So this morning it looks like perhaps I'm going to write twice. But I didnt. I wrote the other entry last night, but Blogger wasn't Blogging so I had to load it right after the gym this morning.
Anyhow, I wanted to tell you about a guy I know. He was our son's football coach a couple of years ago when Josh played his first season of tackle football. Which, if you're playing along on the home game is an ACTUAL competetive sport worth playing, unlike soccer. Dont even get me started on basketball. Ya'll know how I feel about that, "game". Anyhow, I was planning the same hum-drum half hour cardio and half hour weights but I just wasnt really feeling the weights today as I'd already done every one of my 2000 parts this week. So I figured a nice little hour-long stroll down Eliptical Lane was just what the doctor ordered. So, I'm about twenty minutes in, and beside me appears Jason. He's the lead coach I was refering to. Well we start talking and (yes I let him get a word in edge-wise, jerk) he told me he was still carrying a Riverton Silverwooofs shirt in his truck he was going to give me a year ago.
See, they split our boundaries two years ago and Jason and his family ended up in the other high school's boundaries. So anyhow, we talked about his son, and my son, and their aspirations for college and football and blah blah blah. I dont normally talk people up, but Jason is one of these dudes that you just cant help it. He's humble beyond reproach but very capable. I think he works for the LDS Church in some capacity, but it's not as a seminary teacher. Anyhow, he and his wife and family moved down from Idaho a few years ago to relocate for his job. Within a few weeks of their arrival he was coaching our boys devoting way too much time to our sons and very little time to putting his new yard in and doing things that he could have been doing.
Well, in addition to being a really inspirational coach, he's also a devoted father and husband. He assembled a coaching staff that inspired every single one of our boys to try their individual best, which was all we were really after anyhow. So, he's quiet, but intelligent and possessed an ability to be tough on the boys but for a purpose and always with the intent of teaching.
About two-thirds through our season, their family experienced a horrible tragedy when one of their two year old twin daughters passed away from illness. It was devistating you could imagine. The entire team family ached for their loss. So senseless, so heartbreaking. Well someone decided that next Saturday we would have the boys all wear pink arm bands for the coach and his family and the remembrance of their precious little daughter. I really wasn't prepared that saturday when on an overcast morning, someone showed up with a white balloon for each boy and the pink ribbons for their arms. Ben is the name of Jason's son. I tell you what, I saw more courage from that boy. He showed up to start the game and Jason, understandably grieving, turned the reigns over to the assistant coach to start the game. Well immediately before we all got together and had a moment of silence, and ben let the first balloon go and the other boys all followed suit. It was a very somber moment and I still to this day can't imagine how been as the big brother could play that morning.
Jason showed up about half-time and had some words of thanks for the boys and their families. I tell you, empathy was poured out in buckets that morning and the following days and weeks. We took Josh to the funeral home to the viewing a few days later. Ben was there sitting in a chair inside the funeral home. One by one each team mate would come by and offer their 9 year old condolences to their friend Ben. When I got up to Jason you could see that he and his wife were numb to the reality and how drained they had been over the previous few days making arrangements to bury their beautiful little daughter.
I wrote them a letter in the following days and Stacey gave one of those little statues of a mother holding a child to them. I hope it was well received. I feel a kinship with Jason that frankly we never have time to explore. Life keeps getting in the way. But there's something about this family that makes you naturally gravitate toward their goodness and humility. I hope we someday get the opportunity to do so, but I thought I'd take a moment to jot down my thoughts about this good man and his family.
So, we finished the last forty minutes or so on the steppers and I walked out to the car with Jason and his wife. I made sure as I was talking to them that I layed it on real thick to his wife about what a great coach Jason is and how much our boys individually grew from his tutelage. I think in some way, I want her to know that the vast amounts of time devoted to our sons, which frankly can never be recouped and shared with his daughter was in fact sacred time to us and the boys. You may think I'm making a mountain out of a mole hill, but I dont think I am. I think we often underestimate how much affect we have on our youth at pivotal times. When we inspire our sons that anything is possible with work. When we tell our daughters that they are beautiful beyond reproach no matter what the snotty girl on the bus says we're setting the tone for who they believe they can become. I know that there are now 25 boys in this world who will remember their coach. They will remember their friend Ben and his courage to show up that morning and be part of their team despite his lack of understanding at the loss of his sister. I think that we all were impressed that through the tears shed in thankfulness by our coach at half-time that those boys can learn that being a man doesnt always mean you're stoic and in control. I think for that reason I want you to know what I saw that day and what I continue to see in these good people.
I want you to know that inspires me. That I sincerely look up to Jason and people like him. I want you to know I believe we're surrounded by people like this. I just didnt want it to go unspoken that humanity lives and I've witnessed it. That real tragedy and real heartbreak not only teach us individual lessons, but they stand as a template for others as personal strength to bouy them up when they need that example. I love that my son had such an experience with this coach and his assistants. My son to this day has a dream in his mind to play college and professional football. His eyes light up at the possibility and he believes in something bigger than himself is possible. I think that's a direct result of this family and the sacrifices, however unwittingly made, for these boys welfare. This family gets it, but they still may never have any idea as to the level of inspiration or faith they provided through the way they handled their tragic loss.
Anyhow, I gotta get going. Time to shower and get on the road for the vacation. I want to get started before it gets too hot. I haven't had time to recharge the air conditioning in the truck and pregnant ladies deserve better than my continual pushing off of the necessary.
All the best to you and yours. Enjoy your Independence Day. You know how I feel about Freedom. Dont waste it, get involved.
In case anything ever happens, I love ya.
Now go on, you bother me,
Jon
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Trampoline Dreams...
So today I had a difficult time accomplishing much at work. I had planned on taking tomorrow off and leaving in the morning to go camping with the fam on an extended Fourth of July weekend. See we're going to Currant Creek this weekend. My cousin Jason is headed up today to scout out a campsite for his brother, his mom and their families, my family and my dad's truck. Anyhow, we have two pieces of property in the family that are owned within spitting distance of Currant Creek, however the Tribe has spoken and we're going. So, I wanted to wrap up all the things at work today so I didnt feel guilty about Soldiers not having their mobilization orders, yet the unit I'm supporting and other factors preclude me from doing my thing 'till they do their thing. Whatever. Suffice it to say, I just quit banging my head against the wall today trying to help people who refuse to help themselves. I can only do what I can do. There is a potential my name will be used in vain on Tuesday when I return to work of course, but I gave plenty of advance notice and still...nada.
So, today I got home and changed to go to the (W)Rec(k) Center with Stacey. Just a cookie-cutter workout today. Nothing to brag about. Half hour of cardio (it's the first rule of Zombie Survival) and a half hour or so of weights. This afternoon I was working arms as this morning I actually worked out at work and did shoulders in addition to some recumbant biking. Anyhow, I'm seeing modest progress and I really want to turn up the heat before Hawaii in just shy of a month. See, way I got it figured, Hawaii is an island. It just so happens it's a tropical variety of island. Tropic equals beach. Beach, by the Associative Property of Common Sense, equals swimsuits. Swimsuits, as a dude, means you'll be expected to take your shirt off. I aint gonna lie to you, it aint pretty. I have even caught glimpses of myself in the obviously flawed mirror in our bathroom. So while I'm really seeing gains in muscle tone, this damnable gut of mine refuses to depart. I'm running about 205 lb right now, but I think at 190 I'd be just where I want to be. Problem is, much like tonight, Stacey cooks incredible dinners and I eat out most lunches.
OK, that's a long way to go for nothing. Just setting the stage as to why the second trip to a gym in the same day. I like pain as much as the next guy, so it's not like I am doing this out of anything but sheer pride and vanity. Plus I know that someone will take a bunch of pictures and they will be forever distributable on some co-worker's Facebook page. Not good. Oh, yeah, also last weekend as you may have read already I drove around at high altitude sans shirt to try and level out my farmer's tan. I know, you're thinking, "But you're mexican?" Well kids, you've heard of, "Where the sun dont shine"? Well it applies across the globe.
Anyhow we got back from the Recreation Center and I commenced mowing the lawn with little droplets of rain threatening to ruin my plans to leave early in the morning. I finished that and then Josh and I played catch with the football. We also wrastled around with his big dumb dog Maggie (whom is a Big Schweeetie!) and just really enjoyed ourselves. From there, the neighbor across the street asked me a very direct and straightforward question, and I of course ran off at the mouth for ten minutes a soliloquoy of epic proportions. Sure I could have answered with less than a paragraph, but this way it reminds him why we only talk once a quarter.
Where were we? Oh yeah, so I ended up with Lexi. She asked me to play catch with her and the little red football. Just her and I. So I figured, what the heck you know? Sure, it's time we spent together just her and I. So we went in the back yard and of course Olivia wanted to attend. We all three played and ran around and chased each other. Olivia ended up on the trampoline and we played keep away from Daddy and Lexi. So I rolled up on the tramp and started to play with her. I tell you what, that little girl has the most beautiful and contagious smile. Her front teeth are so big and white and...oh, I swear you want to sop her up with a biscuit! Man she's adorable! Anyhow, all three of us ended up on the trampoline.
While I was looking up my girl Lexi put her head in the crook of my arm. Nothing to shake a stick at considering she's nine now and has the world by the tail. So we looked up and started to pick out shapes in the clouds. There was a perfect breeze blowing and the clouds were so thick you could eat them with a fork. I picked out a dolphin, a pot-gut, an ocean wave, and Lexi picked out three turtles and a school bus and a whole slug of other shapes. All the while Olivia kept trying to insert herself in between us like a little wedge. If Lexi switched sides, Olivia would run over and do the same thing again and again.
So, there's really no message today. Other than I had about thirty minutes of unmolested quality time. I REALLY enjoyed that time with Lexi. I wish I could have been out there an hour, but the dinner bell rang and it was Stacey's world-famous spagetti...and...well you KNOW how I feel about pasta. Pasta and me is friends.
OK, anyhow kids I have to close up shop now. We're watching, "Tangled" and I promised Lexi that she and I would share the bean bag without Olivia. This bean bag idea pays real dividends at times. Can't believe I was going to throw it away.
Anyhow, no message, no lesson-learned. Just wanted to share with you a moment of sunshine both literal and figurative from my day to yours.
Ciao Bella,
J
So, today I got home and changed to go to the (W)Rec(k) Center with Stacey. Just a cookie-cutter workout today. Nothing to brag about. Half hour of cardio (it's the first rule of Zombie Survival) and a half hour or so of weights. This afternoon I was working arms as this morning I actually worked out at work and did shoulders in addition to some recumbant biking. Anyhow, I'm seeing modest progress and I really want to turn up the heat before Hawaii in just shy of a month. See, way I got it figured, Hawaii is an island. It just so happens it's a tropical variety of island. Tropic equals beach. Beach, by the Associative Property of Common Sense, equals swimsuits. Swimsuits, as a dude, means you'll be expected to take your shirt off. I aint gonna lie to you, it aint pretty. I have even caught glimpses of myself in the obviously flawed mirror in our bathroom. So while I'm really seeing gains in muscle tone, this damnable gut of mine refuses to depart. I'm running about 205 lb right now, but I think at 190 I'd be just where I want to be. Problem is, much like tonight, Stacey cooks incredible dinners and I eat out most lunches.
OK, that's a long way to go for nothing. Just setting the stage as to why the second trip to a gym in the same day. I like pain as much as the next guy, so it's not like I am doing this out of anything but sheer pride and vanity. Plus I know that someone will take a bunch of pictures and they will be forever distributable on some co-worker's Facebook page. Not good. Oh, yeah, also last weekend as you may have read already I drove around at high altitude sans shirt to try and level out my farmer's tan. I know, you're thinking, "But you're mexican?" Well kids, you've heard of, "Where the sun dont shine"? Well it applies across the globe.
Anyhow we got back from the Recreation Center and I commenced mowing the lawn with little droplets of rain threatening to ruin my plans to leave early in the morning. I finished that and then Josh and I played catch with the football. We also wrastled around with his big dumb dog Maggie (whom is a Big Schweeetie!) and just really enjoyed ourselves. From there, the neighbor across the street asked me a very direct and straightforward question, and I of course ran off at the mouth for ten minutes a soliloquoy of epic proportions. Sure I could have answered with less than a paragraph, but this way it reminds him why we only talk once a quarter.
Where were we? Oh yeah, so I ended up with Lexi. She asked me to play catch with her and the little red football. Just her and I. So I figured, what the heck you know? Sure, it's time we spent together just her and I. So we went in the back yard and of course Olivia wanted to attend. We all three played and ran around and chased each other. Olivia ended up on the trampoline and we played keep away from Daddy and Lexi. So I rolled up on the tramp and started to play with her. I tell you what, that little girl has the most beautiful and contagious smile. Her front teeth are so big and white and...oh, I swear you want to sop her up with a biscuit! Man she's adorable! Anyhow, all three of us ended up on the trampoline.
While I was looking up my girl Lexi put her head in the crook of my arm. Nothing to shake a stick at considering she's nine now and has the world by the tail. So we looked up and started to pick out shapes in the clouds. There was a perfect breeze blowing and the clouds were so thick you could eat them with a fork. I picked out a dolphin, a pot-gut, an ocean wave, and Lexi picked out three turtles and a school bus and a whole slug of other shapes. All the while Olivia kept trying to insert herself in between us like a little wedge. If Lexi switched sides, Olivia would run over and do the same thing again and again.
So, there's really no message today. Other than I had about thirty minutes of unmolested quality time. I REALLY enjoyed that time with Lexi. I wish I could have been out there an hour, but the dinner bell rang and it was Stacey's world-famous spagetti...and...well you KNOW how I feel about pasta. Pasta and me is friends.
OK, anyhow kids I have to close up shop now. We're watching, "Tangled" and I promised Lexi that she and I would share the bean bag without Olivia. This bean bag idea pays real dividends at times. Can't believe I was going to throw it away.
Anyhow, no message, no lesson-learned. Just wanted to share with you a moment of sunshine both literal and figurative from my day to yours.
Ciao Bella,
J
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Weekend at Bernie's
Hey guys. Yeah, I missed you too. Dont get all emotional on me I dont want mascara on my shirt. So this weekend we sort of split the family in two and attacked the State of Utah at two separate ends. I went East to Fruitland, and Stacey went South to St. George. To be honest, I think it's really the first time we've ever taken separate, "vacations". Dont get me wrong here, we didn't go our separate ways or anything, it's just that Stacey and her mom and sisters and my two older daughters all wanted an Estrogen Fest.
See about five weeks ago Stacey started reminding me of this weekend. How I was in charge of Josh and Olivia and that she and Lexi and Busy Izzy where going to watch a swimming princess sing at the Tuacan Amphitheater. I'm not sure if that's how you spell "amphitheater" but whatever. Anyhow, Tuacan is a roundish bowl surrounded by red-rock cliffs that they put on plays about the pioneers and apparently the show, "Grease" and...you guessed it, mermaid princesses. Anyhow, as interesting as that sounded at first blush, I quietly "agreed" that I would be in charge of the oldest and youngest. So Stacey the girls took the good car and it was up to Big Green and I to show Josh and Livy a good time.
Well I told Stacey that I'd just head up to the lot and hang out at the trailer. She looked at me like I was insane. I know that her face said, 'YOU are going to take care of TWO children, ALONE, at the LOT? By YOURSELF? ALONE? THE BABY?!!!'. But thankfully she didnt actually voice it, even if I did feel the level of concern rise in her voice. In fact, she and Lynnette S. (of across the street fame) even joked how they couldn't wait 'till I got home to read this blog about how HORRIBLE it was and how I was run ragged. Well guess what? Contrary to popular believe, I'm not exactly paralized when it comes to taking care of a baby. It's not that big a deal. You just put them in the dog kennel when you go fishing and that's that. Oh, it's important to water them and put shade over the kennel if you're going to be gone more than say five or six hours.
Anyhow, so my dad bought this new side-by-side ATV. $10K worth of side-by-side fun. Super aggressive tires and a dump bucket and even a little cubby box for puttin' stuff like diapers and GPS's and stuff in. Oh, it's important to note here that the seats are black, and if you're going to peel off your shirt to even out your tan before you say...go to Hawaii next month, that you put down a towel or something. Because apparently sweaty mexican sticks to vinyl (Who knew???). Anyhow, I even lathered up with a little SPF 30 for the long drive and the only place I'm sunburned is on my balding head, my shoulders, my chest, my cheeks and my forehead. But other than that, my knees and ankles pretty much made the trek unscathed.
Where were we? Oh, so anyhow, I loaded the kids up Thursday afternoon and headed out into the great known. By the way, it aint easy out West. So, I'd like also to point out, that I did ALL that with one little cooler, two, count them TWO bags, and one dog and the aforementioned kennel. I dont pack like a chick. I didnt have six pairs of sandles for the baby. One pair of walking sandles, one pair of ATV riding sandles and one pair of church sandles (you never know when you'll be asked to sub in the Fruitland Branch) Oh, and that brings up a good point. The church in Fruitland, yeah, it has a cattle guard! How cool is THAT?! Yeah, a friggin' cattle guard to keep cattles and harses and stuff out of the parking lot! Awesome. Too bad I'm never going to go there. Ironically the cattle guard also somehow keeps me emotionally detached from the little white church.
Seriously what were we talking about??? Oh yeah, anyhow, so we rode the four wheeler(s) and we even found a new route up Timber Canyon where I came across this cute (yes I can say, "cute" it wont make me gay) little cabin which was really a bunk-house like a Tuffshed. See, that's what I've been pining for of late. I want a little bunkhouse that's 10x15' on my lot. I got ideas man I tell you. Oh, additionally I hooked up the 15 watt solar charger onto the (new) batteries full-time like. It's important to note that if you get nervous and unplug the quick-release before beddy-bye, you dont let it hang down in the dirt and ground out. Otherwise you wake up ironically with a dead battery.
So, I've got these idea(r)s a rollin' around in my head. I think I'm going to buy two each 100 watt solar panels and put up a little 8x10 tuff shed. I priced one out over at the Depot the other day at $699 (plus shipping and handling). I want to mount the panels on the south roof and get a bank of six to eight batteries. I also ...hey, why are you yawning? That's just plain rude you know! Anyhow, suffice it to say, I'm going to run my little operation, "Off the Grid". Yeah, I've been readin' up on it on the internet, and I'm going to tell Uncle Sam to kiss my arse when it comes to paying utility taxes. I'm going to buy a converter so I can make my own 110 volt plug in thing and run my wife's hair dryer for upwards of six or eight minutes. All for the low-low cost of $600 for the solar panels, and $400 dollars for the batteries...and $700 for the shed. It's so much cheaper than using the noisy generator I already own.
Oh, next installment I may bore you to tears with my plans for dual water tanks and a tower to allow for gravity feed and pressurization. (< That word just looks funny to me). Anyhow, then there's that pesky little issue of dumping sewage. I know you haven't ate yet, so I'll save the details. That's what we were supposed to do with our tax return this year. It was the year of the septic tank. However, we selfishly paid off a credit card and paid tithing. Figured we needed the blessings.
Well kids, I had a great time and I know you just love listening to me drone on and on about the most trivial of stuff. However, I just want to under-score exactly HOW competent I was this weekend. About the only complaint I had or made was that, I Couldn't Believe There Was No Butter. Oh also we ran out of toilet paper which I swear we had purchased extra last go-round. Anyhow, babywipes aren't good for dump tanks but you go to war with the toilet tissue you have, not the toilet tissue you want. Least that's the adaptation of a Donald Rumsfeldism that I been using.
So we're Back in Black, hit the sack and of course you know that it's good to be back. Oh, last thing, the new road between Daniel's Canyon and Fruitland is coming along swimmingly. It's down to one lane in either direction but the new asphalt is laying down perfectly. I love the smell of asphalt in the morning, it's the smell of victory.
Alrighty then, I gotta head upstairs and shave most of my face. I'm going to over-do it and head to church with these kids. Stacey's not back yet, but I want to drive the point home that I can get myself and two kids to church at one in the friggin' afternoon with minimal effort. Heck the way things keep going, my stock will double in price and then split if she keeps setting me unwittingly up for success this way. You're telling me that the three of us kids sittin' in the pew all polished up, with Olivia wearing Little Orphan Livy hair in a pony tail and dad's forehead beading up with sweat isn't going to put me up into the stratosphere where it comes to effort versus results?! Too easy. I'm going to lay it on real thick so some neighbor tells Stacey how calm I seemed in the pew with my arm around the one and my fist not a-thumpin' the other'n.
I gotta go, Livy is putting her foot on the keyboard and dragging cheetoh extract all over my white shirt. How does Stacey get ANYTHING done around here I swear! OK, I know, I stand all amazed too.
So, we'll see you when we see you. Maybe at some stop sign out in Duchesne on our way to get butter. Be good and copious amounts of cowboy love in your direction.
Always,
J
See about five weeks ago Stacey started reminding me of this weekend. How I was in charge of Josh and Olivia and that she and Lexi and Busy Izzy where going to watch a swimming princess sing at the Tuacan Amphitheater. I'm not sure if that's how you spell "amphitheater" but whatever. Anyhow, Tuacan is a roundish bowl surrounded by red-rock cliffs that they put on plays about the pioneers and apparently the show, "Grease" and...you guessed it, mermaid princesses. Anyhow, as interesting as that sounded at first blush, I quietly "agreed" that I would be in charge of the oldest and youngest. So Stacey the girls took the good car and it was up to Big Green and I to show Josh and Livy a good time.
Well I told Stacey that I'd just head up to the lot and hang out at the trailer. She looked at me like I was insane. I know that her face said, 'YOU are going to take care of TWO children, ALONE, at the LOT? By YOURSELF? ALONE? THE BABY?!!!'. But thankfully she didnt actually voice it, even if I did feel the level of concern rise in her voice. In fact, she and Lynnette S. (of across the street fame) even joked how they couldn't wait 'till I got home to read this blog about how HORRIBLE it was and how I was run ragged. Well guess what? Contrary to popular believe, I'm not exactly paralized when it comes to taking care of a baby. It's not that big a deal. You just put them in the dog kennel when you go fishing and that's that. Oh, it's important to water them and put shade over the kennel if you're going to be gone more than say five or six hours.
Anyhow, so my dad bought this new side-by-side ATV. $10K worth of side-by-side fun. Super aggressive tires and a dump bucket and even a little cubby box for puttin' stuff like diapers and GPS's and stuff in. Oh, it's important to note here that the seats are black, and if you're going to peel off your shirt to even out your tan before you say...go to Hawaii next month, that you put down a towel or something. Because apparently sweaty mexican sticks to vinyl (Who knew???). Anyhow, I even lathered up with a little SPF 30 for the long drive and the only place I'm sunburned is on my balding head, my shoulders, my chest, my cheeks and my forehead. But other than that, my knees and ankles pretty much made the trek unscathed.
Where were we? Oh, so anyhow, I loaded the kids up Thursday afternoon and headed out into the great known. By the way, it aint easy out West. So, I'd like also to point out, that I did ALL that with one little cooler, two, count them TWO bags, and one dog and the aforementioned kennel. I dont pack like a chick. I didnt have six pairs of sandles for the baby. One pair of walking sandles, one pair of ATV riding sandles and one pair of church sandles (you never know when you'll be asked to sub in the Fruitland Branch) Oh, and that brings up a good point. The church in Fruitland, yeah, it has a cattle guard! How cool is THAT?! Yeah, a friggin' cattle guard to keep cattles and harses and stuff out of the parking lot! Awesome. Too bad I'm never going to go there. Ironically the cattle guard also somehow keeps me emotionally detached from the little white church.
Seriously what were we talking about??? Oh yeah, anyhow, so we rode the four wheeler(s) and we even found a new route up Timber Canyon where I came across this cute (yes I can say, "cute" it wont make me gay) little cabin which was really a bunk-house like a Tuffshed. See, that's what I've been pining for of late. I want a little bunkhouse that's 10x15' on my lot. I got ideas man I tell you. Oh, additionally I hooked up the 15 watt solar charger onto the (new) batteries full-time like. It's important to note that if you get nervous and unplug the quick-release before beddy-bye, you dont let it hang down in the dirt and ground out. Otherwise you wake up ironically with a dead battery.
So, I've got these idea(r)s a rollin' around in my head. I think I'm going to buy two each 100 watt solar panels and put up a little 8x10 tuff shed. I priced one out over at the Depot the other day at $699 (plus shipping and handling). I want to mount the panels on the south roof and get a bank of six to eight batteries. I also ...hey, why are you yawning? That's just plain rude you know! Anyhow, suffice it to say, I'm going to run my little operation, "Off the Grid". Yeah, I've been readin' up on it on the internet, and I'm going to tell Uncle Sam to kiss my arse when it comes to paying utility taxes. I'm going to buy a converter so I can make my own 110 volt plug in thing and run my wife's hair dryer for upwards of six or eight minutes. All for the low-low cost of $600 for the solar panels, and $400 dollars for the batteries...and $700 for the shed. It's so much cheaper than using the noisy generator I already own.
Oh, next installment I may bore you to tears with my plans for dual water tanks and a tower to allow for gravity feed and pressurization. (< That word just looks funny to me). Anyhow, then there's that pesky little issue of dumping sewage. I know you haven't ate yet, so I'll save the details. That's what we were supposed to do with our tax return this year. It was the year of the septic tank. However, we selfishly paid off a credit card and paid tithing. Figured we needed the blessings.
Well kids, I had a great time and I know you just love listening to me drone on and on about the most trivial of stuff. However, I just want to under-score exactly HOW competent I was this weekend. About the only complaint I had or made was that, I Couldn't Believe There Was No Butter. Oh also we ran out of toilet paper which I swear we had purchased extra last go-round. Anyhow, babywipes aren't good for dump tanks but you go to war with the toilet tissue you have, not the toilet tissue you want. Least that's the adaptation of a Donald Rumsfeldism that I been using.
So we're Back in Black, hit the sack and of course you know that it's good to be back. Oh, last thing, the new road between Daniel's Canyon and Fruitland is coming along swimmingly. It's down to one lane in either direction but the new asphalt is laying down perfectly. I love the smell of asphalt in the morning, it's the smell of victory.
Alrighty then, I gotta head upstairs and shave most of my face. I'm going to over-do it and head to church with these kids. Stacey's not back yet, but I want to drive the point home that I can get myself and two kids to church at one in the friggin' afternoon with minimal effort. Heck the way things keep going, my stock will double in price and then split if she keeps setting me unwittingly up for success this way. You're telling me that the three of us kids sittin' in the pew all polished up, with Olivia wearing Little Orphan Livy hair in a pony tail and dad's forehead beading up with sweat isn't going to put me up into the stratosphere where it comes to effort versus results?! Too easy. I'm going to lay it on real thick so some neighbor tells Stacey how calm I seemed in the pew with my arm around the one and my fist not a-thumpin' the other'n.
I gotta go, Livy is putting her foot on the keyboard and dragging cheetoh extract all over my white shirt. How does Stacey get ANYTHING done around here I swear! OK, I know, I stand all amazed too.
So, we'll see you when we see you. Maybe at some stop sign out in Duchesne on our way to get butter. Be good and copious amounts of cowboy love in your direction.
Always,
J
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Racquetball Anyone?
So, the past few weeks about once a week a couple of us get together and go play racquetball at the new Rec Center. I dont do really as well as I thought for a natural athlete as I've come to consider myself. Sure, I know you've heard of my legendary prowess as a basketball fanatic, and my frightening skills as a table tennis pro, but alas, it turns out I just plain suck at racquetball.
No, I realize you're sitting there, mouth agape, wondering how this can be. But it's so. In fact, I've not won a single game in five outings now. It turns out I can't hit the ball in either of the back corners. Nor can I recover it within two feet of the front wall, or one foot of the sidewall. It's the darndest thing.
So, I had to take a break for a minute, because our stupid computer (Dell Studio) cuts out on me without any warning when the battery gets low. It looks like you have a quarter tank of battery, but the sumbitch just cuts out and you loose whatever you were working on.
Where was I? Oh, so I just got back from the gym today. I wanted to tell you there are a couple more characters that I neglected to tell you about. One is, "Bantam Rooster Guy". Banty Rooster Guy is about 5'4" tall and will usually be wearing a weight belt (to bench press???) and he's wearing a sleeveless muscle T (mesh sides) and a goatee. Banty Rooster Guy honest-to-goodness thinks he's really all that. Oh, and by the way, he's usually Italian. He's got this New Yowkah attitude and doesnt realize that Homey dont play dat. I swear this guy intentionally walks within your personal space to somehow dazzle you with his black weightbelt (cinched down to 29" waist even though he's a 32") I've seen this guy before wearing jet black aviator glasses at pretty much every gym I've ever been to. What's funny is he weighs about a buck-fiddy soaking wet.
Additionally I ran into "I Shouldn't Be a Trainer Guy". This guy always wears a baseball cap slung low as though he's somehow in the military or something. He's got this darlin' lookin' little soul patch that he somehow believes some Mary-Jane Rotten....ahem...anyhow, he's about 24 years old and has somehow qualified to tell 50 year old ladies how best to do curls using 2 lb weights. If I was him I'd be embarassed to be honest with you. You're judged by the company you keep, and his clientel is not exactly inspiring me in my ability to over-come my own fatty-boy nature.
Stacey's favorite she just said is, "Obnoxious Skinny Girl". She's usually wearing sweats that say, "Juicy" or "Pink" on the butt and sort of just follows "I Shouldnt Be a Trainer Guy" around in his off-time when he's not on the clock. She pops gum at an alarming rate and ironically has a butt that you can see is going to fall the day she hits 26. I'm guessing she was a Mean Girl in school and her favorite movie is, "Legally Blonde 7". Like, oh ma gosh!
Anyhow, I'm of course all amped-up because I had a really good workout. I did the eliptical at level "OMG" for a half hour, then weights as long as I dared to avoid confrontation with the aforementioned Congressmen Weiners.
So, I guess to bring it all back home, of course I've got a load of improvement to make in my physical fitness goals. I guess my quiet loathing of some of my compatriots actually keeps me going to see whom I'll run into next go-round. I think it's actually comical how many dudes in the weight room actually no-kidding believe they're all that and a bag of baby carrots. Seriously dude, get over yourself. We're all working on something in our personal goals and your weight belt about to break loose and put an eye out actually keeps me coming back for more.
I only play racquetball once a week right now, because that's really all it takes to put my ego back in check. It can be discouraging to have three computer programmers and a kindergarten teacher school you as an Army Guy. By the way, remind me to tell you about Army Guy sometime. What an azz. Seriously.
Anyhow, you two keep reading and I'll keep up the veiled self-deprication and the quiet self-loathing at your expense.
Be good and enjoy your fiber bars. I know I wont.
Always,
J
No, I realize you're sitting there, mouth agape, wondering how this can be. But it's so. In fact, I've not won a single game in five outings now. It turns out I can't hit the ball in either of the back corners. Nor can I recover it within two feet of the front wall, or one foot of the sidewall. It's the darndest thing.
So, I had to take a break for a minute, because our stupid computer (Dell Studio) cuts out on me without any warning when the battery gets low. It looks like you have a quarter tank of battery, but the sumbitch just cuts out and you loose whatever you were working on.
Where was I? Oh, so I just got back from the gym today. I wanted to tell you there are a couple more characters that I neglected to tell you about. One is, "Bantam Rooster Guy". Banty Rooster Guy is about 5'4" tall and will usually be wearing a weight belt (to bench press???) and he's wearing a sleeveless muscle T (mesh sides) and a goatee. Banty Rooster Guy honest-to-goodness thinks he's really all that. Oh, and by the way, he's usually Italian. He's got this New Yowkah attitude and doesnt realize that Homey dont play dat. I swear this guy intentionally walks within your personal space to somehow dazzle you with his black weightbelt (cinched down to 29" waist even though he's a 32") I've seen this guy before wearing jet black aviator glasses at pretty much every gym I've ever been to. What's funny is he weighs about a buck-fiddy soaking wet.
Additionally I ran into "I Shouldn't Be a Trainer Guy". This guy always wears a baseball cap slung low as though he's somehow in the military or something. He's got this darlin' lookin' little soul patch that he somehow believes some Mary-Jane Rotten....ahem...anyhow, he's about 24 years old and has somehow qualified to tell 50 year old ladies how best to do curls using 2 lb weights. If I was him I'd be embarassed to be honest with you. You're judged by the company you keep, and his clientel is not exactly inspiring me in my ability to over-come my own fatty-boy nature.
Stacey's favorite she just said is, "Obnoxious Skinny Girl". She's usually wearing sweats that say, "Juicy" or "Pink" on the butt and sort of just follows "I Shouldnt Be a Trainer Guy" around in his off-time when he's not on the clock. She pops gum at an alarming rate and ironically has a butt that you can see is going to fall the day she hits 26. I'm guessing she was a Mean Girl in school and her favorite movie is, "Legally Blonde 7". Like, oh ma gosh!
Anyhow, I'm of course all amped-up because I had a really good workout. I did the eliptical at level "OMG" for a half hour, then weights as long as I dared to avoid confrontation with the aforementioned Congressmen Weiners.
So, I guess to bring it all back home, of course I've got a load of improvement to make in my physical fitness goals. I guess my quiet loathing of some of my compatriots actually keeps me going to see whom I'll run into next go-round. I think it's actually comical how many dudes in the weight room actually no-kidding believe they're all that and a bag of baby carrots. Seriously dude, get over yourself. We're all working on something in our personal goals and your weight belt about to break loose and put an eye out actually keeps me coming back for more.
I only play racquetball once a week right now, because that's really all it takes to put my ego back in check. It can be discouraging to have three computer programmers and a kindergarten teacher school you as an Army Guy. By the way, remind me to tell you about Army Guy sometime. What an azz. Seriously.
Anyhow, you two keep reading and I'll keep up the veiled self-deprication and the quiet self-loathing at your expense.
Be good and enjoy your fiber bars. I know I wont.
Always,
J
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Father's Day
So, here it is, Father's Day again. Has it been a year already? Today it's over-cast and sprinkling. The over-cast is good to slow the flooding which is going to take place but the drizzling rain could be done without. Oh, dont get me wrong, my lawn looks amazing. I think it's the 16-16-8 from IFA. That and I used the correct Weed-Be-Gone this year. Yeah, last year I sorta, well I poisoned the lawn with Round Up in spots because I wanted to do Stacey a favor and get rid of all that pesky dandelion and crabgrass and other pernicious weedlings. Well, suffice it to say, I did in fact get rid of all of the aforementioned thorns and thistles. Additionally, about three days later, it became apparent also that the grass surrounding each weed was also on the decline. Additionally, at about a week, it was glaringly obvious that I was about to enjoy the entire year with a leopard-print lawn. Sexy on women, not so sexy on lawns.
So, anyhow, after re-seeding this Spring and with much love and tenderness, the lawn has made a full recovery. In fact, it's made a full come-back. I will tell you that all that I've put on it was the fertilizer, and a spray-as-you-go "BROADLEAF" killer which I verified about sixteen times was in fact what I was spraying the weeds with. Additionally I had some left-over Scott's Weed and Feed but it was only about a third of a bag, so...I'm not sure whether or not it even factored in.
Well I'm not really sure that you needed to know that, only in the sense that I sometimes make mistakes. I know, I know, you're thinking, "But Jon is so dang perfect." So perfect that all of his clothing sizes are in even numbers. But alas, it's not so. In fact, the other day, we were talking, Stacey and I. Well I was talking, Stacey was listening. It's our agreement. Dont you judge me! Anyhow, she brought up the time I hit myself in the head with a pick-axe.
We were out in Tooele, and Stacey wanted her mailbox put in. For the previous six or eight weeks I'd had the mailbox in a five gallon bucket full of rocks. But APPARENTLY that's white-trash and she was determined that I put it in. Hell or high water. Anyhow this particular day was a Sunday. So I felt I was safe in refusing to be bossed. So, I actually remember saying to her, "When we are before the Pleasing Bar of God, you're telling me that you'll stand there, and tell the Lord that you demanded that I put that mailbox in?!" Of course she said she would and that was the end of that. So, I went outside and grumbling located the shovel. Well after jumping up and down on the shovel like a pogo-stick, I realized that we needed to break this up a little. See, Tooele is built on an alluvial deposit of near concrete proportions and consistency. Anyhow so I get this old pick-axe. The head on this pick was about twenty or thirty pounds just by itself. Oh, also of import is that it used to be my grandpa's, then my dad's and because both of them hated it so much, it now was left to me. Anyhow the handle on the pick was rock hard. I mean, a solid peice of hickory to say the least. I imagine that Clint Eastwood could mob up a town as a preacher with this thing. (If you dont get the reference stop reading now, you're out. No, I mean it. If you dont have an affinity for Clint Eastwood kickin' arse and takin' names, we have no further use of ya) Anyhow, so this handle had shrunk over the last forty years or so and allowed the head of the pick to slide down the handle. (Dont get ahead of us, but yes, you're thinking what's going to happen is going to happen). Anyhow, so my dad had told me that you need to soak the handle in water over night to get it to swell. Well I didnt have over-night. What I did have was a mad momma-cita that wanted her mailbox in. So I filled up a washbasin tub and commenced soaking the head and then let the water run on the spot I was a-diggin'. So, the more I tried on this Sabbath Day to dig, the more and more angry I got.
Finally, when I could take it no more, and after about what seemed like hours of soaking (26 minutes???) I just grabbed this old pick and started swinging. Man I was pissed too. P-I-Double "S"-Duh! So I swing once. I swing twice, and near as I can tell about the third time, this old pick head starts a slidin' down the handle right at me. Well, yeah, it hit me. Right smack on the crown of the head. So, before I could stop myself, I launched the thing ass-over-tea kettle out across the road and into the adjacent field. It's important to note that Stacey was standing there watching the whole thing. She still thinks it's funny. I of course humor her and smile softly, knowing full well I would have jacked that thing into the side of her little Saturn Coupe had I been close enough.
But, I guess I just wanted to capture that. Yeah, I mess up sometimes. Lot's of times there are people watching. I do my best to be cool, but it just doesnt seem to be in the cards for me. It seems I'm destined to do things that just broadcast to the world my level of obnoxious common nature.
Sometime if you've got nothing to do, I'll tell you about the time I got pissed and started pullin' on a pair of plyers 'till they broke loose and smacked me in the forehead. But for right now, I've got a Father's Day breakfast they're cookin' me to eat.
Anyhow, smile, call your pops. Thank him for doing dad things. Thank him for that time he crashed the boat and had a Walley-World epic come-apart. I know my dad has, and as it turns out, so have I.
Be good, but not too good.
J
So, anyhow, after re-seeding this Spring and with much love and tenderness, the lawn has made a full recovery. In fact, it's made a full come-back. I will tell you that all that I've put on it was the fertilizer, and a spray-as-you-go "BROADLEAF" killer which I verified about sixteen times was in fact what I was spraying the weeds with. Additionally I had some left-over Scott's Weed and Feed but it was only about a third of a bag, so...I'm not sure whether or not it even factored in.
Well I'm not really sure that you needed to know that, only in the sense that I sometimes make mistakes. I know, I know, you're thinking, "But Jon is so dang perfect." So perfect that all of his clothing sizes are in even numbers. But alas, it's not so. In fact, the other day, we were talking, Stacey and I. Well I was talking, Stacey was listening. It's our agreement. Dont you judge me! Anyhow, she brought up the time I hit myself in the head with a pick-axe.
We were out in Tooele, and Stacey wanted her mailbox put in. For the previous six or eight weeks I'd had the mailbox in a five gallon bucket full of rocks. But APPARENTLY that's white-trash and she was determined that I put it in. Hell or high water. Anyhow this particular day was a Sunday. So I felt I was safe in refusing to be bossed. So, I actually remember saying to her, "When we are before the Pleasing Bar of God, you're telling me that you'll stand there, and tell the Lord that you demanded that I put that mailbox in?!" Of course she said she would and that was the end of that. So, I went outside and grumbling located the shovel. Well after jumping up and down on the shovel like a pogo-stick, I realized that we needed to break this up a little. See, Tooele is built on an alluvial deposit of near concrete proportions and consistency. Anyhow so I get this old pick-axe. The head on this pick was about twenty or thirty pounds just by itself. Oh, also of import is that it used to be my grandpa's, then my dad's and because both of them hated it so much, it now was left to me. Anyhow the handle on the pick was rock hard. I mean, a solid peice of hickory to say the least. I imagine that Clint Eastwood could mob up a town as a preacher with this thing. (If you dont get the reference stop reading now, you're out. No, I mean it. If you dont have an affinity for Clint Eastwood kickin' arse and takin' names, we have no further use of ya) Anyhow, so this handle had shrunk over the last forty years or so and allowed the head of the pick to slide down the handle. (Dont get ahead of us, but yes, you're thinking what's going to happen is going to happen). Anyhow, so my dad had told me that you need to soak the handle in water over night to get it to swell. Well I didnt have over-night. What I did have was a mad momma-cita that wanted her mailbox in. So I filled up a washbasin tub and commenced soaking the head and then let the water run on the spot I was a-diggin'. So, the more I tried on this Sabbath Day to dig, the more and more angry I got.
Finally, when I could take it no more, and after about what seemed like hours of soaking (26 minutes???) I just grabbed this old pick and started swinging. Man I was pissed too. P-I-Double "S"-Duh! So I swing once. I swing twice, and near as I can tell about the third time, this old pick head starts a slidin' down the handle right at me. Well, yeah, it hit me. Right smack on the crown of the head. So, before I could stop myself, I launched the thing ass-over-tea kettle out across the road and into the adjacent field. It's important to note that Stacey was standing there watching the whole thing. She still thinks it's funny. I of course humor her and smile softly, knowing full well I would have jacked that thing into the side of her little Saturn Coupe had I been close enough.
But, I guess I just wanted to capture that. Yeah, I mess up sometimes. Lot's of times there are people watching. I do my best to be cool, but it just doesnt seem to be in the cards for me. It seems I'm destined to do things that just broadcast to the world my level of obnoxious common nature.
Sometime if you've got nothing to do, I'll tell you about the time I got pissed and started pullin' on a pair of plyers 'till they broke loose and smacked me in the forehead. But for right now, I've got a Father's Day breakfast they're cookin' me to eat.
Anyhow, smile, call your pops. Thank him for doing dad things. Thank him for that time he crashed the boat and had a Walley-World epic come-apart. I know my dad has, and as it turns out, so have I.
Be good, but not too good.
J
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Cheers
So today I did nothing; and it was everything I thought it could be. I got up today and went for a soda run. Then we got back and had some breakfast. Josh went with Grandpa Clint, and Lexi with Grandma Shane, so it was the two little girls and I, and Stacey. Well Stacey as it turns out went to get her nails done, and that left Isabelle to take off with Alora, and Olivia and I to our own devices.
So, I let Livy watch an episode of Blue's Clues, and then a half episode of Dora, and finally, having made it all the way to one p.m. I figured I needed a rest from all my resting. So I commandeered the Wii remote and the bean bag and commenced to watching Cheers. Livy, as it turns out, is a BIG fan of Cheers. She actually, at 22 months old, knows the theme song! She knows the high notes and even sang along in broken mumbling with, "everybody knows your name". It was so dang cute. She moved her little head back and forth in the crook of my arm to the song for two episodes. I dont know for sure who passed out first, but I blame her. You know, how if you've ever been tired, like SO tired that each time you wake up, you feel like something is sucking your soul out of your eyes and nose and you zonk back out again? Yeah, I was THAT tired. Probably the best nap I've had in two years.
I'm guessing that's probably as a result of having gone back to the Temple with Stacey last night. We started out at five thirty p.m. and had every intent of going to the new Oquirrh Mountain temple. However, I had neglected to get my pants hemmed, and needed to rent some clothes. I'll be honest with you, I haven't been to the Temple since about six or seven years ago when I did my brother's endowments. Anyhow, we called up, and they of course dont rent clothes. So we went over to the Jordan River Temple, which, as it turns out was closed from the 16th through the 20th. Soooooooo... we thought the Draper Temple, which....ALSO doesnt rent clothes. Stacey floated the idea of me borrowing her dad's clothes, but I put the kaibosh on that. So we decided to go to the Salt Lake Temple.
I'd never been, and Stacey said they have live actors. So I was really looking forward to it. Well we got up onto the freeway, and it was bumper-to-bumper traffic till about 45th South. In-Sane-Uh! They say that any time you try to make it to the Temple that something goes wrong. This was no exception. Well we made it up to Salt Lake around seven p.m. We had originally thought that we'd have dinner at the Olive Garden near the Hilton, but I felt impressed to get to the session first and we'd eat after. Well, long story short, we got there, parked on South Temple and then walked into the grounds and in. By the time we got everything rented and access and into the Chappel we finally made the 7:40 session. Which I gather was probably the last session, because they last about two hours with the live actors.
Suffice it to say, we left the temple about 10 pm. Lexi was at a "Late-Over" down in South Jordan, so we had to head back and grab her and take her home. By the time we got down, and to the house it was 1045. Paid the babysitter and over to the restaurant, it was 11. By the way, Olive Garden in South Jordan closes at 11. Just so you dont drive over. But Chili's, which isn't one of my personal favorites was open till midnight.
I think it's important to say here, that it was totally worth the hustle to go last night. I thought the Temple Grounds in Salt Lake were beautiful. It was the perfect temperature walking through them, and such a feeling of peace to go in. I dont think it's appropriate to go into what things were challenging us, but suffice it to say the respite of the Temple was much needed. I think the feeling of peace alone was enough to help me work through so many things involving work, home, friends and neighbors and other challenges. For the two hours we were there, it was so clear what really is important in life and what the distractions are.
Anyhow, so I think two years of running constantly just finally caught up to us. So to sit there with Olivia on the bean bag and just watch cheers was awesome. I literally woke up and passed out for about a three hour period. Each time I passed out I thought I couldnt possibly move a muscle for the rest of the night. Well, Isabelle kept walking in at the end of our nap and asking me for a bike ride every seven minutes. I put her off through about five more pass-out sessions and finally just got up and went for our bike ride.
I dont have any lessons for you here, just telling you how my night and day went. I'm so glad we went. I am so glad for the knowledge of the Gospel and the Lord's plan for us. It was so very needed and I am grateful that I was able to learn and be with Stacey to go last night. Today just sitting there on the beanbag with my beautiful dark-eyed blonde baby was just the icing on the cake.
I guess it's true, whether you're in the Temple, or on a bean bag with your baby, sometimes you wanna go, where everybody knows your name.
You kids have a great night.
All the best to you and yours,
J
So, I let Livy watch an episode of Blue's Clues, and then a half episode of Dora, and finally, having made it all the way to one p.m. I figured I needed a rest from all my resting. So I commandeered the Wii remote and the bean bag and commenced to watching Cheers. Livy, as it turns out, is a BIG fan of Cheers. She actually, at 22 months old, knows the theme song! She knows the high notes and even sang along in broken mumbling with, "everybody knows your name". It was so dang cute. She moved her little head back and forth in the crook of my arm to the song for two episodes. I dont know for sure who passed out first, but I blame her. You know, how if you've ever been tired, like SO tired that each time you wake up, you feel like something is sucking your soul out of your eyes and nose and you zonk back out again? Yeah, I was THAT tired. Probably the best nap I've had in two years.
I'm guessing that's probably as a result of having gone back to the Temple with Stacey last night. We started out at five thirty p.m. and had every intent of going to the new Oquirrh Mountain temple. However, I had neglected to get my pants hemmed, and needed to rent some clothes. I'll be honest with you, I haven't been to the Temple since about six or seven years ago when I did my brother's endowments. Anyhow, we called up, and they of course dont rent clothes. So we went over to the Jordan River Temple, which, as it turns out was closed from the 16th through the 20th. Soooooooo... we thought the Draper Temple, which....ALSO doesnt rent clothes. Stacey floated the idea of me borrowing her dad's clothes, but I put the kaibosh on that. So we decided to go to the Salt Lake Temple.
I'd never been, and Stacey said they have live actors. So I was really looking forward to it. Well we got up onto the freeway, and it was bumper-to-bumper traffic till about 45th South. In-Sane-Uh! They say that any time you try to make it to the Temple that something goes wrong. This was no exception. Well we made it up to Salt Lake around seven p.m. We had originally thought that we'd have dinner at the Olive Garden near the Hilton, but I felt impressed to get to the session first and we'd eat after. Well, long story short, we got there, parked on South Temple and then walked into the grounds and in. By the time we got everything rented and access and into the Chappel we finally made the 7:40 session. Which I gather was probably the last session, because they last about two hours with the live actors.
Suffice it to say, we left the temple about 10 pm. Lexi was at a "Late-Over" down in South Jordan, so we had to head back and grab her and take her home. By the time we got down, and to the house it was 1045. Paid the babysitter and over to the restaurant, it was 11. By the way, Olive Garden in South Jordan closes at 11. Just so you dont drive over. But Chili's, which isn't one of my personal favorites was open till midnight.
I think it's important to say here, that it was totally worth the hustle to go last night. I thought the Temple Grounds in Salt Lake were beautiful. It was the perfect temperature walking through them, and such a feeling of peace to go in. I dont think it's appropriate to go into what things were challenging us, but suffice it to say the respite of the Temple was much needed. I think the feeling of peace alone was enough to help me work through so many things involving work, home, friends and neighbors and other challenges. For the two hours we were there, it was so clear what really is important in life and what the distractions are.
Anyhow, so I think two years of running constantly just finally caught up to us. So to sit there with Olivia on the bean bag and just watch cheers was awesome. I literally woke up and passed out for about a three hour period. Each time I passed out I thought I couldnt possibly move a muscle for the rest of the night. Well, Isabelle kept walking in at the end of our nap and asking me for a bike ride every seven minutes. I put her off through about five more pass-out sessions and finally just got up and went for our bike ride.
I dont have any lessons for you here, just telling you how my night and day went. I'm so glad we went. I am so glad for the knowledge of the Gospel and the Lord's plan for us. It was so very needed and I am grateful that I was able to learn and be with Stacey to go last night. Today just sitting there on the beanbag with my beautiful dark-eyed blonde baby was just the icing on the cake.
I guess it's true, whether you're in the Temple, or on a bean bag with your baby, sometimes you wanna go, where everybody knows your name.
You kids have a great night.
All the best to you and yours,
J
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Wreck Center
OK, so here it is. It's not all teddybears and gumdrop with me. I've got to rant for a second. If you want to be positive, you probably should just bypass this post and wait for the next one. But here it is. So, we live in the Riverton/Herriman are. A few months ago they finished the new J.L. Sorenson Recreation Center. It's about 70,000 square feet. Huge. Big giant pool, 6 or 7 racquettball courts, a bunch of cardio equipment, an oval track and about four full size basketball courts. Oh, and last and certainly least, a baby-girl collection of weights. No, I'm serious. They have all that cardio equipment, and from thence, you can walk into a little adjunct closet space that has two benches that are static, one squat rack, one adjustable bench for flies, and one static bench. There's also a Nautilus style central pulley and weights system for as to which watch yourself do inner-chest cross-overs. Here's the problem though, they jammed all that stuff into about a six hundred square foot area.
So, EVERYTIME I'm there, there are a few characters that are there. First off, there's "Giant Arms Guy". Giant Arms Guy usually has a goatee of some variety and a baseball cap on backwards. He also as it turns out has a 1995 Toyota Corolla (white???) and an abundance of time on his hands to watch himself in the mirror. The bad thing about Giant Arms Guy, is that he's busy watching himself, hoping you're somehow intimidated by his mere presence, and oblivious to the fact that living with your mom in your mid thirties, no matter how fit you are, isnt really all that cool. Giant Arms Guy loves to try to make you move for him to walk past, but a steely-eyed glare will more often than not get him to pretend at the last second he didnt see you and get him to step around you.
Then there's Teenage Boy Trio. Teenage Boy Trio are always monopolizing the bench press area. ONE of them knows a little about weights and it just dangerous enough to pass on all that knowledge to the other two who are nervously watching in the mirror "Teenage Girl Duo". Girl Duo has one girl doing something with her legs while texting, and the other girl keeping watch out for Teenage Boy Trio in the reflection of the reflection in the mirror.
Wait, there's more. Then there's Old Man with Baggy T-Shirt. He's really just sitting on some peice of equipment you want to get to, but watching the baseball game on the mini tv right in front of the other open piece of equipment that just became available. He's usually wearing thick spectacles from the mid nineties (gold rimmed??) and looks like he may be having palpitations.
Oh, and then my favorite of favorites. Loud Obnoxious Trainer Lady. She's about 45 and so damn proud of her abs that she figures she needs to yell at her poor client while sideways checking out her own fake boobs and her recently lipo-ed hips. I'm not sure why she's talking loud, other than she figures you paid 35 bucks an hour, she may as well yell at everyone within a 20 feet diameter.
If you're lucky, BYU/Utah Allumnist guy will come in. Hope it's U of U Allumnist. He actually spent a lot more time in the gym and a lot less time in the classroom, so he's actually there to workout. He's focussed and direct and usually gets out of your way. BYU Allumnist however, sort of walks around aimlessly, and is really talking to his buddy, about some legal case that he's working on, or more likely a theory on how to boost the gas mileage in his suburban. Oh, BYU guy will be doing curls with sweet and cute little 15 lb weights and will invariably be oblivous to your very presence and the fact that you actually need to get to the 40 lb weights for your own curls and his sweet little boyfriend is in front of the 70's that you need for your flies. Seriously GET OUT OF THE WAY!
Additionally, if you're there any longer than about 14 minutes, BYU guy will leave and go check on his wife and kids in the pool, but U of U Guy will remain in his current position testing the tensil strength of his (RED and WHITE) Under Armor shirt.
Oh, and my personal favorite! I ran into this guy the other day, "I'm Obviously Gay but My Wife Doesnt Realize It Guy". IOGMWDRIG was wearing a spandex wrist-length shirt, and a spandex tank top over the top, with little chicken arms and legs and a huge pot-gut. He also had a carefully coiffed and manicured flat-top hair cut which was obviously colored purposefully light red, so as to accentuate his eyes whilst he gazes lovingly on U of U Guy each time he makes a circuit on the track. Additionally, IOGMWDRIG stopped to talk to some poor 19 year old kid with more muscles than brains just quietly trying to do situps. Must have been an awkward conversation because the look on the kid's face was one of pure bewilderment as to why he had to stop him in the middle of his situps to ask him anything about...well anything.
Anyhow, what I want them to do is convert just one of those ridiculously wasteful basketball courts into an actual gym. Like, one with about 5 times the amount of equipment in our current weight room. It's just plain silly I tell you. I am so sick of waiting on all these people standing around and doing nothing. I actually have stuff to do, which I can't get to while you're on your cell phone texting or pretending you're not checking yourself out checking out Big Arms Guy who is only here to have you feed his ego just long enough for him to get home and drink 42 ounces of whey protein and eat a steamed chicken and a half a cup of rice.
I gotta go. Anyhow, that's my rant today. You ladies can feel free to close the door behind you. I have stuff to do. I just burned 550 calories on the eliptical and 16 calories in the weight room and my bacon, eggs and pancakes are getting cold.
I'm Out,
J
So, EVERYTIME I'm there, there are a few characters that are there. First off, there's "Giant Arms Guy". Giant Arms Guy usually has a goatee of some variety and a baseball cap on backwards. He also as it turns out has a 1995 Toyota Corolla (white???) and an abundance of time on his hands to watch himself in the mirror. The bad thing about Giant Arms Guy, is that he's busy watching himself, hoping you're somehow intimidated by his mere presence, and oblivious to the fact that living with your mom in your mid thirties, no matter how fit you are, isnt really all that cool. Giant Arms Guy loves to try to make you move for him to walk past, but a steely-eyed glare will more often than not get him to pretend at the last second he didnt see you and get him to step around you.
Then there's Teenage Boy Trio. Teenage Boy Trio are always monopolizing the bench press area. ONE of them knows a little about weights and it just dangerous enough to pass on all that knowledge to the other two who are nervously watching in the mirror "Teenage Girl Duo". Girl Duo has one girl doing something with her legs while texting, and the other girl keeping watch out for Teenage Boy Trio in the reflection of the reflection in the mirror.
Wait, there's more. Then there's Old Man with Baggy T-Shirt. He's really just sitting on some peice of equipment you want to get to, but watching the baseball game on the mini tv right in front of the other open piece of equipment that just became available. He's usually wearing thick spectacles from the mid nineties (gold rimmed??) and looks like he may be having palpitations.
Oh, and then my favorite of favorites. Loud Obnoxious Trainer Lady. She's about 45 and so damn proud of her abs that she figures she needs to yell at her poor client while sideways checking out her own fake boobs and her recently lipo-ed hips. I'm not sure why she's talking loud, other than she figures you paid 35 bucks an hour, she may as well yell at everyone within a 20 feet diameter.
If you're lucky, BYU/Utah Allumnist guy will come in. Hope it's U of U Allumnist. He actually spent a lot more time in the gym and a lot less time in the classroom, so he's actually there to workout. He's focussed and direct and usually gets out of your way. BYU Allumnist however, sort of walks around aimlessly, and is really talking to his buddy, about some legal case that he's working on, or more likely a theory on how to boost the gas mileage in his suburban. Oh, BYU guy will be doing curls with sweet and cute little 15 lb weights and will invariably be oblivous to your very presence and the fact that you actually need to get to the 40 lb weights for your own curls and his sweet little boyfriend is in front of the 70's that you need for your flies. Seriously GET OUT OF THE WAY!
Additionally, if you're there any longer than about 14 minutes, BYU guy will leave and go check on his wife and kids in the pool, but U of U Guy will remain in his current position testing the tensil strength of his (RED and WHITE) Under Armor shirt.
Oh, and my personal favorite! I ran into this guy the other day, "I'm Obviously Gay but My Wife Doesnt Realize It Guy". IOGMWDRIG was wearing a spandex wrist-length shirt, and a spandex tank top over the top, with little chicken arms and legs and a huge pot-gut. He also had a carefully coiffed and manicured flat-top hair cut which was obviously colored purposefully light red, so as to accentuate his eyes whilst he gazes lovingly on U of U Guy each time he makes a circuit on the track. Additionally, IOGMWDRIG stopped to talk to some poor 19 year old kid with more muscles than brains just quietly trying to do situps. Must have been an awkward conversation because the look on the kid's face was one of pure bewilderment as to why he had to stop him in the middle of his situps to ask him anything about...well anything.
Anyhow, what I want them to do is convert just one of those ridiculously wasteful basketball courts into an actual gym. Like, one with about 5 times the amount of equipment in our current weight room. It's just plain silly I tell you. I am so sick of waiting on all these people standing around and doing nothing. I actually have stuff to do, which I can't get to while you're on your cell phone texting or pretending you're not checking yourself out checking out Big Arms Guy who is only here to have you feed his ego just long enough for him to get home and drink 42 ounces of whey protein and eat a steamed chicken and a half a cup of rice.
I gotta go. Anyhow, that's my rant today. You ladies can feel free to close the door behind you. I have stuff to do. I just burned 550 calories on the eliptical and 16 calories in the weight room and my bacon, eggs and pancakes are getting cold.
I'm Out,
J
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Bag Pipes and Babies
Yeah, I still haven't figger-ed out how to put a link embedded in my blog. Anyhow, I'm including this one that you may get a listen to what I'm talking about:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSH0eRKq1lE
OK, so here it is. Scottland the Brave on the Bagpipes. Now what could I POSSIBLY have to say about this little ditty? Well, here goes. So this morning, I was listening to some Johnny Cash. As you are well aware is one of my Sunday rituals. The guy just knows his hurts and pains and he's more than willing for you to take a listen. Anyhow, whilst he was givin' his love to Rose, and she was wearing that long black veil I was doing ok. Then the Balad of Ira Hayes came on:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmNKspKUaTQ
So, I gotta be honest with you, and I'm going to look like a total dork, but this song really gets me. It's so poignant. I dont know if you've seen the movie or read the book, "Flags of Our Fathers", anyhow, it gives the account of how Ira Hayes just can't make peace with people making him a hero when 6800 Americans died and another 20,000 were wounded. They paraded him and a few others around selling war bonds and some other stuff to help propagate our successes in WWII. Anyhow, this guy really hit the bottle hard.
So what does this have to do with Scottland the Brave? Well, when I was in Iraq there was a guy who would play the bagpipes from the top of the Al Faw Palace. It was incredible. It would blanket the whole FOB (Forward Operating Base) of Camp Victory with it's incredible power to spur you on. Something about bagpipes does it to me. Maybe it evokes visions of dead fire-fighters and police officers back East where they all dress up in their dress uniforms and dark sunglasses and send their compatriots off into the great unknown. I dont know. But this particular song for me now is one of my favorites on my ipod. I listen to it once in a while when I just dont want to run that fifth or sixth mile. It helps me dig deep. Dont get me wrong, I'm not doing it for Scottland, I think that's the one ethnic background I dont actually have in my quiver to be honest. But when you're running along...sucking wind...not sure if this is worth it, and knowing you have 2 miles toward home, it just sort of picks you up.
I think for me, it's the remembrance of that guy on the top of the palace. Presumably he was one of our coalition bretheren. See, we had a large contingent of Aussies, Britts, and other sundry pasty types in our midst there. So, I think about it as a counter to, Call to Prayer. It can be pretty disheartening to hear the Muslim call to prayer as an American fighting man. Here you are, running around some lake, just trying not to think about your wife and kids. Trying not to lose focus. Knowing that you're going to hear about some kid turning into pink mist in the wind today, just trying to get by and get home. I worked harder in that year than I have ever in my life. I dont know that I'll ever know the difference I made if any. I do know that I sent divers off to recover two kids that had been ambushed on an over-watch position over a bridge. I know that I helped organize something called the "Ring of Fire" for the Third I.D. by getting them excavators from an adjacent division. I know that I took part in something so big that I'm just not sure what impact or footprint I left. I know that I lost a year and a half of my life. I know that I had a couple of video teleconferences with my wife and my kids. I know what it's like to have a delay on a telephone and the heartache of not being able to dial through to Hill Air Force Base when you just know something is wrong at home.
I know what it's like to sit in the middle of a convoy while E.O.D. blows up an I.E.D. three hundred meters in front of you. I know what it's like to have your finger on the trigger at 3 in the morning painting the balconies above you with your mag-light on the bottom of your M-4. Your thumb on the safety and your finger immediate the trigger. Knowing that some idiot could have something that looks like an RPG in the dim light and that I'm going to put two or three 5.56 rounds right smack in his chest before he launches it. I know what it's like to know that under this next pile of garbage you're going to find little red wires taped to a soviet make artillery round and the next thing you're going to experience are clouds and harps and grandpa there to bring you home.
So I guess what I'm saying is that when I hear these stories and these accounts, the haunting sounds of the bagpipes, I'm transported back. I'm buttoned up in a HUMWVV with six foot cattails thirty meters to my right. I have a .50 cal gunner above me ready to wax some idiot in a van 100 yards to our left.
I guess I feel lucky, but those things really affect me. When I'm on my run, sometimes I'm back in the Box. I'm running down some invisible Hadji. The one that planted that I.E.D. I've got the jump on him and I'm bearing down on him. A K-Bar knife in my right hand and I'm gaining ground. I know this sounds a little nuts. OK, maybe a lot, but I dont really apologize for it. That's what Soldiers do. We have prepare for war. Our chief export is violence and we're good at it.
But when you hear those bagpipes, sometimes saddening, sometimes encouraging, it evokes inside you emotions you're just not sure other people have. Maybe you're different? Maybe the 4th of July is no big deal. Maybe the story of some drunk indian is interesting but..ah...no biggie. I guess to me these are things I can relate to. War to me is not fun. Video games about it have absolutely no draw. These are things I'd rather not dwell on but are facts I have to deal with. I've seen the darkest side of humanity and I choose not to relish in it.
However, it's part of me. These accounts, these remembrances that transport me back also in a way define what it is to be a Soldier. Things others can just never know without having been there. So now, when I hear the bagpipes, there are two options. I can recall the death and loss, or I can envision the promise and the new dawn awakening.
Just as I ran around Lost Lake on Camp Victory day after day. The sun breaking, the Call to Prayer coming from the mosque adjacent and the young men in watch towers at points along the way. When I hear the bagpipes, of course my first initial reaction is one of sadness I sometimes linger in. But the flip side of that is stiring, and moving. A counter to the oppression, the promise of freedom but at a terrible cost.
Anyhow, pretty sure I've made little or no sense today. I'm ok with that. I know what I meant. Plus my beautiful daughter Olivia is here in her little flowered church dress and trying to play with the Barbie laptop. She's a doll this one. I tell you. I feel lucky today. I feel free. I feel happy and sad simultaneously. Sadness for those brothers that have given this price for me, but happiness that I too have paid a little dues along the way. I appreciate all this. It is not without cost. It is not without sadness that I stand for the anthem and realize that someone's phone call next to me is more important than recognizing those who have given their all for the freedoms we enjoy.
Anyhow, I better go. I think I have the lesson today for the Sunbeams. I should really crack the book open and see what it's about. Enough of this blah blah blah. You guys just enjoy this beautiful Sabbath morning. Enjoy the promises inherent in His plan. Love your family and try not to flip out over a run in someone's hose or two kids that just can't make peace on the bench. This could all be worse. Trust me.
I gotta go. Olivia is unplugging the computer and has begun to help me type now. She's cussing me out for not getting dressed and ready to go.
You kids be good now.
All the best,
J
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSH0eRKq1lE
OK, so here it is. Scottland the Brave on the Bagpipes. Now what could I POSSIBLY have to say about this little ditty? Well, here goes. So this morning, I was listening to some Johnny Cash. As you are well aware is one of my Sunday rituals. The guy just knows his hurts and pains and he's more than willing for you to take a listen. Anyhow, whilst he was givin' his love to Rose, and she was wearing that long black veil I was doing ok. Then the Balad of Ira Hayes came on:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vmNKspKUaTQ
So, I gotta be honest with you, and I'm going to look like a total dork, but this song really gets me. It's so poignant. I dont know if you've seen the movie or read the book, "Flags of Our Fathers", anyhow, it gives the account of how Ira Hayes just can't make peace with people making him a hero when 6800 Americans died and another 20,000 were wounded. They paraded him and a few others around selling war bonds and some other stuff to help propagate our successes in WWII. Anyhow, this guy really hit the bottle hard.
So what does this have to do with Scottland the Brave? Well, when I was in Iraq there was a guy who would play the bagpipes from the top of the Al Faw Palace. It was incredible. It would blanket the whole FOB (Forward Operating Base) of Camp Victory with it's incredible power to spur you on. Something about bagpipes does it to me. Maybe it evokes visions of dead fire-fighters and police officers back East where they all dress up in their dress uniforms and dark sunglasses and send their compatriots off into the great unknown. I dont know. But this particular song for me now is one of my favorites on my ipod. I listen to it once in a while when I just dont want to run that fifth or sixth mile. It helps me dig deep. Dont get me wrong, I'm not doing it for Scottland, I think that's the one ethnic background I dont actually have in my quiver to be honest. But when you're running along...sucking wind...not sure if this is worth it, and knowing you have 2 miles toward home, it just sort of picks you up.
I think for me, it's the remembrance of that guy on the top of the palace. Presumably he was one of our coalition bretheren. See, we had a large contingent of Aussies, Britts, and other sundry pasty types in our midst there. So, I think about it as a counter to, Call to Prayer. It can be pretty disheartening to hear the Muslim call to prayer as an American fighting man. Here you are, running around some lake, just trying not to think about your wife and kids. Trying not to lose focus. Knowing that you're going to hear about some kid turning into pink mist in the wind today, just trying to get by and get home. I worked harder in that year than I have ever in my life. I dont know that I'll ever know the difference I made if any. I do know that I sent divers off to recover two kids that had been ambushed on an over-watch position over a bridge. I know that I helped organize something called the "Ring of Fire" for the Third I.D. by getting them excavators from an adjacent division. I know that I took part in something so big that I'm just not sure what impact or footprint I left. I know that I lost a year and a half of my life. I know that I had a couple of video teleconferences with my wife and my kids. I know what it's like to have a delay on a telephone and the heartache of not being able to dial through to Hill Air Force Base when you just know something is wrong at home.
I know what it's like to sit in the middle of a convoy while E.O.D. blows up an I.E.D. three hundred meters in front of you. I know what it's like to have your finger on the trigger at 3 in the morning painting the balconies above you with your mag-light on the bottom of your M-4. Your thumb on the safety and your finger immediate the trigger. Knowing that some idiot could have something that looks like an RPG in the dim light and that I'm going to put two or three 5.56 rounds right smack in his chest before he launches it. I know what it's like to know that under this next pile of garbage you're going to find little red wires taped to a soviet make artillery round and the next thing you're going to experience are clouds and harps and grandpa there to bring you home.
So I guess what I'm saying is that when I hear these stories and these accounts, the haunting sounds of the bagpipes, I'm transported back. I'm buttoned up in a HUMWVV with six foot cattails thirty meters to my right. I have a .50 cal gunner above me ready to wax some idiot in a van 100 yards to our left.
I guess I feel lucky, but those things really affect me. When I'm on my run, sometimes I'm back in the Box. I'm running down some invisible Hadji. The one that planted that I.E.D. I've got the jump on him and I'm bearing down on him. A K-Bar knife in my right hand and I'm gaining ground. I know this sounds a little nuts. OK, maybe a lot, but I dont really apologize for it. That's what Soldiers do. We have prepare for war. Our chief export is violence and we're good at it.
But when you hear those bagpipes, sometimes saddening, sometimes encouraging, it evokes inside you emotions you're just not sure other people have. Maybe you're different? Maybe the 4th of July is no big deal. Maybe the story of some drunk indian is interesting but..ah...no biggie. I guess to me these are things I can relate to. War to me is not fun. Video games about it have absolutely no draw. These are things I'd rather not dwell on but are facts I have to deal with. I've seen the darkest side of humanity and I choose not to relish in it.
However, it's part of me. These accounts, these remembrances that transport me back also in a way define what it is to be a Soldier. Things others can just never know without having been there. So now, when I hear the bagpipes, there are two options. I can recall the death and loss, or I can envision the promise and the new dawn awakening.
Just as I ran around Lost Lake on Camp Victory day after day. The sun breaking, the Call to Prayer coming from the mosque adjacent and the young men in watch towers at points along the way. When I hear the bagpipes, of course my first initial reaction is one of sadness I sometimes linger in. But the flip side of that is stiring, and moving. A counter to the oppression, the promise of freedom but at a terrible cost.
Anyhow, pretty sure I've made little or no sense today. I'm ok with that. I know what I meant. Plus my beautiful daughter Olivia is here in her little flowered church dress and trying to play with the Barbie laptop. She's a doll this one. I tell you. I feel lucky today. I feel free. I feel happy and sad simultaneously. Sadness for those brothers that have given this price for me, but happiness that I too have paid a little dues along the way. I appreciate all this. It is not without cost. It is not without sadness that I stand for the anthem and realize that someone's phone call next to me is more important than recognizing those who have given their all for the freedoms we enjoy.
Anyhow, I better go. I think I have the lesson today for the Sunbeams. I should really crack the book open and see what it's about. Enough of this blah blah blah. You guys just enjoy this beautiful Sabbath morning. Enjoy the promises inherent in His plan. Love your family and try not to flip out over a run in someone's hose or two kids that just can't make peace on the bench. This could all be worse. Trust me.
I gotta go. Olivia is unplugging the computer and has begun to help me type now. She's cussing me out for not getting dressed and ready to go.
You kids be good now.
All the best,
J
Saturday, June 11, 2011
The following takes place between 3 PM and 4 PM, on the day of the California Presidential Primary
I'm Jon Kenworthy, and this is the longest day of my life.
OK, so it wasn't that bad. But today I finally replaced the garbage disposal in our kitchen. Seems that if you use Drain-o in the disposal that after time it will eat away the seals inside and in time start a drip that will fill a gallon bowl up over-night. So, after some serious reflection and purchasing two, (count them, TWO) separate disposal units, I finally elected to waste the majority of a Saturday afternoon on it's replacement.
So there I was, last week, walking through the Costco. Ironically I started out my lunch half-hour on a mission to find some gloves for the heavy bag. Wait, let me back up even further. So, there's a heavy bag in the new Rec Center. So I go up to the young girl at the counter, with my two bucks in hand, and ask to borrow some heavy bag gloves, for as to beat this canvas bag into submission over my frustrations in the immediate days preceeding. However, she gave me this blank stare and said that there were no gloves for which to be had. So, then I realized we also have a heavy bag at work, which nobody ever uses, andt this could potentially be a good alternative exercise which will not call into question your masculinity (see also, "Pilates"). Anyhow, so I start out looking for a Big Five or a Sports Authority, but the lights of the big city of Sandy were just too much for me. In a tragic twist of irony, I recalled that Costco, in addition to foot-long hotdogs (make your own joke) also sells some reeeeeally greasy pizza, and after all, it WAS lunch time.
So I'm in this Costco, sitting there trying not to let the sticky chairs stick to my uniform, watching people go buy and pounding down my two (yes, they are LARGE pieces of pizza, I'd forgotten how big and ordered two) pieces. From thence, I decided to walk the isles perhaps happening past a depository of boxing equipment and paraphenalia. Which, of course I didnt. However, what I DID happen past, was a garbage disposal, of the $79 kind. See, I'd already purchased one the week prior for just over a hundred dollars MORE than that. Oh this was the whisker quiet one. Yeah, I said whisker. Like a kitty meow meow meow kitty meow. Anyhow, I also opted for the 3/4 horse power one, as I figgered that the potato skins that wouldnt process in the current 1/3 horse model may just not be a problem now. Well, fast forward back to the near present past. To that fateful day in the isle at Costco. So, this particular model, is a 1 1/4 horse model. More than ...2 time..no wait..1/3...plus 1/3...plu...anyhow it was a BUTT-LOAD more powerful that either of the two models I had.
So, of course I bought it. I figured it was a sign really. So, I got it, and there it sat on the shelf in the garage until today. Oh, and for good reason. I was hoping that somehow I could flood the kitchen with the continuous drip, and I was getting used to that acrid smell of rotting...everything but potato skins coming from under the sink. Anyhow, today I ran low on excuses and decided to replace it.
So, I get this thing out of the box, and this is the part I wish to underscore. I READ the directions. NO, not skimmed through the Spanish and French sides, actually READ the English directions. Top to bottom! Including the "IMPORTANT: READ FIRST" part. I was so very proud of myself. Times past I have often declared that instructions were just some other man's opinion. Much like stereo instructions...or speed limit signs. More of suggestions than cold-hard facts really.
So, I begin to tear the old R2 Unit out. Of course it's dripping all over. Down my arm, into my hair...etc. You get the picture. Of course Stacey had placed a towel down that morning to soak up what the Tupperware bowl didnt, but at this point a down comforter couldnt have soaked it all up. Anyhow, so we emptied the sink, pulled out all the crap from under the sink, including the unused fishbowl, the waterlogged soap biscuits for the dishwasher, the fire extinguisher (which I had NO idea was under there) and all the other sundries. So, I wedge my fat little toad-body into the hole and commence to grunting and sweating and ....alas...cursing. I believe I said some really colorful combinations because Stacey said, "Really??? Really??? Are you about done?" of course which the answer was a resounding, "No". I had not yet begun to curse. Mostly cause I'm good at it. I rarely get occaission to really let my imagination go wild and unleash. Well, unless you count the left-turn lane at 13400 South on your third trip to Home Depot.
Where were we? Ah yes. So, I pulled all the old unit out, got Plumber's Putty (which has nothing to do with the crack) and commenced resetting the shiny new unit in place. I gotta tell ya, I was good under the hood if you know what I mean. Went off without a hitch. I got the new 3x as big unit in there and prepared myself for the inevitable hickup that always coincides with a home decor or home improvement project. I was all set for a flux-capacitor to be the wrong size, or to have lost my upside-down left-handed ring removal tool, but no. Seriously, it just...went in. No problems. Weird really. I mean, I actually bought a $30.00 set of new Chinese plumbing wrenches and all sorts of things just in preparation for the second and third trips back to the Depot to get the one I invariably didnt have. But no. It was the weirdest thing. It just...went in. No fuss, no muss. Except of course for the constant dripping on my arm and the one time I dropped the P-trap and soaked my back where I was a-layin'.
Anyhow, so you take the good with the bad I guess. Moral of the story is we now have a Benford 2000 Garbage Disposal. Stacey is using it right now. The dang thing sounds like Niagra Falls chawing up 42 trout heads I tell you. Stacey says that was celery, apple and carrot parts. I thought it sounded like a venturi and that if we sped up just a few miles per hour there may have been a sonic boom. I think that thing would chew up a camel leg if we needed to.
Alright, I gotta go kids. We're headed over to my cousin's house for a soire' of sorts. Hotdogs, fruit platters, hamburgers. That sort of thing.
There is no moral to the story except, well sometimes things just go right I guess. Must be all that clean livin' I've been doing.
Ah, who we kiddin'? If I get to Heaven it's because Stacey dragged me along kicking and fighting because I just know we're going the wrong way and she wont listen to me.
You kids be good. Hugs and kisses and all that affectionate jazz your general direction. High fives and low-dives.
I'm out.
J
OK, so it wasn't that bad. But today I finally replaced the garbage disposal in our kitchen. Seems that if you use Drain-o in the disposal that after time it will eat away the seals inside and in time start a drip that will fill a gallon bowl up over-night. So, after some serious reflection and purchasing two, (count them, TWO) separate disposal units, I finally elected to waste the majority of a Saturday afternoon on it's replacement.
So there I was, last week, walking through the Costco. Ironically I started out my lunch half-hour on a mission to find some gloves for the heavy bag. Wait, let me back up even further. So, there's a heavy bag in the new Rec Center. So I go up to the young girl at the counter, with my two bucks in hand, and ask to borrow some heavy bag gloves, for as to beat this canvas bag into submission over my frustrations in the immediate days preceeding. However, she gave me this blank stare and said that there were no gloves for which to be had. So, then I realized we also have a heavy bag at work, which nobody ever uses, andt this could potentially be a good alternative exercise which will not call into question your masculinity (see also, "Pilates"). Anyhow, so I start out looking for a Big Five or a Sports Authority, but the lights of the big city of Sandy were just too much for me. In a tragic twist of irony, I recalled that Costco, in addition to foot-long hotdogs (make your own joke) also sells some reeeeeally greasy pizza, and after all, it WAS lunch time.
So I'm in this Costco, sitting there trying not to let the sticky chairs stick to my uniform, watching people go buy and pounding down my two (yes, they are LARGE pieces of pizza, I'd forgotten how big and ordered two) pieces. From thence, I decided to walk the isles perhaps happening past a depository of boxing equipment and paraphenalia. Which, of course I didnt. However, what I DID happen past, was a garbage disposal, of the $79 kind. See, I'd already purchased one the week prior for just over a hundred dollars MORE than that. Oh this was the whisker quiet one. Yeah, I said whisker. Like a kitty meow meow meow kitty meow. Anyhow, I also opted for the 3/4 horse power one, as I figgered that the potato skins that wouldnt process in the current 1/3 horse model may just not be a problem now. Well, fast forward back to the near present past. To that fateful day in the isle at Costco. So, this particular model, is a 1 1/4 horse model. More than ...2 time..no wait..1/3...plus 1/3...plu...anyhow it was a BUTT-LOAD more powerful that either of the two models I had.
So, of course I bought it. I figured it was a sign really. So, I got it, and there it sat on the shelf in the garage until today. Oh, and for good reason. I was hoping that somehow I could flood the kitchen with the continuous drip, and I was getting used to that acrid smell of rotting...everything but potato skins coming from under the sink. Anyhow, today I ran low on excuses and decided to replace it.
So, I get this thing out of the box, and this is the part I wish to underscore. I READ the directions. NO, not skimmed through the Spanish and French sides, actually READ the English directions. Top to bottom! Including the "IMPORTANT: READ FIRST" part. I was so very proud of myself. Times past I have often declared that instructions were just some other man's opinion. Much like stereo instructions...or speed limit signs. More of suggestions than cold-hard facts really.
So, I begin to tear the old R2 Unit out. Of course it's dripping all over. Down my arm, into my hair...etc. You get the picture. Of course Stacey had placed a towel down that morning to soak up what the Tupperware bowl didnt, but at this point a down comforter couldnt have soaked it all up. Anyhow, so we emptied the sink, pulled out all the crap from under the sink, including the unused fishbowl, the waterlogged soap biscuits for the dishwasher, the fire extinguisher (which I had NO idea was under there) and all the other sundries. So, I wedge my fat little toad-body into the hole and commence to grunting and sweating and ....alas...cursing. I believe I said some really colorful combinations because Stacey said, "Really??? Really??? Are you about done?" of course which the answer was a resounding, "No". I had not yet begun to curse. Mostly cause I'm good at it. I rarely get occaission to really let my imagination go wild and unleash. Well, unless you count the left-turn lane at 13400 South on your third trip to Home Depot.
Where were we? Ah yes. So, I pulled all the old unit out, got Plumber's Putty (which has nothing to do with the crack) and commenced resetting the shiny new unit in place. I gotta tell ya, I was good under the hood if you know what I mean. Went off without a hitch. I got the new 3x as big unit in there and prepared myself for the inevitable hickup that always coincides with a home decor or home improvement project. I was all set for a flux-capacitor to be the wrong size, or to have lost my upside-down left-handed ring removal tool, but no. Seriously, it just...went in. No problems. Weird really. I mean, I actually bought a $30.00 set of new Chinese plumbing wrenches and all sorts of things just in preparation for the second and third trips back to the Depot to get the one I invariably didnt have. But no. It was the weirdest thing. It just...went in. No fuss, no muss. Except of course for the constant dripping on my arm and the one time I dropped the P-trap and soaked my back where I was a-layin'.
Anyhow, so you take the good with the bad I guess. Moral of the story is we now have a Benford 2000 Garbage Disposal. Stacey is using it right now. The dang thing sounds like Niagra Falls chawing up 42 trout heads I tell you. Stacey says that was celery, apple and carrot parts. I thought it sounded like a venturi and that if we sped up just a few miles per hour there may have been a sonic boom. I think that thing would chew up a camel leg if we needed to.
Alright, I gotta go kids. We're headed over to my cousin's house for a soire' of sorts. Hotdogs, fruit platters, hamburgers. That sort of thing.
There is no moral to the story except, well sometimes things just go right I guess. Must be all that clean livin' I've been doing.
Ah, who we kiddin'? If I get to Heaven it's because Stacey dragged me along kicking and fighting because I just know we're going the wrong way and she wont listen to me.
You kids be good. Hugs and kisses and all that affectionate jazz your general direction. High fives and low-dives.
I'm out.
J
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Going once…Going Twice…… Sold!!!
OK, here it is. There I was, no bull. 13 yards behind enemy lines. Surrounded by 30 Ladies known as, “The Relief Society”. OK, so they represent the membership of the adult women in the ward (aka “Parish”) for our particular religion (Latter Day Saint). So, we’re going to have this, “Service Auction” in our backyard. So, Stacey signed me up to be the auctioneer by the way. This wasn’t my doing. I’m completely innocent. I swear it this time.
So to set the stage, the idea(r) is that these ladies all fill out this single page questionnaire. On the questionnaire are items such as, “Did you read your scriptures today?” Five points. “Did you vacuum this week? 5 points…on and on. Anyhow, so the ladies tally up their levels of righteousness and domesticity and presumably hide their scores out of shame at their failings as mothers and wives. Or…whatever. Anyhow, so they have that number of “points” stacked up to begin bidding on various and sundry items of both home-manufacture, and service related …well…services. You get my drift here? This is like the Superbowl of, Do Unto Others.
So, before hand I was asked to weed-whack the back yard. I had to borrow the neighbor’s whacker because my really nice $200 Toro was liberated right out of my garage last year. Personally I think it was stolen (wait for it…) when we had a circle yard-sale. Ironically, my new $200 whacker, which by the way had all the potential to be a tiller, mulcher, edger, daiquiri maker or Flowbee was stolen. Of little import to this segue is the fact that we brought in upwards of $80 in what comprised the latter part of Friday evening and most of Saturday morning preparing for and arguing over $2.00 per item with some of the more greedy of our visitors. So, NET, I’m thinking we were up-side down only about $120 at end of the exercise. But I digress…
Where were we? Ah yes. So, we initially started out with about 25 items on the card tables of various and interesting makes and models. There were home-made cards, little boxes with chocolates inside, “satchels”, home made ties for boys, haircut vouchers, offers to referee pillow fights (Stacey made me take that envelope of mine off the table by the way), etc. Anyhow, so the sisters were aligned like the Christian Science Book Club with an, Attack by Fire and Support By Fire formation (they were in an “L”). Additionally there were three blankies full of chick…er…ladies…at my feet looking up (presumably in grand amazement) at my meat tenderizer. No, seriously, we didn’t have a gavel so we used the meat tenderizer to declare an item, “Sold”. (Get your mind out of the gutter!)
So, anyhow, we went through the items. Josh was the funny man, I was the straight man. So, I would set them up, and Josh would knock them down. He’s actually quite funny that kid. We had a discussion he and I prior to the event over by the trampoline. I told him basically our limit of advance was to PG level comedy, but he was to keep it to “G” rated for the most part. There would be no discussions about suspicions of what goes on behind mommy and daddy’s closed doors, nor would there be mocking of anyone like we do at familial barbeques. This is straight-laced stuff here.
So, we open up, and the first item we choose to display, was a cover for breast-feeding mamma-cita’s. It’s sort of this lime-green thing which had like a sewn in hoop and a wrap around…thing for the lady’s neck. Well, of course we make like it’s an arab head-dress at first, and feign ignorance at what we’re working with . So, someone yells out the correct usage of said item. I placed it around Josh’ neck and he stuck his arms out. WAY out. *sigh* Anyhow, before I can stop myself, I hear myself say, “blah blah blah…this item..blah blah blah…sewn with love in every stitch…blah blah blah ONE SIZE FITS ALL….” Much laughter ensued, however I did not take this as a very delicious start to our “G” rated agreement only moments prior.
Anyhow, so we recovered from that, and the dames (broads, skirts, babes) ate all sorts of salads and heourse de ovaries… or whatever that word is whilst Josh and I played Abbot and Costello for their PG rated amusement. Anyhow, we really had a good time, however I learned some things about women last night. First off, they will NOT bid up food. In fact, one poor lady only got ten points for a full dinner. Whereas the little home made boxes with chocolate got thirty or forty points. I asked a senora later what gives and she said it’s psychological because women don’t want to emphasize the fact that biologically they are required to eat. So, somehow bidding on foot makes them look hungry, which in turn signals they over-eat, which in sequence means they are somehow fat. Obviously I didn’t pick up on that right away. Oh, additionally, “Super Cute” things like blankets and thank you cards go at a PREMIUM! Like, people “paid” 190 points of their 200 Righteous Mother points to get them. Additional items of import seem to be Babysitting and family pictures. An additional curiosity is the fact that women were stingy with their Righteous Mother points. For example, most of them probably went “home” with over a hundred points. Which, I kept reminding them, were TOTALLY made up and useless in the big bad Real World just outside of our gates. Crazy man. So, I wondered silently to myself, if somehow they felt inherently they needed to be careful with their imaginary points, so as not to squander them somehow and be judged an unfit wife and mother by societal on-lookers. Weird. Seriously. It was like they figured there was a distinct possibility they would carry the points over to the next Fiscal Year or something. Oh, another thing, women feel guilty about winning. So, if the bid got too high, and Sister Janet thought that Sister Suzy might somehow need the baked banana bread better, she’d openly back out and try to out-sweet sister Suzy. Pardon the pun.
So what did we learn here class? Well, first off, skirts are just plain un-predictable. Which I had plenty of anecdotal evidence to support anyhow. But additionally, these really are good women. They obviously care about others and love the very idea of brightening someone else’s day. I really did witness a whole lot of selflessness going on there, with the one lone exception of the coveted babysitting coupons. But even then, I realized that they wanted babysitters, so they could go somewhere with their husbands and ironically do something nice for him. I saw women bidding on something ferociously, because they were going to surprise someone else with it as a gift. I saw women give up their imaginary points to others next to them, in order to help their sister win something she really wanted for her baby (i.e. a “Super Cute” blanket).
I’ll be honest with you. I was pretty well humbled by the sisters that came to the event last night. I never did see even one moment of selfishness from one of them. They were genuinely happy to be associated with each other and to just enjoy an early Summer evening. Their smiles were bright and genuine, and I will go on record and declare that the very thank you cards that they fought tooth and nail to get, will ironically be thoughtfully redistributed to those sisters they love and care about in their very midst.
I think we all learned a very valuable lesson last night. I know I sure did. Don’t label your offer to referee Mud Wrestling Matches as the next private event on the outside of the envelope. They frown on that sort of thing. I’m kidding. I simply broached the subject and Stacey’s face pretty much told me my joke wouldn’t be as well received as I first thought. You live and you learn I guess.
OK, you kids have a great day. I have a date with an angel.
All the Best,
J
So to set the stage, the idea(r) is that these ladies all fill out this single page questionnaire. On the questionnaire are items such as, “Did you read your scriptures today?” Five points. “Did you vacuum this week? 5 points…on and on. Anyhow, so the ladies tally up their levels of righteousness and domesticity and presumably hide their scores out of shame at their failings as mothers and wives. Or…whatever. Anyhow, so they have that number of “points” stacked up to begin bidding on various and sundry items of both home-manufacture, and service related …well…services. You get my drift here? This is like the Superbowl of, Do Unto Others.
So, before hand I was asked to weed-whack the back yard. I had to borrow the neighbor’s whacker because my really nice $200 Toro was liberated right out of my garage last year. Personally I think it was stolen (wait for it…) when we had a circle yard-sale. Ironically, my new $200 whacker, which by the way had all the potential to be a tiller, mulcher, edger, daiquiri maker or Flowbee was stolen. Of little import to this segue is the fact that we brought in upwards of $80 in what comprised the latter part of Friday evening and most of Saturday morning preparing for and arguing over $2.00 per item with some of the more greedy of our visitors. So, NET, I’m thinking we were up-side down only about $120 at end of the exercise. But I digress…
Where were we? Ah yes. So, we initially started out with about 25 items on the card tables of various and interesting makes and models. There were home-made cards, little boxes with chocolates inside, “satchels”, home made ties for boys, haircut vouchers, offers to referee pillow fights (Stacey made me take that envelope of mine off the table by the way), etc. Anyhow, so the sisters were aligned like the Christian Science Book Club with an, Attack by Fire and Support By Fire formation (they were in an “L”). Additionally there were three blankies full of chick…er…ladies…at my feet looking up (presumably in grand amazement) at my meat tenderizer. No, seriously, we didn’t have a gavel so we used the meat tenderizer to declare an item, “Sold”. (Get your mind out of the gutter!)
So, anyhow, we went through the items. Josh was the funny man, I was the straight man. So, I would set them up, and Josh would knock them down. He’s actually quite funny that kid. We had a discussion he and I prior to the event over by the trampoline. I told him basically our limit of advance was to PG level comedy, but he was to keep it to “G” rated for the most part. There would be no discussions about suspicions of what goes on behind mommy and daddy’s closed doors, nor would there be mocking of anyone like we do at familial barbeques. This is straight-laced stuff here.
So, we open up, and the first item we choose to display, was a cover for breast-feeding mamma-cita’s. It’s sort of this lime-green thing which had like a sewn in hoop and a wrap around…thing for the lady’s neck. Well, of course we make like it’s an arab head-dress at first, and feign ignorance at what we’re working with . So, someone yells out the correct usage of said item. I placed it around Josh’ neck and he stuck his arms out. WAY out. *sigh* Anyhow, before I can stop myself, I hear myself say, “blah blah blah…this item..blah blah blah…sewn with love in every stitch…blah blah blah ONE SIZE FITS ALL….” Much laughter ensued, however I did not take this as a very delicious start to our “G” rated agreement only moments prior.
Anyhow, so we recovered from that, and the dames (broads, skirts, babes) ate all sorts of salads and heourse de ovaries… or whatever that word is whilst Josh and I played Abbot and Costello for their PG rated amusement. Anyhow, we really had a good time, however I learned some things about women last night. First off, they will NOT bid up food. In fact, one poor lady only got ten points for a full dinner. Whereas the little home made boxes with chocolate got thirty or forty points. I asked a senora later what gives and she said it’s psychological because women don’t want to emphasize the fact that biologically they are required to eat. So, somehow bidding on foot makes them look hungry, which in turn signals they over-eat, which in sequence means they are somehow fat. Obviously I didn’t pick up on that right away. Oh, additionally, “Super Cute” things like blankets and thank you cards go at a PREMIUM! Like, people “paid” 190 points of their 200 Righteous Mother points to get them. Additional items of import seem to be Babysitting and family pictures. An additional curiosity is the fact that women were stingy with their Righteous Mother points. For example, most of them probably went “home” with over a hundred points. Which, I kept reminding them, were TOTALLY made up and useless in the big bad Real World just outside of our gates. Crazy man. So, I wondered silently to myself, if somehow they felt inherently they needed to be careful with their imaginary points, so as not to squander them somehow and be judged an unfit wife and mother by societal on-lookers. Weird. Seriously. It was like they figured there was a distinct possibility they would carry the points over to the next Fiscal Year or something. Oh, another thing, women feel guilty about winning. So, if the bid got too high, and Sister Janet thought that Sister Suzy might somehow need the baked banana bread better, she’d openly back out and try to out-sweet sister Suzy. Pardon the pun.
So what did we learn here class? Well, first off, skirts are just plain un-predictable. Which I had plenty of anecdotal evidence to support anyhow. But additionally, these really are good women. They obviously care about others and love the very idea of brightening someone else’s day. I really did witness a whole lot of selflessness going on there, with the one lone exception of the coveted babysitting coupons. But even then, I realized that they wanted babysitters, so they could go somewhere with their husbands and ironically do something nice for him. I saw women bidding on something ferociously, because they were going to surprise someone else with it as a gift. I saw women give up their imaginary points to others next to them, in order to help their sister win something she really wanted for her baby (i.e. a “Super Cute” blanket).
I’ll be honest with you. I was pretty well humbled by the sisters that came to the event last night. I never did see even one moment of selfishness from one of them. They were genuinely happy to be associated with each other and to just enjoy an early Summer evening. Their smiles were bright and genuine, and I will go on record and declare that the very thank you cards that they fought tooth and nail to get, will ironically be thoughtfully redistributed to those sisters they love and care about in their very midst.
I think we all learned a very valuable lesson last night. I know I sure did. Don’t label your offer to referee Mud Wrestling Matches as the next private event on the outside of the envelope. They frown on that sort of thing. I’m kidding. I simply broached the subject and Stacey’s face pretty much told me my joke wouldn’t be as well received as I first thought. You live and you learn I guess.
OK, you kids have a great day. I have a date with an angel.
All the Best,
J
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Seriously???!
So today was just one of those days. I think I lost about 50 I.Q. points today. I swear. I was at drill the last three days. Friday through Sunday. Each day successively more ridiculous than the last. Now dont get me wrong, I am not saying I'm the sharpest knife in the drawer, but come ON!
So you may have heard I'm the company commander for a headquarters unit. I'm not going to say which one because although it's germane, it's just not going to be flattering. So we'll talk about issues, not people mkay? It's been said that small minds discuss people and big minds discuss ideas. But what if you're idea is that you're surrounded by small people??? OK, so here we are then.
Anyhow, so today the family support ladies were selling breakfast burritos. You KNOW how I feel about breakfast burritos right? Yeah, thought so. I liked them so much I bought the company. Anyhow, so they show up at 0700 (that's A.M. ya'll) three ladies and two tween-agers to assist our little formation with the pangs of hunger. Ironically of course on Fast Sunday, but I digress. So, they forget ladles. I'm not sure how you spell it, but I'm talking about your various and sundry serving spoons. Too easy. So, I'm surrounded by senior non-commissioned officers and officers alike, at the headquarters of one of the most proficient guard experiences in the world. A virtual cornocopia of knowledge and know how. Only, 1/3 of my Soldiers are going to do organized physical training. i.e. volleyball. You know, because at headquarters units we're all fat.
Anyhow, I espy this youngish (54) sergeant and ask him to locate a couple of ladles for which to facilitate the speedy handling of materiel and bacon and cheese. Mostly because these poor ladies are using a fork and a spoon of the plastic variety to chop-stick portions out of the three or four crockpots in which these delectable sundries are displayed. Anyhow, he receives the mission, and says, "Oh, well Sergeant ________ has a whole box of utensils and cutlery and things that we use for our BBQ's. I'll go get them! And off he goes, virtual cape flying in the wind. So, I go take care of some bidness and about fifteen minutes later come back to check on the ladies. It's at this point, I notice that there are the same spoons and forks being used to dish up miniscule portions. So, I think maybe Sergeant ______ got lost on is way. I mean, it IS upwards of 150 yards.
So I head down to the offices from whence he sprang. NO Sergeant ________. So, I ask this other NCO if she can help me locate the coveted and elusive ladles. FIRST drawer she looks in they appear almost like magic. So I ask her to take them down to the ladies. Well, later on, I'm talking with the First Sergeant. Relaying my frustrations. He's aghast and says he's going to un-ass this Sergeant on my behalf. Mostly because NCO's yell and officers get "upset". So I'm upset. Nobody likes the Captain upset. So, he apparently tears into him. Well a few hours later, right before lunch, these ladles re-appear in our office. Cleaned. So, I'm waiting for Sergeant________ to reappear. But he doesnt, so I personally return them. As I transit to the aforementioned offices, I pass by Sergeant _________ and his side kick Sergeant *___________. Both of them seemingly chowing on fried chicken lunches purchased for drilling Soldiers whom have worked up an appetite from all that paperwork shuffling and ladle chasing. So, as I pass him, I hold them up silently and he yells out, "Hey SIR! Where did you find those?!" and I'm like, 'Really?!' YOU told me that she had them in her desk. I sent YOU to get them. YOU brought back two plastic spoons you friggin' idiot! I swear. But I realized verbalizing all this to a 54 year-old Sergeant was going to go absolutlely NOWHERE. Plus his battle-buddy old Colonel Sanders there was lickin' his chops and his pinkies trying to get the residual grease off his fingers. I mean, you LITTERALLY had breakfast burritos two hours ago and you two fat-bodies are chowing down four portions of fatty-boy fried chicken??!!! I was speachless so I just walked off and replaced them in the credenza.
So, in the intermediate, I am sitting in my office. This Senior NCO says, "Hey sir? Where's your Supply at?" So of course I dont know, I'm always the last to know. So, I say as much and just shirk my shoulders. Well I head out to get something out of my truck. RIGHT next to my truck, in his 1998 Toyota Crapola is the supply NCO. WHAT is he doing you might ask? Well he has his back door open and he's spraying some cleaning solution on it and wiping down the door. He's friggin' detailing his car, on Sunday morning, in the parking lot, NEXT to the company commander's vehicle. ALL while the door to supply is closed and Soldiers who need him are left scratching their heads wondering where the hell he went! So, I say, hey, Sergeant X_________, um, Sergeant Y________ was just looking for you in supply, but the door was closed and he couldnt find you. So he says, "huh...I better go open the door" *Genuine astonishment* I'll just finish this window and go open it up.
I didnt know what to say. I...I ....for a while there thought we were in the Army for crying out loud. You gotta be friggin' killing me. Do you know I had an NCO ask to be excused from drill to go to Wyoming and manage their Subway store?!?!?! I dont make this crap up. I had full-time personnel take leave on drill, because they had to work a weekend already this month, it's just too much stress I guess. I had people give me excuses that I just...Oh, my favorite one? Yeah, the kid that found Jesus. Fine, great, good on you. But he wants to split out every Sunday. So his first-line leader comes to talk to me. Sergeant B______ would be a better asset to the unit on Monday than on Sunday because he could Blah blah blah. OK, so fine. So I ask this guy, um...what is he doing on Sunday? Oh, well he wants to go to church with his wife. They just went through the Temple. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh well if they just went through the Temple....WELLL that changes EVERYTHING! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! Are you shitting me? Oh, like I dont want to go to church with my wife and kids? Like, I'm any less spiritual? I thought this kid was in the Army. If coming to drill is not conducive to his newfound religious nature, then he can get out. MEANWHILE, we'll see him at drill!
So, a few months later, we're in Japan. Guess who's drinking beer with his Japanese counter-parts? Yeah, dont get me started. I'm so sick of this pussy-footin' crap we've got going on. I'm about to come unglued I swear. I've never SEEN so many full-timers that just can't possibly be burdened with the requirements of a drill weekend! Aren't you people employed to PREPARE for the drill weekend??! Isn't your SOUL purpose in life to prepare for 28 days for the Big Game? Then you opt out at the last minute?! YOU kidding me?! What do you think this is Wal Mart? Like you just come and go as you please?! I swear if I was king for a day I'd fire 2/3 of these pogues! Un-friggin' believable!
Anyhow, it wasn't such a bad day. I'm home now, the sun is shining. Until a few minutes ago there were literally fourteen kids in our front yard in a single 5 foot in diameter swimming pool. You know what? I knew that would happen. It's not rocket-surgery! You have a pool and a hose and kids will flock. It's just science man. Anyhow, things are settling down, 2/3 of those kids left and Dora is on. We're looking for kids and canolis are just coming out of the oven. "...Swiper no SWIPING!" I gotta go.
Cover me while I move!
Jon Out.
So you may have heard I'm the company commander for a headquarters unit. I'm not going to say which one because although it's germane, it's just not going to be flattering. So we'll talk about issues, not people mkay? It's been said that small minds discuss people and big minds discuss ideas. But what if you're idea is that you're surrounded by small people??? OK, so here we are then.
Anyhow, so today the family support ladies were selling breakfast burritos. You KNOW how I feel about breakfast burritos right? Yeah, thought so. I liked them so much I bought the company. Anyhow, so they show up at 0700 (that's A.M. ya'll) three ladies and two tween-agers to assist our little formation with the pangs of hunger. Ironically of course on Fast Sunday, but I digress. So, they forget ladles. I'm not sure how you spell it, but I'm talking about your various and sundry serving spoons. Too easy. So, I'm surrounded by senior non-commissioned officers and officers alike, at the headquarters of one of the most proficient guard experiences in the world. A virtual cornocopia of knowledge and know how. Only, 1/3 of my Soldiers are going to do organized physical training. i.e. volleyball. You know, because at headquarters units we're all fat.
Anyhow, I espy this youngish (54) sergeant and ask him to locate a couple of ladles for which to facilitate the speedy handling of materiel and bacon and cheese. Mostly because these poor ladies are using a fork and a spoon of the plastic variety to chop-stick portions out of the three or four crockpots in which these delectable sundries are displayed. Anyhow, he receives the mission, and says, "Oh, well Sergeant ________ has a whole box of utensils and cutlery and things that we use for our BBQ's. I'll go get them! And off he goes, virtual cape flying in the wind. So, I go take care of some bidness and about fifteen minutes later come back to check on the ladies. It's at this point, I notice that there are the same spoons and forks being used to dish up miniscule portions. So, I think maybe Sergeant ______ got lost on is way. I mean, it IS upwards of 150 yards.
So I head down to the offices from whence he sprang. NO Sergeant ________. So, I ask this other NCO if she can help me locate the coveted and elusive ladles. FIRST drawer she looks in they appear almost like magic. So I ask her to take them down to the ladies. Well, later on, I'm talking with the First Sergeant. Relaying my frustrations. He's aghast and says he's going to un-ass this Sergeant on my behalf. Mostly because NCO's yell and officers get "upset". So I'm upset. Nobody likes the Captain upset. So, he apparently tears into him. Well a few hours later, right before lunch, these ladles re-appear in our office. Cleaned. So, I'm waiting for Sergeant________ to reappear. But he doesnt, so I personally return them. As I transit to the aforementioned offices, I pass by Sergeant _________ and his side kick Sergeant *___________. Both of them seemingly chowing on fried chicken lunches purchased for drilling Soldiers whom have worked up an appetite from all that paperwork shuffling and ladle chasing. So, as I pass him, I hold them up silently and he yells out, "Hey SIR! Where did you find those?!" and I'm like, 'Really?!' YOU told me that she had them in her desk. I sent YOU to get them. YOU brought back two plastic spoons you friggin' idiot! I swear. But I realized verbalizing all this to a 54 year-old Sergeant was going to go absolutlely NOWHERE. Plus his battle-buddy old Colonel Sanders there was lickin' his chops and his pinkies trying to get the residual grease off his fingers. I mean, you LITTERALLY had breakfast burritos two hours ago and you two fat-bodies are chowing down four portions of fatty-boy fried chicken??!!! I was speachless so I just walked off and replaced them in the credenza.
So, in the intermediate, I am sitting in my office. This Senior NCO says, "Hey sir? Where's your Supply at?" So of course I dont know, I'm always the last to know. So, I say as much and just shirk my shoulders. Well I head out to get something out of my truck. RIGHT next to my truck, in his 1998 Toyota Crapola is the supply NCO. WHAT is he doing you might ask? Well he has his back door open and he's spraying some cleaning solution on it and wiping down the door. He's friggin' detailing his car, on Sunday morning, in the parking lot, NEXT to the company commander's vehicle. ALL while the door to supply is closed and Soldiers who need him are left scratching their heads wondering where the hell he went! So, I say, hey, Sergeant X_________, um, Sergeant Y________ was just looking for you in supply, but the door was closed and he couldnt find you. So he says, "huh...I better go open the door" *Genuine astonishment* I'll just finish this window and go open it up.
I didnt know what to say. I...I ....for a while there thought we were in the Army for crying out loud. You gotta be friggin' killing me. Do you know I had an NCO ask to be excused from drill to go to Wyoming and manage their Subway store?!?!?! I dont make this crap up. I had full-time personnel take leave on drill, because they had to work a weekend already this month, it's just too much stress I guess. I had people give me excuses that I just...Oh, my favorite one? Yeah, the kid that found Jesus. Fine, great, good on you. But he wants to split out every Sunday. So his first-line leader comes to talk to me. Sergeant B______ would be a better asset to the unit on Monday than on Sunday because he could Blah blah blah. OK, so fine. So I ask this guy, um...what is he doing on Sunday? Oh, well he wants to go to church with his wife. They just went through the Temple. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh well if they just went through the Temple....WELLL that changes EVERYTHING! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE! Are you shitting me? Oh, like I dont want to go to church with my wife and kids? Like, I'm any less spiritual? I thought this kid was in the Army. If coming to drill is not conducive to his newfound religious nature, then he can get out. MEANWHILE, we'll see him at drill!
So, a few months later, we're in Japan. Guess who's drinking beer with his Japanese counter-parts? Yeah, dont get me started. I'm so sick of this pussy-footin' crap we've got going on. I'm about to come unglued I swear. I've never SEEN so many full-timers that just can't possibly be burdened with the requirements of a drill weekend! Aren't you people employed to PREPARE for the drill weekend??! Isn't your SOUL purpose in life to prepare for 28 days for the Big Game? Then you opt out at the last minute?! YOU kidding me?! What do you think this is Wal Mart? Like you just come and go as you please?! I swear if I was king for a day I'd fire 2/3 of these pogues! Un-friggin' believable!
Anyhow, it wasn't such a bad day. I'm home now, the sun is shining. Until a few minutes ago there were literally fourteen kids in our front yard in a single 5 foot in diameter swimming pool. You know what? I knew that would happen. It's not rocket-surgery! You have a pool and a hose and kids will flock. It's just science man. Anyhow, things are settling down, 2/3 of those kids left and Dora is on. We're looking for kids and canolis are just coming out of the oven. "...Swiper no SWIPING!" I gotta go.
Cover me while I move!
Jon Out.
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