Best Laid Plans. . .

Well, this writing through November didn't turn out like I planned. Sorry it was such a disapointment. Sometimes life conspires.

But I did want to be sure to wish you all a Happy Thanksgiving.

I'm happy you're still here with me.

Thanks.

Um, yeah---that would be heavy metal cellos

When you need a way to keep your kid interested in orchestra lessons----this comes in real handy.

Goin Gone

I'm gonna see these guys with the Robo boy tonight for one of his Christmas presents. Should be good. :-)

Do the happy dance in your geeky pants

I've always had a little trek in me. When I was a kid I loved catching re-runs on Sunday afternoons.

The month I started college was when the new series started, The Next Generation. A group of friends all got together in my dorm room to watch the first episode. I tried to catch it whenever I could after that.

Then, on the spring when I finished Grad school, the curtain fell. So it kinda spanned my college career and sort of book-ended it.

I've been very disappointed in the movies since.

But it looks like I may have something to get excited about again.

Oh, yeah.

Doctor Who, you ask?

Yes, we're big fans of the Brit action scifi adventure show, Doctor Who---so we're very excited to see the trailer for the next installment show up on Youtube.

The wife is our official Who spotter. She trolls the internet during the day when the kids are in school, to see if there is any news we should be made aware of.

For those of you who don't know, it goes back a bit but recently saw a revival and upgrade, much like Battlestar Galactica and Star Trek. And every so often the doctor 'regenerates' into a new personality, which is what we're seeing here. Sort of. We think.

Very exciting to see what might possibly be the new Doctor. More exciting than seeing Bond change. For us.

Oh, and on a completely different, less fictional subject---have you heard who else is moving into the White House? Michelle Obama's mom!---to look after the girls rather than getting a nannny.

The first Grandma! Is that cool or what!?

Now if you'll excuse me. . .

I'm home late and the wife has missed me. Tonight's post is terribly token, I know. But you can think of this as a contribution to the stability of a marriage and it's ability to thrive.

:-)

How I Roll

Yesterday saw me accompaning the Bear on a bowling birthday party. I stayed on to help him out as he would need some attention that the parents might not anticipate in a classmate. I was glad to find that the relatives of the birthday girl were all very attentive and kind and included the little Bear right along.

Of course, the bowling of the little kids was amusing. They would make thier way to the line, stuggling under the weight of a bowling ball as big as their heads where they would fling it like a shot put. It would land with an attention getting clatter and then take days to roll down the alley, bouncing off the gutter bumpers put up just for them, before finally knocking over a pin or two.

I think we only got through 4 frames in an hour before the very smart mommy said---"Let's have cake now."

On Bear's final push he got it into his head that he wanted to see how long it would take the ball to get down to the pins, or something, so he took the ball to the line, put it down and gave it an ever so tiny push. Standing beside him, I wasn't sure this ball would even make it to the end of the lane, so I quickly got on my hands and knees beside him to reach out and give the ball a bigger push to hurry it along.

That's when I realized that there are things in life that a mere citizen isn't meant to touch, and a bowling lane is one of them. I found that apparently they oil those things pretty thoroughly as I skidded off my one palm and onto my chesk. In front of all the other parents.

When I turned and walked back with my son, they were still smiling good naturedly working to get the next young one up for thier turn. Or just avoiding eye contact.

So good. Why shouldn't they know me for what I am. I can't walk through life a mystery, now can I?

The answer is, no, I can't. My nature won't let me. It's always giving me away.

Sigh

Ok, so this November hasn't been as kind to my every day blogging attempts as I would have liked. Missed a few days. I know, I know. Lame. I'll still try to keep hanging in there, though.

Tonight we went to see the Community Player's show. As an audience member tonight. We couldn't participate in the production this go round--other than I helped them set up the lights and sound system. They did a murder mystery dinner theater thing. There were some friends we were glad to see again in the cast, and some new people as well, which was excellent to see. We all went out after and had some good chat.

The going out afterwords part happened when the little kids were in bed, so we called the sitter and let her go home---Robo was home from being with his friends by then and he could just fall asleep on the couch and be there in case anyone wandered out, as he has done many times before.

When we got home my wife went to wake him to send him down to his room. Once that was done, she came in and let me know he of a new trick she observed.

"He drums in his sleep!"

Colobration

My daughter uses me as her editor sometimes. She writes a story or a song or something and I giver her notes and she does other drafts to polish it up. I really enjoy working with her when we do this kind of thing, and I quite like her work. If I had a career wish, I think I would love to use it to have a family business where I could work with all my kids doing creative stuff together.

Last spring her English teacher took her to a writing conference with others from her creative writing class. He's one of her favorite teachers. An interesting guy, that one. He's a Phd that chose to come back and teach high school because he likes teens better than college students.

At the conference she was in a poetry workshop where she wrote this poem:

The shadow taught me
That the darkness is not to be feared
The shadow taught me
that the unknown can be kind
The shadow taught me
Not to look at the small faults
Not to bring to light the bruises
The knots
The cracks in the wall
Chipping paint
Torn curtains
But to accept the room as it is
To close my eyes and take in the
Feeling it has to offer
The shadow taught me not to fear the eyes
The watchers
The judges
But to be myself
The shadow taught me what it is to be free.

A snooty girl in the workshop didn't like it and in the feedback made Kitten feel bad about her writing. She was a bit discouraged when she got home. But it did give us an opportunity to talk about the personalities that can and will be encountered in creative circles---especially in college. There is always going to be the expert, very in touch with what is fashionable in their particular discipline, and condescending to those who aren't with it.

When we found the poem and looked at it again, I just did a bit of cutting to perhaps give it a fresh perspective. Nothing re-written to speak of, so it's still all her. Just applying a rewrite rule I was told once---chop until one more cut will make it fall. I thought it was kind of an interesting change:

Darkness
The unknown can be kind
Not to look
At the faults
The brusies
Knots
Cracks
Chipping paint
Torn Curtians
Accept
Close my eyes
Do not fear
Watchers
Judges
Eyes
The shadow taught me what it is
to be Free

CRAP

One long day at work. . . check

One heartfelt talk with daughter. . . check

Add a evening setting lights for a play. . .check

Stir vigorously.

Equals a forgotten eve blog posting as I fell into bed without even turning the lights on.

(Can we pretend that this was posted last night?)

Well, I'll be. . .

Remember that script I posted a while back. Well, a couple of months ago I got a bit of encouragement from my wife and submitted it. I knew of a site call Playscripts.com. It's a new internet based way of promoting scripts and they specialize in plays that may be attractive to community, educational and regional theater.

And I got an email tonight that they have agreed to handle my script! So I guess I'm kind of published. . .in a way. . .sort of.

At least it'll be out there and someone might decide it's something they want to do and I might get a royalty out of it, or something.

Who knows. This is my way of playing the lottery--without having to pony up the $1 for a scratch ticket.

I'll post again when it get's on the site so you can view it there. I have to print out the paperwork and send it in first. And mail it to New York.

I think that's the neatest part of the whole thing at this point, being able to say, "Yes, I have to get that contract for my script sent away to New York."

New York. Hee--get out.

I fought the yard and the . . .yard won

Each year my yard rises up to remind me that I have a 40 hr a week desk job. This was the weekend today. The leaves fall gently for several weeks in warning, and then in one swoop, suddenly we're buried. I had help in the form of two coerced boys, but it still kicked by backside.

By brain says, oh yeah, that's easy. . .All you have to do is this. And my body says--how many times? Is it over yet? Oh, how I'm going to make you pay.

And today we hung lights for a show the players are doing this next weekend. One of those murder-mystery things. Body, I'm not through with you yet.

In the meantime, I'm here trying to download music with my Pepsi points. You may remember that I was big into that when it was going on the iTunes side. This year, it was Amazonmp3.com's turn. Only it started in Feb and has gone through Nov. I worked out a deal with my recycling guy at work again, and he saved me caps. Other people have helped along the way too. I haven't hit the ceiling of 3000 caps per account, but I think I got close. It's 5 caps per song, so the return isn't quite as great. Still, it gives a guy a quasi-hobby.

Got some indi chick rocker Eowyn music tonight. She's calling it quits, unfortunately, so this is her last. I wish her well.

There are times

The other day when I was having to make unpopular decisions as a parent--this cartoon popped into my mind. This is what it feels like sometimes. I'm the cat seeing danger on all sides and the kid is Porky, thinking I'm being entirely over reactionary and fighting my every attempt to keep them from harm.

I'm just trying to keep from every having to be the calvary.

(On another note, remember back in the day when you could show naked cartoon pigs getting ready for bed on afterschool T.V.)

It still counts!

I'm posting this a little after midnight but I still consider it my post for 11-07-08. It still feels like the same day to me.

And it's not my fault! I was late at the venue where my daughter was performing her music tonight because the evening went long because of the other bands.

Between a couple of the sets the Lemur, who was there with us, looked at me and said, "Dad, I want to learn archery, fencing, and horseback riding."

To which I responded by putting my hand on his forehead and crying, "Spirit of Errol Flynn, I command thee come out!"

Ok, so I didn't actually say that.

But I wanted to.

Ready for my close up

So, I thought at one point that I'd like to make movies, and I guess I kinda still do.

I had applied to the grad school I attended with the plan to go in as a theater major (I was pretty confident that I could get into that program) but then make some connections and switch over to the film school after the first year or so. But, I chickened out.

It was back before computers could do a lot of the heavy lifting in film. They were still working with actual 'film'. It was intimidating. Film making then to now is kind of like what typesetting is to word processing. Heck, they didn't even have mice on the PCs in the computer lab when I was there. I had to sneak into the journalism dept to use a Mac to type my papers.

I've had this idea for some little short films that I could maybe do. Ten short pieces (three minutes or under) that all connect in the end into a single narrative. I thought I might take some of my November blog-a-thon to get them out of my head and, you know, post them here.

Now you have to keep in mind that my greatest artistic aspiration follows the path of surealism. I'm a big fan. When I was a kid the 60s psychedelica had filtered down into children's programing, so I guess I kind of imprinted on that sort of Yellow Submarine world view.

When I was in a scene design course in college I did a set design assignment for the play "Glass Menagerie" by Tennessee Williams. It's a play in a realistic style, but I couldn't leave it alone. If you know that play you remember that the girl main character is so intimidated by her secretarial course that she throws up in class and never goes back, lying to her mother so she thinks she's still going. So I externalized that fear by making her practice typewriter in the corner of their shabby little apartment a giant man eating thing with big sharp teeth biting through the edge of the stage.

When I got through explaining the rest of the strangeness in that design, I looked up and the class was just staring at me. I was in a theater class and I was the weirdo----in a theater class.

So anyway, here's episode one as I imagine it:

Fade up on boy blinking awake on couch. He sits up listening. He can hear a hissing. He gets up and leaves the room.

He enters the kitchen and steps in a puddle. Looking over to the sink he sees that the water was left running over a sink full of dirty dishes and has run over and down the cabinets and onto the floor. He notices that the water is making the hissing noise and so goes over and shuts it off.

As soon as he does the hissing seems to be coming from the other room. He turns and walks toward it.

In the other room, a living room, he walks over to a big green lazy boy that is empty. Beside it is an ash tray on a stand with a smoldering cigar. He looks over toward the t.v. It is turned on but is only showing static, which is making the hissing noise. He goes over and turns it off.

The moment it's off, there is a knock at the door that makes him jump. He goes over and opens it and there is a little blond girl looking at him. He opens the storm door and suddenly she is down on the lawn. She giggles and runs away.

The boy doesn't know why, but he follows.

He chases her down the block and through the neighbor hood, and is finally lead down an abandoned railroad track. He stops as she is so far ahead now that it doesn't seem she can be caught. As he shades his eyes to stare after her and catch his breath, she seems to disappear.

Then suddenly, she steps out of the trees to his left. He has no idea how she got from one place to another so quickly, but before he can think much about it she giggles and runs into the forest and he is chasing her again.

As he is chasing her he doesn't notice that he runs by a tree holding a cigar.

Finally the forest ends and he runs out into a clearing, where he stops short. There in the clearing is his father's green lazy boy. He knows what he must do.

He begins to gather brush and branches and pile them around the chair. When there is a healthy stack around the chair he tosses down the still burning cigar and the whole thing bursts into flame.

As he watches it burning a small hand takes his. He looks over and the little girl is standing beside him.

They both turn and watch the flames rise into the sky.

Fade to black.

Ok, so it's like only the first episode. They'll be others and it'll kind of play together. It'll make sense later. Well, kinda. It'll still be wierd. You know, like I said, surrealism and stuff.

What?

Why are you looking at me like that?

Long Time Coming

When I was a kid, I thought history was kind of over.

My parents and other grown-ups had made all the history there was to be made. I could hear them talking about Pearl Harbor and then VJ day. Putting a man on the moon and protesting Vietnam and Dr. King and the Kennedys. But when I looked around, there was only pop culture happening, and all the government people did was talk about boring taxes

I was growing up in the shadow of a more passionate time. When people believed in ideals and were ready to start a counter-culture revolution for them. But not anymore. I found their trinkets in the attic and jokes about it in Mad magazine, but it seemed that everyone else had moved on before I had a chance to even understand what it was all about.

When I got to college I thought, this is my chance. This is where young people come alive and make their mark. This is where the protests and the shouting and the revolutionaries were.

But I looked around and there was none of that. I saw people in class not to think, just to pass the tests. Graduation was not a pursuit of wisdom and knowledge but a ticket to a paycheck. I saw people getting drunk and hooking up and buying clothes.

I read books about the 60s so I could find out what I had missed. I dressed in retro fringe jackets and 60s logo t-shirts and tie dye and grew my hair long. I listened to the stations that were playing protest songs and calling them 'classics'. I joined small campus groups who tried to raise awareness for nuclear disarmament and homelessness and the ecological evils of Styrofoam. We wrote letters to free Nelson Mandela. I directed plays that asked social action questions and wrote enthusiastic commentaries in the programs to try and wake people up. Mostly people would just completely ignore us, not even interested enough to be provoked.

Then something happened. A wall fell. A black man became leader of an apartheid nation. So that was it. History was happening somewhere else.

Since that was the case, I would just get on with my life. And it was good. I got a wife and a daughter. Had good times with my friends and family. Things were just peachy. Then History came home.

My wife held my infant daughter close as we watched the night vision video of a new War beginning. The first Gulf War. History was to be feared.

We joined the protests in the park, and it was a mess. Not because the establishment wanted to squash descent, but because the group that gathered was so pent up with their many disparate and sometimes mutually exclusive private revolutions that the focus was lost and the group fragmented. Before any sort of vision could be given to any sort of cause, it was over.

I began to think I'd never figure out History.

But at 11 o'clock last night History was given back.

It was as if in 1968 the assassinations caused a nation to suck in their collective breath in shock, and we've been holding it ever since. But last night, 40 years later, a nation could breath out again. I believe the hope candidate is going to take us to a place where we can aspire again---instead of just reacting. Where we can lead again, instead of just dominating. The healing amongst ourselves and with the rest of the world can now begin in earnest. That new day has dawned.

History started happening again, and this time I was there for it.

We Did It!

We Did It!
Originally uploaded by CyberJazzDaddy.

We voted! We went in there and changed the world. All THREE of us. Yes, my little girl is now a world changer. She has entered into active civic life. Turned 18 in October and Voted in her first election not even a month later. How cool is that!

I was telling a friend at work that for me, this is as exciting as when she took her first steps or her first day at school. And definitely more exciting than when she got her driver's license (no concern over personal safety or property damage with this one). I couldn't believe it--we actually had to stand in line on this one. We've never had a line before. But it was totally worth it, of course. It'll be very exciting to see what the turn out percentage is. I love it when the world get's engaged.

Afterwords we went to the local coffee shop (not Starbucks) and had a celebratory latte.

The Lemur has a mock election in 4th grade today. He was so proud to tout the fact that apparently in the past, as the 4th grade goes, so goes the election. They've never been wrong. And where is CNN to cover that.

However, he did come to me a bit wide eyed with the latest political scandal in this current presidential race:

"Dad---is it true that Obama has a SEXUAL marriage."

My wife and I just looked at each other. When trying to get out the door to school, there is no way to answer that question briefly. Looks like the Lemur and I are going to have a talk. More specifically---looks like we're going to have THE talk.

This election cycle is bring up all kinds of interesting conversations.

Houses near the reactor are sooo cheap!

This is the new game, put on a tail and walk around looking like an illustration from the Dr. Suess book "If I Ran the Zoo". That thing he's wearing is a stuffed animal snake that we got at the zoo---but he thinks it serves much better as a dinosaur tail when you stuff the head into the waist band of his pants.

Speaking of pants, I bought my oldest boy a pair of men's pants for the first time tonight. Previous to this we'd been buying him boy sizes which aren't actually in inches like the adults sizing. So before I left for work this morning, I got out a measuring tape from the sewing stuff and took a measurement of his waist and inseam. Turns out we have the same inseam, 30 inches. But his waist---also 30 inches. I wasn't sure I was measuring correctly at first. That couldn't be right, could it? My 13 year old with a 30 inch waist?

The reason that it was so baffling was that I didn't have a 30 inch waist until I completed grad school---in my late 20s.

When I graduate with my bachelors I went to get a suit to do job interviews, and at the store they had to send me to the boys section to find something small enough to fit me. Here I was, college graduate with a wife and child, and I was in the dressing room next to young men who were looking forward to kissing a girl someday.

I told Robo this on the ride to school, and all he could do was keep saying, "Dang".

Transitioning Sunday (It's a long one---sorry)

Things are changing for me. For us. For our family.

Things I am allowing myself to not fight, but to be carried along by, even though I don't entirely see the whole picture of where it's taking me.

I don't usually write things of a religious nature here on the blog just because I know how personal and potentially divisive musings on spiritual matters can become. In my case, not only to the people that don't share my particular beliefs, but sometimes even with people who would think they do. Sometimes with those people most dramatically. But it is a great part of who I am, arguably it is who I am, and recently it has guided me around a corner.

For one thing, we've changed churches. The church we've attended for the last 10 years, since we came back to our little hometown America, was a pentecostal church. When I was in High School and met this girl who would one day become my wife, and we found that faith was a very important part of our lives and something we shared (in addition to a passion for the theater and an mutual interest in movies like Star Wars).

As our friendship became stronger and stronger, we and a group of our friends pulled away from our parent's church to take up with this pentecostal group. My folks called it the "funny church".

When our journey through higher education brought us back, now husband and wife with kids, we slipped back in with this same congregation. I've never really been 100 percent on board with any church I've been a part of, on the theology side. My real attraction has always been the people, and I don't like to let the little things get in the way of relationship.

I changed churches not because we were angry or compelled or anything like that. The changing came because I felt I was being guided to do so. I don't particularly see myself as a person who is prone to signs and wonders and messages in the sky. I tend to find all that a little suspect most of the time. Feeling like perhaps it can and does sometimes occur, but how do you tell the real from the imagined, or the servant from the showboat? I'm not sure where the feeling rose from, or how I became so certain of it, but I was sure---so we said our good-byes and thank yous, and stepped away.

What the stepping was not was from faith or belief. And we have found ourselves now at a new place on Sunday mornings. We're getting together with Presbyterians, of all things. I grew up in a church with robes and hymnals and wooden pews and never pictured myself back in a setting like this. But they have a special service earlier in the morning, before the pipe organ plays at 10:30. And it's a bit more unconventional. More casual. It'd have to be, wouldn't it.

For example, there is breakfast served every Sunday, so you get to sit down across from people you may not know and eat a bite. I've met someone new every Sunday for weeks. Some are my kids teachers, some are teachers I had back in school. Some are people I went to school with. Some have been the parents of the friends of my kids---so they already know my family before we've met (and so far, that's always been a good thing---whew). And we can continue to eat even after the five piece folk/rock band begins to play and every one starts to sing. And with donuts waiting, we have not had an argument from the kids about going since we started.

It's growing on me, but I proceed cautiously. People have expectations, and I can tend to unwittingly defy those a bit. My faith life is informed by things like the book "Velvet Elvis", the podcast "Wired Jesus", and the NPR radio show "Speaking of Faith". My spiritual pursuit tends to look for something more philosophical and mystically based, but in a community committed to real relationship. I'm not much for high church that has a top down drive for control and conformity. Show me pursuit of truth based in wisdom and gentle trust. Let God do the rest.

Perhaps it's foolish. But it most reflects God's model to me. As Jefferson said, "your own reason is the only oracle given you by heaven." I have to trust that I can't come up with a better model than God.

I've written a lot in a book I keep to capture thoughts. I believe that this is the distillation of the Biblical principles I try to live by:

As much as it is possible, be at peace with all men. (romans 12) (hebrews 12)

Love your Neighbor [as you] . . . (mat 22) (romans 13) (gal 5) (james 2)

Love Yourself (mat 22b) (romans 13) (gal 5) (james 2)

Think of others as more important than yourself (phil 2:3)

Be Patient (1 cor 13)

Be Kind (1 cor 13)

Do not boast (1 cor 13) Be Gracious

Do not be proud (1 cor 13) Be Humble

Do not be Rude (1 cor 13) Be polite

Do not be Self Seeking (1 cor 13)

Do not be easily Angered (1 cor 13)

Keep No Records of Wrongs (1 cor 13) Forgive --which means to not wish others harm when you have been harmed. It has been said that unforgivness is the poison you take hoping some else will die.

Do not rejoice in evil (1 cor 13) Do not take pleasure to see harm come to others but seek to give them relief.

Rejoice in truth (1 cor 13)

Protect (1 cor 13)

Trust (1 cor 13)

Hope (1 cor 13)

Persevere (1 cor 13) Do not let personal difficulty deter you from keeping constant in the above.

Nine qualities of strength :

love (Gal 5:22)

joy (Gal 5:22)

peace (Gal 5:22)

patience (Gal 5:22)

kindness (Gal 5:22)

goodness (Gal 5:22)

faithfulness (Gal 5:22)

gentleness (Gal 5:23)

self-control (Gal 5:23)

Never perfect on any of these, but this is what I strive for.

A few months ago, on one of the Sunday's after I left our home church I woke up early on a Sunday morning with no where to go. So as the family slept, I got up and typed. This is what I wrote:

"This morning, as I lay in bed on a Sunday, much later that has been usual, I thought of how my internet friend Kate often writes about the guiding Yes. That spiritual flow that guides us on the path to what lies next in our ever ongoing awakening.

I lay there thinking how, to me, this new part of my journey is my very concrete attempt follow in this Ultimate Yes. But in my case the Yes has a face, and hands that bleed.

It's not a particular church. Not a particular denomination. Not a creed or race or nation. Something above all this and through all this.

I closed my eyes.

I picture Him waiting for the continuous Yes that will let us join back in with the universe. Not like it might look on a calendar or coffee mug at a Christian book store. I see Him as the resonance that holds every thing together and keeps it all good.

He is the Yes that said to Moses that I Am, and you can't look at me all at once because it's too much Yes at once, So I'll whisper it to you in the rocks and the trees (who will praise me if you don't), and the smiles and faces of children (whom you must become like to enter the awesome everything after), and in the love and kindness that people show to others.

He is the Yes that knew that the Yes was so important that He didn't want to just shout from a mountain top, but put on an earth suit to come down and touch our faces and let us love Him. And then let us vent our most destructive bile on him. Drawing it out of us like medicine drawing out poison and taking it into His own body so that he could create a space in us for Him to fill with Yes again.

He let us claw at his earth suit, ripping it and rending it until we drop from exhaustion to show that His Ultimate Yes is far stronger than an limitless army of No.

And when it was done, He came to us and held us and said, "Hey, that was unpleasant, wasn't it. But now it's over. And I'm still here. And so are you. That says something, doesn't it?"

Yes. To me it says Yes.

The Ultimate Yes.

So how could I say no?"

Visit NaBloPoMo

Well, I'm doing it again this year. The National Blog Posting Month---I'm going to try to post a new post every day for the month of November. I did it last year and it went quite well---and I had a good time. So here we go again.

Truth be told---this is actually my birthday present from my wife. As is probably known, we aren't long on cash. Actually, things tend to run pretty thin here, most of the time. If it weren't for my wonderful parents, the kids would probably be going to school in clothes they wore in the third grade. (Which would be more bearable for the fourth grader than for the graduating Senior).

But time is also tight, too. With a household of people who long for a little companionship for the ever-absent-at-work-trying-to-earn-us-money dad, a chance to pull away for something as solitary as writing can be asking a bit much. That's why my posting has had to become more and more infrequent.

So when the big 41 rolled around last week, this was the present I asked for.

It's not the first time I've requested something like this, though. For one of my birthdays early in our married life I asked for an afternoon at the Barns and Nobel. I have all my life loved book stores, begging my parents for visits to them when I was a kid and we ventured into the big city. But the book stores I'd always known were little hole in the wall affairs compared to when B&N moved into town. On our first visit I was in rapture. Rows upon rows upon rows of books and booky things. The inventor of this needed a big hug. From me.

However, even though my wife is a bookish person too, it soon became very evident that I could spend hours longer in there than she could. Our visits always felt a bit cut short to me. So my next birthday, that was her present---an unencumbered afternoon in the bookstore with nary a prompt to leave. It was bliss.

(My wife reading over my shoulder tells me that she only vaguely remembers this. She says, actualy, she's not sure she remembers it at all, we were in there so often. Yet, it is one of my cherished memories.)

So this year when my forty first rolled around, short on money but long on love and self sacrifice, she gives again.

For forty one. That's a 40, with a 1, by the way. Did you catch that? And that 1 is like a stick---like taking 40 and giving it a bat to hit you around the head with.

Yet, when it comes to age, I must say I want to be like my mom. Last weekend she invited us out to eat at the new Wendy's in town. Before we got there, she had pulled into the parking lot in her little white Aveo and a big Ford F150 driven by a gray haired woman backed right into her, hitting her just ahead of the front driver side door. When we pulled in, the Officer was just arriving to take statements. Mom was shaken but no one was hurt.

Once we were all in side, there were some church friends eating that my mom went over and talked to. When they asked what was going on my mom said, "An old lady backed into me". An old lady, she said. My mom, a grandmother seven times over, was talking about being hit by an 'old lady'. However ironic that may be, I find it inspiring.

We keep asking ourselves the same question, "Why are so many people our same age getting so old?"

Then I hear people talking about Barak Obama and saying that they think he might be to young and inexperienced. Too young---at 47 years old, they are thinking he's too young with the same shake of the head as when your baby child gets their driver's license or when you go to parent teacher conferences and get a look at your kids teachers.

Forty seven and just a pup---now that's an America I can live in.

See you tomorrow night!