I'm Absolutely Full (From Gladly Eating All My Words)

There I was, minding my own business, being a goofball with the family (if you can believe it) when I flippantly called out, "That's it! I'll never write again!" 

Emily, Jake's girlfriend and the newest member of the blog reading community, blurts out, "You're going to eat those words." I could have thought: What did she mean by that? or, That's an interesting thing to say. or even, Does she have a relative who's in the publishing business who wants to offer me the standard "Rich and Famous" contract? Like I said, I could have thought any or all of those things, instead I probably thought: 'I wonder if pigs know that they are one of the few animals that can get sunburned?' or something equally ridiculous. 

By not thinking anything even close to logical I set myself up to be completely gob smacked! That is what happened! I'm not exactly sure where my gob is precisely, but I do know that it has been thoroughly and completely smacked! 

I'm not sure how long ago, but certainly before last August, I mentioned to Emily that I had written in a blog in the past. I was telling her a story and teased her with something like, "You'd know all this if you read my blog." She genuinely wanted to read it and I gave her the address. A few days later she told me that she enjoyed my little corner of the internet and that she liked my writing style. (10 points for Emilydor!) I enjoyed the compliment and moved on with my life.

Jump rapidly ahead to just before my birthday last month. Emily brought over a uniquely wrapped present and set it over in the slowly growing wrapped Christmas present staging area. This gift had all sorts of folds and pockets and a card with a little sprig of decoration tucked in and she showed me that it had my name on it written in very fancy writing. Nothing unusual. Emily is quite artistic. Moving on.

The night of my birthday we ate dinner, they sang to me (I'm not sure which song...in my head the family all perfectly performed a rendition of "The Lonely Goatherd" from the Sound of Music...but I may be mistaken), and then they brought me my presents. I noticed two things. My family has completely embraced and enabled my Dr Pepper addiction, and I am a clueless human being. After opening an unplanned and uncoordinated string of Dr Pepper related products Emily handed me her nicely wrapped gift. It was a parallelepiped which, of course, is a 6 faced polyhedron all of whose faces are parallelograms lying in pairs of parallel planes (in other words, a box)...but I digress. So, this box was about the size of a large book and I read the nice card while taking note that Jacob was setting his camera on a tripod. 

Confession time. I saw the size of her present and added that together with my many hints about how cool it would be to have one of those very fancy and highly professional knife sharpening systems they've been advertising online for a few months I thought I had guessed it. I'm not a snooper and I am perfectly happy being surprised, so I never went over and picked up the fancy gift to see if it weighed about what I thought a knife sharpener would weigh. Had I picked it up, heard little stainless steel bars clank together inside of a fairly lightweight box I would have spoiled the surprise! Little did I know that they do not make those knife sharpeners with Dr Pepper logos on them so it was never going to happen anyway. 

Jake started recording. I opened the box. I saw a familiar picture emblazoned on the cover of a very large book! A picture of the family! My Family! From my Facebook page! 

I know words. I like to think I can string them together into meaningful sentences. I try to be precise in my language and with my speaking or writing. I choose to use certain words because of the connotations associated with them and I choose not to say other words because they just don't have the correct feelings I'm going for. I have even been known to interpret others' miscommunications at times and create understanding where there was none. I'm not bragging, just explaining. I know words.

And then I saw the picture...read the title:

Do I  Really Live In This Sitcom? 

Volume 1, 

Jeff Garrett, 

An Autobiography

...slowly realized what the heck was going on...and I gathered all of my word-working skills together and started speaking as eloquently as I could:

"Wha...."  "Wha...."  "How...."  "Wha...."  "WHA....!"  "HUH!?!"  "WHAT? HOW?! THIS...! WHAT!"

It's not Shakespeare but it's all I could muster. I could have been knocked over by a slight breeze, I was so surprised and then I opened the very stylish cover....and I got a second shock! It turns out that Emily had not only gathered all of my ramblings into an edited collection, painted the art for the cover and designed the title typeface from distinctive sitcom shows' lettering, ordered it to be published into book form, but then she told a lot of the family so they could write thoughtful little notes to me about the book! Do you realize what that means!?! Everybody knew about it! THE FINKS! 

Nobody even gave me a clue that I should wear my gob protector. (You know, because it was about to be smacked) It was quite honestly one of the most humbling moments of my life as I realized what Emily had undertaken. She started this project in August and was able to complete it in enough time to have family sign it for me before she wrapped it! I would love to say that I was moved to tears because that is the most common question I get whenever I tell someone about the gift. Alas, I am not really a crier...to my eternal shame...but that is not a comment on how much I appreciate the gift.

So here we are. I am now a published author. Emily has told me that she was ready to order more for anyone who wants one. I'm not sure of all of the particulars but I think it will be in the $50 range since, apparently, I have written A LOT! I suppose if you'd like to have a physical representation of my little corner of the internet, you could let me know.

Pay attention and I will let you know who they choose to play me in the movie they make from my book...I'm thinking that Kurt Russell is a good choice. ;-)

Now, if you'll excuse me I have to go buy myself a knife sharpening kit...while drinking a Dr Pepper!

 Truly, Thank you again Emily, Unbelievably Awesome!

Late Bloomer?

I've got a serious question for everyone. 

Well, maybe not everyone. If I had to wait until the "everyone" responded the question would be moot. (yes, that's how you spell that. I looked it up.) Also, "serious" sounds very important and weighty and that's definitely not the vibe I'm going for. Vibe? Really Jeff...vibe? I don't think I've ever actually said the word vibe in my life before this. It's just not something I'd do. These 4 times notwithstanding. 

Let me start again. 

I've got a moderately weighty question that I'd like to ask a handful of people. Although, come to think of it, a handful of people might not be a large enough sample size. I mean if my parents and my sister chime in that would really sque, scew, scue, change the data. 

Third time's a charm! 

Well, possibly not if I say it that way. I'm a big movie buff. I almost said Take Three! but I wasn't sure enough of the people I wanted to answer this question would understand the reference since it may be an outdated way for movie companies to identify how many times they've tried to get the scene correct. I mean they probably don't have someone stand in front of the camera with that black and white board with the hinged paint-stick looking thing slapping down while they shout, "Take seventeen...Take 42...Take 153...." I'm sure it's all done on computers now. HEY! Did I mention that we got a new computer last night!? Yeah, I thought I'd come out and take it for a test drive to ask everyone a question....oh, oops.

Take Four!

Time for the really real question. I've got a birthday coming up and I would love to know people's opinions. How old do you have to be before it becomes really impressive to start something? For instance, Grandma Moses was in her 70's before she started painting. Nice. I'm pretty sure some other people started things later in life. Let me Google something really quick. Hang on.

OK, I'm back.

Apparently Ray Kroc  was 53 when he started McDonald's. Susan Boyle was 47 when she wowed the internet with her singing. Alan Rickman was 42 when he terrorized Nakatomi Tower. But honestly, I don't think I want to start a restaurant, subject anyone to my singing, or act like a terrorist. Besides, I am already older than all of these people were.

I want to be an author. Let me look up authors who are considered late bloomers. Here's one, J.K. Rowling, when she published Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone...um hmm. Ok, well crap. It says she was 32.

So much for that. New plan.

I'd like someone to put me in touch with David from My Lottery Dream Home from HGTV. If you are unfamiliar with the show, David takes lottery winners to the places that they've always wanted to live to make sure they get the perfect house of their dreams. Sylvia and I have been watching a lot of his shows recently and think it would be exciting to have him find us a home! Of course, before we contact him, it would probably be wise to have someone put me in touch with a winning lottery ticket. Another thing to add to my list. Great.

Right now the only houses we might be able to afford would be a run down fixer-upper in Arkansas...but that wouldn't be a problem as long as someone could put me in touch with Dave and Jenny Marrs, also from HGTV and a show called Fixer to Fabulous. They do a spectacular job fixing up older houses and making them into dream homes-minus the lottery pre-requisite. Come to think of it though, those home buyers do give Dave and Jenny a substantial budget in order to make those fixer uppers into fixed ups. I'm afraid the only way we could give them a budget is if they let me pay with my good looks. Honestly though, with that size of a budget I could maybe get Dave to wipe the dust off the front door knob while Jenny sprayed water on my glasses so I wouldn't notice that nothing had changed on the house. (and then Dave would sprinkle dust back onto the door knob)

I suppose that's not the best way to meet our new best friends, Dave and Jenny. Sylvia and I have already decided that they will love us when we have them fix our house up in the future. Nothing against Lottery David. He seems like a hoot! It's just that he is always jet setting around the country and we need a little more geographical stability in people who are considering vying for the position of best friends. As for our current best friends, no offense, but you haven't steered us toward any HGTV personalities...or winning lottery tickets...so let's work on that.

But I digress....

The other night I woke up with a book idea clearly defined in my head. I jumped out of bed, grabbed a notebook, and scribbled and scratched for three hours, and got the outline down. It'll take some time before I get all of it worked out but it's exciting nonetheless. Thanks for listening. Also, I think I may have asked this 'How old...' question before, but I'm getting so old that I've forgotten. Now, if you'll excuse me I need to let David, Dave and Jenny know that I'll be needing a writing room in our new house.

Shifts!!

I have mentioned before that I always have an imaginary audience in my brain whenever I sit down to write at the keyboard. It has been quite a while since I thought about it so last night I decided to take roll. I was a little surprised to find all of these people in my brain, and I am a little worried about how crowded it's getting up there.

I've made no secret that the main person I write for is Ray Orrock. The more seasoned locals know exactly who that is. The newly transplanted among us may have only heard of him or have no idea that he was a humor columnist for our local paper while I was growing up. After I finished school, and writing assignments where you could be told that your ideas were inferior if you didn't conform, I found my voice. Of course it's a written sort of voice since I am absolutely crippled by being an introvert, but it's still a voice. I wanted to be Mr. Orrock and make a living making observations and jotting them down for the public to read. I didn't imagine that anyone would care about my musings until a teacher wrote me a note in college. I took a liberty with an assignment and wrote about something that had happened to me and how it made me feel. I included a little note apologizing for not sticking strictly to what she asked, and telling her that if she read it to the class I would move out of the country. She wrote back that feelings were important and powerful things to write about and that I had done a wonderful job with my paper. She encouraged me to continue along this track. For this reason Mrs. Lynn Passek has a seat of honor next to Ray.

Additionally Dave Barry, another well known humorist and the only person I have ever written a fan letter to, stops by my cranial observatory from time to time. I have his simple response to my fan mail on the wall next to my side of the bed, next to Sylvia's picture. I'm not kidding, you can ask her. Seriously, go ahead, you're not going to make her think I am any more weird than she thought before. Imaginary Dave started coming to sit in when people started comparing my writing to his. I mostly invited him to stay because I brazenly stole a bit he does about fantastic names for his bands in high school. I just don't want people to get the idea that I thought of it all on my own. It's sort of a kleptomaniacal homage to this wonderful writer. Coincidentally, "Kleptomaniacal Homage" was the name of my band in high school!

Another person who is always present is my wife Sylvia. If I start to write something and think that she wouldn't like it, be disappointed by it, or consider it to be just too far over the edge...it comes right out. She always keeps me from getting into trouble, in writing and in life. I mentioned the other day on Facebook that my main goals in life were as follows: a) Find a very pretty girl who's got a smile that makes me melt. and b) try to get her to show it to me as often as possible! Having her shake her head and say that my mind just doesn't work the same way as other people's is just fine and dandy as long as she is smiling when she says it! It's almost as good as getting paid...almost. You people are welcome to start paying me to read this you know. I'll give you my address if you like.

Other people who happen to come by my noggin nook are in my family. Mostly they shout things like, "You can't tell THAT story!" or "Really? You should be embarrassed!" My mom keeps reminding me to wear clean underwear in case I get into an accident, but I think she wandered in from another room. There are friends, neighbors, and acquaintances who I write for but I can't always tell who they are since most of the time they are covering their faces with their hands, looking down, and shaking their heads.

My old Pastor Paul McKowen gets to sit in from time to time. He was a wonderful storyteller and he used to talk about how, in the middle of the sermon, he would hear coughs, sniffles, sneezes, and all sorts of fidgeting become silent whenever he would utter the words, "That reminds me of a story..." He was a brilliant man and I was always ready to hear one of his stories. There was one time when....well, maybe I should stay on track.

A recent visitor, and unwitting editor, is an education consultant who came to our school site for a number of years. Miss Julie, as my students called her, would guide students toward well-developed sentences. She would push my groups of 2nd graders to add 'finishers' to their sentences, (in my classroom)where(through guided practice)how(because they make sentences better)why(every time she came)when. She visits whenever I have a sentence that is just not working for some reason and I need to tweak it a bit.

Loads of others come walk around on mini tours depending on the subject I'm writing about. When I write about confusing government bureaucracy Abbott and Costello come by with their baseball uniforms on. When I need to write a silly sound or spell out a word that has no business being in a paper written in English, Jerry Lewis. When I want my writing to have an accent, Schwarzenegger. When I write about things that go bump in the night, Dean Koontz. And when I write about 14th century Euclidean geometry who stops by but none other than Carl Friedrich Gauss! I secretly hate when he walks around in my brain, he never remembers to wipe his feet!

Today I have a new person in the audience. It's a friend from church who was encouraging me to write a book last night. He seems to think it would be worthwhile for me to do it. Let's say that I did write a book and it got published. A lot of people would read it and then they'd start sending me letters about their favorite parts. Well I would be so grateful that I would have to invite them to the literary soiree at the Gray Matter Lounge. I'm not sure I could handle all of those people! I am having to have everyone come by in shifts as it is! No books for the foreseeable future.

Now if you'll excuse me I think I need to write something about Alice from the Brady Bunch. Gauss just tracked mud all across my brain pan.

Whirlpool!!

If I were to ask Google how many husbands have compared their wife's business to a dog's water bowl, I hope the answer would come back zero. I mean that's weird right? What kind of a oddball would look at a ceramic dish surrounded by dog slobber and think, "Hmmmm, that reminds me of something that my darling has been working on..." And if anyone did happen to see a comparison, they certainly wouldn't share what they were thinking, unless they maybe wanted to spend some time in the guest room in Fido's house. I mean Wacky right!?! I'm glad we agree.

So as I was pouring water into the dog's water dish I was reminded of my wife's business. What can I say, I'm a risk taker! I don't want to spend a lot of time on the comparison but I thought you might like to hear how I got the inspiration for what I am going to talk about. I also don't want to spend any time in the dog house so I'll pause for a moment to say to Sylvia, "I love you honey!"

Anyway, the water I poured in created a tiny little whirlpool and I suppose I had a dog dish sized epiphany. I was reminded of playing in the backyard in our Doughboy pool. In case that's a regional thing I'll tell you that my parents never called our above ground portable pool a 'swimming pool', they always called it the Doughboy. Friends would ask if we had a pool and we would answer, "Well, we have a Doughboy." In the interest of not offending anyone I would like to pause for a moment to say that the only similarity between our pool and our dog's water dish was that it was circular...well that and it was filled with water.

We splashed around. We hopped from one side to another. We held our breath for as long as we could. Unfortunately, due to size restrictions, there wasn't much else to do and it quickly became a place for us to just bob up and down...until someone said, "Whirlpool!" When one person in the pool started walking around the edge...and just kept going...there might be a little current in the water. When the other people joined in and everyone moved toward a common goal, well it got pretty exciting! I can remember numerous times when my mom would tell us to be careful as we got the water moving so fast that it started spilling out the edges of the pool. Our young experiment-driven minds would test different things. Was it best to all walk together side by side? Should we separate and each take a section? Could we make the slowest participant get swept off their feet by getting it going so fast? We had a lot of fun!

At first the easiest thing to do would be stand still. No movement. Just stay put. Easy isn't very much fun. We were willing to try something to see if we could add a little excitement. As with anything worthwhile there was a reward. There was a sense of accomplishment. There was reaching the goal. And there was the thrill of riding along on what you had achieved. As we all began the process we felt like we were walking in syrup. I mean nowadays there are whole exercise programs developed around the resistance that water gives you. Just trying to walk in water is tough! But when we kept at it, especially working with others, we found that the water soon started cooperating! After a relatively short amount of time it became apparent that what would have been the easiest thing to do at the beginning is now quite impossible! It became a new game then to see how much momentum we had built up to see if someone could stand still against the tide that we had created. None of us could! Occasionally one person would ride along and "rest" as the others kept working. As long as everyone didn't decide to stop at the same time, the flow would continue forever.

Now I would be remiss if I didn't mention my cousin Melvin. (not his real name) He was always a spoilsport when he was in the pool. While we were all trying to get the whirlpool moving along he would purposely go against the flow. When he wasn't trying to do that he would just find a place along the wall and hold on to see if he could stop us.

And this is what reminded me of my Sylvia's business. She started out by just trying to help herself be more healthy. Then the kids and I joined in and we all started to walk together. When we all started to see the benefit we started to let others in. Sylvia did not have the goal of starting a business. She definitely did have a goal of helping people! And as is the case with the pool when see that you are enjoying what you are doing, others want to join in! Without doing anything other than moving in the direction that she wanted to go, she has joined into a exciting current and even created a current of her own! It's so enjoyable to watch and see the good that she is doing while helping others. And like the pool, when she needed to take a step back for a month to care for her mother when she fell and broke a bone, the rest of her team kept moving along and she was able to ride the current while her main focus needed to be elsewhere.

It's truly been exciting to be a part of this whirlpool we're in and it all started with a kit of Young Living essential oils. She bought one for herself and started wading into the pool. She essentially said, "I am just going to stand here and splash around while I watch you all play." She started walking along using the kit and showing them to her friends. They decided to join her in the pool and walk alongside. Pretty soon she achieved ranks, got recognition, and started getting a paycheck. The current that she said she definitely did not want and looked scary from the outside turned out to be quite enjoyable! My hesitant wife began to start inviting people along for the ride. She sees people who these oils could help and tells them her story. She started all alone in her little Doughboy and now has over 500 friends helping her move this current along! The water is really moving and the blessings are overflowing!

I want to let you know that if you want to find out more about this and become blessed yourself, Sylvia would be happy to help you. Here is the link to Sylvia's Website for more information. All it takes is to step in and keep going along with the flow. There is, I assure you, always room for more.  The only way to not succeed is to hold onto the side while watching everyone else go by. Don't be like Melvin!

Now there is a tremendous amount more to the story and the analogy isn't a perfect fit, (mostly because we are doing the exact opposite of staying in one place going around in circles) but all it took was a single step. She got into the pool.

Come on in...the water's fine!

Buttectomy

I was going to title today's post "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" but I didn't think it had that wow factor! I was hoping that I was coining a term but I Googled the word buttectomy and there were loads of medical descriptions so that set me back down on my chair...gently. I know I am being a bit descriptive in my wording but I felt "Buttectomy" got right down to the seat of the matter. We are all adults here and I thought you would be ok without my explaining that I had an owie on my tushy but that's exactly what happened.

OK, I'm done. Just by writing today's post I risk alienating myself from my family as they already roll their eyes and walk the other direction whenever someone comes to tell me they think I am funny. I wish I got paid by the number of times someone in my immediate family said, "Don't tell him that! It only encourages him!" Actually, I wish I got paid period...but that's another story.

OK, now I'm really done. Here's what happened.

I have been walking around with (and sitting on) a problem for months. Yes, months. I am a guy...sue me. I had been in and out of the doctor for a few tests when I finally mentioned it to my doctor. See the hierarchy? Months to tell the doctor, my readers get to hear it the next day. The least indelicate way I can describe it is that my body tried to help me out by creating a shelf for my wallet to rest on. I didn't want a wallet shelf. I'm pretty sure I didn't need a wallet shelf. I didn't even ask for a wallet shelf for my birthday...but I got one. The trouble is when you are not designed for a wallet shelf and one is installed, it isn't the most comfortable thing in the world. Imagine the feeling of sitting on a wallet in your back pocket for a long time. Now imagine sitting on that wallet 24 hours a day! Even when you are standing up! The doc didn't like that description either...hello surgery!

Surgery is bad enough. To think of a scalpel is bad enough but the thought of needles is just unbearable. I was "lucky" enough to have the doctor announce, "We're taking care of that tomorrow!" so I didn't have to stew over it for a long time. Also, being a teacher I am still without a class for a week or so. (Some people are thinking that I am without class for simply writing this particular post...I'm gonna save that for another day.) The surgery department called me to let me know what I needed to do. I was secretly hoping for, "don't eat or drink after 10 PM" all I got was, "show up 15 minutes early" which meant one thing to me...I'm going to be awake. Why is the room spinning all of a sudden.

My lovely bride took me to the appointment and we got called into the operating room fairly quickly. Two things: I didn't have time to plot my escape, they let Sylvia come in too. While the nurses got me all settled in they took my blood pressure. It was elevated, to say the least. They had me do some deep breathing with my eyes closed and took it again. It was elevated still, but slightly less. When I explained that I knew I was about to get a shot they said they understood. Sylvia stood up for me, "No, he really doesn't like shots! Since he was little!" I told them the whole story of when I stepped in a bee hive and my brother and I were attacked mercilessly. I don't "do" bees. Then, years later a doctor about to give me stitches said, "Just a little bee sting" as he jammed a needle into my hand. So now those two things are linked. When the doctor came in to check me out now he said, "It'll just be like a really bad bee sting." Both the nurses shouted, "No!" He kept on, "Yeah, eventually it'll feel better but to get there it'll be like a really big bee sting." The nurse commented on how I changed color and started to sweat while I wondered why in the world they would install a rotating room in a hospital. I almost called it off. I would have but for two things; He said I would need to take care of it eventually while it hurt until I did, and I kinda wanted Sylvia to think I was something other than a big chicken. "Ok, let's do it."

The nurses went to work. I got to lay down while the one nurse said, "I'm going to put this on you since the doctor is going to use cauterization and you need to be grounded." "This" turned out to be a giant sticker on my other leg that was hooked up to wires. "Need to be grounded" means, if you don't have this you could be electrocuted like that Webber kid last year. Remember him? Ooh, the smell. The entire time I was thinking, "Crap, she just plastered that on my very hairy calf. I'm going to have fun getting that off! Now at least I'll know what it's like to have my leg waxed."

There I am in a very vulnerable position, looking very much like a little boy having a splinter taken out of his tushy, while grounded, and the doctor said, "This will be a little pinch." The nurses thankfully clued him in to stopping the 'bee sting' crap. I felt a little uncomfortable coldness and a lot of pressure but I was ok. I was thinking maybe that part of the body doesn't have too many nerve endings. Maybe I am getting tougher as I get older. Maybe the doctor is like an acupuncturist and he is really good at doing things gently for his more sensitive patients. A few seconds later I learned, maybe he was describing the sterilizing scrub that he did as a 'pinch' and when he got around to using the needle he said, "The pinch is over, this next thing is going to feel like some sort of radioactive otherworldly spear!" I, of course, didn't hear anything since I was shouting, "Dear Mother of God and all things holy! Son of a blue nosed gopher!" I'm not sure but I think I heard Sylvia snickering. (I'm so embarrassed.)

After a minute or so of stabbing me in different places to make sure the entire left side of my body was numb enough to be in a Tim Conway skit on the Carol Burnett show, he started removing my shelf. I could feel pushing and pulling and the occasional bit of pain but if I mentioned it I would have gotten the needle. He said, "I can give you more if you need." Yeah right, just back away from the needle Dr. DeSade. One nurse got me water since she thought I looked like I was going to lose it, the other said, "He's already cutting. It's not that bad right?" Little bit of advice dears, if one nurse is sure the patient is going to lose it even when he can't see what's going on, for obvious reasons, don't describe the operation to him. And then the shelf was gone. I couldn't tell, they told me. They asked if I wanted to see it or take a selfie. Ummmm, unless it's a little silver laser thing that shows me the secret bank account number so I can go and gather all my money and different passports out of the safety deposit box, I think I'll pass. As they were closing up one thought to ask Sylvia, "Oh, are you OK with all this?" She laughed, "Yes! I am fine! He would already be on the floor!"

I asked for the stitches to be in a lightning bolt pattern, he didn't seem to know how to do that with just four, so...it's a line. He told me to take it easy for a while and let the stitches heal. When I asked how long Sylvia was supposed to wait on my hand and foot he said, "Five years!" I am not even kidding about that! You can ask her! After the nurses felt that I had a color normally seen in humans back in my face, and they were able to unground me while leaving some of my calf hair, they had me slowly slide off the table. As I hobbled out the door I asked if I wasn't supposed to get a sticker or a lollipop or something. I guess they reserve those for brave boys and I'll just have to try to get one when I go back in to get my stitches out.

So now I am wallet shelf-less. It no longer feels like I am sitting on an extra wallet all of the time. It does, however, feel like I have been stabbed, burned, pulled, pushed, and bee-stung! In the interest of full disclosure I feel I must say that the actual operation took place, technically, on my left leg. It hurt a little further north but the actual non-lightning bolt scar will be on my leg. I just felt it was far funnier to say, butt-ectomy! For those of you who are upset that I chose to write about such a sensitive subject, and decide to be mean to me while leaving inappropriate comments, I have, obviously, only one recourse...I'm going to turn the other cheek.

The Colonel and The Parson

First I want to tell you that I am writing this from home, we are well, and we are unharmed. There is no reason to be alarmed....anymore. I need to include these little foreshadowy "Everything is OK" disclaimers in some of my blogs because my mom is an avid reader and if I talk about the possibility of doom and/or gloom I don't want her to be upset. She's kind of a worrier.

All right let's see if I can work in some suspense now....

There we were. In the middle of the forest. Sounds that Sylvia had never heard before were coming from behind us and getting closer. I stopped to take a picture of something that very literally could have killed us...but it didn't. (I already understand that you know I am ok. Not just because I told you. Who do you think is writing this?) 

Major exaggeration aside, we had a very nice time walking around the Armstrong Woods State preserve in Guerneville, CA. It was a pleasant day and the weather was not hot enough to really complain about, especially since we were in shade almost the entire time. Oh wait, I was trying to be suspenseful...I'll just tell you, something did happen! (this is when the soundtrack guy would play "dun dun DUNNNNNN" on the organ. Unless he was dead! DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN!! And that is why you should always keep a spare soundtrack guy.)

The day started at a winery in Healdsburg because the Groupon deal we got included a complimentary wine tasting. We're not huge wine drinkers, recent blog posts to the contrary, but we enjoy a tasting here and there. We have been on making decision overload recently so Sylvia put me in charge of the decision making for the trip. (dun dun DUNNNNNN!) [Yes, very funny soundtrack guy. Thank you. 

I planned on going to the tasting about lunchtime and then we would go exploring the woods that our hotel manager suggested for something else to do in the area. But seriously, if wine tasting is your thing, the Healdsburg area is a fine place to go. The map has a dot for each winery on it. The map looked like it had a very bad case of chicken pox! I couldn't get us the Groupon near the beach, Sylvia's favorite happy spot, so the woods was a close second. If I ever find the guy who bought that beach deal out from under me...(dun dun DU...) OK Soundtrack guy. Take a break.

At the winery we met a very nice couple, Kris and Bruce, who were celebrating their 35 anniversary and we decided to enjoy the patio while having a relaxing conversation. It was funny how much we had in common with them and we enjoyed talking to them for an hour or so while Sylvia and I drank water and ate the very trendy breadsticks the winery provided. I only mention the water so that the next part doesn't get blamed on the wine. 

We said goodbye to our new friends, made the obligatory comment about maybe bumping into them again since we had similar plans for the evening, and went on our way. Kris and Bruce went to another winery to meet their kids and I made the fateful decision to drive to the woods. (ooh "fateful!" This is getting good!) I got directions on my phone and we started on what it said would be a fifteen minute trip. We started out well but it turns out that the woods, as is generally the case, are reached through winding roads. That, in addition to Sylvia trying to take care of some business on her phone while we drove, added up to a little car-sickness. Ordinarily she'd get out her bottle of peppermint, take a whiff, and we'd be off as if nothing happened. Good plan. Unless you give your bottle of peppermint to a friend who was worried about their upcoming trip and you forget to replace it in your purse. With the combination of careful slow driving, fresh air, and a Gatorade from an angel, we got to the woods.

The guy at the entrance to the woods was pretty helpful. He said, "So I could charge you $7 or you could see if there is parking at the visitor center you just passed and walk in. You might find a space." Word to the wise. Park at the visitor center. We are used to state and national parks. The kind of parks that take a half a day to drive through. The kind that have multiple entrances. The kind that don't have employees that tell you how to get away without paying to get in. We parked in one of the dozens of empty spaces and walked in. The ranger said there were generally two places to go as people hike through the park. We found the trail head and we were off. Almost as soon as you start walking in, you see the Parson Jones tree. It's about 310 feet tall! Huge and impressive sure but California is known for our big trees. Moving on. We veered (this veering is integral to the story and the intrigue...dun dun Dun) away from that tree and headed to the next. The Colonel Armstrong tree is only 308 feet tall but it has a better publicist so they named the park after it. From there we discovered that there was another tree to see! We veered again on the new trail and we went to see the icicle tree. They don't tell us how tall it is since the interesting thing about it is all the burl that used to be around the base of the tree. Yes, "used to be." Vandals have taken away most of what made this poor tree spectacular. There's a sign that explains it...and if you read between the lines it also explains why people say there are two trees to see in the woods.

Thanks for sticking with me, this is the part of the story where the magic happens! We started to walk away from the tree and head back toward the front of the park and Sylvia started to head to the left while I headed to the right. Did you hear me!?! Sylvia wanted to go left and I was sure we needed to go right! Come on soundtrack guy! Do Your Stuff! (dun dun dun) Uh huh, very funny. We're all amused. It turns out that I was right! Sylvia, my lovely bride, my literal guidepost, the human GPS, was confused about which way to go. I have said numerous times that if it weren't for Sylvia I would have died long ago while circling the freeways around Chicago...while on a trip to the store for milk. Sylvia, on the other hand, enjoys wandering in the woods with no discernible plan or path because, "It's fun to find my way back." On this day, the 31st day of July in the year of our Lord 2018, Jeff knew the correct direction to go (which also happened to be right) and Sylvia did not. I think it was the curvy road, the earlier wine tasting, the loop we made as we turned back to the parking lot, and the barometric pressure that added to her GPS glitch. Whatever it was, I realize that it was a one-time thing. Whenever the GPS on my phone glitches I grab it and swing it around in the air in a figure eight pattern. I think we'll take a different approach with Sylvia.

So we made it out of the woods. We made it back to the hotel. We altered our evening plans a tiny bit because Sylvia wasn't feeling 100%. Consequently we did not bump into Kris and Bruce that night and we never saw them again. Gee, I hope they're OK.

{Dun Dun DUNNNNN!!!!}

I Beg Your Pardon...What?!

Sylvia and I got away for a few days to go hiking, swimming, and other healthy endeavors.

Ok, enough, stop, you win. Wine tasting. We went wine tasting. Lots and lots of wine tasting.

I realize that the mere mention of wine tasting might elicit a response from a lot of people and bring up images of people in sweater-vests holding their oversized wine glass in the air. While looking through the moving liquid in the glass they say things like "ah.....legs" and "this really is a fruit forward varietal." All around the room there are people Sipping and Sucking and Swirling and there's one more S but I forget what that is. There's a spittoon on the counter that everyone knows is for spitting out but nobody is spitting it out because that's just gross. Oh hey! Spitting! That's the last S! Not to be indelicate but I peeked and the center drain was wet so someone was spitting...it just wasn't us. Everywhere people are saying "full bodied," "Ah nodes of hazelnut," and "I believe this one came from a French barrel since they are fond of using balsa wood and this reminds me of my kite when I was 10." How did I do? If you've ever gone wine tasting, did I capture the experience? Well I will tell you that this was definitely NOT us. (We don't even own sweater vests!)

So anyway, since we are staying away from home for a couple days we are unable to eat home prepared organic gourmet cuisine like we do every night of the week. (Jake if you see anyone rummaging through our trash cans just tell them the pizza roll packages are from next door.) Sylvia and I were hungry. We aren't from around here so we asked the youngins at the last winery where to go. (The last winery of the two we went to...we're not lushes.) Both of the kids doing the pouring said, in unison, Bravas Tapas! And that reminded me of a story....

I was new to my school but had worked there part time for a few months a decade earlier. I was popping in and out of rooms getting to know people one Friday and was getting the usual, "Any plans for the weekend?" My final stop was usually Mr. Mitchell since I work in an elementary school full of women and every once in a while you gotta talk to a guy. It's a testosterone thing. I told John that Sylvia and I were probably going to go out to dinner but we hadn't decided where yet. And that's when he told me about a teacher he mentored and the restaurant that she suggested.

He said that she and her new husband were going to this new topless bar that had opened up in Berkeley. She proceeded to tell him that it was supposed to be really good and a fun place to eat. It was a trendy new idea, these topless bars, but the food was amazing! She explained that she first took her husband to this topless bar for his birthday but they have gone back multiple times since then. She said that the topless place isn't your usual way to eat but it all works out and everyone enjoys themselves. Then she suggested that he should go to this topless bar and maybe they could double date with their significant others.

Mr. Mitchell told me, right off the bat, that there was no way he was going to talk his way into going to a topless bar...and going with the female teacher from work was just out of the question. He thought, I am a very understanding person. I honestly believe in live and let live. I cannot for the life of me understand, however, how this fairly conservative seeming young lady would actually enjoy going to a topless bar! More than once even!!! He told me that he pondered it all weekend wondering what other secrets were hiding behind the innocent school teacher facade.

When she came in on Monday he waited until after school and then asked her if she enjoyed the topless bar. She got this strange look on her face, "What?" You said you were going to the Topless bar this weekend. "Umm, I said Tapas. Tapas. It's like little appetizers that you order and then everyone shares as a meal. YOU THOUGHT I'D GO TO A TOPLESS BAR!?! NO WAY!" Laughter! Laughter! Laughter! And we all had a story to hear in the staff room for the next week. The moral of the story, I guess, is listen carefully! Oh yeah, and ask questions if something just doesn't sound quite right.

Well last night, Mr. Mitchell, Sylvia and I went to a "topless" bar here in Healdsburg and the food was great. They relied a little too much on bleu cheese in the salad for my liking but everyone kept their clothes on...so that was good.