Monday, December 9, 2013

HONK! HONK! HONK!

Dear Journal,

We put on our coats and left the house together for an impromptu date.  Once in the garage, my wife Carrie hopped in the passenger seat of our truck and I, as Captain of the ship, took the keys out of my front pocket and prepared to sail our love boat, the red truck, out to sea.  Tonight, we were going to the store for groceries.  It was going to be great.

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  Whoa.  What was that obnoxious noise?  It all happened so fast.  My daydreaming of strolling hand in hand with Carrie toward a box of Strawberry Pop Tarts was abruptly interrupted with ... HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  It was our car alarm signaling to all who would hear, “Help!  Police!  Over here!  Arrest the man who’s stealing this car” in the only way it knew how.  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  “Hurry, before that slightly overweight, middle aged guy gets away.” 

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  To silence it, I put the keys in the ignition and started the car.  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  What?  The alarm was still belching out warnings to our neighbors and the entire state of Washington that a crime was taking place.  Carrie began blaring instructions into my right ear when she could get a word in … “TURN”  HONK!  “IT”  HONK!  “OFF”  HONK!
 
I was pushing and pulling any button or lever I could find … wipers, bun warmer, ejection seat to any Hawaiian Island where the only sound would be waves crashing against the warm, white sand.  Nothing was working.  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK! 

Again I heard the tender, familiar voice of my wife, “TURN”  HONK!  “IT”  HONK!  “OFF”  HONK! 

I was beginning to give up hope.  I could not figure out how to turn off the car alarm.  I was under intense pressure and the sound of a repeating HONK was not helping.  I closed my eyes then heard, “IT’S”  HONK!  “THE”  HONK!  “OTHER”  HONK  “CAR”. 

My eyes opened wide and I looked to my left at our other car parked in the garage.  Its headlights and taillights were flashing as if trying to tell me something.  (What is it Lassie?  Has Timmy fallen in the well?)  About ten seconds later, I fixed it.  And there was blessed silence ... well, except for that constant ringing now stuck in my ears.  It'd be 24 hours before that would shut off.  I was just grateful my ears showed no sign of bleeding.  So there's that.

I breathed a sigh of relief.  The embarrassing nightmare was over.  And nobody would know of my un-smartness.  Not the neighbors.  Not the state of Washington.  Not nobody.  Just this somewhat confidential journal entry.  Oh, and my wife ... who told our kids, her parents, 30 of her closest friends, and the gal at the checkout counter.  Which is far fewer than the entire state of Washington.



Friday, November 22, 2013

The Gift

I couldn't stop laughing at work today.  I was trying to explain to a co-worker about a Christmas gift that I once gave my mother.

It was a long time ago.  It was that groovy time in my life when I wore bell-bottom, corduroy pants and combed my long, feathered hair over my ears.  I also remember I wore a large belt buckle during that disturbing time.  It had my name in bold, capital letters, “KEVIN’ conspicuously spelled out for all to see.  It was the mid 70’s and I was maybe 10 years old.

One day during the run up to Christmas, I removed my entire net worth, my lifelong savings from a super-secret, wooden box hidden in my bedroom.  I took the loot to the jewelry store to purchase a custom necklace for my mom.  After they gift wrapped it for me, I went directly home to place it under the Christmas tree.  I just knew she’d love it!

On Christmas morning, it was my mom’s turn to open her gift.  I was so excited to see her open it.  Finally, the custom necklace was in her hands and I saw the smile of appreciation on her face.  I knew it …she loved it.  It was a stunning gold necklace that had an incredibly cool golden name plate at the base with her name, “LINDA” conspicuously spelled out for all to see.  I was so proud of the gift and my mother was gracious in receiving it.

So at work today, I was laughing uncontrollably, to tears, when I thought about this gift and tried to explain it to a co-worker.  It was a short necklace with her name on it that more resembled a dog collar then the classy necklace I intended.  Now just stop for a minute and try to visualize someone wearing a necklace like that in public.

Look, in my defense, that little 10 year old just knew that he loved his mom and wanted to get her a gift that she’d always remember.  And it worked.  It was quite memorable.

But having my mom receive my gift with her gratitude, love, and her warm smile … that was a gift of grace that she gave me in return.

And that too is something I will always remember.




Monday, November 18, 2013

The Plumber

On Thursday and Friday last week, I was running out of hot water too quickly.  I called a friend of mine that’s a plumber on Saturday night.  He said it was probably the elements in the hot water tank.  He said he didn't have time to come over, but he’d talk me through the repair.  He told me it was an easy fix.  I asked him if an accountant could do it … he paused and then reassured me that it was easy.

Sunday morning, I started to drain the tank.  My friend said to wait 30 minutes and then unscrew the top element.  I should have waited 60 minutes because I received an unexpected and un-refreshing shower.  I finally got the element out and took it ALL the way into Lowe’s in the next town to provide visual aide.  I showed a helper dude that was wearing a blue vest the old element.  He studied it like a pro and then gave me two new replacement elements.  I went ALL the way home and found out Mr. Lowe’s dude gave me the wrong elements.  They didn't fit.  Back to the store to purchase the correct elements.  After much struggling and difficulty, I got the replacement elements into the hot water tank.  I sent a picture to my friend and he approved.

I turned on the water to the tank and then went upstairs to turn on the hot water in the Master Bedroom tub.  Noise, sputtering, intermittent water flow, and rusty looking water color.  I was panicking a bit by what I was seeing and hearing.  I was running up and down the stairs from the bedroom to the garage, working up a healthy sweat, trying to figure out if I did something wrong.  Still in a controlled panic, I turned on the power to the circuit breakers (please don’t ask me why) and tried to get my friend on the phone.  Carrie was telling me, as I’m running back and forth, that she smells something burning.  My friend finally answers the phone and tells me everything is fine.  When I tell him that I turned on the circuit breaker he says, “No, you don’t want to do that.  You’ll fry the elements.”  So I turn off the power and my friend says I’m probably OK.

Two hours later.  I’m not OK.  My friend says I probably cooked the thermostat.  So it’s back to the store and I pick up two new thermostats.
 
During the removal process, I strip out one of the screw heads and had to cut one of the wires to get the old thermostat out.  Now, with a short wire, there’s not enough slack to attach to the new thermostat.  I place it at an awkward angle and make it fit … I figure it’ll be covered anyway and I was sorta proud of my MacGyver improvising.  I send a picture to my friend and he says I’m probably OK.

Two hours later.  I’m not OK.

My friend tells me to go out and listen to hear if the elements are working.  I text him back that I couldn't hear the elements, but I knew that there was power to the unit because my ear just got zapped!  Sadly, my new elements must've got fried too.

A full day later, I’m back where I started.  No hot water, I need to drain the tank again, and I need to purchase new elements.

Before going to sleep, I set the temperature on the tank to “a little hotter than volcano lava”.  This morning the water temperature was only lukewarm.  So, I figure I got one out of two elements installed correctly.  Hey, 50% success … not too bad.  Unfortunately though, I’ll still have to go out and purchase two more elements because I don’t know which one is working.

Wearing my Speed Racer pajamas and bunny slippers, I hooked the garden hose to the tank, shut off the water, and let the draining of the tank begin.  I’m actually getting pretty good at this.

Then I went into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going.  (Insert suspenseful drama music)  No water.  With amazing restraint and composure, I accept that there will be no coffee this morning.

I wiped a tear from my eye and e-mailed my boss telling him of my repair woes and that I’d be working from home today.  I also told him not to worry … my friend said the repair is easy.


It’s always good to have goals.  Today, I want freshly brewed coffee, a hot shower, and to make it to the end of the day alive.  I got this. 


Friday, November 15, 2013

The Carpenter

I got a call from the tenant occupying our rental home last week.  This is the same home where Carrie and I lived for several years while raising our young family.  He’s a nice guy and he’s been in the rental home for several years.  He’s been an ideal tenant with no problems ... that is, until I received his unreasonable phone call request.  The conversation immediately turned when the tenant claimed that the swing set in the back yard was rotting and wanted my permission to tear it down.  What?  Tear it down?  My heart sank as I shook my head back and forth in disbelief.  This guy obviously didn't know what he was asking.  Was he blind?  Couldn't he see that this was no ordinary swing set?

I was with the carpenter when it was constructed.  It was twenty-something years ago when we hand-picked the lumber.  We also purchased several cement bags to secure the base.  Then we returned home to begin our project.  He was a perfectionist.  He was truly a master craftsman.  Each board was measured with precision.  Each cut was carefully made with his steady hands.  I watched in awe as this skilled carpenter busily created his artistic rendition of a custom swing set.  And soon, I saw him place his one-of-a-kind creation upon the blank canvas of our backyard lawn.

So, it’s non-negotiable, Mr. Tenant … the monument stays.

===========

My dad turned 77 years old last month.  He's been married to my mom for 55 years.  He taught me how to build relationships that last ... and swing sets too.

This memory makes me smile.  I’m gonna call him.


Sunday, October 13, 2013

The Un-Secret Life of a Hero


I just finished reading the short-story “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” by James Thurber.  (http://www.all-story.com/issues.cgi?action=show_story&story_id=100.)  The last time I read it, I was a sophomore in High School.  Reading about Walter Mitty’s imagination back then caught my interest immediately.  It was a fun, relatable story for me.  I remember the joy of a mental escape that my own imagination provided.  As a young high school kid, there were countless dragons I slayed, helpless women and children I rescued, and, of course, my recurring success at keeping civilization at bay from all the havoc, mayhem, and … well, just really bad stuff.

Even now, I can fall into my daydreaming, hero world with ease.  I mean, with a career as a coffee drinking, nerdy accountant and possessing virtually no handy-man skills, it can make for an appealing, even necessary, escape for me.  Like when I thoughtfully offer to fly my wife, Carrie, into work using my stealth helicopter so she can avoid traffic … or was it using my jet pack … or perhaps it was offering to beam her up ala Star Trek style.  Yeah, I think I like that last one best.

With that said, I would never trade my life experiences for all that Star Trek space travel stuff and going where no man has gone before.  I’ll take the ordinary, the mundane, and the phenomenal experiences that come with participating and engaging in real life events.

I cherish the ordinary memory I have of sitting with Carrie in our lawn chairs and watching our kids play soccer in the pouring rain.

§  I wonder if we were real life heroes to our kids for being there.

I absolutely love the mundane morning I spent with Carrie on our back deck drinking coffee, talking, and being together.

§  I wonder if we were real life heroes to each other for being there.

I anticipate all the phenomenal experiences I’ll have doing nothing, doing something, and doing everyday things with others.

§  I wonder if I’ll be someone’s real life hero for being there.

Sure, I’ll still climb the Himalayas to rescue the stranded hikers and I’ll personally administer the antidote to that small tribe in Africa, but I’ll also smile, open doors for others, listen, be a friend, and seek ways to encourage people.

Do you ever wonder if all those simple and ordinary life events you experience can be life changing events for others?  Look for opportunities to be an everyday hero to your waitress, your co-worker, and your family.  And you too just might save the world … one boring day at a time.


Sunday, April 28, 2013

Eyebrow Hair Happens


I had to remind Carrie of the contract she entered into almost 27 years ago.  Come on, you know the contract.  It was the one with the sickness, health, richer, or poorer stuff in it … yeah, that one.  I’m so glad I had the foresight, in the summer of 1986, to include language requiring her to accept me even though I may one day have a hideously long, slightly grey eyebrow hair that protrudes vigorously and obscenely from my balding forehead.  Have a mental picture yet?  Well, that rogue eyebrow hair language was clearly woven into our deal ... our contract.  It was right there with the ‘til death do us part clause, yet somehow, my wife Carrie, forgot.  I know, I know … yes, it’s a huge oops on her part.  It’s gotta be quite embarrassing for her that she would forget that phrase... I mean, it was a part of our wedding day vows and all.

This morning, however, I willingly chose to rise above the controversy and not dwell on it ... at least very much.  I relinquished my rights, per the 1986 contract, and went ahead and clipped my lone, grotesque eyebrow hair.  And I was even able to forgive Carrie for her curious lapse in memory … yes, quite curious indeed.

I know talking about eyebrow hair is a strange topic for some … well, I guess the topic is strange for all now that I think about it.  But what I am about to share with you is even more strange.  It does not make sense.  Now please pay attention here … I’ve found that somehow, through all these years, Carrie still chooses to be there for me, supporting me, and loving me ... with or without my unsightly eyebrow hair.  Yes, it is strange, but true.  I’ve seen it.  I’ve lived it.  And I honor it and I cherish it.  I am grateful for her love that doesn’t always make sense.

Each day we can choose to cherish life’s small and seemingly insignificant events, like my unexpected eyebrow hair growth.  Whoa, that’s right … I just said you can cherish eyebrow hair growth.  We can choose to love one another regardless of eyebrow hair length, the way we squeeze the toothpaste, the way we forget to take out the garbage, make the bed, or feed the animals.  You get it, right?  It’s all a part of your lifelong journey together.  Embrace it, live it, talk about it, find ways to improve it, and find a way to laugh about it … together.  You can do this.

 May your fairy-tale marriage experience be a happily-ever-after life … just like ours … with or without the unsightly eyebrow hair.

Enjoy life's journey.  And journey together... it's more fun that way.


Sunday, April 21, 2013

They Accepted Me As One Of Their Own


I showered and shaved like it was just another day.  I wore no disguise.  I wasn’t hiding from anyone or anything.  Shoot, it wasn’t like I was going in undercover to observe them.  I had that “here I am” approach, or rather, it was more like an attitude than an approach.  I planned to show up at the event as my nerdy, corporate, accountant self … well, minus my comfortable neck-tie, argyle socks, and handy pocket protector.  I was awake this early Saturday morning to celebrate Earth day.  And my wife decided we were going to celebrate it … outside … together … digging in that stuff called dirt.  (Uh, wait … please edit that last sentence to read, “And my wife and I decided we … blah, blah, blah.  I almost forgot that we decided to do this Earth Day thingy together)

Anyway, Carrie said we could go cure global warming in a day by getting out of the house and volunteering to help plant some trees with a non-profit group called, “Friends of Trees”.  Whoa!  Yes, you read that correctly.  The for-profit, corporate business snob (who also happens to be slightly overweight with a hint of grey hair) was about to get his white tennis shoes and silky-soft hands dirty while planting a few trees ... in all that dirty dirt that he read about in a magazine once.

I was going deep into the wilds of the environmentalism movement.  I was going to observe the rare tree-hugging environmentalists, in their natural habitat, planting trees, … on Earth Day.  And to my pleasant surprise, soon, they would take me in and accept me as one of their own.

We gathered with the Friends of Trees crowd at a public park in Portland, Oregon.  Before we got started with all that saving the earth stuff, we socialized while enjoying the complimentary organic coffee, organic granola bars, and what looked to be various tree bark fragments.  Have you ever tasted tree bark fragments?  Me neither.

They divided us into four groups.  Each group had the day’s necessary equipment laid out in a pile.  The pile contained several shovels, rakes, tree stakes, rope ties, hand held pruners, a broom, a metal stake driver, and a large plastic bucket.  Sure sounded like we had everything, but wait … where were all the chains we’d need to lock ourselves up to trees?  Evidently, this earth day event would not involve any protests.  A bit of a disappointment, but it did not take away from all that Earthy-ness enthusiasm that was in the air.

Our leader asked each person to take a few of the equipment items with them to our tree planting and tree hugging site that was several blocks away.  It seemed, however, that all the other participants arrived by either walking, riding their bikes, or driving their Toyota Priest.  I saw my opportunity to contribute and seized it with force.  I boldly raised my hand and offered my truck as a way to transport the equipment.

What I said was, “I brought my truck and we can use it to load the equipment”.

What the mob heard was, “I brought my gas guzzling, four-wheel drive, over-sized Monster Truck that hates the planet and all the living creatures that inhabit it … and we can use it to load the equipment”.

The horrified crowd hesitated at first, yet soon began loading the back of my truck with equipment.  In addition to the equipment, I found two long-haired, bearded college kids were loaded up back there.  They were active members in the environmental club at their school and chose to load themselves in my evil, earth scorching truck.  Although not chained to my truck, they refused to move ... and it looked like they’d been refusing to shower for a few days too.  It was fascinating.  It was sort of like viewing my first protest.

Upon arriving at the site, I grabbed a shovel as my weapon of choice.  I used it to lean on and assess the daunting task ahead.  And there was much leaning and assessing to do.  Besides, I don't think people would appreciate this middle aged, slightly overweight guy bending over and exposing more of his pasty white back-side then our God intended.  So, while remaining upright and with a somewhat focused determination, I began to dig up the defenseless dirt and create a hole.  The pattern began.  I kept moving to new locations digging up more dirt and created more holes.  My teammates would follow, making sure that a young tree would find a new home in my freshly created void.  That’s what I did, again and again and again.  Move dirt.  Dig hole.  Clearly, this truck driving, accountant, and dare I say environmentalist was on fire ... or moving in a rapid fashion anyway.

The hours seemed like a minute.  Soon, the tree planting project was completed.  We all stepped back as a team and saw a line of freshly planted trees.  We were all proud of our work and rewarded ourselves with smiles, fist bumps, and leftover granola bars.  Obviously, the tree bark fragments were swallowed up too quickly this morning and sadly, there were no leftovers.  But I noticed when our team gathered this time; we all broke our granola bars together.  I ate my granola bars with them and they ate their granola bars with me.  We came together as a smiling, fist-bumping, and granola eating team.  We came together as friends.  And together, we made our Earth a little better this Earth Day.

With our differences and similarities, the environmentalist crowd took me in and accepted me as one of their own.  What just happened here?  Have I found myself a proud, granola eating environmentalist?  Perhaps, but please don’t tell anyone just yet.  I may have overstated that proud part a couple of sentences back.  It's all so overwhelming and I think I may need a little more time for this concept to sink in.

My life may have changed a bit after this Earth Day.  Oh, I still choose to shower and shave daily … that part will never change.  And it’s important to understand that I liked trees then and I like trees now.  It’s just that … well, I guess I have a heightened awareness and appreciation for our environment.

And I’m not afraid to eat a granola bar or hug a tree now and then … but only when nobody’s watching.

OK … that’s it.  Confession’s over people.  Move along now.  There’s nothing to see here.


Tuesday, January 1, 2013

A Scary Display of Conflict Resolution


** FINE PRINT WARNING:  The following brief essay has been known to create unwanted and lingering mental images for some … well, most readers.  Some readers may consider the following discussion juvenile or immature.  (I know, weird, huh?)  But just read it anyway.  **
I’m not sure what’s over there in my neighbor’s yard.  It’s big, it’s certainly hairy, and it’s no doubt dangerous.  Their pet is probably best described as a cross-breed Black Bear and Sasquatch with a touch of meaner than a junk yard dog.  Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the obvious signs of ware-wolf DNA … you know, so there’s that.  (OK, maybe the DNA part is exaggerated, but I’ve seen enough ware-wolf documentaries to know ware-wolf traits when I see ‘em.  I mean come on now … can’t anyone?)

With my nose firmly pressed against our living room window, I've seen Bob’s Red Meat home delivery truck dropping off at least a pallet of … well, red meat I suppose.  But that delivery only arrives once a week and that delivery is woefully inadequate.  How do I know this?  Because of the significant decline in furry, adorable, and harmless bunny rabbits that used to frolic carefree in our neighborhood … just sayin’.

And finally, now listen up here, you know Sam, our local dog catcher?  Well, it seems he came into our neighborhood last month and … well, let’s just say the investigation into his strange disappearance is still ongoing.  Do the math yourself.

I vividly remember that cold winter day when my up-close and personal encounter with the hairy beast happened.  It was only last week when I opened my front door and saw our adopted child GONE in a flash.  It happened quickly as her four legs moved her further and further away from me.  Our sweet, innocent Cocker-Spaniel puppy left our sanctuary and ran directly toward the danger of our neighbor’s house … yes, we’re talking the hairy danger.  I could not stop her.  BARK!  BARK!  BARK!  BARK!  The barking of both animals filled the air with a deafening and horrifying sound.  It was a haunting sound like none I have ever heard before … nor ever wish to hear again.  I found myself resolved, however, to do what I must do.  With disregard for self, I went into the danger zone and met eye to eye with the hairy beast.

 =============

Easy now readers.  Please take a slow, deep breath.  Let’s all pause for a moment at this frightening yet true story and discuss some well-known facts of nature.  Skunks, porcupines, and overweight middle aged men.  Each may appear non-threatening on the surface.  At times they may even appear fluffy, cuddly, or approachable.  That is, until they are threatened.

We all know of skunks and porcupines and their natural defenses, but allow me to continue as I share how my God given, middle aged large-ness saved my dog, my city, and most likely … the world.

 =============

Without even thinking, I placed myself in harm’s way.  I found myself directly between my dog and that … large, fierce, hairy beast.  I took a vulnerable position of turning my back on the imminent danger to stoop down and somehow managed to snatch up my puppy.  I embraced her in the safety of my arms.  While still crouching down, I held her tightly against my chest and shielded her as I awaited my fate.

A strange silence suddenly overcame the brisk morning air.  Wait, silence?  Calm?  And more importantly, why was I still alive?  What just happened here?

Seconds later, while still hunched over, a chilling breeze passed over the backside of my body … specifically, in an area just south of my waistline.  I slowly turned my head around to see the hairy beast cowering in fear on my neighbor’s front porch.  Could it be that I was able to do something that no physically fit 20 or 30 year old could do?  Was it the sheer girth and pale skinned display of my overweight, middle aged physique that repelled the threat of that beast?

Slowly, I arose victorious from my crouched position.  Although I was still holding my pink collared Cocker-Spaniel, I now held her with only my right arm firmly clutching her as if she was a leather football.  Of course, I remembered not to spike her as if she was a leather football.  With pride at that very moment, I realized that even an overweight and middle aged man can be called upon to save the world.

Wait, are you threatening me?  ‘Cause I’ll use my conflict resolution skills on you right now ... and don’t think I won’t.