The Wisdom of Youth

Andy: Did you know that eating corn on the cob is good for your memory?

Dad: No, I didn't know that. Where did you hear that?

Andy: Nowhere, I figured it out myself.

Dad: Okay...?

Andy: Of course, corn on the cob helps improve your memory. It helps you remember what you ate yesterday, doesn't it?

Emergency

Around 5:00 AM yesterday morning, while on my morning walk, I saw a guy who had a "Go Obama" pin on his coat being mauled by a rottweiler.

Being a responsible citizen, I informed emergency services.

It's now 10:35 PM the next day and they still haven't responded!

I'm beginning to think I wasted a stamp!

A Letter From Grannie

Joyce and I came home from grocery shopping and found a message on our phone answering machine. It was our son Andy (a.k.a., "Daddy") calling from Alaska and reading Grannie's greeting card (stuffed with photos) to four-year-old Abby.

Daddy: "Dear Abby -- Here are some picture of Uncle James and Aunt Amber and your cousin, Baby James -- and Uncle Ben holding Baby James. Uncle Ben cut his hair short. Granddad and Grannie have been dog-sitting Aunt Amber's dog Brody."



Daddy: Remember Brody?

Abby: Yesss!

Daddy: "Granddad and Grannie have been dog-sitting Aunt Amber's dog Brody." (Andy then editorialized: "We do not sit on Brody.") "We watch him run in the back yard and jump. Does Tifa [pronounced TEE-Fah] jump?" [Tifa is Andy's dog, a Rhodesian Ridgeback/Huskey cross,] (Andy again editorialized: "Oh yes! Tifa can jump the fence.")

Daddy: "Uncle Ben is coming to your house in a few weeks to visit. He has never been to Alaska. Uncle Ben loves cats, so he will enjoy seeing your Emma cat. -- Love, Grannie"

Daddy: That was a very nice letter from Grannie. So Abby, what kind of animal is in the picture on the front of Grannie's card?

Abby: Uuuuummmm ... a MOOSE!

A Word to the Wise

Whenever you come home from college for the weekend and log on to Facebook on your Mom's computer, remember that Mom and Dad wake up early, so be sure to log off before you go to bed.

Just sayin'...

Like Christmas Morning

James is home! Home is no longer our back bedroom where the Legos and toy trains were once stored. Home is now where his beloved wife Amber has been waiting so anxiously. And his arrival wasn't just a wonderful reunion, it was a huge relief. Ever since Amber's visit with her doctor three weeks ago (when she first heard the words "dilated" and "effaced"), she's had reason to be concerned about the baby's arriving before James returned. But now that James is home, the vigil's over. If the baby doesn't arrive sooner, the doctor will be inducing labor this Friday, a week before James's mid-deployment leave ends.

But simply saying that James is home in time for the birth of their first son doesn't tell the story. His plane landed at DFW Airport at 7:30 on Friday morning, a full hour ahead of schedule -- but more importantly, almost seven hours before his departing flight was scheduled to leave DFW. Long before James left Afghanistan, Joyce and I had offered free taxi service from DFW to Fort Sill, but he insisted that he'd prefer to fly into Lawton so he could also fly out of Lawton.

But when we met James at Terminal D, the first words from his lips were: "Can you give two of my buddies a lift to Fort Sill?" Well, of course we could. In fact, anticipating that James might just have a change of heart, Joyce and I had driven to the airport in separate cars. So I piled three soldiers and their gear into the Toyota and headed to the north airport exit, onward toward Oklahoma -- Joyce took the Plymouth and headed south, back to the house.

As the band of brothers and I pulled onto State Hwy 114, I handed James the cell phone and told him to have his guys call their wives and let them know I'd be dropping them off at their doorsteps two hours before their flight was even scheduled to leave DFW. I assured everyone that the prepaid phone had plenty of time left on it. What I hadn't anticipated was James's spending nearly the entire trip explaining to some brain-dead government bureaucrat that he and his two buddies would not be flying into Lawton that afternoon, but they would need to fly out of Lawton two weeks later.

As we were nearing Fort Sill I asked the guys where they lived. Just to make things interesting, PFC Smith volunteered that his wife and kids had moved on-post since he'd deployed, so he wasn't entirely sure where his house was. SGT Smith knew where PFC Smith's neighborhood was, so we at least had some idea that we should be headed to the housing area south of the hospital. James handed PFC Smith the cell phone with instructions to have his wife give us directions to the house. Just as Smith had said his obligatory I-love-you-and-can't-wait-to-see-yous and was on the verge of obtaining the operational instructions, Virgin Mobile decided we'd had just about all the conversation we needed, at least until we fed some more dimes into its corporate maw.

Luckily, we found Smith's street without making any wrong turns and within a minute of the phone's betrayal, we pulled into the driveway of a house with a picture window full of toddlers' hands and faces. The front door burst open and emitted a beaming blond who immediately attached herself to PFC Smith. We dropped a bag out of the back of the Swagger Wagon and by the time the happy couple were across the threshold, we remaining travelers were off again, bound for SGT Smith's abode.

The route to SGT Smith's took us past the grade school. As we drove by the school, James asked the sergeant, "How old are your kids?" SGT Smith replied, "I have two girls, ages six and three. The six-year-old is in first grade and the three-year-old is at home with my wife." As we passed the playground full of scurrying youngsters, SGT Smith added, "I'm gonna try to surprise my first-grader at school today." Two blocks farther on we came to his house with two SUVs in the driveway, but no other evidence of anyone at home. We unloaded SGT Smith's bags from the back of the car and I returned to the driver's side. Sergeant Smith set his bags down in the yard on the passenger side and walked around the front of the car to shake my hand and thank me for the ride. I was a bit taken aback that someone who has sacrificed so much would be thanking me for such a small gesture, and I told him so, "No, thank you for your service."

James and I both got in the car and, as I back out of the driveway, it occurred to me that SGT Smith had no key to the house and was apparently locked out. He was standing with the screen door open, knocking on the solid wood door. My mind was searching for the proper way to handle the situation (I sure didn't want to just drive away and leave him sitting in his front yard), when suddenly the front door swung inward and the good sergeant was nearly knocked backward by a woman who leaped into his arms.

As we pulled away, I told James, "Delivering soldiers to their wives is even better than watching kids opening presents on Christmas morning."

Then we drove over to James and Amber's house, where I can truthfully report I saved the best present for last.

Joyce found this on Neatorama. It needs no explanation. Just watch ...

Tangling and Tinkling

Baby James's due date is now less than three weeks away, and hopefully he'll have the decency to wait at least until January 15th, when his daddy will arrive home from Afghanistan for his mid-deployment leave. Joyce and I (though a poor substitute) are now at Fort Sill to help Amber in whatever way we can, which (since the apartment is on a second floor) means helping her avoid as many trips up and down the steps as possible --- you know: taking the dog out for hydrant visits, making runs to the laundry room in the basement, that sort of thing.

The other day I made a trip to the hardware store to buy hooks with which to install a plaque (the family nameplate) next to the front door. When I returned from the store, I found Joyce outside --- acting as doorman for Amber's bladder-brimming Yorkie, Brody (more formally known as "Brody Watson Johnny Depp Ricardo Montalban"). Anyway, as I was preparing to install the nameplate below the house number, the downstairs neighbor came out of the opposing doorway with his Cocker Spaniel (who coincidentally also shares my name, Bob). The two dogs were thrilled to see each other, but Bob had about a half-gallon of urgent business to attend to before he could join in Brody's ecstatic dance. Unfortunately, Bob's urgency didn't impede Brody's nose-to-butt doe-see-doe --- well, at least not until Brody divined the source of his golden christening.

When Bob completed his priority task, he bolted after Brody (who knew that the proper way to evade capture by a larger faster dog who's on a leash is to run tight circles around his master). When Bob's master had finished untangling himself, Joyce held Brody as he dragged Bob away. While Joyce was holding Brody, she got a good whiff of him and thereupon resolved to straightway inform Amber of Brody's anointing lest he dash in and jump into Amber's lap.

Thus, Joyce (emerging winded from the top landing and stepping through the living room doorway) announced with dripping disgust, "Bob peed on Brody!

Amber stared back blankly, no doubt pondering (not so much why anyone would urinate on a dog) but what possible motive Joyce might have had for marrying a man who'd do such a thing. Fortunately, by the time I'd finished my chore downstairs, the girls had managed to sort out which "Bob" was which. And so my reputation has remained intact -- well, so long as I remain mindful of how seriously everyone around here seems to take that prohibition against urinating on household pets.

The Baby Awakes...

This has been a very mild winter -- so mild that the leaves were late in falling and the grass is still growing. So I've found it necessary to keep mowing right up to the week before Christmas, but (since the mower does a really good job of picking up and bagging those last stragglers among our fallen leaves) I've also found it convenient.

And coincidentally, our youngest son is presently home from college on Christmas break. He had minor surgery a week ago, but he's bounced back very nicely. So nicely, in fact, that he's even taken to staying out 'til 3:00 AM. So ... about 10:30 this morning Joyce and I had the following conversation.

Bob: We had heavy dew last night, but I think the grass is dry enough now -- I'm gonna mow.

Joyce: But why?

Bob: Because I don't have a leaf blower.

Joyce: But you'll wake the baby.

Bob: Exactly! The mower's probably more muffled than a leaf blower would be, but it'll do the job.

Off to See the Whizzer

Joyce: That's ridiculous!

Bob: What?

Joyce: This new Sega game has players competing at urination.



Bob: You're right. It's absolutely ridiculous that Sega beat Nintendo to market. How is it possible that the first game system with a pisser app is not the Wii?

The Day of the Lord's Visitation

I'm on vacation this week and have been spending my days lounging around the house. (Note: Adjusting to retirement will be no problem, trust me.) Anyway, this morning Joyce shared this story from "It's Almost Naptime". The story is well worth the time to read it, so (unless you don't mind my spoiling it) go check it out.

So now that you've had your chance to read of Shep's concern for Buxton's eternal fate (and you've no doubt come to recognize the urgency of the Great Commission -- for lo, none of us knows the day or the hour when the Lord [or Maggie] will call us to give account for our fishy lives), I was reminded of a long-ago mealtime adventure with our boys. Exactly why Missy's story brought my story to mind is a bit unclear, even to me. Maybe it's just that Shep's focus on things spiritual reminds me of our son James's spiritual precociousness. James, at an early age, was very interested in Jesus and spoke of Him often.

Now for the story. James hates broccoli. Always has, and apparently always will. He gave voice to his aversion as soon as he could craft coherent sentences: "I don' yike trees." Now understand, James was hardly alone in his opinion of "trees", but (whereas our youngest son Ben thought hiding unfinished "trees" in unfinished milk a workable solution to the problem) James was more spiritual in his approach to the the dilemma of how to obey the command "children obey your parents" while simultaneously avoiding gagging. One day (when he was probably five years old or so), he decided we needed to set a place for Jesus at our table. Thinking to myself: This could be an opportunity to talk to the boys about how Jesus is our unseen guest in even our most private moments, I granted James's request and Joyce laid out the Lord's place setting.

After everyone had been served (except Jesus of course, who -- after all -- came to serve, not to be served), we thanked the Father for our food and began chowing down. It was then that James became alarmed at the utter unfairness of the Provider of our feast being excluded from the actual caloric content of the feast. James tipped his plate over the Lord's and declared, "Here, Jesus can have some of my food." And oddly enough, the Lord's portion seemed spectrally weighted toward green.

So I pointed out: "You do realize, James, that if Jesus eats your broccoli, He also gets your dessert -- right?" Despite my flawless logic, James seemed hesitant to accept such sound reason. But in the end, logic didn't matter -- that old Scriptural imperative on children's duty to parents trumped all objection, and James somehow managed both his and Jesus' share.

There's a sermon in here about how anxious we all are to give the Lord things we'd just as soon do without, but I'm not going there. Rather, the real point is: I now realize that James is a better person than I am, and -- like Jesus -- he won't be inflicting Satan's vegetable on his children.

Not a Chinese Fire Drill

James's unit is now approaching the midpoint of its deployment to Afghanistan. And luckily, he's situated where he has pretty good internet connection, so he gets to visit with his bride Amber most days.

Unfortunately, James's sweetheart apparently had a tough time getting to sleep last night, but fortunately (because James wanted to let her sleep in), that means we were blessed with a chance to skype with him.

At one point Joyce noticed that James had something taped to the door of his room, so she asked:

Joyce: What's that taped to your door?

James: What? (Looking behind him.) Oh that. That's just the evacuation plan for the building. If we didn't have that sheet of paper on the inside of every room, we'd never figure out how to walk down the shotgun hall to the closest outside door.

Joyce: So you have fire drills?

James: In a sense.

Joyce: How's that?

James: They're more like "indirect fire" drills.

We laughed, but I thought to myself: Good thing Amber didn't hear that."

(Don't worry, James. It'll just be our little secret.)

Abby Correctly

Yesterday I spent the day trying to purge a virus from Joyce's computer (ended up having to refresh from the image and reload all the installed software -- but that's not a very funny story, certainly not a story I want to belabor here.)

Anyway, around 5:00 PM yesterday (while I was repeatedly attempting to purge the virus, but still unwilling to admit that the bug had a death grip on Joyce's computer that no combination of software antibiotics was going to cure) Andy called and brightened my day. Andy told of a recent conversation he had with his near-four-year-old daughter, a tale oddly reminiscent of my own "Just James" adventure.

Daddy: Are you tired, Abby?

Abby: No, I'm not tired Abby! I'm just Abby!

Daddy: So are you tired?

Abby: No! I'm Abby!

Daddy: So you're not tired, Abby?

Abby: No Daddy, say Abby correctly.

Daddy: Abby Correctly?

Abby: Yes, say Abby correctly.

Daddy: Well, it's nice to meet you, Abby Correctly.

Abby: Tee-hee-hee.