Funny Guy Friday… Who goes to 8:00 Mass on Christmas Day?

Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So I married a funny guy…
     About three weeks before Christmas day, our Priest sent out the most recent schedule for the altar servers. Our church is blessed with over 100 altar servers and our Matthew is one of them.  He serves about once every month so we look forward to the new schedule coming out every three months or so.
     As our family was all together in our car, Cheryl mentioned that the new server schedule had come out. She followed that up with a long pause so I took the bait and asked as to what mass Matthew had been assigned. She advised that he had been assigned to the 8 a.m. Mass on Christmas day.  I blurted out No way, that will ruin our entire Christmas morning. Who goes to church at 8:00 on Christmas morning!?! Oops! wrong thing to say in front of Saint Cheryl.
     Of course, I did not mean that going to church at 8:00 on Christmas morning would ruin our Christmas morning.  I just meant that……..going to church at 8:00 on Christmas morning would ruin our Christmas morning. I mean, we have certain Christmas traditions. We get up in our new pajamas and we unwrap our gifts and we eat a nice breakfast made by yours truly and then and only then, do we go to church---the noon mass. We love the noon mass, thank you.
     We decided that we would give it a day or two before deciding whether we would look for a replacement or go ahead and serve. I took the decision seriously as I knew that if we tried to get a substitute, that young man would have his Christmas morning ruined, er, uh altered. We really could not do that to some other unsuspecting family, could we?
     Thankfully, we did not have to. The next day, we got a call from a mother of a family that has 12 kids, several of which are altar servers. She had checked the schedule and advised us that they attend the 8:00 mass on Christmas day every year and she graciously offered to sacrifice up one of her sons. A Christmas miracle. Problem solved.
     Unfortunately, we encountered an unexpected plot twist----Matthew heard that the mass was going to be at the Chapel, which happens to be one of the first Catholic churches built in the United States. He had never served at a mass in the chapel and he was thinking that  it might be kinda cool to serve on Christmas morning. Oh no, now what? We decided to leave the fate of our family's Christmas up to our 11-year-old son.
     You know, mothers have a certain way of influencing kids. I have no proof, but I would bet dollars to donuts that Cheryl got to him. Of course, Matthew decided to do the "right thing" and serve on Christmas morning. He mentioned it was an honor to be selected and that Father Parry chose him for a reason, blah blah blah blah blah blah blah. Sounds like all the things a certain mother that we all know might say, don't you think? His decision was much to his sister's chagrin. She demanded that we would immediately return home after mass and get back into our pajamas. We were to act as if the whole thing never happened. Now that I think about it, her reaction sounds like something that a certain father that we all know might say, don't you think?
     So, despite the fact that Santa did not make an appearance Christmas Eve until after 2 a.m.---if he did, I did not see him---we were up and out of the house bright and early on Christmas morning. In fact, we left the house at about 7:15 a.m. That's right, I said a.m. I must say, the kids were awesome. Grace even woke up by herself when her alarm went off. This sounds like a small thing but believe me, it is not. In fact, I considered this to also be a Christmas miracle. As you can see, my bar is low when it comes to Christmas miracles.
     I will give Gracie girl credit. She stuck to her game plan and did not even look under the tree before we left the house. Noah tried to ignore his booty from Santa but could not muster up the will power. As he stared, slack-jawed and slobbering, Cheryl told him it was okay. It is like a moth drawn to a flame---just a natural reaction to Christmas morning, she advised. 
     On the way to church, I gave Matthew a scouting report on what I anticipated from the congregation. They would be older and hard core. Lifelong Catholics who took their church going seriously. No sirree, no one in this group would get confused and wish someone a Happy Easter on Christmas morning. This group attends mass weekly, if not daily. I told him that any mistake, and I mean any little mistake, would be picked up by the crowd and that would spell d i s a s t e r. "Seasoned parishioners" can be pretty unforgiving. I advised Matthew of all of this, but followed up by assuring him that there was no pressure---but please don't do anything to embarrass me! Just good parenting.
     The church was beautiful and we had a great opportunity to take a long look around as we were in our seats by 7:30 a.m. On the way, I wondered aloud what we were going to do for a half hour before mass and once again, Saint Cheryl told us we could pray. What prayer takes a half hour? I only have the five minute variety in my repertoire. So after finishing my prayer, Noah and I told a few jokes----just a couple of seven-year-olds having a good time.  
     Monsignor Parry had the mass and he spoke about the history of the church and the hundreds of thousands of people that have sat in these pews to enjoy the Christmas mass over the years. He pointed out that by our mere presence on this Christmas morning, we were part of history.  He then described how Mary and Joseph, parents for the first time, must have felt on this day many, many years ago. His homily made me think of a couple of things.
     First, I contemplated the fact that it was possible that my rear end was sitting in the same pew as some historical figure's rear end. Made my rear end feel kind of warm and fuzzy. Second, and way more important, I thought of how proud I am of my kids on this day, with Matthew on the altar and Grace sitting with my mother at the end of the pew and Noah sitting on my lap. This confirmed what I already knew---We are truly blessed!
     The mass was perfect, went off without any glitches by the altar servers. We were home and back into our pajamas by 9:30. The kids were incredibly patient and had a great time opening their gifts. I found it very interesting, and kind of gratifying, that they had as much fun giving gifts that they selected for one another as they did receiving gifts for themselves.  In fact, I would venture to say that we had the best Christmas day ever.
     Why... The 8 a.m. mass didn't stop Christmas from coming... it came!… Somehow or other... it came just the same! Like Christmas in Whoville… Christmas morning wasn't ruined at all.
     So with that being said, and with all the blessings that I have in my life, you would think that I could at least get on my knees and be able to say thank you for thirty minutes. I will try to remember that next year at the 8:00 Christmas day mass. What the heck, every family tradition has to start sometime.

Steve and Eydie… always good at Christmastime...

Reprinted from last Christmas. Steve and Eydie never get old...

     When I was a little girl, nothing said, "Christmas is coming," like the song, Sleigh Ride, by Steve and Eydie!

     Music was such a big part of my childhood. My parents must have played this album every day in December. My mom and sisters will especially appreciate hearing it one more time.

     Merry Christmas. Do you remember?

Funny Guy Friday… THE TALK...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband Mark. So I married a funny guy.
     My son Matthew landed the key role of Joseph in the Church Nativity play. Mind you, it had nothing to do with his acting abilities. No, he got the part because his main competition for the role was the real life cousin of the girl playing Mary. They all thought that cousins playing Joseph and Mary was too weird, so the other kid conceded the role. My guess is that Pacino got his first role in a similar fashion.
     During the drive to the opening show---it also happened to be the closing show as it was a one time deal--- Matthew asked me if I was aware of the fact that Joseph did not want to get married to Mary after he found out that she was pregnant. Matthew found this to be a bit odd. I told him that I was aware of that fact, and that I did not think it was odd at all. The conversation that followed relieved me of much anxiety regarding THE TALK.

Me: You know Matthew, it is not really odd if you think about it. Pause, pause, pause.  Do you know how a woman becomes pregnant.
Matthew: Yes. Yeah, I guess it is not that odd now that I think about it.
Me: So you know how all that works.
Matthew: Yeah, I'm good with all that.
Me: Great. You know, Mom is going to ask me some day if I have had this talk with you and we need to be united in our response. We have had THE TALK and we are cool, right?
Matthew: Yeah.

     At this point we exchanged a fist bump to seal the deal.
     I must admit, our little talk went pretty well---way better than I ever expected. Although relieved, I did feel a little bit guilty for not really following up on the details. He told me he was good with all that, so why give the boy the fourth degree? I trust him.
     As we continued our drive, I felt the need to be a responsible adult and follow up. The conversation continued:

Me: You know, mom is not going to give up easy on this, don't you?
Matthew: Yeah.
Me: Okay, someday---but not today---I will ask you what it is that you think that you know, and after you tell me, I will confirm the information with mom, and let you know if you are on the right track or not. Good?
Matthew: Yeah. 

     Followed by a second fist bump.
     Whew! Now my conscience was clear, and my work was done.
     Now when I informed Cheryl that we had had THE TALK, she required details. I told her that there was a little of this, a little of that and we bumped fists. She was not sold on the idea that my work was done. In fact, she insisted that I re-open the discussion and find out everything that the boy knows, and that I fill in the blanks. No way, you wanted to home school, you home school. I took care of the basics and now you deal with the details.
     Besides, I informed her that I may not be the right guy for the job. I explained to her that I consider myself akin to the great quarterback to whom the game comes so easily that it prevents him from being a good coach. These types of superior athletes just cannot relate to the players with lesser skills. 
     To this she replied that I was pathetic. I am assuming/hoping that she is referring to my parenting skills.
     This whole experience reminds me of the time that I walked in on my brother having THE TALK with his son. I did not know what was going on, but I did get the hint that I should leave. I left and went to the store and ran into my sister-in-law who gave me the heads-up of what was going on at their house. She asked me how it seemed to be going and I told her that it seemed to be going well, that my brother was wide eyed and was doing a lot of nodding and saying things like Really! I never knew that! to my 10-year-old nephew.  
     So there you have it, a great day in my evolution as a parent. And to think, I have a seven-year-old that will be ready for THE TALK in just a few years. Hopefully, his older brother clues him in on whatever it is that he thinks he knows and three years from now, we can have a similar in-depth chat---sealed with a gratifying knuckle bump. Seriously, it's not like the future generations hang in the balance.
   Or do they? I get so confused over all that stuff.

Funny Guy Friday… The Most Wonderful (Party) Time of the Year...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy!
     Let's see, it is ten days before Christmas, so let's check my list:
           Lights up. Check.
           Tree up. Check.
           Tree decorated. Check.
           Tree still standing. Check. Check. Check.
           Shopping completed. Check.
     I am good to go. The only thing left to do is party, and this weekend it is party central at our house. (If you could see me right now, I am punching my right fist up in the air in a circular type motion and "woofing" like a dog.) Let me explain. The parties, not the woofing!
     The year before Cheryl and I were married, we (along with my roommate at the time) decided to host a Christmas party and invite everyone that we knew….everyone we knew was invited to my then-tiny little house with a living room, a kitchen and a basement. We had over 100 people piled into that house that first year; most of them were either single or newly married and very few had kids. It was packed, and it was a blast.
     In the early years, my former boss graciously donated a keg of beer with the only condition being that I had to go pick it up at his bar near Baltimore. He did not tell me that the keg was in the walk-in freezer in the basement, with little room to maneuver up the steps, and that nobody would be there to help get it up those narrow steps. That first year, I went by myself. I never made that mistake again. I couldn't even drink the beer that first year because it didn't mix well with the meds that I needed for my back.
     If memory serves me correctly, the keg ran out at about 10:15. We had gone way over budget (even with the donated keg), so I had to pass a hat around to collect money to make another beer run. I chuckle at the fact that we went way over budget because I don't remember having much besides wine, beer, carrots, celery, chips and dip at that first party.
     That celebration lasted until about 3 a.m. When the last guest was leaving, she drunkenly mumbled that she was glad that she was not the last one to leave. I informed her that she was, in fact, the last one to leave. She informed me that there were still about ten people going strong down in the basement.
     Sure enough, they were still down there. I told them that I was going to bed, but that they were welcome to stay and lock up when they left. Heck, I sold that house eleven years ago. As far as I know, they could still be hanging out down in that basement.
     We continued to have that party every year for about fifteen years, and it was interesting to see the evolution. People started having kids and the party kept getting shorter and shorter. Kids ruin everything! The food became more important than the drink, and we went from kegs to inexpensive domestic beer bottles.
     About six years ago, when my brother-in-law Ray got a job as a liquor distributor, I figured he could hook me up. I told him that my beer budget was about $120 and he said no problem. He brought in all kinds of imported and seasonal beers. I was thinking that he must have got some great discounts. He then advised that I owed him more than $300. Wait a second, what happened to my beer budget! The whole party usually didn't cost me more than $300. He informed me that I was an adult now and it was time for me to buy big boy beverages. I never knew that my brother-in-law thought of me as Peter Pan. I never liked my brother-in-law.
     In 2009, we skipped the party because my nephew got married in Florida during the usual week of the party. Then we skipped another year because we enjoyed the relaxation of not having the party the year my nephew got married in Florida as much, or more, than we enjoyed having the party. But I should point out that we were never party-less this time of year as my office annually hosts a HUGE shindig for Christmas.
     The office party is quite a production. It is a catered affair with over 500 guests. We shut the office down on Thursday afternoon and Friday and we transform the law office into a party house with an open bar, a separate martini bar, and a separate wine room. We have a huge conference room with a buffet including salmon, turkey or beef, vegetables and rice along with a smaller conference room with desserts. On a separate floor, we have another buffet with finger foods and small sandwiches; and my personal favorite, a raw oyster bar. On the top floor we have live music. Every floor has buckets full of beer.
     Think of putting on a wedding reception every year and you get the idea. It is a pretty awesome production, and it is safe to say we spend more than $300---Take that Raymond!
     Two years ago, a local politician approached me at the office party and asked me my name. I had met her several times before and may have even spoken to her a time or two that very night. Oh, by the way, I was also wearing a name tag. I told her my name and she looked me up and down and said No, that's not it. I assured her that I was who I said I was. She then asked me where I worked. I informed her that I work right in the very building where we were standing, sharing a drink together. She again told me that is not right. I told her that I was not sure of a lot of things in my life, but two things that I was a 100% sure of were who I was and where I worked.  I volunteered to show her my i.d. and the name on the sign out front.
     I never did convince her and I remember thinking that everyone always knew me at my house party.
     Which brings me back to this weekend. We decided to resurrect the house party in addition to the office party. The main reason that we went back to the house party is because my mother decided that she was not going to host her annual family Italian Christmas dinner. For those of you that don't know my family, whenever we have a get-together like that, we are talking about having as many as 40-60 people depending on who is in town. I told my mother that we could host the family dinner at our house and that everyone else would prepare the food. She declined my offer so Cheryl and I decided to go back to the house party.
     We sent out the evites (another new and innovative thing that I hate) inviting everyone over for an open house on December 17th. A few days later, I got a call from my brother advising that his boys were all going to be at my house on the 18th.
     The 18th! Huh? Uh, no, you mean the 17th, don't you? No he meant the 18th for the family dinner. But, er, uh, mom said she didn't want to have that dinner. Did you talk to her? No, he did not talk to her but he had heard some rumblings about her not wanting to have the dinner. Uh, yeah, I thought that since she didn't want to have her dinner, then her dinner would not be had. 
     To this, he gave the most common sense response that I have ever heard. If mom dies are we never going to get together for Christmas as a family. Have the family dinner and invite mom, if she comes, she comes, if she doesn't than she doesn't---my guess is that she will be there.
     HOUSE PARTY ON THE 17TH---FAMILY DINNER ON THE 18TH. Woo hoo!!! (again, I am doing that arm raising, woofing thing!)
     What the heck, we will only have to clean the house one time! But I swear, if one person at either of those two get-togethers doesn't know who I am, I am throwing them out in the street.
     If you happen to be in the area on the evening of the 17th, please feel free to stop by and please bring only your Christmas joy. If you did not get an evite, it is because we did not have your email address.
     If your last name is the same as mine, or if you are married to or dating someone with the same last name as mine, please come on the 18th and please bring an appetizer, bread, a dessert, beer or wine. You are not allowed in empty-handed.
     There, I think that covers just about everything until New Year's.
     Merry Christmas.

Osawatomie, Kansas...

     So, President Obama gave a speech criticizing America in Kansas last week. That's all I had heard... Kansas. But do you know where in Kansas? Osawatomie, Kansas.
     Coincidence?
     Please read this from Romantic Poet. Those who don't know history are doomed to repeat it.

Funny Guy Friday... A Christmas Tree Story

    Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. If you are a fan of A Christmas Story, you'll enjoy this one. So, I married a Funny Guy!
     Christmas is on its way. Lovely, glorious, beautiful Christmas, upon which the entire kid year revolves. Like every family, we have our Christmas traditions. One of my personal favorites is when we go to purchase our Christmas tree. There is a local nursery that we frequent in the summer, and we have gotten to know the owners pretty well. We go early, so we don't miss all the good trees.
     The nursery is right around the corner from our home. Every year they have a huge fire pit which makes me, and I am sure, every other man, envious. They serve cookies and hot apple cider brewed with a secret ingredient---red hots (I guess it is not really secret in the sense that nobody knows about it...but secret in the sense that it is different.)
     Every year, we traipse on up to that nursery, and every year Cheryl and the kids eat cookies and drink cider. Then they sit around the fire and talk with the owners. At some point, Matthew and Noah will break away and play hide and seek in the tree lot, and Cheryl and Grace will go into the store and look at wreaths and other decorations.
     If you have been paying attention, you will have noticed that nobody is actually looking for a Christmas tree. That is because I am the only one who actually cares about the tree. Every year, Cheryl and I have a similar dispute about the big purchase:
Cheryl: This year, why don't we just buy a small tree.
Me: We can't, we have hundreds of ornaments and we have a room that is 400 square feet with a cathedral ceiling---the room will eat up a small tree.
Cheryl: But they are so expensive, a small tree would be so cute. (This was a brilliant maneuver in the legendary battle of the tree that will live in the folklore of our little street.)
Me: No. No small trees. You have been saying the same thing for twenty years. The money argument made sense when we didn't have any money, but we are doing fine now.
Cheryl: Okay. I suppose that the next time we want to eat out, we won't... and we can save the money that way.
Me: Sure. You say that every time we make an unnecessary purchase. By the way, do you want Chinese or Italian tonight?
Cheryl: Chinese. Maybe tonight we can introduce the kids to Chinese turkey.  
     So I go through the lot looking for that perfect tree. A Frasier fir, about nine-and-a-half feet tall with no bare spots----I don't want to have to hide one side in the corner. And I don't want one of those trees where all the needles fall off---like them balsams.
     Matthew and Noah may offer some suggestions as they dart in and out from behind the trees, but for the most part, I am on my own. I always pick the one that I want and then offer two or three other "choices" to the rest of the gang. It is then, and only then, that they become fully engaged in the selection process; however, their involvement is a mere formality---the tree that we will buy has already been selected.
     Cheryl always picks out the worst tree among the choices, which usually happens to be the least expensive. I tell her no, and that we are getting the one that I want, after assuring her it will fit in the room.
     Once the fresh cut is made, Cheryl reminds me that we are in a race to get the tree home and get it into water. She tells me this as she is saying her good byes. This takes up to twenty minutes as the sap seals the fresh cut. Heaven forbid we have a blow out on the way home. But if we did, I can change a tire in no time. I had always pictured myself in the pits of the Indianapolis Speedway at the 500. When we do make it home, we unload the tree and then the fun begins---putting up the tree.
     If I have any doubts about buying a big tree, they creep in right as I am putting the tree up in the tree stand. I won't bore you with the details of our tree stand, but it rivals the pyramids in its ingenuity. I was told when I purchased it that it is "the best tree stand on the market and the trees never fall." It may be the best, but in the past, I have proven that the trees will fall.
     About seven years ago, I came downstairs and found the tree lying on our living room floor with water and broken ornaments all over the place. Cheryl came down and calmly asked what had happened. I may have cursed. In fact, I may have said THE word, the big one, the queen mother of dirty words, while answering her question that had a very obvious answer. I also may have demanded that she help.
     I have since heard of people under extreme duress speaking in strange tongues. I became conscious that a steady torrent of obscenities and swearing of all kinds was pouring out of me as I screamed. The details are a bit foggy at this point, but you would think that my tone and my unusually harsh language would have had her leaping to my aid. She leaped alright, back upstairs with the admonishment that she would help only after I calmed down, and that "a lot worse things could have happened."
     As an aside, she always uses that a lot worse things could have happened defense. It is the classic Cheryl block. That deadly phrase honored many times by hundreds of wives is not surmountable by any means known to husband-dom. But Cheryl does not realize that things could get worse. Why, Cheryl knows nothing about creeping marauders burrowing through the snow toward our kitchen where only I stand alone between my tiny huddled family and insensate evil. All alone except for my trusty old Red Ryder carbine-action, 200-shot, range model air rifle. However, this scenario is a bit unrealistic because I don't own such a weapon as it could......put my eye out. I digress.
     After I cleaned up the mess that year, by myself, I put the tree back up and went off to work. I called Cheryl from my car, and I started out by saying, "About this morning..." She stopped me in mid sentence and said, "About this morning, did you call to apologize?" Well, not exactly to apologize, I called to tell you that I am normal and you are not. It is okay to get mad at things every once in a while. Several irreplaceable ornaments were broken and you... That's about as far as I got before she ended the "make up call."
     Anyway, back to this year's tree. As usual, once we got the tree in the stand, we let it sit for a day as we attempted to adjust it. This is always a painstaking process, as Cheryl is adamant that it be perfectly straight up and down. This requires hours of me manipulating ropes under the tree and sliding from side to side on my back. An inch to the right, now back toward the window, can you move it to the left and toward the center of the room. How does that look from down there? She actually asked me that as I squirmed around under the tree.
     We finally got the tree straight and began to decorate. My mom was over. We were watching White Christmas. And all was good with the world.
     Noah had the bottom sufficiently decorated, and we had put on the last of the candy canes when the worst thing ever happened---the tree came down. Oh, life is like that! Sometimes at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at its zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us.
     Now, in the past, I have been known to weave a tapestry of obscenities that, as far as we know, still hang in space over Lake Michigan. But I have learned from my mistakes, plus my sainted mother and our kids were in the room with me. I stood there quivering with fury as I tried to come up with a real crusher of a word, but all I could come up with was, "Naddafinga."
     I always say that The Godfather provides a quote for every situation that may come along in life. A Christmas Story is the Christmas version of The Godfather---that movie provides a quote for every situation that may come along during the Christmas season.
     Naddafinga summed up my feelings about our tree.
     After the tree was restored, and the kids were asleep, Cheryl and I sat and admired the tree. She mentioned that it was beautiful. I told her that it is beautiful....but I hate it! Maybe next year she will take my advice, and we will go with a smaller tree.

Immaculate Heart of Mary...

Pray for us.

Funny Guy Friday... Missing my dad...

    Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy!
     Friday after Thanksgiving, I did what I always do on Black Friday---I brighten up the day by putting up our Christmas lights. 

     Every year, I drag my lights out of the attic and out of the basement---I have a lot of lights----and I call my dad and ask him to come over to help with the ladder. He was always more than willing to come and offer his assistance. In fact, it was kind of embarrassing the first time he came over because I had no idea how to work the extension ladder, and I was scared to death to get up there and hang lights on the high gutter. Regrettably, I did not take that class in Law School. So, after watching me on my first trip up that first year, my dad took over the entire operation.

     The first few years in my current home, if my dad were in a hurry, he would ask me to invite my brother over to help. This was complete and utter humiliation for me, as I was then reduced to getting coffee for them as they put up my lights. 

     My brother is a complete show-off because he is able to get up on the roof and parade along the edge like a cat. I have actually tried to prevent this because I can't even stand to watch it. At this point, I am always ordered to go inside while they work. Here I am, a grown man in my own house, being put in a time-out by my dad. Humiliating! By the way, I hate cats.

     As the years passed, and my dad got older... and I got more comfortable going up and down the ladder... I would still call him to ask if he could come and help. 

     He always came. And he always held that ladder. I think he would have been offended had I not called. 

     Even though he passed away in March, I still called my mom when it came time to put up the lights. Ever protective of her baby boy, she suggested that I call my brother. Even she knows how helpless I am. 

     I assured her that I would be okay and that I would recruit some helpers. We then both agreed that my dad would have gladly come over to help if he were still here. There are a lot of things that I loved about my dad, and his willingness to drop everything to come over and help was one of his greatest qualities.

   

     Well, the lights still needed to go up, so I had to rely on my immediate family members, whom I love dearly, to help with the ladder. 

     My son Matthew was the first person to offer his assistance. I do not own a ladder, so I borrow my neighbor's. Everyone on our street knows it is Christmastime when they see me tiptoeing through the neighborhood with another man's extension ladder.

     Matthew was great at first, but then he started darting in and out of the house. It seems that the Michigan/Ohio State game was on TV, and the results of that game were more important than dear old dad plummeting thirty feet to a certain death. Matthew assured me that the fall wouldn't be so bad. He was probably correct; the fall would not be so bad, but I am pretty sure that the sudden stop would have been a problem.

     I really did not have too much of a gripe with Matthew going in and out because the first section that I do is above the flat part of the patio, and the ladder stays pretty straight. I really needed help moving the ladder and having someone hold the ladder as the walkway slopes downhill. That section comes at the very end of the process. No problem. My lovely wife was now on the job. 

     We soon had to maneuver the ladder down a step and work down an incline. This is definitely a two-person task. In the middle of us both moving the ladder, the phone rang. Just so you know, seventy-five percent of the time, my wife just lets the phone ring and never answers it. And she only answers it if she can actually find a phone to answer---it rarely makes it back onto the cradle. Her refusal to answer the phone and the fact that phones never make it back to the cradle usually drives me crazy.

     Anyway, on this day, at this time, in the middle of moving a ladder that is extended to the tippy-top of the roof, my wife decided that she was going to take this call. She literally dropped everything, including her hands that were assisting with the ladder, and she dashed into the house. The ladder started to swing and sway as I tried to prevent a disaster. Fortunately, disaster was averted, but my confidence in my ladder-holder was shot. Upon Cheryl's return, she, like Matthew, assured me that falling wouldn't be that bad. I love that my family thinks I bounce like a ball.

     The lights are up. And they look great.

     Putting up lights this year was a different experience without my dad.  I thought of him as I climbed up and down that ladder, and yet I felt an emptiness where he used to stand. I am sure that Christmas will be a little bit different, too, and I will continue to think of him. In fact, had I fallen off of that stupid ladder, my final thought would have been I wish that my dad were here! 

     That thought may be a familiar refrain this Christmas season.      

I'll walk in the rain by your side...

    "The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ~

     The long-awaited family photo shoot came and went last Tuesday. My entire side of the family was together all at the same time. Very difficult to do.
     So what if it rained.
     If you ask me, there's something about the rain that is soothing and romantic. But traipsing around town in it with 25 people has its challenges. Still, everyone was relaxed and had fun.

     This event was a gift for my parents. I thought my mom looked so pretty. Dad looked great, too.

        And the grandchildren were having a good time. Can you tell?

      Here we were back at my parents' house... the home we grew up in. All gathered together once more.

     This one was just my parents and brother and sisters. Seemed like old times.

     As picture day approached, and I saw day after day that the forecast called for rain, I was anticipating an artsy, rainy day shoot that would give us images we would not otherwise ever get. I think I may have been the only one excited about the rain. And when it came time for our individual family shot, the skies opened up, and it poured. Ours was the only family it did that for. God gets me.

 

"It's not raining to me
It's raining daffodils
With every dimpled drop I see
Wildflowers on a distant hills."
~ Robert Loveman ~

"... And I'll sing you the songs of the rainbow
A whisper of the joy that is mine
The leaves will bow down when you walk by
And morning bells will chime."
~ John Denver ~ 

     A special thank you to our photographer Erin Granzow, assisted by her lovely daughter... troopers both. Your relaxed and cooperative spirit helped make our day so very special. 

My Soul in Stillness Waits...

This is one of my favorite Advent meditations...

My Soul in Stillness Waits

Refrain: For you, O lord, my soul in stillness waits. Truly my hope is in you.
1. O Lord of Light, our only hope of glory, your radiance shines in all who look to you. Come light the hearts of all in dark and shadow.
2. O Spring of Joy, rain down upon our spirits. Our thirsty hearts are yearning for your Word. Come, make us whole; be comfort to our hearts.
3. O Root of Life, implant your seed within us, and in your advent draw us all to you, our hope reborn in dying and in rising.
4. O Key of Knowledge, guide us in our pilgrimage, We ever seek, yet unfulfilled remain. Open to us the pathway of your peace.
5. Come, let us bow before the God who made us. Let every heart be opened to the Lord, for we are all the people of his hand.
6. Here we shall meet the makers of the heavens, creator of the mountains and the seas, Lord of the stars and present to us now.
Marty Haugen © GIA Music

Funny Guy Friday... So much to be thankful for...

    Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy! Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
    Thanksgiving is one of the greatest holidays of the year for our family. Unlike Christmas, there is no pre-holiday rush to shop, except for purchasing food at the grocery store, and we have the opportunity to spend time with our family. Every year, Thanksgiving Day starts with my side of the family getting together for a pre-game breakfast and our annual Turkey Bowl.
    For the record, my son Matthew (note: when he dropped a crucial fourth down pass two years ago, he was Cheryl's son) walked away with this year's MVP trophy in a thrilling 19-19 tie. I must admit, I left the football buffet full but not satisfied due to the tie. I am not competitive but Gee whiz, if my nephew's kid would have caught that stupid extra point, we would have won the Turkey Bowl for an unprecedented fourth year in a row. Remind me not to have him on my team next year----the loser. And don't keep giving me that "he's only four years old" excuse, he was on the field to make plays. 
    After the game we returned home to prepare the Thanksgiving feast. We always like to host and each year we alternate which family we have over. This year we hosted Cheryl's family.
    The sights and sounds of my in-laws' Thanksgiving week began with my sister-in-law. Sue, flying in from Washington with her husband and three kids on Monday. Her husband is a pilot and he met up with the family in Utah. He had a first class ticket that he graciously gave up to his wife. This is where the fun began.
    She sat in her aisle seat, and, as she described....did what you normally do, you know when you first sit down in first class and you start looking around to see what everyone is doing and what they are reading. Two things struck me about this comment. First, I have never flown first class, so I don't really know what people do in first class. Second, I have a hunch it is only people who don't usually fly first class that are the ones that sit down and start looking around to see what everyone is doing and what they are reading. I think what happened next confirms my hunch.
    The gentleman across the aisle looked familiar to her as he watched his computer and kept running and re-running plays from an NFL game. She also thought he was working on a document that had something to do with fumbling. Apparently, she was doing some serious eyeballing at this point as she also noticed that he had a huge Super Bowl ring with that trophy on it. She started to put two and two together and recognized that the guy sitting across the aisle from her was former Redskin coach and Hall-of-Famer Joe Gibbs.
    She started to get a little nervous because she knew that she had to say something to Joe Gibbs because she knew that when she got home, everyone in my family is going to wonder why you would sit next to Joe Gibbs and not say something. 
    It's funny because I think that my family would wonder why you would sit next to Joe Gibbs and say anything that would bother the guy. Anyway, Joe got up to go to the bathroom and at that point her 11 year old son wandered up to first class to see his mom. Having your second class kids come visit you in first class is, I am sure, something that the other first-classers must have appreciated. Anyway, she told her son who Joe Gibbs was and that he had been sitting in the currently unoccupied seat right across the aisle.
    Her son went back to his dad who confirmed that he too recognized some guy that had gotten on the plane. This prompted a second trip to first class to see his mom and this time he wanted to meet the coach---now mom had her angle to break the ice with her new best bud, Gibbsy---an 11-year-old shield if you will.
   When Coach Gibbs returned to his seat, she leaned over and said to him there is someone I would like to introduce you to. This also struck me as very funny because that is something that you say to someone that you know when you are introducing them to someone else that you know. You don't go up to a stranger and start introducing people---she skipped a huge, critical step in the whole introduction process.  Anyway, Gibbs responded with a confused look and so she asked, you are Joe Gibbs aren't you?
    Well, it turns out he was not exactly Joe Gibbs. He was, however, an NFL referee. Hence the fumble document and the NFL videos. He also had participated in two Super Bowls. Hence the Super Bowl ring. Sometimes when you put two and two together you get five. Wow, what do you say at that point... Do you know Joe Gibbs? and if you do, would you mind introducing him to me and my son?  Funny start to a fun week.
     Cheryl's entire family was in town on Tuesday for a planned photo shoot with a professional photographer. This was a gift from the kids to Cheryl's parents. Nailing down the date did not prove to be easy, unless Cheryl's sister Sue had managed to divorce her husband, as I had suggested in at least three of the emails that I had sent leading up to this. He is the pilot, and he had to leave on Wednesday. Tuesday had to be the day as it was the only day the entire family could be together. Divorce was off of the table. Cheryl advised me that she did not care that I had court in a county two hours away. Take care of it and get to the shoot....or else our divorce will be put back on the table!
    Cheryl and her sisters planned a day of photos at a local hometown park and also at a nearby Mansion. The idea was to get photos at recognizable locations in the city where they grew up. Great idea, what could possibly go wrong?
    You know, I think that Noah, when he planned to build the ark, also thought what could possibly go wrong?... right before the rains came. Did I mention that it rained all day Monday and Tuesday? And as you recall, changing the day was not an option. Cheryl's sister chose to steadfastly cling to her stupid marriage to the fly boy. Because of the rain, the plans had to be altered. Everyone met at my in-laws home and we started with individual family photos, and we were going to then see if the weather would give us a break.
     At some point, the photographer mentioned that she thought that we could take photos of the family walking along a familiar street that leads up to the Mansion. The street is unique because it has a tree tunnel. Great idea but there are these things called automobiles that travel down this street on a pretty regular basis. No problem, she knew a City police officer that would meet us and stop traffic. Awesome, a photographer with connections. It worked out well for the officer as well, as he was able to throw the cuffs on my niece and throw her in the back of his cruiser. Apparently, there was a warrant that we didn't know about. Luckily, her uncle is a lawyer and we were able to cut a deal for her release.
    The weather cooperated just a little, and we headed to the Belair Mansion for a few photos of the entire clan. We arrived and began walking about the property looking for the best location. After mulling about, we were ready to line up for the photo when a different City police officer arrived and questioned if we were some type of organization! I suppose he suspected we were part of the "Occupy Bowie" protest that you may have all read about. It was either that or he, too, was looking to arrest my niece. After convincing him that we were not part of any "Occupy" movement, which wasn't too difficult because we were all showered, well groomed and could prove that we had jobs.....we continued with our photos.
All things considered, another great day!
     Thanksgiving dinner was awesome. Cheryl's sister Annie was once again a huge help in the food preparation (see last Thanksgiving's Funny Guy Friday) and I was both full and satisfied with this buffet. However, there was one moment that highlighted the difference between hosting Cheryl's family and hosting my family, besides the fact that my sister-in-law does not put cranberries in her sweet potatoes. This moment occurred when my father-in-law got everyone quiet and stood up to make an announcement.
    Now when this happens when my family is all together, it means someone is either getting married or is about to have a baby. With everyone's attention on him, my father-in-law announced that he had found a jacket in the back of his car and wondered if any of the grandkids would claim it. My daughter Grace and I laughed because we both thought that Grammie was pregnant. We are thankful that she is not.
    Anyway, I realize that I do have so much to be thankful for. The Lord provides for me every day and has blessed me with a great wife, three terrific kids, wonderful parents, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews and friends. He even came through with great in-laws. Thanksgiving provides such a great opportunity to spend time with all of them. I hope that you all had a great Thanksgiving and that you all had the opportunity to spend time with your loved ones.   Happy Thanksgiving!

Rainy Day Photo Shoot

Turkey Bowl 2011 Players

Turkey Bowl MVP Winning Catch

Funny Guy with the Boys

Thanksgiving Dinner

Funny Guy Friday... O Captain, My Captain...

      Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy!
     When Matthew, who is now 11, was six years old, he decided to join a baseball team. I was more than happy to coach.
     Before Cheryl and I were married, I had coached some very good 12-year-old teams for several years, and I had continued to coach right up until Matthew was about two or three years old. I had stopped coaching because, at that time, we had two kids and neither one was playing ball. So when he signed up at age six, I was more than happy to jump back into the coaching game.
     I remember that first practice, when Matthew was the only boy... or girl (that's right, I said girl)... who knew how to catch, or throw, or even how to hold a bat. After practice, Cheryl told me that the parents thought I was so very patient. Really? Because I am ready to put my head through the car window. 
     Fortunately, I refrained from concussing myself, and our team, The Bees, had a successful year. Having said that, we did have our moments.
     There was one little girl named Emily who was not very good, and was not very interested in being at the field or listening to me. She also wore a skirt to every game. When I gave my post-game talks, I always pointed out what each player had done well, and I made up game superlatives for the kids. We had best hit, best cheerer (I made that word up), coolest hat (the brim was the key), best listener, most bubble gum chewed, fastest runner, etc, etc.
     My girl Emily always won for best skirt on the team. She was happy with that, but that was about all that pleased her. Most games we would find her playing with her nanny on the playground across from the field. By the way, Emily's nanny was the best nanny on the team. Anyway, at the end of the year, I was sure that Emily would be happy to be done with the season, and done with me. I was surprised when she came up to me after the last game, and looked at me, and threw her arms around me, and started to cry, and told me that I was the best coach she ever had. Apparently, Emily was paying attention during the season.
   This brings me to my other son Noah's seven-year-old basketball team that I am presently coaching. We had our first practice this week, and I think I am in for quite an adventure. On the way to the gym, Noah and I had the following conversation:
Noah: Dad, am I going to be the team captain?
Me: No, I would not say that. I haven't even met the kids on the team yet, and we probably will not have captains.
Noah: Yeah, yeah, but if we did have captains, I would be the captain, right?
Me: No, I would not say that. Just because you are my son, it does not mean you are anything special, just my son.
Noah: Yeah, I get that. But just so we know, I would be the team captain.
Me: Noah, if I did have a captain, I would have a different one for each game.
Noah: Okay, so the first game, I will be captain.
Me: YES, YES. YOU ARE THE CAPTAIN.
Noah: I thought so. 
   
     On my way out the door, Cheryl had reminded me to remember that this would probably be the first time most of these kids had ever played basketball, so I should start at the beginning.
     I had already figured that we should start with dribbling, then passing, and then some defense. I had also settled on a coaching style that the kids could relate to.
     For example, I explained to the kids that we were going to learn a cool dance called the Funky Crab. This is when you get into a nice crouch on the balls of your feet with your arms out like a crab and you step and slide like a crab. This dance has the same moves you use on defense.
     As I was showing the kids the dance, our team captain raised his hand and wanted to know if we could pinch players like a crab would do. No, Noah. I explained that we play defense by moving our feet and not by reaching and grabbing with our hands. This led another player to point out that crabs don't have feet. Good point---now be quiet.
     Moving on, I explained to the kids that we were bumble bees and that the key (the area of the court under the basket from the baseline to the foul line) was our beehive, and we needed to protect our honey. The basket was the honey, and the other team was full of bears trying to get our honey. Again, Captain Noah's hand shot up, and he wanted to know if the basket was the honey or the hive. The honey. "Then how do the bears get to our honey way up there?" he asked. Our captain was getting to be a little bit annoying. By shooting the rock  up at the basket. "Does it have to go through the basket for them to get the honey." YES, YES. IT DOES! 
     Now that we had that resolved, we decided to take advantage of the fact that we had the whole gym to ourselves, so we scrimmaged. This was an opportunity to get the kids used to going in the opposite direction when there is a change of possession. Sounds simple, but when you usually only practice on a half court, they never get to switch sides.
      I must say that they did pretty well, but they sometimes would forget to dribble. One little guy took one dribble and then tucked the ball under his arm and ran the full court, as if he were a running back; and then he took a shot. His dad tried to explain to him that he had to dribble; the boy insisting all the while that he had. One dribble, seventy feet. Very impressive strides for a seven-year-old. I could hear little Alan Iverson: Dribble. You're talking about dribble. I don't need no stinkin' dribble!
     After practice, on the drive home, I asked Noah how he thought things had gone. He advised that one of the girls on the team likes him. Really? How do you know that? "She kept following me and kicking at my heels." That could mean she doesn't like you, and wants to beat you up! "Dad, she can't do that. I am the captain."
     When we got home, I sent out an email for our second practice this coming week, and one parent replied that their family may be out of town, but would be there if they were back in time. She then thanked me, adding that after just one practice, her son thought I was "the best coach ever."
     Really? Hmmm.
     Sorry Noah, looks like we found ourselves a new captain.

More Robert Brault...

In the mood for more food for thought, from Robert Brault? Yeah. Me too.

"You never get people's fuller attention than when you're listening to them."

"No matter what you do in life, a part of you still sits at a curbside, still hearing the drumbeat of a distant parade, still waiting for it to turn the corner."

"It's curious the way we get nostalgic for some hoped-for thing that never happened, as if something that never happened were in the past."

"As important as it is to keep picking yourself up and brushing yourself off, it's also important to stop tripping over your own two feet."

"While I occasionally enjoy a bout of nostalgia, I would generally rather dream forward than backward."

"When it seems that something can't be done, start it, and see if the rest of it can be done."

Veterans Day... Roses in November...

While the unseen banner of winter's bane

Reminded her of mournful days,

The hope of springtime

Kissed the morrow.

This is a picture I took while at the library yesterday. The roses were gorgeous... Hundreds of them in full bloom... Set against the fall colors and the promise of winter. With the flag at half-staff, I couldn't resist capturing the moment. 

Traditionally, as a symbol of respect, mourning or distress, flags are flown at half-staff to leave room at the top of the flagpole for death's invisible flag.

Remembering Mark's dad...

     Remembering Mark's dad, and all of our veterans... today... and every day.

Funny Guy Friday... Only cool people eat out this late...

     Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy!
     Last Friday, I got home from work around 6 p.m. and Cheryl had nothing planned for dinner. I thought it would be a nice idea for us to go get a quick bite to eat and start our Christmas shopping. These days, we can do these things on the spur of the moment because we have a built-in fifteen-year-old babysitter---an indentured servant, if you will.
     We announced our plan to get a quick bite to eat and then do some shopping. The dinner part was met with great enthusiasm from our kids who asked where we were going? They were not too keen on the shopping and wanted to cut that part out. Whoa, slow down there cowpokes, you three are not included in we. 
     Somehow, our going out on a date is not fair to our kids. They were offended at the idea and suggested that they don't ever get to do anything. This is funny because I think that they get to do everything. They go everywhere with us, unless they have a better offer from a friend; and if we go somewhere while they are at a friend's house, they complain because it is not fair that we do fun stuff every time they go over a friend's house. Cheryl and I have this sinister plan where we wait for one of the kids to get an invite to a friend's house and then we plan fun stuff with the remaining children. To maximize the missing child's disappointment, we encourage the remaining two kids to have extra fun to add to the missing sibling's heartbreak. It is a wickedly evil plot and in my humble opinion, it is just good parenting.
     Anyway, as we were leaving to go on our date, Grace was extremely vocal with her concerns. It appears that she thinks, and I quote....that ever since you two went to your reunion and found out that you used to be cool and now are all popular, you want to go out with each other all the time. You know, I think that she is on to something. We are like Fonzie cool! Our new found coolness is awesome, and we can't be seen out in public with our three children. What would the gang at the malt shop think if we showed up with them? Clearly kids reduce one's coolness factor.
     In response to her comments, Cheryl and I made out right there in our front hallway for all of our kids to see. I may even have raised my leg and wrapped it around Cheryl's waist to emphasize my ever increasing love for my very happening wife. We even danced with each other like we used to dance back in our high school days....you know back when we were cool and didn't know it. Now that we know, we can't let it go to waste and we must spend as much time with each other as possible. When I complained that I may have injured my neck sometime during the make-out session, Grace disgustingly said that there was no way that I was ever cool. Clearly, she was not at our reunion.
     So at 7:30, Cheryl and I left our house feeling pretty good about ourselves. How cool is it that we started our date so late? Only cool people eat out at that late hour. We would be able to skip right in, grab a beer and a burger, and scoot on out.
     The first place we went had a forty-five minute wait. The second place was a thirty-five minute wait, and the third place was a thirty minute wait. At this point I was getting tired, hungry and a bit irritated. After a fourth restaurant made us wait, I thought to myself, who knew that people ate dinner so late? Apparently, there are a lot of cool people out there... but they could never be as popular as we. We ain't waiting for you; you will wait for us!!!
     Our fifth choice, which used to be a regular stop back when we were sans children, was nearly empty. We stopped going there years ago for the Yogi Berra reason that "everybody stopped going there because it was too crowded." Now nobody goes there because they just don't go there anymore. Perhaps it is because we stopped going there.
     As we sat down, I reminded Cheryl that we still had to Christmas shop. She responded that she wanted to make a list and really did not feel like shopping before she knew exactly what we needed to buy. We don't need no stinking list, let's get going---remember who we are!
     She got out a pad of paper and a pen, and decided to make her list. She got as far as listing the people that we need to buy for---I just wanted to shop for my three kids. That is as far as she made it with her silly list---she wrote down the names of people for whom we need to buy gifts. There were about 40 people on the list. Being this popular is getting expensive. I got bummed out and resigned myself that we were not going to actually shop at all. We finished dinner and headed home.
     So, I injured my neck kissing my wife. The two of us got rejected by four separate restaurants. Our date consisted of making a list of people we know for whom we will spend money... in an old restaurant... where nobody goes. And then we headed home.
     Wow, it turns out that we may not be as cool as advertised. But please don't tell my kids, what they don't know won't hurt them. By the way... I haven't kissed my wife in a week. My neck is feeling much better.

Thoughts for the day...

"I know this about myself -- that the most lasting triumphs of my life have been triumphs of acceptance, and the happiest triumph a willing surrender."

"How magical it is when the person who knows the words meets the person who knows the tune."

"Sometimes we are steered to God by a random event that could not have been better timed had somebody planned it."

"She was a person who would stop to smell the roses on her way to smell the roses."

"Each day I go into the world to seek my identity, feeling greatly blessed by the things I don't find it in."

"We are known to our friends by a look in our eyes that we never see in a mirror."

"The willingness to share does not make one charitable; it makes one free."

For more quotes from ~ Robert Brault ~ click on the link.

Surprise the one you love...

     Betty Beguiles thinks of everything. I love her sense of romance.
     Okay ladies, are you ready for the 14-day challenge? Trust me, your guy is worth it. (Gentlemen... you could so do this for your brides). Oh... and all you friends of Funny Guy... Shhh. Don't you dare tell.

Occupy Wall Street and the Founders...

     A great article by the American Thinker. No matter how the press or the statists spin this, the Founders would be nowhere near Zuccotti Park.

Funny Guy Friday... The Great Pumpkin Carving Contest...

    Funny Guy Friday is written each week by my husband, Mark. So, I married a Funny Guy!

    When Cheryl and I were first married, we would invite my brothers and sister and my many nieces and nephews over for a Halloween party and pumpkin carving competition. Yes, I turned pumpkin carving into a competitive sport.

    We would bob for apples, eat cake, and then we would light up our pumpkins and have the family vote on the best one. Everyone would throw their ballot into a hat and I would call out each vote with great fanfare. I insisted that the carvers remain unknown so as not to influence the voters, so each vote would have to describe the pumpkin. I had to have anonymity so the voters would not be influenced----you know how moms can be with their bratty little kids, and I was sure that at least one sister-in-law had it out for me.
    I recall the first year most entries were your typical jack-o-lanterns with the eyes, nose and mouth, or some little pumpkins with paint globbed all over. Seriously, one of my silly little nephews painted his little pumpkin and thought that was going to win. Yeah, right!
    My first pumpkin was a haunted house that I had seen on a Halloween napkin. This was before pumpkin patterns were popular. I had to figure out what parts to cut out and what parts to leave in so that the house looked like the haunted house on the napkin. It took me hours and if I recall correctly, it took me two or three pumpkins before I got it right. It was awesome! I dominated the competition. This is not to say that I didn't have to lobby a bit for my pumpkin---Hey Grandma, that little pumpkin that was painted in school that just looks like a big blob of nothingness is cute and nice for a four year old, but have you seen the haunted house---boy whoever did that one sure did put a lot of work into it!   
    The pumpkins evolved the following year. I was the rising tide that raised the level of all carvers. They knew they had to bring their AAA game to the party after my initial dominance---and they did. But I was a little suspect about some of the later entries as pumpkin carving kits and patterns became the norm. I refused to use patterns thinking that the judges would appreciate my creativity and effort. I insisted that the carver should have to reveal if he or she had used a pattern. That effort went nowhere with the rules committee, which was led by my antagonistic sister-in-law.
    Baseball had its great history tainted by the Steroid Era; our pumpkin carving contest had its great history tainted by the Pattern Era. Same principles applied---athletes used other means to gain an unfair advantage over their competition. It was not fair and it drove me to take some drastic measures. If they wanted to cheat then I would show them some cheating.
     I recalled that in our first year of voting, every pumpkin got at least one vote and others would get two, or three and I dominated with about ten. This was odd because this was mathematically impossible. There were ten pumpkins in the competition, twenty five people at the party but there were thirty five votes. Well, I later found out that my father voted for each pumpkin so each of his precious little grand kids got at least one vote. He was going soft in his later years.
     Anyway, my dad's little strategy led me to concoct a little scheme of my own that would level the playing field. I figured if nobody realized that the ballot box was stuffed the year before, who would notice it this year. After all, I was in charge of the votes and the vote counting. What could go wrong? I can't say that it was the proudest moment of my pumpkin carving career but those little kids were cheating too! Although my little plan made me a bit uncomfortable and left a bad taste in my mouth, I was sure that raising the winning pumpkin over my head on Victory Lane would certainly help cleanse my palate.
     Year two, I did a cemetery scene with ghosts and goblins. Think of Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel on a pumpkin---it was that good. I thought to myself, who knows, maybe the voters will get it right and I won't have to institute my brilliant scheme. Unfortunately, there was still that same sister-in-law that had it out for me........ I may have also bragged a bit after the previous year's victory and it is possible that I alienated some of the losers voters in my family. No, it was clear that I could take no chances.
    My plan was working flawlessly at first. I was running neck and neck with my nephew but I ultimately pulled ahead by a wide margin. I will admit that there was some suspicion when the legitimate votes described my pumpkin as "The Cemetery Scene Pumpkin" and my illegitimate votes described it as the "Most Awesome Cemetery Scene w/Ghosts and Goblins and Some of the Most Exquisite Carving We Have Seen to Date Pumpkin" or "The Museum Quality Pumpkin With the Intricate Cemetery Scene---Whoever Carved That One is My Hero---God Bless Him!"
    Okay, I may have gone a bit overboard---BUT THEY WERE USING PATTERNS!!!
    I conceded victory to my worthy opponent on that day, and the carving contest continued for a few more years. Who knows who won or lost (except for me of course); it was always just fun to see what everyone came up with year after year.
    Every Halloween, I still love carving pumpkins with my kids. I will admit that we have purchased the kits and we now use the patterns---it definitely speeds up the process.
    Each of the kids picks their own pattern and they are old enough now to do most of it themselves. But every year, after they think that they are done and have left to go watch TV, I find myself alone in the kitchen with a knife and the pumpkins. There is always one more thing that could be done to make their pumpkins just a little bit better. You know, in case some idiot wants to have a competition or something!

Grace's pumpkin

Matthew's pumpkin

Noah's pumpkin

Funny Guy Friday... Camping with Uncle Ray...

   When Cheryl and I first started dating, she would ask if I ever went camping and then describe how, when she was a kid, her family spent nearly every vacation camping. Well, I never did camp, and this bit of information was a little surprising to me until I went on my first camping trip with my in-laws and learned that "camping" was really sleeping in a beautiful motor home with a bathroom, kitchen, cable television, two computers, beds, an oven, a stove and a microwave. More like a stake out than a camping trip. At times cramped, but hardly roughing it.
  About four years ago, Cheryl and her brother decided it would be fun to go on a family camping trip---a real camping trip. I recall her brother saying that sleeping in a camper is not really camping, that's cheating. So each year we go on a real camping trip, with tents, sleeping bags, outdoor bathrooms, no kitchens, no tv, and no computers. We have been to Rocky Gap and to Gettysburg---both about three hours from our home. I must say, except for the camping part, I've had a great time.
  About four weeks ago, Cheryl asked what weekend would be good to go on our annual camping trip with Uncle Ray. I could have sworn that I told her that fall baseball is not over until the last weekend in October, so any weekend after that. I was surprised when she told me we were going camping the second to last weekend in October, and further, that the weekend was starting on Thursday. Whoa, wait a second, what about baseball on Saturday, and I have a trial on Friday.
   No problem, she had a solution/compromise---we would go to a campground in Ellicott City, Maryland, about forty minutes from our house. Great, but I have a trial on Friday, and I need to get back for the game on Saturday. No problem for Cheryl, the location of the campground would allow me to drive up on Thursday to help unload and set up camp before returning home Thursday night. Then I could go to work on Friday, and then drive back to the campground after work on Friday night; then drive back home for the game on Saturday and then drive back to the campground on Saturday night. Then Sunday morning, I could help break camp, load up, and drive home on Sunday afternoon.
   No way. We are not going camping this year. Sorry Cheryl. Sorry kids. Sorry Uncle Ray. I am not a high priced mule.

   On Thursday, we arrived at the campsite right behind Uncle Ray---it turns out that I am a high priced mule. I was shocked to see that he had a pop-up trailer attached to his truck. Why, that is not a tent, that is a trailer, and that's not really camping, that's cheating! Apparently, he had never said that, or if he had, it was meant for luxurious campers that sleep eight, not pop-ups that sleep six.
   Awesome. That thing sleeps six. Let's see, his one and our five... that equals six. Again I was surprised when he said that he brought us an eight-man tent that we could use.
   Two things crossed my mind at this point. First, your pop-up sleeps six. I did the math in the previous paragraph, 5 + 1 = 6. We have six. Second, I have a six person tent so I don't need your stinking big tent. His response to my first observation was that the pop-up does not sleep six people "comfortably," plus his dog would be in there with him... and second, a six person tent has just enough room for six people. No room for anybody's stuff so we should use the bigger tent.
   We unloaded the SUV and located the bathrooms that came equipped with nice showers. We then got the electricity turned on so we could use our electric blankets, and we began setting up camp. With a little help, okay, a lot of help from Uncle Ray, we got the tent set up and I broke out the air mattresses. One of the mattresses had a pump attached, so it blew up easily, but whoever used the other air mattresses in our basement the last time, failed to put the pump back in with the one mattress. One of the kids advised me that my nephew had blown up the mattress by mouth one time. I advised my kids that my nephew is an idiot and that someone would be sleeping on the ground tonight---I would bring a pump back tomorrow.
   Now I know what you are thinking because I was thinking the same thing. We drove forty minutes from our house and made sure we had electricity so we could stay warm at night, we made sure we had a bathroom with a shower so we could stay clean, and we made sure that we had nice bedding that kept us up of off of the cold ground.
   Let's see, where do we have all those things?---electricity, bathrooms with showers, and warm beds. Oh, I remember now. We have all those things, plus a lot more, AT OUR HOME, ONLY FORTY MINUTES AWAY!!!! We should have just invited Uncle Ray to spend the weekend at our house, and he and the kids could have slept in our backyard if they had wanted to. That would have been a win/win situation.
   Friday arrived and before I left work, I called Cheryl to see what, if anything that they needed besides a pump. Apparently, everyone slept on the ground because the one air mattress that we could pump up, had a leak in it. Other than a new mattress, they needed snacks. Two reasons they needed snacks: First, Uncle Ray had to go to work for a few hours on Friday night, so dinner was not going to get started until after 8:00 p.m. Too late for the kids. Second, Uncle Ray shopped for the trip. He graciously bought all the food, but he does not have kids, so he does not get the snacking habits of children. He bought what he needed to make the meals and that was about it. They needed snacks.
   No problem, I hit the Wal-Mart and got some fruit, some popcorn, some cheese and crackers and pepperoni. On the drive up, I found a Japanese restaurant right outside the campground and bought some sushi. I told the kids that I caught the fish on the way in so it was fresh. The kids devoured the pre-meal meal, but were anxiously awaiting Ray's return so we could eat dinner.
   One thing I will say about camping with Ray: he can cook on a fire like nobody's business. Maybe it is because we are hungry, or maybe we think it is cool to eat around a campfire, but mealtime is the best. He grilled chicken and steak and he always has potatoes with every meal. We eat more potatoes in that one weekend than we do the rest of the year.  Matthew bought him a potato cookbook, and whatever he does to those potatoes works. He doesn't catch the chicken or kill the cow like I did with my fresh sushi fish, but it was still pretty good.  
   Besides eating, all we really do is sit around the campfire and try to stay warm. It is pretty incredible that a family that spends as much time sitting in front of a tv, a computer screen or an i-pod can sit for hours and hours watching a fire burn. That is what we did for a large part of the weekend. In fact, I was only there at night, so that is all I ever did, other than unpack and pack back up again. The only time that we could stay warm was when we went to the tent and got under our electric blankets. We had three, and I would have thought that would have been enough for five of us in two beds, but somehow Grace thought that all three were for her. I think at one point she actually stomped her feet and shook both fists. I cannot be sure because my laughter seems to have diminished my memory of the event.
   Perhaps it would have been a good idea to give her the blankets because she got sick and had to go home late Saturday night. I volunteered to take her home but Cheryl, realizing that I had been doing "a lot of driving"---we would have put fewer miles on the car had we camped at Yellowstone National Park---volunteered for the job. It turns out that Cheryl was not feeling well either, and she wanted a good night's sleep. Frankly, I liked sleeping in the tent. Very comfortable and very toasty with those blankets. In fact, it was the only time that I was warm the entire weekend.  To go even further, I did not thaw out until about Wednesday.
   So to recap, we went camping with Cheryl's brother. I drove a lot. Once we got the mattress thing figured out, we slept okay. We ate very well. I drove a lot. Cheryl and Grace got sick. I was cold for five days and I drove a lot.  The kids had a great time and I enjoyed sleeping and eating.
   Hey Uncle Ray... same time next year?!