The following entries are based upon true events, sometimes mingled with a "little" fiction.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Happy Anniversary

This past week Jan and I celebrated our 32nd wedding anniversary. For the most part this celebration was pretty low-key. Part of that has to do with the time of year we chose to marry. If we could have seen the future we would have changed the April 23rd date to at least into May or June.
Many of our anniversaries have been spent picking up one or more of our kids from BYU in Provo or BYU-Idaho, (formally known as Rick’s College). We’d drive all day, haul out stuff from their apartments and jam it into the car, then help clean their apartment so they could leave. Then, after a one day stay we’d take the 13 hour trip back home.
Some anniversary.
The worst anniversary we had was attending my mother’s funeral. No celebrating there.
So, this year I took Jan out to one of our favorite restaurants, Roadhouse Grill. A few weeks ago I had won a contest at work and received a $100 gift certificate to a restaurant of my choice. So I chose Roadhouse. Pretty nice, didn’t have to pay anything for the major date of the year.
Sometimes we’ll go and see a romantic movie like “The Fast and the Furious.” We really didn’t see that movie but I thought the title is fairly descriptive of many marriages...certainly not ours.
In fact, I was scanning a list of movie titles and discovered that there is secret meaning found in many. No, not the kind that gives clues on where to find historical artifacts that lead to treasure, but clues about successful marriage and family relationships. So, here’s a list of some movie titles that will help all of us be stronger in our commitments. I originally had commented at length about each of these but my editor thought I was too deep and filled with words no one would understand. Instead I’ve shortened each with a few descriptive words. Although this advice is aimed toward husbands, wife’s can flip these to apply to them. Disclaimer to wife’s: Don’t give this list to your husband with the intention of holding him hostage. Be gentle.
Here they are in a very random order:
12 Monkeys: Kids
Altered States: Go nuts whenever you see your wife
American Beauty: Need to tell her she’ beautiful no matter her nationality.
As Good as it Gets : And it can get great.
At First Sight: See her beauty even with no make-up.
A Beautiful Mind: Give her praise for her smarts.
Chicken Run: What to do when there’s an argument. Well, that’s what I do anyway.
A Civil Action: Treat her with respect
Chocolat : The peace offering
Eyes Wide Shut: Don’t see anything that she does that drives you crazy.
Fried Green Tomato’s: Never complain about a meal she’ cooked.
Girl, Interrupted: Let her finish her stories.
Heavyweights: Never, Ever go there.
Ice Age: What you’ll get if you go there (see Heavyweights)
The Music Man: A good serenade will make her swoon, even if you’ve made up the words.
The Never Ending Story: Cut your stories short and to the point
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest: Wives love crazy, spontaneous moments.
Pay It Forward: Stay out of debt.
The Relic: What she’ll refer to you as to her friends if you don’t get off the couch and do something.
Schindler’s List: Never make a list of what you would like to change about her.
The Searchers: Don’t throw out anything until she’s had a chance to decide if it’s a keeper.
The Sixth Sense: Be careful because she knows more than she lets on.
The Usual Suspects: Never blame her for anything.
A Walk in the Clouds: Take her on dates no matter how long you’ve been married.
What Dreams May Come: What happens when you do all the above.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Jeepers Peepers

I understand and appreciate the religious aspects of Easter. My heart is turned toward Christ’s atonement which includes His resurrection. However, I have always enjoyed the secular events of this holiday. No, I don’t get a day off from work. But, it’s the only holiday devoted to consuming huge amounts of candy.

I don’t remember if I ever believed in the Easter Bunny. The thought of a huge, egg laying, home invading rabbit was scary. I also wondered how this Spring time monster who victimized young children got into the house. Santa came through the chimney. Did the Bunny come through the plumbing?

Santa always avoided harm by sailing his sleigh through the crisp winter skies. The Easter Bunny apparently hopped from house to house. Not a speedy way to go. And, how traumatic for a child to see dozens of rabbits converted to road kill on Nevada highways. I never saw Santa’s smashed and flattened body on the road. Come to think of it I guess I have seen a few Santa’s who were smashed.

As a child my mom made sure we had enough hard boiled eggs to dye and then hide. The best part was finding an egg in July that had been hidden so well it was never located during the initial egg hunt. That would be one ripe egg. No one dared to crack it open.

My favorite candies were Peeps. Some think they’re tasteless lumps of goo but I’ve always been a Peep fan. If you want the full taste that satisfies your pallet Peeps need to harden. I bought a couple of trays of grass green rabbits and flaming red chicks. As soon as I came home I opened them up and they’re now aging on the shelf. I’ll give it a week before they’re ripe enough to consume. Hopefully the ant scouts won’t find them.

As the kids were growing up we always celebrated the candy and egg finding day on the Saturday prior to Easter. This separated the worldly from the spiritual. And, instead of hiding those awful eggs we hid various confections. The children would be given a basket and they would roam the living room or kitchen gathering goodies.

This morning, as Jan was propped up in bed reading the paper I quietly opened her drawer and took every pair of her socks. I was so stealthy, stealing her huge collection of stockings right under her nose. I clutched the socks in my crossed arms, holding them close to my chest. Quietly I shut the drawer, dropping a few pairs on the floor. As I bent over to retrieve the runaways all of the socks spilled to the floor. I quickly gathered them back into my arms, one eye watching to see if Jan were looking, the other eye locating the fleeing stockings. Yes, I am cross eyed and can do that.

I had learned from an old western movie, Indians, when stalking unsuspecting cowboys, didn’t walk on their tiptoes. Instead they placed their moccasined feet heel first. I used this technique to sneak out of the bedroom. Dumping the socks on the couch I made sure to take a count. There were fifteen pairs. Then I hid each pair in various places, from the obvious to the class five secret spot. I stashed them behind wall mounted paintings, in the bowl and pitcher sitting on the antique sewing machine cabinet and on the DVD shelves. I concealed the wooly foot coverings on top of the ceiling fan, behind the front window blinds and on top of the lamp. Feeling satisfied that this would be an adventure lasting hours I sat back, waiting for her to get dressed.

As I waited in anticipation I made some Saturday morning pancakes, put the dishes away from the dish washer, swept the floor. Nothing yet. I crept down the hall and peered into the bedroom. She was dressed but, as expected, bare foot. I snuck back down to the living room, snickering to myself and waited. I expected any minute to hear the drawer open and the shout of “Gregory!” vibrating through the roof of our home.

After a few minutes had passed there were still no yelps of sock despair coming from the bedroom. A second time I stole down the hall. I was startled to meet Jan coming out of the bedroom. I raised my eyebrows with a quizzical look expecting her to at least ask where her socks had disappeared to. Instead she looked back at me suspiciously and questioned, “What?”
I pointed at her bare feet, thinking that would clue her that something was missing from her wardrobe.
But, my eyes widened in horror! She had socks on!
I asked where she had gotten them. She replied she had taken them out of her drawer. I told her that was impossible.
“Why, did you take the rest?”
“Here, open your drawer again,” I begged.
Opening the drawer she saw the socks were gone.
I gave her a hug and yelled, “Happy Easter!”

Leading her to the living room I gave her a plastic bag from Target that substituted for the Easter basket. Jan went around the room, collecting her socks like she were picking daises from a field, and placing them in her improvised Easter treat carrier.
Oh yeah, there were a few she had to look hard for but I played the hot/cold game with her until I think she had found them all.

Hopefully, on some warm mid-summer day, I won’t hear, “Gregory!” as Jan discovers a pair of ripe socks that had been hidden so well they weren’t discovered on the initial sock hunt.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

The Route

Brittany and Clay are typical struggling, financially challenged students. When we visited them last week our goal was to hold Maeli and leave imprints of grandparent lips all over her head. However, every morning the bleeping of the alarm sounded like a truck backing up at a construction site. At 4 am I felt like that truck had backed up over me. A light came on down the hall and my eye lids began to flicker as the pupils adjusted to the brightness.

Like a bear waking up after hibernation I stretched and growled as I rolled off the air mattress Jan and I had been sleeping on. In doing so I upset the balance of air in the cosmic mattress universe causing Jan to suddenly sink lower into the mattress. The sudden decompression beneath caused her to let out a gasp.

Patting the floor to find my jeans and a shirt I drearily slipped into them only to discover my shirt was inside out and my feet had led my legs into the same pant hole. I thought the pants were awfully tight as I hopped around like a drunken Easter bunny with an arthritic knee joint.

After correcting the wardrobe malfunctions a surprised Brittany stumbling out of the bathroom asked what I was doing. I proudly announced that I was going to help them on the paper route they had started several weeks ago. She yawned and told me I was nuts. She also pointed out my shoes were on the wrong feet.

As Clay, Brittany and I approached the Jeep, Brittany made a confession. “I have to warn you, Dad, I drive fast and crazy doing this paper route.” I told her I wasn’t worried. After all I had ridden with her mother for many years.(1)

Brittany took her place behind the wheel while I was assigned the front passenger seat. Clay took the backseat I learned so he could sleep while we drove to the newspaper pick up and folding warehouse several miles away.

As we entered the warehouse I noticed several of the other carriers still wore their pajama bottoms and slippers. (No, they weren’t topless. They also had a sweatshirt or jacket on. I didn’t want you to think this was a risqué sort of a newspaper place.). I was waiting to see if any came in wearing a robe and eye mask. (2)
I don’t think I would trust a paper carrier driving around in an eye mask. It would be sort of like placing a blindfold on a sharpshooter aiming his rifle at his assistant with a red balloon clenched tightly between her front teeth. But in this case the shooter would be a newspaper flinger trying to hit the target of the porch, roof, car or cat.

Since the weather was gamey all the papers were bagged. I took a stack and began to zip through them, folding, bagging and stacking them into a cart. I still had the newspaper tri-fold touch. Then Brittany pointed out I had just folded the newspapers of the guy next to us. I’m sure he was appreciative when he came in and saw his papers neatly bagged and stacked. I love to give unexpected service.

Brittany and Clay have over 200 papers to deliver and the route is spread throughout Orem. I soon learned what Brittany meant by driving fast and crazy. Blue bagged newspapers filled the back of the Jeep and cascaded into the back seat with every sharp turn. Clay rode shotgun, literally. With the back left window down as they approached a house he would lean as far out as he could then hurl the paper Frisbee style toward the desired target.

Often this was the driveway but some customers preferred their papers porched. One would think he’d get out of the car to get a better shot, but no, Clay would extend his body even further out the window then chuck the paper toward the porch. He had varied results. Often he would have to leave the car to correct his errant throw.
Now, for the driver, Brittany. She would hurtle through the dark neighborhoods NASCAR style, barely slowing down for Clay to launch the newspapers. I kept Brittany alert with my snappy conversation. Here’s a sampling of our Father-Daughter dialogue as I sort of remember:

Brittany: “I told you this was fast and crazy.”
Dad: “You need to slow down when you take those corners. You’re going to flip this thing over when you’re only on two wheels.”
Brittany: “I’m not going that fast.”
Dad: “Just because its 4 am doesn’t mean you can buzz through stop signs!”
Brittany: “You’re’ sounding like when I had my permit and you were teaching me how to drive.”
Dad: “I never taught you to drive like this!”
Brittany: “We need to go fast so we can get done in time.”
Dad: “You need to be safer. I doubt you’re covered by insurance because you’re using your vehicle for business.”
Brittany: “We’re covered. Now hold on…”
Dad: “Yikes, there’s no need to make those joggers scatter like pins in a bowling alley!”
Brittany: “I didn’t hit anyone…”
Dad: “Maybe not, but that old lady walking her dog is lying on the sidewalk clutching her chest… I think she had a heart attack.”
Brittany: “That wasn’t my fault. I can’t help it if her dog pulled her into my path.”
Dad: “Yeah, path of destruction. Who’s that person curled up in pain in the middle of the street behind us?”
Brittany: “Oh great, Clay’s fallen out the window again.”
Dad: “Don’t back up so fast!”
Brittany: “Don’t worry he’ll roll out of the way.”
Dad: “I’m feeling car sick.”
Brittany: “Here, use this blue bag if you’re going to throw up.”
Dad: “But there’s a paper in there.”
Brittany: “That’s OK. I know just the person to give that paper to.”

Finally arriving back to their apartment I staggered out of the Jeep like a sailor on a wobbling ship. Brittany thanked me for helping out.
As we entered the apartment Jan was still stirring on the mattress. “Are you done already?”
“Oh yeah, I’m done.”

(1) Marriage saving disclaimer: Jan, you are actually a very safe driver. Now please, let me back in the house.
(2) See prior blog entry titled “Sleep Deprivation.”