Slow on the Uptake.

For those a little slow on the link update thing. . . we've moved.

Read more...

Ashmarlin has moved

Click here to see the new digs.

Read more...

The 100

This is it. The big one. OK, so it's not really that big of a deal but this does mark my 100th posting. And that feels pretty good. Next week I actually do have something at least a little bit big - I'll be launching a new blog. Stay tuned.

Read more...

Just a Tiny Patch

The other day while looking in the rear-view mirror, I noticed a few grey hairs. We’ve had nearly constant rain for the past month but on that day, the stars seemed to align and the sun shone through the clouds in the same split second I checked the mirror. It’s reflection revealing a peppering of grey across my scalp.

Later I mentioned it to Linda and all she said was, “You don’t really have that much. Just that one tiny patch above your left ear and a few random ones everywhere else.”

Today I’m adding to the patch of grey.

Read more...

Just a Thousand?

While eating lunch today I noticed the man sitting in the booth across from me. This was in a local hamburger establishment called ‘Burgerville’ whose menu boasts of ingredients produced locally and includes items only available in season. These items tend to rotate on and off the menu about every month or so and are advertised with huge posters that hang in nearly every window. Currently on display is the ‘Grilled Coho Salmon Sandwich’, which includes a description beneath it using words like ‘frisée’ and ‘lemon aioli.’ It’s a description that seems out of place next to red plastic booths and the smell of french fries. I’ve been to several different locations and each has the same veneer of sticky grease coating the tables. Burgerville likes to add to this ambiance by bringing one’s food out to them rather than offering it at the counter. It’s a nice touch that isn’t fooling anyone.

So while I waited for my food I couldn’t help but notice the man across from me. He was mostly bald with what remained cropped short. The blue t-shirt he wore looked like it was pulled that morning from the dirty clothes hamper and advertised what I assumed was his employers construction firm. In his ear he wore a bluetooth headset flashing at the ready and he was slouched so low in the booth his knees touched the bench across from him. When a woman delivered his food I think he slouched an extra half an inch and asked, “Hey you got any thousand?”

Really? So we’re shortening “thousand island dressing now?”

Read more...

Flip, Flop, Flip, Flop

We’ve all been frustrated while trying to straighten the bend in a wire coat hangar. I’m not talking about straightening one out to roast marshmallows over a campfire on or to construct a scratching tool for use beneath a cast. I’m referring to the rehabilitation process of making a bent hangar work again as a coat hangar.

The tendency is to take a corner in each hand and attempt to bend the wire back to its original shape. My personal preference is to employ my thigh, while bending the hangar across it. I’ve seen people use the arm of a couch or the edge of a countertop as well. The result is the same, however, with the bend doing nothing more than flipping from one side to the other rather than actually straightening.

I don’t make it a habit of sharing much detail about my coworkers but from time to time I notice something that can’t go without mention. The other day, while speaking with our admin about some travel arrangements, I noticed she picked up a bent coat hangar. Her name is Mychl, which is pronounced the same as the more common spelling - ‘Michelle’, though there’s nothing common about her. Armed with the energy for two and the common sense of three, she’s the office equivalent of a Tasmanian Devil. At least that’s what I imagine pretty much every time I see this woman; mid-fifties, dark curly hair that’s slightly wile, spinning, bouncing, and maybe even foaming at the mouth a bit as she’s constantly solving 17 problems simultaneously.

So Mychl picks up this hangar and begins attempting to straighten it while answering a question about my travel itinerary. She begins by working the hangar across the edge of her desk but it simply flips then flops back and forth with no real result. Frustrated and needing to burn off a bit more energy while stuck solving my simple problem, she places the unresponsive hangar across her chest. I’m guessing in her mind she’s thinking, “I bet I can get more leverage on this little sucker if I can just pin it here between the top of my ribcage and my left boob.” The problem is the hangar is doing it’s best to remain bent. Flip, flop, flip, flop - above the boob, below the boob, above, below.

“Hey Mychl, could I borrow that a minute so I can gouge my eyes out?”

Flip, flop, flip, flop.

Read more...

Outerwear

No post today. Out on the golf course testing an update to some of the outerwear I'm working on. See you Monday.

Read more...

Legal Eagle

A couple of days ago an attorney friend of mine asked me for a favor. Between family lawyers and the friend ones, I probably know a couple dozen attorneys and like keeping them on the speed dial. Just last month, for example, when forced to deal with a frustrating insurance issue regarding the family car, I consulted with an attorney brother, an attorney brother-in-law, and two attorney friends. There’s something about a little legal jargon that makes me feel invincible in the midst of conflict. I like to pepper the conversation with big lawyerly terms gathered from my lawyer crowd, hoping to scare my opponent into capitulation. Things get heated, though, and I’m not always sure when to use the right term. When this doesn’t work I blame it on my adversary’s inability to detect nuance and the fact they weren’t born with a brain. Next I resort to less subtle jousts like, “Well, when I spoke with my attorney about this, they recommended such and such.” This tactic generally proves even less fruitful.

So the other day when my friend asked for a favor I quickly said yes. It seems he’d had some legal problems of his own and when the legal jargon tactic followed by statements like, “You realize I am an attorney,” didn’t work he turned to me. And why not? I’m no attorney but then he was way past the legal route and came looking for some more specialized work.

It turns out my friend was heading to small claims court and needed a person not directly involved in the case to serve papers to the defendant.

“Perfect,” I said then added, “You realize I have a bit of experience with this sort of thing, don’t you?” And while I’ve technically served papers before I did spend a year as a private investigator looking into insurance fraud cases. But like I told him - that’s a totally different story for another time.

I caught a lot of people though. Unfortunately yesterday turned out a bust as the defendant didn’t live at the expected address. I’m on the case though and will now turn to my killer private eye skills to track them down.

Read more...

Jim Gaffigan, Cake, and What?

One of my favorite comedians is Jim Gaffigan though admittedly I’d be hard pressed to name more than five and that includes Gallagher whom I believe is dead and the only thing I know about him is that he made his fortune smashing fruit before huge crowds. This seems completely stupid to me and I’ve always assumed those attending Gallagher’s shows must have been either completely drunk or totally wasted to see the humor in having chunks of watermelon and cantaloupe splattered in their faces. Gaffigan, though, is hilarious and I’d highly recommend seeing him if given the chance.

A couple of years ago we got turned onto Jim Gaffigan one night while flipping through the channels and then saw him live when he came to town. It was Linda, actually, who stumbled upon his stand-up show one evening when I was out with a friend and since then we’re slightly obsessed.

He’s most famous for his bit about ‘Hot Pocket’s’ but for me, whether it’s deodorant, bacon, or white trash; everything he does is hilarious. He also does this one about cake and office birthday parties, which is based on the premise that we all behave like we’ve never seen a cake before the second it shows up at the office. “What’s this?” he’ll say. “Cake? Well, I guess I could try it.” I’m sure if you spent a second on youtube you could find a clip.

This is what I think of every time a cake shows up around here at work. Take last week, for example, this woman I work shows up on her birthday with a large cardboard cake box. It had one of those shiny foil stickers in the corner displaying the name of the bakery on it so I know it’s going to be a good cake too. Not one of those cheap theme cakes with waxy frosting that comes from the grocery store. I asked her why she was bringing a cake on her birthday and she explained, “That’s how we do it now. Everyone brings their own cake for their birthday. It just makes it easier.”

I didn’t see how this was easier or how it made sense but she insisted, then added, “and anyway, this isn’t a cake. I brought a fruit tart instead.”

A fruit tart? Really?

A few minutes later she broadcasted an email to the entire department announcing birthday treats. About a half second later the first guy showed up a bit out of breath from running. He’s about 4’ 10” and works on footwear engineering and grumbled, “Oh, I thought there’d be cake.”

You, me, and Jim Gaffigan too my friend.

Read more...

The Name of The Wind - For the Record

Yesterday afternoon on my way back to the office following lunch I called my brother Trevor to discuss a book I’d recently finished. ‘The Name of The Wind’ by Patrick Rothfuss falls into the fantasy genre, a category I don’t often read. In fact at the time he suggested I read it, I asked if he read sci-fi exclusively or if he dabbled in other genres. Trevor reads more than anyone I know except maybe for my wife Linda and politely suggested, “Well, ‘The Name of The Wind’ is actually considered fantasy. And yes I read other genres.” He went on to tell me he thought the book was as good if not better than ‘The Lord of The Rings’ series. Then changed his mind adding, “yes I actually think it is better than ‘The Lord of The Rings’.”

The book is a massive 722 pages and took me nearly 2 weeks to finish. For me the first half felt slow and didn’t really get moving till somewhere between page 300 and 350. I mentioned this to Trevor adding that the category was largely new to me and admitted I didn’t think I caught all the nuances. I’d give it 4 - 4 1/2 stars because it really did end strongly, while he gave it a solid 5.

Later in the conversation Trevor mentioned he’d read the days posting on my blog and wondered if I actually saw the people I write about. He added that he loved my post but wondered aloud along with Graham how I could possibly notice the sorts of things I write about. My mother has asked the same thing - several times.

So just to clear things up I’ll share with you what I’ve told them. I’m very observant. I never forget a face. Ever. People I see at the mall on the weekend I can remember from the movie theatre from a month ago. Stuff like that. Because of my profession I’ve honed my wicked observation skills and probably notice more than most. The people I blog about are actual people I’ve met or at least seen.

That said, Linda claims I add so much to a story they become unrecognizable then often adds, “Either that or we really see things differently.” I like to imagine it’s the latter.

Read more...

Blackberry vs. Q-Tips

A year or so ago I was sitting around chatting with my family. It was a reunion of sorts, though only about half the family was there. The subject of cell phones came up and we compared notes for a minute or two about who used which phone and why. My sister Stephanie mentioned she was in the market for a new phone and had a few questions. Phones came out of pockets and purses and a sort of informal demonstration began. This went on for five minutes or so before Megan our youngest sister said, “Tell everyone why you need a new phone Stephanie.”

The two are practically neighbors, living a couple of blocks apart and from what I gather spend most days together in some fashion or other. Apparently Megan was “in the vicinity” when the phone was lost. “I dropped it in the toilet,” Stephanie said. “OK? And before that I ran it through the washing machine. But that time it dried out and still worked. Unfortunately the toilet wasn’t as forgiving.”

“Was there anything else in the toilet? Graham asked.”

“No. I was just leaning over it to get a Q-Tip and it fell out of my pocket.” I wasn’t sure I believed her and asked if Megan was in the bathroom with her when it happened.

They insisted in unison they weren’t that close.

A couple of weeks ago I was in Fred Meyer picking up a couple of yogurts for lunch and stopped off in the restroom. Theirs is located at the end of a long winding hallway with doors lining both sides marked ‘Employees Only’ in thick black lettering. As I rounded the last corner I nearly bumped into a tall woman dressed in heels and a light grey business suit and skirt. Her hair was pulled back tight and she wore a look on her face that suggested she wasn’t one to be messed with. I quickly stepped aside and noticed the wad of paper towels she was using to dry off her blackberry cell phone.

It seems Stephanie isn’t the only one “reaching for Q-Tips.”

Read more...

Perfection

We’ve all heard the saying, ‘Don’t mess with perfection.’ This is a statement not to be confused with it’s close cousin, ‘If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it,’ which is close, but only at first glance. While the second statement refers to an object that works, or at a minimum, services and requires little to no attention the first statement calls one’s attention to something that merits complete and utter focus simply because it can’t be improved upon. They’re opposites, really.

May 11th each year, for me, is perfection.

Happy Birthday Linda!

Read more...

Planes, Trains, and wait, what?

I’ve been away from my writing for nearly two weeks and haven’t so much as touched a pen or the keyboard the entire time. I guess we all need a break sometimes and it’s taken me these near two weeks to regain my interest in writing. Well, that and a laundry list of distractions I have been forced to work through so I can get back to business here on Ashmarlin.

First I had to plan a trip to Taiwan and Hong Kong, which I was not looking forward to. I tend to travel to Asia a couple of times a year for work and this sort of travel really gets old. The good news is the trip was cancelled, the bad is that it was replaced with a trip to Florida.

I’ve been to Florida on several occasions and have always heard the state laid claim to the highest number of strip clubs per capita in the country. If you’ve even been, you understand the reason for this reputation - I really dislike Florida. And, frankly, would prefer Taiwan and Hong Kong even with the accompanying 25 or so hours of flying and the 4 - 5 days of jet lag recovery.

The swap to Florida was bad news but I guess the upside was that I was supposed to be meeting with Tiger Woods to work through some design stuff. He ended up canceling.

During this on again, off again travel planning I got a call from my daughter Leah. She’s nine and was crying so hard I could hardly tell what she was saying. Between sobs I caught, “Car...sob, sob, sob... acci... sob, sob... dent...,” and then she hung up. It turned out to be minor, “just a fender bender,” agreed the body shop. Then suggested the repairs should only take a couple of days.

This was before the insurance company got involved, though, which turned into a nightmare of it’s own. A nightmare that morphed and grew of it’s own accord for over a week and has required dozens of phone calls, voice messages left, and letter writing. The upside to this little adventure is that after nine years our family car has been replaced with a spanking new one with all the whistles and bells.

To kick off this little personal pain session, though, was a relaxing evening with the family. Leah and Margaret had been begging for weeks to play a game as a family. Following dinner one night Linda and I finally agreed to a round of balderdash. This is the one where one player has the actual definition to some unheard of word in the English language and the remaining players make definitions up before everyone guesses which one is right. We played 5 or 6 rounds before, out of the blue, Leah claimed, “The only thing Dad and I have in common is we both like treats.” While it is true, in fact, Leah and I do both like treats; I like to imagine we have a bit more in common than a taste for sweets.

So for the past 10 days or so while stumbling through my many distractions, all I could think of was what else I shared in common with my daughter Leah.

Read more...

Should things go from bad to worse

Some members of my extended family have spent years planning for the worst and expecting nothing less that total catastrophe. This weekend while bouncing around the internet I saw this little device and thought I'd offer it up to those family members who are interested.

You'll also note this product is made in the good old U.S. of A. which satisfies another extended family conspiracy theory of doom and destruction.

If you're reading this and asking yourself, "Is he talking about me?" The answer is probably not. You know who you are.

Read more...

Watch Battery

A week or so ago I found myself in Fred Meyer, a local chain that combines groceries with apparel, yard items, and home repairs. They’re based here in Portland and seem like what Sears Roebuck might have felt like back in the 50’s. I’d heard from a co-worker that this was the place to go when one needed to replace a watch battery, a chore, which at least in our house, goes months and even years neglected. In the past I’ve always gone to one of those sketchy watch repair places located in malls. These are the kinds that line the walls with glass cases containing watches from brands that seem familiar but oddly out of place at the same time. They tend to charge outrageous prices for battery replacement and more often than not the sales person shifts to a full court press if one casts even the slightest glance toward a new watch.

“Oh, you like this new watch, eh?” asks the Middle Eastern associate. “This is good watch, very reputable brand. This is good buy right now. Is waterproof to 3,000 meters.”

“I had no idea Esprît was still around, let alone made men’s dive watches.”

“Oh, yes. This is big brand in Europe still. They are the best.”

“But 3,000 meters?” I ask. “I thought the max for any brand was more like 500 meters.”

“Europe, my friend. This is European watch. You like, I can take 5% off for you my friend. Today only.”

My past experiences more or less which explains why sometime last week Linda handed me 5 watches when I mentioned my news about Fred Meyer’s battery deals.

When I arrived I was directed to the jewelry counter where I spoke with the watch repairman. He was dressed in an antique cardigan sweater and wore thick magnifying lenses over his regular glasses. He was in his late fifties or early sixties if I were to guess and asked in a thick Asian accent, “What you need today?” I explained I was looking to have a few watch batteries replaced and he wondered how many was a few.

“Oh, all five? Yes? How about $40 total, all five?”

It really doesn’t get any better than that, does it?

Read more...

Bluetooth Devices

A couple of weeks ago while picking up a few things at Costco, Linda and I decided to split up. She went one way, I the other, each with a list of items and a plan to meet back toward the front, “Near the checkout line,” she said as she headed into the walk-in cooler for some cucumbers. This was a Saturday and the place was so crammed with shoppers we figured by separating we’d more easily slip in and out of the crowd.

Personally I love Costco but hate a crowd. On Saturdays, when it’s crowded, I’m left angrily navigating around the sample lines mumbling about the foolishness of waiting 20 minutes for a teaspoon sized bite of frozen enchilada but with a grin on my face. “Success is mine,” I thought as I made it around the Aidells sausage sample buffet only to be almost knocked down by a giant blur of blue. In front of me stood a large black woman with an imposing presence and a baby tucked under one arm. She was dressed in an ocean blue frock that wrapped her girth from neck to toe and sported a matching headband. This wasn’t one of those skinny little rubberized headbands my daughters wear, rather it was a wide one and was fashioned from a strip of fabric matching her dress. It wrapped up from her forehead and disappeared into a pile of dreadlocks creating a sort of hair dam.

She was talking loudly when I noticed her, which I first mistook as directed at me. An apology perhaps, or even an angry word or two and it took me a minute to realize she’d hardly noticed me. She was having a conversation all right, but as I listened it became clear her words were not meant for me or the baby beneath her arm. It was at this point I noticed this woman had a cell phone tucked up into her headband, cocked just right so as to enable her to talk and listen at the same time.

In January Oregon passed a law prohibiting cell phone use without a hands free device while driving. I’ve heard bluetooth sales have jumped dramatically here and imagined the conversation my woman in blue might have had upon hearing about the new law. “Nobody’s gonna tell me I need an $80 bluetooth thingie. I got a whole drawer of headbands for that.”

Read more...

Out of Touch

I'm sorry I've been away. I'm completely swamped trying to make Tiger Woods look good for the Fall season of 2011. I'll be back next week with some good stuff.

Read more...

I had no idea, really.

It is my habit to tidy a room by moving it’s out of place contents to new, neatly stacked residences strategically placed about the room’s perimeter. A re-shuffling, really, and it’s a skill that takes a certain talent to pull off. To my trained eye, a pair of pajamas, three socks and a sweatshirt I haven’t worn in a week just look better in an organized pile next to the nightstand. “There’s just this little gap between the closet door and my nightstand just begging for some company,” I think to myself. Gently rest these items alongside a half filled glass of water and to me, the collection simply disappears.

If one were to ask me to assign myself to a category - clean or messy, I’d go with the clean one without hesitation. “Look around,” I might add. “I just cleaned this room and it’s spotless.”

My wife Linda, though, would beg to differ. Two weeks ago we returned from spring break where I thought I’d have the chance to get a morning of snowboarding in. I prepared for the trip with goggles, gloves, snow pants and a choice of jackets but when it came to packing it seemed we’d run out of duffle bags so I stuffed my gear in a white plastic Hefty bag. When we returned from vacation I emptied the contents of my suitcase but left the plastic garbage bag in the hallway outside our room. Holes had begun to tear spilling its contents on the floor but I honestly hadn’t noticed. Two weeks ago when I propped the bag in the corner I was careful to nestle it next to a closet door where it sagged, blending perfectly with the door’s casing.

This morning Linda said to me, “When are you going to clean up that bag of ski clothes?” And I looked at her, wondering what she was talking about. “The white garbage bag,” she said. “The one that’s been sitting right outside our bedroom door for the past two weeks?”

I hadn’t noticed. Really.

Read more...

Am I really that bad?

My oldest daughter Gretchen is becoming increasingly independent and homework is no exception. From time to time she might ask Linda or I to do a once over on a project she’s completed but we both know it’s just a formality. She really doesn’t need our help. Yesterday, though, she did ask for help with a particular word. Surprised she didn’t know the answer I listened to the conversation. “Mom, what’s the definition for Folktale?”

“It’s a story that’s been passed down through a family for many, many years,” Linda responded. And then she added, “Or basically anything Dad puts on his blog.”

Read more...

Once Perfect

I thought about posting a really great April Fools post. I really did and it would have been great. But I’m tired after spending half the night on the couch. The seasons are changing here and with that come frequent pressure changes - High shifting to low and vice versa. It’s a combination that makes my bones ache, keeping me up nights and hobbling during the day.

Since today is April 1st I thought I’d simply ask for a moment of silence in memory of my once perfect Achilles tendon. Today marks my four-year anniversary since rupturing my right Achilles that, trust me, was no Aprils Fools joke for Linda or me.

Read more...

It wasn't Meant to Be

Yesterday I got my hair cut. I’ve been growing it out over the past several months and went in just for a trim. You know, clean it up a bit. A few weeks ago, though, when my hair was looking nicely unkempt and shaggy, I was running an errand after lunch and overheard a couple of guys talking about me outside the Best Buy. “Hey, isn’t that the guy from that movie? You know, the one about the three friends who get into trouble in Vegas.”

It was both exciting and awkward hearing someone talk about me and my hair. The movie they referred to, The Hangover, had just won a Golden Globe award and I assumed they mistook me to be Bradley Cooper. He’s tall and handsome and I slowed my pace to hear more.

It is my habit to shave no more than twice a week, generally on Sunday mornings before church, then again on Wednesday or Thursday depending on my mood. It’s not uncommon for me to shave only once though and this was one of those weeks. My beard fills in fairly quickly and by Friday my stubble tends to look more like a beard.

This was a Friday and my beard and I listened as the second guy added, “Yeah I figured he had that beard just for the movie.”

It seemed I wasn’t being mistaken for Bradley Cooper at all rather for Zach Galifianakis. I haven’t seen the movie but with previews playing round the clock I’ve become familiar with his character. He’s the short chubby one and I felt completely deflated.

It seems my hair isn’t the only thing that needs a trim.

Read more...

Travolta at the Table

In Oregon Spring Break arrived the beginning of last week. A few weeks before that Linda mentioned we should plan on taking a trip, “Maybe go and see our families in Utah,” she said. This was in the evening after the kids had gone to bed and while we lounged around I mulled the idea over in my head. And then she added, “Just so you know, there’s no way I’m spending an entire rainy week with the girls home from school and nothing to do.”

We spent Spring Break in Utah with our families.

While we were there at one point the subject of this blog came up and my brother Graham suggested, “You need to post to that thing every day if you ever want to go big.”

“I just don’t always have the time,” I responded. “And besides it’s not always that easy coming up with a subject to write about.”

“I’m just saying,” he said and then the subject took a turn followed by another and the topic of blogs was dropped. The idea, though stuck, and for the rest of the week I mulled it over in my head while spending my evenings observing my brother Graham.

It turns out he’s a gold mine when it comes to blog topics. Just in the short few days we were in town he taught me a hand signal when noticing his two-year old appeared constipated. He thought out loud that he’d like to, “Go for the full fifty next time,” then followed this up with a demonstration on a knife sharpener he’d brought home from work. It wasn’t so much the things he did that I noticed rather the way he does them coupled with his constant commentary.

Take our last night at dinner for example. My sisters, brothers-in-law, mother and Linda and I sat around a crowded table in a busy restaurant. Graham made quick work of his meal then patiently fed our sister Stephanie’s baby pinto beans with a plastic fork. Her name is Reagan and I think she’s nearly two and has chubby hands and a permanent smile on her face. I’ve never seen such a cheerful baby and while Graham stuffed beans into her face she giggled and waved her hands. At one point her hand caught the plate in front of her tipping its contents into Graham’s lap. Unfazed he picked up what he could then stood, baby in hand, and did a little hip thrust projecting the remaining food back onto the plate. “See,” he said, “That move has more than one use,” then walked across the dining room for a refill on his drink.

I wish, for the sake of this blog, I could have a few more weeks with my family.

Read more...

Timing is Everything

The other day I was in the men’s room in the building where I work. I’m not going to say where I was specifically or what I may or may not have been doing and will simply leave it at that. I will say, however, there was a man in one of the stalls whose cell phone rang. This caught my attention and I watched through the gap between the floor and partition as he scrambled to find his phone. He had the ringer set quite high and was having trouble retrieving it, you know with his pants around his ankles and all.

None of us can control when a call comes in and while my personal tendency is to keep my phone on vibrate mode each of us has our own personal cell phone preferences. If it were me, however, in this man’s situation I would have found my phone, cancelled the call and when the time was more suited returned the call. This is what I expected Mr. Office Stall to do and was surprised when I heard him say “hello.” He followed this with what I would consider a lengthy conversation under any circumstances. This was one of those two-way conversations that to me as an outsider sounded casual and something that could have easily been postponed. A chat, really and again, as an outsider, there was nothing comfortable about it.

When the call finally did come to an end I was surprised to hear Mr. O. S. say, “Hey could I call you back? I’m kinda in the middle of something.”

I wondered what had prevented him from starting things off that way.

Read more...

Stomach Woes

Several years ago, which the way I keep track of time is probably more like 10 or 12 years, one of my cousins got married. When the reception was announced my brothers, brothers-in-law, compared notes and made plans to attend. I think it was Wade who pointed out, “That place has the best food. It’ll be one not to miss. They have this beef and it is. . .” None of us needed to hear anymore; we were all in.

When the day arrived and we were all sitting around a table with plates piled high before us, a sort of unofficial contest broke out. Maybe my brother-in-law Mark or possibly my brother Trevor asked, “How many of those beef strips do you have on your plate?” He wasn’t asking anyone in particular, rather lobbing the idea out to the collective group. You know, just making sure the bar was clearly set for the evening. The menu included a salad I’m sure along with a nice selection of side dishes but once he’d pointed this out the focus shifted to these one-inch strips of bar-b-qued beef. Each strip was about half an inch thick and eight or so inches long. Game on.

I remember Graham, my youngest brother, being too young to compete in any serious fashion. He was maybe 14 or 15 and fit into the junior lightweight category just behind me. Neither of us made it past the single digit zone. Trevor gave things a good run, landing just north of the teens, but the real heavyweights were our two brothers-in-law Mark and Wade each finishing the evening well into the high teens. Each also complained for several days of “stomach issues” and my sister Jennifer added, “Mark smelled like that stinking beef for nearly a week.”

Last week Graham called me complaining about stomach trouble then relayed the following story. “So we were out with the in-laws and all the cousins and we went to McDonalds for dinner. My father-in-law, Don, and me and my brothers-in-law all ordered the 50 piece Chicken McNuggets meals for everyone to just share.” And here’s where I stopped him.

“Wait a minute, 50 pieces? I had no idea they made those.”

“Oh yeah, they’re awesome. They come with 50 McNuggets and a couple of orders of large frys and a few drinks,” he said.

“And everyone ate McNuggets?” I asked. “Even Devri?” I added, who is Graham’s wife.

“She ate a couple. I think,” he continued. “But that’s not the point. Dude, I ate 32.”

“What?”

“Yeah, 32. That was a day and a half ago though and my stomach isn’t, well, things aren’t really working if you know what I mean. And my stomach is killing me. Does that seem weird?”

It seems the junior lightweight has moved up to the full professional heavyweight class. And, no Graham, that doesn’t seem weird. Weird would be if you didn’t skip a beat after consuming what any normal human being would consider to be a disgustingly impossible amount of McNuggets.

Read more...

Bleeding Out

A couple of days ago Linda cut her thumb while washing a kitchen knife. Having lived through more than my fair share of injuries; my tendency leans to the un-amazed and under whelmed when it comes to this sort of thing, which I pointed out. “Oh, yeah, that looks like it hurts. It doesn’t look that bad, though.” And then I foolishly added, “I’ve seen much worse.” It’s true I have seen worse but saying it might not have been the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Linda has an incredible memory and a knack for tactical recall of said memories. I worry this will go down in the banks alongside the time I suggested, “If you don’t puke, or at least feel like you’re gonna puke, I’m sure you didn’t break your wrist.” This after a biking accident in which she did, in fact, break her wrist.

Half a second later Linda passed out.

Yesterday she asked me to swing by Target on my way home from work and pick up some band-aids. Wanting to make up for past mistakes I happily agreed. She’s been using the kind typically referred to as a “butterfly bandage” and is often used in place of stitches. They’re more secure and saved us a trip to the doctor for real stitches, which in my opinion is always better.

After spending a good ten minutes in the bandages aisle and coming up empty I went for help. The girl I found was young and bubbling with enthusiasm. She had dark hair pulled back into a pair of pigtails and wore a red calf length jacket reserved for employees assigned to the pharmacy department. I explained my interest in butterfly bandages and she led me to the same bandage aisle I’d already visited. “I know exactly what you’re looking for and we have them,” she said. “You’re talking about those kind people put on elbows and knuckles, right?”

Following a detailed description using words like “small” and “not for elbows and knuckles” I could see my happy little helper was still not getting it so I added, “The bandages I’m looking for are typically used in place of stitches,” and yet, still nothing. She suggested I try a nearby pharmacy and began giving me directions at which point I interrupted.

“How far away did you say this place is? Because I have someone at home who is bleeding out. I’m not sure I have 5 minutes.”

“Uh, well I think there’s a Rite-Aid a little closer but I’m not sure.”

Just for theatrics I turned and sprinted toward the door.

Read more...

The end of an era

65 days 4 hours 37 minutes. . . Mexican Standoff over!

I threw in the towel because I'm just that kind of guy.

Read more...

Dave Matthews Band

I like the Dave Matthews Band and a year ago Linda and I had a chance to see them in Phoenix. As much as I enjoy them, Linda absolutely loves them. Sometimes I wonder if she listens to anyone else.

A few weeks ago we learned DMB will be performing in UT this summer during the same week we plan to be there visiting family. Then a few days ago we learned the concert would be free, which meant getting tickets would be near impossible. My brother Graham, who lives there, is also a huge fan so I called him and began making plans for getting tickets. “OK, so if you go to the actual venue location and wait in line while Linda and I simultaneously get online our chances are better,” I said.

He agreed and over the next few days the two of us refined our plans. He added his wife Devri to the equation but we both agreed he and I would need to spearhead the operation. “They’ll be able to each man computers but you know we’ll have to get them all set up for this to work. It’ll really be up to you and I,” I added. Graham agreed wholeheartedly.

Tickets were scheduled to go on sale this morning at 9:00 am - my time, 10:00 am - his time. At this point in the morning I found myself standing in front of an army of sales reps pitching the newest color stories for the Tiger Woods Collection and had completely forgotten about the concert. Graham, it seems, had completely forgotten as well.

At 8:55 am each of us received text messages from Linda asking about getting tickets. Neither of us responded.

At 9:00 am sharp we again received text messages announcing tickets had been secured. Neither of us had anything to do with this.

How awesome is my wife!

Read more...

Lunch at the Sweat Lodge

Back when I was 16 or maybe 17 I had a filling put in one of my front teeth. This was one of those tooth colored versions meant to match; and for a long time it did. The majority of this filling sat behind my tooth with only a small portion wrapping around the side and into the front. Just a sliver really, which over time has turned a yellow grey and no longer matched the color of my tooth. Or maybe it was the other way around, my tooth no longer matching the unchanged filling. Either way, for the past several years my dentist has gently pointed out this small discrepancy, suggesting I might consider changing it for something more up to date. She’s a heavy, amorphous thing with gentle hands and a pleasant way about her and whether it’s her professionalism or simply her personality, she’s always seemed cheerful to me. I’ll call her Joy and I like her. Still, there’s no way I’m having a filling removed and replaced just because of a little color mismatch.

A month or so ago while having a routine check-up and cleaning my dentist, I’ll call her Joy, noticed the filling in question was beginning to fail and her suggestion became more of an insistence. “You really need to change this filling now Christian. It’s beginning to leak a bit around the back which, if left untouched, will begin introducing decay into the tooth.” I set up an appointment.

On Wednesday I arrived during the lunch hour expecting a quick in-and-out visit. I figured my tooth had begun the job itself by initiating the separation and how difficult could it be to remove that? I went so far as to imagine there’d even be limited if any drilling. I completely forgot about the needle part.

“Just a little pinch as we numb things up,” Joy explained. “Now with the very front tooth like this most people experience numbness in their nose as well. It’s just the way the nerves work and it’s totally normal. Only about 10% of patients don’t have this sensation,” she added. “Now, sometimes it helps to wiggle your fingers and toes. It’ll help keep your mind off the injection.”

Wait, what? Something didn’t sound right about that and so I’m going to come clean myself. Smile or no smile, cheerful or not; I hate the dentist and typically begin sweating the minute I sit in the chair. Depending on the duration of a particular visit I can, at times, come away looking like I’ve laid down in a puddle, which essential I have.

And then the stinging began; not so much from the needle Joy stuck into the thin gum line just above my front tooth, rather from the poison she was injecting into them. I could feel the burn run from inside my upper lip straight to my nose, which began burning so bad my eyes started watering. Next, as the pain increased, my watering eyes turned to crying eyes and as tears poured down the side of my face I wondered whether my hair was getting more wet from the tears or the sweat.

“You’re doing fine,” Joy said. “Tears are fairly normal too.” And then she added, “Though I’m not sure I’ve witnessed so many before.”

Her comment worried me. “Is it that noticeable?” I wondered, which in turn made me sweat even more. I would have liked to respond but by this point the burning had spread along the roof of my mouth to the back of my throat making it not only burn but also leaving it numb and unresponsive. An hour later, just as I gained sensation back to my throat Joy finished. Drenched from a combination of sweat and tears, I stood wondering if Joy was thinking to herself, “Everybody sweats a little when they come see me, though I’m not sure I’ve witnessed anyone sweat so much before.”

Read more...

Mexican Standoff

If I were asked to describe my mother I could use any number of flattering adjectives without hesitation. Kind, thoughtful, huge influence on who I’ve become, the sort of person any son would be proud to call his mother; you know, the stuff orphans dream of. Wonderful, fantastic, funny, the list goes on but then, at the very end, there’s the stubborn thing. It’s a trait I inherited myself and one I share with each and every one of my siblings. Push, and we push back, tell us we can’t and watch out because nobody tells us we can’t do something.

Take for example the time some contractor told my mother there was no way she could refinish the hardwood floors in our house without hiring a professional. This was back when I was 13 or so and my mother had her eye on the three largest rooms in our home, each with a different species of hardwood laying dormant beneath the ugliest carpet on earth. The next thing my brothers and I knew we were hauling carpet out the back door and pulling up tack strip. My mother became her own general contractor and when she hung up her hard hat a week or so later we had a living room, a dining room, and a family room with wall-to-wall hardwood.

I love my mother and in a normal week might talk to her once or twice and maybe more should something come up. Sometimes I call her and other times she’ll call me, but pretty much at least once a week we’ll talk. She doesn’t live close enough to see more than a couple times a year but still, we keep up nicely on the phone.

I haven’t spoken to my mother since Christmas; she hasn’t called me and I haven’t called her. It seems we have a Mexican standoff.

Read more...

Frosty the Sled Driver?

I had a really good blog post all set for today. Fear, pain, and tears - all the makings of a good post. And then this happened. . .

On my way into work I noticed the driver in front of me had a funny shaped steering wheel so I sped to pass for a closer look. I was on the passenger side as I pulled alongside and saw an elderly gentleman riding shotgun. If I’m guessing, I’d say he was in his 70’s and sat slouched low in his seat with a fedora pulled low over his eyes and if he hadn’t glanced my way I would have said he was sleeping. The woman driving, though, she’s the one that caught my eye. Again, I’m guessing, but she was probably his wife - similar age, similar slouch in her posture with a Betty Crocker hair-do in place of the fedora. Both pretty normal, I’d say, but then there was the matter of the “assistant driver.”

At first glance I wondered if she simply had a decorated steering buddy attached to her wheel. You know, the kind of knob used by professional truck drivers to facilitate big sweeping turns while shifting and doing whatever else it is they do while driving. But this was no steering buddy; rather she gripped in her hand a 6” stuffed snowman. Freestanding and something she could take on the go, maybe pack in her purse, his body was a dingy grey suggesting a long-term tenure in the roll of assistant driver. On his head he even wore a green top hat with a little black hatband wrapping it’s base. Weird.

I wish I’d taken a picture.

Read more...

Spelling Bee

I was talking to my brother about nothing specific the other day while on my way to work. We like to catch up a few times a week and on this particular morning the topic turned to each other’s blogs. While I have just the one, it seems he starts a new one every other day making it difficult for me to keep up. He suggested I check out his newest effort and when I was having a hard time with the spelling of the address said, “Just do a search for it on Google. I’ve got both the number one and number two spot for my latest post.” When I asked what I should search for he answered, “Bear Grylls’ Sunglasses. Or you can search for Bear Grylls Oakleys, I have top spots for both of those.”

Totally unbelievable I thought, and then asked, “And how do I spell Grylls?”

“Dude, you don’t need to know how to spell anymore these days,” he offered the added, “ Google, man.”

While it’s true my spelling competence sits at about 5th grade level and I rely heavily on spell check; I like to think a basic grasp of spelling is important.

Next our conversation moved to Graham’s work and how the knife selling business was going. A few weeks ago I mentioned a co-worker was admiring my pocketknife and he offered to give her a discount. I asked if he’d seen any order come through in her name and he replied. “Just a minute, let me pull up our system and do a quick search.” After a minute or so of silence I wondered if we’d been disconnected before realizing the problem.

“You spell it P. A. M.”

Read more...

Snow in Dallas?

My trip to Dallas last week was supposed to be in-and-out, a quick out-and-back to see a few golf courses and visit a few accounts.

On Tuesday morning the weather prediction was for a slight chance of snow for Thursday morning, “This will most likely be a quick dusting and turn to rain by lunch,” the weatherman assured us. Tuesday was partly sunny with a high of 39º. The average for this time of year in Dallas is 59º so while the day was cold, it was dry leaving me inclined to believe the weatherman.

On Wednesday morning the forecast changed to include the likelihood of snow well into the afternoon on Thursday but nothing to really worry about. I toured a few courses while wondering about my Thursday afternoon departure. Wednesday night the weatherman suggested it might begin snowing a bit earlier and should be considered cause for concern. “It’s likely that we’ll begin getting snow around 3:00 am which may last till late into the day,” he said. “We may get a good inch or two which could turn to ice Thursday night,” he added.

By Thursday morning there was at least 3 inches on the ground. It was at this point I knew things were not going my way.

My flight was intended to depart DFW at 4:20 pm but things did not look promising. My airline had already cancelled 150+ flights by this point. We pulled back from the gate around 5:00 then taxied for 2 1/2 hours waiting in the line to be de-iced. At the second in line position our pilot came on with an update, “Well folks we’ve finally made it to the front of the line. We’re next up to be de-iced but I have some bad news. I just hit my 14 hour FAA regulated maximum so we’re going back to the gate.” We taxied 30 minutes to get back to the gate followed by another half hour waiting to deplane. Another hour waiting in line while the airline searched for a fresh replacement crew before telling us the flight was cancelled.

By this time the hotels were full and the roads solid ice. Dallas got 14 1/2 inches of snow breaking a record set in 1914.

I spent the night in the airport and at 2:00 am while wandering around the terminal decided weathermen are a joke.

Read more...

Blowing Minds On The Links

I’ve been traveling this week leaving me with little time to post. Yesterday I spent the day going from golf course to golf course visiting with club pros and various buyers about their likes and dislikes in the apparel market. While those who enjoy the sport might find this to be more like a vacation, for me it’s one of the most boring parts of my job. I’m in Dallas Texas and yesterday spent time at both Colonial Country Club and Shady Oaks Country Club, which if you’re a golfer means something. The fact that Ben Hogan considered Shady Oaks his home club and won numerous times at Colonial would also carry meaning. But for me, these facts hold little interest and when they ask if I’m interested in playing a round, “On the house” I turn them down.

“You did what?” my younger brother asks then laughs. “Bandon Dunes asked if you wanted to play and you turned them down? Ha, Ha, they’ve NEVER heard that before. You must blow their minds.”

“Yeah, you might be right,” I guessed then added, “And I’m sure Torrey Pines, Rhode Island Country Club and Westchester Country Club haven’t heard that either.”

Yesterday I added a few more blown minds to my list.

Read more...

Protect the Target

In sports like Soccer and Basketball it’s not uncommon to see a player assume a defensive position, arms down, hands cupped together below the waist in an effort to provide some additional protection of “things”. This is a protective move reserved for the male players of these sports, naturally.

The other day I ran into Target and after getting what I needed, stepped into the bathroom. In this particular Target the men’s room is located at the front of the store to the right of the main entrance. It’s situated around the corner at the end of a narrow hallway. As I came around the corner on my way out I nearly ran into a woman, apparently on her way in. She had medium length dirty blond hair pulled back into a braid and wore an oversized red Target vest. She also had on extra acid washed jeans cut from the 90’s with a high waist, baggy through the hip and thigh then tapered tight around the ankles.

I must have startled her and was shocked when I noticed she pulled into the two-handed protective stance reserved for soccer and sometimes basketball. As I walked away, though, I became troubled. What exactly was this woman expecting me to do? And why did this move come so naturally?

Read more...

Who's the pig now?

A few months ago I wrote about a contest I participated in during my college years. I was a freshman at the time, yet still, to this day, I don’t completely see what was so bad about going a few weeks without washing my hair. “I still showered every day,” I explained to Linda when first describing the contest. “I’m not even going to respond to that,” is what I think her response was.

A week ago I was talking with my brother Graham and the topic of cars came up. For some reason or another he was describing the interior of his car, leaving me speechless in the process. “I mean seriously,” he said, “I’m the only one who ever drives it so why clean it.”

“Umm,” and before I could put actual words together he continued.

“I haven’t touched the inside of this baby in a good 6 months. And that includes cleaning any of the garbage out of it.” Graham spends a good portion of his job on the road and eats lunch from drive-through restaurants. I told him I couldn’t imagine what the back seat looks like and he responded, “Yeah and you should see what’s puddled in my coin tray. Whatever it is, it’s congealed.”

When Graham got married each sibling was asked to give a gift along with a reason or short story explaining the nature of the gift. I gave his wife a horse shovel explaining that when Graham’s side of the room became piled so high she couldn’t find the bed, she could break out the shovel and go to town. She was young and still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship but I saw a look of terror flash in her eyes. I can’t imagine what she thinks of his car.

Read more...

J.D. Salinger

By most standards I’d be considered a pretty avid reader. On average I read a book about every two weeks or so with maybe a few weeks a year where I don’t read much at all. This, usually, because I can’t find anything that intrigues me. Compared to Linda, though, I’m a lightweight. She can burn through two books in a good weekend. My brother Trevor fits into this category as well.

Even as a young teen I read a fair amount. I come from a family of readers. It wasn’t until high school, though, that I remember really being significantly impacted by any one book. Caught of guard you might say which, I did, along with, “I’ve never read a book with the “F” word in it.” I was a freshman in high school at the time and had never been assigned to read a book I actually enjoyed prior to ‘The Catcher in The Rye.’ It was a real eye opener. I went on to read pretty much everything Salinger wrote, finding some of his works just as excellent and others just good. I don’t recall reading anything from him that I didn’t enjoy.

Later, while Linda and I were living in New York City and before we had any children, I decided to read the book again. You know, see if I could re-capture the same magic from the first time. That was about 14 years ago and it was still just as excellent.

Yesterday J.D. Salinger passed away which reminded me of that first time I read about Holden Caulfield.

What do you remember about the first time you read one of his magnificent works?

Read more...

Blacklisted

Yesterday Linda asked me to drop by Costco to pick up some plastic wrap. We like the kind they carry because it comes in a 3,000-foot roll and tends to cling better than some of the other brands we’ve tested. While there I decided to have a look around and shortly found myself in the tool aisle after a quick perusal of the book table. It was here, in the tool aisle where I recognized an older gentleman dressed in slacks and a pair of nice loafers. I had seen him on my way into the store and it seems he, like me, had been browsing a few different sections of Costco before arriving in front of the tools.

While I looked at the air compressors he looked at a set of screwdrivers, a set that claimed, “Over 150 different parts.” I’ve looked at this same set before but decided against so many bits and pieces. This man’s hair was a chalky grey and was parted severely down the side creating a very straight line of hair across his forehead. Later I would remember thinking he reminded me of the kind of men I’d seen while traveling to Germany for business but at the moment I was distracted by the most warbly fart I’ve ever heard, which, was produced without breaking stride. By this point we were both moving again, me behind him - and closing.

My wife Linda isn’t a fan of the word ‘moist’ and in fact has compiled quite a list of words she wishes had never been invented. At times, though, one of these blacklisted words fits perfectly and must be used. This was one of those times, I thought to myself, as I walked into a moist cloud of such nastiness that it literally brought tears to my eyes.

Read more...

Men, Tools, and Addictions

A couple months ago my friend Jeff and I were having this conversation when the topic of knife sharpeners came up. It seemed we’d both found the task of keeping a knife sharp untenable and spent a few minutes comparing notes. He has far more experience than I do, even complaining at one point he maintained a bone yard of ineffective knife sharpeners crowding the back of some closet. I only have three sharpeners none of which work very well. The conversation took a turn though and I forgot about my interest in sharp kitchen knives.

This past Sunday I threw a few hot dogs on the grill then began slicing up a dill pickle. Gretchen and I prefer ours with a couple slices of pickle, she with catsup and me with both catsup and spicy mustard. And I should say “attempted” to slice up a dill pickle because my knife was so dull it simply squashed it to the point of splitting rather than actually slicing. I tried a second knife with the same result and ended up finishing the job with a large bread knife which, did the trick but left me frustrated with the idea I owned the right tool for the job but said tool was in less than optimum shape.

I called Jeff.

He was at my house in 15 minutes flat bringing along the best of the bone yard and explaining, “This one will do the job but for me, it just takes too long to get there.” After about 10 minutes working on one of my knives I agreed and we spent the next few minutes talking knife sharpener shop. I showed him a few of my woodworking tools, which I keep razor sharp and we agreed it was what we’d expect out of a good kitchen knife. “The problem is,” I explained, “that I have a really nice jig for sharpening hand plane blades and chisels but it won’t work for a knife.” This led us to the internet where I showed him what most would consider the penultimate of tool sharpeners and happens to offer a knife sharpening attachment. This is a sharpener that also carries a price to match.

A couple of hours later I got an email from my friend Jeff explaining he was doing everything in his power to avoid what he termed, “A visa event.”

I responded with a video link and second review. Just to push him over the edge.

Read more...

He's Baaaack

On Sunday after church when Johnson grabbed my arm and said, “Hold on a minute young man,” then finished a conversation he’d begun earlier with some other unsuspecting bystander; I thought he was going to yell at me for last week’s blog post about his penchant for women’s perfume. Ordinarily I’m not afraid of adult males over the age of 70 but frankly, Johnson scares me. Maybe it’s the way his eyes look oversized and fish-like behind his 1/4” thick glasses or the way he quivers just before he shouts at me. Or maybe the way he clinches my arm just below the elbow every time he speaks to me. Either way, I’ve been avoiding him.

“I have something I want to talk t o you about,” he said and then he let me sweat for a second.

“OK.”

“I bought two new chairs and I have the old ones in the garage. They’re armchairs and they’re nice.” The implication was clear, ‘Yes, they’re old to me and I’ve replaced them with a much nicer set, but as far as you’re concerned, they’re better than anything you’ll find elsewhere. And don’t question me on that.’ He continued, “Why don’t you come by the house and take a look at them? They’d be perfect for a couple of your girls.”

Until a couple of weeks ago, I wasn’t sure Johnson even knew who I was. I now wondered if he knew who my daughters were. Each is quite small for her age and people often comment with things like, “Wow that little girl is 11?” or “Your children are all so tiny.” I’m not sure what they expect, neither Linda nor I are big, yet still, they go on and on as though two parents standing on the smaller side of the human growth chart should have given birth to a pack of giants.

Size aside and regardless of the chairs real condition, what do four little girls need with a couple of used armchairs?

Read more...

See This? It Hurts.

As a kid, maybe when I was six, I jumped off the stage at our church and sprained my ankle. It was in the evening, as I remember it, following our usual church services. My parents were visiting with friends in the lobby when the news arrived and their response was something I became quite used to hearing, “I’m sure you’re fine,” they said. My father is a doctor and after a closer examination of my swollen ankle added, “If you don’t slow down you’re going to really pay for it later, when you’re older.”

The weekend before beginning the fourth grade I shattered my upper jaw, broke my nose, and nearly lost my upper four front teeth. This particular injury introduced me to casts for teeth, which I wore for four months. It was putty colored and closely resembled the color of juicy fruit gum. For kicks I’d flash my toothy cast in class then wait for my teacher’s reprimand, “No gum chewing, Christian. Spit it out.” What I didn’t have to wait for was parents and the one about slowing down or paying for it later.

At twelve I broke my little toe and at fifteen I cracked my sternum; each bringing the same response, “You’ll be fine but you’d better slow down or you’re gonna pay.” When I was eighteen I broke my left foot while skateboarding. I cracked a bone my father the doctor referred to as the ‘cuboid’, which is cube shaped and apparently takes a lot to break. Then we consulted with a surgeon about putting a pin in place where I heard him say, “I can fix this but you’re gonna feel it later.”

This wasn’t the last bone I broke, in fact things got much worse in the injury department long before they improved. Each time, though, I effectively ignored the warning and continued merrily along.

Last night as I got up from the couch I let out a little whimper. When Linda asked if I was OK I responded that my entire body always hurts. “I mean what’s wrong with me?” I asked. “My hip hurts so bad I’ve been limping for 3 weeks. My left foot aches nearly constantly. I wake up in the night with so much pain in my shoulder and wrists I can’t go back to sleep.” And then I added, “What did I ever do to deserve this kind of constant pain?”

Hmmmm.

Read more...

Roses Are Red. . .

“You’re wrong,” one of the older men in my church said to me. And then he added, “You don’t know what you’re talking about either,” just in case he’d left any room for doubt with his first statement. I’d been attending this particular congregation for over 4 years when this occurred, yet this was our first conversation. He’s a tall man in his 80’s and I’ll call him Johnson. I see him from time to time driving around town but on Sundays he wears a brown suit along with coke bottle glasses trapped in oversized squarish frames. His shoes appear large for his frame and are slightly squared off at the ends reminding me of two loaves of bread.

We haven’t spoken since. He kind of scares me.

This past Sunday, though Johnson’s wife arrived late and sat in front of us. I wondered if maybe he was sick until a few minutes later he arrived. Even before he sat down I could smell him. This was not the smell of strong body odor nor the distinct scent of cologne rather it was the unmistakable smell of rose scented perfume, which is the kind I remember my grandma wearing only not so heavily. My daughter Margaret sitting at the far end of the pew leaned forward asking, “What’s that smell?” I pointed in front of me and she mimed, “Johnson’s wife?” then giggled when I clarified.

I’m not exactly sure what happened Sunday morning but like to think Johnson decided to brighten his grouchy personality with a bit of roses and spice and everything nice.

Read more...

Nail Biter

In college and even before that, I bit my nails. I’ve always been a nail biter. I prefer nipping at the corner of the nail then tearing the unwanted portion off rather than chewing them down to the quick. It just seems cleaner.

When I first met Linda and we were becoming friends, she noticed my habit and mentioned, “Um, you bite your nails.” It wasn’t the statement itself that conveyed her feelings but the body language that accompanied the moment, which suggested, “You’re gross.” As I remember it, she followed things up with the word “nasty.”

Because I liked her I stopped. Then, after she fell for me, I picked back up where I’d left off.

The other evening while watching a bit of TV, Linda looked over and said, “You know they make these things called nail clippers.”

Maybe I should consider stopping again, I still like Linda after all.

Read more...

Triple Threat

Yesterday Linda asked me to pick up some stamps at Costco. I wasn’t aware the Costco sold stamps but she assured me, “They sell a big package of those new forever stamps. And they’re the ones on strips rather than the roll,” she added.

It’s always odd waiting in the checkout line in Costco when you don’t have anything to put down on the big black conveyor belt. Most tend to have huge cartloads which makes those with one or two items stand out. Take the elderly couple behind me for example. They had a cart brimming with cuts of beef, canned vegetables, and the largest box of Depends I’ve ever seen. Noticing it made me a bit uncomfortable for them, but they seemed fine and focused their energy on pushing me forward so they could begin unloading their cart. Still, I directed my eyes forward out of respect for the elderly.

In front of me was a pudgy woman with a thick black braid that hung halfway down her back. She wore an acid washed denim jacket and a big pink bow tied at the end of the braid. I wondered if so much hair felt heavy, then noticed she had only two items on the belt, which made me completely forget her hair noose. Costco tends to sell things in value packs of two. This woman’s items consisted of a double pack of latex self-exam gloves and a double pack of aspirin. The packaging on the gloves read, “Now with textured finger tips!” Worried my mind would wander to places nobody should go; I looked to the man in front of her.

He was an odd looking Hispanic man with a sour face. Standing not much above four feet he was nearly as big around and teetered on top of spindly legs. His purchase was a single double pack item. I leaned forward just a bit to get a closer look and what I came away with was a real eye opener. A two pack of stool softener! I watched as he paid then went straight to the food counter and asked for a cup of water, which, at least might have explained the sour face.

Read more...

Tomorrow's Tomorrow and Beyond

I took a fairly long Christmas vacation this year making my return to work all that more difficult. I’m not generally know for tidy living so when things got hectic around the office leading up to my break my design space went way beyond slightly messy. I spent the morning yesterday cleaning and rearranging then took it a step further and cleaned up Ashmarlin.

You’ll notice I updated the logo and added a few features. First, down on your left I added a follower section. It’s pretty easy to sign up and follow and while I don’t think there is a maximum number of followers you may want to sign up soon. Then, on the right, I added a link button. This is for those really dedicated Ashmarlin readers who want to put a link on their own blog or website. It’s easy, just copy the code below the Ashmarlin button and paste it into an HTML page element on your blog or site.

Now, when it comes to the New Year, 2010, I feel like things are looking up. Like there’s a lot to look forward to. Around home, we’ve been discussing whether we’ll call it two thousand ten or twenty ten. I’m not sure about you but we’re leaning toward two thousand ten. We’ve also heard a couple other options, which we’re for sure not going to use. The other day I got a voice mail asking for some calendar info for twenty thousand and ten (20,010)? And then yesterday, while discussing the topic in class, one of Gretchen’s teachers actually threw out, “I personally like two hundred thousand ten rather than twenty ten.” Really? 200,010? You’re teaching the children of tomorrow and apparently hoping to teach the children of like, tomorrow’s, tomorrow’s, infinity tomorrow.

So while we’re all waiting for the 198,000 some odd years or so, take a minute and sign up to follow Ashmarlin. Then pass it on to a few friends, which is also easy, just click the little envelope at the bottom of any post and send away.

Read more...

Christmas is over, now what?

I tend to make huge plans for Christmas break. Small jobs and big projects make my list of hopes for the holidays. And then the vacation arrives and one thing leads to another and I find it over while still holding a long, unfinished list.

Two weeks ago the break started off great until it was interrupted by Gretchen screaming, “Get out of here. I’m working on Christmas presents.” She wasn’t shouting at me, rather one of her sisters, and who could blame her? She comes from an illustrious line of big project planners. We’re starters though, and not necessarily the best finishers. Take me, for example, I have at least 27 projects in various stages of completion as we speak, which is something that tends to drive Linda crazy. This is nothing though; my mother is probably juggling twice that number piled in her bedroom alone.

When I was younger we were encouraged to put our projects to some sort of good then offer them as gifts for Christmas. “Gifts are more meaningful when we make them at home,” my mother would say then disappear behind closed doors for a day or so. As procrastinators, though, it was our habit to wait till the Christmas vacation began before starting, and then worked furiously to finish. Boundaries would be set up and lines drawn then protected with our lives. The secret business of Christmas gift making was all that mattered come December 20th or so.

We tended to aim high figuring that when it came to making things it was better to take on more rather than less. Then, come Christmas morning, we offered these gifts in various stages of completion. “Thanks for this partially finished robe,” one might say as easily as, “I’m not sure what this is but I’m sure I’ll love it when it’s finished.” Back then it was understood that value was placed in the effort and not the completion of a gift. It also went without saying that anything not completed by Christmas ever would be.

I’ve tried not to pass this particular habit on to my family and am happy to say I finished all my Christmas projects this year. I do, however, have a bed I’ve been making for Linda and I that’s 75% finished.

Read more...