Having a (Sally) Field Day

I am nobody's huggy bear.

I don't know what it is, but unless someone is a member of my very small family tribe, and by that I mean immediate family, I don't hug them. Its never been one of the things I do. I think its always been noticeable that I'm not a huggy bear guy. I distinctly remember when I was fifteen that my best friend came to visit me and when he left there was an awkward situation as he went in for a hug and I shot him a handshake instead.

I'll never forget Billy Crystal in City Slickers II when Daniel Stern suggests they hug to keep warm, you could tell he was thinking, "Do I cuddle and lose some manly points and live, or do I risk freezing to death." I would do the same thing. After all, since I don't fish or hunt and I'm not a craftsmen or a sports enthusiast, I don't have a lot of manly points (about 20 give or take on any given day by my count, and the number goes WAY down when I watch Gilmore Girls with my wife, and even more down when I watch it without her) and I guess I worry about using them with cuddles and hugs. I have to have one way to be macho after all.

This year when one of my friends picked me up at the airport, he remembered my aversion to hugs and even said, "I know you're not a hug kind of a guy, but I haven't seen you in over six months so you're getting one anyway." I didn't argue, did I mention he used to be a cop? Plus, he drives around with a bluetooth headset which looks very authoritative. But I noticed last Sunday that my macho mania went out the window. We had a really good service that day, and although we were missing 7 regular worshippers, there was still 10 people at church, which means we would have had 17, which is really awesome. I was thrilled. Our little church sees attendance go down very low in summer with travelling and fishing and all sorts of other things and it can be discouraging. But, to see that many in August with seven missing was nothing short of amazing. After all, our first Sunday here two years ago had seven and a half people there, and two and a half of them were my family (my son was still a fetus and so didn't count for a whole yet, plus there's no lines for fetuses (or is it feti) on the stats form). The music went great, my sermon really seemed to connect with everybody, sharing in the characteristics of God's soldier as seen by the components of the armor of God. I loved it.

But, afterwards, that was when I had my wonderful (Sally) Field Day. Everybody, or is it just movie dorks like me, remembers her reaction to winning an academy award, "I can't deny the fact that you like me, right now, you like me." I knew how she felt when two different corps members church members came up to me and thanked me for all my wife and I do for them, thanked us for being there for them, thanked us for loving them and stressing that a church is a family and a place to belong, thanked us for being their pastors. Then these two people, at different times mind you, reached out to give me a hug, and for the first time ever I found myself willingly hugging someone like that without any hesitation or internal struggle. Maybe our emphasis on a church being a family is finally reaching me too.

I've had my share of struggles as the pastor of a small church in a very small town. But, I have worked my hardest each day to pastor this community and show the love of God through how I treat everybody I encounter in all the things I do. I've had a lot of heartache, a few broken hearts, some amazing victories and awesome miracles that I've been privileged to witness. Amid the struggles that we face, and the crazy hectic schedule we have, I keep saying to myself its all worth it if I truly can say through all this work that someone knows God's love better and that I really helped someone. After last Sunday, those two hugs from wonderful people, I can tell you right now, the past two years of being a pastor and two years previous in training to be a pastor have all been worth it. I've helped people, I love my people and they love my family and I back. Now I know how Sally felt.

BLT says......thank you God for the opportunity to serve, and for eradicating my "no hugging" rule. I may not be a huggy bear, but I'm no stand alone Sam either.

"Define Irony..."

I sincerely believe that Steve Buscemi is an underestimated actor. He's not the traditional leading man material if you know what I mean (I'm not very blessed in the looks department (don't feel the need to oooooo at me, if I wasn't over it I wouldn't write about it)(I'm just doing this set of parenthesis just so I can have two complete sets inside of one set, there must be a grammatical rule against it that I'll have to ask my grammatician about (you know who you are) (hey that's a third and now fourth set inside of one, making five total), and if you don't know what I mean I'll spell it for you, the man is not handsome or tall or buff. He's practically an every man sort of actor, because he looks either normal or dare I say sub par, especially for a Hollywood type.

I remember the first movie I saw that he was in, Armageddon. Good golly Miss Molly was he funny in that movie, the scene of him doing a parody from Dr. Strangelove sitting on a nuclear warhead still gets me to laugh, as well as his Wile E. Coyote commentary. Since then, I've seen him in several Adam Sandler movies as hilarious supporting characters with fun props (lipstick, a sniper rifle, a shopping cart, huge eyeballs, and my favorite was when he rocked a fanny pack), a few more Michael Bay movies, and I think I even heard his voice as a hamster recently (G Force), and of course he's a hilarious private investigator on 30 Rock too (another reason to love the rock).

I've loved all the characters I've seen him play, but I think my favorite was Garland Greene. In Con-Air, a movie that I'm sure many people have forgotten, but I don't understand why with classic lines like "Put...the bunny....back in the box" Mr. Buscemi played a character I'll never forget.

A lot of movie characters gave me nightmares as a younger person. Old Yeller (growling dog=scary), Freddy Krueger whom I swore worked as a janitor at my school, Ursula the sea witch from The Little Mermaid, Judge Doom from Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Splinter from Ninja Turtles and E.T. all haunted my dreams from time to time. But one character gave me sleepless nights and, how do I say this, moist bedding more than any other, and that was Hannibal Lecter, who ate people's livers with a chianti and some farva beans.

I was never allowed to watch Silence of the Lambs, but I had my way around that. In one house we lived in growing up, from the top bunk, if the mirror on the door to my bedroom was angled just right it would catch the reflection of the hallway mirror which caught the reflection of the TV. That is how I saw Aliens and the very creepy Mr. Lecter. Even more so than E.T. and Ursula, Lecter was freaky, a look of evil.So in Con-Air, which is not about a hairdryer factory or a bunch of women sitting around talking about their hair products, a movie about a bunch of convicts who take over their transport plane to head for freedom, has a Lecter-ish character. As they describe him and his deeds, it sets you up for someone big and scary or with creepy unblinking eyes like Anthony Hopkins, you expect big and evil when they describe this character. The armor-ed truck pulls up, and guards have extra precautions to lead this Garland Greene on the plane using poles like dog catchers. You don't see his face, like Lecter he's wearing a mask. When you eventually see the whole character, played by Mr. Buscemi, I can't help but laugh, because the face of pure evil is supposed to be him, a very petite man who is calmer than any other convict on the airplane.

He's got a great line in the movie, one I've never forgotten. After the convicts endure a shootout with law enforcement officials while refueling their jet and actually managing to survive and lift off, the cons celebrate. You see them dancing in the airplane to Sweet Home Alabama, having a grand old time in their stolen freedom. After seeing this, Greene, who is sitting down with a Barbie doll (which most normal guys do pretty regularly right) looks at Nicolas Cage with long hair and a southern twang that is anything but genuine and says, "Define irony....bunch of idiots dancing in a plane to a song made popular by a group that died in a plane crash." Always, always, I've found that funny.

Until tonight, when that quote came back to taunt me. Every now and then our children gang up on Mommy and Daddy deciding that they'll both have huge emotional breakdowns at the same time just before bed time. When they reach breakdown mode, there is nothing I can do to help them, especially as seen by my son's recent speaking breakthrough of "No daddy, mama please." My presence just upsets him more (and doesn't help my very sensitive self image either) and although it hurts to know and hear, I'm proud he says please. Every once in a while his sister gets that way too, where Daddy is so five minutes ago, and Mommy is the new Daddy, rendering me helpless. So, Lisa holds them and rocks them, cuddling with them and whispering in their ears until they fall asleep. Sometimes the breakdowns are over in five minutes. But not tonight.

As we are now well more than two hours past both of their bed times and they are wide awake, I'm actually finding myself falling asleep trying to be supportive to my wife. I doze off for a minute and wake up to see my kids wide awake watching Celtic Woman in concert (last ditch effort to get them to sleep, we don't pull the big guns very often, but we have a name for them, Celtic Woman) and I can't help but think, in Steve Buscemi's distinctive voice, "Define irony.....the only person falling asleep during kid's bedtime is the daddy who's supposed to be awake." Argh! This is the bad side effect of memorizing movie lines, they can come back to haunt you.BLT says....I'm not a huge fan of ironing, and when it affects my sleep, I'm not a fan of irony either. Don't worry Mr. Buscemi, I don't blame you.

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.