I'm glad that I'm writing like this but man, I gotta tell you that there is a lot in my memory banks and I just don't know how to write it down into any context. I am a cornucopia of stories that contain no ascertainable point. Neither concrete starting points nor tangible endings. It isn't really that I don't have anything to write about. It's just that I struggle with finding a centralized point. Kind of like a truck with a bad drag link, wobbling down the road.
Perhaps a nihilist would jump in here and offer this diatribe up as proof that life is full of pointless moments, grouped together into larger, equally pointless coexistences. I am not a member of that camp, although in the past I have warmed myself by their fire from time to time. Most days (and today is no exception) I feel that there is great signifigance not only to to our lives but even to every little mundane moment that the things are made from. It's on days like today that I look at the apparent pointlessness of a nondescript moment in time, any given moment in my day, and say, "OK, so the significance of this moment is not readily apparent, but I trust that it will be revealed to me in time."
I think that most people can agree that this is one of the rewards that we anticipate upon reaching Heaven. We of course dread the moment when our sins are revealed and we are held accountable, but we are also dying of curiosity to see the final numbers on how much time we spent sleeping or waiting for the bus, how many hot dogs we ate, the actual mileage between each and every oil change and how many times we swallowed our gum vs. folding it neatly into the wrapper & throwing it away.
We wonder about things like these because life is cumulative. One of the hardest things in life is when we outlive our ability to maintain our own residence. When you have to get rid of your possessions in order to fit into a nursing home you are getting rid of more than just things. You are getting rid of the physical components of your collective history here on earth. Or perhaps in more direct terms you are destroying the evidence that you were ever here. We are more than happy to replace or upgrade our stuff- Cars, houses, golf clubs, etc., but nobody really wants to take a loss. That's pretty much why nobody wants to buy what nursing homes and planned retirement communities are selling. It's like conceding to our eventual defeat.
This of course is one of the biggest stumbling blocks in the Christian faith. I cannot honestly say that I have truly denied myself, not even just a little. I will close this rant today by declaring my intention to confront my own obsession with my belongings by by getting rid of something(s) that I have been hoarding for no good reason. I may not need to find significance in my life by understanding every single moment of it, but I have at least learned enough from the example of my parents to know that the sum total of my life's meaning cannot be defined by how much crap I have in my basement.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Thursday, February 24, 2005
All the difference
A fresh blanket of snow today. Just a smidge; an inch, no more. still, enough to foul up traffic. It hasn't really melted yet so today the world is a silver lining to a sky full of clouds.
I think that the most picturesque snowscapes that I have seen have all been up around the north shore. I remember a grouse hunting trip with my friends on an old logging road a few miles west of Isabella, at the tail end of a lake effect snowstorm. About 6 inches of the stuff had come down. It started wet and as it slowly turned cold the snow began clinging to the trees, powerlines and virtually everything that it touched. It looked as if God had cast the likeness of the world in silver and given my friends and me free run of it. We began walking down a promising trail that quickly forked. According to our maps it rejoined, so we parted ways. My friends and the dog continued to the south and I went alone to the southeast.
The sky was clearing as we did this, and as I walked alone I looked up at the trees that towered above me. It was if I had wandered into the world's largest cathedrel, for in every direction that I looked I saw a more breathtaking stained glass window than the last, filled with the blue of the sky, the dark green of Norway pines and the golden glow of sunshine, framed behind the snow-covered branches. This was no man-made temple yet I worshipped there all the same, silently thanking God for the scene around me. Beauty of this kind is no accident.
As I slowly walked along the sun began to gradually warm the branches above me, starting a secondary snowfall in the woods as the trees began to groggily shake off the sediment. Chickadees and red squirrels were on the move now, quickly getting back to the daily business of winter foraging.
As the two roads slowly rejoined the dog came to greet me. A few more steps around the bend and I was reunited with my comrades. As we plodded back to the truck I wondered to myself what their experience had been like. I had no doubt that they had seen the same sunlight, blue sky, evergreens and snow-covered branches, but I wondered if they had really seen these things as I had.
As we pulled away to find another trail I thanked God again, this time for a safe hunt and for good friends with whom to share the beauty of the woods. We'd shared an experience, even if we had walked down seperate paths. I will always treasure the memory of taking the road less travelled that frosty late autumn morning.
I think that the most picturesque snowscapes that I have seen have all been up around the north shore. I remember a grouse hunting trip with my friends on an old logging road a few miles west of Isabella, at the tail end of a lake effect snowstorm. About 6 inches of the stuff had come down. It started wet and as it slowly turned cold the snow began clinging to the trees, powerlines and virtually everything that it touched. It looked as if God had cast the likeness of the world in silver and given my friends and me free run of it. We began walking down a promising trail that quickly forked. According to our maps it rejoined, so we parted ways. My friends and the dog continued to the south and I went alone to the southeast.
The sky was clearing as we did this, and as I walked alone I looked up at the trees that towered above me. It was if I had wandered into the world's largest cathedrel, for in every direction that I looked I saw a more breathtaking stained glass window than the last, filled with the blue of the sky, the dark green of Norway pines and the golden glow of sunshine, framed behind the snow-covered branches. This was no man-made temple yet I worshipped there all the same, silently thanking God for the scene around me. Beauty of this kind is no accident.
As I slowly walked along the sun began to gradually warm the branches above me, starting a secondary snowfall in the woods as the trees began to groggily shake off the sediment. Chickadees and red squirrels were on the move now, quickly getting back to the daily business of winter foraging.
As the two roads slowly rejoined the dog came to greet me. A few more steps around the bend and I was reunited with my comrades. As we plodded back to the truck I wondered to myself what their experience had been like. I had no doubt that they had seen the same sunlight, blue sky, evergreens and snow-covered branches, but I wondered if they had really seen these things as I had.
As we pulled away to find another trail I thanked God again, this time for a safe hunt and for good friends with whom to share the beauty of the woods. We'd shared an experience, even if we had walked down seperate paths. I will always treasure the memory of taking the road less travelled that frosty late autumn morning.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Owl be back
I am having more outdoor urges today. Partly because it is sunny and warm, partly because the wife read my desperate plea for help from last friday and suggested that we could "maybe" go somewhere this spring. Wherever it is I hope that they have trees. Of course stories like this also get me itchy to go into the woods. Owls large enough to carry away children and small livestock. Sign me up!
I don't know what it is about owls that captures my imagination. As a toddler the story goes that whenever we drove past a red owl store I would get excited and point up at the sign. My Red Owl obsession was apparently acute enough that my grandmother took notice and made a Red Owl pillow for me. At the farm where my grandparents lived there was a wooded pasture inhabited by a great horned owl. I canot recall if I ever actually saw the bird myself, but what I do recall is that I had some very wild ideas about the appearance of any creature with the words "Great," "Horned" and "Owl" in their name. I envisioned some sort of ultrabird, a super-owl. Perhaps a man-sized owl with horns like a bull. In the mythology of my childhood the great horned owl that lived in my grandparents' pasture was like a flying minataur. Except instead of being mean he was wise, of course. Not just because he was an owl, either. this creature had decided to live on my grandparent's farm and to me that seemed like a pretty wise move on the owl's part.
These days I take in information and it just sits in my head like the wool fluff that you find in a pillow. I look back to those days and I reallize that the way a child can take that wool fluff and spin it into a golden tapestry, designed to suit their entertainment needs. It's a lost art, insofar as we all have it and by growing up we lose it. Day-to-day living, task-oriented activities, and duty-Duty-DUTY suck the creativity out of us, until we can scarcely remember what it was like to think like a kid.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but very soon I will return to the woods and look for my old friend the great horned owl.
I don't know what it is about owls that captures my imagination. As a toddler the story goes that whenever we drove past a red owl store I would get excited and point up at the sign. My Red Owl obsession was apparently acute enough that my grandmother took notice and made a Red Owl pillow for me. At the farm where my grandparents lived there was a wooded pasture inhabited by a great horned owl. I canot recall if I ever actually saw the bird myself, but what I do recall is that I had some very wild ideas about the appearance of any creature with the words "Great," "Horned" and "Owl" in their name. I envisioned some sort of ultrabird, a super-owl. Perhaps a man-sized owl with horns like a bull. In the mythology of my childhood the great horned owl that lived in my grandparents' pasture was like a flying minataur. Except instead of being mean he was wise, of course. Not just because he was an owl, either. this creature had decided to live on my grandparent's farm and to me that seemed like a pretty wise move on the owl's part.
These days I take in information and it just sits in my head like the wool fluff that you find in a pillow. I look back to those days and I reallize that the way a child can take that wool fluff and spin it into a golden tapestry, designed to suit their entertainment needs. It's a lost art, insofar as we all have it and by growing up we lose it. Day-to-day living, task-oriented activities, and duty-Duty-DUTY suck the creativity out of us, until we can scarcely remember what it was like to think like a kid.
Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but very soon I will return to the woods and look for my old friend the great horned owl.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Bad Physics, Worse Theology
The midwinter 'Blah's' continue to hang over my head like an apathetic grey cloud. Life has consisted mostly of day-to-day living lately. Oh, I got a haircut over the weekend. Film at 11.
The wife and I went to see "Constantine" last night. My review, in two words: Don't. Bother. It is more or less accepted in this day and age that the world portrayed in Hollywood adheres to different physics laws than our own. And it's certainly not uncommon to find movies with Christian theology that does not match the bible. But to find a movie that uses bad physics AND bad theology, well that is really something.
There are so many ways that I could rip this movie:
-The dialogue (Reeve's deadpan 'reading off a cuecard' voice, reciting moronic lines, such as "God is just a kid with an antfarm")
-The hokey props (At one point Reeves beats the crap out of a demon using a set of "Holy" brass knuckles)
-The character flaws (Satan knows and shows up exactly when Reeve's character is going to die, yet somehow he is unaware of a ritual to bring his son into the world without his consent, taking place in the next room, even though every demon in the greater LA area seems to be in on it.)
Yes, I could rip this movie but I would hardly know where to begin. Plus my midwinter lethergy leaves me not caring enough to really try. But in closing I will say this about "Constantine": I have never seen a movie where the angelic and demonic beings were dressed more stylishly.
The wife and I went to see "Constantine" last night. My review, in two words: Don't. Bother. It is more or less accepted in this day and age that the world portrayed in Hollywood adheres to different physics laws than our own. And it's certainly not uncommon to find movies with Christian theology that does not match the bible. But to find a movie that uses bad physics AND bad theology, well that is really something.
There are so many ways that I could rip this movie:
-The dialogue (Reeve's deadpan 'reading off a cuecard' voice, reciting moronic lines, such as "God is just a kid with an antfarm")
-The hokey props (At one point Reeves beats the crap out of a demon using a set of "Holy" brass knuckles)
-The character flaws (Satan knows and shows up exactly when Reeve's character is going to die, yet somehow he is unaware of a ritual to bring his son into the world without his consent, taking place in the next room, even though every demon in the greater LA area seems to be in on it.)
Yes, I could rip this movie but I would hardly know where to begin. Plus my midwinter lethergy leaves me not caring enough to really try. But in closing I will say this about "Constantine": I have never seen a movie where the angelic and demonic beings were dressed more stylishly.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Away for too long
I have to say that I miss it outside. Oh sure, you could say that I go outside all the time, if you count each time I scamper from the car to the door of an office or a shopping mall. But that would be like counting mold in your refrigerator as a houseplant.
I miss the sky overhead, from horizon to horizon, the wind on my face and the sound of a lake lapping in the summer or booming in the winter. I miss the jiggle of a peat bog under my feet, the smell of dead leaves and the aroma of pine needles. I miss walking through the woods and witnessing the living tapestry of fugi, lichen and moss. I miss the companionship of chickadees, singing in my ear and hopping from branch to branch as I make my way along the trail. I miss the raucous chattering of red squirrels, the hooting of owls and the chortling of loons. I miss the playful antics of chipmunks and the elusive tactics of the whitetail deer.
I've loved the forests and lakes since I was old enough to walk or swim in them. Even when I was young and the woods were a place full of witches, wolves and monsters I loved them, because they were also a place full of Fairies, leprechauns and dancing gingerbread men. As a youngster lakes filled me with a sense of trepidation as I imagined scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I swam in. In my adolescence lakes filled me with a sense of thrill at the notion of scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I dangled my hook in.
I remember the sense of loss I felt each time a weekend or vacation concluded, and how that feeling turned to longing as I waited for the next adventure to begin. Somehow the longer that you stay away from something the more that sense of longing diminishes, until one day you discover that you haven't really been outside in months.
I miss the sky overhead, from horizon to horizon, the wind on my face and the sound of a lake lapping in the summer or booming in the winter. I miss the jiggle of a peat bog under my feet, the smell of dead leaves and the aroma of pine needles. I miss walking through the woods and witnessing the living tapestry of fugi, lichen and moss. I miss the companionship of chickadees, singing in my ear and hopping from branch to branch as I make my way along the trail. I miss the raucous chattering of red squirrels, the hooting of owls and the chortling of loons. I miss the playful antics of chipmunks and the elusive tactics of the whitetail deer.
I've loved the forests and lakes since I was old enough to walk or swim in them. Even when I was young and the woods were a place full of witches, wolves and monsters I loved them, because they were also a place full of Fairies, leprechauns and dancing gingerbread men. As a youngster lakes filled me with a sense of trepidation as I imagined scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I swam in. In my adolescence lakes filled me with a sense of thrill at the notion of scaled beasts, swimming through the very waters I dangled my hook in.
I remember the sense of loss I felt each time a weekend or vacation concluded, and how that feeling turned to longing as I waited for the next adventure to begin. Somehow the longer that you stay away from something the more that sense of longing diminishes, until one day you discover that you haven't really been outside in months.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Perchance to Dream
Lately I have been getting better doses of sleep. By and large the child sleeps throughout the night- in the evening after he has given way to slumber you could drive a marching band on a parade float powered by a four-barrel Hemi with an overhead cam and glasspacks through his room and he wouldn't wake up. In the morning when it's time to get up he will actually turn away from me and pull the covers up over his head.
But there is a window between Midnight and 4AM where he will kick his covers off, get cold and then start to whine. If one of us doesn't go and cover him up within a short period of time he will slowly escalate, whipping himself up into a larger and larger froth until he is comforted. This behavior has long since been understood by us and has caused us to hone our subconscious auditory reflexes to the point where we can sense his distress, tend to his needs and (generally) return to our bed without waking up. By "generally" I mean that in this condition we are vulnerable to diversion.
I woke up at 2AM last night in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. Apparently I had decided to get a jump on getting ready for work. I groggily returned to bed, where within 30 seconds another whine came out of the baby monitor.
Wife: "Did you check the baby?"
Me (Uncertainly): "Um, yes?"
Wife: "Was he wet?"
Me: "Huh?"
Wife: "Did his diaper leak?"
Me: "I don't think so..."
Wife: "Did you check?"
Me: "Um, yes?"
More whines from the baby monitor, more insistent this time. The wife lets out a heavy sigh, gets out of bed and shuffles down the hall, muttering. And returns a short time later, with minty breath.
I didn't have the heart to tell her that throughout our conversation I was having a dream that she was Curious George and that child was actually a large pineapple wearing Buddy Holly glasses. That sort of thing never translates well to rational speech and I'm short enough on credibility in this department as it is.
We fell back to sleep facing each other and dreamed of creme de menthe sea turtles, crawling across turquoise beaches.
But there is a window between Midnight and 4AM where he will kick his covers off, get cold and then start to whine. If one of us doesn't go and cover him up within a short period of time he will slowly escalate, whipping himself up into a larger and larger froth until he is comforted. This behavior has long since been understood by us and has caused us to hone our subconscious auditory reflexes to the point where we can sense his distress, tend to his needs and (generally) return to our bed without waking up. By "generally" I mean that in this condition we are vulnerable to diversion.
I woke up at 2AM last night in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. Apparently I had decided to get a jump on getting ready for work. I groggily returned to bed, where within 30 seconds another whine came out of the baby monitor.
Wife: "Did you check the baby?"
Me (Uncertainly): "Um, yes?"
Wife: "Was he wet?"
Me: "Huh?"
Wife: "Did his diaper leak?"
Me: "I don't think so..."
Wife: "Did you check?"
Me: "Um, yes?"
More whines from the baby monitor, more insistent this time. The wife lets out a heavy sigh, gets out of bed and shuffles down the hall, muttering. And returns a short time later, with minty breath.
I didn't have the heart to tell her that throughout our conversation I was having a dream that she was Curious George and that child was actually a large pineapple wearing Buddy Holly glasses. That sort of thing never translates well to rational speech and I'm short enough on credibility in this department as it is.
We fell back to sleep facing each other and dreamed of creme de menthe sea turtles, crawling across turquoise beaches.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Routines
One thing about trying to write every single day is that it's sometimes difficult to find a "Jumping in" point. This differs from college days, because now so much of life is routine. Because I am sitting here with a finite number of lunch minutes remaining and I don't have the slightest idea what to write about, I will chronicle my daily routine.
5AM the alarm goes off. Re-set to 5:45, go back to sleep. 5:45, hit the snooze button. 5:56, the bedroom lights go on. Spend the next hour preparing lunches and grooming. Out the door by 7. Remember clothes, go back in the house and get dressed. Out the door by 7:12. Drop the wife off downtown and take the child to Mama & Papa Olojans. Drop him off there, outwardly happy that he is in good hands and quite content, secretly sad that when I go he doesn't share my anguish or engage in any fussing. (That's right, he's well-behaved and it bothers me) Scamper into work around 8:15 or so. Meetings, QA on my projects, assign new tasks to staff members.
Lunch. Coffee or Tea at a local shop and a sandwich from home. Sometimes when I am in the middle of a big project I will take lunch at my desk, hunkered down like I'm in my own private bunker, waiting out a shelling raid. I am trying to make a point of getting out of the office over my lunch hour these days. It's a good time to detach from work and engage in some writing. Like this journal, for example. I can't break free from ink and paper, thus this web log is a transcribed version of my treeware journal.
Afternoons are spent either in meetings or else reviewing staff assignments and/or creating more. When I say that my time is "Spent" in a meeting I mean that it is spent like a roll of quarters in an arcade: Time has passed and I've come away with nothing to show for it. Dilbert says that a meeting is when a group of people that you believe are intelligent and well-meaning get together to prove you wrong.
Come 5PM I desperately try to cram one more hour of work into thirty minutes. 5:30 or so I leave the office and cross town to pick up the wife. Together we go and reunite with our son. We go home and it is playtime, some dinner, a few books or a bath and it's off to bed for the child. An hour or two later and it's the same for us.
I could probably squeeze more time out of the day if I slept less or I did not enjoy the company of my family. But as it stands I need my sleep and I love my family. With that in mind I guess it shouldn't bother me if my entries are a little boring.
I must go now and consider the best possible method to become independently wealthy.
5AM the alarm goes off. Re-set to 5:45, go back to sleep. 5:45, hit the snooze button. 5:56, the bedroom lights go on. Spend the next hour preparing lunches and grooming. Out the door by 7. Remember clothes, go back in the house and get dressed. Out the door by 7:12. Drop the wife off downtown and take the child to Mama & Papa Olojans. Drop him off there, outwardly happy that he is in good hands and quite content, secretly sad that when I go he doesn't share my anguish or engage in any fussing. (That's right, he's well-behaved and it bothers me) Scamper into work around 8:15 or so. Meetings, QA on my projects, assign new tasks to staff members.
Lunch. Coffee or Tea at a local shop and a sandwich from home. Sometimes when I am in the middle of a big project I will take lunch at my desk, hunkered down like I'm in my own private bunker, waiting out a shelling raid. I am trying to make a point of getting out of the office over my lunch hour these days. It's a good time to detach from work and engage in some writing. Like this journal, for example. I can't break free from ink and paper, thus this web log is a transcribed version of my treeware journal.
Afternoons are spent either in meetings or else reviewing staff assignments and/or creating more. When I say that my time is "Spent" in a meeting I mean that it is spent like a roll of quarters in an arcade: Time has passed and I've come away with nothing to show for it. Dilbert says that a meeting is when a group of people that you believe are intelligent and well-meaning get together to prove you wrong.
Come 5PM I desperately try to cram one more hour of work into thirty minutes. 5:30 or so I leave the office and cross town to pick up the wife. Together we go and reunite with our son. We go home and it is playtime, some dinner, a few books or a bath and it's off to bed for the child. An hour or two later and it's the same for us.
I could probably squeeze more time out of the day if I slept less or I did not enjoy the company of my family. But as it stands I need my sleep and I love my family. With that in mind I guess it shouldn't bother me if my entries are a little boring.
I must go now and consider the best possible method to become independently wealthy.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Evil Pods
Winter and Spring are playing chicken with each other. A warm day, followed by some snow, washed down with some rain. Repeat cycle. February is like a bipolar illusionist, messing with our collective minds. All you can do is wait him out. The good news is that we are over halfway to March, so it's all downhill from here.
Last Saturday we took care of our taxes; and by "We" and "take care of our taxes" I mean that I pushed the child around Southdale mall while the wife sat with our accountant. Lest you think that I was the one to get off easy I would mention that the child was in a foul mood; We were in a condition that I will from here on refer to as 'Shark mode' - Stop moving and you die.
I stopped by the Mac store. Every time I'm in that place it's the same thing- I am a leper PC user browsing in their midst. Before I can look around I have to scan the crowd and see if Lileks or any of my clients from Magnetic Poetry are there. I browse with the trepidation of that moment when one of the folks from Magpo appears out of nowhere, pointing at me and shrieking a la "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Lileks doesn't know me so I wouldn't expect him to recognize me. Still if he pointed at me and shrieked I wouldn't be suprised. I reek of PC's.
It's not my fault that I am enamored with the photo Ipod. But for the money I might as well save for this pocket PC. Star Trek never anticipated that the communicator and the tricorder might get morphed into one device. Why do you think that Geordi had one? He needed something to carry around all his his George Clinton tunes.
Last Saturday we took care of our taxes; and by "We" and "take care of our taxes" I mean that I pushed the child around Southdale mall while the wife sat with our accountant. Lest you think that I was the one to get off easy I would mention that the child was in a foul mood; We were in a condition that I will from here on refer to as 'Shark mode' - Stop moving and you die.
I stopped by the Mac store. Every time I'm in that place it's the same thing- I am a leper PC user browsing in their midst. Before I can look around I have to scan the crowd and see if Lileks or any of my clients from Magnetic Poetry are there. I browse with the trepidation of that moment when one of the folks from Magpo appears out of nowhere, pointing at me and shrieking a la "Invasion of the Body Snatchers." Lileks doesn't know me so I wouldn't expect him to recognize me. Still if he pointed at me and shrieked I wouldn't be suprised. I reek of PC's.
It's not my fault that I am enamored with the photo Ipod. But for the money I might as well save for this pocket PC. Star Trek never anticipated that the communicator and the tricorder might get morphed into one device. Why do you think that Geordi had one? He needed something to carry around all his his George Clinton tunes.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Raw Determination
Not only is truth stranger than fiction, in this case it is also a better story than anything I could have written on my own. What worries me is that I think Joshua is at least as smart as this kid. By the time he's 4 we will need to keep him away from helicopters and tanks.
(Copied from startribune.com)
4-Year-Old Mich. Boy Drives Mother's Car
Associated Press
February 8, 2005 0208AP-YOUNG-DRIVER
SAND LAKE, Mich. (AP) - A boy drove his mother's car to a video store in the middle of the night, police said - and he's all of 4 years old.
Even though he was unable to reach the accelerator, the boy managed to put the car in gear and the idling engine provided enough power to take him slowly to the store, a quarter-mile from his home, about 1:30 a.m. Friday, Police Chief Doug Heugel said. Finding the store closed, the youngster began a slow trip home.
Weaving and with its headlights off, the car got the attention of police Sgt. Jay Osga, who initially thought he was following a driverless car that had taken off after being left running at a gas pump.
The car turned into the boy's apartment complex and struck two parked cars, then backed up and struck Osga's police car.
That's when Osga discovered the boy inside.
"He knew how to go from forward to reverse," Osga said Monday. "The mother said she taught him how to drive by letting him sit on her lap and steer."
No charges will be filed against the boy or his mother, Heugel said.
"He's 4 years old. His mom didn't even know he was up," Heugel told The Grand Rapids Press. "I don't think he even realizes what he did."
(Copied from startribune.com)
4-Year-Old Mich. Boy Drives Mother's Car
Associated Press
February 8, 2005 0208AP-YOUNG-DRIVER
SAND LAKE, Mich. (AP) - A boy drove his mother's car to a video store in the middle of the night, police said - and he's all of 4 years old.
Even though he was unable to reach the accelerator, the boy managed to put the car in gear and the idling engine provided enough power to take him slowly to the store, a quarter-mile from his home, about 1:30 a.m. Friday, Police Chief Doug Heugel said. Finding the store closed, the youngster began a slow trip home.
Weaving and with its headlights off, the car got the attention of police Sgt. Jay Osga, who initially thought he was following a driverless car that had taken off after being left running at a gas pump.
The car turned into the boy's apartment complex and struck two parked cars, then backed up and struck Osga's police car.
That's when Osga discovered the boy inside.
"He knew how to go from forward to reverse," Osga said Monday. "The mother said she taught him how to drive by letting him sit on her lap and steer."
No charges will be filed against the boy or his mother, Heugel said.
"He's 4 years old. His mom didn't even know he was up," Heugel told The Grand Rapids Press. "I don't think he even realizes what he did."
Friday, February 4, 2005
Rude Awakenings
45 degrees in the shade. It wouldn't suprise me if some misled crocuses pop out, foolishly expecting the sun to stick around for a while. It will, at least through sunday. that's when old man winter is supposed to crack the whip and send us back into winter weather.
In the past two weeks the wife and I have been engaging in a new morning behavior: Intentional oversleeping. It is almost like an adult onset game of don't-touch-the-floor. It usually works something like this. Between 4:30 and 4:50 or so the child lets out wail because he has kicked off his covers and become cold. I get up and cover him, quietly coax him back to sleep, which he readily does. At 5:00 my alarm goes off for the first time. Now up to a couple of days ago I was simply engaging in 9 minute bouts of sleep between snooze button stabs. Lately I have just been resetting the alrm for 5:45 which is when I will be getting up anyway. I am not fooling anyone, least of all me.
The wife's alarm doesn't go off until 5:30, and she isn't fooling anyone either. She doesn't get up until 6:00. Lately I have been figuring that if you cannot beat them that you should join them, so I haven't been getting up until 6:00 either. Amazingly I am consistently only 15-20 minutes late to work every day. I would be in business if I could get up at 5:30 every day. If I were in business for myself maybe I would want to.
In the past two weeks the wife and I have been engaging in a new morning behavior: Intentional oversleeping. It is almost like an adult onset game of don't-touch-the-floor. It usually works something like this. Between 4:30 and 4:50 or so the child lets out wail because he has kicked off his covers and become cold. I get up and cover him, quietly coax him back to sleep, which he readily does. At 5:00 my alarm goes off for the first time. Now up to a couple of days ago I was simply engaging in 9 minute bouts of sleep between snooze button stabs. Lately I have just been resetting the alrm for 5:45 which is when I will be getting up anyway. I am not fooling anyone, least of all me.
The wife's alarm doesn't go off until 5:30, and she isn't fooling anyone either. She doesn't get up until 6:00. Lately I have been figuring that if you cannot beat them that you should join them, so I haven't been getting up until 6:00 either. Amazingly I am consistently only 15-20 minutes late to work every day. I would be in business if I could get up at 5:30 every day. If I were in business for myself maybe I would want to.
Thursday, February 3, 2005
House of Bricks
Bathtime last night. I have grown accustomed to hearing a lot of strange sounds come out of the bathroom over the past two years. At first it did not sound odd at all to hear the wife say, "And I'll Huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house down!" (Although as a side note here, I was brought up as a "Blow your house IN" person myself) What was strange was the noise to follow, made by the child: "A-ffffffffffpht." then a brief moment of stunned silence, followed by a peal of delighted laughter from the wife.
We hadn't taught him that. He picked it up from a Barney video.
You have to understand that up to now working with the child has been much like training a parrot. He has learned thus far by imitating us and performing his tricks on cue. Pandora's box has been opened, and we are no longer the sole sources for information for the lad. Of course this has been true for some time but now there is no more denying it. The proof is right in front of us. A-ffffffffffpht.
It is a milestone event to witness a man's first steps in understanding his world by feeding on the information around him rather than having it spoon-fed by caregivers. It's also a sobering experience to get it driven home that yes, this little lump that you are trying to mold into a man is watching everything that you watch and listening to everything that you listen to. And without a doubt he is watching everything that you do and listening to everything that you say. These things you know at some level even before your first child is born, based on the advice given to you by friends and relatives. But when the little one comes, he seems so oblivious and it's not so hard to trick yourself into thinking that it's OK to watch a cop show or a war movie while the kid drinks a bottle in your lap and dozes off before bed.
I would like to think that we have been pretty good about keeping him away from the "bad" influences of media. But self-deception is just a straw house that doesn't stand up to a good gust of scrutiny. One "A-ffffffffffpht" was all it took.
We hadn't taught him that. He picked it up from a Barney video.
You have to understand that up to now working with the child has been much like training a parrot. He has learned thus far by imitating us and performing his tricks on cue. Pandora's box has been opened, and we are no longer the sole sources for information for the lad. Of course this has been true for some time but now there is no more denying it. The proof is right in front of us. A-ffffffffffpht.
It is a milestone event to witness a man's first steps in understanding his world by feeding on the information around him rather than having it spoon-fed by caregivers. It's also a sobering experience to get it driven home that yes, this little lump that you are trying to mold into a man is watching everything that you watch and listening to everything that you listen to. And without a doubt he is watching everything that you do and listening to everything that you say. These things you know at some level even before your first child is born, based on the advice given to you by friends and relatives. But when the little one comes, he seems so oblivious and it's not so hard to trick yourself into thinking that it's OK to watch a cop show or a war movie while the kid drinks a bottle in your lap and dozes off before bed.
I would like to think that we have been pretty good about keeping him away from the "bad" influences of media. But self-deception is just a straw house that doesn't stand up to a good gust of scrutiny. One "A-ffffffffffpht" was all it took.
Wednesday, February 2, 2005
Groundhog Day
January has passed on into a warm February, but Punxsutawney Phil predicts 6 more weeks of winter. I've heard it said by some that January is the longest, bleakest month to endure, and yet I find myself suprised by it's passing.
Between the Tsunami and the election in Iraq there was no shortage of events that will continue to affect the world for years to come. But it when it really comes down to it, it was a pretty quiet month in our household. Joshua is over 30 pounds, and he has finally reached that transitional point where you don't really count his age by months any longer. Instead of saying tht he's 21 months, I say "He's almost 2."
February will bring about the last month of ice fishing and any other hardcore winter sports. By the time March is here we know that any threats of snow are just posturing and death throes. We are already reading the seed catalogs.
But between here and there are 26 more days of the real thing. If February is anything like January was, I will miss it if I blink.
Between the Tsunami and the election in Iraq there was no shortage of events that will continue to affect the world for years to come. But it when it really comes down to it, it was a pretty quiet month in our household. Joshua is over 30 pounds, and he has finally reached that transitional point where you don't really count his age by months any longer. Instead of saying tht he's 21 months, I say "He's almost 2."
February will bring about the last month of ice fishing and any other hardcore winter sports. By the time March is here we know that any threats of snow are just posturing and death throes. We are already reading the seed catalogs.
But between here and there are 26 more days of the real thing. If February is anything like January was, I will miss it if I blink.
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