Generational (part 2)

Once upon a parent teacher conference night...

...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 her schedule, and I noticed we we're going to go 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 slight 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, called West Lyon."

This time I smile for real. "That was my dad. He was 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."

My Profile Photo

Sleeveface [slev fas]
one or more persons obscuring or augmenting any part of their body or bodies with record sleeve(s) causing an illusion.

How to sleeveface: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NVt4jOasujc

Since I was alone and using my laptop's camera, I couldn't see if I had the LP in the right spot. Looks like I got lucky. 

It also looks like Andy Williams has skinny arms.

Eating Cookies at Homemakers Furniture is Always a Good Time

Sometimes our day care provider emails me a picture from Charlotte's day. It's great seeing her having fun, but I get a bit bummed knowing someone else is making her smile.

"Urgh!"

While growing up, one of my most consistent memories of my dad is of him coming home from work and then falling asleep in his living room chair - a newspaper lying flat against his chest. If you asked Dad how his day was during dinner he'd softly snort and say "Busy." If you asked him what he did that day he'd reply, "Kept busy."

Later, in the TV room, we'd eat air-popped popcorn and watch TV - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dhpSp3sG20 -  until it was time to go to bed (always 10:00 PM). Dad didn't talk in his sleep, didn't talk with food in his mouth, and he didn't talk when the TV was on. So, when I was a kid talking to dad wasn't ever an option.  

You can then imagine what a jolt it was when one Saturday morning, before he left for work, Dad leaned into my bedroom and said, "I taped a show off of cable for you late last night. It's all about music, and looked like something you'd like." I was shocked into silence, and dad quickly turned away.

My first thought was, "How'd he know I liked music?" - as if he hadn't heard music blaring out of my upstairs room since I was five - and my first action was to hop out of bed and run down to the TV room to fire up the VCR. Sometimes our cable provider would give our town a free weekend of HBO, and my dad would borrow a VCR from work so we could record as many programs as possible.

The movie he recorded for me was a 1981 British release called "Urgh! A Music War", and it featured live performances by 38 different bands from around the world. Talk about an eyeopener, I couldn't believe what I was seeing and hearing.

I was only 12, and I had no idea there were so many strange bands in the world.

When I got to the 23rd performance, The Cramps performing their song "Tear it Up", I quickly closed the TV room's door in fear that my mom would see what I was watching and destroy the tape. I kept thinking "Are you supposed to put a microphone in there?" and "What is that guy wearing? Are those actually pants? How does he keep them up?"

Then I thought, "Thanks, Dad!"

Well, my "Urgh" VHS tape eventually wore out, but thanks to the kind folks at Warner Archive I recently got a chance to time travel back to 1981. The movies available from the archive haven't been available on DVD before, and are burned onto DVD-R "on demand". In other words, you can't find these in any stores.

http://www.wbshop.com/category/wbshop_brands/warner+archive.do

Although the movies are described as not remastered or restored, you can watch a quick clip to check out the video's quality. I ordered "Urgh" on a Wednesday, and it was in my DVD player in three days. The widescreen presentation looks and sounds great, and I still wonder "How does that guy keep those 'pants' up?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kC4LqiRoIE8

Running at the Mouth

Although I sometimes regret it, I don't listen to music when I run. If I'm going for more than thirty minutes, then I'll eventually have to venture out of my neighborhood. Strange dogs, cracks in unfamiliar sidewalks, and hidden driveways are all possible dangers. Considering how fatigue slows down my reaction time, I can't allow myself to get lost in the music. 

This isn't to say I don't get lost inside my head. When I'm by myself I can get stuck in protracted, imaginary arguments for miles. That's not very helpful emotionally, and the resulting negative attitude makes the workout all that much harder. Luckily, Charlotte pops in to help me out.

I don't obsess about my daughter when I run, but I can't stop myself from using her vocabulary when I see some of her favorite things. When I pass by a school bus my immediate thought is, "That's a lellow buth." When I spot a startled rabbit darting under a bush I say, "Hellooo, Hop-hop." A bird passes overhead? "Bird fly! Flap, flap." I can't help saying these phrases, and I can't help smiling, either.

But the worst is when I feel pressure on my bladder, "Oh, I think I have to potty."

Seriously? Potty? I have to be careful to not say that in front of people.

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fcPfaMpSeE

Generational (part one)

My mom recently visited us, and she brought along three old photo albums for me to have. The albums aren't of me exclusively, but put them together and they represent my first three years. 

I was almost startled when I got to my nine to 12 month photos and could see my daughter in there too. Forty one years ago my parents could have looked at me and also gotten a glimmer of their future granddaughter?

The genes are strong with this one...

Here's me at nine months:

Here's Charlotte at 12 months:

By the way, my Spice Girls shirt is meant to be ironic. Sadly, the smokes in my grandpa's shirt pocket are not. Eventually they killed him.

Spring Break 2011 or Why Daphne still misses Theo

Last year we had our first spring break with Charlotte. We didn't travel anywhere exotic, but we did manage to get in a lot of nap time. I like the "circle of connection" in this photo:

 According to Ben Stein, we were doing the right thing:

http://www.cbsnews.com/video/watch/?id=7360204n&tag=cbsnewsVideoArea.0

Better Than Winning the Lottery?

Charlotte doesn't understand money, but she understands Mo Willems' great cast of cartoon characters. So, bringing home a surprise batch of EIGHT "new" Elephant & Piggy books (plus one Cat the Cat book) from the library made Dad look like "The Bringer of Happiness".

And really, how many times will I get such an easy chance to look like "The Bringer of Happiness"?

Winning the lottery: 0
Dad looking cool for once: 1

A Gift from the Heart

On March 20, Daphne and I had our first date night in months. Grandma had Charlotte while we went out to dinner at Irina's. While we were waiting for our food to arrive a young man about 25 years old approached our table and asked if I was Mr. Monson and also a teacher at UHS?

I said yes, and he replied, "My name is Graham, and although I didn't have you as a teacher I remember that my friends said you were always talking about music." He then handed me a CD case featuring this on the cover:

"Have you heard of The Head and the Heart?" I slowly shook my head, not sure what he was talking about. 

"They're a mix of folky pop, and I have this feeling that you might really their music," he then pointed to the case now in my hands, "Music makes the word go round, right?"

I had to agree, and once I was sure he was giving me the CD and not just showing it to me, I shook his hand and thanked him for his kindness. It was really nice of him, and I wish I could have caught his last name. But you have to admit getting a strange looking gift from a complete stranger is, well, also a bit strange. 

After dinner, our waiter spotted the CD case and asked, "Ohhh, is that the movie Halloween?" and I tried to explain that I wasn't sure exactly what it was. I couldn't even point to where Graham was sitting at the bar because he had left. Once we were home, I got as far as placing the CD on our kitchen's island. I didn't find it again until Thursday. 

Little did I know much I was going to like The Head and the Heart. I can't really put my finger on it, no one track stands out as a favorite, but as a whole the album delivers the goods.

And I'm not alone in my enthusiasm for this record. The first track, "Cats and Dogs", has often calmed down an upset Charlotte on the way to daycare. With lyrics about gardens, mice, and other animals, Char thinks it was written for her. Plus she can hear her grandma's violin in there too.

Thanks, Graham. I hope I get to tell you sometime how much we enjoy your gift.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nvZtVoItXxQ

What we've got here is failure to communicate

Charlotte's almost into her 20th month, and the size of her vocabulary seems to grow with every breath she takes. But I don't always understand every word she says, and I can't get by with a "Uh huh, yes, that's right." anymore, either. Char knows what she's trying to tell me, and most of the time simply nodding my head in agreement is not the appropriate response.

Last week I was in the kitchen working on dinner. Charlotte walks in, grabs my index finger, and leads me from the stove to the middle of the room. "Egtthhs," is all she says.

I'm clueless, so I reply "Yep, that's true."

"Nooooo. Egtthhs," she patiently repeats.

  
I pause for a moment to try and decipher her request, but I draw a blank. "Yep. I believe it."

  
"No. No. No. Egtthhs!" Her head is shaking, her volume is rising, and I can see tears of frustration start to well. We're just about ready to cross the Tantrum County Line.

  
Then Mom comes in and saves the evening, "What's wrong little one?"

"Egtttthhhhhssss..." 

  
"Oh, your Easter basket? It's right here." Daphne retrieves the basket from the kitchen’s island and hands it to Char. "All your Easter eggs are in there, honey. They're all okay." 

  
Charlotte smiles, grabs the basket with one hand, takes her mother's index finger with the other, and they both leave the room without giving me a passing glance. 

Once again I'm left alone to wonder if Charlotte's beginning to suspect that dad's lovable, but he's also kinda dumb. 

There Has to be Some Reward for Exercise

Yes! The opening of Snookies Malt Shop in Beaverdale confirms that fact that summer really is on its way!

Sure, you might have heard of Snookies and even been there several times, but did you know one of the sundae toppings they offer is melted peanut butter:

Oh. My. Goodness. 

I didn't want to hit it out if the park on our first visit of the season, so I kept my topping choice to one, but can you imagine hot fudge on there too? 

Oh, and if you're a hot fudge fan, they can make you a hot fudge malt or shake too. It's a dixie cup full of awesome.

An Angel On Your... What?

I've written about our book "Toilet Paper Origami" before, but now I have a new story.

My mom loves religious symbols, and I grew up in a house decorated with Crosses, angels, and pictures of Jesus. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not making fun of my mom's beliefs, as they are my own. But my mom really loves angels. She's got angels on her walls, her jewelry, her clothing, and her keychains. There's an angel clipped to her car's sun visor, and she often carries a angel in her pocket.

For fun, but also because we knew my mom would get a kick out of it, Daphne folded up a toilet paper angel, and she placed the roll in the bathroom my mom uses when she visits:

As expected, my mom was very pleased when she saw her surprise, and she asked to take home the roll and the attached angel. That was two years ago, and since then the angel has been hanging out in my mom's second bathroom. 

Recently Mom asked Daphne if she could have another T.P. angel. Apparently my nephew's "rough around the edges" girlfriend used mom's second bathroom, and the angel wasn't to be seen again. 

Maybe it's just how I was raised, but I don't think I could ever use an angel to wipe.

Let's Root, Root, Root for the Cubbies!

Charlotte's getting ready for the seventh-inning stretch:

A Moving Tale (part 2)

You Can't Always Get What You Want 

So, as I mentioned in part 1, for six months we tried to sell our house so we could move out to the country. During those months the real estate values went negative and a pregnancy test turned positive. One of the worst winters in Iowa history had blanketed the landscape, and we knew it was time to throw in the towel. Daphne had become too pregnant to be interested in moving anywhere except to the bed for a nap, and we needed to get a room ready for the baby.

In the end Daphne didn't get her Victorian farm house, I didn't get my barn workshop, the dog didn't get her six acre playground, and the cats lost their opportunity to scoop up field mice and bop them on the head. 

Now instead of a 35-minute interstate commute, I'm still stuck driving a boring five minutes to work (no jackknifed semis on Aurora Ave.), or a dull eight minutes to daycare. If I choose to shovel my driveway instead of letting my retired neighbor and his snow blower clear our snow, then I've got about two car lengths to clear instead of twenty. If we want to buy groceries, shop at a mall, eat at one of several restaurants, or even see a movie, then we can do that without even getting into the car. The only thing within walking distance of the farmhouse we wanted was the mailbox.   

Sometimes I still drive by that acreage and wonder what it would have been like to live there. But then I drive to a home that might be a bit less romantic, but a whole lot more practical.

 At least this time I didn't have to lose what I have in order to appreciate it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_4l1H7Ynrk&feature=related

A Moving Tale (part 1)

(a pre-Charlotte story)

In the fall of 2009 Daphne and I decided it would be fun to move. There wasn't anything wrong with our house; we were just ready for a change. 

As first time sellers, we found the "open house" part of selling a home to be a real pain - and a disappointing pain at that. No one came to our first open house - not even the realtor. She "opened" a vacant house and wasn't told she was at the wrong location that weekend. Daphne's three frantic hours of house cleaning had just gone down the drain.

Our second open house didn't fare much better. An elderly couple stood for a minute in our entryway, and liked what they saw, but because they couldn't climb our split-level stairs they left. So, if you include the realtor, that was three more people than last time.

Too bad no one had even seen my secrete weapon. It was the one thing that I was sure would push our place over the top into people's minds as the house to buy. You see, I had faith in the power of 

origami.

I found the "Toilet Paper Origami" book listed on a "Weirdest Books Ever" web page, but I found the topic strangely intriguing. Besides, the idea of us actually prepping our t.p. for an open house really made me laugh.

I didn't tell Daphne when I ordered the book because many nights I'm home first, and I could surprise her by making our toilet roll look (insert fake southern accent here) "fancy".

The day he book arrived I tore open the package, checked the driveway for Daph's car, and then bolted into our master bathroom. I quickly removed the roll (that's step one) and followed the directions to create the "Fan" pattern. Once completed, I carefully replaced the roll (step 10), and left the book by the bathroom sink. I left the room giggling to myself - much like I'm doing right now.

When Daphne finally came home, about 20 minutes later, I was all excited for her to use the bathroom. Yes, I now know how that sounds. For most people hitting the john is usually the first piece of business when you get home from a long day, but not this time. Daphne wanted to talk. She wanted to talk and eat a snack. She wanted to talk, eat a snack, and play with her dog. Then she wanted to talk some more, hug her dog some more, and maybe think about changing her clothes. After 30 minutes I was practically shaking.

Finally I cut her off, "Daphne, I'm sorry, but would you go to the bathroom?"

Understandably, Daphne looked confused and perhaps a bit hurt, "What?"

"The bathroom. Could you please just go to the bathroom?" At this point Daphne's eyes tighten and her brows drop.

"No, it's not..." I'm now realizing how this sounds and I cough up a little laugh, "It's just that I wanted you to..."

Daphne steps back a foot as I flounder forward. "Oh, come on. Just go to the bathroom with me. It will just take a second. You gotta see what I did." Daphne stepped back further and shakes her head. 

This is not coming out right.

"C'mon." I resort to action, leading her out of the kitchen and down the hall to our bedroom. Stopping at the bathroom door,  I swept an arm inside, and presented her with a "big reveal" (insert "ooohs" and  "ahhhs" here):

Despite my bumbling intro, Daphne smiled when she saw the "Fan", and then laughed when I showed her the book and explained that it was for our open houses. 

Daphne knew folding toilet paper was ridiculous, but she also had fun making designs for our three bathrooms.  Since open houses seem like a total waste, we might as well have a little fun with them.  

Unfortunately, none of the other open houses did any better.

Too bad no one stopped by to see how we roll.