What's Your Resolution?

I just brought home the grungiest pinball machine that I've ever seen with the nicest backglass that I've ever owned.

It was manufactured in Spain, and then it was beat up in a French cafe.

The Criterium 75 machine was then imported to Cascade, Iowa (?) where it sat in a basement for almost 40 years. I spotted it on an eBay auction that didn't sell, and I bought it through email.

I asked the 80-year-old owner if he had ever played the machine, and he shook his head no. I don't know why, but I guess there's something going on with the European electricity exchange. Also, the playfield's plastic surface is now curled up in sections like potato chips.

In 2017, I'm going to fix this pile and play it!

So.... What are you going to do?

Airing Her Out

There's no school this week, so the Monsons are on vacation. Make that a staycation. We haven't gone anywhere. In fact, we have barely left the house. Charlotte spent Saturday (except for church), Sunday, and Monday in PJs. There's nothing wrong with that, but by Tuesday morning Char was driving us crazy. She was about to explode from pent-up energy.

It's too cold for the park, and we thought about the play place at the mall, but our little girl is now too big for that. She's also too big to spell out words around. I suggested to Daph that we look up the open hours at "P. U. M. P.", and Charlotte jumped up and said, "Pump it Up! Are we going there?"

Well, it looks like we are now...

(Note to self: I want carpet like his for my basement.)

On Tuesdays for seven dollars (parents are free), you get an hour and a half of "open jump" access to their two rooms of inflatables. That's the length of a typical kids movie, and a heck of a lot cheaper.

Slides and smiles!

The cliff dive was scary, but she conquered her fear of heights. 

Even the video games made her exercise.

The whistle blew at 1:00, and Pump it Up had wore her out. That's a great deal.

Thank You Note

Char let us sleep all the way to 7:05 a.m. That's a record... in a good way! She ran into our room waving Santa's note and these passes to Adventureland that she had found in her stocking.

She exclaimed, "Mom! Dad! Look what we got from Santa! Oh my gosh, I love this guy!"

Merry Christmas!

She's Makin' the Lists and Checkin' Them Twice

Here are our Christmas stockings. Charlotte took it upon herself to write our Christmas lists for Santa. Char didn't want any help; she was sure she knew what we all wanted.

Translations:

Char's List:

Squinkie Christmas
Squinkie Houses
A Squinkies Tree house
A Squinkie Carnival
Lots of Squinkie Sets
Lots of Squinkies
And a tortoise

Mom's List:
Dark Chocolate

Dad's List:
Meats
Beef

Both Daphne and I think Char nailed it.

Here's hoping you get what you want this Holiday Season!
(Maybe you'll get a tortoise...)

Once upon a conference night... (An Email Reprint)

(from March 8, 2012)

...a mother and her daughter walked into my classroom, and the mother gasped, "Oh my God! You can't be Mr. Monson. You look just like him, but you just can't be him... that was so long ago..."

I've had some strange conference conversations before, but this opening was a first, "Excuse me?" 

"Oh, as we were walking up the steps, I looked at Paige's schedule, and I noticed we we're going to see a Mr. Monson. I was telling her that I had a Mr. Monson as my principal in elementary school, and I was joking that it was going to be the same guy... I can't believe it, but you look exactly like my old principal!"

I gave her a polite laugh, and a smirk,  "Well, where did you go to school?"

"Oh," she waved a hand in front of her face, "it's a small school, way up north. It's called West Lyon."

This time I smile for real. "That was my dad. He was an elementary principal there in the early 70's." 

"Are you serious?" 

I assured her I was, and the rest of the conference went fairly smoothly, except I kept catching the mom staring at my face instead of the transcript I had giver her. At the end of our meeting I shook both of their hands, and as mom was walking out she informed me, "Except for the modern haircut, you look just like him. Your dad had this Mike Brady style haircut."

"Yep, Dad was rockin' that doo back then." 

"He sure was."

Here is Dad back in 1973. My sister Michelle and I are helping him decorate the Chistmas tree. I was four; Shelley was six.

Music Link: Blame it on My Youth

2016 Update: My grandmother passed away last week, and her funeral was on Monday. I was a pallbearer. After the service, at least three different strangers stopped to tell me they knew I was Barry's son just by looking at me. 

Blog Link: "His Voice in Mine"

Better Than a Warm Pair of Mittens

Originally written in 1944 by Frank Loesser, "Baby, It's Cold Outside" is a Christmas staple that has been recorded by more artists than I care to count. The song is a flirty conversation between a "wolf" and a "mouse". The mouse is ready to leave the home of the wolf after a date, and the wolf is trying to convince the mouse not to scurry away. I can hear the song blasting at the mall, and the local radio stations play various versions, but rarely do I hear my favorite performance.

For my money, Sammy Davis Jr. and Carmen McRae recorded the definitive version in 1957.  

First, a couple that performs "Baby, It's Cold Outside" has to have chemistry for the song to work. Willie Nelson and Norah Jones sang this duet in 2010, and they're both great performers, but there's 46 years between their ages. That's kind of gross. Plus, it doesn't sound like they're even in the same room. In contrast, Sammy and Carmen sound like they're sharing a microphone, and singing arm in arm.

Secondly, the song is suppose to be playful. There's a reason performers have had fun playing the roles. John Travolta has sang the mouse to Olivia Newton-John's wolf. Once Bing Crosby and  Jimmy Stewart sang this together on the radio, with no female mouse stirring in the house. When you listen to Sammy and Carmen play off of each other, it really does sounds like play. You can't tell me they're not having fun. By the end, they're both goofing and laughing.

Thirdly, there's Mr. Davis. I really enjoy how Sammy's vocal delivery romps around within the parameters of the lyrics, "Look. Out. That-a Win-dow A-at That Storm." And I'm sure it's just my imagination, but I swear I can hear the ice in his Manhattan clinking as he's swings the glass around.   

The high today in Des Moines is 5 degrees . Why don't you curl up by the fire with Sammy and Carmen?

Link: Baby It's Cold Outside

The Hero Question (An Email Reprint)

Whenever I "get" to go to a staff meeting outside of our school building, it's very likely that I'll have to partner up with a stranger, and we'll be instructed to tell each other who is our hero and why. Then, five awkward minutes later, we'll have to stand up and share our partner's information with the room.

I know this is a "getting to know you" exercise, but it's frustrating. The "hero question" feels too loaded and too constricting: people seem to go with a name that somehow proves who they are as a person. I'm 40, and I still don't know exactly who I am.  So who do I pick as a name that somehow defines me?

If I say Jesus I'm a devote Christian. If I say Ronald Regan I'm a hard line conservative. If I say Barack Obama I'm a bleeding heart liberal. If I say Michael Jordan I'm a die hard sports fan. If I say my wife's name I'm a smarmy sap. If I name someone from work I'm a suck-up. If I say Jimi Hendrix I'm a music fan who's okay with heroin use. If I say Batman I believe in imaginary people, and I probably shouldn't be influencing children. 

So, I have no good answer.

At the last development meeting I told my new "pal", a woman with poppy seeds stuck in her teeth, that "Thomas Edison is my hero," and then I scraped out of my barrel's bottom, "because he never gave up... uummm... on the light bulb.".

Sad.

Link: "Heroes" Triple Fast Action

I'm now 47, and I still don't have a hero answer.

Christmas Collectibles

I don't do the holiday decorating at our house. When I was single, I was lucky if I opened the Christmas cards that came in the mail. Daphne is the one who is passionate about getting our house into the spirit. If Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine's Day, or Easter is near, you'd know it by looking inside our place. It is a lot of work for her, but I know Daphne is making warm memories for Charlotte.

I only make two contributions during this time of the year. One of the decorations that I add to the mix is my Twinkle Twee (and no, that's not a typo). 

This plastic tree stands 18 inches tall, is lightly covered in glitter, and has red, green and blue colored light bulbs that flash intermittently. 

It's a simple apparatus, but if I had to name one item from my childhood that symbolizes the Christmas season, this is it. I can't remember a Christmas in the 70s or early 80s without Mom's Twinkle Twee flashing in the living room. Those were the good Christmases: the ones when everyone was still alive and still pretended to get along. 

I asked if I could have the Twee when I got my first apartment, but Mom said no. If I wanted to see the Twee at Christmas, I'd have to come home to see it. That was fair enough, so I went Twee hunting. 

The problem was I couldn't find one.  There's a good chance most Twees didn't make it through very many holidays. The Twinkle Twees were first produced in 1964, and over the years the plastic can become brittle and crack. Also, it would only take one game of indoor football or one drunk uncle for someone to fall on it and crush the Twee like a paper cup.

The Twee prices on eBay have gone through the roof. How is that possible? Who else would want one?

I don't think it’s possible to predict what will be collectible in the future. What will be worth more: a Justin Bieber concert poster, my daughter’s collection of Squinkies, or your old flip phone? Only time will tell. I can tell you that if something says "Collectible!" on the packaging, then don’t believe that. It will never be worth more than what you paid. 

You also can't believe popular trends. Two decades ago people were convinced that Beanie Babies were a solid investment. Certain “collectable” Beanie Babies were being sold for thousands of dollars. You can now buy them on eBay by the pound.

What I have noticed about vintage, collectible items is that they were once popular, and at one time anyone could have bought them. Since they were commonplace, they were considered disposable. Most of these items were replaced, thrown away, and forgotten. Then a new generation comes along and realizes why these items were popular, and they want one for themselves. Problem is, they are now scarce. Some examples include Frank Zappa vinyl records, first generation iPods, and 1980s mopeds.

For others, these items represent a happy time in a person’s life, and they want that item to help them relive the past. Different motivation, but same problem. What was once common has now become scarce.

So it was with my Twee. I had given up my active search about ten years ago, and that’s when I found one. I spotted a Twinkle Twee on a top shelf at a local antique mall in the middle of July. The price was $19.99, and I didn’t hesitate. I drove home with my new collectible in the passenger seat and an unstoppable grin on my face. I was in the Twinkle Twee club.

When I walk around our house during the many holidays, I wonder what item will remind Charlotte of these times when she is older? What will she want to take with her to her first apartment?

I guessing it won't be my other contribution to the holiday decor. 

If Charlotte wants to enjoy my 1959 LP of Christmas in Hawaii by The Surfers, she'll have to come back home to do it.

Side note: Like most people, we walked through a lot of houses when we were house shopping. One of the deciding factors if I liked a house or not was the mental question, “How will it feel to walk down these stairs on Christmas morning?”

What I was really asking myself is, “Does this house feel like home?”

Link: Here Comes Santa in the Red Canoe