If I can write this...

It's Thanksgiving tomorrow. The pies are accumulating, with fresh baked rolls soon to follow, thanks to Dr. Wife's mad breadz skillz. I have fled our apartment for the closest Biggby Coffee shop. Not the best in town, but the closest that isn't Starbucks.

It's too easy to put myself in time-out at home. Leave the lights off, the music off, wrapped in my robe, getting more and more overwhelmed by the jobless funk. It's good to be out and see the sun. And good to write.

I alternate between blog posts (most of which will never see the light of day) and song lyrics (none of which will see the light of day). I'm not sure how I landed on writing as a hobby, as I'm neither talented nor trained. Partly, I have been inspired by good storytellers to tell good stories. I suppose my love of tiny, empty notebooks probably helps.

It also seems to help with introspection. Like a lot of you, I fight very hard against depression. It is easy to let cyclic thoughts spiral me downward, back to cold corners, where I sit and stew. In writing, the stupidity and disconnect from reality becomes glaringly evident. I have to lift my head and look around with less jaded and surrendering eyes. The paragraph ends and I get to indent and begin again.

So this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful to English teachers; those who taught me and those who continue to encourage my writing. I'm thankful for librarians, stocking the shelves and steering me. I'm thankful to my mom who read me a million books, and to my dad who taught me to twist the stories. I'm thankful for Bob Dylan and Brett Dennen, who give my feelings words and rhythm. I'm thankful for Dr. Wife reading bedtime stories loudly enough that I can listen. And I'm thankful for miss Neverpoop's first written story: "Matt sat on a cat."

Cooler than an igloo

Stumbled upon this little site that has fun photos taken from unique perspectives, and figured I would share.

Also, thanks to everyone who has read and commented on the facebook version of this blog. You can always find the prettier one here.

Now, it's back to job searching. Enough tomfoolery!

The Motto

After our recent mini-snow storm, Dr. Wife casually mentioned all of the cars that were sitting nose-first in ditches along the highway.
"Hmmm, Self," I said to myself, "I hope they were all ok and prepared for these accidents."

Then it dawned on me... I was not prepared! Nor was Dr. Wife! This is an opportunity for a big geeky Eagle Scout such as yours truly to really go overboard!!
Thus began my project for the day: The Emergency Roadside Preparedness Survival Kits of Ultimate Awesomeness v1.0!!!

Now, keep in mind v1.0 is a working beta version of the kits. There are two kits, one for each car. In the event of a long trip with the whole fam-damily, we would bring both kits.

• Duct Tape- Come on, it's me here.


• First Aid Kit- I went with a pre-packaged one, but it's well-stocked.


• Food- Peanut Butter granola bars and dried fruit.


• Water- 1 gallon jug, plastic, that hopefully won't rupture as it freezes.


• Emergency Blankets- 2 of the reflective material sort.


• Lighter- I will add matches later on, but I'm looking for good ones.


• Candles- 9 hour camping candles.


• Rope- 25 feet of light rope.


• Flares- 3 roadside flares. I promise not to play with them.

I have a few other things to add that are not yet gathered...

• Flashlights- We really have several, if I can find them.


• Spare batteries- To be selected after the flashlights.


• Knives- Of the pocket variety, I have several.


• Cell phone chargers- The little emergency charge packs.


• Jumper cables- Dr. Wife has a set, but I need some for my truck.

I'm ready for suggestions. What do you think?

Four letter words

For the longest time, I reserved the word hate for three things: mornings, cats, and snow. My attitudes have changed somewhat, and it is time to admit that.
First, I don't hate mornings. I'm just bad at them. My change of heart here is a realization that some of the few times my daughter consents to holding still for a snuggle is in the morning. She is normally running, bouncing, jumping, or climbing. So a few cheek kisses before a cup of coffee is an awfully nice thing.

Second, cats can kill me. As far as their attitudes and behaviors go, I tend to like them (other than urination as a form of expression). They are agile and intense. They even tend to like me. They seem to understand that they can kill me just by their presence and are amazed that I am dumb enough to approach, antihistamines or no.

But the third, well, I still hate snow. It has been falling all day now, with terms like "Lake Effect" and "Accumulation" being bandied about on NPR. Sure, sure, this is nothing, yet. It is even melting on the concrete surfaces, and the temperature is still just at freezing. But here is my new reason to hate the snow: I can't avoid it. When I had to live in it before, I could just hide inside. But now I have a four year old.
What's the difference? I will soon find myself, once again, hitched to the front of a sled like a mule. I am already the target of snowballs at crotch height. Miss Neverpoop thinks that the winter is a delightful wonderland of frolic and giggle. No, I'm not so jaded as to deny her playtime in the snow, but there had better be some hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps in my kitchen to recover with.



But for those of you who insist that winter is great, and that I am missing out on the glory of snow, I offer you some snow science. I can't like anything that makes my hands hurt this much, but I can share some of the beauty of science with you.

And as for the word hate, well, I now hate many other things and people. But I'm old enough to let it all rest quietly.

Snowing buckets.

Dinosaur, Jr.

A conversation had the other morning...

Daughter: "Daddy, did you know a boy wore a dinosaur costume to school on Halloween?"
Me: "Wow. What do you think of that?"
Daughter: "Pretty good."
Me: "Do you like dinosaurs?"
Daughter: "Yeah. Dinosaurs always love Jesus."
Me: "Wha?"
Daughter: "They never stop loving Jesus. They never forget to keep loving him always."
Me: "Where did you learn that?"
Daughter: "I just knew it."

Really, I don't have any idea where to begin breaking this down. Do I start with chronology? Reptilian brain capacity? Fundamentalist denial of dinosaurs and fossil records? Really. REALLY.

Halloween

A little late on the typing, but here is my Halloween blog:

My daughter feels like a princess today. A cinderella-fairy-princess, to be exact. That makes a dad feel good. Likewise, she doesn't fear Halloween decorations ("spooky!") and she self-rations candy. Daddy's favorite holiday seems to sit well with her! She went from dead asleep to a sprint for her costume when we said, "it's Halloween."

I still get giddy excited about Halloween. I have to remind myself that it isn't all about me. My job is trick-or-treat escort, costume repair tech, and shoulder-ride chauffeur.

I do long for costume parties and bands. One of my favorites was when Dr. Wife and I dressed as a gypsy and Zorro, respectively. We ventured up to Sacramento and spent the evening swing dancing in costume to Lee Press-On and the Nails. But those years are done for now, I think. Maybe again when Miss Neverpoop is off partying with her own little buddies.

So this year, I forewent the costume and donned a Jack-O-Lantern shirt that my girl picked out for me and watched as she sprinted gleefully, plastic pumpkin in tow. A bittersweet joy, because I wanted to be ringing the doorbells, too, shouting "trick-or-treat!" and hoping for gummy bears.