My Very Own Cliff's Notes

Did you know you don't actually have to write your own sermons? Seriously, there's way more time for video games if you just look online for them, call it Pastor's Cliff's Notes. Disclaimer: For those that do not know my humor, this is a joke, 2 years and a month and a half minus trips away equals 96 original sermons preached in Haines Alaska. 96 and counting, just don't ask me how many were good. However, I do want to tell you about my REAL Cliff's Notes.

It only took eight years, but a wall has tumbled, Goliath has fallen, the creepy Avatar tree of life with its interconnected DSL cable roots has been uprooted (seriously I have the sequel written in my head, the blue people become so connected to their planet and the voices and souls in it that they no longer have to plug in their hair to animals or the ground, they become "wireless" wi-fi hot spots) and the Cinderella man has become victorious once again.What the heck do you think I'm talking about? Cinderella man could be me referring to some kind of makeover. But, I have no ball to go to, no evil stepmother (the closest thing is a very loving step grandmother), I don't wear rags on a daily basis (my wife won't let me) and oh yeah I don't have a fairy godmother or a true love to find, and glass slippers would reveal my hobbit feet and who wants that? Seriously, I do the world a favor by keeping those things covered. In the words of Mr. Monk, you'll thank me later. However, I wouldn't mind a pumpkin carriage, especially as we're going on week three of a malfunctioning jeep.

No, in referring to Cinderella man I'm talking about the history I know of the loser boxer rising up to unexpectedly become the winner, the champ. Did you know he looked like Russel Crowe? Okay I don't know the history, just the movie based on a true story. If only this victory wasn't so trivial to everybody else, but I'm dancing in the kitchen as I gaze at the refrigerator. This is not about food by the way, but about something on the fridge.

I met my wife eleven years ago when my family moved to Ketchikan Alaska. Her parents were stationed nearby, which in Southeast Alaska terms meant they lived 9 hours away by ferry boat in Petersburg Alaska. When I saw her I knew I wanted to know her. We became acquaintances, and stayed that way for a year, dated for a year, were engaged for a year and have been married for eight. By my count that makes 43 opportunities to give gifts to the love of my life (with birthdays, Christmases and anniversaries and a wedding and Valentine's Days). Each opportunity has been hard. For eleven years she hasn't told me what she wants, in fact she's never even given me a clue.

She laughs at me because when she asks me what I would like for a gift, I tell her, and pretty easily. She says it leaves little to the imagination. When I ask her, all she ever says is something like, "Something nice." "Something special." "Surprise me." "Something different." or my personal favorite, "Something from your heart." I have had such a hard time trying to find special things to give her that I have thought it might be easier to truly give her something from my heart and have tried to think about which ventricle or atrium to give her, or maybe even do the Angelina Billy Bob thing and give her a vial of my blood, it passed through my heart at some point so must be from the heart too right?

Needless to say the gifts I've given her haven't always been great. When I worked at Waldenbooks, she got books (I got an employee discount, not my proudest moment). When I ran the housewares department at Fred Meyer, she was given cool kitchen gadgets in her stocking (I kid you not) one magical Christmas. For the past few years, though I've found a groove that works. Her birthday is right around the time that many of our TV shows are released on DVD, so lately she's been getting seasons of Bones or House or Ghost Whisperer or Lost. While she likes them, its been very predictable. Plus, I don't think she always appreciates it when I say "Don't watch them without me." I say it jokingly, but she knows as well as I do that there's quite a bit of truth in that statement. I'm happy to inform you though I've gotten over it.

She has received some really great gifts though. On her first Mother's Day she got a beautiful blue necklace with a mother and son on it with a special engraving on the back. Last year at Christmas our son and I gave her a memory book we made of all the special memories he has with her. She cried, which at first made me concerned she might hate it, you can't really tell with tears most of the time. There have been more too, I just can't remember them.

Around this time each year, I start to worry about what to get my wife as her birthday is around the corner and not too long after that is Christmas. I fully believe that a gift every year should top the gift of the previous year. I have been doing a lot of browsing online in search of some great gifts that don't don't get inserted into a DVD player.

But yesterday, the worrying ceased. As I dragged myself out of bed to take care of our son who by the way decided not just to wake us up by crawling into our bed, but to bring his Buzz and Woody talking toys with him so the three of them could have a conversation, I did my normal routine. I rolled out of bed, laid on the floor crying and asking why I had to have morning kids, asked for Mary Poppins to appear out of nowhere, realized she's not coming (guess who's not getting a holiday bonus this year), dramatically dragged myself off the floor and headed to the kitchen to get him some milk.As I opened the fridge I noticed a pink piece of paper on the door. I figured it was a note saying "Please empty the trash" "I know its early and you're just getting up, but please don't walk around the house in your underwear." "Goldfish crackers are not a breakfast food for our son." or other statements of instruction. But at further notice I realized it was the thing I've been waiting eight years for. It was like that moment where young Mr. McFly (or the boy who ran away from home as I called him in my youth) rushes to Doc Brown's side after seeing him get shot just to realize that his greatest wish for his friend not to die by gunshot had been granted as the scientist had reassembled the warning his friend wrote to him in the past about the future. By the way, to you awesome Lego game makers, may I suggest your next installment, after you finish the second Potter game, be Back to the Future Lego?

McFly got his wish, and I got mine. The pink piece of paper on the fridge was my wife's wish list for possible gifts in the future. It is a big list, full of possibilities, and I can tell you I'll keep it as it may make shopping for her stressless for years to come. Now, in a shameless piece of self preservation, I am going to share that list with you. I do it for two reasons. 1. You may be a family member or friend who might wish to buy her a gift for birthday or Christmas this year and are just itching for an idea. Here's your scratch. I do ask though that you communicate with me, probably not here as its not private and could ruin her surprise, what you get her so I don't get her the same thing and look stupid (because it happens entirely too often anyway). 2. Probably the largest reason, I may lose this list, this gift, my very own cliff's notes. I tend to do that a lot, and now it can be saved forever (or at least until the internet crashes forever on June 20, 2021.


Lisa's Wishes

World Peace
Global Domination
Juliet by Anne Fortier (Novel)
The Sisters Of Sinai by Janet Soskice (Novel)
Bones Season 5
House Season 6
Cricket Scrapbooking machine
Small Digital Camera
Cute Stationary
Stickers
Multi-Colored Pens
ITunes Gift Card
Gift Cards for Old Navy, American Eagle, Target, Jo-Ann's (you'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy by the way, this is me
talking and not part of her list), Amazon, and the pastor's
resource of Christian Book Distributors.
A Cute Lisa-ish ring
Necklaces
Cruise to Somewhere Exotic (However, you must also get a ticket for her husband)
Maid Service
Cookbooks
The Final Season of Lost

So there you have it, my cliff's notes, my wife's wishes. I remember thinking a few years ago that it would be more likely to see me competing in women's figure skating at the Olympics before I'd see my wife make a wish list.

BLT says......maybe I should start learning how to ice skate so I can train, miracles do happen after all. I just hope I don't have to wear those crazy skating outfits, wouldn't be very flattering.

Things I Didn't Need To Know About People

I never was a fan of "All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten." Funny, but too simplistic. Instead, I had a really cool poster that stated matter of factly on it that truly "Everything I Need To Know About Life I Learned From Star Trek." Many good lessons came from that, one I take seriously. "Unless you're Mr. Scott, never wear red." Always a good rule. Shout out to Mr. Abrams for even including that in the latest Star Trek movie.

This week marks the end of the second month of me running our thrift store. And in the two months of me running it entirely, plus the 4 hours or more a week for two years, and two years of thrift store experience in high school, I have heard and seen more things about people than I ever thought I would. Sad, shocking, silly, and more. Since people have bought books about things we learned from Kindergarten and Trekkies have bought paraphernalia about the lessons learned from it, I figure I might share my list of "10 Things I Didn't Need To Know I Learned From Working In Thrift Stores.".

1."Does this fit right?"
"I don't know, it's a tight skirt, but what's too tight for you?"
"Well, can you tell I'm not wearing underwear?"
"Only when you sit."
"Great."
Ewww. Needless to say, if she hadn't bought it, I would have thrown it out due to ickiness.

2."Do you take American money?"
"Yep, sure do."
"Wow, that's new, since when?"
"Longer than I've been alive, I don't know the exact date but I would say at least
since 1959."
"Why is that?"
"That's the year that Alaska became the 49th state of the United State of America."
"Oh, so why don't you take Canadian money?"
"Because Canada refuses to accept our invitation to become the 51st state."
"What's the 50th?"
"Hawaii."
"Do they take American?"
Sing it with me, "this is the conversation that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friends."

3."I'm going to go try these on."
"You're going to try on used clothes, before you wash them?"
"Yes, otherwise I won't know if they fit."
"Don't you feel dirty doing that?"
"Sometimes."
"So why do you do it?"
"I guess I like dirty."

4."Are these pants see through."
"Only when you stand in the light."
"How often does the sun shine here?"
"Not terribly often, but often enough that people would know more than they need to know."

5."Hey these pants fit great, what do you think."
"Sure, they fit great."
"I think I found some new pants to go bicycling in."
"Oh I don't think they'll work for that."
"What's that?"
"Those aren't pants, they're long underwear."
6."How much are your pants?"
"Honey, he's not going to sell you his pants, I think he needs them."
"No, I meant how much do the pants cost here?"
"Two dollars a pair sir.""That's a good price, but if I want to turn these pants into shorts, will you
charge less?"
"Honey, you're going to haggle at a thrift store?"
"Sure, he doesn't mind."
"Tell you what, the lowest price I can go for those pants is $1 a leg."
"See dear, I told you I could talk him down."

7."Do you have a senior citizens discount?"
"No we don't, its a discount store."
"But what about us seniors who could use a discounted price?"
"How old are you?"
"40."
"Sir, if we did have one, you wouldn't be old enough for it."
"I'm old in spirit."

8."Hi, I'm from the cruise ship, I work on it."
"Okay, welcome."
"No offense, but I was wondering where the girl who worked here last week is?"
"She's sick and I'm filling in for her today."
"Oh, will she be back next week."
"Probably, why do you ask?"
"I wanted to ask her out. What's her name?"
"I don't think she's your type."
"Why not, what's her name."
"Well, because she's married."
"That doesn't matter to me."
"It might matter to her husband."
"Oh I'm sure he'll never know."
"Too late, her name is Lisa and she's my wife."9."Would you sell me all the pantyhose you get in that are holy or have runs in
them, the ones you wouldn't normally sell."
"Sure if you'd like to buy them. You do crafts and potpourii with them?"
"No, I like the way my husband looks in them and I don't want to pay full price
for them just to put holes in them."

10."Hey Keisha, did you know that this guy doesn't just work and run this thrift
store, he's also the Pastor here at Salvation Army?"
"Holy ----!"
"Maam, I need to ask you to please watch your language in the store, this is a
family friendly place."
"You weren't kidding Mags, he is a pastor."

BLT says......you can learn a lot from working in a store with people. But......do you really want to?

A Sisyphean Day

I get bonus points for using the word sisyphean!! I even get extra for knowing what the term means.I so miss the days of earning extra credit, and bonus questions and answers. I remember that, when I was young and we went to visit my grandparents in San Diego, the best city in all of California, Disneyland being the best land in state and Portuguese Bend being the best road, I guess I distract easily as I didn't finish my thought. I could keep rambling on about San Diego and how much I love it, or Disneyland and how much fun it is (I would love to work there in the Winnie the Pooh costume), or how cool it was to drive 20 miles per hour and still get air in a 15 passenger on a hill on a road in Southern California. But instead I will finish my thought.

Anyway, when we visited my grandparents, in the evening after dinner Jeopardy was usually on the television and I would sit there with my mom and dad and sister and grandparents and an uncle or two, feeling stupid. My family are a bunch of smarty pants. Between my grands and uncle and dad, they knew all the answers, and if there was one they didn't know, my mom knew it. My dad even got so competitive with it he would push a fake buzzer button and answer the question, "what is...." and say "hah, beat you, buzzing is half of the game."

Needless to say, thinking my relatives are heroes, I wanted to be like them, I wanted to actually go on Jeopardy. I learned all sorts of useless facts, and they usually only came handy during bonus question periods at school. I had a teacher my senior year who would ask I think 3 bonus questions every day and if you answered it you got a point of extra credit. I loved to win, it made me feel smart and who doesn't need extra credit. Once he asked a question about a game that can start with a Lopez maneuver, which excited me because I remembered my dad has a whole book on that maneuver in chess. So I raised my hand quickly, attaching an "ooh, ooh, ooh" to it wanting him to pick me instead of the other kids with their hands raised. I had my eyes closed in excitement and cheer knowing that today I might just be fast enough to get a bonus point, waiting for my name to be called. I heard no names, just some chuckling. It was then that I opened my eyes to see that no one else's hand was raised and I was grunting in excitement for no reason. My future wife was sitting next to me, and she lost it an started to laugh, followed by the rest of the class. Bit embarrassing, but hey I got the extra credit, and believe you me it was not the silliest or craziest thing I ever did for extra credit. That may be another night's post though, but I will say that I owe President Regan an apology.

I like to win, and always have. I even competed in seminary school with another to see who typed out the most notes during class (only I didn't know we were racing until she told me). Lately I have had my stubbornness and resolve to win tested more than I ever have, by my son. Truly, he is my kid, as he is just as stubborn and determined as I am.

He's at that phase in his life where he's experiencing night terrors, so he wakes up crying a lot in the middle of the night and doesn't like to go back to sleep. It has, to say the least, deprived the whole family of sleep over the past few weeks. It can take us a few hours to get him to go to sleep sometimes, he's that afraid of sleeping. The worst for me is trying to get him to take his after lunch nap. Its the only nap he gets, and it gives Lisa or I, depending on who's home with the kids, the chance to catch up on chores or paperwork or dare I say watch movies that don't have puppets or talking animals in them (Star Wars doesn't count, Chewbacca is an alien, not an animal, and Yoda is......well.........a puppet but it still doesn't count, he has special powers).

Lately, especially the day after a few terrors, he will refuse his naps entirely. I have found myself sitting on the floor reminding him to lay down and sleep while furiously struggling to stay awake myself (stupid lava lamp night light, you are so intoxicating and calming). Today was the absolute worst though. He refused to nap, refused to lay down. No matter what Lisa or I did, he wouldn't nap. So, because she needed to go to the office (its our split day)and I can't baby guard him and take care of his sister, we decided he would win that battle over nap time.

While I gave up that nap time battle, I was determined not to lose the war. I have been concerned about his lack of sleep lately and knew as a good father, he must nap. Every half hour to an hour or so, I put nice calming music on (Celtic Woman and the soundtrack to The Terminal), put him in my lap with his blanky, his milk, his bear bear and his new Pooh bear that his great uncle sent him. Then I rocked him gently and sang quietly in his ear. Slowly I'd watch his eyelids start to droop and close, his breathing get heavy, and his grip on teddy and milk loosen. Then as soon as he got to the point of passing out, he would realize I was winning, get off my lap, run circles around the coffee table and then do his happy dance, laughing at me. Curses, foiled again.

I even put him in his bed a few times, because I thought he was close enough to sleep. But alas, there were no naps taken in our household this afternoon. I felt like Sisyphus (you may pause to laugh at the name if you'd like), rolling the ball up the hill, almost reaching the apex, and then watching in misery as the ball rolls down the hill. Only the ball was my kid and the hill was his progress from waking to sleeping. Nothing I did worked, not even close.

When my wife returned from work I told her about my afternoon with the kids. I guiltily told her that I couldn't get our son to sleep, and that I was ashamed in my failure (and also disappointed because I was going to eat popcorn while he napped and watch a new netflix). As I explained, expecting to see her join with me in concern for our son's sleep pattern today, I saw something unexpected. She was feeling guilty about something, turning red. When I asked her why and if she had any ideas why he didn't take his afternoon nap, she quietly said, "Well, he kind of took a nap this morning instead of this afternoon." "Why? and Where?" I asked. "Ummm....(nothing good ever starts with um)...he grabbed his blanky and milk and teddy and crawled into my lap and the next thing I knew I woke up almost two hours later and he had been sleeping in my lap the entire time." I quickly did my impression of Ricky Ricardo stating that she had some 'splaining to do. It reminded me of Independence Day when Will Smith told Jeff Goldblum they needed to work on their communication skills after some unexpected mishaps.Apparently she forgot to tell me the nap had already been checked off the daily checklist (at the bottom of the checklist by the way in case you're wondering is clean the bathroom, which is my job, but if your son splashes in the bathtub enough, the bathroom washes itself with his help right?). So my war of the nap today was pointless, there was no way I was going to win. I mumbled, "well, that makes my day a sisyphean tragedy."

Oh how I miss the days of bonus points. Today when I realized I was experiencing a sisyphean day and pointed it out to my wife, I think she misunderstood me and thought I said I was having a "sissy" day. No bonus points from her today. She gave me the look, one she gives quite often which asks, without using any words minds you, "and what does that mean in regular English?" I quickly explained that it meant, in very short terms, pointless or fruitless. She looked at me, still feeling bad for forgetting to tell me about the secret nap with mommy in the chair (which my wife is currently sleeping in with our daughter, posing like that huge thinking man sculpture), and said, "You're such a Davey, use real words sissy."

BLT says......today a sisyphean day, tomorrow a herculean day. I still get points for trying though.

Politic(king) Me Off!

Nothing good comes from answering the phone at the house.

Every time the phone rings at our home, this is the thought that enters my head. Don't answer it. Am I under the assumption that I can actually hide from the world? Not really, but as my street is unlabeled and my house unnumbered I sure could give it a shot. Do I not want to talk to people after work is over? No, what kind of pastor would say that? Do I want to stay on the couch instead of getting up, knowing that if the call is important enough the caller will call my cell phone which is in my pocket and if they call it I will be able to answer the phone with minimal physical movement? No.....okay yes, sometimes, but only because I'm tired and I work real hard during the day so I'm allowed my lazy time on Mondays.

Besides, anybody who knows me really well knows that my cell phone works much better than the house phone. The sound is better, and the buttons actually work the way they're supposed to. My wife, 8 times out of 10, somehow manages to hang up the phone when she pushes the button to answer it. I've lost hair appointments because of that. She gets so embarrassed when that happens that she won't answer it when they call back and I get the privilege of explaining to a slightly perturbed caller how my wife hung up on them. Cell phones are just easier. It should be added though, that although I think answering my cell phone in my pocket will be minimal movement and work, that's not always the case. Its a lot of work getting anything out of my pocket, there's a lot to move around.

Our last time at Disneyland (oh season passes how I miss you), my wife and I went on Space Mountain with my mom. I owed it to her to go with her since I made Disneyland such a miserable experience as a kid by chickening out on everything from Peter Pan (flying boats, unsafe), to Dumbo (flying elephants that kids control, even more ridiculous), to Storybook land (don't judge me, going in that whale's mouth is freaky), Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, and any ride with the word mountain in it. When we got to the front of the line the awesomely costumed worker told my mom and I to sit in the back row and as we talked over to the number 5 queue line, called out to somebody (perhaps Walt's frozen head who secretly still controls everything that happens at Disneyland while also uploading himself Matrix style to the other Disney parks around the world) "Heavy on 5."

That being said, it takes a lot to lift up my body, especially when its comfortable. If you thought those big military cargo planes took forever to lift off, you haven't seen me attempt to grab my cell phone when I'm sitting in my recliner with the phone in my back pocket. If I'm able to reach it fairly quickly, meaning just after it stops ringing but before the caller leaves a voice mail, I'm so proud of myself that I start singing Elphaba's (from Wicked) Defying Gravity song to myself in full falsetto. I accidentally sat on my hand once and had to roll off the recliner to get it unstuck. You really can tell your family loves you when you fall off the furniture and their first reaction (yes including my toddler son) is to point AND laugh.

But even my eternal struggle to answer my cell phone before it stops ringing while hoping to maintain minimal damage to myself in the process frustrates me much less than having to get up, gently yet firmly push the answer button on phone and sound happy to say, "Hello." Especially on the three or four days before election time.

I've been saying for two years that our house phone only rings if its a telemarketer, someone looking for the previous officers and their family, or surveyors. But, nothing always happens and because I don't want to miss important phone calls I always answer. Even when I'm sick, if the phone rings my wife will politely bring it in the bedroom, hand it to me and push 'talk' (funny out of all the times she's hung up the phone, it has never happened when she brought it to me while I was sick). I think this is because telemarketers scare her and surveyors annoy her, or because she's phonophobic. We do get important phone calls, but they are extremely few and far between on our home line.But, the past weekend, the calls came rolling in. I've had calls from former Governor Palin telling me who to vote for (and buy my new book), from Senator Murkowski saying please vote, and while you're at it why not vote for me, as well as other computer automated messages from celebrities telling me people's opinion about ballot measures in Alaska that have nothing to do with the celebrities who recorded them. Obviously if Alanis is against oil drilling in Alaska, it must be bad.

These calls drive me nuts. First, if you want to impress me, have a real person call me. When I call help lines for utilities and other services, I get so annoyed at the automated message system that sounds exactly like the one from Chuck and Larry that I just start pushing random buttons until I jam the system and get an operator. So, if I don't like calling and talking to a computer, there's no way I'm going to like a computer calling me, too impersonal and just makes me think all the more that skynet and the rise of the machines just may happen. Plus, how do I know a pre-recorded automated system is the real recorded voice of the campaigner? Without real conversation, I might be entitled to think that when I get a call from former governor Palin encouraging me to vote for her replacement, the caller could indeed be Tina Fey trying to punk me.

Second, why try and convince me who or what to vote for the weekend before? I'm a registered voter, who is young enough to enjoy the privilege he has to vote. So, if I'm voting on something or someone, I'm going to research him/her/it. I made up my decision weeks ago, which can at times be hard as it really seems to be choosing the lesser of two evils, so what makes you think a somewhat personal sounding message will cause me to change my mind? Hearing a politician's voice won't change my mind, but depending on the severity of the issue, and our lack of Taco Bell here, a bean and cheese burrito with extra onions and fire sauce might sway me from one side to the other on less serious subjects. Hmmm......bean and cheese burrito.......chicken quesadilla......steak grilled stuft burrito. Pause in remembrance of things I don't have.

Sunday and yesterday the phone rang off the hook with computers telling me someone else's opinion and encouraging me to agree with them and vote for them or their side today. I kept answering, politely, and hanging up politely when the computer started talking, and today I voted for what I agree with. A phone call the day before didn't chnge my mind. Well, actually I voted for whatever side Dwayne Johnson told me to vote for when he called.......because cheesy tooth fairy or poor witch mountain remake or not......that guy can kick my butt.I wonder though, do these phone calls really encourage people to vote and to vote certain ways, or do those being called, such as myself, see it as just another part of the politics game and in result are a bit more tempted not to vote, because it seems more like voting for the lesser of two evils instead of the right person or right decision for everybody involved? At the next election time, I think I might screen my home calls a bit more.

BLTsays.....why can't we put telepolitickers on do not call lists like telemarketers? "If you're calling about political issues, please do not call." Unless you're Tina Fey, and you can call our house anytime, as long as you don't mind the little girl scream you'll hear from me. If you do, I'll say it's my wife.

A Very Different Pancake

I really wish I had a king size bed.It never made sense to me why people have king size beds. Queen size is definitely big enough for two, why go larger? Then I got married. Sharing a bed can be hard to do. With my wife and I there's a continual battle over the blanket, you know, who gets more and all that jazz, and more.

I tend to believe that the amount of bed and blanket you get when sharing depends on the size of person you are. If both people are the exact same size and weight, then both are entitled to half. But, if, for some possibility the husband is bigger in size than his wife, no reason why I suggested this, then the ratio should change. For example, King of Queens has a husband twice the size of his wife. I believe then that the husband, Doug, is entitled to 66.6% of the bed and blankets and his wife, Carrie, gets the other 33.3% of said bed.

Now, as far as TV couples go, my wife and I are most comparable in size to Doug and Carrie from King of Queens, and henceforth like Doug I should have 2/3 of the bed. I hold this belief for two reasons. 1. My wife is a blanket hog, many a cold Alaskan night I've woken to the sound of my own shivering teeth with no blanket. True I could turn off the ceiling fan and close the window, therefore not letting the near freezing temperatures inside, but that's not the point. 2. We actually didn't have a problem with bed sharing until My wife and I were on special Christmas training in the San Diego area, and we were given a house to stay in with a King size bed that truly gave me the picture of what it must be like to sleep the way the Care Bears do (on a cloud that is, can you tell I have little children?). Soft and spacious was beautiful.Ever since that bed, I've kept a spare blanket on the floor next to our bed in case my wife steals the blanket from me in the middle of the night. But it hasn't solved the other problem, that one or both of us inadvertently tries to take up as much space as possible. Its like playing king of the mountain, subconsciously. I've been elbowed in the face, she's been elbowed in the face and things like that. The progression of time in our marriage I believe can be seen in the contrast of our nightly routines when first married as compared to now. Where once there were hugs and cuddles until we fell asleep, there is now "Stay on your side." Don't worry, we're okay with it.

In all seriousness though, I've had a fear ever since our glorious month of king size bed sleeping (I would have gladly commuted to the school and back two hours each way just to sleep in that bed, the one we had at school resembled uncooked Little Cesar's pizza dough (rectangle, thin, flimsy)). That fear has been that I would hog the bed so much in my sleep that one morning I would wake up to find I had steamrolled my wife, leaving a cartoonish like pancake where she once used to be. Ever had that fear?

Today was the day that fear became reality. My body likes to roll over every two hours to make sure I sleep evenly (you know like tanning), otherwise one side will be more rested than the other, making an unbalanced Mark. Very hard to walk on the ice and snow that way. So, at my 5:30 flip over time, I naturally did what I always do, and flipped over onto my other side since I'm a side sleeper. I didn't notice the resistance as I turned over, and was very quickly awakened by a blood curdling scream............from my son.

Since he started teething a few weeks ago, he's been coming into our bedroom between 4:30 and 6 and crawling into bed, on my wife's side I might add, while we're asleep. But last night, last night he thought maybe it will be better if I climb in between Mommy and Daddy, comfy and warm. Never did he expect he'd be re-enacting the end of A Fish Called Wanda or Who Framed Roger Rabbit if you prefer, where Kevin Kline and Christopher Lloyd, respectively, get run over by a steamroller.There he lay, sleeping and dreaming of Daddy (this is my story so of course I'm going to say he dreamed about me even if I think in reality he was either dreaming of Lightning McQueen, Buzz Lightyear, or Tinkerbell) and the next thing he knew the light in the bedroom (as the sun comes up early here this time of year) was eclipsed by his very own father rolling on top of him.

Eight years I've been worried about squishing my wife, and instead I squished my son. Good thing he has good lungs, I heard him right away, rolled off and tried to comfort him. Needless to say, he quickly got away from me and sought comfort from his mommy. We were planning on having pancakes for breakfast, but I vetoed that idea not wanting to traumatize our kid by reminding him of the morning his daddy almost turned him into a pancake.

BLT says........they should make bed dividers for queen size beds. For bed hogs it would make things easier and make the whole family safer.

One Man's Garbage Is Another Man's......

Did I ever tell you my first job in high school was working at The Salvation Army Thrift Store? I probably didn't, because for the longest time it was not something I was proud of. Truth be told I hated it. It started out cutting up the countless boxes that were accumulated and dumping them once a week. Then I progressed to being the driving assistant, which meant I accompanied my dad on furniture pick ups for the store and made sure he didn't kill himself picking up greasy stoves or dirty couches all by himself. Sorry dad, we know its true.

Then I became the store worker on Saturdays. So, every Saturday, you'd find me at the Thrift Store from 9-5. While I didn't like it, it was a safe job (as I didn't have to work at the cannery with sharp knives. If I shot myself with the tagging gun more than ten times I can't imagine how many digits I would have lost cutting fish 8-9 hours a day). Plus, one advantage of that job was that I was able to pay for my DVD obsession (2-4 per week) and my McDonald's Big Mac accompanied with my Taco Time Crispy Burrito at lunch time, as well as my pre-dinner 10 piece chicken nuggets. I gained a lot of experience from that store. Much I'm proud of, and some I'm not. For example, at our thrift store in town that I man, people occasionally come up to me to ask me if a button shirt is a man's or woman's shirt. I explain to them matter of factly that women's shirt buttons are on the left side while the men's are on the right, and women's sleeves are usually cut in a much slimmer manner. They look at me, mouths wide open in shock and say one of two things "Wow I didn't know that. How cool that you do. Why do they do that?" OR "That's really something a man is supposed to know. Why do they do that?" If the person asking the question is a male or female I know well enough to joke with I tell them this is a reminder that men are always right.

If there's one thing I've always disliked working at a thrift store, its sorting the donations. The old saying isn't always true, one man's garbage is not another man's treasure. People give for one of three reasons. 1) They don't want an item but know its good enough to be used and enjoyed by someone else. 2)They don't want an item but can't picture it being thrown away. 3)They don't want an item and don't want to pay to get rid of it themselves. Since these reasons are always mixed together, when you open a Thrift Store bag of donations, "You never know what you're gonna get." I've been cut by glass, poked by knives, grabbed dirty diapers (honestly why donate a used diaper, you can't say your motives were altruistic), and among other things been bitten by bugs and pulled out rodents both dead and alive. Oh yeah, I've also pulled out very nice clothing and toys and other good stuff, but you pretty much only remember the things that make you bleed and gross you out.

Today was an all time high when it came to sorting. Because I was sick last week and unable to open the store, my entire porch was covered with donations that had been gone through and unpacked and rained on, so it was all ruined. As I threw everything away that wasn't contained in a closed plastic bag, I came upon five boxes of something that we love having at our store. Canning jars.

Only in Alaska have I seen Mason jars used for canning salmon and other fish, jams and jellies, fruits and veggies and other food items AND also being used for drinking glasses. I haven't seen it anywhere else but this state, and most houses here I have been to have at least one. There was about five dozen canning jars sitting on our porch. These items I'm glad to take, they are easy to sort and don't stay in the store long at fifty cents each.

When I moved the canning jar boxes inside, what was once the top box became the bottom box as I restacked them. So I went through four boxes and every single jar was in good shape, an easy sort. Then came the nefarious (word of the day tp, you should try it, makes you sound smart, until you tell people you learned that word in the can) fifth and final box, that box that used to be on top.Quite normally, as I opened this box, there was a smell that came from it. Happens all the time. It wasn't bad enough not to keep going so I began pulling the jars out of the box. That was when I noticed two of the jars were in the box mouth up towards the sky as opposed to being towards the bottom like they usually are. I thought nothing of it but continued to pull jars out to check for cracks and chips and cleanliness.

The last two jars, the one's placed mouth towards the sky, had water in them. At least, that's what I thought at first. The liquid was quite yellowish in color and as I looked at and processed the color liquid in my mind suddenly my mind remembered what that smell was in the box. Urine. Someone had decided that they would rather relieve themself in the canning jars placed on the porch of The Salvation Army Thrift Store than walk five feet away to do it in the bushes or near a tree or behind the building. I was holding two canning jars with someone's "waste" in it. That....was.......disgusting.

I ran outside, dumped the cans, regained my composure and walked back inside. I didn't think about the next step right away and placed the two empty jars on the counter and reached below the counter to grab a bag to put them in and throw them out. There's no way I'm putting those things on my shelves, eck. When I had my bag and came up from the counter, there was a couple eyeballing the jars, asking what the price was and how many more they could buy. I explained to them that I'm not selling those two jars because they're yucky and they asked what I meant by that.

The only thing I could think of was, "Well I guess the best way for me to explain it is to say that one man's garbage is another man's urinal." They got the message, and bought 12 of the other ones instead, which I told them were clean when I pulled them in. I guess its true, that every day is an adventure, and sometimes a dirty one. At the end of the day, when I feel dirty or grossed out, tired or exhausted, at least I know who I'm working for and why I do what I do, to serve with a heart to God and a hand to man, and it makes it worth it. But an extra shower helps too.BLT says.....if you walk in my store and I'm sorting and wearing gloves, its probably not because I'm cold. Also, I don't think I'll ever be able to watch another person drink out of a canning jar again.

Joey And Me

One thing you'll often hear me say, "Joey doesn't share food!!!"

Its a great line from one of my favorite shows, Friends. One of the six main characters, Joey yells it out a few times in one episode to kindly emphasize his point, don't touch my food, its mine not yours. Makes me laugh every time I hear it. Plus it is one of those lines that makes me feel better about myself. I like to think I am an unselfish person, after all my whole day is spent in giving to others (except when I shop on ITunes once every two weeks) with my starting prayer saying less of me and more of you Jesus, my first priority after being my family, and next being serving the people of Haines as the pastor at my church. In case you're wondering, my next priority is food (there must be someone out there with a similar priority list).

But, as unselfish as I am and aspire to be, there is one thing about me that is completely selfish. Like Joey, I do not in any way, shape or form like to share my food, and I never have. When my sister would ask or try to share something I was eating with her, my response normally was, sure you can reach over and have some, but is having a bite worth losing an arm? She did actually get bit a few times, I was that serious.But, now I'm 26, married eight years with two amazing children, so I must be over it right? Nope, as much as I'd like to be, I'm not. My brother is visiting us this week on his way home from Service Corps (summer missionary trip) and WYI (Salvation Army teen and young adult camp). We've been looking forward to his visit all summer, especially since he's moving to Hawaii and we won't see him for at least a year. Whenever he visits, we have a good time and it feels a bit less lonely.

All well and good that is, yesterday he absolutely drove me nuts! Is it because he waltzes around our house without a shirt much of the day and makes his belly button talk? No, I actually admire him for being comfortable enough to do that. My dream of a day at the beach is being fully clothed with shirt and shorts and New Balance Tennis shoes with socks, and when it cools down add a hoody and pants to it. Ahhhh...perfection. My body is mine and God's secret, well that and the doctor who gets paid to push and poke it. I want to keep it that way.

Am I annoyed because he's been chilling on the couch snacking watching movies? Or because he's taken naps in the afternoon? No, he's on vacation, and I hope to do some similar things like that on my vacation (except I'll add playing video games).

Stupidly, the only reason, and the only reason he sometimes drives me nuts is all my own fault, not his. Brother and his relatives, if you read this, don't feel bad or guilty at all, again I emphasize, this is my own little problem I have. Nothing to be upset or embarrassed about, because the embarrassment is on my end. Yesterday, when I made a bag of popcorn for myself while we played Mario Party 8, he took a handful of my popcorn! Yesterday, he ate one of my ice cream bars! Argh! Mark doesn't share food!!!!!Its silly, whenever we have guests we always say help yourselves to anything in fridge, freezer, shelves, or garbage (whatever floats your boat). Lisa means it, but I don't think I always do. When our guests eat our yummy deserts that Lisa makes, I actually find myself counting how many they eat so I make sure that as master of the house I get equal or more yummy goodness than anybody else. Whether my parents, my wife's, our brothers and sisters, anybody, I count. I understand you may be shaking your head right now, and I understand. Give me some credit though, its not easy to count gummy bears, especially when three other people are eating them.

When I mentioned to my wife that our brother was eating my ice cream bars, her response was the expected "So what? We said help yourself, and he feels comfortable enough to. That's good, why is this such a problem for you?"

Why is it such a problem? I really don't know. Its not like I didn't have enough to eat, as pictures of me can prove I had well more than enough. How did my parents afford the grocery bills? But as I look back I see its always been a problem.

1. As mentioned, my sister got bit if she tried to eat my food.
2. when my mom made us popcorn, I had to have my own bowl just for me.
3. I hid my Halloween candy every year so my sister and my dad wouldn't eat it, because I liked to save it for the coming millennium I guess. I hid it so well I forgot about it until the next Halloween. I kid not, after 7 years of living in Palmer Alaska, when we moved to Ketchikan I literally had two medium sized boxes full of candy labeled "Mark's weights" and that was after dwindling it down and removing expired candy.
4. When we went to Chinese restaurants and my family ordered the family dinner, I always ordered something just for me, because I didn't want to share. This is not the cute 9 year old seeking independence, this is the selfish 17 year old refusing to share his food with his family while being willing to eat theirs.
5. When asked to share a bite of my food with my family, or with my wife, my first reaction is ALWAYS to roll my eyes.
6. When Lisa and I go to the movies, we get two popcorns because if we only get one I subconsciously race to make sure I eat the most of it. I always win.
7. The first time I went to visit my wife while we were dating, I was so strict about not sharing food that I felt bad about eating someone else's food. So, for the whole 4 day weekend, I only ate what I bought (and hid in my backpack) because I didn't want to be a hypocrite. I call it my first fast.
8. I still like to put tasty treats in places where my wife won't readily find them.
9. I made peanut butter fudge and no bake cookies for Christmas two years ago, and when Lisa's family came over and helped themselves like we asked them to, I noticed the yummy stuff disappearing.So I put on my Thanksgiving/Christmas pants (really big sweat pants) and after everybody went to bed ate all of the peanut butter and chocolate goodness in the middle of the night.

10. A few months ago we went out to eat at the Bamboo Room where I had a tasty BBQ burger and actually got fries with it. My son had the same thing, sort of. While he had the same fries I did, he wanted to eat the fries off of my plate. I was beside myself, I didn't get it, my kid was eating my fries. Doesn't he know that daddy doesn't share food. It drove me nuts so much so that I actually made sure to take one of his fries for every fry he took of mine.
11. I count my ice cream bars to make sure that I get the majority of them.
12. I want to eat my cereal in the morning standing up so my son can't take any of it out of my bowl.
13. If my wife and I both want popcorn, I still ask her to get her own bag.
14. I have always disliked potlucks because its just a massive food sharing.
15. I won't go to "family style" restaurants. My family style is everybody with their own portion and their own plate. If I go out to eat, its everyman for himself.
16. I always make sure to get my designated portion of appetizers at restaurants (not an easy task when you're eating tortilla chips by the way).I hear admitting is the first step to solving a problem, and this is a problem I have. Like Joey Tribbiani, I don't share food. I have gotten better. Tonight my wife and brother drank a bottle of Sparkling cider that's been in the fridge for over a month, and I didn't drink any or get upset that they were partaking. I don't feel the need to eat all of the pizza leftovers before everybody else does. But, there is still a long way to go, because fries, popcorn, peanut butter and ice cream are things I still don't want to share. My son sure has helped with that, because he always wants to share, and when I can't encourage him to share with mommy, the duty falls on my shoulders. And its getting easier.

Maybe you can help me out. If you come to visit, and we say "help yourself"-please do, and when I stare at you, counting the popcorn kernels you eat, say "knock it off creepy corn child, you're freaking me." I won't be offended, you'll be helping me. Until I'm completely over it though, it might be safer for you to bring your own peanut butter and ice cream. I would talk more on the subject but I see my brother getting off the couch and heading for the kitchen, ice cream bars must be safeguarded!

BLT says......"Mark doesn't share food!!" (Hey look an inclusio!! Sounds like a Harry Potter spell, its about bookend thoughts though) But I am trying to improve. In the meantime, BYOPB (bring your own peanut butter).