and a memory will hit me like a ton of bricks.

One such occurrence was as I was putting the dishes away the other evening. I grabbed a paper towel that I had bread sitting upon and I suddenly recalled that it was Jeff that taught me how to fold up a paper napkin and not spill all the crumbs (corners in first). Of all the things to remember, that’s one specific lesson I remember.

Christmas…oh my. As we prepare the house for Christmas decorations, many memories flood on in. He and Debbie love Christmas so very, very much. Even when I visited in September, there was a Christmas tree in Debbie’s dressing room. It’ll be hard to have Christmas without Jeff coming to mind. And I know that Jeff wants us all to enjoy Christmas…not to shed a tear for losing him, but cast a smile on the beauty of the season…and the beauty his life left behind.

I remember the Boy Scout Indian Hand signals we used to use as kids. Our plan was to get up on early, and I mean EARLY, on Christmas morning to see what Santa had left behind. We’d not talk, but walk stealthily through the darkness with flashlights while communicating with Indian hand signals learned from the Boy Scout handbook. Of course, upon first sight of the Christmas tree and decorations, we forgot all hand signals and made a bigger racket than we did the year before.

We had a couple Christmas traditions...one that I’ll keep to myself. It was very juvenile and sophomoric…but it was ours. I know Jeff is smiling when I mention it.

The golf ball. What a wonderful tradition that was. Exchanged over several years, we would alternately give this old Elmer Fike golf ball to one another for the holidays. Until my last attempt pretty much destroyed the ball, we would both look forward to either receiving the ball, or the delight in watching the other receive. It was a tradition followed by many…and enjoyed so much by the two of us.

The two of us. We were seven years apart. When I enjoyed Bugs Bunny, he was into American Bandstand. When I started watching Dick Clark, he was back to watching cartoons. He entered WVU as I was still in elementary school. Eventually I also attended WVU…and a very large reason I did so was because of witnessing Jeff’s experiences in college. It wasn’t the partying…and there was some. It was just the whole experience and how I witnessed my brother grow up from a geeky acne-faced teen to a responsible young man. Whether he knew it or not, watching that was as much of a mentorship as I ever had.

He so loved that college. One of the highlights of his last couple months was attending a game and having his cousin, Coach Dunlap, take him on a tour of the locker room and inner sanctum of the team. I’d never heard him talk in such a giddy way than he did about that day.

I take that back. There was another time, at WVU that he was more excited and full of life. That’s when he met and fell in love with Debbie. He could never have asked for a better partner than Debbie. The love they share is incredible. And once again, showing his love and devotion became another standard I hoped to follow.

Like I said, we were 7 years apart, so we were never really “close” close. We were brothers, but not the call-every-day type. It’s just how we were wired. Or maybe it’s perhaps how I’m wired. Regardless, we still were brothers. And when he lost his job in Florida several years ago and lived with me in NC for a short while, that’s the first time we really shared our brotherhood. We shared secrets of growing up…stories of our experiences. While that was a tough time for Jeff and Debbie, it was a very special time for me.

Recently, Jeff and I shared the hobby of geocaching. I’m not sure why, but that hobby brought us closer than I ever recall. We actually started to become a pair of brothers that would call one another often…just to share stories of the hobby and, of course, toss in a few tidbits about life as well. The last photo I ever had taken with Jeff was when we went gecaching together in September. That’s most definitely my favorite photo of us, ever.

He was with me when I got my first birdie in golf, and he was the obvious choice for Best Man in my wedding. But I guess the greatest legacy I have of my brother is his shared birthday with my kids. How ironic that they were both born on his 47th birthday. They’re a product of my love for my wife Kim…and yet a reminder, even once a year, for the love I have for my big brother.

One final memory I'd like to share, although I apologize for the dark humor.  When we were kids, we played cops and robbers or some variation of the game.  Whoever played the robber would ultimately get shot and play out a death scene.  Every time, the robber would mutter, "The treasure....the treasure is...the treasure is hidden in the....." and then die.  My father told me that on Jeff's real death bed, thay my brother muttered something illegible three times before taking his last breath.  He could have said anything, but a part of me thinks that maybe, just maybe, he was playing that game one last time.  That was his sense of humor.  And I think he's safe with his treasure.

I do love you Jeffrey…and I’ll miss you. God bless you

The Lesson of Living Life

Over the last few weeks, I’ve learned a little bit about life. No, I’m not talking about the meaning of life, but the gift of life and how quickly it can change or be taken away. Unfortunately, I’ve had this epiphany due to the misfortunes of others.

I traveled to Johnstown, PA to attend my wife’s grandmother’s funeral. She was 92 years old and lived a long life with many experiences. We helped my wife’s parents sort through her belongings and close out her affairs. While roaming through the old photos and such, I was impressed by the amount of friends she had throughout her life, and really started to appreciate all that life can offer. After all, there is so much to do in 92 years and I’m only a little over half way there.

When I returned home, I got news that my brother had been admitted to the hospital. He had some memory problems and it was soon discovered that his earlier melanoma had metastasized to his brain and lungs. He has a very challenging fight ahead of him. He’s 55.

My first cousin Perry’s granddaughter has been going through a tough time herself. She’s having rapid heart rate which is wearing the poor girl down, as it is her mother. Both are fighters. Berklee is only 3 months old.

My cousin’s best friend form high school, who happened to marry a gal from my graduating class suffered two strokes and a heart attack within a week’s time about a month or so ago. He’s younger than my brother. He survived and is apparently doing well in therapy…but he has quite a struggle ahead. As does Berklee…and my brother, Jeff.

The combined ages of these three barely add up to the age of Kathleen when she passed on. It hardly seems fair that people so young, whether it be 55 years or 3 months, should face such life-threatening challenges. And that’s when it really hit home.

It may be a cliché as much as it’s a song title, but I’d realized it’s important to live like you’re dying…to live as if it’s your last day. Carpe Diem. However you want to say it. I tend to live my life by following a pretty basic routine. I get up in the morning, fix breakfast for the family, go to work, come home and fix dinner, then relax and go to bed. Weekends are spent running errands as our work day evenings don’t allow time to perform such deeds. I enjoy my life, but frankly, there’s not much “fun” to it outside of the general joy of parenting and family life. And if I were to die today, I can’t say that I’d have more than a handful of people attend my funeral. I’m alive, but I can’t say I’m absolutely living.

My wife and kids mean the world to me…they ARE my life. But again, I’ve realized that I need to lead them as a father/husband should do…lead them into a life of living and excitement. Not a life of unnecessary risks, but a life of breathless moments and joyful giving.

I would love to live a life as long as Kathleen did. But it’s become all too clear lately that life may not last that long. There may not be a tomorrow to allow me to do something I want to do. Now is the time to do it.

I can’t change immediately…I’m not wired that way. But recent events have slapped me in the face pretty hard, and it’s time to listen.

30th Reunion Thoughts

My 30th High School Reunion is approaching. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend due to work. I’m a little disappointed, although there’s no guarantee that my better friends of those days will be in attendance. Still, I can’t help but get a little melancholy about those “old days.” High school brings back a lot of memories. Time has filtered out most of the negative experiences and helped me embrace those that should last a lifetime.

There were a few highlights…and people I’ll remember fondly. My “Three Amigos” were Chuck, Ted and Greg. The four of us would usually get together for some very innocent fun. Yes, I said innocent. I was a pretty squeaky clean guy overall and had the near-invisible persona to go along with it. But I had my three buddies to engage in whatever we decided was entertaining at the moment. Many times, this involved board games. Ha! I bet you never expected playing Yahtzee to be a fond memory of teenage years. Still, I recall playing hours of the game along with Tripoly and Monopoly. (I still have “high scores” written on the inside of my original Yahtzee box in the family room). We’d play to the music of Billy Joel, Queen, Styx, or other basic rock bands of the 70’s, all whom we saw in concert in either Charleston or Huntington. We also spent many an evening at the St. Albans Mall. This was a very small mall as compared to most malls nowadays, but contained all the basic stores: an arcade, a pizza place, National Record Mart, and Baskin Robbins. It was quite the hangout of its day, as was Pizza Hut, Rax Roast Beef, Del Taco, and Church’s Fried Chicken.

I had other friends of whom I share specific memories. I recall Chuck and me visiting my friend Bruce once. We arrived unannounced and his brother let us in the front door. We ran up to Bruce’s room and arrived just as he opened his door. This startled him so much that he nearly fainted on the spot. Chuck and I fell down in hysterics. Bruce’s goal in life was to work in film as a director and I’m sure the terror on his face at that moment inspired future horror flicks somewhere.

Mark was a band friend that I later shared some party time in college. His mother taught at our junior high school and his dad taught biology at the high school. He lived in the next county, so it was always a trek, but a welcomed one, to venture out to his house for a visit. He ended up being a veterinarian as he worked so hard to get that degree. Considering his nickname was “Punkin’ Head,” I have to believe he became a vegetarian as well.

Speaking of the band, that organization created enough memories to inspire many other blogs. Starting band camp in August was an activity dreaded yet looked forward to every year. We ended up marching in all sorts of weather in every game of our undefeated football season and it couldn’t have been a better experience. It’s a shame we lost in the championship game, but what a fun season it was. I played the tuba, or sousaphone. Others that played the same were John, Mike and Rob. All three were taller than I, so it was very easy to see which sousaphone was mine on the field or in a parade… the short one.

I recall other short memories: Playing ping pong at Cliff’s house while listening to Boston. Decorating the homecoming float with a group from the marching band with whom I became close friends that last year. Writing commentary pieces for the school newspaper, “Simmerings.” Helping make a home movie about Macbeth with Tim at the camera. (I still have the “credits” we wrote on toilet paper). Singing Cheap Trick songs and “Pain” in the “Interact Jam Band.” Taking an excruciatingly slow city bus to Morgantown to watch our basketball team in the state playoffs. It was a shame we lost the championship game, but what a fun ride that was!

Then there were the girls. Sadly, none really acknowledged me due to my intense shyness (and short stature most likely), but I still had my share of crushes. There’s no need to list them now…my life has moved on and I have no regrets where my relationships have fallen. Still, like everyone, I hope the best for those I cared for in such shy ways…and I hope you know who you are.

In fact, I hope the same for everyone from the Class of ’80…as well as the teachers. Mr. Willis was a delightful chemistry teacher and possibly my favorite. The late Mr. Keadle was passionate about his marching music. Mrs. McClanahan was beautiful, and also provided great guidance toward writing for the newspaper. And even Mr. Morgan is much appreciated, although I’m sure he’d have a real hissy fit at some of my grammatical errors in this piece.

I hope old friends reunite this weekend as the Class of ’80 gathers in St. Albans. And I also hope that those who were never really close so many years ago feel a greater closeness to other classmates now as we grow older and witness our own children growing up. There are many phases in life that fill our lives with incredible memories. Life in high school was no different.

Ed, Farrah, Michael and feeling big

I just took my two kids to bed. Despite them sitting on the couch with droopy eyes and yawning faces, they moaned and groaned about having to go to bed. Even though it’s a school night, they wanted to stay up late into the evening. I had to put on my daddy-face and enforce the bed-time, but I also laughed a little at myself. I remember being that age and wanting so badly to stay up late. It made me feel “big.”

To stay up after 8:00 was a big event when I was so young. Hearing the opening sequence of Monday Night Football at 9:00 was a distinct “stay up late” milestone at one point in my life. On Saturdays, being able to stay awake all the way through “Love American Style” to the scary opening credits of “Night Gallery” just after 10:00 was indeed a sleepy medal of honor. But the ultimate goal of staying up late was that magical moment when one would hear the booming voice of Ed McMahon saying those infamous words, “Heeeeere’s Johnny!” Hearing Ed’s voice made me feel big.

As I grew a little older to age 14, other interests made me feel more grown up. I was well into puberty and my focus was mostly on the opposite sex. There was no example of sexuality more popular, and accepted by the mainstream, than the hit TV show, Charlie’s Angels. I recall my brother being in college and talking about the show. Eventually, it was one of the staple shows we watched as a family…publicly for the Aaron Spelling produced action, but more subtly for the titillating action of the three actresses which entertained me and my dad. Like so many other teens in 1976, I had the famous poster of one of the actresses, Farrah Fawcett. I remember my brother wanted it as much as I, but it donned my walls. My first poster. My first crush. And Farrah made me feel grown up.

Eventually though, this poster and others accompanied me to college. The drinking age back then was 18 and the place to socialize and feel grown up at the university was at any number of local bars and dance clubs. The Disco Era had long passed a decade ago, but new dance music emitted from the DJ booth. This was also the booming age of MTV and everyone was into it. To watch MTV and go to dance clubs meant that you were part of the “in” crowd, which of course was all about feeling “big”…feeling grown up…feeling accepted. There was no greater icon of both of both MTV and dance clubs than Michael Jackson. We all danced to “Beat It” and we all owned his album, “Thriller.” The album was not just popular, but it was also damned good music (and still is). To hear Michael’s music and move to its rythym made me feel part of the crowd.

These three icons passed away this week. Ed died on Tuesday while Farrah and Michael both left us today (Thursday). Each had their difficulties and bad publicity later in life, ranging from bankruptcy to bizarre behavior, but they still remained positive symbols of their peak era. And each, ironically, served as a milestone as I grew up. In the past, each, in their unique way, made me feel more grown up. Their passing saddens me as it somewhat marks the passing of my youth. But now that I’m grown up, thinking back on these moments makes me feel young again. I suppose memories of growing up still makes me feel good and hopeful for what lays ahead for me, and my sleepy, growing kids.

Round-about Advice

We’ve all encountered them, and they seem to be growing in number. They’re popular in new housing developments and the City of Raleigh is considering adding them to Hillsborough Street. I’m talking about traffic circles, or round-abouts.

These are circular intersections into which you turn right and go in a circle until you arrive at the appropriate out-going turn. Round-abouts allow traffic to flow more smoothly than a tradition two- or four-stop intersection in that there is no intended stopping, but only yielding to the car in the traffic circle. It seems simple enough, but apparently, it’s not.

Within in the last week, I’ve driven through one round-about or another of various sizes at an average of once or twice a day. At least three times, I’ve witnessed a car stopping in the traffic circle to allow a waiting car to enter! This not only grinds the in-circle traffic to a halt, but creates anarchy as those awaiting try to enter all at once.

The NCDOT Driver’s Handbook has this to say about traffic circles:
A traffic circle is a specially designed intersection. All cars in a traffic circle travel to the right. You drive around the circle in a counter-clockwise direction until you come to the road or street where you want to turn. You leave the traffic circle by making a right turn. If there is more than one lane in the circle, be sure you are in the outside lane before you come to the place where you intend to exit the circle. Look and signal before you turn or change lanes. Never make a right turn from an inside lane. An entire traffic circle is an intersection. Vehicles already in the circle have the right-of-way.

Please note that last sentence again…that vehicles already in the circle have the right of way. That means you do not stop in the circle to let others in, they wait for you.

If we all follow the rules and common sense, round-abouts should be as simple to maneuver as operating a turn-signal. But let’s not start THAT discussion.

A Considerate New Year

Usually at this time of year, most folks will share their New Year’s resolutions and set goals on how to better themselves. While I certainly have such goals for myself, I’d rather share one major resolution for others. Be more considerate.

There have been several moments in the last few days that test my faith in others. How many times have I approached an “Express Lane” at the grocery store only to see someone in line with well over the maximum limit for the lane? During the holidays, I often have had to pick up just one or two items at a time…dip for the football munchies or ginger ale for the punch. Yet most of the time, someone was in the express lane, checking out the week’s groceries. But inconsiderate actions aren’t limited to the grocery lanes.

Last night in Apex, I stopped by Food Lion and parked in a space about 50 or 60 feet from the front door. There were other spaces just as close and handicap spaces even closer. Still, as I walked towards the store, a sporty Mercedes pulled up along the curb, an area clearly marked as “No Parking,” and nearly blocked the entrance. One person sat in the passenger seat as the driver got out with the motor still idling. I surmised that the driver might have worked there or was dropping something off quickly. I spent a good 10 to 15 minutes inside shopping, walking the length of the store more than once (I’m not as familiar with the lay-out of this store). As I walked out, the Mercedes was sit idling with the passenger inside (I guess they assumed that an idling car was not a “parked” car). Apparently, the driver had entered Food Lion, not to run in quickly, but to actually shop. If the driver was handicapped, there were plenty of such spaces available. But the only handicap I could observe was the lack of patience and consideration.

In each encounter, I said nothing. During the holidays, I tend to lean to the side of tolerance and patience so as not to induce any negative feelings at this time of year. But frankly, I’m tired of it. Maybe I should simply resolve to be less tolerant and more aggressive. Not that such an attitude is a bad thing, but I would certainly hope the easier route would be simply for people to be more considerate and less selfish. Is it really that difficult?

Regardless, may your new year be full of joy, peace and considerate acts of kindness.

Santa Drives a Pinto

This past weekend, I took my kids for their official Santa Claus visit. I say “official” because they’d already encountered Santa or his helpers several times. Some talked to the kids while others merely handed them a candy cane. Santa and/or his helpers have had many accents, skin tones and beard styles. It’s been a challenge to explain why there are so many Santas, but I finally told my children that any one could be the real Santa, so they have to treat each as if they were. It’s his way of making sure they’re nice.

This is just one of many explanations I’ve had to add to the Santa mystique. When my kids were born some 6 ½ years ago, I never knew there would be so many twists, turns and variations to the basic philosophy of Kris Kringle. Luckily, some of the Christmas specials explain much of the Santa Legend. “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” and “Polar Express” are probably two of the best at explaining flying reindeer and treks down the chimney, but two years ago, I ran into a situation that no Rankin/Bass animated special could explain.

We had completed our “Official” Santa visit about 30 minutes before his final shift ended. After the big event, we grabbed a bite to eat in the mall. Towards the end of our meal, who to our wandering eyes should appear walking across the Food Court with coat thrown over his arm, but Santa, himself. He tossed a smile, waved back at the kids and walked out the door. The kids watched his trail through the window, hoping to see eight tiny reindeer (or possibly nine) launching into the night sky. Instead, they spotted the red capped gentleman stepping into a red 1983 Ford Pinto and driving away. Confusion set into their tiny faces.

My wife and I stared in horror. After all, we’d convinced the kids that this was indeed the REAL Santa. We glanced at one another and I could tell we were both thinking “Maybe they didn’t notice.” Then I felt the tug and looked at my son’s quizzical look.

“Daddy, where are the reindeer?” My mind quickly filed through the previous years’ explanations of all things Santa…trying to confirm that what I was about to say didn’t conflict with previously stated “fact.”

And then I responded, “At a farm…the mall is no place to keep reindeer with all the cars and such. And there’s no food on the roof of the mall to keep them fed ALL day. So they keep the reindeer at a farm.” We got up, tossed our scraps and headed for the parking lot in pondering silence. Another tug.

“But why is he driving a beat-up old car like that?”

“Well, if he drove a fancy car, he’d attract a lot of attention and everyone would follow him around. If people followed him, they’d find out where the reindeer are and maybe feed them some bad food or something.”

“Like in the movie ‘The Santa Clause 2?’”

Ah…a holiday classic once again came to safe the day! “Yes, remember Comet got sick on candy? The same thing could happen if people fed them the wrong food.” We got into our car and buckled the children in. My wife and I climbed in and we drove towards our home. The ride was silent except for holiday music serenading us from the radio.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad we saw Santa tonight and told him what we wanted. But next year, I’m going to wish for Santa a better car.”

Merry Christmas everyone.

Politic-Al Thoughts

It’s not very often that I share my political views. And to be honest, I’m really not planning to share many now. I’ll admit that I moderately lean to the left, and I’ll leave it at that. But the intent of my comments here is not to persuade you to vote one way or the other, but merely to share some mostly unbiased observations. What I do care about is that you vote…no matter your candidate. Failure to vote takes away any right you have to complain about the politicians in office. Now who wants to forfeit their right to complain?

I have to admit that I’ve a Palin watcher. No, I’m not going to vote for her ticket, but I find the media coverage of her every move fascinating. But what I find even more intriguing is that there is finally a "soccer mom" vying for a significant national office. Women in their 30’s and 40’s rule this country. Really. Whether as a wife or mother, these women serve as home managers better than any man probably could. It only makes sense that one is finally hitting the big time to help manage the country. Hillary never struck me as the "soccer mom" type. Margaret Thatcher and Madeleine Albright certainly did not fit the bill. It’s not because Sarah Palin is more attractive than the others I mention; it’s just that she seems to fit in that neighborhood PTA lady, girl-scout leader mold more comfortably. Again, her politics are not going to earn my vote, but she represents a long-ignored and very significant portion of our population. I hope to see more women take the national spotlight in the future.

Barack Obama has the easiest name to belch than any other presidential candidate in history. “Ba-Raaaaaack”

Did anyone else notice that John McCain did not look at Barack Obama once during the first debate? Despite the moderator asking the candidates to talk to one another, McCain continued to talk to the camera and audience.

I find it interesting that incumbent politicians are claiming that they’ve opposed current unpopular legislation, or proposed favorable legislation that Congress or whomever shot down. That tells me that the incumbent wasn’t very effective or influential to be able to pass the more favorable proposals. I’d suggest trying someone else.

I have a female friend that stated, during the primary season, that she couldn’t believe anyone would ever vote for a female for president. She blatantly told me during the primaries that she could never ever vote for a woman and planned to vote Republican this year. I have to wonder if she’s still going to vote that way now that Palin shared the presidential ticket, or if “never vote for a woman” actually meant “never vote for Hillary.”

Speaking of female candidates, Elizabeth Dole is running for re-election as Senator in North Carolina. I have one question. Where the hell is Bob Dole? He hasn’t been seen once during the campaign.

Political advertisements actually make me miss the obnoxious car dealership commercials.

Vote. Just do it. It matters. Especially this year.

Cracking a Smile, China Style

Did you see the Opening Ceremony of the Beijing Olympic Games? Admittedly, they were spectacular to watch, but did anyone else sense a “cult-like” feel to the presentation? The commentators on television mentioned that the synchronous performance of the 2,008 drummers was a bit intimidating during rehearsals, so the producers encouraged the drummers to smile more. This reminded me of my trip to Beijing back in 1986.

My travel companions and I found ourselves at the Beijing Hotel seeking an English-speaking guide. After having endured a 36-hour ride in a rather dirty train from Guangzhou to Beijing, we were hungry and thirsty. All we had consumed on the ride was warm beer and M&M’s. If you had seen the dining car, you would have understood why. The Beijing Hotel offered an oasis…a sundries shop with recognizable food and drink.

I can’t recall what we ordered, but as each of us placed an order at the counter, the clerk would stare coldly, then crack a smile, which looked more like a grimace, and then turn to fetch our order. Once he returned with the natural cold stare, he’d hand us a drink or food item, crack that same forced smile, and return to his work. I swear I could hear his skin crackle from the nature of his strained expression. We asked the guide what was going on and she explained that the Beijing “authorities” were encouraging all service workers to smile more so as to appear more warmly towards Western tourists.

During the next few days, we encountered a few “real” smiles from passers-by, but not once did I encounter a worker in a restaurant or shop that seemed genuinely happy. Of course, such folks have bad days here in the US, but it was obvious to me that many people in China simply did not have happy lives.

Simply speaking, freedom contributes to happiness. We were in a communist country in which the same freedoms didn’t exist as they did in the US. And they apparently still don’t.

I read in the paper this morning that the young girl who sang so beautifully in the same opening ceremony didn’t sing at all. Another girl actually sang the words, but she was deemed as being not cute enough to represent China to the world. A government official selected a more visually pleasing child (in his opinion) to sing the music. Unbeknownst to this pretty young performer, her microphone was shut off and the words of the "ugly girl" were heard by the world. It was stated that this was done in “the nation’s best interest.”

Calling any child “ugly” is just wrong, especially when the singing child in fact was as cute as any other child. Doing so in the nation’s best interest is simply imposing the government’s will on the people. This is not freedom. This is not happiness.

Twenty-two years ago, a clerk smiled at me in the most painful way. Drummers smiled for billions of people on television the other night so as not to be intimidating. I’ve met real people in China and they are beautiful people indeed. But until the government let’s go of their hold and allows true freedom, the people will never be truly happy.

Health Update

Many of my readers have asked how my health is…particularly my blood health. Well, it had been six months since I last had my blood levels checked. If you recall, the combination of medication and diet had an extraordinary effect to reducing my "bad" cholesterol and my triglycerides, while increasing my "good" cholesterol. However, I was a little skeptical prior to my most recent appointment last week.

Before my appointment six months ago, I went on a pretty strict low-carb diet. I limited myself from almost anything "fun" to eat, such as breads, cookies, pizzas, pastas and (gasp) M&M’s. But the effort was worth it. My total cholesterol was cut in half and my doctor stood dumbfounded in front of me for my success. Since then, I haven’t been so disciplined.

The holiday season came and went with the usual sweet temptations. I resisted pretty well and only ate an occasional cookie. Then came Valentine’s Day with all the chocolate temptations. Finally, Easter reared its ugly ears as jelly beans and chocolates danced teasingly in front of my taste buds. I’ll admit that I had to sample a few here and there.

My kids started karate and gymnastics after school on Thursdays and it became difficult to find time to cook a nice meal. Bojangles, Jersey Mike’s or McDonald’s seemed to be the offering of the evening on such busy evenings. And then there is pizza. Probably my weakest moments were when I was confronted with pepperoni pizza. I had to have a slice here and there…and occasionally over there.

So, as you can see, my diet was not nearly as strict as before. Still, I have to admit that my pizza indulgences were much less than in the old days. In many cases, I chose to enjoy only two slices rather than the old three or four. The candy was always merely sampled and I haven’t bought a four-pound bag of M&M’s (to be consumed within 3 days) in many many months. To use a cliché, the key is moderation.

Well, along with moderation should come a bevy of will power. I’m not sure many people could sample one french fry and not be tempted to eat a whole bag. Luckily, I’ve had such will power. Maybe it’s because I was always such a picky eater and a nibbler in my younger days (a trait my daughter now frustratingly seems to have inherited). But I’ve found that when I have a craving for a french fry or macaroni and cheese, I can simply take a bite of what’s left over from my kids’ meal…usually from my daughter’s plate…and be satisfied with only that one tasting.

I guess moderation is the key to my diet…or as I’ve said in the past, my lifestyle. (A side note…South Beach has changed the name of their entrees and wraps from "South Beach Diet" to "South Beach Living." I think that maybe I should have copyrighted the "lifestyle" label.) But is moderation enough?

I received the blood results this morning, and I’m happy to report that, yes, it is enough. Although my triglycerides were up slightly from 107 to 112, it’s still well below the recommended maximum of 150. My "good" cholesterol improved from 60 to 62 and my "bad" cholesterol reduced further from 57 to 45. In fact, the only concern that my doctor had was that my "bad" cholesterol was a little too low now. As a result, he’s cutting my Zocor dosage in half. I was hoping he’s prescribe a Big Mac a day, but no such luck.

Needless to say, I’m pretty happy. I’ve been able to integrate my favorite foods back into my diet without falling off the wagon. I still do not consume cereal and orange juice for breakfast, but instead have a low sodium V8 and either oatmeal or an omelet. My lunches are primarily South Beach wraps, or a sandwich using whole wheat bread, and a salad. I eat fish at least once or twice a week, and when we do order out, I choose the smarter menu choices. And lastly, I haven’t had a drink of alcohol in over nine months. Even my consumption of non-alcoholic beer is limited to less than one a week.

I’ll continue to keep you posted on my blood health as well as any other related issues. But again, thanks for the moral support in the beginning and thanks for continuing to inquire.

Knowing Denny

When I started to date my wife nearly 14 years ago, I had to eventually face a major obstacle: meeting her dad. I had met her mom when I first met my wife at a university alumni function (should I even say I met my wife and her mom in a bar?). But of course, meeting "the dad" is always a different thing entirely. After all, I was dating his little girl and, well, you know the anxieties of a father (and I'm beginning to dread those same anxieties as my daughter grows older).

I'm happy to say that the initial meeting and all subsequent meetings since have gone very well. Wayne is an entertaining and humorous guy with a good head on his shoulders. He was very personable and made me feel like part of the family from the beginning. In fact, it wasn't long that I found myself invited within a most sacred of groups: his golfing foursome.

I can't recall exactly the first time I joined him golfing or the circumstances as to how I was invited. But I'm sure that we golfed together with two other gentlemen that made up our foursome for many outings. Krish was Wayne's next door neighbor and eventually became friends enough with me to be apart of our wedding party. He also had a great sense of humor and loved the movie "Blazing Saddles" which is probably why we instantly connected. The fourth member of our group was Denny. He was a good friend of Wayne's from church and they shared the fact that they were both Pennsylvanian born and bred. Denny was a good guy as well, but I really didn't know him as well as the others.

What I do recall about Denny was his love of Rusty Wallace. I was never a NASCAR fan, although by proxy of living in North Carolina, I had to have some familiarity with the sport. Except for the more household names of the day, such as Jeff Gordon and the late Dale Earnhardt, I didn't really know much about the other drivers. But in golfing and associating with Denny, I eventually learned that Rusty's car number was "2," and that Miller Genuine Draft was his team sponsor. Whenever a hot golf day insisted on liquid refreshment, you can bet that Denny would buy a MGD for Rusty's sake.

Other than the occasional golf encounter, I would sometimes see Denny and his wife at church (back when we attended church regularly...is that thunder I just heard?) His wife Jean has a remarkable sense of humor and is a beacon of light to all that know her. She's always involved in church and social activities, and it is always a pleasure to make her laugh. I knew that Denny had to be a good guy to have such a good wife.

After my kids grew out of their cribs and into "big" beds, we sold the crib furniture to Jean and her expectant daughter. "Sold" seems like a harsh word because there's definitely an emotional attachment to such furniture: the nights of kids crying and the subsequent soothing, the bouncing of happy faces in the cribs, and the eventually tumbling out after the first adventurous climb. So rather than say they we "sold" them the furniture, I suppose it's more accurate to say that we "entrusted" them with the furniture. Denny's family is worthy of such trust.

Denny passed away last night after an extended illness. And even though the golfing expeditions stopped long ago (Krish got married and moved, I had kids, etc.), it will feel a little different the next time I grab the clubs. In as little as I really knew and socialized with Denny, I'll still miss him. He was a gentleman of goodness overall, and an accompaniment of good times for me.

Here's to you Denny, and may your angel's wings be adorned with the number 2.

Because I'm a Parent

Sometimes, things take place that defy any explanation other than, "because I’m a parent."

Because I’m a parent, my morning routine is usually a hectic one. As with most mornings, my wife got up before me today at around 5:30 in the morning and took her shower. After losing yet another battle with the snooze button, I got up and made the bed as she washed, relieved myself at the toilet, and then stood bleary-eyed on the scales while the morning news blared from the television. Luckily I got the order right once again. Once she got out of the shower, I entered and felt a bit of life return to my body as I escaped to within the warmth of the shower. The moment was brief though as my morning routine had only just begun.

Because I’m a parent, I rushed out of the shower, combed my hair and applied deodorant. My wife will usually have selected the kid’s outfits by now, but on this morning she was feeling a little rough from a nasty cold, so I filled in her duties. I got dressed and ran into each child’s bedroom with a morning greeting and a flick of the light switch. My rebuttal was that of groans and heads tucked further beneath the covers. I offered up another cheerful and melodic salutation as I selected each outfit, followed by a more stern, but often repeated, "Come on guys, we’re running late!"

Because I’m a parent, I grabbed each kid’s shoes out of their respective closets and placed them at the top of the stairs. I then returned and made each bed as I heard the television station changed to the Disney channel. I issued another warning of "get dressed NOW" in my stern daddy-voice as I smoothed the last wrinkles from the Sleeping Beauty comforter in my daughter’s Princess-themed room. Returning to my room with combs, brush and detangling conditioner in hand, I found the pajamas spread somehow amongst the farthest corners of the room. Gathering her nightshirt and his pajamas, I tossed them in the hallway to remind me to take them to their rooms to fold. I shoved her panties in my pocket and clumsily started to spray my daughter’s hair with conditioner to straighten out her locks. His poker straight hair was a bit easier to comb, although his two cowlicks still defied my best head press.

Because I’m a parent, I barked out orders for each kid to head to the kitchen downstairs and to not forget their shoes. I grabbed the pajamas in the hall and quickly folded and placed each on the respective kid’s bed. Gathering my cell phone (used as my alarm), empty water glass, and hair-grooming tool, I juggled each item to the end of the hall where I picked up two pairs of shoes with the very tips of available fingers. I carried all items down stairs to the kitchen, dropped the shoes to the floor, placed the combs on the table and laid my phone isolated next to the re-charger. The Disney Channel crooned from the family room.

Because I’m a parent, I poured two glasses of orange juice and retrieved two Flintstones vitamins and laid them on the kitchen table. I tossed Cinnamon French Toaster Sticks (ONLY Aunt Jemima brand) into the microwave for my son and poured a bowl of "Daddy Cheerio’s" (Multigrain) into a bowl for my daughter. As the toaster sticks nuked, I poured coffee, V8 and more Daddy Cheerios for my wife and announced to the kids that their juice was on the table. The sticks being done, I placed grape jelly on one side of the pile and syrup on the other side, just as I do every day. Both breakfasts were placed on the table with an announcement that "breakfast is ready, so turn off the TV." I placed my wife’s breakfast, plus toast, on a tray and ran it to her back upstairs so that she could continue to get herself ready on time. Disney was still playing on our TV.

Because I’m a parent, I returned to the family room, turned off the TV and used the daddy-voice once again to urge the kids to the breakfast table. As I packed lunches, I answered the daily questions of "Is this Fred Flintstone?" "Which one has the mountain hair (Bam-Bam)?" "Is Dino a dog or a dinosaur?" and "Who ARE the Flintstones anyway?"

Because I’m a parent, I fixed my breakfast (Jimmy Dean omelet and bacon) last and ate it as I continued to pack the lunches and ensure I had the right homework in the right backpack. I poured my wife a travel mug full of coffee and placed her lunch by the door. As I packed my lunch, I noticed one child was missing and the other finger-painting a masterpiece on his plate with grape jelly. By some miracle, his shirt remained clean. The bathroom door closed and my daughter returned to the table, while announcing that the cat was making strange noises in the living room.

Because I’m a parent, I cleaned the cat barf off the carpet while barking orders to the kids to "PLEASE finish your breakfast and go brush your teeth." A blur ran by me with a recognizable voice saying, "gottagoluvyyahaveanicedaybye" and I swear I felt a kiss on my lips. I returned the near empty keg of pet stain remover and washed my hands as each child made their own interpretation of the earlier cat noises.

Because I’m a parent, I grabbed a plate of half-eaten toaster sticks and a near full bowl of Multigrain Cheerios and growled, "brush your teeth NOW" in my grizzliest of bear voices. Both kids ran to their bathroom as if their lives depended on it as I loaded the dishwasher and packed my briefcase. I eventually went back upstairs with comb, brush, and conditioner in hand to my own bedroom where I was greeted by the sounds of the Disney Channel. I ran an electric razor over my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair and put on my shoes. I stuffed a wallet in one pocket and a handkerchief in another as I felt the sniffles coming on, having apparently been transferred in the earlier run-by kiss from my wife. I turned off the TV (finally) and found that my daughter was just starting to brush her teeth as a couple gallons of toothpaste-laden water drained from the sink from my sons’ tooth brushing. My growl had turned to a surrendering sigh and a plea to PLEASE hurry up.

Because I’m a parent, I helped my son tie his shoes in a proper double knot and handed him his jacket. I loaded my briefcase and lunch box into the car and clipped the now lifeless cell phone onto my belt. As the car warmed up, I returned inside the house and tied my daughter’s shoes and wiped the toothpaste off her mouth. She put on her jacket and both kids grabbed their backpacks and headed to the car. I turned out the lights, gave the cat a stare as he belched, and headed for the car myself. My kids teased me that I placed the wrong water bottles in their backpacks, so I corrected the error as they stared frozen and unable to comprehend they could have corrected this themselves.

Because I’m a parent, I drove carefully to the school despite running at least 15 minutes later than planned. I pulled up to the school, and reminded each child to give me a hug and kiss. I assured each that I loved them and that their mom would be picking them up after school. I watched the tikes walk into the big building in my rearview mirror as I drove off to work.

Because I’m a parent, I arrived at a workplace I enjoy, but sometimes wonder if it’s what I really want to do in my life. I looked at the photographs of my kids and their original artwork posted on my cubicle walls and realized, once again, that I do it for the kids, so they can have the things they need. My wife and I endure work, adult responsibilities and our own illnesses in order to give our children all that we can. Mentally recharged, I headed to the daily morning production meeting, at which I’m always expected a little late. I quietly walked in and took my place to lean against a side table when I felt the sniffles coming back. As I felt the sneeze rise, I reached for my handkerchief and let out a large sneeze.

And because I’m a parent, I stood before my colleagues with a pair of pink Cinderella panties pressed against my face.

Adventure to Massanutten

It's been four years since Raleigh, North Carolina has had any measurable snow. A snowfall of six inches was predicted about a month ago, so we purchased saucer sleds and winter boots in anticipation of a fun winter's day. Instead, we received less than half an inch…just enough to make the yard muddy. No sledding and no winter fun. The kids were frustrated as were my wife and I. The school was just beginning the winter break, so since we couldn't get winter to come to us, we decided to take ourselves to winter.

We had visited Massanutten, Virginia before. Massanutten is a four-seasons resort located near the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Our previous visits have been in the late summer since the cooler mountain environment offered us a respite from the hot and humid North Carolina weather. However, this time we weren't merely seeking cooler climates, but seeking snow.

Our journey to the resort was planned to begin on a Friday, but as our luck usually happens, my son caught the flu on Thursday. Luckily we caught it early enough and the flu meds kicked in enough to allow us to leave on Saturday rather than Friday. This was just as well because our packing efficiency is analogous to not only trying to get ducks to walk in a row, but to get them to do so in step and with synchronized wing movements. It's just not something we, as a family, do well. There was no way we would have been packed on Friday to leave before late afternoon, and I'm just not a real fan of late arrivals to any vacation destination. Trust me, we do it all the time and it's not fun. But I digress.

The route we chose took us six hours to travel...about 30 minutes longer than the course we chose last summer. This newer route was indeed longer, but was chosen because it was nearly all interstate highways and therefore fewer curves that might make the kids, particularly my son, get carsick. Our only real near-sick situation arose when we were in the deepest and most narrow-road part of the mountains. That's when my son announced calmly, "I really have to poopy." Curvy two-lane roads, hair-pin turns and towering pine trees were all that we could see for miles. And of course, we hadn't packed any toilet paper. The only choice was to press the gas-pedal and careen down the mountain, taking curves on 2-wheels in order to find any civilization. After a butt-clenching 15 miles in 15 minutes, we spotted those wonderful golden arches. As I ran out of the car with son in tow (and engine still running), we sprinted to the restroom. My son danced as we struggled with the zipper, his eyes welling with near tears and he finally sat down. And sat. And sat. "Hmmm…daddy, I think maybe it was just gas."

We traveled only another 20 minutes to the resort itself after fumigating Ronald's house. After a pleasantly brief check-in, we headed to our unit towards the top of the mountain. Our ears popped perhaps twice between the check-in center and the condo. We were most definitely in the mountains, and once we arrived, we had a spectacular view of the ski resort and buildings below.

As we looked at this view, two eyes peered back at us. Massanutten is known for the abundant deer population, and one was already greeting us. My daughter immediately named it Bongo. A second and third deer soon joined the first in grazing along the slope. These were named Sweetie and Tommy. I have no idea where my daughter comes up with names so quickly, but it's an endearing quality. Eventually, three others (unnamed) joined in, and we suspected we'd see the animals every day of our stay. As it turned out, this was our only sighting. But we soon realized that deer were not the only other inhabitants of the resort. In fact, we were not even alone inside the unit.

Tiny specs danced along the kitchen countertop. Ants. Not a ton of them, but enough to know there was a whole resort of them hiding away somewhere. We immediately called the maintenance guy who showed up with a can of ant spray. He sprayed the kitchen floor, the counter tops, and the cabinets. The kitchen glistened in bug-killing juice and the scent now replaced that of the clear mountain air. Taking a whiff, he called for housekeeping to come clean up the excess bug juice. As they arrived, we headed out to Pizza Hut for dinner (next to McDonald's where we really didn't want to make an appearance so soon after our previous visit) then we went grocery shopping for the stay's provisions. Upon returning to the unit, we unloaded the food into the refrigerator and cabinets and the kids passed out on the couches. We took them to bed and followed behind shortly ourselves.

On Sunday, we slept in a little, and then I got up to fix some breakfast. Being hungry, I decided to grab a couple fig newtons. This was an old habit of mine from before I started to diet, and I was really hungry, so I thought I'd sneak a cookie before breakfast. After all, even though it was cheating on my diet, it was vacation and I was allowed to enjoy myself a little more than usual. When I grabbed a pack of the cookies, I noticed something strange. The fig center of each cookie seemed to be moving. As I twisted around the sealed plastic bag, I noticed the figs weren't moving at all. Instead, it was the hundreds of ants inside that were moving. Somehow, the little buggers got into the sealed bag and feasted. To my disappointment, I tossed out all the fig newtons along with the one vice I hoped to embrace that day. Nothing else was touched, just my figs newtons. But to be on the safe side, all other cookies and snacks were placed in a plastic tote for the rest of the stay.

After breakfast and some lazing about, we went to a time-share presentation and sales pitch for 3 hours. I hate those things. It's a high-pressured atmosphere and just plain not relaxing. But the reason we attended was to earn 100 resort bucks that helped us to pay to take the kids to the water park later in the week. (At 28 bucks a pop for the evening session, it was worth the 3 hours of my life to pay for my kids' enjoyment). The tour was a high-pressure sales pitch as we expected, but we got the resort bucks as well as a free lunch out of the deal. The sales lady was some old German gal named Petra who reminded me of our Danish neighbor back home, but much, much more annoying. I must have used the words, "yes, it's a great deal, but no, we're not going to spend eleven thousand dollars on a timeshare now…thank you" up to fifteen times before she finally gave up the fight. Truly, this was a miserable experience, but again, this time…and perhaps only this time, it was worth it.

Once the Petra sales pitch was over, we took the kids to the indoor swimming pool and found the water to be freezing. The kids jumped right in while it took my wife and I nearly 20 minutes to ease ourselves to shoulder depth. I have to wonder at what age does the annoyance of freezing cold temperatures supercede the thrill of the swim. Certainly not at age 5 as the kids gleefully splashed around the ice caps. I made a mental note to myself to get the kids swim lessons this summer so that we don't have to go in with them in the future.

We wore our swimsuits under our bundled winter clothing as we arrived. However, before we left, we had to dry and change into dry underwear and clothes in the locker room before leaving. I can't vouch for my daughter's reaction, but this was my son's first experience in a locker room with others changing clothes. It was hard to keep a straight face to watch his face and keep him from pointing at other naked people. A mixture of personal modesty and curiosity sent him into a flood of whispered comments. "That boy is wearing a towel" "Can they see me naked?" "Why does that man have a hairy butt?"

We ended the day heading back to our unit as light flurries began to fall. The kids were thrilled to see the white stuff falling, but I figured the flurries would be all the snow we'd see. Raleigh had made me grow quite cynical to snowy forecasts.

Monday morning came too soon as the sun was barely shining into the valley below. However, an excited whisper coaxed me awake. "Daddy, our backyard is covered in snow!" Our backyard was a 60-degree slope to the condo below, but sure enough, it was covered with a good inch of snow. We were all excited, so rather than have a leisurely morning of coffee and breakfast, I made everyone get dressed without showering and we headed out to play in the snow a bit. Snowballs flew and street skating commenced as we enjoyed this rare and new experience for the kids. We had brought our aforementioned sleds with us and decided to drive to the park at the bottom of the mountain to hit their slopes. Unfortunately there was no snow at the bottom, only at the top of the mountain where there was no place to sled. Instead, we drove through a winter wonderland to the very top of the mountain to look at the incredible view and throw a few more snowballs. Eventually, the kids began to experience the main side effect of snow-play…they became cold. So we headed to the condo for hot chocolate and breakfast and an eventual lazy day around the unit.

We had thought of visiting the snow tubing park that day, but saw that the next day, Tuesday, was a half-price day. We decided to take advantage of the savings and wait a day...a decision we later regretted. Instead, we bided our time playing games and reading books. The kids learned the rules of checkers and also that checkers can be a very long game if played too defensively. I'm not sure if we ever finished a game. My son brought along some clay, so colorful rainbows and flowers soon decorated our unit. The condo itself was a pretty basic two-bedroom unit that one would find at most timeshares. However, there was one outstanding feature…the Jacuzzi. This tub easily sat four adults comfortably and was surrounded on three sides by full-mirrored walls. I searched around for the disco mirror ball and shag carpet. Regardless of it's party reputation, we soon found it to be the perfect entertainment for a family of four to bathe together. And this time, the water wasn't freezing.

Afterwards, we made sure the kids napped in the afternoon as we prepared to visit the indoor water park that evening. The water park turned out to be awesome. There was a nice lazy river, slides galore, and absolutely no way to remain dry if one ventured into the play space of tipping water buckets (the largest holding hundreds of gallons) and spraying hoses. Of course, the water was cold, but much easier to adjust to the temperature within the 84-degree environment. We floated in the lazy river for a few laps and then went into the play area. The kids chickened out of the larger (but not huge) slides but enjoyed the much smaller ones. The rest of the family ended the experience by floating and soaking in the warm springs (not too hot, hot tub). Admittedly, I enjoyed this warm soaking, but screams and splashes across the building beckoned me for one more wet experience.

The "thrill ride" of the water park was to venture through the long water tubes. These tubes extended outside of the building and led back into the pool inside. When one approaches the building from the outside, one can hear screeches of delight echoing from the tubes. I just had to experience one.

I grabbed an inner tube and walked up the 5 stories of stairs. At the top were three choices…each one was a hole in the wall with rushing water flowing into the darkness. I randomly chose one, sat on my tube, and was thrust into the darkness by a giggling attendant. The ride was in pitch darkness with no indication of where the tube would turn next. It was quite a blast as I expected the end of the tube and light of the building to greet me any second. But the ride seemed endless. Then suddenly, the most unexpected sensation occurred. Weightlessness. The tube dropped what seems to be straight down, although I'm sure it was no steeper than the drive to the condo. I have no idea if I screamed like a school-girl, roared in manly delight, or was left breathless. All I know is that I came up from under the shallow water at the end with a giddiness and laughter I'd not felt in a long time. This was worth the 3 hours with Petra.

Tuesday morning greeted us with drizzling rain outside, which prevented us from going tubing. Since the rain was forecast for the remainder of the day, we decided to head back to North Carolina and have the next day at home to recover and unpack (a process equally as long as packing). It took a while to pack for the return since we kept debating the value of shortening our stay, but it was a good choice overall. I'm disappointed we didn't snow tube, but I'm thinking the kids would have been intimidated there as they were at the water park slides. And it was drizzling and miserable. So, we packed throughout the day and eventually headed out around 4:00PM for us to be home by 10:30PM. A long dinner on the road and getting lost in Charlottesville extended the return trip time by 30 minutes. I made another note to myself: when printing off Mapquest directions, make sure to print the return trip directions as well.

Overall, we had a nice time. The ants sucked, but weren't too bad after the initial fig newton take over. The main television was on the fritz throughout our stay, but the kids had one in their room and we had one in ours, mostly to fall asleep by as we watched B-movies on HBO. Swimming at the indoor pool and again at the water park were definitely highlights. The view from the unit was nice, especially when it snowed the one morning. And that was our main goal, to have the kids experience snow before winter's end. Now I'm ready for spring, and hopefully the ants will stay outdoors.

Dissing the Tooth Fairy

I took my kids to their respective karate and gymnastics classes last night. While there, I got "the look" from another parent. My daughter lost her third tooth last week and was wiggling the next candidate as she awaited her class. As the girl likes to do, she was telling complete strangers about her recent dental changes and was enthusiastically displaying her new toothless void. When the lady asked her if the tooth fairy had visited (expecting an enthusiastic "Yes!"), my daughter responded with a straight face and a simple "no." That's when I got “the look.” The is the gaze one receives when another person thinks you're either an awful parent keeping a child from their innocence, or a practitioner of a strange religion that shuns the existence of the tooth fairy. Immediately, I had to stammer for an explanation to my daughter's words by stating, "It’s HER choice!"

That's right...my daughter refuses to give up her teeth. We've reminded her that the tooth fairy will reward her handsomely for the teeth (hinting at $5 for the first and a dollar for each additional), but she refuses to part with them. I've never received an explanation that makes a lot of sense, just that she wants to keep them in a cheap plastic McDonald's Happy Meal toy container that looks like a tooth fairy. I've seen her play with this toy and I can imagine all her teeth spilled over the carpeted floor, leading to me eventually stepping upon an incisor in the dark of night and feeling it penetrate to the bone in my bare foot.

She asked if she could write a letter to the tooth fairy for money rather than offer up a tooth, but in an effort to teach her a little about sacrificing for a greater reward, we decided not to allow that. Give up the teeth and get the cash. No exception. Otherwise, she could write a letter anytime requesting money and simply expecting it without any sacrifice or actions in exchange. I’ve seen her struggle with the dilemma, while being amazed at both her decision and her acceptance of said consequence. Between you and me, I’m sure her decisions will be amply rewarded eventually. Either that, or when her brother starts showing a profit (he’s already looking forward to his first payment) she’ll change her mind and seek a bulk tooth-deposit.

I suppose that I'm destined to get “the look” from other parents for quite a while. But frankly, they can look to their heart’s content, for I know I'm a decent parent that's allowing my daughter to do as she wishes and to learn to make tough independent choices. I might regret that when she becomes a more opinionated teenager, but by then, I'll be dealing with her looks rather than those from others.

Groundhog Beginning

My eyes slowly opened to the morning light. No alarms, no loud noises. Just a gentle awakening that I’d not experienced in months. Usually I’m reaching for my cell phone alarm or hearing the whispers of my kids waking me at the crack of down. But on this Saturday morning, at roughly 8:00, I awoke simply because I was ready to wake up. I savored the silence and had one thought. “What are the kids up to?”

I soon had my answer as I heard whispering in the hallway. My wife had also just awoken and we both decided to play possum to see what the kids’ plans were. I heard whispers and tiptoeing on the carpet. Finally a soft counting of, “one, two, three….” The chord from a harmonica screeched somewhat quietly, followed by a rousing chorus of “Happy Groundhog Day to You!”

I opened my eyes as the two tikes smiled and swayed as they sang their song. Before I could applaud, they started the next phase of their presentation. Walking to my wife’s side of the bed, my son proclaimed, “In recognition of Groundhog day, I proclaim you as the Groundhog Queen” as he placed a paper crown upon her head. Rather than jewels adorning the tiara, smiling ground hog faces circled my wife’s head. Her face was beaming with pride.

My daughter then presented me with a card. The front was written in blue crayon: “It is growhog day. Wod you like to play?” Inside, the choice was “Yes or No” Of course, I responded with a resounding yes. My son then asked me if I thought the groundhog would see his shadow today? Judging from the sunlight streaming through the blinds, I told him he would He seemed to be thrilled with the answer.

The day has since proceeded as any other Saturday…with a nice cooked (not nuked) breakfast and plenty of Saturday morning cartoons. I’m sure we’ll run our errands later on and take care of some household chores. But today, I’ll make an extra effort to play, and my wife will still be wearing groundhogs on her head.

Accidental Attraction

A couple of weeks ago, I was traveling down a back road towards work as I usually do. The main road is typically congested and, despite the back road being two miles longer in distance, it saves me about 5 minutes on my commute. Besides, it’s a pleasant road that passes a few horse farms and other scenic sites. But on this particular morning, there was a car stopped ahead of me to turn left into another road.

I came to a stop behind this other car and waited for them to turn. They were waiting on another approaching car to pass the other way first. Suddenly, above the noise from my radio, I heard screeching tires. I thought for sure that the approaching vehicle was going to crash right into the car in front of me. But the car started to cross the road with no problems, so I glanced in my rear-view mirror to look for the origin of the screeching noise. Nothing in sight…at least until I saw another car to the right of me, along the shoulder, sliding past me. The lady turned her steering wheel hard to her left to keep from sliding too far off the road, and eventually ran into my front right fender. Needless to say, this was not a great start to my day, but for some reason, I soon felt relieved and grateful that there were no injuries and the accident was essentially minor. (Note that "minor" resulted in $1600 damage to my car, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a minor inconvenience).

I had called my boss to tell him I’d be late for work, and also called my wife to basically let her know what had happened. When I arrived at work, word had apparently spread and everyone asked if I was okay. I was and I thanked them for their concern. The same situation occurred when I met my wife later that evening. I assured her and my kids that I was fine and that we’d have to get the car fixed soon. Again, gratefully, there was no real problems and the eventual insurance claims and car repairs went smoothly.

As it turns out, it seems more than co-workers and family was concerned for my well being. "I am sorry you were recently involved in an auto accident." "We are so sorry this misfortune has happened to you." "If you have been injured, we’re here to help." I have been virtually overwhelmed with good wishes and people who are concerned with my well being. In particular, 6 attorneys and 3 chiropractors have taken time out of their busy day to offer their condolences and assistance. How nice of them.

I suppose that if I had been injured and wanted to protect myself, I might welcome such an inundation of legal and medical options. One thoughtful lawyer stated, "I apologize if this letter seems to invade your privacy." As I think about that, I realize they’re not apologetic at all. After all, even though my accident is public record, one has to search for or be at the right spot to know when such records are fled. Do they have a paralegal or hired help sitting at the hall of records just waiting for accident reports? Does someone at the highway patrol send a mass email to all attorneys and chiropractors informing them of the details of an accident? And what of the basically nice lady that hit me? She was a pleasant individual and readily admitted fault. She was not rude, she was apologetic and I was grateful of that. Still, did the very same people contact her? And as for the attorneys…would they have taken the side of which ever one of us called them first? No, they’re not apologetic at all, because they count on this information for their bread and butter.

I can’t really call them vultures. I would say they are necessary in many cases, especially where serious accident and differing accounts of what happened occurred. But the fact that the police report noted there were no injuries doesn’t seem to phase these people. They all simply assume that there was an injury, despite the report. So it’s not the invasion of privacy that gets to me, but the assumption of what’s best for me. It almost makes me think of the reckless paparazzi that follows Britney Spears and other celebrities. They don’t care what happens to the person they’re following. They only care about how that person can lead to them making a buck.

Trying to Remember the Good Stuff

When my dad began writing his book a couple years ago, he stated that he was doing so in order to keep the memory of my mom alive after her passing. At the time, I thought it was a sweet gesture, but also wondered if "fading memories" was more a sign of getting older than it was of just not having someone around. After all, my mom had been around my life, well, all my life, so I couldn’t fathom having such memories simply disappear.

I looked at the calendar this morning and saw that this is the third anniversary of her passing. As I think of Mom, my thoughts immediately go to that dark day three years ago when the Putnam County Hospital called me so early in the morning. I recall my mom phoning a couple of days prior and talking to my kids in a confused and desperate manner. I remember how she looked during the Christmas visit only a few weeks earlier. But beyond that, I realize that I have to strain hard for specific memories…the good memories. When I imagine "Mom," I picture her last days. And that’s not really the memory I should or want to keep.

But if you read above, I think you’ll see what my problem is. I stated that today is the third anniversary of her passing. An anniversary should be a celebration. Today is not such an anniversary. So I think I merely need to adjust my thinking. My mind is dwelling on when she left us, and not for the many years of her life before.

So after today, I’ll no longer mark January 22" on my calendar as I subtly do. I won’t forget the day, but I will forgive the day. It’s a day that an unfortunate circumstance occurred in my life (and others), but no more. What I’ll begin to celebrate more, even if only privately, will be July 9, 1934. That’s the day she was brought into this world, not taken out. Even more, I’ll celebrate October 31, 1962, for that’s the day I was introduced to her. If I dwell on those days, then the good memories will come back. I think Mom would appreciate me just moving on to the next day, and the day after that...embracing my kids as she did me and my brother...and just send a smile her way and remember the good stuff instead. I’ll begin to remember the woman who took me to swim lessons on chilly mornings and made me cocoa-wheats to warm me when I returned home. I’ll recall her bowling on her Tuesday morning and Thursday night leagues…and kicking ass. I’ll recall her making fudge for no reason at all after dinner. I’ll remember the taste of her Christmas tree cookie batter that I’ve never been able to duplicate. I’ll remember being slapped in the face for saying, "fart" when I was 10 (yes, that is a good memory…now).

I miss my mom…and always will. But every time I see my daughter smile at me, I know Mom is smiling too. (She has her "Mam-ma’s" eyes for sure). She’s not gone as long as the memories stick around. And as long as I cling to the good ones, and the one’s about her living life, they’ll stick around forever.

So many blog ideas, so little time. It seems as I come up with a new idea about what to write, there just isn't enough time or opportunity to put such thoughts onto monitor. I apologize to those who have anticipated my words. I'll resolve to do better in 2008. And that leads me to my first posting...my 2008 resolutions. I know, I know...EVERYBODY has posted his or her resolutions. But bear with me.

Like most other folks, I resolve to maintain a healthy diet, to exercise more, to work harder, and to play even harder. But face let’s it; these should be daily resolutions, not yearly resolutions. So what should be my true New Year's resolutions?

First, I resolve to embrace more and envy less. It's difficult to turn on the television or read the paper without witnessing someone experiencing a better lifestyle than me. Perhaps it is a beer commercial where everyone is young, attractive and having fun. None of them are toiling away at work and worried about sick kids at home. Maybe it's a celebrity that's vacationing on an exotic island and then flying off to attend a party in some other location. Surely they don't have the worries of bills awaiting their return or whether or not they'll have to mow the lawn. They might have a nice house, or a nice car. They might have a job that pays so much more than mine. They have more time with family and can take seemingly unlimited vacations. Heck, I actually KNOW people with such good fortune and I have envied them in the past. I wanted what they had. But then again, they don't have my family. I have a great family with no real drama (at the moment). I have a job where my efforts are appreciated. I have good friends with whom I can confide and share laughter. I tend to enjoy life overall. And as a result, I am choosing to embrace the wonderful things I have and envy others less.

Next, I plan to avoid any entertainment or "information" that preys upon the humiliation of others. This is just plain cruel for the most part. A prime example of this is the new Fox show called “Moment of Truth” where the host asks contestants extremely personal questions while they are strapped to a lie detector. Why on earth would anyone want to be subjected to such humiliation? Well, obviously the answer to that is "money." Still...what about those poor souls on American Idol that audition with no talent? Sure, some of these people are hoping for fame and fortune simply by being bad, but I’m convinced many have a real dream to sing. And despite their lack of singing talent, why is it we get so much enjoyment out of seeing people’s dreams crushed? Not for me thank you. And please, leave Britney alone. The poor girl needs help and I think we can all agree to that. Having an army of photographers and reporters follow her every bowel movement is bund to drive her crazy, even beyond and mental illness she may already have. Have you noticed how many flash bulbs are going off while she’s driving past? It’s no winder she keeps running over photographers’ feet, she can’t see for the flash bulbs! Just leave her alone…and please don’t offer me more “entertaining gossip” at her expense.

My third resolution is to try not to condemn a person when it’s their skills that need criticized. There might be co-workers, retailers or other service personnel that simply seem like idiots. They might be incompetent or merely lack the skills to perform their job functions. Still, most people are somewhat hard working and have someone in their life that respects or looks up to them. That ass in accounting has a kid screaming in glee for Daddy when he goes home at night. The snobbish sales woman has an ailing husband at home. The young lady serving you your appetizer takes her paycheck home to pay for her child’s dental bill. We all have stresses in life and often time, we take our stresses out on other people. They’re perceived as asses, idiots or whatever you want to call them. And while admittedly some just never seem to learn, others are simply having a bad day. As a result, I’ll think about the people in their lives before I start condemning the individual.

My final resolution is to find a “cause.” Such a thing doesn’t necessarily involve a lot of monetary contribution, but rather devotion. Perhaps it will involve something in which my kids will become active, such as raising funds for a dance studio or volunteering to be an Indian Guide. It might be more involvement in some charitable endeavor, whether it be prostate cancer awareness, blood (triglycerides) health or supporting the Lupus Foundation. I might not be able to contribute funds, but perhaps I can participate in a march, or donate the receipts from a garage sale. And with the election year ahead of us, maybe my cause will be politically motivated. Or maybe my cause will be something of which I have no awareness of at the moment. Whatever the case may be, I think it’s important to have a cause…and at this moment, I really don’t. I tend to go along with the flow and just try to be all things to all people and causes. But honestly, it’s time to embrace “something” bigger than myself. I hope this year to do that, no matter what it may be.

And that is what makes the upcoming year such an exciting time. Something new is bound to happen and I’m convinced it will all be good. So as a result, I resolve to be as good as what I intend to receive. Sounds like a fair deal to me.