Top Ten Disadvantages of an Empty Nest

10.
The question "Where shall we dine out?" lacks the decisive tie-breaking vote.

9.
The milk bottle languishes in the fridge.

8.
Mothering takes time to taper off.

7.
The lawn mower misses its playmate.

6.
The cat has assumed the duty of making sure we close our bedroom door.

5.
The wife can't satisfy my need ... for Scrabble.

4.
I can't satisfy my wife's need ... for conversation.

3.
Our house is so empty and our prayer list is so full.

2.
The question "Who clogged the toilet?" is no longer a mystery.

1.
The kids' bedroom (whose laughter used to be heard throughout the house) is sulking.

And Then There's Army Strong!

In the morning James is driving away. Yes, he's even taking all his socks and Legos -- but the Legos aren't for James. James is going to visit his big brother Andy in Dayton, Ohio before he reports to Fort Knox, KY. The Legos are for the granddaughter.

Two years ago James (while still a college student) went to Army Airborne School at Fort Benning, GA. The third and final week of jump school is called "jump week", when the trainees complete five parachute jumps. On his third jump James's eyeglasses were blown off his face when he exited the aircraft, so his fourth jump was from a fuzzy-looking airplane, and he landed on a very fuzzy world. Amazingly, the morning after that fourth jump a sergeant called out to the troops, asking if anyone had misplaced some spectacles. Sure enough the sergeant had somehow come across James's specs in the tall dry grass of that mile-long drop zone.

But prior to that fourth jump, while spectacle-less James was waiting to board a C-130 for that second jump, someone (unbeknownst to James) had filmed him and his fellow trainees in the hangar at Lawson Army Air Field. Perhaps you're thinking, "So if this filming was undetected by your visually impaired son, how do you know the filming happened?"

Well, I'm glad you asked. As always, there's a story behind this.

It so happened that few months after James completed Airborne School we were in a movie theater, watching those advertisements they play before the start of the film. This really great Army recruiting short appeared on screen. It had a really catchy little tune and inspiring pictures. We were impressed with how well produced the ad was. We later found the ad on YouTube and played it over and over and over. James said he thought he recognized one of the people in the add, so he did a freeze-frame and sure enough, this little lady in a helmet who turns her head to look at the camera was someone he'd attended Airborne School with. And upon studying the other folks in the frame he recognized a couple of his other buddies from Airborne School.

And then (surprise! surprise!) he recognized himself ... and in the film he's not wearing the glasses he wore while at Airborne School. So without any doubt, that two second clip of the Army recruiting ad was filmed on June 21st, 2006 -- between James's third and fourth jumps.

Here's the screen-capture from James's two seconds of fame:

And here's the entire recruiting film. (If you want to freeze the frame yourself, the shot of James and his buddies comes up about a minute into the ad, right after the dust storm.)



So despite James's just starting his military career, he's appeared in an Army recruiting film for well over a year now.

Today's Best Post

I know y'all have come milling around to gawk at this twisted wreck I call a blog, but the best post today is over THERE. Now move along folks -- nuthin' to see here.

Our Little Runaway

James: I don't want to go to church.

Dad: Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Now go get your shoes and I'll tie them for you.

James: {Toddling off to fetch his shoes from the bedroom} ... I don't want to go to church. {Returning with shoes in hand, grumbling to himself} I'm gonna run away. Yeah that's what I'll do - I'll run away!

Dad: That'll be fine; you can run away right after church.

Later (as we were driving home from church) I inquired, "James, are you still planning to run away from home?"

James: Oh uh, Yeah! I'm gonna run away. This'll be fun! C'mon Ben, let's run away.

Mom: Now, I don't want to pressure you one way or the other, but how about if you run away after lunch? You know, you wouldn't want to run away from home on an empty stomach.

James: Okay!

Dad: So where are you thinking about running off to?

James: The house with the rotten pumpkin that's drawn on.

Dad: Oh, well that's a good place. It's not too far and you can come visit us whenever you feel like it.

Now at this point in the story, James's destination of the house with the rotten pumpkin that's drawn on requires a bit of explanation. This runaway adventure happened sometime in November. As was our custom, that year for Halloween we'd carved jack-o-lanterns and put them out on the front porch to glower at the candy-gobbling goblins. The following day I'd placed the darkened pumpkins into the trash, but James was heart-broken about the disposal of our beautiful jack-o-lanterns. I explained (as best I could) that if we kept the pumpkins on display they'd just rot and draw bugs. He clearly didn't buy my lame argument, but there's little a four-year-old can do about big stubborn grown-ups.

Later that week James saw the fatal flaw in my rotten excuse for euthanizing the pumpkins. The neighbors across the street three houses down still had a big grinning pumpkin on display. (That house was also prone to darkened Christmas displays in February.) As we drove past the house with that pumpkin, James challenged me, "Look Dad, they still have their pumpkin out."

"Well yes they do, James. But you see, they didn't carve their pumpkin. They just took a grease pencil and drew a face on it. We could've done that, but that wouldn't have been near as much fun as digging all the slimy stuff out of the pumpkin." James readily conceded my point that merely drawing a face on a pumpkin wouldn't be much fun. Henceforth James never failed to point out the house with the rotten pumpkin that's drawn on whenever we drove past it. So, when James announced his intention to move into the house with the rotten pumpkin that's drawn on, I knew exactly where he meant. As for who lived in the house with ..., we weren't sure. They seemed like okay folks, but we'd never taken the trouble to meet them.

So right after lunch James and Ben dashed to their room and started loading their Radio Flyers with all the necessities of the vagabond life: Legos, socks, and ... well, that's pretty much it. As they pulled their precious cargo through the front door, I grabbed the camera and followed them down to the street. James seemed to hesitate as if having second thoughts about the new home he'd chosen, but by this point, events had a will of their own. Ben, age three, (who'd been following James's lead) had no such doubts and quickly moved to the lead before turning around and looking back to make sure James was still with him. James resolutely turned to face his destiny and I snapped a photo. Joyce and I bid the boys good-bye and they trundled off to their new life at the house with the rotten pumpkin that's drawn on.

I reassured Joyce: "I need to put the camera away. I'll be right back. Don't worry, I won't let them wander off." Then I dashed back into the house. When I returned curbside (with the boys fading into the wee distance - roughly 100 feet away), Joyce was getting more than a little fretful and said, "You let them out of your sight and you die."

So I walked briskly down the street and arrived at the front door of the house with the rotten pumpkin that's drawn on just in time to hear the resident telling James, "Well, maybe we ought to check with your parents..."

I quickly interjected, "You know, if James and Ben want to come visit Mom and me, they're always welcome. Maybe they could even spend the night."

The neighbor smiled and pushed open the screen door, "Oh, well in that case, come on in, boys. We're having liver and broccoli for supper."

Without a word James pivoted and dragged his wagon back out to the street. Ben mutely followed. I confided to the neighbor, "It's been nice meeting you, but I think the broccoli was the deal breaker." He laughed and we parted company - both with an improved opinion of our neighbors.

I stood street-side as James inquired at the door of Virgie, the near-deaf octogenarian across the street from our house. I couldn't hear James's side of the conversation, but Virgie very loudly replied, "What?"

James visited one more door and then Mom emerged from the house bearing treats and calling out, "James, Ben! I have Popsicles?" All thoughts of running away were abandoned, and thus our humble home continued to have its full complement of little boys.

But sadly, nothing in this life is permanent, and the day of James's departure is hard upon us. Today James begins packing his wagon (the Radio Flyer having morphed into a Toyota Tacoma) and in just a few days he'll run away to a place where neither broccoli nor Popsicle can compel his return.

Breakfast Companion

It looks like James had a friend drop by and join him for breakfast. But that's what friends are for.

Prayer Rules

Back when our boys were small, the dinnertime prayer was a big deal. Three-year-old James and two-year-old Ben competed for praying privileges, especially over the bountiful harvest from Domino's. (Apparently there's some unwritten rule that says the pizza still in the box isn't covered by the blessing of the food on the plates, and therefore with each new emergence from the cardboard, comes the requirement to issue a prayer amendment.)

As I grabbed a fresh slice, Ben (having already said the blessing twice himself) informed me that it was now my turn. I conceded his point, folded my hands, bowed my head and said, "Ready?"

He replied, "Set! ... Go!!!"

Fish Story

Okay, so it's actually a whale story and whales aren't fish and everyone's seen this, but still it's funny.

At Fort Benning some 33 years ago, we very green lieutenants were given some instruction in demolition and were allowed to play with C-4 a little -- at least enough that I understood about tamping (packing the explosive with some heavy backing in order to direct the explosion into the target object and thus maximize its effect). About half way through this video (as the reporter was saying, "... the dynamite was packed on the leeward side so as to blow most of the carcass out to sea"), I started laughing uncontrollably. But somehow these "demolition experts" never saw what was coming ...



... right up until the blubber shower started.

The Texas & Pacific

Ten years old and I'm east-bound on the old Texas and Pacific rail line. Yesterday morning we boarded the train at Union Depot in El Paso and in just over an hour we'll be arriving in Shreveport, where we'll get on the bus for the last stretch of this trip to church camp. The girls of the church have been at camp all week and are probably just finishing their west-bound trek and are rolling into El Paso about now. But we are a train-load of excited boys. Or at least we were all worked up when we left home twenty-something hours ago, but at this point we're tired and grubby. Yet we're still determined to make this trip fun.

The trees of east Texas are lumbering along at a leisurely 40 mph and we've long since wearied of looking out the window, so we're roaming the train looking for something to keep ourselves entertained. Thus, my big brother Roy notices the warning in the lavatory, "Do not flush commode while train is within city limits" and he amazingly divines the reason for this prohibition. He shares the implications with me, and our mission becomes immediately clear.

When doody calls, I give my all. I (having now locked and loaded a round) am gripping the trigger as the train slows and creeps through a small East Texas town. Roy stands at the window opposite the lavatory to signal the exact time of release. (Now, I should interject at this point in the story that Roy, like our father before him, will someday serve in the Air Force as the navigator of a bomber. And on the B-52 it's the radar-nav who's responsible for releasing the nukes. Although technology will have greatly improved since the days when my dad was guiding his B-24 over Europe, the human element will still be the deciding factor in accurate targetting when Roy sits downstairs in his BUF.) Roy's performance on the train this day (July 1, 1962) is a portent of a stellar career as a messenger of nuclear destruction.

Roy signals, I flush, and we both run through two rail cars to the back of the train to look out the rear window. There (neatly straddling the center stripe of the railroad crossing) rest yesterday's enchiladas. Frank Sinatra may have left his heart in San Francisco, but I've just left a bit of me in Longview, Texas.

Interests

Here are the results of a little "interests" quiz someone sent me. No suprise here.

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3) created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Mathematics You should be a Math major! Like Pythagoras, you are analytical, rational, and when are always ready to tackle the problem head-on! Mathematics 100% Engineering 92% English 83% Philosophy 75% Journalism 50% Psychology 33% Linguistics 33% Art 25% Chemistry 25% Theater 17% Dance 8% Sociology 8% Biology 8% Anthropology 0%

Left Behind!

This morning Joyce got an email from her dad and attached to it was this video ...



A rather graphic illustration of what's known in theological terms as the Rapture of the Church. That little video brought back memories of a trick we once pulled on our son Andy.

One Sunday, following the morning church service, Andy went with the youth group on some lunch outing. The rest of us came home, changed into our scruffy clothes and had lunch. As we were eating, we got the idea of staging a "Rapture" for Andy's benefit. So after lunch we fetched our fancy clothes from the hamper and arranged them around the dining table. When Andy drove up, we ran and hit in the bathroom.

Andy walked in and after a moment, we heard him wail, "Oh no! I've been left behind. My family has been raptured ... {pause} ... and they took their underwear to heaven with them."

Damn! I knew we forgot something.

He's Home!

This brought me to tears.

Bathroom Learning

Kids discover early in life that the flush handle on the toilet is a magically device to make things disappear. Twenty years ago, more times than I can count, I had to lift the toilet and use a sewer snake to clear the blocked drain. Toilet removal was yet another bathroom activity which the children found absolutely fascinating. I went sewer fishing so often that (for a while) we kept a stock of wax rings in the bathroom cupboard -- they're cheaper by the dozen, you know. (Helpful housekeeping hint: Articles of clothing that have progressed past the P-trap of the toilet are no longer serviceable. Even if they weren’t shredded when the sewer snake snagged them, the stains will not come out.)

One bygone Sunday afternoon, Joyce and I were in the living room with our oldest son Andy when we heard the toilet flush. It suddenly occurred to me that all the authorized flushers of the family were in the room with us, so I ran to the bathroom just in time to see our two youngest sons (ages 18-months and 31-months at that time) gripping the toilet rim like a railing -- their bright eyes were fixed on a rubber ducky who was swimming in tight little circles. I rescued the duck from his immanent peril and then delivered a stern lecture to James and Ben’s little bottoms. My harsh voice and disapproving thump on their diapers cured them of their magical toilet tricks -- so far anyway.