If You Write It, They Will Read

That's right readers!  In order to keep things fresh I pulled up a quote from a 20 year old movie to use it as my title.  It's just a guess, but most of you probably didn't need me to say that was from the Costner movie, Fields of Dreams.  If you didn't know the quote, I'm guessing you are probably a farmer in the Slovenian wilderness.  Depending on the response to this post, I could come up with other really famous quotes to write about. 

Reader, I Am Your Father.  (this one wouldn't work...mostly because my own kids don't even read my blog)

A Blog is Like a Box of Chocolates.  (Oh yeah!  This one is right up my alley.  You never know where this blog is going...especially me...and I'm writing it!)

Let's Read it For Johnny!  (I think this movie and quote may be too obscure.  The Outsiders.  No?  Well I can tell you that my three friends from high school are laughing their heads off right now)

Frankly Reader, I don't give....(well that would be a nice choice wouldn't it!  It's not good to alienate your readers.  Telling them you don't care?  Bad idea.  Besides, how many people read blogs while walking down curving staircases?  6? 7 tops?    Of course the number of people who read the blog while standing in a corn field is exactly one...the Slovenian farmer I was talking about...and he hasn't seen the movie!  Come on Jeff, pull it together!)

Actually, I am beyond grateful that there are actually people who are willing to take time out of their busy days and read my little corner of the internet.  Recently I added a feature onto my site that tells how many people visit it over time.  The last time I looked there were 4,176 people who have visited my site.  (Actually I hover over it like it's the light on the waffle maker!)  People have stumbled onto my blog from all over the world and I am awed at this.  Of course there is also a place that tells me the words people are "googling" when they click over to my sitcom website, and frankly, some of you should be ashamed of yourselves.  I'm kidding of course but there was one time that someone searched..."she little naked" and they were directed to my blog.  Way to go google!  That's exactly the demographic I'm looking for...not!  (I figured as long as I'm dragging out old movies to quote it'd be hilarious to drag out an old expression too...not!)

I probably haven't even met four thousand people in my life and there are 4000 looking at my site!  I truly am blessed.  Well ok, the counter doesn't really count the number of people...it counts the number of times people click on my site.  It could be that someone is sitting there and clicking and exiting and clicking and exiting so it appears that more people are coming to my site, to build my self esteem.  Come to think of it, I wondered why my mom wasn't at Christmas dinner.  I have to say, it does feel nice when I look at the number and it has grown since the last time...fifteen minutes ago.   Just a moment...just as I suspected, 4,191!  Thanks Mom!

It isn't sophisticated enough (as far as I know) to tell me how long someone stays, it doesn't tell me if they like it or if they got mad and clicked away angrily when "she little naked" referred to how people feel when going through airport security.  Every once in a while someone will write a comment to tell me what they were doing when they happened to find my blog, and that is very interesting!  There was one person who had shingles on their esophagus like I did last month (memories...ouch!) and my kids still talk about the time that I read the comment from Ray Orrock's daughter.  Apparently, I did a silly little happy dance when she said that her dad "would have liked it" and "you are a good writer."  (Click Yes if you want to read about it)I keep telling the kids, when they ask for extravagant things like food and clothes, that it won't be a problem as soon as I am paid for what I am doing here, for free.

Now I am over here getting jazzed over a few thousand people visiting my site since April while others are simply amazing in terms of numbers visited.  I held a "contest" recently where I essentially begged for comments and told people what to write.  I got seven replies.  I was thrilled!  That by far was the most comments I had ever received on a post.  I chose the winner and, even though the post office wouldn't allow me to insure my doodle for millions of dollars, I mailed the prize off to Canada!  Sophie...here is the other part of your prize...I mentioned your name in a post.  Let me know when the original artwork arrives...and when you have installed the brass lamps (plural) to shine down upon it.  Or it could be just the right thickness to stick under the kitchen table leg to keep it from wobbling. 

I recently entered a contest on Ree Drummond's website, The Pioneer Woman (I'm not going to include the link, most of you probably have it bookmarked already).  It was a contest to win a printer, and all you had to do was tell what your favorite holiday recipe is.  Well around here, holiday and fudge are as interlinked as Europeans and Nutella (I can't say 'peanut butter and jelly' we're very allergic to peanuts over here).  So a friend, Faye, talked me into entering.  She said that maybe Ree "the blogging queen" would read, and like, my blog...and then I'd be famous!  Well I suppose so.  In order to enter the contest I had to submit my link as a comment on her site.  I think the contest had been going on for a month already and my comment was well over the fourteen thousandth.  That many comments...on one section of her site...in a month...I'm going back to bed.  With that many readers if she happened to read my comment, and then go to my site, and then comment about it on her site...then I'd be famous!  Heck, she could even say something like, "I guess Jeff's site didn't suck too badly." and the number of readers here would quintuple!  Simply amazing!  If that happens, I'll have to have another contest!  Keep your fingers crossed!

Now, to shift gears to a completely serious mode, I would like to tell you about a friend of mine whose daughter is having serious health issues.  She and her husband have begun writing a blog about their experiences and what they, and their daughter Scarlett, are going through.  I would gladly reset my number of "clicks" to zero if each one could be turned into a prayer for this sweet two month old girl.  They have had a wonderful response, and the last time I talked to grandma, their site had gotten over seven thousand visitors in just under a week.  Their site is http://brandiandchris.blogspot.com/ if you would like to get info, pray, and I think they are close to setting up a place for donations since they are having trouble with an insurance company.  I am sure they would appreciate it.  I thank you.

And because I think that laughter has magical healing powers...I am going to try to please everybody!  For the person who searched "she little naked"...

...this kitten is clearly not wearing any clothes!

"The Nutcracker Bit My Finger"

Is it a bad sign when you can't even outsmart a two year old?  I have the usual bag of tricks, for little kids, in my repertoire that includes pulling my thumb off my hand, getting your nose, and (my favorite)the tap on the head-turn around-I don't know who tapped you on the head-game.  It's a crowd pleaser to be sure. I have been doing these same routines for years and I always seem to be able to fool kids.  Not this year.

This year I have met my match in a two year old named Juliana.  She is my niece's daughter and, even though she's two, she's onto me.  We were standing around after the Christmas Eve service waiting for Kristiana to change out of her choir robes when I saw the perfect opportunity.  Juliana was being carried, she was turned the other way, I'm gonna do it.  For me it's a need.  Kind of like when someone does the beginning part of the "shave and a haircut" knock...I need to finish it with two of my own knocks.  (contemptible imagined ocd)  I reached over and tapped Juliana on the head with the bulletin from the service and quickly turned around to appear very interested in the cloudy sky.  She just looked at me with pity.  She said, "I know it was you."  Busted!

That would have been bad enough but she then said, "And before you embarrass both of us, I know that my nose is still on my face and your thumb is not removable as well.  Really Uncle Jeff, sir, if you wish to discuss the political and socioeconomic subtexts in Dickens' A Christmas Carol I would be willing to entertain you, but to debase myself in such a way as to pretend that I am not certain it was indeed you who tapped me on the head is really beneath us both.  Don't you think?"

Ok, so she didn't really say that last part...but she thought it!  I could see it in her smart-beyond-her-years eyes!  This little girl is sharp!  (and I'm related to her)  This is where I would include a text style smiley face, if this weren't a cutting edge, serious literature, blog.  :-) :-) :-)  Who am I kidding?  Certainly not a two year old!  Actually I have come to expect great things from the smart people in my family.  Juliana is just keeping up the tradition.  When many two year olds are still telling people what they need in one or maybe two words, "cookie"  "up"  "no"  "potty" (actually, I could probably get through most days with this set of words).  Juliana is having conversations.  It's great.

In fact, after we extinguished the candles on the tree.  Yes candles, yes real tree, yes, we are really really German.  After the candles were out and we had listened to Stille Nacht and the church bells on cd, we started opening the presents.  Juliana was Santa's little helper, everyone 'needed help' with their wrapping paper.  She even put the debris in the garbage bag (excuse me...the recycle bag).  She was roaming around the room "helping" everyone when she became very interested in a foot tall nutcracker that looked like it was from that famous ballet...the one they do at Christmas time...the name escapes me but there is a nutcracker in it.  Keep reading, I'll think of it.

All of a sudden, Juliana says, just as calm as can be, "the nutcracker bit my finger."  Really?  Five words?  No crying?  Amazing.  And then she said, "Uncle Jeff...the name of the ballet that escapes you is The Nutcracker.  It was created by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.  It is a wonderful experience.  You really should try to broaden your horizons and experience life in a much deeper and much more meaningful way.  Also, on a side note, would you be willing to take a DNA test to see if we are really related?  No reason." 

OK, so she didn't really say the second part...but what two year old knows what a nutcracker is?!  I'm so proud.  She continued the rest of the night with me trying to trip her up.  If she opened something that she thought was great, I would say, "Oh!  I think that is for me!"  She would simply, calmly, say, "No this is mine."  When I tried to cuddle with her Pillow Pet (the hit of the evening) and say that I was going to keep "Ladybug" she just looked at me like, "I know that I am walking out of here with that mister.  Go ahead and cuddle if you must, but it's mine." 

Needless to say I really enjoyed this Christmas and have made some memories that will stay with me forever.  I know what some of you are thinking, If it was "needless to say" why did you say it?  Point well taken.  I love having smart readers.  We all had a great time of following the old traditions as well as starting some new ones.  I would like to thank all of you for spending the time to read my modest little blog.  I am blessed and I hope that you know how much I appreciate you all.  I want to say, from the bottom of my heart, Merry Christmas and may joy and peace fill your new year.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to print out the page that says I have earned three dollars and eleven cents from the ads on my blog.  I need to give a copy of it to Juliana....she's doing my taxes this year.

Never Fail Fudge!! (most of the time)

I realize that I am confusing my regular readers (both of you) but this is a recipe post that is really about fudge.  It is not about Fudge, the Wunderhund! Actually, Fudge (dog) really enjoys fudge (chocolate) and hunts it down whenever he can. But honestly, this is about fudge (chocolate).  I am entering a contest on the Pioneer Woman's site for best holiday recipes.  Wish me luck!

I need to explain that in writing this particular post, I have put myself into harm's way on several levels. First, there are the people who would like to hurt me for allowing my dog to have chocolate. I must explain. Sylvia and I don't "allow" Fudge to have chocolate ...we know it can hurt him...he just sniffs it out of the unlikeliest places. To this group of harm-wishers, I sincerely apologize. We will try to be more diligent in our hiding of our treats in the future. But I swear, if we ever put up a hidden camera we will catch him picking locks with his paws...maybe even using a stethoscope!

The next level of danger rests, again, on the dog's shoulders.  Do you realize how many people would like to get their hands on Fudge, the chocolate locating chocolate lab?!  "Yes officer, I was attacked from hehind.  They left the piles of cash, (Yeah right!  I'm a teacher...piles of cash, Hah!) and all of the valuables.  They did take our dog who can locate chocolate." 

With a little more work I could train him to find the nearest chocolate. (Entschuldigen Sie bitte.  Wo bist der Naechste Schokolade?... **excuse me please.  Where is the nearest chocolate.** the first phrase I taught myself when I was courting my wife.) I teach kindergarten at a school with primarily women teachers. I can't even count how often the subject of "finding" some chocolate has come up. Note to self...call the guide dog people about new breed...chocolate finders!

The final and most serious threat to my safety over telling this recipe comes from my mom. Her fudge is legendary! People travel from miles around to have a mere taste.  Death row prisoners have asked for her fudge as dessert in their last meals. Thirteen Baltic states use her fudge as currency. All right, I need to stop exaggerating. My daughter keeps saying, "stop exaggerating Daddy!" It's getting annoying. She tells me that a billion times a day!

Actually people love her fudge and they do ask for it. My mom did issue a warning about posting this. She said, "You'll have to have people watch over your shoulder as you make it or it they won't be able to make it."  As nice as I think you all are, I'm fairly certain Sylvia would be upset if there was a fudge academy going on in the kitchen while she was home-schooling the kids in the next room.  But I do have permission from my mom to put the recipe here on the internet. I suppose she could do it herself, but it's a little hard to access the internet via a rotary phone. I'm kidding, sort of. Yes to the rotary phone, but she recently bought a laptop so she could read my blog...she's so sweet. Which brings me back to the fudge.

Mom's warning aside, I dream about being paid to write...let me see if I'm up to the descriptive challenge involved in fudge finesse. You'll have to let me (and my mom) know how I did. I'll try to be semi-serious so you can have success...but I gotta tell you, even if it doesn't 'set', I'm eating it with a spoon.  The kids tease that I make one batch fail on purpose so we can't give it away.  (darned perceptive kids!)  I am a chocolate eating fool.  In fact I'll even eat white chocolate!...that used to be brown chocolate.

But I digress...

I also need to explain, before I write down the list of ingredients, that there is room for wiggling among most of the ingredients...except for one.  I'm not sure if I am supposed to mention brand names so using my keen vocabulary skills, plus your obvious intellect, I think we can work it out!  The ingredient in question is the marshmallow.  This particular marshmallow might be one that you would take if you were going to sit around a Camp Fire! (wink wink...get it?...I knew you were clever!)  But seriously, we (my mom and I) have tried with other brands and it just doesn't work.  If the Campfire people are so tickled with my endorsement that they send me a case of marshamllows...I'll have to tell you all about our favorite hopeful vacation spot in Hawaii, that we will fly to on United Airlines, and drive to the airport in a Mercedes.

Here goes:

60 large Campfire marshmallows (you have to count!  Not the whole bag!)
4 cups sugar
1 1/3 cups evaporated milk (again, not the whole can)

2 teaspoons vanilla
2 cubes butter
12 oz semi-sweet chocolate chips
2 cups chopped nuts (optional)

Look outside.  If it is raining, pour yourself a cup of coffee and go read http://www.klarkwgriswold.blogspot.com/ 

You cannot make fudge when it is raining or even very humid.  If you want to try, be my guest, just plan on eating it with a spoon.  If you figure out how to do it, however, I'd appreciate you letting me know.  Seriously.

Before you begin dress in long sleeves and have an oven mitt on (possibly both hands).
Set an electronic timer for 6' minutes 20" seconds but do not start it.  (wait a second...you can't set a timer with oven mitts on...timer first, then mitts)  If you like a little wetter fudge, 6' 10" if you want to chew it, 6' 30".
Line a 9 X 13 pan with aluminum foil.  This makes taking the fudge out, and cutting it, easier.  It also makes one less pan to wash and you can do another batch when this one is partially set.  (Come to think of it, timer, then foil, then mitts!...seriously, I've done this before)
In a large 10 quart soup pot place the eveporated milk, sugar, and marshmallows.  Start the burner on high!
Stir constantly!  Making fudge is not for wimps in the arm strength department. 
It will start to melt and grow in volume.  Continue stirring!  You should see the color darken slightly as it cooks.  Maybe little dark flecks will start appearing.  Don't worry! 
When it comes to a steady boil, start the timer and turn down the heat so it is a medium boil.  Keep stirring!  And watch out, boiling, bubbling marshmallows and sugar are vicious when they're angry. (aren't you glad I told you to wear long sleeves!)
When the timer goes off remove it from the heat.  Immediately add the butter, the vanilla (I like when it sizzles in the heated mixture), and the chips with the nuts.

Stir until it is all mixed together and you almost can't stand not being able to taste it!  Pour it into the aluminum lined pan and scrape out as much as you can out of the pot.  Resist the urge to sample it with your hands (just call me band-aid fingers).  It should set well enough to take the foil out in an hour or so.  I usually wait a few hours to cut it.  Enjoy!

Once you have cut it, and this is very important, write to me!  I will give you the P.O. Box where you should mail 10% of your fudge.  For quality control purposes only, I assure you.  I will not give it to my dog!

Thank you very much,
I've had fun writing this and I hope you've had fun reading this.  Now get out there and make some fudge!  (You can keep it all...promise.)

Jeff Garrett

Just Kidding...

So yesterday I wrote about my impending surgery and the hyperventilation inducing fear I have of getting shots, in my toe, that everyone says, "Is the worst part!"  Today, I sit here unshot, and that's fine by me! 

Sylvia and I got to the doctor's office and were led to the "trauma room" to sit down.  I told the nurse that I should probably lay down to be safe.  She thought I was kidding.  Nope!  She got out all sorts of modern day torture devices, bottles of clear liquid, long metal scissors, a chainsaw, a hockey mask, gauze, bottles of red liquid, "sclapels" (on a side note...are you inspired by going to a doctor who doesn't know how to spell? I am not!), absorbent mats, bandages, pliers (but those may have been left over by the guy working on the air-conditioning) and finally needles (and even though it's the Christmas season...the needles were not of the pine variety!) 

I was instructed to remove my shoe and sock and Sylvia gave me one of "those" looks.  Apparently I had used my Sunday socks to go to the doctor on a Tuesday.  You know, they were holey.  Good thing the nurse didn't see.  It would be awful if anyone besides our family realized that I didn't have the judgement needed to know when it was time to retire a pair of socks.  According to Sylvia, this is especially troubling considering I "Just got new socks for [my] birthday!"  It's probably best that nobody knows but Sylvia and me. 

The nurse took a look at my toe and said, "Well this isn't the worst I've seen.  The doctor usually doesn't do anything when the toe looks like this."  Are those clouds parting?  Do you hear an angel chorus singing?  Why is she touching the wrong toe?  Then she says, "We'll see, he may want to take care of it for you." 
"umm, nurse, that's not the one I'm worried about.  That other one is what my regular doc wanted fixed."
"Oh yeah, well the doc will take a look but he may not do anything."
"I'll hold you to it!"
"I said may not.  Just relax."

Oh great, now I am thinking that not only will he want to fix the one I came in for, the other one is starting up as well!  He'll probably say that since I am here, and since I have two weeks off, and since I paid him a lot of money so that I could sit on the couch all day...and possibly stretch it into two or three (since I heal slowly...cough cough) let's just do all the toes on both feet!  This is the mania that revolves around a needle phobic while sitting on the bed of trauma! 

After the chainsaw sounds from the next room stopped, and the screams quieted to a resigned whimper, the doctor walked into my room.  He said something like, "Hi, I'm Dr. Kevorkian.  Would you like 'the special'?"  and then he raised both fists like he was lifting a barbell and laughed maniacally at the ceiling!  The room was spinning pretty badly at this point.  For some reason Sylvia was singing "You'll shoot your eye out!  You'll shoot your eye out!" like the mom on A Christmas Story...but I swear it isn't because I have jammies from that movie.  And while I'm on that subject...I also do not have Iron Man jammies as well.  I only write the blog while wearing my tuxedo.  I think it classes the place up a bit.

The doctor donned the hockey mask, reached for the chainsaw, and looked at my toe.  "Hmm, well this isn't good at all.  Nurse call down to maintenance and tell them we won't need the shop vac to clean up the gore after all...I can't chop anything off these toes.  Drat."  Then the mask came off and he started to come into focus.  He was my newest bestest friend!  He then explained that the nail that is ingrowing isn't far enough along to "fix" and that the other one isn't ingrown at all.  Apparently I have an infection that causes nails to grow like they are trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records.  "Slather on this medicine for the next three months and you should be fine." 
"Did you just say 'slather'?  and "Three months!?"
"Yes, there are three ways to deal with this.  One, slather.  Two, take very expensive pills for three months that will make your liver and kidneys look for new residency..."
"...and three doc?"
"well, we could declaw you, like a cat!"  Then he did the whole laugh at the ceiling thing again! 
He didn't actually say that, but he did describe a fairly involved procedure in fairly gory detail.  I really hope he doesn't have a side business of writing greeting cards.

So the doc gave Sylvia and I the instructions of what to do for the next 3 to 6 months and said, "So Sylvia, he's fine and I see no reason why he can't go shopping, with you, ALL DAY LONG!"

And then Sylvia did the whole laugh at the ceiling thing! 

This Widdle Piggy

It was a rough year for Santa. Christmas cheer was at an all time low. The reindeer were discontented with the notoriety "that freak" Rudolph was getting. Explorers had come close to leading their dog sled teams right into the workshop...twice! He was almost picked up on some sort of new-fangled radar last year. The elves wanted better working conditions and were threatening to go on strike. And to top it all off, he still needed to pick the symbol of Christmas decorations.

The angels started bringing the hopeful symbols to him and were waiting in line to see the big man. Santa passed by the horn, the drum, and the cactus quickly enough. "Really? A cactus?"  He kept walking down the line of angels holding items for him to see. "No, no, no, no...none of these are right." Just as he got close to the evergreen tree, the head elf burst in and told Santa that the sleigh distributor had just repossessed his Arctic Flyer 5, Super Sport.

"That's it! I can't take it! Enough! You there. The one with the pointy tree. You win. You brought the symbol of Christmas. Hoorah. I need a Nog!" And just as Santa was storming out of the room, the angel with the tree said, "Well, Where do you expect me to put this!?"

As writer of this blog...I apologize.

Finally knowing the reason that angels are atop Christmas trees aside, please allow me to begin today's blog.  I have always heard that when something difficult is about to happen, start with a joke.  Today I need to confront a fear.  It is a long held fear.  In the grand scheme of things it is but a pebble in the cool still pond of my life...but today I must get a shot.  I am not sure if I have mentioned in previous posts whether or not I have a fear of needles, if you would all be so kind as to go back and reread all 100 or so of my posts to let me know, that would be great.  Actually, we have a new "follower," Rachael (lucky number 26...not for me...but somebody probably has 26 as a lucky number), I think this would be a perfect job for her...don't you agree?  Go ahead Rachael, we'll wait...  And along those lines, I have noticed that someone in Slovenia is checking in on a daily basis!  Rock on you Slovenian reader you!  Drop me a note tell me your story...we should hang out...but I digress.

While we're waiting for Rachael, I should probably tell you what is going on today.  This morning, alas, I need to have an ingrown toenail fixed.  Now this is not what I have been telling people, even though it's the truth, because it just doesn't seem manly enough.  According to the unknowing medical advisor for my blog, my sister Susan, anything that "penetrates the subcutaneous layer of the epidermis to affect a fundamental change in the body system or structure" should be considered surgery.  (seriously, I have no idea if those words are even supposed to go together in a sentence, but we won't tell)  Besides, if I tell people that I have to get surgery...I get a little sympathy.  If I tell them that my widdle toesies hurwt...I get laughter!  Laughter?, sympathy?, laughter?, sympathy?...tough call.  Laughter makes me feel good.  With sympathy, people may bring me food.  And we have a winner! 

Apparently it is "such a routine occurence" that it is not even done in the hospital.  In fact I saw the janitor, the receptionist, and the doctor in the hallway doing rock, paper, scissors to see who was going to do it.  (luckily the doctor won...even though he kept saying, "best two out of 3, best 3 out of 5, best 5 out of...")  The doctor came back into the office and scheduled the appointment.  "It's simple.  You get a shot to numb the toe....It hurts, but then you don't feel anything."  and then all I could hear was "wuuuh wuuuuuh wuuhwuuuuh" like Charlie Brown's teacher.  Actually I only heard "....shot....hurts...." and then I wondered aloud if they offered the ride in a wheelchair out to the curb for people scheduling appointments as well as recovering from surgery. 

So here I am a mere two and a half hours from (major) surgery and I am not panicking...I am not updating my will...and I am not sweating up a storm...which would ruin the tuxedo that I always wear when I am writing my blog.   Some of my readers have told me that they picture me writing in my underwear.  Not true.  Only my mom and Sylvia have ever written in my underwear...Mom wrote my name and Sylvia writes "This is the front!"  Other readers have said they pictured me wearing bright red jammies with pictures of Ralphie from A Christmas Story and Red Ryder BB guns, with the words, "You'll shoot your eye out" written all over the place.  Boy, would that be embarrasing!  Nope it's the tuxedo or nothing...wait...cancel that.  (Not to worry, they'll fix all this in editing...right?)

I don't want to give the impression that I am a total wimp!  Scared of a teeny tiny little needle.  Nope, I can take it.  Even though, when I was in with Sylvia and her doctor's appointment yesterday, I had to close my eyes when they gave her several shots.  In my defense, the needle the doctor pulled out was roughly the size of the water supply tube for the greater bay area.  No, I am not a weakling.  In fact, let me tell you that even my teddy bear wears a leather jacket...no seriously!  And I haven't ever checked, but I am almost positive that he has a tattoo...underneath all that cute and fuzzy cuddly wuddly fur!  Isn't that right Mr. Snookums...yes it is!  Who's a tough bear?  That's right you are!  Yes you are!  Goochy goochy goo!  So, my point is, I am a tough guy with a little thing for needles.  Is that so wrong?

I have a theory that it all stems from when I was a kid and I stepped into a beehive while hiking in the forest.  No, seriously, the bees attacked my brother and I and we both got stung...a lot.  By the way, I also have a little thing about bees.  Add to this that some genius nurse who subsequently gave me a shot said, as she was poised to jab the needle into me, "OK, Just like a bee sting."   "Wait!  What?!!  OWW!!!"  Thank you all for listening.  I no longer feel the need to go to counseling.  I've probably even gotten over the fact that my dad kept several beehives in front of our house even though I had a phobia about...and I begged him to...what do you say I meet you back here in a little while Dr. Readers?

Wish me luck...now I'm gonna go shave my teddy bear and prove that he has a tattoo!

O Tanenbaum, O Tanenbaum

Let's begin class, tanenbaum is German for:  incendiary device of brownish hue.  This concludes the educational portion of our day.  There will be a test. 

Germans are known for putting candles on Christmas trees, so you can understand where the song comes from.  I, a man of German and Italian heritage mixed with a little something we like to call "mutt", married a woman who is German through and through.  We have always had candles on our tree.  After the rough start we have had this year, we may need to re-evaluate the need for candles on this particular tree.

We have a very nice, very flame resistant, artificial tree.  It is so nice that every year people come over and have to ask if it is real or not.  It stands the perfect height for our house, is really sturdy, and is relatively easy to put up!...It is also resting comfortably in its box under the pool table.  You see, artificial trees do not smell.  (well ours might...it's been sitting in the box for a couple of years now)  In our house it has been decided by 3/4 of the population (4/6 if you include the dog and cat but honestly the cat abstains from most of the voting) that if it doesn't smell like a Christmas tree, it isn't really Christmas.  I have, in years when the artificial tree was up, tried to explain to the credit card companies that it wasn't "really Christmas" and I shouldn't have to pay for all of these things that aren't "really" on the bill.  They were not amused.

I have even bought pine scented candles, real wreaths, and those hanging car fresheners.  "No kids!  Those are ornaments you made in Kindergarten...don't you remember?"  Nothing worked.  A few years ago we marched into the woods and hunted down our own tree.  Well, we marched into someone's lot of land in the Santa Cruz mountains and paid them the cost of a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant to be able to cut down our own tree.  We had pictures of the kids "cutting it down."  We had mud on our boots and rain on our heads.  We also had tears rolling down the face of my wife.  It was too much.  She was sad that we were taking a majestic tree and stopping it from growing just so we could have a decoration for a while.  This would be our last real tree!

And then she got over it.  Now we charge into the tree lots, full of energy, with the saw raised over our heads like that painting of the French lady leading the charge in the revolution.  You know the one, her blouse is half off.  I'm just guessing that she's French.  Americans don't go in for that sort of brazen nudity.

We now have pictures of Jake with a crazed look in his eyes getting ready to hack the snot out of a poor eight-footer.  The difference with the pictures now is that the kids actually do cut it down.  To them, my back would like to say, "Thank You."  Oh wait, I have to carry it up the muddy, slippery hill to the truck?  "Never-mind." 

The selection process is always...I'm gonna go with "fun".  We storm off and look, look, look, and then BAM!  "That one is nice!  It's the right height.  It doesn't have any bare spots.  It's really nice!"  In my head, I always...foolishly...think, "YES!  We did it!  Start sawing!"  And then, someone says, "Let's see if we can find a better one."  (Sylvia and I had the same conversations while registering for towels and butter dishes before we got married...but that is a different blog)  On the muddy hill we start searching for a better tree.  Jake invariably points out the nicest tree on the land...but cannot explain how we will get all hundred and twenty feet into the house.  Kristiana is much more interested in the wildlife on the hillside...primarily spiders that are "HUGE!  We can't get that one!"  After about an hour of searching, trudging, and diminishing many a poor tree's self esteem (by pointing out the premature arboreal-pattern-baldness) we eventually end up where?  Say it with me...the first tree!  We all knew it would happen.  We go through the process anyway.

When we took our prize home we decided to set it up in the garage for a little bit.  Someone (me) heard a story about an aunt who took the tree home from the forest, set it up in the house, and introduced a squirrel into the living room in the process.  I may have seen it in a Chevy Chase movie, but I think it was a valid plan.  I set it into the stand without any fuss, adjustments, or planning, and it stayed up for an entire day.  24 hours.  Round the clock.  No problem.  No hay problemo. (for our Spanish speaking guests)  And then we brought it into the house.  dun dun dun dunnnnnnn (that there is called foreshadowing people...no extra charge!)

At this point I would like to explain that I have heard about people, families, spouses that have had trouble with the whole setting up the tree in the stand business.  A friend of mine, who is also a fellow blog writer...and a darned good one I might add (if I was technically adept at all, this is where I would have a link that would take you over to Kim's page http://kim-thesummerofthebook.blogspot.com/  I'm so impressed with myself!) ...once told of a feeling of dread when the newlywed couple brought a live tree into the house.  Her past experiences had shaped her feelings about future attempts involving real trees...and their stands.  They worked it out, her fears were unfounded, and by gum...we could work it out too!  In fairness to all the people who cannot seem to "work it out" I want to say that I understand!  While laying on the ground holding the tree with one sappy hand and trying to adjust the fasteners with another, you just never know when the next verbal exchange can cause stress.
"Is this good?"
"It's crooked."
"Which way?"
"Turn it around."
"Which way?"
"Up."
"Up?!  What does that mean?"
"The top needs to go up."
"Away from the wall?  Toward the wall?  Help me...my arm's falling asleep."
"Ooh!  I love this commercial!"
"Commercial!?  Can someone bring me a spiked eggnog...without the eggnog!"
(In the interest of marital harmony and honesty, Sylvia and I are much more skilled than that...and I do have a vivid imagination)

So now the tree is standing much like it did in the garage.  Except now it is "secured' with four bolts that screw in from the side.  It is not going anywhere!  We thought.  When we came out the next morning Sylvia noticed that there was water around the stand.  Towel!  Is the dog smirking?  Hmmm?  No, he's never done anything like that before.  But there were a few dogs roaming the tree lot...maybe Fudge is marking his territory.  I do the same thing when we buy a used car.

Then I got a text, from Sylvia, while I was at work..."The tree fell over.  Jake and I put it back up."  Exactly a third of the time it spent in the garage unsecured and it has been peed on, and fallen over.  Luckily, we have towels and we hadn't had a chance to decorate it with our irreplaceable, delicate, ornaments yet.   I'm going to say that subconsciously, we knew. 

Later in the day I got a call from the kids who said, "Dad, the tree fell onto the couch."  But what I heard was, "Dad the sap laden tree is oozing all over the leather couches that your dad bought for us at a garage sale, but really aren't our style so we are going to try to sell them on Craigslist after the holidays unless we get sticky sap all over them." 
"Well get the tree off the couch.  Lean it against the washable wall."
"I can't.  It's heavy."
"Yes you can Hon.  Just leave the bottom on the ground and tilt it off the couch.  You don't need to pick it up.  It's physics.  You're learning!"
"No!  I can't.  It's gigantic!"
"Ok, first of all, our house won't fit "gigantic" trees.  Just reach to the middle and push it off the couch."
"The middle!? There are spiders in there!"
Luckily my dad sensed that his couch was in peril.  He stopped by for a visit while I was on the phone.  Problem delayed.

When I came home I "secured" it again.  Except this time I really, really turned those four screws into the trunk.  Not only did it stand nice and straight, it started to tell me information about a secret revolution that the other trees were plotting!  It was a beautiful thing...until Sylvia started to decorate it.  When she got about a dozen ornaments on, the tree just lay down on the ground.  Luckily the stand was perfectly secured to the bottom of the tree.  Unluckily, the stand was not perfectly secured to the floor.  "Dirty Word!"  (that's my favorite swear)  I jumped up, put the tree back upright, and held it there while dreaming of being on a beach in Hawaii, Sylvia at my side, sitting in the shade of our beautifully engineered artificial tree.  Exasperated Sylvia took Jake on a quest...a quest for a tree stand, at 9:30 at night, a week and a half before Christmas,  while I stand holding the tree...and its twelve ornaments.  Standing there, alternating arms, I looked and thought, "I wonder if these ornaments are just too heavy?"  I took off about half of them the tree righted itself and actually stood on its own.  I had visions of being in a bad sitcom episode where the family needed to coordinate where and when the ornaments were put on the tree. 

"1, 2, 3, go!"
"1, 2, 3, go!"
"ooh ohh...what are you doing!?  You know we can't have the Harry Potter across from the Norman Rockwell mini plate....We need the Jamaican cone shaped tree or the painting teddy bear!"
(actually, those are real ornaments on our tree.  The Jamaican one is the first ornament we bought together as man and wife and the teddy bear is the first one Sylvia gave to me when we were dating)

After a little while Sylvia and Jake came home with last tree stand in the tri-cities area...but not before Jake decided to call his dear old dad, who as far as he knows is still holding onto a tree that's about to fall down, until they come home.  He explained that they wouldn't be able to come home for about 45 more minutes because "mom got a flat tire by driving over a pothole.  Mom is talking to the guy who's going to fix it now."  He is telling me this completely believable story and then I heard the garage door open.  In they walked, laughing!  Honestly I don't know where he gets this stuff!



We now have a brand new stand complete with FIVE very secure, very tightly screwed bolts so we should be safe enough for the candles...and the tree revolution begins January 4th.

Blog of Note...not me, someone else.

I have been looking at the "Blogs of Note" on blogger.com and I noticed a few things.  The Blogs of Note are blogs, like mine, that are selected for their merit and highlighted on the website so that others might be able to see them, readership might increase, and (if they have ads) they might make a little money in the meantime.    The blogs can be chosen due to their uniqueness, their cool title, or there could be a giant blog dartboard in the Blogger.com's virtual office where they zip a little electronic projectile into the air and, voila, we have a new blog of the day.  For the record, I have no problem with how they choose their blogs...and I am certainly not complaining that I haven't been hit with a dart yet.  I appreciate being able to have people say that I "have a gift for writing."  And that I can write...for free.  I have, however, noticed a few things about these chosen blogs and I would like to talk about them today.

First of all, I notice that the chosen ones all seem to have a plethora of pictures.  This is a visually stimulating media. I get it.  But when 'they' say, "A picture is worth a thousand words" I just get tired.  I mean there is no way I can keep up with that!  Some of these people have ten or fifteen pictures per post.  I do not have that many pictures and I really don't have that kind of time.  If I was to try to keep up with the picture-to-words ratio I would need to start adding superfluous words to my blog.  I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, don't want to do that.

Second, the blogs of note that I have 'leafed' through seem to have a bit of the salty language.  Again, I am not complaining.  People are free to choose their own style of writing.  First ammendment and all that.  It is purely an observation.  I used to tell my high school students (I have taught all over the map grade wise) that swearing is the sign of a lazy response.  There are so many words in the English language, I would tell them, that surely they could pick another adjective, verb, preposition, or adverb than the "F" word.  I plan on doing an entire blog on swearing and the silly things that kids have said to me while I was teaching, but I can't figure out how to do it and not offend everyone who has come to expect a certain level of mediocrity from me.  BUT...if swearing gets me into the running to be a blog of note, I'll have to consider it.  By jiggity! (ooh, I feel like such a rebel)

Third (are you liking these transition words...that's a sign of a true writer), all of these blogs of note have multiple hundreds of "followers."  I recently found out that I could get into this computer program and re-name that particular section of the blog.  Good!  (As a side note, I really do not want people "following me"...I know who to follow if you want to know, but I have not chosen this forum to talk about Him)  Check out how I have renamed my "followers"...that section looks like a little police line up of pictures on the side of the blog.  It should be a little below the ads on the left. (the ads that I am encouraging you to check out as per my agreement with Google...keep it up people!  I made 0.02 cents yesterday! Daddy needs new sheetrock for his ceiling!)  I have many people who tell me that they read my blog but are not signed in as followers.  That is ok.  To each his own.   I am not sure, in a blog/Blog of Note sort of way, which came first...the chicken or the egg, the followers or being selected, or (as my odd mind likes to view it) the rubber chicken or the hard-boiled egg.  Let me just say this...if you follow mine, I'll follow yours!

Last, each of these chosen blogs have this exciting thing in common.  They all have dozens of comments per post!  I, on the other hand, can go for weeks without someone commenting on mine.  As my sister (the catalyst for my writing a blog) says, "I don't have something funny to say for every blog."  I get it.  That's fine.  But let me tell you this.  I have read a book called, The Five Love Languages and it is wonderful.  Ok, so I took the little quiz at the end that tells you what you and your partner like.  Without getting into too much detail, I would like to reccommend this book.  If nothing else it will tell you how you can make your partner happy.  If you build her a mansion and she would rather have you hold her hand, you have just built a mansion for no reason...(if that is the case, I would be willing to take it off your hands...our ceiling needs replacing over here).  I also found out a little about myself...I like to hear that I am doing a good job.  Words of affirmation is what the book calls them. 

Do not imagine that I am begging for comments...you're not imagining anything.  Give me comments!  Yeah right.  I can't even get Sylvia to sign in and give me comments...and I know what her love language is!

It is one of my comments that finally gets me to the point of today's blog.  One, L. Babyak sent me a message on Facebook suggesting that he, "Smells a blog post coming."  I have no idea what sort of super power involves being able to smell ideas, but it must be why he lives about as far away from Washington DC as possible.  There are some pretty crappy ideas coming from the government and they must smell awful.  Mr. Babyak, I feel your pain.  Mr. Babyak also came in second place in my first blog contest (it was a six way tie) and I wanted to honor him by using his name in my blog.  I'm sure you can contact Blogger.com to get enough information so that the court officers can serve me the papers. 

I would also like to say, Mr. Babyak, (if that is your real name) that I come up with my own blog ideas and I refuse to be pushed around by "the man!"  Thank you Very Much!  It just so happens that I was planning to write about our Christmas tree for tomorrow, so I guess you are off the hook, this time. 

Did you notice that I swore a couple of paragraphs ago?  (I said cra**y!)  I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, don't want to use too much swearing and get pulled by the FCC for being obscene.  I am just experimenting with trying to get into the Blog of Note category.  Now, let's see if this works...

That's right.  A picture!  Blog of Note here I come!  Dagnabbit!