Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stories. Show all posts

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Saturdays Are For Stories

A child's logic is an amazing thing.

It was a long day. I was tired, ready to be home with my precious quartet of ladies. I walked into the house, gave hugs, kisses as I numbly listened to the ramblings of three little ladies speaking simultaneously. Into the bedroom I walked to change in a comfortable outfit.

That is when I saw it. I stopped; the talking continued. The shadows from the setting sun concealed it a bit on the soft lavender paint behind it, but it was undeniably there - right above our headboard. Someone had been writing on my wall. All three girls stopped speaking, sensing something had just changed.

Me: Who wrote on the wall?

Ladies: Not me.

Me: Remember to not lie.

Charis (My oldest): I did.

Me: Why did you do that? You're the oldest and know better.

Charis: Well I didn’t want you to get mad at me for going into the playroom to get a piece of paper.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Saturdays are for Stories

Valentine’s Day Love Letter

February 14, 2009

To my dearest lovely Lady,

It may take a while for you to remember who I am, but let me reintroduce myself. I’m the guy who sleeps next to you. Just close your eyes and think of the peculiar smells that fragrance your life at odd hours of the day. Do you remember me now? Good.

Well it is Valentine’s Day and I’m required to tell you how much I love you. This is an easy task for me but not sure you will appreciate it. After all, I was showing you my love when I hid in your yard and watched you at night. I thought you would appreciate having your own private bodyguard watching over you while you sleep. That restraining order was an odd way to show your gratitude.

I’m so glad we got passed that mix-up when you gave me another chance. What choice did you have? Car broke down in the middle of the night with the nearest town thirty miles away. Love had us in its sights. How else can you explain our chance encounter despite the restraining order. I can still hear the first friendly words you spoke to me as if it were today. “I’m out of gas.” Just my luck! I quickly grabbed a quart of gasoline from my trunk and put it in your tank. I still can’t believe that gas doesn’t really come in a quart. Those companies should make their labels glow in the dark for such an occasion. Come on – they are both petroleum products. Count it a lesson learned – cars don’t run on oil.

Just like everyone else we’ve had our ups and downs, our highs and lows, our blacks and whites and our own fist fights (wink, wink). Remember the first meal I ever cooked for you? It was Valentine’s Day. We were out for a…sniff…wonderful day of shopping. First we stopped by the grocery store and picked up the pork tenderloin, as well as a few other choice items. Then we did what you wanted – went to the mall. It was my honor to spend such a lovely 80 degree, sun shining, birds singing, flowers blooming, butterflies fluttering, children running and laughing, sounds of life exploding all around us, not a cloud in the sky February day with you indoors…in tight spaces….with an over capacity crowd…who, no doubt, don’t wash their hands after using a public restroom. Yup, I was honored as if it was a once in a lifetime event – and believe me – It was a once in a lifetime event. I still feel the same sense of joy (panic) whenever we drive by that glorious (dreadful) site. I’m so glad we have clear channels of communication. On a side note: I’m still embarrassed over the whole lost and found fiasco. Who knew you had to be the kid’s parent in order to claim them.

After a full day’s events we went back to my place where I cooked you dinner. My nostrils are still filled with the delightful sickly sweet smell of our undercooked pork. You would think they would put a warning label on pork not to leave it in your car trunk all day. I mean, really, don’t tell me you knew, like its some unspoken rule everyone knows. You can’t know common sense until someone tells you. I do feel badly even though I know no one is to blame here. The bright side is your noxiousness at the mere mention of pork has made our shopping and weekly menu easier to make. How simple things are if you don’t have to worry about pork. Another benefit is now we’re kosher. L'chayim!

The good thing is while you were in the hospital I remodeled the house. What doesn’t tell your lady you love her like fixin’ up the ol’ castle? You would laugh now if you were there. It was a blaze of glory. I still get chills thinking about it – or maybe its the electricity searing through my body. Again, you would think they put some kind of label on positive and negative wires warning against the dangers of bringing them in contact. It seems obvious now, but you weren’t there. All those wires in the wall were a mess. It just made sense to braid them. Well, you did get a new house from it.

Yeah (deep sigh) – that was how I ended up in the hospital bed next to you. That was a great Valentine’s Day, our first, so many years ago now. For Valentine’s Day this year I’ve decided to show you my love by doing absolutely nothing – and I know you’ll love me for it.

Love,

The Stud of a Man in Your Life

Saturday, January 31, 2009

Saturdays are for Stories

Man’s Bane

What was Paul’s thorn in the flesh? Despite the fact that there are too many theories tucked away in obscurity, I have discovered the answer. Actually, I’ve always known the answer, just as every man actually knows the answer. You see – Paul’s thorn in the flesh is the bane of every man. By The Man Code of Ethics we are sworn to secrecy. What can I say – you are born into the club. By this code we are bound to ensure that our secret is to never get out lest we, like Samson, are conquered by a mere she-devil. All these interesting theories about the bane of man are merely defensive tactics, not of Shock and Awe, but of Stop-n-Gawk. It is mildly humoring to discover what position women take on this subject. The more successful Stop-n-Gawk tactics include women, money, toys, cars, tools, books, fine cigars, red meat, cognac, and gardening. Please note that every one of these theories is WRONG!

Being a fine, upstanding gentleman I am going to out all the other men in the world by exposing our bane here. Please note: within 24 hours a smear campaign against me will hit the airwaves. This way no one will believe my “silly claims” and man’s secret will still be safe. Of course, the media’s lies will all be nonsense driven by chauvinism. Well then, you are reading at your own peril for “they” may run a smear campaign against you too.

Think you know man’s bane? Here’s a true story – see if you can’t find it. A few weeks ago, on a Friday, I allegedly was trying to go home after a long work week. Going through the customary routine of gathering my personal property, locking cabinets and closing computer systems I gave my enthusiastic goodbyes as I embarked into the night. Coming to my car, I tossed all my belongings into the back seat while climbing into the driver’s seat. Searching my pockets I looked for my keys. I went from one pocket to the next to discover no keys. Getting out of the car, I stood and did the standard patting down of all pockets. Then I continued the pat down checking pant legs (you never know). From there I did a thorough check of the car. Still, no keys. I rechecked my steps throughout the work day at least three times. This search took over thirty minutes. It didn’t help that we actually had plans that night and now were running late. I finally had surrendered to the fact that I had lost my keys. Just as I was about to call Rachelle to pick me up I checked my pockets one more time – and guess what, that’s right – there they were. I had to have shoved my fists in my pocket fifteen to twenty times as I diligently searched for the keys (SIGH).

This would have been a happy, cuddly story for everyone if this was the end, but sadly, it is not. The next morning I went out to do some work on both our cars. After a time, I needed to make a quick trip to the Auto Store. To my chagrin – and the smiling faces of women everywhere – I could not find my keys. I just had them. I just finished unlocking both vehicles. Where could they have gone! Another torrid inspection over thirty minutes topped off with screaming and kicking but still no keys. This time I was sure the only place they could possibly be was my tool bag. I looked through it at least three times, but no keys. I took each tool out until the bag was empty, but no keys. Finally from pure exhaustion combined with frustration I forfeited to my keys. They won and I lost. Sadly, I couldn’t even find a white flag to waive in surrender.

The keys remained incognito the rest of the weekend. Finally, on Sunday night, I decided to give that tool bag one last look. Pulling the zipper and prying the edges open, I peered into the gloom of the bag to see the sparkling beauty of the jagged edges of my keys glisten in the florescent, artificial light shining from above. There were angels singing “Hallelujah” in the background.

Now, you may hear this story and think that man’s bane is his inability to see what is right in front of his face, but you would be wrong. You might read this story and think our bane is impatience, but again you would be wrong. You see – man’s bane is a living being who thinks and deceives and gets its kicks by torturing us. In a very real sense, it has declared war on us men. If you missed that then you missed our bane. Man’s bane is…..keys! That’s right, from the days of Paul up to our own our bane has always been the key. Keys are not the lifeless piece of metal they appear to be to the unassuming. The evidence is in every story every told by a man about lost keys. The keys really were not there just a minute ago. Those keys got up and moved to an undetectable high vantage point and watch us frustrate ourselves for their own pleasure. Then just as we succumb to despair they return to where we actually left them. That way not only have we succumbed to despair, but now we look stupid too.

My message to keys everywhere – I’m onto you and now others know too!

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Saturdays are for Stories

The Sneak

People speak of “the terrible twos.” What about “sneaky seconds.” Our youngest, Rebekah, accomplished these two feats within the last week.

The first setting has Rachelle exercising at 6:00 a.m. Out comes an invader, tip toeing very quietly and moving in slow motion. She tip-toes along the wall, slowly making her way to the recliner directly behind Rachelle. She avoids making eye contact so as to ensure that Rachelle will not see her. Slowly, diligently, she climbs quietly into the recliner and remains motionless for a few minutes. Then, determining that she has not been detected she slowly inches towards the table and delicately lifts up a bag of chips off the table so as not to make a “crinkle.” Eyeing her mother, she unclips the bag and uncoils its lip. She then tears into the chips with cackles of delights with an enthusiasm not seen since the Tasmanian devil. When she sees her mother looking at her she says, “Mommy, you got some chipses?”

The second setting is a few hours after the children have been tucked sweetly in bed. Songs have been sung, stories have been read and prayers have been prayed. Teeth are sparkling, bladders are empty, animals are sweetly hugged and the moon has been told goodnight. As I place down a book I’m reading, I hear a very slight “cccrreeaakkk.” “What’s that?” “I don’t know.” So I get up to investigate. As I come around the corner I see the girls’ bedroom door come to a close. Pushing open the door there is Rebekah, on tip-toes, pulling her wagon of legos into the room with a wide grin on her face. These are stories of the sneak. Her legend grows with each passing day.

Finally, today is my mother’s birthday. While I desire her to have a very happy birthday, my first consideration must be of her safety, as well as for the rest of those who inhabit London. So, mother – please forgo the birthday cake! Or else tomorrow’s headlines will read….


American Woman attempts to celebrate Birthday in London unsuccessfully.