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.