in which our hero reprints O What Tangled Webs We Weave

Not to brag, but I thought some of the titles were quite clever. This one was about the Internet - it's a little dated, but still fun:

Have you noticed how everyone has a web site these days? Everything has a URL.  It’s dot.com this and dot.com that.  These darn web sites are more dot.com-mon than houseflies.  It’s getting to where a guy can’t even dot.com-municate without using the Internet.  The other day my daughter missed dinner.  When she came home, I asked her where she’d been.  She said “Didn’t you check my web site, Dad?” 

A lot of those sites aren’t easy to use, either.  It’s a very dot.com-plicated process.  In fact, searching the Internet can leave you dot.com-atose by the time you find any useful information.  The World Wide Web is like it’s own dot.com-munity, you know?  It’s even got a separate language! To whit:

·         When Internet skydivers jump out of the plane, rather than “Geronimo”, they yell “dot.Com-anche”! 

·         In the Web world, countries don’t wage war against each other; Generals dot.com-mand their armies into dot.com-bat. 

·         Internet dot.com-panies don’t pit their business acumen against each other in the marketplace, they dot.com-pete.

·         Once you put data into an Internet safe, you know it’s secure because only you know the dot.com-bination.

·         After a long hard day on the Web, nothing is more relaxing than a stop at your favorite pub and listening to a jazz dot.com-bo. 

·         Sundays are always special in Web publishing, because the dot.com-ics are in color!

·         Graduates of Internet universities go through virtual dot.com-mencement to receive their degrees.

·         Feedback is an important dot.com-ponent of the Web, so be sure to send in your dot.com-ments!  Remember to avoid rambling dot.com-mentary, unless you’re a professional dot.com-mentator.

·         Rather than a czar, the Russian government might consider the appointment of a  dot.Com-missar to oversee their Internet dot.com-merce. 

·         On the Internet, incendiary rhetoric is referred to as dot.com-bustible.

·         If you get hungry while surfing the Web, grab a virtual bite to eat at the dot.com-missary.

·         Internet dot.com-pensation is often not dot.com-mensuarte with experience.

·         Ads on web sites could be referred to as dot.com-mercials.

·         Web humorists are called dot.com-edians.

·         If the Internet had been invented 4000 years ago, God would probably have    e-mailed Moses the Ten dot.Com-mandments.

·         On the Internet, Marx and Lenin could have created dot.Com-munism as the people’s answer to Capitalism.

·         Drank too much iced tea while surfing the net?  No problem, just look for the dot.com-mode.

·         In the virtual reality of the Web, even in death, Elvis could easily make a dot.com-eback.

·         Since two months equals a year in cybertime, Haley’s dot.Com-et visits the Internet every 14 years.  That’s 588 cyber-dog years!  (To call your dog on the web, just yell “dot.Com-mere, Rex!”)

·         After a bad day at work, web designers like to gather together over an adult beverage and dot.com-miserate.

·         You know why those dot.com-puter viruses are so dangerous?  Because they’re very dot.com-municable.

·         I love watching old Western movies on the web, cause in the end all the bad guys get their dot.com-euppance.

·         Punctuation on the web is easy, since only two punctuation marks are valid: periods and dot.com-mas.

·         On the web, you don’t celebrate milestones, you dot.com-memorate them.

·         Everyone lives in peace on the web – it’s very dot.com-munal!

·         When the server goes down, it causes quite a dot.com-motion!

While this list is not dot.com-plete, I don’t want to be accused of not having dot.com-passion for you, dear reader.  Besides, if I do them all, how could I do Oh What Tangled Webs We Weave, The Sequel?!

in which our hero revels in the wonders of technology...

This is slightly dated, but still very true:

I have a hard life.  The 21^st century is a wonderland of technological wizardry, gadgets and sophistication - and I am technically impaired. The closest I get to the Age of Technology is measuring my attention span in nanoseconds.  Technology is supposed to make my life easier – ha!  

The modern telephone has rendered me an object of derision in my own home. My children laugh at me because I cannot operate one.  Take call waiting.  Please.  At least half the time somebody – usually me – gets disconnected.  It’s not always a bad thing, though.  Like when my brother calls hassling me for not returning the compressor I borrowed and I get another call.  My technical impairment kicks into action and just like that - my brother is talking to a telemarketer and I’m off the phone!  

I try and cover my abject telephonic failure with good manners. My mother taught me it’s impolite to carry on two conversations at once. You can imagine how far that gets me. Mom says she remembers teaching me it’s bad manners to hang up on people. Sorry Mom, I’ve got another call…

Letting the answering machine screen my calls avoids the unpleasantness altogether. But should someone actually leave me a message, I have no idea how to retrieve it. Oddly enough, I don’t get many messages. That might be because instead of hearing “Hi, leave your number at the tone”, my callers hear “what’s this stupid red light for? Why is it blinking? Pause. Honey? How do I know if it’s recording? What? The blinking red light? Shoot! Pause. Hon-ey? How do I turn this idiotic thing off? Honey?”

Nor is my problem limited only to incoming calls.  For starters, I can’t remember – does the phone turn on automatically when you pick up? I either pick it up, punch the talk button and hang up on whoever called, or I pick it up, punch the talk button and start dialing into a dead phone. 

The only way I know I’ve dialed all the digits of the number is to listen to the little beeps. But holding the phone close enough to my ear to hear the little beeps keeps me from seeing the numbers. Pushing a number and quickly moving the phone to my ear to verify the beep usually results in a poke in the eye with the antenna. My wife means well - she put the emergency room on speed dial. For all the good that does me. To me, speed dial means that wrong number in half the time, a chance to bypass bewilderment and go straight to frustration. I’ve overcome with a very sophisticated voice-activated calling system:  I yell to my kids, “Come over here and call your grandmother”!

And what is the deal with remote controls – were they planted here by aliens?  I’m capable of learning to operate one in the same way I’m capable of being an Olympic sprinter.  Just because I can doesn’t mean I will.  My girls could make money selling their friends tickets to watch me change the channel. Step right up, folks – hand the Goofball the remote and watch the fun begin…  

For starters, all the darn buttons are jammed so close together my big fat fingers always push at least three at a time. I never get the channel I want. Let’s say I’m going to watch some hockey on channel 14. Here’s how it works:

Mean to push “1”; instead hit 1,2 and 3 together. Nothing happens.

Push “4”; look up at TV to see only the 4 on screen. What?

Start over. Push “1”, get channel 41. Push “4”, look up and see channel 41. Huh? Shoot! 

TV jumps to channel 4 (last channel I pushed). What’s going on? Start over. 

Push “1”, fat finger the 4& 5 and get channel 15. Shoot! C’mon! 

S-t-a-r-t o-v-e-r. 

Wait – I’m on channel 15. I’ll just push the down channel arrow to get to 14. Volume decreases. Oops, wrong arrow! Push the other channel arrow. Nothing happens. What is the deal? Slap remote against palm.     

Garage door opens. Arrrrrg! Throw remote at wall.  Help!

Charming and Delightful arrives, smiles sweetly, and switches to Home and Garden channel. Shoot.

Asks me where I’m going. 

Nowhere fast. I have to go try and make a phone call…

in which our hero reprints Canine Adventures...

As reprints go, this has always been one of my favorite pieces. And my dear friend Ralph Timm still doesn't understand. Enjoy:

Author’s note: The following column contains graphic depictions of irrational emotional ties and devotion to dogs, and is dedicated to my dear friend Ralph Timm, in order that he may understand…

Wouldn’t you love to have been there when Man domesticated the first dog?  Can’t you just picture the scene, as the remnants of a roasted carcass lay scattered around the fire, the now gorged Man watching the mangy canine creep warily towards the scraps?  He takes pity, grabs a leg bone and holds it out toward the animal, saying the Cro-Magnon equivalent of ‘here you go, boy’.   As the dog takes the offered food, the Cro-Man reaches out to scratch the animal’s head.  When contact is made, a bond will be formed between Man and dog that will bind them together forever – wouldn’t you want to be there to witness this historic moment in evolution? 

Wouldn’t it make you want to shout?  I know I would - I’d shout, “STOP!  What do think you’re doing?”  I’d be able to prevent mankind from ever having to throw money into one end and shovel what comes out of the other end.  What a service to I’d provide to society - no stains on the carpet, chewed up shoes, holes dug in the backyard, wild chases through the neighborhood in pajamas, or lying awake listening to howling, barking or yapping all night.  Talk about a positive impact on history!  But then I’d look in the face of that dumb mutt, cowering with the tip of his tail wiggle, wiggle, wiggling between his legs, and my heart would melt.  I’d grab the meat shank from Cro-Magnon, hold it out to the mongrel and mumble something like ‘Okay Spot, do all your business outside the cave and I’ll feed you forever…’ 

What is it about dogs, anyway, that allows them to attach themselves so firmly and permanently to our hearts, regardless of the reality of our experience with them?  Bring together any group of dog owners, and almost without exception they will relate stories of misadventure and canine malfeasance that make the rational mind ask why in the world would you want a dog, anyway?  They have to be the stupidest creatures in creation, with just enough intelligence to digest food.  No other phrase in the English language is more redundant than “dumb dog”. Some folks I know came home to find their Golden Retriever standing on top of the dining room table.  Apparently, he had climbed up using a chair, but wasn’t smart enough to use the same chair to climb down.  This same hound was also discovered sprawled belly up on top of the coffee table, sound asleep.  It’s a good thing the first thing we do with puppies is name them.  If people waited a few weeks to name the animal after a personality trait or dominant characteristic, you’d hear a lot more GetOutFromUnderMyFeets, Stupids, GiveMeThats and Quit-Its at the park than Spots, Rovers and Buffys. You know why dogs greet you like it’s been ages since they’ve seen you every time you walk into a room?  I honestly think it’s because they’re so stupid, they don’t remember you’ve only been gone 30 seconds!

Of course, there’s no fun like being around a dog in a thunderstorm, when they really do odd things.  We were dog sitting for a friend when a storm blew up, and the dog disappeared.  I got involved in something else and put the missing dog out of my head until I went in to use the bathroom.  I heard a noise from behind the shower curtain, peeked behind it, and there she was, shaking in the dark in the bathtub!  Sleep through a storm?  No way, when you’ve got a dog pacing back and forth across the foot of your bed – under the covers, of course.  Or you get the other extreme, when they sit on your pillow and pant.  I fail to see how hyperventilating in the dark relieves fear of storms, but the beast seems convinced it helps.  I guess that’s better than the dopey mutt that sits in the middle of the room and howls like a coyote.  Another guy has a monster that he practically has to wear padded gloves to feed.  One peal of thunder, though, and this snarling, growling beast turns into a quivering, whimpering wuss, running to hide under the nearest bed.  It seems that a direct relationship exists with the size of the dog and how big a baby they become during thunderstorms. 

Does anyone know when dogs were crossbred with goats? They’ll eat anything.  I heard about one that ate a box of D-Con, the mouse poison. The vet said he would be dehydrated for a couple of days, so give him all the water he wanted.  The kid filled a 5 gallon bucket and the dog drank it dry, plus another one the next day!  We watched a neighbor’s dog eat a Koosh ball.  We called the vet, who told us if the ball got stuck in its colon it could kill him.  Turned out he just left kaleidoscope deposits in the back yard all weekend.  Another hound goes to the vet for x-rays to rule out hip dysplasia and voila! the hips are fine, but there is a finishing nail in the intestines.  Operation follows to retrieve the nail, but 10 feet of intestines prove to be too big a haystack to find the needle (nail) in.  The owner is charged with examining droppings to ensure that the nail finds its way out.  You haven’t lived until you’ve tromped through your back yard “examining” dog doo to look for finishing nails. Or Koosh balls. Or loose change, or Legos, or shoe buckles or any one of a hundred other things Hoover has managed to suck down his throat!

Did you know dogs are immune to salmonella? They can eat all the raw chicken they want without fear of getting sick – which they do at every opportunity.  Turn your back on a dog with raw meat on the counter and you’ll be making reservations for dinner.  Why they get so excited over people food is beyond me.  Every time I give my dogs a scrap of meat or cheese, they snarf it so fast they can’t possibly taste it, but they always give you that look that says I don’t know what that was, but can I have some more?  

The single most indelible sound in all of dog ownership has to be that of ‘Ol Rex throwing up.  Heard once, it sears itself permanently into the synapses of the brain.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve snapped awake from the deepest sleep, fully alert to the distinctive uh-ooomb, Uh-Ooomb, UH-OOOMB noise, like the Bellows of Hell, growing from the innards of the beast.  Invariably, a dog will get sick in the middle of the night, so you almost always have about 30 seconds in which to stumble through the dark to find Poochie and guide her to a non-carpeted piece of floor before the awful retching sound that signals the arrival of the contents of the stomach.  Without human guidance, they also have an uncanny ability to use the uh-ooomb interval to go directly to the least desirable spot in your house on which to barf.  Unleashed and unshepherded, I’ll bet Lassie could find the only area rug in an empty airport terminal if she was airsick from an inbound flight.  Amazing.  Gross, but amazing.

Every dog I’ve ever had loved to ride in the car. It never mattered which door I used to let them in, they would immediately jump into the driver’s seat with that dopey oboy oboy look on their face. Apparently they thought they were better drivers than I (though we shall not address the validity of that claim here), since they never moved.  I was left standing in the street shouting and waving at them to move (which the neighbors always found amusing).  It was either that or try to shove them out of the way while squeezing into the seat and getting the door closed – not unlike being the third person into a phone booth – where success is largely dependent on the number and size of the beasts in the driver’s seat.  My pastor’s dog loves to ride in the middle of the bench seat of their minivan.  When they come up on any bridge or overpass, the dog watches it intently, and then jumps over to the window as they go under, barking and trying to bite the bridge.  The drive from where they moved was seven hours – can you imagine how many bridges and overpasses there are between Nashville and Peoria?

And what is the deal with dogs and sticking their heads out the window, anyway?  I’ve had to start a fire on the front seat in January to keep warm when Pepper just HAD to have her face out the window in the fresh air.  I almost lost a dog with the first car I got with power windows.  I was driving along and all of a sudden the dog started thrashing around in the back seat.  I looked back to tell her to settle down, and noticed she was standing on the window button, closing the window and choking herself.  From then on, it was lock the doors, seat belt on, lock out the power windows…You can tell parents of toddlers these days by the little visor thingy on the back window of the car.  Dog owners have a back window covered with dog slime and paw prints.

In twenty years of marriage, we haven’t been without a dog for more than a total of seven months.  Much of that time we’ve had two.  We feed them too much people food, let them onto the furniture, take them for ice cream, stand in the rain with an umbrella over them while they potty, plan vacations around them and pretty much let them take over our lives.  When they get too old and we have to put them to sleep so they can die with dignity, we cry and mope around for days.  Are we certifiable?  Probably.  Defective gene?  Likely, but please don’t try to fix it. All the reasons you can think of for not having a dog (or two) end up being overruled by those adoring eyes, the dopey, smiley faces, the unfailing loyalty and devotion, the tail-wagging-boy-it’s-so-good-to-see-you every time you come home.  From the dawn of time, this whole “man’s best friend” deal has never been about the head, but the heart.  Pet a dog; get a job for life.  If that’s true, then c’mere Spot, and lemme scratch behind your ears.

in which our hero dredges his past...

12 years ago, our department started a newsletter. They asked for volunteers to attend an organizational meeting. I was new to the information technology group, but I like to write, so I went. When it was my turn, I told them if they wanted me to write about the joys of software, or how to diagnose code glitches, I was not their guy. But if they were interested in a feature column, I was willing. We were called Dealer Channel Services Group, so I called my column Channel Dredgings, naturally. Many of them are dated, especially the millennium stuff (remember the millennium?), but a few are worth reprinting, just for fun. Enjoy:

I am sometimes asked where the ideas for hansanity originate. All I can offer is that a bunch of ideas are always rattling around in my empty head like a BB in a basketball, and every now and again I grab onto one and see where it takes me.  For instance:

I wanted to dispose of some confidential material, so I asked a supervisor where I could find a shredder, but he couldn’t tell me – the locations are kept secret for security reasons.

Anyone who says you can’t get something from nothing has not read my Performance Review.  I actually found a copy of it at the library - on the New Fiction shelf.

I’m all for generating service requests for my computer over the LAN, but what happens if I can’t boot up?

One of my New Year’s resolutions was to join a procrastinator’s support group. 

Maybe next year.

I wanted to take one of those memory improvement courses, but darned if I can remember where I put the class information.

How can you naturally decaffeinate coffee?  Wouldn’t that be equivalent to artificial wool?  Non-dairy milk? Natural polyester?

Close-But-No-Cigar Invention: The Cordless Battery Charger.

What do you call someone who breaks into a computer system?  A hacker. 

One who knows how, but is too lazy to?  A slacker hacker.

Who eats between meals?  A slacker hacker snacker.

What does he eat?  A slacker hacker snacker cracker.

What if it’s especially tasty?  It’s a slacker hacker snacker lip-smacker cracker

What do you call a hacker who sails back and forth across a lake?  A hacker tacker.

What would the boom that swings across the bow and knocks him into the lake be called?

            The hacker tacker smacker.

What do you call the guy who piles five hackers on top of each other?  A hacker stacker.

Who gives hackers financial support? A hacker backer.

What do you call the sign a hacker carries? A hacker placard.

Who lifts the car when their tire goes flat?  The hacker jacker.

What does a hacker use to varnish his desk?  Hacker lacquer, of course.

Who helps a hacker when he has to move?  A hacker packer.

Who bags a hacker’s groceries?  A hacker sacker.

The Great Computer War broke out between users and developers.  The users threw dynamite at the developers.  The developers lit the fuses and threw it back…

Another Close-But-No-Cigar Invention: The microwave Crockpot.

What would happen to a time-lapse photograph developed with One-Hour processing?

Husband:  Aha!  It says here that on average, men only speak 2200 words a day, while women speak 4400!

Wife:  That’s because you don’t ever pay attention to us so we have to repeat everything.

Husband:  Come again?

Why isn’t phonics spelled f-o-n-i-c-s? (that’s not original, but it always makes me laugh…)

How is it wise man and wise guy mean the opposite thing?

One mouse, two mice; one goose, two geese; one moose, and uh, look - there’s another one!

No-iron shirt, clip-on tie, permanent- press slacks, Velcro closure shoes – I save so much time getting dressed I should be able to travel back in time!

If life is so funny, why isn’t everyone laughing?

What do you get if you cross a dishonest accountant and a microwave?  Someone who can cook the books in a tenth of the time.

Speaking of microwaves, if you warm Chinese food in a microwave, do you get hungry again in ten minutes, instead of an hour?

Do you think Webster actually wrote the dictionary by himself?  Not me - I picture a room full of desks manned by a bunch of interns and clerks.  Suddenly, one jumps up and runs up to Webster’s desk- “Mr. Webster! I have a new definition for ‘queue’.”

Webster replies, “Go stand behind those two guys over there, Jackson, and wait your turn.”

And I’ll bet the split was traumatic when the two disgruntled project managers, Funk and Wagnall, split off to write their own competing dictionary.  I can hear them saying “Can you believe old Webster doesn’t think a ‘yurt’ is a portable tent made of felt laid on a framework of branches, used by nomadic Mongols in central Asia? We’ll show him!”  Maybe not as dramatic as the famous breakups of Gates & Jobs, or McCartney & Lennon, but I bet it would still make a good TV movie…

If life were easy, more people would win.

Altoids peppermints call themselves “Curiously Strong”.  What the heck does that mean?  Are they so strong they are curious, like they were created in an X-Files episode or something?  Or am I supposed to ponder how strong they are?  Those are two words that just don’t go together very well – curious and strong.  “My, I’m very curious about your strength,” is something I’ve never said out loud.  Or even thought, for that matter.  Nor does thinking about it make me want to run out and buy Altoids, either.

 I was downstairs in the AB building and saw a sign for the Small Business Group.  So if that group succeeds, won’t company sales go down?

When I go to the grocery store, I wonder about that huge “Fresh Produce” department.  Well, duh!  What are the alternatives? 

And don’t “Lowest Price Ever” ads make you mad?  Especially cars. Lowest Price Ever on Chevy Impalas, the ads say.  Really?  My Mom bought one in 1971 for $6200, and yours is advertised at $24,000, nicely equipped.  Give me a break.

According to my daughter, you can tell what kind of techie a guy is by his pocket protecter:

Clear:  Little unsure of himself, wants the protection without advertising his nerdiness.

Red:  Self-assured, confident.  Drawing attention to his geekhood.

Green:  Environmentally friendly type.

Blue:  Melancholy, serious.

Black:  Deep Depression.  May be headed for postal…

Well, I reckon after reading this column no one will want to ask where my ideas come from anymore.  Some things are just better left unknown….

in which our hero reflects on 2011...

Seasons Greetings, Christmas salutations, and Happy New Year, Hansaniacs. 2011 was an interesting year at 1359 N Forrest, but apparently not interesting enough to blog about. (For what it's worth, there are four drafts in various stages of composition...) Sorry about that - according to a friend at work, that will change next year, as she will goad and challenge me to blog more often. After 0-for-2011, that's a low bar to clear...

On to the year in review in the Hansen household:

In August, she was Plus One, later amended to
Penelope.

We're expanding! Megan and Nate surprised us in March with news of a Baby Braxton, just in time for Christmas! Well, Dec 29 is the official due date, but if Christmas music can start after Ashley's birthday (Nov 13), then late December is a Christmas baby. Young Miss Penelope gave her momma quite the tummy ache for the better part of six months - not unlike her momma. Nater and Preggo Meggo have stretched their creative talents preparing the nursery for Grammie and Pappy's Lucky Penny. As we are wont to say around each other, it's very ess-citing! 


And we're contracting! At least the C&D is - she's lost 60 pounds since July with a program called Matol. It works for me too, when I follow it, but my travel schedule played havoc with consistently staying with the program. Lynn has high hopes of getting down to her lowest adult weight early in 2012. I have high hopes of losing my own zip code, and not having to weigh myself on a truck scale.

And to think, I missed this!

Everyone remembers the blizzard that dumped 21 inches of snow. Well, almost everyone.  For the first half of the year, I spent every other week in Little Rock, Arkansas. Guess which week the blizzard came? Yep, I was down south while the C&D was housebound for a week. By the time I came home Thursday night, she had cleared a 21-inch wide path to the street (pictured on the right), and about ten feet at the top of the drive to get the car off the road. And so it went all winter - every time it snowed, chances are I was traveling.

With the spring came the rain. Lots of rain. The rain came at regular enough intervals to wash off the liquid deer fence from the plant beds. Thus, the deer turned the entire landscape into a endless hosta buffet. And when the summer drought / dry-boil off arrived, I just wrote off the landscape for 2011. I didn't even take a shovel to the pond to reshape it or deepen it - that's only happened a couple of times since we've been here. Hunter's Bridge spanned a dry Hunter's Creek. Better luck next year, maybe.

Lynn thought her four generation pic was awful,
so out of self preservation, I'll post this one

Ashley and the kids arrived in mid-July for an extended visit before vacation in Wisconsin (more about that in a minute...). A photographer friend of Lynn's (www.chingphoto.com) offered to take some pictures of Hunter and Livie, so we used the opportunity to take a four generation picture - Lynn's mom, Lynn Ann, Ashley and Livie. Almost everyone co-operated. On my mom's birthday, we got a chance for another four generation photo. Again, almost everyone cooperated.

See what I mean? They owned the beach...

The highlight of 2011 was certainly our family vacation in Wisconsin in August. All the Kirbys, Braxtons and Hansens in one chaotic, noisy cabin. It was heaven on earth. Hunter calls Afterglow (www.afterglowresort.com) 'Grammie and Pappy's beach'. Livie was the toast of the sands at the waterfront, while Hunter Man swam out to the diving dock for the first time. Such a big boy! What makes Afterglow so wonderful is sharing it with Lynn's brother and his family, along with the extended family we've acquired. When you share a week with the same families 14 years in a row, you build some amazing relationships. And rivalries, too: Megs & Ate designed family team shirts for us all to wear, and I fear we started something; it's game on for the other groups.

2011 Afterglow team shirts debuted
at the Monday potluck

We teamed up with Lynn's brother and his wife in October and took Lynn's Mom up to Afterglow for a long weekend. She loves Wisconsin so much, and we all wanted to experience fall. We missed the leaves - and unseasonably warm temperatures in the 70s - by a week, but we missed the first snow by a week, too. Grannie got to "walk" around the lake for the first time, courtesy of Gail and Pete's golf cart. I talked Pete into letting me split some firewood - he thought I was crazy, but it was an hour well spent. I had fun, and it was a chance to give a little something back to some folks that have blessed our lives so richly. Now if he'll just let me run the chainsaw - so many trees, so many trees...

Grannie, Hanna Girl, Grandmother, and Paw Paw
celebrating Hanna's 26th birthday

Hanna Girl had the opportunity to chaperone a group of Youth For Understanding students in their travels to the US, in exchange for free airfare. So she mother-henned a bunch of awkward, star-struck kids through Chicago and all the way to Peoria. It was fun to watch them meet their US families for the first time and remember the two times we've done that. Hi, I'm a perfect stranger, but I'm going to be part of your family for the next year... Then fast forward 10 years and see this lovely, accomplished young world traveller. We had a wonderful visit, and got to celebrate her birthday - with cake! She spent a long weekend in Columbus with Meg, and finally got to met Nate. Then we sent her off to Lawton, where she completed her introductions to new family by seeing Miss Livie and the rest of the Kirbys. Hunter got quite the kick out of meeting someone from the same country as Max Schnell, the German race car from Cars 2.

Hunter immediately made the connection
between his London souvenir and Cars 2

 At work, I had the opportunity to facilitate a 2-day change workshop almost every month. It's one of my favorite things to do. One of them was in Leicester, England - my first trip outside North America. I flew into London on a Saturday night, and made arrangements to travel the two hours to Leicester late Sunday afternoon so I'd have a day to sightsee. I woke up at 7:15, and said to myself, Self, we could do with one more little snooze, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. And re-awakened at 12:30. Uh-oh. Since it was at least an hour in to the city each way, my tourist excursion in London consisted of reading a book in the hotel lobby for three hours while I waited for my taxi. On the drive north, the most distinctive feature of the topography was the hedgerows alongside the road. Other than that, it seemed a lot like Kansas, with stone buildings. I did get to eat in an authentic pub and see some buildings that were built in the 1700's.  Other than that, it was pretty much like all my other business trips - you see a Cat facility, a conference room, and a lot of your hotel. Except, of course, everyone talked funny. I can only imagine what they thought of the crazy American. To the best of my knowledge, no embassies were involved - but I was only there a week.

Tell me this face isn't worth
twelve hours in the car!

We're getting well acquainted interstate travel. It's almost 12 hours from Peoria to Ashley at Ft Sill in Lawton, OK, and 8 hours to Megan in Mansfield, OH. We're fortunate that Lucky Dog is a great traveller, because it seems like every other month we're packing up the Escape and heading off into the night. But the end of the rainbow is filled with granchillrens or granchillren-to-be, so any sacrifice is worth it. Being a grandparent is everything it's  cracked up to be and more. I love going to the outlet mall in Aurora and carrying out half the Carter's store, so Ash and Shane don't have to spend a lot of their money on dressing their kids. Hunter's teacher at school mentioned how he always looked so nice, and asked him where he got his clothes. "The Grammie and Pappy Store", he said. I haven't changed my thought process from his first Christmas, when I came home with yet another package, and the C&D said don't you think we've bought enough for him, and I replied, what, we still have money. Until I hear differently from above, I'll operate under the assumption that God has blessed me so richly so that I can pass it along to my grandkids!

2011 was notable for how we advanced further into the technology of the age. Laundry was turned from chore to delight with the addition of a new Maytag Super Duper Washer-Dryer pair. And oh, what a pair! They're so advanced, you can almost crawl into the washer naked and 40 minutes later pop out of the dryer, cleaned and fully dressed. I'm afraid to touch them, but wow, do they do what they do. The clothes come out of the washer practically dry, and out of the dryer nearly pressed. I'm afraid to touch them. But I don't have to, because the C&D is actually enjoying doing laundry. Which makes it worth every penny, even the cost of the new cabinets to dress out the laundry room (what? you can't just plunk them down into any old space, now can you?).

Ashley got a Keurig coffe maker for her birthday, and we took the plunge ourselves right before Christmas. I usually only drink coffee at home on the weekends, but the ease and convenience of a K-cup might convert me into drinking more than just at work. It brews a better mug of tea for Lynn, too. Not to mention how trendy it feels!

And then there is the iPhone upgrade! Oh, my my, how I love my iPhone. I'm afraid to set it on top of the new washer-dryer - the technology surge would probably disrupt the time-space continuum. My phone talks to my computer, my TV, my kids, bar codes and passing comets, probably. I put on Facebook that it's so cool my chest gets frostbite from carrying it around in my shirt pocket. I'm starting to feel like a one-percenter - all superior and snotty: Oh, you don't have an iPhone? How quaint. Perhaps you'll join the 21st century eventually. In the meantime, I'll download an app that will tell me the proper angle to look down my nose at you. Good day! Seriously, it's powerful enough that I'm going to try and go paperless - no Franklin Planner - next year.

And speaking of next year, if I don't quit typing, 2012 will come before the end of this piece. 2011 was a good year - and if Penny comes before Dec 31st, it holds more promise yet - filled with joy and the love of our wonderful family and friends. God is good, all the time, and He has been especially good to us in 2011. As you reflect on the year past, and the one to come, don't forget to include thanks to our Creator and Redeemer. Join me in pledging to talk to him more, reading his book, visiting his house more often, and growing closer to him next year. God bless us every one in 2012!

in which our hero says makes his first 2011 resolution...

2011 Resolution #1: Make better decisions.

I decided to check my brand new bag in Little Rock, so I wouldn't have to stand in the freezing jetway and retrieve it from the plane-side checking. Oops, New Bag doesn't make the Chicago to Peoria leg of the trip. Double Oops, the car keys are in the New Bag. Triple Oops, wake the C&D at 12:15am to come get me at the airport. Quadruple Oops, airline breaks off one of the New Bag's wheels. Quintile Oops, airline says don't look at us, we're not responsible in any way, shape or form. Thanks for nothing, I say. God bless the New Bag service department, who apologized, and cheerfully arranged to send me a new wheel.

I think maybe I'll just Fed Ex myself next time...

in which our hero says goodbye to a beloved dog...

I think dogs give us so much pleasure during their lives because they know how much our hearts will ache when they leave. When we got the horrible news about our Golden Retriever's lung cancer, it was hard to accept. We knew something was wrong, because she stopped eating, but we weren't ready for such a final diagnosis. So we spent a week watching her closely, unsure if we were hanging on for her sake or ours. When it was clear it was for us, it was time to end her suffering.


It's easy to look back at Lily's life, because she was such an easy dog to own - after she got past her puppyhood issues. We brought Lily and her brother Chewy home during the Charming and Delightful's recovery from back surgery. They kept each other occupied, which is another way of saying they gave each other inventive ideas to get into puppy trouble. Most notably, they once escaped their enclosure and ate a couch. We're pretty sure Lily was the brains of the operation. (Chewy wasn't ever really housebroken; he just followed Lily out the door, and then when he found himself outside, he figured he might just as well go...)


When we moved out to Germantown Hills, Lily exploited her new fenceless yard by gallivanting about farther than the eye could see. More than once I had to coax them into the car to bring them home from adventuring, but it was a way to meet the neighbors. Not the best way, because nothing says 'hi neighbor' like dragging your dogs out of someone's yard.

One of Lily's defining characteristics was entirely my fault. We had thoughts of breeding her, but hadn't done much about it. She was in heat, wandering around the yard while I mowed. Then she was gone. When the C&D asked me why I wasn't watching her, I was like, what's the big deal? Apparently, the call of the wild is, when you're a girl dog in heat. She came home hours later, completely exhausted and looking like she'd been through a car anti-wash - soaking wet and covered in grime and mud. And that's how she became a mama dog. She was almost a perfect mom - I'd strike the 'almost', but she tried to have her litter under our bed.

And oh what a litter it was! 13 puppies, every one of them black as night, with varying touches of white. If Lily noticed they bore her no resemblance whatsoever, it never showed in her care and attention. She was such a doting and caring mother that we called her Lily Mamas from that point forward.

She loved all babies, especially Hunter. Lily was very possessive of him, always sniffing at him and needing to know where he was at all times. She would pace back and forth and whine outside his bedroom if the door was closed. Ashley swears Lily gave her an evil eye - implying she was a bad mom - whenever he cried.

Lily didn't eat like any other dog we've ever had. Most dogs will chomp whatever is near their mouth. Not Lily. She would sniff everything, from treats to corn curls to steak, and nibble at it like a kid eating brussel sprouts. No matter how many Scoobie snacks I would give her, she'd act like she'd never seen one, and want to be sure it met her standards. It never failed to amuse me - my dog the food snob. After she finished eating, she would come find us, wherever we were, and prance around our feet with her dopey face. It was like she was thanking us for feeding her. Then she would wipe her mouth on the nearest couch - one pass for the left side of her muzzle, a return trip for the right. The C&D didn't like it, obviously, but it was another thing that never failed to amuse me - my dog with manners.

She had a lot of names. Besides Lily or Lily Mama, we often called her the Babies Mama. After the puppies left, we shortened Babies Mama to just Babies, or Mamas. We referred to her by color, Red Dog, her sex, Girl Dog, or breed, Golden. Megan and one of Ashley's friends started calling her Wilma for some odd reason and it stuck. Well, sorta. I thought it upset her, so I wouldn't use it. Sometimes when we wanted to get her excited, we would call her LilyMamasLilyMamasLilyMamasLilyMamas, (I don't know if she liked it, but it was fun to say). If she didn't come right away when we called, maybe it was because she didn't realize we were talking to her.

She was extremely connected to the C&D's emotions. Good or bad, Lily always knew. More than once I came home from work to find them curled up together on the couch - a sure sign of a bad day. More often than not the door opened to a prancing, spinning golden retriever. Lily was a happy, joyful dog. She loved to roll over on her back and show us her belly for rubbing. Every time she went up the stairs, she would stop and poke her nose through the ballisters for what we called stair love. It was very cute, unless you were behind her and needed to get up the stairs.

Out in the yard, she loved rolling in the grass or lolling in the sun. Unlike her brother or her son, she wouldn't chase a ball or a bird or a stick or a squirrel. But she stalked the frogs in the pond. Back and forth, back and forth - she would pace the edge of the pond to locate her prey. Once she spotted one, she would freeze into a point and slowly, slowly move in for the kill. Except they almost always escaped. She would spend ten minutes locked onto a frog, and when she got within four inches - bloop! - into the water they went. Then she would walk away. Never once did she show the slightest sign of frustration or disappointment - she was like, that was fun! And then five minutes later she'd be back to do it again.

The hardest part is the missing routines. Nothing seems quite right. I never realized how many times I said 'c'mon dogs'. Every night I turn off the TV and say c'mon dogs, let's go to bed. When I come in from outside, it's c'mon dogs, let's go inside. Did you feed the dogs? You dogs want to go? Open the door to let the dogs in or out. Now Lucky Dog is the only dog. He keeps looking at the garage door, expecting her to come in. Me too, buddy, me too.

Our Savior says the greatest compliment a master can bestow is to say well done, good and faithful servant. I believe that. Lily Mama, we will miss you so very, very much.

Well done, good and faithful dog.