When a man becomes a father, great transformations take place: First, he sheds his rough and careless exterior like a snake sheds its insensitive, inconsiderate, scaly skin, and becomes a new man: tender and thoughtful, but still scaly if you rub him the wrong way. Second, he learns to control the gag reflex. Third, he learns to put clothing on an infant imitating a ten-pound Raggedy Ann doll.
In my case, even more amazingly, I learned and the ability to coach my children on their daily fashion choices. Now mind you, there is room to improve. I'm no Calvin Klein, but I have been able to steer my kids away from potentially hazardous clashing, such as a pink tutu with brown cowboy boots; or simply impractical choices for the event, such as an 18-month old going to church wearing her mother's brazier like a hat: one cup on top and the other, Rapunzel-like, trailing down the back. This would be totally embarrassing, because hats are not worn to church anymore.
Lately the stakes have increased as I help my 14-year old son get ready for Seminary. For those of you not familiar with Mormon Seminary, which is, I assume, both of you, this is a religious education class held at six in the morning on school days. The primary function of this class is to stretch the faith of Mormon high school students by encouraging them to accomplish something difficult - for instance to attend a class at six in the morning on school days.
Chad loves Seminary. I can tell, because he gets there less than thirty-minutes late every day with only five or ten minutes of threats required, and does the assigned reading two out of three days, when Mom has time to threaten him. Sarcasm aside, this is actually a big accomplishment for a kid who has been home-schooled through eighth grade, and is used to sleeping ten hours a day and getting up after 9:00 am.
This is how the routine goes:
First, Mom puts breakfast on the table for Chad. This could be corn flakes, eggs, leftover tomato soup, or cat food; the menu doesn't matter at all because he will not be conscious. The important thing is to have FOOD. Then she goes to his room every minute for seven minutes and says motherly things like: "Chad, it's time to get up." "Breakfast is ready." "Let's go! Lets go!" And the heavy artillery: "If you miss Seminary you won’t get a ride to football.”
One time my wife put me in charge of getting Chad out of bed. It took me only about ten seconds, but there was a problem: I forgot about gravity. Now I had a 190-lb Raggedy Andy doll sitting on the floor against the bed; head flopped to the left; golden retriever licking his face. Yipes. How could I have been so stupid?! I yelled for help. “Wendy! Bring the camera, quick!”
She came in, looked at me with her hands on her hips and that special wrinkle between her eyebrows. Then she turned her attention to our son and said, “Chad! You wanna walk to football?”
Eventually the dead will arise and stagger to the table. You remember those cute pictures of your little boy asleep in his ice cream on his first birthday? We do that every morning, in super-size. After breakfast, we guard all the beds in the house, because, with his eyes closed, he can sense an empty bed. “m jus lie down fr one min . . .” and he will slip into a bed and back into slumber. This is the only point where people will start to lose patience, because as he gets into your bed he’ll get tomato soup on your pillow.
If Chad is particularly late getting started, I get my chance to employ my fashion sense, working without a net (no Garanimals). While he’s in the shower, I will go get him some clothes to wear for the day. I will choose something “sassy” (a shirt) and something “classic” (jeans). I may get them from his closet, or, if the path is hazardous, I will pick something off the floor and give it the sniff test. It matters not what I bring because this is the stage that he actually wakes up.
Chad was never fashion conscious before this school year started. I think somehow at high school he must have discovered Girls. Because before Girls existed, he would wear his pajamas 24/7, and comb his hair once a week. Now, he showers twice a day, takes ten minutes on his hair, and is extremely choosy about his wardrobe. “Dad, that doesn’t match!” And off he will go to sort through the choices himself. If he asks for my contribution, it will not be my opinion, but something concrete. “Dad, I need a clean white undershirt.” I tried once to fudge on the cleanliness, but was rejected because the other shirt he would be wearing was going to be open, not buttoned.
David, my brother-in-law, went through a phase like this – and he’s still going through it. When he was a kid and his mom told him to go put on a clean shirt, he would do just that – but not remove the dirty one. One spring when they went swimming and he took off his clothes they found shirts that had been missing since Christmas. At family gatherings they’ll tell his wife all about this, and she thinks those stories are “Cute!” because she has never seen a hair out of place on his head. He became a duke of fashion, landed the girl, and kept impressing her from then on. Smart guy.
So Chad is way ahead of me on this, and I’m sure Wendy is pleased. As for myself, there was a time I straightened up and got a good wardrobe. But it only lasted for one day, because after the wedding I had to return the tux.
Some snake skins shed more quickly than others.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Warning: Halloween Contains Addicting Levels of Sugar
Those of you who know me even a little are generally aware of the embarrassing truth that I contain 70% high fructose corns syrup. You know because it is plainly printed on the label I wear. Those of you who don't know can be excused, because I am generally sitting on it. Ah, if only my objection to physical exercise could trade places with my fondness for all things sweet. As you know, the Holiday Season has started, and I started it with a bang – or at least the sound of a jelly-filled donut hitting the fan.
The Mormons in Monmouth celebrated Halloween this last Saturday with the annual “Trunk or Treat”, in which children who go around begging for the “Treat” get thrown into the “Trunk” and driven across the Independence Bridge. Just Kidding! . . . ha ha – who would ever think of such a thing! No! Trunk or Treat is where hundreds of families gather in the church parking lot and give out “Treats” from the “Trunks” of their cars. This is a really fun and safe Halloween activity which goes back generations. This year, before the Lion Kings, Dorothy’s, Witches and Power Rangers came out to politely request their treats, they enjoyed potato sack races, a cake walk, a fishing booth, and a “Haunted Maze”. The women did a great job putting on those activities inside the church, while the men who were supposed to be doing that wandered across the street to the Western Oregon University field where a physics professor profoundly inspired this years engineering students with an assignment to build a pumpkin-tossing trebuchet.
This was an sacred moment for most of us men, but eventually, we remembered our families back at the traditional church Halloween party. I helped my Wendy with our traditional treat of hot cocoa and hot cider, which make us a favorite “trunk” among the parents of all the little ghouls and boyglers.
Speaking of traditions, they say that "Halloween" originated as "Holy Evening", a special holiday on which everyone went to church dressed as Sponge Bob Square Pants. Seriously, the legend is that they used Jack-o-lanterns to scare away the evil spirits, because the next day was a special religious holiday.
This came to be again this year for the Mormons. With November 1 falling on Sunday, it meant Halloween was followed directly by the Mormon holy day known as “Fast Sunday” which occurs on the first Sunday of each and every month. “Fast Sunday” is not a day which goes by really fast in the sense of “time flies when you’re having fun”, but a day in which you DO NOT EAT.
May I just suggest that, as a rule, a 4000 calorie day should not be followed by a 40 calorie day. This clue dawned on me this weekend as I rocked back and forth in a fetal position while my blood sugar level descended from numbers normally recorded in scientific notation.
So while for others Saturday is the probably the best day for Halloween, for Mormons it may be the worst. But I have to admit, it was an effective detox day. Like my alcohol imbibing counter parts of other-than-Mormon religious persuasions, I largely recovered from my chocolate hangover during the course of Sunday. In other years with Halloween falling on a mid-week day I would have started the day with Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, and it would have taken days to get over the sugar high. But this year in a mere 24 hours I was no longer tasting chocolate in the back of my throat, feeling my heartbeat in the hair follicles on my wrists, or singing “How Dry I Am” with Tootsie Roll drool rolling down my chin.
Whew! Glad to have that over, I energetically went back to work on Monday, where I found – by casually looking around, NOT by walking all the cube rows on the entire second floor one at a time – that many, many people had brought their children’s Halloween candy to work.
Yes!
I have a duty to help save their children from a life like mine. Me and my label are going to work!
The Mormons in Monmouth celebrated Halloween this last Saturday with the annual “Trunk or Treat”, in which children who go around begging for the “Treat” get thrown into the “Trunk” and driven across the Independence Bridge. Just Kidding! . . . ha ha – who would ever think of such a thing! No! Trunk or Treat is where hundreds of families gather in the church parking lot and give out “Treats” from the “Trunks” of their cars. This is a really fun and safe Halloween activity which goes back generations. This year, before the Lion Kings, Dorothy’s, Witches and Power Rangers came out to politely request their treats, they enjoyed potato sack races, a cake walk, a fishing booth, and a “Haunted Maze”. The women did a great job putting on those activities inside the church, while the men who were supposed to be doing that wandered across the street to the Western Oregon University field where a physics professor profoundly inspired this years engineering students with an assignment to build a pumpkin-tossing trebuchet.
This was an sacred moment for most of us men, but eventually, we remembered our families back at the traditional church Halloween party. I helped my Wendy with our traditional treat of hot cocoa and hot cider, which make us a favorite “trunk” among the parents of all the little ghouls and boyglers.
Speaking of traditions, they say that "Halloween" originated as "Holy Evening", a special holiday on which everyone went to church dressed as Sponge Bob Square Pants. Seriously, the legend is that they used Jack-o-lanterns to scare away the evil spirits, because the next day was a special religious holiday.
This came to be again this year for the Mormons. With November 1 falling on Sunday, it meant Halloween was followed directly by the Mormon holy day known as “Fast Sunday” which occurs on the first Sunday of each and every month. “Fast Sunday” is not a day which goes by really fast in the sense of “time flies when you’re having fun”, but a day in which you DO NOT EAT.
May I just suggest that, as a rule, a 4000 calorie day should not be followed by a 40 calorie day. This clue dawned on me this weekend as I rocked back and forth in a fetal position while my blood sugar level descended from numbers normally recorded in scientific notation.
So while for others Saturday is the probably the best day for Halloween, for Mormons it may be the worst. But I have to admit, it was an effective detox day. Like my alcohol imbibing counter parts of other-than-Mormon religious persuasions, I largely recovered from my chocolate hangover during the course of Sunday. In other years with Halloween falling on a mid-week day I would have started the day with Chocolate Frosted Sugar Bombs, and it would have taken days to get over the sugar high. But this year in a mere 24 hours I was no longer tasting chocolate in the back of my throat, feeling my heartbeat in the hair follicles on my wrists, or singing “How Dry I Am” with Tootsie Roll drool rolling down my chin.
Whew! Glad to have that over, I energetically went back to work on Monday, where I found – by casually looking around, NOT by walking all the cube rows on the entire second floor one at a time – that many, many people had brought their children’s Halloween candy to work.
Yes!
I have a duty to help save their children from a life like mine. Me and my label are going to work!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Calories Count
I have been reading labels lately. It's all the rage now, and soon to be required by the government. There will be a form that you have to sign as you leave the grocery store, indicating that you read each and every label, and you accept the responsibility of knowing exactly how many grams of poly un-saturated LDL Carbohydrates are in each and every Little-Debbie’s Donut Stick, and you further waive all rights to obesity-related health care benefits.
But that's not why I'm reading labels. Not because of all the government hype, but because I am in tune with my body, and conscious of the affects that the things I take in can have on this beautiful machine God has given me. Occasionally that means I am looking to reduce my calories and balance the protein, fiber and sugar that are in my snacks and meals. This kind of behavior in me usually occurs in the midst of a sugar coma - when I (not diabetic) have consumed so many calories in such a short period of time that my body and mind enter a kind of hyper awareness, in which I am aware of each and every sugar molecule, which blood cell it has climbed aboard, and which organ it arrives at. It's like I can hear the festive sugar molecules in, say, my left lung, greeting the arrival of each new buss-load of little sugar partiers, "Hey DUUUUDES! Come on in! We can fit another ten thousand of you! OK everyone, let's do the Twitch!!! Make this thing ROCK!"
Meanwhile, my left lung is trading places with my large intestine 24 times per second.
Yes, THIS is when I start to think of new calories as a bad thing, when I already have my buzz. But otherwise, I find the labels very useful to GETTING my buzz. "Hmm - the King size Hershey Chocolate with Almonds is 240 calories, but the Kit Kat is 280. I'm going to get cool with the Kit Kat!"
Now, I know some of you by now think I'm an idiot, and some of you are right. But before casting judgment, you have to know this is actually only one part of a much more sophisticated calculation. Another factor that must be considered is craving. A craving is a spiritual connection with the food. You need a quiet moment to perceive it, but it is real. For me, I can usually achieve this by staring through the glass of the vending machine for several minutes. By focusing on and imagining the taste of each and every candy bar, one at a time, you start to hear their little voices. They call out tiny cries of affection - well, or anger - most of them are rather passive-aggressive. The one that says how much it misses you is the one you are craving.
This isn't just me, . . . Is it? It happens to other people too, . . . right?
The third factor is economic. You have to calculate the Calories per Dollar (CPD). Candy with a high CPD is to be preferred above others - regardless of the total calories. For example, if you're needing a 300-calorie fix, and you have the choice of one bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, for $1.50, or two bags of Mother's Giant Cookies, for $1.20, you have to take the responsible approach and save the thirty cents for the next binge. A CPD rating below 2 hurts a food's chance of becoming my next snack.
For those of you working in a cubical farm like myself, one important way to keep your average CPD high is to browse the desks and offices for treats and snacks. You can call it “Candy Stalking”, which has a nice, Holiday ring to it – and that is precisely the time of year this technique will be most successful. These calories are absolutely free, so dive in!
Of course you would never leave your workspace on company time just to hunt for snacks, but you will, in your normal course of business, come across various individuals who keep a candy jar, or get gifts from vendors, or who love baking and bringing things to work.
People who have snacks at their desk are very important people while their supplies hold out. These people are your Friends. They are your Most Significant Colleagues. They are Interested in You, your Needs and Ideas. They Love to have you Visit because you make them Successful. Your presence at their desk is the actual definition of “Synergy”.
Keeping these small suggestions in mind, visit them ONLY as needed throughout the day, and don’t talk to them or even look at them after their snacks are gone. Saving money, getting your fix, and making the company more efficient! You are Super Effective!
In summary, you can mock the government bureaucrats, live life on a natural high, and become God’s gift to your company simply by consuming as many calories as your are physically able. I will leave discussion of the health effects of such a food plan to others who are more qualified.
Now: can anyone tell me a good brand of stretchable clothing?
But that's not why I'm reading labels. Not because of all the government hype, but because I am in tune with my body, and conscious of the affects that the things I take in can have on this beautiful machine God has given me. Occasionally that means I am looking to reduce my calories and balance the protein, fiber and sugar that are in my snacks and meals. This kind of behavior in me usually occurs in the midst of a sugar coma - when I (not diabetic) have consumed so many calories in such a short period of time that my body and mind enter a kind of hyper awareness, in which I am aware of each and every sugar molecule, which blood cell it has climbed aboard, and which organ it arrives at. It's like I can hear the festive sugar molecules in, say, my left lung, greeting the arrival of each new buss-load of little sugar partiers, "Hey DUUUUDES! Come on in! We can fit another ten thousand of you! OK everyone, let's do the Twitch!!! Make this thing ROCK!"
Meanwhile, my left lung is trading places with my large intestine 24 times per second.
Yes, THIS is when I start to think of new calories as a bad thing, when I already have my buzz. But otherwise, I find the labels very useful to GETTING my buzz. "Hmm - the King size Hershey Chocolate with Almonds is 240 calories, but the Kit Kat is 280. I'm going to get cool with the Kit Kat!"
Now, I know some of you by now think I'm an idiot, and some of you are right. But before casting judgment, you have to know this is actually only one part of a much more sophisticated calculation. Another factor that must be considered is craving. A craving is a spiritual connection with the food. You need a quiet moment to perceive it, but it is real. For me, I can usually achieve this by staring through the glass of the vending machine for several minutes. By focusing on and imagining the taste of each and every candy bar, one at a time, you start to hear their little voices. They call out tiny cries of affection - well, or anger - most of them are rather passive-aggressive. The one that says how much it misses you is the one you are craving.
This isn't just me, . . . Is it? It happens to other people too, . . . right?
The third factor is economic. You have to calculate the Calories per Dollar (CPD). Candy with a high CPD is to be preferred above others - regardless of the total calories. For example, if you're needing a 300-calorie fix, and you have the choice of one bag of chocolate-covered pretzels, for $1.50, or two bags of Mother's Giant Cookies, for $1.20, you have to take the responsible approach and save the thirty cents for the next binge. A CPD rating below 2 hurts a food's chance of becoming my next snack.
For those of you working in a cubical farm like myself, one important way to keep your average CPD high is to browse the desks and offices for treats and snacks. You can call it “Candy Stalking”, which has a nice, Holiday ring to it – and that is precisely the time of year this technique will be most successful. These calories are absolutely free, so dive in!
Of course you would never leave your workspace on company time just to hunt for snacks, but you will, in your normal course of business, come across various individuals who keep a candy jar, or get gifts from vendors, or who love baking and bringing things to work.
People who have snacks at their desk are very important people while their supplies hold out. These people are your Friends. They are your Most Significant Colleagues. They are Interested in You, your Needs and Ideas. They Love to have you Visit because you make them Successful. Your presence at their desk is the actual definition of “Synergy”.
Keeping these small suggestions in mind, visit them ONLY as needed throughout the day, and don’t talk to them or even look at them after their snacks are gone. Saving money, getting your fix, and making the company more efficient! You are Super Effective!
In summary, you can mock the government bureaucrats, live life on a natural high, and become God’s gift to your company simply by consuming as many calories as your are physically able. I will leave discussion of the health effects of such a food plan to others who are more qualified.
Now: can anyone tell me a good brand of stretchable clothing?
Friday, August 28, 2009
Targeting my allergies
I was taking this little white pill - loratadine - for hay fever. I started sometime in 2006, and just kept taking it. I'm pretty close to a drug company's dream - even though I don't go to the doctor often - because if I find something that works, I stick with it. Anyway over the years I found I'm alergic to this and that - and in Monmouth, Oregon I'm surrounded by grass seed farms and wheat fields. A stunningly beautiful agricultural area, actually. I think that's why I can tolerate my 50-mile commute.
We cycle from pollenation to harvest to mold and back again. I thought I needed that pill to keep the allergies at bay, but a few weeks ago I got lazy and stopped taking that little pill. No, Noooo - for the record let's say I was testing my resistance. And . . . Ta Daa! All was well! The grass fields were all cut, baled, and most of them hauled off to the barns. It would be several weeks before the combines were out again. I could take a few weeks off and save some money for the candy machine.
I went more than a week with no problems - and just imagine, right outside my bedroom window is a stack of ten bales of hay! Ha ha - what was I thinking, you say? Does this little pile of grass not pose a giant problem? Nope, not one bit! Maybe I probably don't even have allergies! Let me try to remember when was the last problem I had . . . Well - I don't know! Maybe I imagined it and now I'm addicted to a little white pill for no good reason. Good riddance!
That haystack is there for my daughter, McKay's, archery practice. She wants to go deer hunting on the bow hunt, so I built her a covert archery range so she can practice up. We're keeping it covert because a bow and arrow is treated like a firearm, and I assume it's illegal inside city limits.
"Assuming" is about all the effort I'm going to put into that question, because I'm not a very sneeky person, and if I ask someone down at city hall they're going to look it up in the city code book and give me the official answer. If they tell me it's not legal to shoot a bow in town, I would likely get all shifty and say "dangit! . . . well - hmm - can you tell me how anyone here would know if I made a discrete little place to shoot? um - hmm there aren't any exceptions to this rule are there? . . . We're at 705 West Church and I'm sure I can make it safe there . . . well - ummm - nevermind! G'bye!" I would trot away and then they would write a little something on a sticky note, and patrol cars would be coming by on a regular basis, to keep the neighborhood safe.
Neighborhood cats, to be more specific.
Juuust kidding! - I don't have my own bow. McKay's shooting has been going very well. The range here is only 20 yards long, but she's got tight grouping and when we went out to a longer range she held it tight at 30. At 40-yards she's a little shaky, and Bambi's Daddy has a fighting chance. I think she's pulling about 55 lbs, but its an older adjustable bow, so I don't really know.
On Monday one of her arrows missed the foam block, found a gap in the hay, and hit the plywood backstop. The plywood was a good touch, don't you think? I am Mr. Safety Himself! Any Monmouth law enforcement officer would have to be impressed. I put up a sliding plywood backstop, eight feet tall and just as wide, framed using mostly pieces of a romantic garden swing.
That's another story.
The arrow was stuck in the plywood. I mean STUCK! And these are round-tip target tips, not the razor blades you use for game. Her arrows pack some punch! I got a hammer and nail and punched it loose from the backside. And then . . . and then . . . oh that little white pill.
. . . I re-stacked the hay tighter to close up any gaps. Set your timer to T minus 30 minutes until major hay fever attack. My throat itched so badly it ached. My eyes were on fire. My nose was a faucet (needed the weight loss, but it won't last) and my ear tubes were burning! I could actually feel every millimeter of my Eustachian tubes!
It’s 96 hours later, and I’m still shaking it off. That little pill went right back in my regimen, and my memory is starting to clear up. Guess what I remembered! I used to have hay fever attacks all the time when I wasn't taking that pill! I once came back from San Jose, got off the plane and had an attack, only to find that I was out at home and all the stores were out. Everyone loves loratadine.
Now I keep a supply, and I have a pill organizer, just for that little white pill.
We cycle from pollenation to harvest to mold and back again. I thought I needed that pill to keep the allergies at bay, but a few weeks ago I got lazy and stopped taking that little pill. No, Noooo - for the record let's say I was testing my resistance. And . . . Ta Daa! All was well! The grass fields were all cut, baled, and most of them hauled off to the barns. It would be several weeks before the combines were out again. I could take a few weeks off and save some money for the candy machine.
I went more than a week with no problems - and just imagine, right outside my bedroom window is a stack of ten bales of hay! Ha ha - what was I thinking, you say? Does this little pile of grass not pose a giant problem? Nope, not one bit! Maybe I probably don't even have allergies! Let me try to remember when was the last problem I had . . . Well - I don't know! Maybe I imagined it and now I'm addicted to a little white pill for no good reason. Good riddance!
That haystack is there for my daughter, McKay's, archery practice. She wants to go deer hunting on the bow hunt, so I built her a covert archery range so she can practice up. We're keeping it covert because a bow and arrow is treated like a firearm, and I assume it's illegal inside city limits.
"Assuming" is about all the effort I'm going to put into that question, because I'm not a very sneeky person, and if I ask someone down at city hall they're going to look it up in the city code book and give me the official answer. If they tell me it's not legal to shoot a bow in town, I would likely get all shifty and say "dangit! . . . well - hmm - can you tell me how anyone here would know if I made a discrete little place to shoot? um - hmm there aren't any exceptions to this rule are there? . . . We're at 705 West Church and I'm sure I can make it safe there . . . well - ummm - nevermind! G'bye!" I would trot away and then they would write a little something on a sticky note, and patrol cars would be coming by on a regular basis, to keep the neighborhood safe.
Neighborhood cats, to be more specific.
Juuust kidding! - I don't have my own bow. McKay's shooting has been going very well. The range here is only 20 yards long, but she's got tight grouping and when we went out to a longer range she held it tight at 30. At 40-yards she's a little shaky, and Bambi's Daddy has a fighting chance. I think she's pulling about 55 lbs, but its an older adjustable bow, so I don't really know.
On Monday one of her arrows missed the foam block, found a gap in the hay, and hit the plywood backstop. The plywood was a good touch, don't you think? I am Mr. Safety Himself! Any Monmouth law enforcement officer would have to be impressed. I put up a sliding plywood backstop, eight feet tall and just as wide, framed using mostly pieces of a romantic garden swing.
That's another story.
The arrow was stuck in the plywood. I mean STUCK! And these are round-tip target tips, not the razor blades you use for game. Her arrows pack some punch! I got a hammer and nail and punched it loose from the backside. And then . . . and then . . . oh that little white pill.
. . . I re-stacked the hay tighter to close up any gaps. Set your timer to T minus 30 minutes until major hay fever attack. My throat itched so badly it ached. My eyes were on fire. My nose was a faucet (needed the weight loss, but it won't last) and my ear tubes were burning! I could actually feel every millimeter of my Eustachian tubes!
It’s 96 hours later, and I’m still shaking it off. That little pill went right back in my regimen, and my memory is starting to clear up. Guess what I remembered! I used to have hay fever attacks all the time when I wasn't taking that pill! I once came back from San Jose, got off the plane and had an attack, only to find that I was out at home and all the stores were out. Everyone loves loratadine.
Now I keep a supply, and I have a pill organizer, just for that little white pill.
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