Don't Mess With Your Guardian Angel

   Starting in the 8th grade, I knew, like most 8th grade boys, that I was immortal and invincible and invulnerable.  Unfortunately, what I knew decided to clash with reality one day.
   We were at football practice - we didn't have our practice uniforms yet, so we were doing drill in shorts and t-shirts.  I was the fastest kid in the 8th grade (for real - you might not believe it to look at me now, LOL), and the coach had us running pass routes.  Even though I was slated to be a running back, I loved being able to break out and catch passes.
   When my turn came up, it turns out that I was going to be covered by my friend Craig (who was over six feet tall) and his older brother Mark who was in high school and was even taller than Craig.  I was maybe 5' 8" at the time, so it was gonna be tricky to catch the ball between two "trees."  But I was up to the challenge because I was cocky and fast.
   I ran out and got between Craig and Mark, figuring the ball would be thrown when I broke past them.
   Wrong!
   I looked up and saw that the pass was coming down right in the middle of us, and being the shortest, it didn't look too promising.  But I leaped up and somehow managed to snake my arms between the brothers and get one hand on the ball.  I pulled it down and grabbed it with the other hand. 
   Yes!  I caught the ball and I was not about to let go!
   And then we were all tangled up.
   And we fell.
   Somehow I ended on the bottom of the pile, but I held onto the ball, although the dirt under my left wrist was really hot! 
   Uh oh!  I remembered the last time something like that burned.  It couldn't be happening again.  No way!
   We got up, and my wrist was swelling.  Just like in the 2nd grade, the coach got a hold of my parents, who took me to the hospital where I got x-rays and a cast.  At least this time it was only one arm.
   I'm one of those people who believe we have guardian angels watching over us.  And I sometimes get a little too adventurous and need some help from my guardian angel.  And I think this was one time when maybe, just maybe, I had gotten a little too full of myself and because I was too stubborn to drop the ball, my angel decided to drop me.

"I live for my dreams, and a pocketful of gold"

   I heard a story on NPR yesterday morning about how many dollar coins are stored away by the Federal Reserve, because Americans apparently don't want them.
   I'm one American who loves these coins.  They are nice and heavy and gold in color.  They are a conversation starter.  I'll put them in a tip jar and find that my service gets a little better.  They make wonderful treasures to hide to make a potentially boring present more memorable.  Since 2007, they have been minted with the face of each President - U.S. Grant being the latest.  And they jingle just like any other coins.
   Maybe most people don't like them, but I do.  And I find that they are hard to find, which makes each one more of a treasure to me.  I finally do have a place where I can get them.  There is a vending machine that accepts dollar coins, and I found that if I put $1.00 in smaller denomination coins (nickels, dimes, quarters) and push the coin return, the machine will spit out a nice, shiny dollar coin.  I have several Presidents and a few Sacajawea ones as well.
   I think it's cool to have a pocketful of gold jingling a merry tune as I stroll through life.

Stillwater teams compete in Odyssey of the Mind World Finals » Local News » Stillwater NewsPress

An article in the local paper about some of our Odyssey of the Mind teams competing in the OM World Finals.

Stillwater teams compete in Odyssey of the Mind World Finals » Local News » Stillwater NewsPress

Although the team I was involved with didn't make it to Worlds this year, everyone had a great time working together and competing in the Regional and State competitions. Odyssey of the Mind is a great program for kids K-12!

Rockin' Photoshop

   I love Photoshop.  I got to use it at a previous job once, and I learned how to so some pretty awesome techniques with it.  Since then, as things have changed, I've learned Gimp, which is a lot like Photoshop.
   However, recently I was temping and was called upon to cover for an office receptionist who was out for the day.  I quickly ran out of things to do (lots of slow periods), but then I found an older copy (CS2) of Photoshop.  I'd started out learning CS3, so it was pretty easy to refresh my memory with the techniques, and I found some tutorials online.
   I rediscovered my love of Photoshop.  And in the process, I created some of what I call "Vacationing Penguins" pictures.  Two of them are posted here.  Those plus a third one are on my Facebook page.
  Photoshop rocks!

Vacationing Giant Penguins!

I Can't Think of Anything to Say

   Odd.  I'm usually not at a loss for words, but for some reason I can't think of anything to blog about today.  Normally, I have something in mind when I sit down at the computer to start writing.  Occasionally I find something on the Internet that I pass along.
   Today is different.  I've drawn a blank.  Maybe it has to do with temping as a receptionist today.  Between visitors popping in and out of the office, and answering and transferring phone calls, I haven't really had much time to ruminate on some topic.
   I'm sure by tomorrow I'll come up with something interesting.  Perhaps I'll post another story from my life.  Maybe I'll hook up my Bamboo Fun tablet and draw something, then post that.  I don't know what tomorrow will bring, though.
   I do know what happened today.  I just realized I found something to write!

"Graveyard!"

   As we got closer to the cemetery we drew in our breaths and held them until we'd passed on down the road.  The we let our breaths out and began to breathe normally, once again safe and know that we'd thwarted the plans of the zombies and ghosts and other undead spirits.
   This was a game we played as kids.  We would hold our breaths as we passed a graveyard, believing that by doing so the undead spirits (especially the bad ones) would not know we were alive and therefore not follow us or, worse, get inhaled into our bodies to possess us.
   Boy, we had macabre imaginations back then!
   I taught this to my kids.  And today, as we approached the city cemetery along 6th Street, I interrupted our conversation and exclaimed, "Graveyard!"
   We sucked in our breaths and waited until we passed.  After we got past I had a moment of maturity flash into my head and I said, "Aren't I a little too old for this?  I mean, technically I'm a adult and should be mature but now."
   "No, Dad," piped up Tyler.  "Technically, you're an adult.  Mature...not so much."
   The little wise guy!  Okay, he did have a point of sorts.  I suppose theoretically I should behave as a mature adult, but that doesn't mean I do.  I want to see where in the rules it says I have to be mature.  It's scary to think what I'll be like when I'm 70, or 90, or beyond.     
   It's gonna be fun, though!

What Would MacGyver Do?

   Have you ever had a MacGyver moment, where you are in a situation and make use of things on hand to solve a problem?

   I have.  One time was last summer.  My youngest had never been stung by a bee, so we weren't sure if he was allergic to bee stings.  The inevitable happened one day - he came running into the house holding one hand with the other, saying that he got stung by a bee on his finger.

   He has a few food allergies, so we have an Epipen for emergencies.  Trouble is, I couldn't remember where it was.  So while my daughter was helping get the stinger out, I went into the kitchen and started thinking of old remedies I'd heard about.  My first thought was baking soda and water in a paste, but since the sting was near a finger tip, I wasn't sure it would stay on too well.
   Then I remembered when I used to carry After Bite with me in my backpack.  That was great for soothing mosquito bites.  Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure we didn't have any.  However...the gears in my head started clicking...the active ingredient is ammonia, and I knew where the ammonia was.  I grabbed a cotton ball and the jug of ammonia and told my kid to stop wiggling.
   "Is this gonna hurt?" he asked as I opened the jug and soaked the cotton ball with ammonia.
   "It won't bother me," I said with a smile. 
   "Not funny, Dad!"
   "No," I said, "it won't hurt.  Probably.  Not much anyway, if it does."
   The ammonia took the pain away.  I kept an eye on him for a bit, to see if he started swelling up or anything, and finally remembering where the Epipen was, just in case.
   We found out that he's not allergic to bee stings.  Actually, an hour later, he forgot which finger had been stung (they got the stinger out fast, so there was very little swelling).
   All was well, and the kids thought I had done a MacGyver-ish thing.  Very cool.

If I Ask You to Pinch Me to See if I'm Dreaming...

...don't do it!

I have very vivid dreams, and I can actually experience pain sometimes. Asking a dream friend to pinch me to see if I'm dreaming means I'll feel the pinch. On the other hand, if I'm dreaming and wondering if I'm dreaming, I'll do something to try to effect the dream. Generally, I'll try to levitate and/or fly to see if it's a dream. Once I do that, and realize that I'm dreaming, I'll take control of the dream and hope that I don't wake up too soon.

What about you? Do your dreams seem so real that you wonder if they're really real? Are you able to figure out stuff and control your dreams? 

My Biggest Fan

   I recently bought a Lasko Wind Tunnel Fan.  I spent quite a bit of time in the fans aisle at the store, searching for just the right one.  For me, looks aren't really that important in a fan.  I'm interested in the white noise.  Sounds can trigger memories, and I was looking for just the right sound.
   When I was little, we had an old box fan.  I don't know how old it was, but it was encased in a wooden frame that was sturdy enough that an adult could sit on it.  The blades were metal and the front grill consisted of thin metal vertical strips of metal, some of which would vibrate and hum when the fan was blowing.  The fan and the motor combined to make a certain sound that I found very soothing.
   Of course, I was too big to take naps at the time, so on a hot summer day my mom would tell me just to stretch out in front of the fan and rest, perhaps with a book.  And so I did.  The fan sounded like an airplane to me.  And I would imagine that the airplane was a cargo plane, flying over a jungle in South America, bringing supplies to a small village in a valley between two mountains...
...
   And then I would close my eyes.  And I would see the jungle in my mind's eye.  Hanging onto cargo straps, I would lean out the open door on the side of the plane and feel the rush of the wind as we flew ever onward.  The heat of the jungle rose up to the plane, but the wind would keep it pleasantly warm and not too hot.  The cargo plane had pontoons so we could land on the small lake in the valley.  And we would land and unload the supplies to the villagers, who greeted us happily and asked out where we had been, the sights we had seen, and the adventures we'd had on our journeys...       
...
   An hour or so later, I woke up.  Once again, my mom had tricked me into taking a nap.  But I didn't mind.
   Flashing forward to now - I found a fan that, although it's not a wooden and metal sturdy-to-be-furniture fan of yesteryear, came close to the droning of the cargo plane from my childhood imagination.
   Last night I turned the fan on, and feeling the wind wash over me, I imagined once again being in a cargo plane, taking supplies to a far off village.  I was probably asleep in two minutes.

I'm Gonna Knock You Out!

   I was at my sister's house for a little family gathering cookout on Fathers' Day.  We were reminiscing about when we were kids and about the crazy things that happened.  I told everyone about how I've been putting some of those tales on this blog.
   At one point, somebody mentioned getting knocked out, and I said, "I knocked Leah Anne out with a baseball bat once."
   "He sure did," said my sister (Leah Anne), laughing.
   I'm not a violent person, and I want to make it clear that I didn't beat my sister senseless with a bat.
   Here's what happened:
   One summer, when we were at my grandmother's house in Texas, my friend Paul and I wanted to play baseball.  We were bored with just playing catch, so we took turns pitching batting practice to each other.  Since we didn't have a catcher, we used a tree as a backstop/catcher - any pitch that got by the batter would hit the tree and bounce back, rather that rolling under the bushes.
   On one of my turns at bat, I took a few practice swings and stepped up to the imaginary plate.  Paul started his windup and I cocked the bat backwards, getting ready for the pitch.
   Clunk!
   I thought I was too close to the tree and had hit it, so I moved up a couple of steps.  Paul was cracking up laughing.
   "What's so funny?" I asked.  Hitting a tree wasn't that hilarious, I thought.
   "You...your sister!" he blurted.
   "She's in the house," I said.
   He pointed and I turned around.  There was my sister, just starting to sit up in the grass.
   I hadn't hit the tree - just my sister's hard head.
   I didn't get in trouble for this one.  My sister admitted that she should have said something before walking behind me into the line of fire.
   Sometimes I'm surprised we survived childhood.

Are You Being Served?

   I recently got a DVD boxed set of the British sitcom "Are You Being Served?", which originally aired in the 1970s and early 1980s on the BBC, and can be seen on many local PBS affiliates.  It's one of my favorites, even though the shows are dated.  Maybe that's why, though.  They remind me of a kinder, gentler time in the world, when comedy could be funny without being mean-spirited.  There is plenty of wordplay but very seldom, if ever, foul language.
   I'm not a prude - I've been known to reel off a string of words that would make a longshoreman blush.  But I really prefer clever comedy.  A teacher once told me, upon hearing me blurt out a few choice words, that "strong language denotes a weak mind."
   "What?"  I stopped in my tracks.  He wasn't even my teacher, although I did admire him,
   "A clever young man such as yourself could probably express thoughts in a more eloquent way," he said.
   It was several years later when I saw "Are You Being Served?" for the first time.  And those shows, my favorites being from the first five years or so, were very funny and witty.  Of course, they were (and still are) unintentionally funny with the fashion styles, which were "in" in the 70s - but now...not so much.
   I imagine in another thirty or forty years, shows made now will look pretty silly.  And I hope somebody enjoys watching them and seeing the unintentional historical record of how people looked, talked, and acted here in the early part of the century.

Windy Enough For Ya?

   It's a bit breezy today.  Living in Oklahoma, that's pretty much the norm.  Some days are windier than others, and I think yesterday was one of those days.

   I went to my sister's house yesterday for a little family get-together.  They have a little pool in their back yard (which felt good, especially when the temperatures hit the triple digits), and my brother-in-law was grilling burgers and hot dogs.

   It was sunny and hot, so my sister decided to the patio umbrella up in her patio table.  We got the umbrella in the base and she started turning the crank to get the umbrella open.  It was also pretty windy with some big gusts.  One gust caught the umbrella and lifted it up out of the base.  My sister still had a hold of the umbrella and was lifted off the ground a foot or so.  Kenny, my brother-in-law, and I grabbed her and the umbrella and kept both from being whisked away.

   I laughed and said, "Remember that time when we were kids and you had that windbreaker on?  You opened it up and held it out and got blown back up in the air a few feet."
   We laughed about that, realizing that despite the years that had passed, some things don't change a whole lot.  Wind in Oklahoma, for one.  My goofy, fun-loving family for another.
   I kinda like that.

Running in Place...Sorta

   When my dad taught and coached at a small high school in Oklahoma City, they didn't have a very big budget for things, and he decided to get creative with what he had.  A previous blog post mentioned the sports drink experiment, which didn't go over very well with my sister and me.  But sometimes his inventions were brilliant and successful.

   One time, after a trip to an Army surplus store, he came home with some thick stretchy rope (I don't know if it was called "bungee cord" then, but it seemed to be at least a half inch thick), and a bunch of wide straps.  He fashioned a harness out of the straps and attached it to the cord, then fashioned the whole rig to our swing set in our back yard.

   Our swing set wasn't one of those thin metal things you buy at Wal Mart.  I'm not sure that it was originally intended to be a swing set but the owner of the house before we lived there.  This thing was made of thick heavy pipe and was essentially two pipes about ten feet long embedded in the ground with concrete, with a thick pipe as a connecting piece at the top - the connections being large metal L-joints.  This thing was sturdy.  I wouldn't be surprised if the people who owned the house previously had hooked a pulley to the top and used it to hoist a motor out of a car.  That's how sturdy it was.

  The neighborhood guinea pigs (my sister, my friend Doug, and me, plus any other kids we could round up) took turns getting into the harness and stretching the bungee rope out, then we were instructed to keep low and run as hard as we could.  This contraption worked great!  We would run as hard as we could, trying to stretch the rope as far as it would go.
   It was an exhausting workout.  My dad would have us "run" for 30 seconds to a minute.  When time was up, he told us to keep leaning forward and back up slowly.  Good advice that, of course, we didn't all follow the first time. 
   We found out what happened if you stood up straight - you got pulled backwards and inevitably into a tumble of kid, harness and bungee rope.  We found out what happened if you decided to sit down instead of back up - sliding rapidly backwards on your rear (if you were lucky) until the rope slacked.
   This invention of my dad was pretty awesome for working the legs, and for improving coordination and agility.  He took two of these harnesses up to the school where he coached.  He would hook them up to the goal post and have his players go out in a V so they wouldn't be too close together.  I think for "fun" he sometimes hooked the harness/rope things together and have his players do a one-on-one tug-of-war.
   Yeah, this was one of his more successful inventions.  I know that since then there have been things like this on the market, but as far as I know (because I was a kid at the time), his was the first.
   My dad is awesome!

Dad's Pancakes

   When I was about 14 or 15, the company my mom worked for was getting ready to undergo an audit.  As a result, my mom had to work several long days at the office, sometimes getting up before the rest of us, and then coming home late in the evening.  My sister and I knew how to cook, at least enough to prepare something relatively uncomplicated.
   One morning, though, my mom had left early and my dad decided he would cook breakfast.
   "What do you guys want?  Pancakes?" he asked.
   "I'd like scrambled eggs and bacon," I said.  My sister seemed to be okay with a bowl of cereal and toast.
   "No, I'm going to fix pancakes," my dad replied.
   "Dad, do you know how to make pancakes?" we asked.  When it came to burgers or steaks on the grill, he was pretty good.  However, we'd never known him to cook inside the house.
   "How hard could it be?" he answered.  "The directions are on the box."
   Okay, that made some sense.  And we did have a box of the kind that you just add water to, which made it pretty much foolproof, right?
   After he'd been cooking for awhile, he called out, "Okay, first batch is done!"
   Mouth watering, I went into the kitchen and saw a plate stacked with the thickest pancakes I'd ever seen.  Wow!  I wondered how he managed to get them so fluffy.  On closer inspection, they looked more lumpy than fluffy.
   "Go ahead!  Dig in!" he said, watching my sister and me, but not trying one himself.
   I poured syrup on mine and cut into one.  *Pfff!*  A small cloud of dried mix came out.
   "Eww!  Dad!  Gross!" said my sister, who had cut into hers.  "It's not even cooked on the inside."
   "Did you follow the directions?" I asked my dad, who seemed puzzled at our hesitation to actually bite into our pancakes.
   "Sure," he said.  "It says to just add water, so I added water, mixed it, and cooked it."
   "Did you measure it?" asked my sister.
   "I guess I didn't add enough water," he said.  "You kids go watch TV or something.  I'll fix this."
   The next batch came out as thin as tortillas and were burnt.  It turned out that instead of measuring out the mix and water, he just "eyeballed it" and added water to what he already had, and then stirred the batter until it was smooth...and soupy.
   I'm not sure what we did for breakfast that morning - most likely it was cereal.  But I do know that for years afterward, any time my sister and I misbehaved my parents would say, "Careful!  Or Dad's going to make pancakes again."

How to Relax | eHow.com

It's Friday.  Time to relax and enjoy the weekend.  Here are some tips.  I got them from eHow.com, which is a pretty awesome site.

How to Relax | eHow.com

Instructions

1. • 1
     Define your stress. Relaxing is about finding out where the stress lies in your life and being able to walk away from it for a moment. Take a rest. For all of us it's different. This step may cause you to also be blunt with yourself. Sometimes achieving the new promotion is what's putting the greatest stress on you. So, take a pen and paper and physically define your stress. By writing it, you will understand it and be closer to controlling it.
   • 2
     Realize your bliss. All of us have things that make us truly happy. It could be the smile of your loved one or climbing Mt. Everest. Your bliss is something that is such a pleasure, such a joy for you to do, the worries of the world simply fall by the wayside. Ask yourself what your bliss truly is. Then on that same piece of paper where you defined your stress, turn it over and write the things down that you love doing. They may not all be realistic due to time or monetary constraints, but find at least one thing you can do a week that forces you to relax.
   • 3
     Cut off communication. We are so "connected" in this world, many of us are reachable at every moment of the day either via Internet, PDA, cell phone, home and work phones. Being reachable is a source of stress in that it is not allowing you to relax, decompress or get away from the rest of the world. Shut off the cell phone, turn off your PDA, log off the Internet, unplug the phone and simply just be quiet in the moment. This may seem sort of hard. You may find yourself being consistently pulled to those devices that we've all become so accustomed to.
   • 4
     Immerse yourself in relaxation. Now that you've defined what truly makes you happy and takes you away from the world's worries, do it!

Read more: How to Relax | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_2054033_relax.html#ixzz1PV6wNyH0

A Would-Be Gravity Defier

   Even though I broke both wrists jumping backwards off a backstop, it didn't stop me from jumping off of things when I got older.

   Attached to the back of our house was a screened in back porch with a nearly-flat roof (it had a slight slope to keep rain from accumulating up there).  I would climb up on that roof and sometimes just sit and ponder things.  I was smart enough to know that since I wasn't born with wings, I probably wasn't going to fly by flapping my arms.  But holding on to something and gliding down and/or parachuting off the roof was another thing.
   Since my adventure with wearing two casts at once left a bad taste in my mouth for breaking bones (oh, had I only known Future Me!), I did the smart thing (for a kid, gimme a break!) and dragged a mattress out into the yard for a landing pad.  That was if I miscalculated, I would at least have something softer than the ground to break my fall.
   At various times I tried various ways of jumping off the roof:  Sheets, cardboard "wings" taped to my arms, cardboard wings attached to wooden frames (bad idea, but no broken bones at least), a sheet of plywood (ouch!  splinters and the board hitting me on the back of my head when I stopped before the board did), a big stiff piece of cardboard, umbrella (I think Mary Poppins must have had a special umbrella), standing on piece of plywood and jumping before it hit (I got the idea from Bugs Bunny - unfortunately, I wasn't in a cartoon), and probably some other creative ideas.
   None of those things worked, although the sheet parachute came close because a gust of wind caught it just as I jumped and it kinda deployed before I hit.  The safest way to get off the roof, I decided, was to climb down.  Boring, but I got down unscathed.
   However, there was one other thing I tried after seeing enough action sequences in movies and on TV.  These guys would hit the ground and roll to slow down their momentum.  After a bit of practice, I got to where I could jump, hit, and roll and I didn't need the mattress.

   I guess the big question is why would I need to jump safely off the roof when I climbed up there in the first place?  And now that I'm older and supposedly wiser, my answer is:  I don't know.  Maybe it's a guy thing.

Just Three Things

   Okay, this post will be short today.
   I want you to think about and then list three things that went right today (or yesterday, if you're reading this early enough in the day).  Even if you've had a bad day, I'm sure you can come up with three things.
   Now, for each of those things, explain why they happened. 

   If you do this every day for at least a week, I'll bet you start to see a positive change in your life.  Of course if you want, you can do this for longer than a week.  Try a month, or a year.  Heck, you might be able to write a book about all this if you keep going.
 

   You can do it!  I believe in you!!

Digging a Hole to China

   Do you remember as a kid when you thought that if you dug a hole and kept digging, you'd end up on the other side of the Earth, perhaps in China?  I was afraid that was going to happen to me one day when I was about nine or ten years old.

   On the east side of our house, between the outer wall and the driveway, was a strip of dirt where, near to the side steps, my mom grew irises.  There was a patch of bare dirt, though, that never seemed to grow anything.  Maybe something got dumped there years before we moved into that house, I don't know.
   Anyway, one Sunday afternoon I had been playing with the garden hose which had a nozzle on the end.  The nozzle was cylindrical and tapered, like a skinny cone, and you twisted the end to change it from a wide spray (which I imagine I was probably supposed to be using on the irises), to a forceful blast, good for knocking things over and blasting pebbles down the driveway.
   I pointed the powerful stream down at the bare dirt spot and made a little hole, shooting mud and debris backwards.  That was kinda cool, I thought, and I wondered how deep a hole would I get.  So I kept spraying, making a splendid muddy mess.
   Fascinated, I stuck the nozzle end of the hose into the hole I'd started and noticed that I really didn't need to hold onto it because it started inching its way downward.  This was really cool!  A self-digging hole!
   Mom had the kitchen window open and I could smell the fried chicken was almost done.  Boy, was I getting hungry.  Still, I watched the hose as it relentlessly moved deeper into the hole it was making.
   Finally, it was time to eat.  Of course, being a kid, I didn't realize how muddy I was, and I wiped my feet before I came into the house.
   "Stop right there!" my mom commanded as I stood in the utility room.  "Rinse all that mud off before you come to the table."
   I glanced down and saw that my bare legs were splattered with mud from the knees down.  At least I had the forethought to wear cutoffs instead of jeans, I thought.  My arms were pretty muddy, too.  I turned to head toward the bathroom.
   "Outside!"
   I hadn't taken a step yet, but Mom, being a mom, was a mind reader.
   I went back outside and grabbed the hose, thinking to pull it out of the hole and using it to rinse off.  Meanwhile, my family had sat down at the table and were getting ready to eat.
   The hose didn't budge.  Funny, it went into the hole so easily.  But now it was stuck.  I went around to the faucet to unscrew the hose and rinse off there, but the hose had pulled itself taut and I couldn't unscrew it.  It didn't help that my hands were slippery from the water and mud, which made gripping the end of the hose problematic.
   "Mom?  Dad?"  I said through the window that overlooked my hose-hole.  "I can't get the hose loose."
   They came outside and saw the mess I'd made. 
   "You get that hose out of that hole and clean up before you come in to eat."
   They went back in and I continued to struggle with the hose.  I went to the garage and came back with a shovel, hoping to loosen the dirt around the hole.  Funny thing about loose dirt, gravity, and water - it wanted to accumulate in the hole and make more mud!
   So I started to dig.  Soon I found that the hose didn't go straight down.  It turned.  And it turned again.  I had to make a wider hole as I dug deeper and sideways.
   My sister's voice drifted through the window, in a sweet sing-song kind of way that she knew would irk me, "Mom, can I have more mashed potatoes?"
   ARGHHH!!!  She was already getting seconds, and I hadn't had a chance to eat anything!
   My digging became frantic.  The hose twisted and turned on its journey.  I began to think that I was going to be digging all night as the late afternoon shadows grew longer.  I'd starve!  I'd end up in China - a muddy starving boy from Oklahoma!
   My mom came out at one point with a camera.  To them, this had become a great source of amusement.  She took a few photos of me, now caked in mud and up to my knees in a hole that kept getting wider and deeper.
   I would dig, then pull on the hose, grateful for any time it budged.  But the mud closed around the hose, which made it more difficult.  At one time I thought that I could turn the water back on and maybe it would shoot the mud back out of the hole, thus widening it and make it easier to pull.  Unfortunately, the hose didn't agree with my childhood logic, and instead of coming out more easily, it tried to dig itself in more deeply.
   I don't know how long I dug.  Finally, however, I managed to loosen things up enough that I could pull the hose out.  And then rinse myself off.
   "You do realize that you need to fill in that hole," came the words I didn't want to hear.
   Finally, with the hole filled, and with aching arms and back and the beginnings of blisters on my hands, I was allowed to come inside.  There was still food left.  At that point, though, I imagine I would have been grateful for a peanut butter sandwich.
   I also learned, many years later, that water prefers to take the path of least resistance when it travels though the soil, which explains why the hose twisted and turned.
   I haven't dug a hole with a hose since that day. 
   Never made it to China, either.

Sweet Revenge

   When somebody is upset and trying to bring you down to their level of negativity, smile and say something like, "I understand that you're feeling angry, but wouldn't you rather find a better way to resolve your issues?"
   This can lead to a more positive dialog.

What Makes You Happy?

   We're all different, and there are different things that make each of us happy.  Sometime, like right now, you should start of list of the things that make you happy.  I would suggest that you write them down in your own handwriting, and put one "happy thing" per line.
   After you've written several lines, go find some scissors.  Go ahead, I'll wait.
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   Very good.  You found them a lot faster than I can find mine.  Anyway, cut each happy thought out so you end up with several slips of paper. 
   That's it.  You're doing an awesome job!
   Okay, now go get a jar that you can put those slips in.  Or another container.  It really doesn't matter.  I like the plastic containers ground coffee comes in.  When I finish off a container, I sometimes just rinse it out, getting out the last of the grounds but keeping the coffee fragrance in (the smell of coffee is one of my "happy things" even if I'm not drinking it).  I let it dry, of course.

   Okay, now put those slips of paper in.  And each time you feel the need, just reach in, pull out a slip of paper, and read the thought that you yourself wrote.
   Be sure to add slips as you think of more happy things.  And if you find that you need a bigger container, that's wonderful!

   I hope your "happy things" container becomes a 55 gallon barrel some day!

Easy Rider?

   One day, my dad decided he wanted to buy a motorcycle.  We drove across town to a Honda dealership almost in Edmond, at least 15 miles from our house.  We went in and started looking around.  I figured, since it was around 4:00 in the afternoon, we'd just browse around and check prices.  I certainly didn't know how to ride a motorcycle, and I was pretty sure my dad wasn't going to ride one in the afternoon traffic, due to start at any time.
   Finally, he found one he like, discussed the price (my dad is a genius when it comes to negotiating prices), and finally paid what he decided was fair enough.
   Then came something completely unexpected. 
   He looked from me to the dealer and said, nodding his head in my direction, "You'll teach him how to ride it?"
   WHAT????  The thought screamed in my head.
   "Uh, Dad?"  I said.  "You ARE going to ride it home, right?  Or we're going to get a trailer or something.  Right?"
   "Heck, I don't know how to ride a motorcycle," he said.  "You're going to learn, ride it home, then teach me."
   "I don't even have a helmet," I protested.
   "There's one in the truck," he said.  "It's been in the lost and found at school for years."
   When we got to the truck, he handed me a green helmet with a small crack on the outside.  Inside, there was a dark stain - I hoped it was sweat.
   I got a quick lesson on a little-used access road next to the highway.  Oh yeah, I forgot to mention - the motorcycle place was next to the Broadway Extension, which connects downtown Oklahoma City with Edmond, and was notorious for afternoon traffic jams.
   I picked up the basics of motorcycle riding pretty quickly.  I was still hoping we would load it up in the pickup and drive it home, because the highway was starting to get busier and busier.
   When I practiced for about 10 minutes, my dad said, "What do you think?"
   "Not too bad, Dad.  I could probably teach you how to ride pretty quickly."
   "See you at home, then," he said, and took off.

   Let me tell you this - my baptism into the realm of motorcycle riding was a harrowing one.  I couldn't believe how many people either couldn't see me, or ignored me as they changed lanes (sometimes without signaling), or turned right in front of me, or nearly ran over me from behind when they tried to beat the light.  My legs were shaking when I got home, and I was nearly numb from the adrenaline that had been coursing through my body.
   Even though that was many years ago, I will always remember that day.  It made me a better driver.  Since then, I have paid more attention to the traffic around me, especially to motorcyclists, who are relatively unprotected.
  

Double Rainbow!

Just took this picture right before sunset in beautiful Stillwater, Oklahoma!

On a Hot Summer Night

   When I was a kid, my dad worked for the Parks and Recreation Dept. in Oklahoma City.  In the summer, he often worked at the softball parks, keeping stats and calling scores in to the newspaper.  Sometimes he would take me with him.  I would usually get bored up in the press box, and wander off to play with friends whose dads played softball in one of the many city leagues.
   One hot and sweaty night, when I still wearing casts on both arms (mentioned elsewhere on this blog), we were in one of the warmup areas playing paper cup baseball, where a paper cup was filled with little rocks and squashed into a rough baseballish shape.  I was using one of my casts as a bat (handy, huh?), and we were having fun until for some silly reason, we decide to quit and started pinging each other with the little rocks.  I imagine the largest rocks that we were throwing at each other were probably fingernail sized.  When you got hit, it stung a little, but didn't cause any real damage.
   It was getting close to the end of one of the softball games, so I decided to check in with my dad to let him know that I hadn't wandered off.  Besides, I was thirsty and I hoped I could con him into buying me a root beer at the concession stand.
   I was walking toward the concession/press box area when I heard women in the stands starting to scream.  They were asking if somebody was all right, so I looked out onto the field to see who got hurt.  Weird.  The game was going on normally.  Then I realized they were screaming and looking at me!
   What the...?  Then I looked down.  About one-third of my white t-shirt was red.  Omigosh!  That was MY blood!  My imagination went wild and the little sting from getting hit with a pebble had turned into a gaping head wound, gushing blood out all over my shirt.  For all I knew, my brain was going to fall out of the back of my head!
   Now I started screaming and running and darted up the steps into the pressbox where all the guys were engrossed in a game of dominoes (they really did work - they would often get through a few rounds between innings).  I was in tears, positive that I would soon die.  My dad wasn't there - most likely he'd gone to the other nearby diamonds to get scores.
  They calmed me down and took me down to the concession stand where I got fussed over by one of the ladies working that night.  I got ice for my head (which, once I calmed down, had gone back to the little sting), and a root beer, which I didn't have to pay for. 
    On the way home that night my dad said to me, "You know your mother is going to kill us, right?"
    I said, "Maybe I can take my shirt off and throw it in the garbage when we get home.  If she's asleep, she'll never know."
   Although I don't remember if I really did throw the shirt away, I do know that my dad and I survived.

   Did you know that head wounds bleed a lot?  I do.  I found out the hard way.

You Know You Want To!

   Smile!

   Did you know that if you find reasons to smile more often, your day will be better?  Go ahead, try it!  Get a big ol' grin going.  You can do it!

   Need some help?

   Okay...
   What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?
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   Frostbite!!
  
   Did it work?  Did you just crack a smile?
   Yeah, that was a groaner.  But most vampire jokes suck.  Gotcha again, didn't I?
   The point was to get you to smile, or even chuckle a little.  Look for reasons to do it.  Lame jokes.  Good jokes.  Cute puppies.
   Smile early and smile often!!!

What, Me Worry?

   Somebody once said, “Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday, and all is well.”  I wish it would have been me.  I like that quote.
   For somebody who tries to see the positive side of life, I admit that I do tend to worry a lot.  Usually, I worry more about my family's well-being than my own.  I want everyone to be healthy and happy, not hurting and sad.
   Maybe that's why I joke a lot.  I know things aren't always as bad as they seem.  But I want those things to be better.  So maybe I should start worrying less and enjoying the now as it is - making improvements as I can.
   Yeah, that's the ticket!

I Just Won 2 Swag Bucks on www.swagbucks.com

I Just Won 2 Swag Bucks on www.swagbucks.com

The Music in My Head

   The other day on a trip to Wal-Mart, I parked the car and as my son and I were walking up to the store I started singing a "Phineas and Ferb" song that had been stuck in my head all day long.  

   Ty:  "Dad!  Stop singing that song!"
   Me:  "Sorry, dude.  You know that I often like to burst into song while walking through parking lots.  What's really awesome is when a full orchestra pops in to accompany me."
   *blink*
   *blink*
   Ty:  "What orchestra?"
   Me:  "You mean you don't hear music around you all the time?"
   Ty:  "No..."

   For some reason, I seem to have a soundtrack constantly running in my head.  Am I the only one?

Brussels Sprouts FTW!

   Yeah, you heard me right.
   I used to hate Brussels sprouts.  Those nasty mini-cabbages were unfit for human consumption, I thought.
   But then I started to change my thinking.  I forced myself to eat them, usually at places that had buffets.  Buffets are great places to try things you wouldn't normally eat.  So I would put a couple of them on a plate - just to make sure I still didn't like them.
   At some point, though, I decided that if they were cooked just right, they weren't too bad.  About a year ago, I decided to get some at the store.  I found some frozen sprouts that could be heated up in the microwave.  They cooked in their own buttery sauce.  And they actually turned out pretty tasty, especially when I added them to a bowl of rice.
   Then I looked up Brussels sprouts on the Internet, to see if they were healthy.  Turns out they are.  And when combined with rice (or other gains), made a complete protein.  A friend of mine said that if you add some sugar to the water when cooking fresh Brussels sprouts, the sugar took the bitterness out.
   Lo and behold, I now actually enjoy Brussels sprouts.  I even tried them on homemade pizza - slicing them and adding them as a topping before putting the pizza in the oven.  Delicious!

   Wow!  A vegetable that is healthy and can be made to be quite tasty.
   I think I'll try asparagus next.

Unwitting Lab Rats

   When I was a kid, my dad was a high school football coach.  The school, Mount St. Mary's in Oklahoma City, was pretty small, and did not have a big athletic budget.  My dad, who is quite inventive, came up with all sorts of gizmos and gadgets during the summertime that he tested on my sister, me, and whatever kids in the neighborhood brave (or gullible) enough to try his creations.
   Most were pretty good.
   However, one idea that I'll never forget was the time he decided to make his own version of a sport drink.  During practice, he made sure his players had water breaks, but buying Gatorade got expensive quickly, even when he watered it down.  So he came up with a plan...
   It was around lunchtime, as I recall, and my sister and I came in to the kitchen to get something to eat (this was back in the days when it was okay for parents to send their children outside to play all day).  We were somewhat surprised to see our dad mixing up a pitcher of Kool-Aid.
   Dad:  "You guys thirsty?  Try this."
   WARNING!  WARNING!  I could feel the alarms going off.  Why is Dad doing what Mom usually does?  If it doesn't involve a charcoal grill outside, this can't be good.
   Me:  "Uhhhh...  What is it?"
   Dad:  "I just made my own version of Gatorade.  Tell me how you like it."
   My sister and I grabbed cups and he filled them.  I think it was purple, and we assumed it was probably grape flavored.
   We each took a gulp, and promptly spit it out into the sink,
   My sister:  "Mom!  Dad's trying to poison us!"
   Me:  "What IS that?  You forgot the sugar, Dad!"
   What he had done was use salt instead of sugar, his reason being that when you sweat, you lose salt in the process.  He didn't want to use sugar because that would get it all sweet and sticky.
   Needless to say, he didn't spring it on his players when the season started.
  

I'll Have Another

   Ice cold water.  Refreshing on a hot day.  But it's also more than that.  Drinking ice cold water actually burns Calories.  Without getting too deep into the math, a calorie (with a small 'c') is the amount of energy needed to raise the temperature of 1 gram by one degree Celsius.  Sixteen ounces of water is just over 473 grams.  The normal body temperature is roughly 37 degrees Celsius.  So raising the temperature of icy water (hovering around 0 degrees Celsius) to body temperature takes a lot of calories (17,508).

   Wow!  That is a lot!  Unfortunately, what we normally think of when we think of calories are Calories (with the big 'C').  Each Calories is 1000 calories.  So 17,500 calories is 17.5 Calories.  An average non-diet cola has 140 Calories.  If you are Calorie conscious, you can switch to ice water and burn calories as your thirst is quenched (plus, your body loves the water that it doesn't have to filter in order to be used by the cells).  Drinking that cola adds 140 Calories that your body has to deal with.
   Yes, in the grand scheme of things, 17.5 Calories is not much.  But if you drink several glasses of ice water per day, it adds up.  Four 16 oz. servings (or eight 8 oz. servings) come to 70 Calories.  And if that is the only dietary change you make - drinking ice cold water and burning 70 Calories per day - it will eventually result in weight loss.

   It worked for me.  I drank more water than that each day, and I started walking more.  I lost 20 pounds in a few months.  I will admit that I backslid a little when the weather got cooler - some days it was too darn cold to be drinking ice water.  Now that it is June, I'm back to drinking ice water as often as I can.
   As soon as I post this, I think I'll have another.

It's All Water Under the...umm...Sink

   Here is a true story from my wacky childhood.  This one is from my high school years, so I was probably around 17 when this took place.
   We were living in our house on 37th Street in Warr Acres (which is surrounded by Oklahoma City and Bethany, but I think it's its own reality), when the kitchen sink decide to stop draining once.  The plunger thingy (you know, the thing that gets stuck on Sylvester's face when he's after Tweety?) wasn't doing much good, and running the garbage disposal didn't seem to help.
   My dad, who is a better jack-of-all-trades than I am (his name is Jack, which gives him a boost in the rankings) decided that since the sink is probably not new, we might as well take apart the pipes underneath and replace anything that's clogged and/or cruddy.
   Thinking ahead, he put a plastic dishpan under the pipes and started disconnecting them.  The trap was the clogged spot, and there was probably another piece or two that needed to be replaced, so off we went to the hardware store to find what we needed.  This was going to be a piece of cake, I thought.
   We got back with the right parts, which were the right length and everything.  It looked like this was going to be one of those rare moments when my dad and I didn't come away looking like Laurel and Hardy, or the Skipper and Gilligan.  Everything fit just right.  My dad started tightening the connections.
   Then came the time to test it.  My dad was face up on the floor in the cabinet under the sink to check for leaks.
   Dad:  "Okay, turn on the water."
   Me:  "Gotcha!"  I turned on the water, but not real hard.
   Dad:  "Is that all the water pressure we got?"
   Me:  "No, I just..."

   Dad:  "Give some more!"

   Me:  "Okay..."  I cranked it full blast.  Water cascaded into the sink and down the drain.
   Dad:  "Mrph blp bottn blorph."
   Me:  "What??"  He was under the sink and the water was full blast.  I had no idea what he was muttering.
   Dad:  "Mrph blp bottn blorph!  Ig dnngng muh!"
   Me:  "What??"  He was kicking his legs now, which looked funny.  Like he was trying to run.  So I turned the water off and repeated, "What?"

   Dad:  "I said, 'Turn the water off.  You're drowning me.'"  He came out from under the sink looking like a drowned rat. 
   Apparently, when I turned on the water full blast, one of the pipes wasn't tight enough and it popped off, sending water pouring into my dad's face.  Between the dishpan underneath his head and the pipes and water above, he didn't have much wiggle room.
   He tightened the connections again, and then crawled out from under before we turned the water on.  Success!  And, since this kind of thing happened a lot whenever we did handyman stuff, we had a good laugh.
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   I consider myself to be a jack-of-all-trades and a master of none, and part of it could be that maybe I just don't pay attention when I should.  Ya think?