Thanksgiving Surprise

So our favorite Thanksgiving story is the first year we spent in Arizona. Our son was 3 that year. We had everything ready and on the kitchen table except the turkey. When I pulled it from the oven, and set it upon the center of the table, the entire table collapsed to the floor.

It turns out that our 3-year-old son had,, at some point previously, raided my tookit and had carefully removed all the screws holding the table legs on. When he did this, we never found out, but it did not affect normal use of the table. Only when the 20-lp bird hit the top did it finally give up the ghost.

Needless to say, we were all a bit speechless.

Most of the dinner was salvageable, except for a few spatters, and no one was injured. Fortunately, he saved the screws.

The Most Popular Names of 2089

I just got back.  The most popular names of 2089 are:

Velma
Shaggy
Daphne
Fred.

This is due to the resurgence in popularity of the kids' cartoon Scooby Doo. Sociologist attribute three factors:

1. The group marriage arrangement of the characters, while never acknowledged in the 20th Century, closely mirrors the more vanilla contracts of the late 21st.

2. Talking dogs genetically engineered become popular pets, and they're every bit as hilarious as you'd think (especially if you're high), but mostly

3. The slang words made up for the show (Zoinks, Jinkies, et. al) coincidentally all have sexual meanings by 2089 and the dialogue has spawned several drinking games.

Disney managed to turn this into a trend, since they already had rights to most childrens' entertainment, by re-streaming such shows as Rugrats, Super-Friends, and He-Man. Fox made an abortive attempt to cash in and announced that they would be activating the "resurrection clause" of all the voice actors from "The Simpsons," but immediately upon her return to life Nancy Cartwright reportedly said "Zoink THAT," and drank a vial of holy water, returning to dust (and hopefully a torment-free afterlife).

Don't Thank Me. No, Really.

When I entered the Army in 1983, I did so out of necessity. I had a young wife, an infant son, and bills to pay when I lost my job (the official reason was, I kid you not, my "clothes looked rumpled") and there were no jobs to be had in Omaha under the Reagan economy. So, like many at the time, I entered the service for the basest and most selfish of reasons: to survive. It was just a job.

But I've always had a strong sense of ethics, and this job came with an oath. I don't make promises unless I understand what it is I'm promising to do: to defend the Constitution, and to obey the legal orders of my superiors . (1 the word "legal" isn't there but implied when it invokes the UCMJ) (2 When you're a buck private, "superiors" means anything that moves").

And there's no time limit on that oath. Let that sink in for a minute there.

Later on, during boot camp, I learned that following that oath could get me killed. You have to disobey unlawful orders. It's a requirement. Oh, they teach you one little trick (ask for clarification. "Sir, are you ordering me to execute the prisoners?") but chances are that Sir damn well knows what he's asking for.

Odds of this coming up are, of course, minimal. I only relate it to make a point.

I was a chairborne ranger. A knob-twister. My first year of service, all PT tests were written. My courage, fortitude, resolve - all merely hypothetical questions. Hell, I never even threw a grenade and yet somehow passed basic, so you can see how seriously everyone was taking all this at the time.

I'm trying to say, expression of thanks for my service cause extremely mixed emotions. It's nice, and I don't want to be rude. But prior to Facebook, no one ever thanked me for service to my country and I was fine with that. I don't even think I deserve thanks; as I said my motives were selfish and my resolve never put to the test. But there's that oath I made. I want to tell people that they are welcome for it, and at the same time I want to ask them if they understand exactly what it was I promised to defend.

Sometimes I wonder if even my fellow veterans understand it. Every time I hear someone complaining about a lack of God in government (after I finish asking "what lack of God?"), I wonder if they ever read the document they swore to defend. Every time I hear someone complaining about special rights for X minority, when all they want is the same rights as anyone else, I wonder if they really understand America. Every time I see a homeless veteran, I wonder what kind of meal those "thank yous" will buy.

Mixed emotions.

Not trying to be rude, or ungrateful. But there are people out there who did a lot more than I did, and who deserve more recognition than I do. Let's remember them.

Junebug

I don't believe that anyone in my immediate family gets along with nature.  The worst is my daughter, who freaks out over moths.  Yes, moths.

But I can't criticize.  When I was young (not yet in school young), my aunt nicknamed me Junebug.  This was because I could not (cannot) stand buzzing bugs.  So she (junior high age at the time) would chase me with junebugs.  The little brown-green beetles that don't really do much EXCEPT fly around an buzz.

Yeah.

These days my best defense against bugs is the vacuum cleaner.  I never even thought of that until a couple of years ago when I saw my daughter-in-law dispose of a wasp that way.  I don't consider myself stupid, but I do sometimes get trapped into certain ways of thinking.

Don't even ask how old I was when I finally got the "get down from a duck" joke.

When I got to college I got a new nickname.

Spider.

Myxing It Up

I have developed a myxoid cyst on my pinky finger. This is not a dangerous or a painful thing, it's actually quite common. Sometimes they go away on their own, sometimes they need to be lanced, and sometimes just pressure can be enough. In "olden time" they used to slam a Bible on your fingers to get rid of them. I think I'd never complain about a second one!



Too bad I didn't know about these decades ago. My wife, son, and I were out hiking when he fell and sprained his wrist. He got a huge bump on his wrist that lasted long after the sprain was healed. Like a lot of people, we didn't have insurance at the time, so couldn't readily get a doctor's opinion (not that I trust the doctors in that town, anyway, but that's a different story). So he lived with this bump for a while.



But it never left our minds. One day my wife was examining the bump, when she put a bit of pressure on it and it sort of popped, but internally. It was gone, it didn't hurt him, but the fear that she had done her son some permanent damage never left her mind.



Until I got a myxoid cyst on my finger. Finally the wrist bump is explained, and there was never a cause for alarm.



Nature is a wonderful thing, but it's much better having insurance, I think, if only for the peace of mind.

Books give you wings

Wings figure prominently in the book which started our tradition of Family Reading Night:  Black and Blue Magic, by Zylpha Keatley Snyder.   Snyder says she wrote the book at the request of her son.  "You always write depressing books about girls, why don't you write a happy book about a boy?"  And so she did.

We went on to read many books together, including the Harry Potter series.  My daughter was the one we were reading to, so she didn't take a turn reading.  When we finished a book, we'd get out the dancing flower, which plays a few bars from "In The Mood", and she would dance the Finished The Book Dance.

When our grandchildren visited recently, my wife, daughter, and myself took turns reading chapters from the first three Harry Potter books.  The dancing flower has long been lost to us (I think it's packed up in the basement), so we instituted a bedtime ritual "Dance Party".   The bedtime ritual with our grandchildren was lengthy by design, because they fight bedtime much more than our kids did.  First came the vitamins & teeth, then dance party (about a dozen songs that the kids dance to), then singing (about half a dozen or so kids songs), then the chapters.  Sometimes the reading was a bit more extensive than it had to be, but it was summertime so nobody cared much.  The upside was, the kids had plenty of warning that bedtime was coming,

We're already dusting off our young readers list for the next visit!

Healing Light

The grandkids are visiting us right now, so I have less time for games.  A couple days ago, my granddaughter (Ellie) got an owie, and it reminded me...

When my daughter was that age, when she was hurt, it seemed as if it was mostly a head bump.   I don't know much, but I do know how to check for concussion, so whenever she'd bump her head I got out my flashlight and made sure her pupils dilated properly.  By the time my examination was over, usually all pain was forgotten.

Soon, she started coming to me after every bump or scratch, asking for the "magic flashlight."  She insisted that I shine the light on whatever injury she'd just sustained.   Even long after she knew better, it remained a tradition.

I asked Ellie if she wanted me to shine a light on her owie, but she declined.

My bird story - and part of someone else's

I don't get on with birds. This started when I was in high school. My walk home took me near a very territorial bird's nest. My first warning was when I felt a THUMP on top of my head. The winged rat had strafed my head! This continued for an entire year. I told friends and family, none of which believed me, until I demonstrated. I never learned whether the bird moved to a different area the following year, because I changed my route home.

The funny thing is that I don't really dislike birds. I have cared for a few, but never long-term. Parrots make me nervous, mostly because I know how strong those hooked beaks are.

Once while on the way home from work I found an owl in the snow. I took it home and once it warmed up it seemed fine. The only thing I could get it to eat was a mouse that had been killed in a trap. Eventually I just let it go, and it flew swiftly & silently across the street, where it remained as long as we lived in that house. We know this because prior to that day, we never heard owl hoots, but after it was nightly.

And of course I chose my name from a raptor.

Introduction to a Totem

I have never considered myself a spiritual person. And, despite being a quarter Cherokee, I've never thought of myself as Native American. But this happened anyway, about 20 or so years ago.

I dreamed that I was in a mobile home, a small trailer really - those silver bullets you sometimes still see. There was a woman with me but I didn't know her. Suddenly the trailer was being slammed, hard enough to make it rock, the sides being dented by the impact. I knew, in the way you do in dreams, that the shell was being attacked by a huge grizzly bear, and that she would not take long to tear through the metal.

In the same way, I also knew that the bear was after me, and I could possibly save the stranger from harm by leaving the trailer. So that's what I did - if this sort of thing were to happen in real life I don't know if I'd have the courage for that!

But once I left the trailer, the bear calmed down, and sat with me, and started to speak. I don't remember anything else. I sure wish I did, because this was my vision quest. And that's how I found my totem, Bear. Or rather, that's how she chose me.

It could have been just a nightmare, but I don't usually remember dreams for years.

Hats

In college someone asked me why I never wore a hat. The question caught me flatfooted. I had no answer at the time.

I don't wear a hat all that often, mostly because I can't get them to stay on my head. One stiff breeze and off they go. I think that the average hat size is just a wee bit too small for me. I have a fedora that I sometimes wear to work when it's raining, but then I hang it on my monitor stand and as often as not I forget to wear it home.

Maybe I'd try harder to find a hat that fit, if I didn't have a full head of hair. I rarely cut it, mostly because I'd rather wear it long, but also because I never know from one play to the next what my character will be.

When I performed in 1776 a couple of years ago, I was cast as Stephen Hopkins, oldest member of Congress. I bleached my hair white. That looked very odd when it started to grow out. And it was a lot of trouble - next time I think I'll just wear a wig.