My life as a cartoon

Most of us have a pretty good idea of how hard to squeeze a ketchup bottle. But applying that much pressure and a little more still wasn’t getting the desired results. The bottle was full, so I looked down the nozzle to see if perhaps the seal hadn’t been removed. Couldn’t tell.

I set the bottle squarely on the counter and squeezed with both hands. That did it: a stream of ketchup shot almost three feet into the air and landed on top of my head. By some miracle of grace no one in the sandwich shop was looking at that moment. It took three napkins to blot up the ketchup before returning to my class.

Old age or cabin fever?

You tell me:

• Susan just finished scrubbing out the dishwasher when she spied an old container of Easy-Off oven cleaner under the kitchen sink. Going from one task right to the next, she began applying the cleaner to our oven, unleashing a powerful wave of chemical odor through the house. It was just above freezing outside, but we cranked the windows open and soon stopped coughing. By the way, our oven is self-cleaning.
• The residue of Seattle’s infamous ‘Snowmageddon’ was quickly washing away in the rain, but I found myself shoveling slush in the street to create direct channels for water to reach storm drains. Didn’t occur to me until later that water finds its way to those drains every time it rains – without my help.
• I got up on our almost-flat roof yesterday to make sure that snow wasn’t obstructing the downspouts. Strong winds blew in that night, and a tremendous crash about 3:00 AM reminded our household and neighbors that I’d forgotten to take that extension ladder down.

Seattle + snow

Take a moment to consider these beautiful scenes – probably unfolding in your neighborhood right now – before getting in your car today:

It’s a new year…

I’d hoped to do some writing over Christmas but ended up battling with two old computers, both of which died.  In some instances, killing one’s opponent might count as a victory, but this was not a win for me.  After spending several hundred dollars and many hours, we’re up and running again with a new computer and I forfeited one good excuse for not writing.  Stay tuned.

Tomato

I plucked this beautiful thing from one of the Momotaro vines in our garden today.  Edgar said it best in Act V, Scene II of King Lear:  “Ripeness is all.”

Amen.

Daddy’s little girl…

Doesn’t seem like that long ago that we brought her home from the hospital as a baby…   Our friend Nathaniel Solis took these photos.

Plan C

Plan A was not to have a dog.

As a little girl, Lauren became something of an expert on dogs.  She pored over gigantic books from the library, and could rattle off origins and personality traits of species I’d never heard of.  Her powers of persuasion were (and are) formidable, but The Meanest Parents In The World were unyielding in their practicality:  two working adults, two school-age kids, early morning walks, some allergy issues, other responsibilities…  The topic came up now and then but we stayed the course for more than a decade.

Fast forward about ten years.  Lauren (17) and Zack (15) are very good friends with each other.  While she was in France this Spring, we were touched to see how much he missed her.  Zack then started his own research on dogs and made some initial contacts.  He also walks a neighbor’s dog regularly, which creates a credibility problem:  he has more.  Plan B took shape calling for an older, mellow, mostly indoor dog with short hair or no hair.

Plan C arrived a couple of weeks ago in the form of a 1-1/2 year-old Sheltie and Corgi mix.  “Odie” (his formal name is Otis; his really-formal name is Odysseus) is sweet, cute, mellow, and long-haired.  He follows Zack around like a shadow, and their mutual affection is of the classic boy-and-his-dog stuff.

We’ll have to empty the vacuum canister more often, but for a family that resisted a dog for so long, it’s been a pretty smooth transition to loving this little guy.

Buying a car

O faithful readers, please forgive my long absence.  In starting a new business I have neglected the exercise of writing for enjoyment.  Hope to get back into the habit, and appreciate your patience while I was otherwise occupied.

The tragic death of our 1991 Toyota Previa in January made us a one-car family of four.  Using more public transportation is generally a good thing, as is better planning of errands and shopping trips.  With working adults and two kids in high school, however, we would have been stuck but for family, friends, and neighbors who loaned us vehicles when we needed one.  (We especially appreciated the use of Susan’s parents’ car while they were out of town.)  It takes a village, don’t you know.

A few cars on Craigslist – including the one we bought – sounded promising.  Along the way we looked at one that provided a caveat emptor lesson, and a good little story…

It was dark and pouring rain when Susan and I pulled alongside a car waiting in the grocery store parking lot where we’d arranged to meet.  After identifying ourselves to the guy inside, the car door opened and a pair of white leather shoes with buckles emerged.  I knew immediately we weren’t going to buy that car.

We’re not usually willing to judge on the basis of appearances, but there’s something to be said for first impressions.  A shirt unbuttoned halfway down the guy’s chest was strike two for us.  We did the obligatory walk around the car, and Susan spotted and asked about the dealer plates (we’d only looked at ads for private sales).  “Oh, I guess I should have mentioned that I’m an agent for a dealer.”  Yes, you should’ve.

I drove the car and Susan checked things out in the back seat.  “What do you know about the owners?” she inquired.  “They live in Tacoma, and they’re real nice people.”  Okey dokey.  The seller had told me in a text message the car got 27 mpg; when I asked him about gas mileage during the test drive, he said it all depends on how you drive.

Susan continued her sleuthing in the back seat.  “Why is this carpet wet?”  “Oh – some friends were sitting back there, and their feet were probably wet from the rain.”  Even halfway up the front of the seat?

The car was a nice ride – very smooth.  But certain kinds of ‘smooth’ feel like we’re being taken for a ride, and this was one of those.  “We can head back to the grocery store,” I told the seller.  “I think we have all the information we need.”  And thanks for the ride.

Making ice cream

Although this happened many years ago, we still laugh every time we recall the story, as we did again last weekend…

Lauren’s first grade class had an end-of-the-year party on the last day of school.  One of the traditions was having ice cream for the kids, and Susan and another mom volunteered to help out.  “We could do something like popsicles,” Susan suggested.  “That’d be simple and easy.”

The other mom was more enthusiastic.  “Let’s not just serve ice cream to the kids.  Let’s have them make it!  That would be more memorable and fun for them.”  The moms had heard about making ice cream in coffee cans, which sounded easy.  It’s just ingredients sealed inside a smaller container and rolling around in a larger one full of ice and rock salt.  They decided that zip-lock bags could accomplish the same thing and eliminate the need to round up that many coffee cans.  Good thinking.

Doubling the zip-lock bags, the outer ones were filled with ice and rock salt, and gallons and gallons of half-and-half were poured into the inner bags with sugar and vanilla.  The kids were seated at their tables and one sealed bag was given to each of them.  No one was left out, and every kid was eager to make his or her own delicious little batch of ice cream.

The moms demonstrated how to hold a bag and how to shake it up and down.  Nothing too complicated.  They explained that when the ice cream was ready, the kids could pour it into bowls and eat it.  OK, kids, start shaking your bags!  Before you know it, we’ll have ice cream.

So much activity!  Isn’t this fun?  Burn off some of that excess energy.  Get their minds off being out of school.  But then kids’ hands started to get cold.  Some of the outer bags leaked and salty ice water ran down the kids’ arms.  And despite considerable shaking, the ingredients only got about as thick as tomato soup.

“My arms are getting tired.”  “How much longer do we have to do this?”  The activity was quickly losing its intended appeal.  Then about six bags burst open, disgorging thin, cold ice cream and ice water in every direction.  Kids were crying.  They were wet and cold from the ice cream eruptions, and salt water was stinging their skin.  When the bell rang, all of a sudden kids were out the door heading for their buses.  What about that ice cream they were supposed to get?  Hey, feel free to lick some up on your way out.  Wow – that’s a fun way to end the school year.

Now it was time to start mopping up the gallons of ice water and soupy ice cream that covered the tables, chairs, and floor.  There were no real towels, only those non-absorbent school paper towels that pushed the mess around.  Just the help the teacher was looking for, especially on the last day of school.  Well, one of the hoped-for goals was realized:  the kids weren’t likely to forget this party.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lessons for the grownups:

Enthusiasm is overrated. The word is derived from the Greek “en theism” (in God).  It means literally “to be inspired by or possessed by a divine presence.”  I greatly appreciate the many gifts that come to us through inspiration, but enthusiasm should probably be taken with a few grains of [rock] salt.

Volunteers are awesome, but you don’t always get the help you need.

Sometimes it’s a good thing when ‘simple’ trumps ‘memorable.’ The wise person is the one who can tell which is which ahead of time.

Lessons for the kids:

Grownups don’t always know what they’re doing.  This is why learning
1) how to forgive, and 2) the importance of a good sense of humor is essential, even in first grade.

Teen driving: The Agony

I received a very distraught phone call from Our Daughter on a recent evening.  She just hit another car.  She was unhurt, for which we are most thankful, and she wasn’t too far, so I got to her in short order.  She dissolved into tears as I put my arms around her.

Sounds like a water bottle fell onto the floor by her feet while she was driving on a one-block-long residential street.  When she reached down to get it, she plowed our trusty van into a parked car (a brand new one that still had the dealer plates).  Damage to both vehicles was extensive – no time to hit the brakes before impact.  When I arrived, one of our van’s front wheels was at a 45-degree angle while the other was straight ahead.  Not a good sign.  The van’s rear end was still partly out in the street; moving it closer to the curb – with the front wheels turning independently of one another – required a fair amount of force and some painful grinding.  Can you say, “Tie rod ends?”  Now say, “Oooohh – those are expensive!”

We left a note on the other car, took some pictures, and headed home.
———————
In the interests of full disclosure, I told Our Daughter about the time I was going 60 mph on the freeway when a water bottle rolled under the pedals of my car.  I reached to get it, glancing down briefly to see where it was.  That’s all the time it took to drift over and break the mirror off a car in the next lane.  The impact also punched a hole in my passenger-side mirror.  That was the only damage, but it could have been so much worse.  My heart didn’t stop pounding for a couple of days.  At 60 mph, a vehicle is moving 88 feet every second.  It’s almost impossible to comprehend how quickly things happen at that speed until something happens at that speed.
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Our van is 20 years old, and has lived up to Toyota’s best reputation.  I put four new tires on it in September, and just spent a couple hundred bucks replacing the stop light switch.  Ugh.  We’re inquiring of local body shops and really hoping it can be repaired.  Or maybe we can rent out the house and live in the van.  I’m considering a lot of options at this point.
———————
Wasn’t looking forward to hearing from the owner of the other car, but she was as sweet as could be.  Her first concern was that Our Daughter was not hurt.  Aside from the fact that no one was injured, her kindness, empathy, and understanding have been the best thing about this incident so far.
———————
Would you carry collision insurance on cars that are 20 years old?  If not, thank you.  If you would, we’d rather not hear about it.  Our rationale, of course, is that we would have paid more in premiums than the book value of the cars.  True ‘dat.  But the dark side of the argument is that those cars have actual value to us (though maybe not to anyone else) because they are reliable and run well.  Now the cost of repair or replacement is borne by us.  Can you say, “Thank you, insurance industry?”
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Replacing a car is not something we were considering at this point.  While we are quickly gaining a new respect for households that have chosen to operate with just one car, the outcome of this “crash course” remains uncertain for us.  My better angels (including Susan) remind me that this is one more in a long string of opportunities to see God provide for our family.  “Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!”