Christmas in Philly

After a brief weather delay, our family landed at Philadelphia Airport on Christmas night, where Blake was waiting to drive us to his apartment. As we approached the vehicle, Bethany said, "Blake, I didn't know you owned an (Honda) Odyssey." To which I replied, "He doesn't. You do. Merry Christmas!"

For months, if not years, my bride has wanted an Odyssey van. About a month ago I asked her what year, miles, and price range she was thinking about. Lo and behold, I found a 2002 with 96,000 miles that had only one previous owner, located in Philly. The year, miles, and money were right for Bethany, so I bought the van, unbeknownst to her.

Blake and Meredith actually test drove the van and handled the transaction for me. (Thanks you two!) My biggest challenge was keeping the secret for a month. When Bethany finally grasped the fact that the van was hers, she was thrilled. She couldn't believe that I kept it a surprise for so long. "But how will we get it home?" She asked.

I gave her three options. The whole family could drive back together (about 16 hours). I could drive home by myself. Or Alex and I could go on a father/son road trip. Plan "C" was agreed upon. I look forward to the journey.

Here in Philly, we have gone to an IMAX movie called "Under the Sea", ran up the steps to the museum that Sly Stallone did in "Rocky", ate cheesesteaks at world famous Pat's Steaks, and spent a lot of time playing with baby Kennedy. Today we will see the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, and Truman will get to ride a train for the first time (something he has been wanting to do since forever.)

Hope you're having a happy holiday season. Be thankful for your many blessings and for your family. For the second year in a row, tragedy has struck the Naughton family at Christmas time. My Uncle Mike (my dad's brother) died suddenly of a heart attack on Christmas Eve while visiting his daughter in New York City. Our thoughts and prayers go out to my cousin Dora and her mom Kay as well as my grandmother Jean (Grandma Sweetie Pie, who has been in the hospital herself for a week or so) for the loss of her son, and to my dad for the passing of his brother. Parents shouldn't be allowed to die during the holidays. (Last year, Bethany lost her dad one week before Christmas and I lost my mom the week after.)

The moral of the story is to enjoy life as much as possible while you can. Buy a van to surprise your wife. Fly to Philly to visit your new niece. Eat one-too-many cheesesteaks now and then. Pretend to be Rocky and race your son up the steps of the city museum. See the Liberty Bell. Take your kid on a cross-country road trip. And Tell your family you love them as often as you can.

Merry Christmas & Happy New Year!

Naked Snow Angels

The revised title of my revised book is "Naked Snow Angels." You'll have to read the book to learn why. Thus far, I have finished writing 14 essays that fill 72 pages (8 1/2" x 11") containing 40,163 words. Call me butter, 'cuz I'm on a roll. Stay tuned...

Analyze This

I have always possessed the ability to remember my dreams, often in vivid detail. Ask my wife and she'll tell you, "That boy ain't right." Last night was a very entertaining slumber.

Dream #1: I dreamed that I was at a class reunion which morphed into a memorial to a fallen classmate that died in elementary school. Nevermind that the person involved did not even exist in real life. By the end of the dream, I was selling subscriptions to Reader's Digest to all of my classmates. (I sold 30, by the way.)

Dream #2: I dreamed that Bethany and I went to a party at a couple's house. When I walked in, I proceeded to pinch a nipple of the hostess, as sort of an informal greeting, kind of like giving a "high-five." Well, the woman was not amused. Especially considering the fact that her entire family witnessed me giving her the "purple-nurple." Soon enough, as Bethany and I were making our rounds saying "hi" to everyone, the husband confronted me, demanding an apology. I immediately complied, but the wife's father insisted that I leave the party at once. Bethany tried to smooth things over with everyone by apologizing for me while reminding everyone that I am an idiot- what did they expect? But the damage had been done, and we took our leave.

Dream #3: I was abducted by two truckers and driven to a junkyard. I was tossed out of the cab and tried to hide from my rednecked pursuers behind a pile of scrap metal. The driver then tried pushing the pile on top of me with his big rig, and I narrowly escaped death. Then they gave me a ride back to town, no worse for wear, but without apologies.

What does it all mean? I really don't think I want to know. Freud would have loved me, though, don't you think?

The Doors

As I sit here at my computer this morning, I am waiting for a phone call from the work crew who will be installing our new French doors today asking for directions to our secluded homestead. They were supposed to instal the doors last Wednesday, but they were concerned having a gaping hole in the side of our house for up to five hours while it rained and snowed would be counter-productive. I agreed. However, they were supposed to show up here today between 8:30 and 9:30 am. They've got 15 minutes.

Yesterday, I spent my morning with Truman and Princess (our St. Bernard) at the veterinarian's office. Princess has yet another ear infection, but that wasn't the main reason for our visit. She has a nipple so engorged and swollen that it looks like a cow's udder. I'm not kidding. It is the most disgusting thing I think I've ever seen on a dog. The worst part was when I picked her up to put her in the truck, I accidently grabbed the festering teet, which smeared a coating of god-knows-what across the palm of my hand. I may have thrown up in my mouth a little bit then. The vet said that the growth is benign, but needs to be removed and that while we're at it, why not scrape the six years of plaque build-up off of her teeth, too. Between yesterday's visit and the impending appointment, we should be out about $800. Merry Christmas, Princess!

On Monday, I got the oil changed in Mom's old car, a Nissan Altima. I washed it, cleaned it out, and delivered it to its new owner, Bethany's mom Glee. I am glad to keep it in the family and I'm sure Mom would be happy about it, too.

I have written 57 pages (over 30,000 words) of my new book so far. Nine essays are done with many more to follow. I have a list of over 40 essay ideas I'm working with. Stay tuned...

Book Progress

As of this moment, I have written eight chapters, 47 pages, and 25,800 words of the new version of my book. And it's pretty damn good if I do say so myself.

Back in the Saddle

I can hear you asking, "Blog Daddy, have you been making good use of your time since abandoning your friends on facebook?" The answer is a prolific "yes." For the past several weeks I have been trying to figure out how to proceed with writing my novel. If you'll recall, I had written 90 pages or so and had a pretty good idea of the direction the story was heading. Somewhere along the line however, I realized that I was really forcing the story to come together. Instead of a labor of love, it just became plain old labor. And we all know I'm against labor of any kind.

After taking some time off from writing and facebooking, I had an epiphany. Actually, I just remembered something that I had forgotten over a year ago. I had planned on reworking some of my old blog posts and adding some new stories to create a collection of essays. I was inspired to do this by David Sedaris, who uses this same format in his books with great success. I came up with this plan back in September of '08, (as I could ascertain by reading through some old notes I had saved on my computer.) I think I even blogged about my plan, too. Anyway, during this time period Bethany and I travelled to China to get Truman and brought him home just before Thanksgiving. Then when my mom's health took a sharp, downward turn, we moved her into our house so we could take care of her. Then after she passed away, Blake and I flew out to California to scatter her ashes. Suddenly February came and went. Spring followed. Life began anew. Truman's many firsts. Fishing. Camping. Alex's summer vacation. Road trips. Baseball. Birthdays. School starting. Football. Bethany's new job. The wheel kept on turning.

I finally started compiling my book of essays this week. I have completed the first four stories and have a list of about 20 more ideas to add to the mix. By the time I finish, I hope to have produced a collection of funny, poignant, ridiculous, offensive, and true stories worthy of the reader's time. I think you'll find that it was worth the wait. Stay tuned... And thank you for believing in me.

Uncle Trav

I have been an uncle to my wife's sisters' children for years and love all those little curtain climbers very much. Until yesterday, however, I was not an uncle to anyone from the Naughton family. Kennedy Rylan Naughton was born yesterday to proud parents Meredith and my brother Blake Naughton in Philadelphia, PA at 8:22pm.

Weighing just over eight pounds and entering this world at just under 20 inches tall, my niece and her mama are doing well and should be going home tomorrow. Congrats, East Coast Naughtons! Can't wait to see you at Christmas!!!

Talking me down from the ledge

Since I turned my back on facebook, several friends and family members have tried to "talk me down from the ledge" as two of them have phrased it. They ask, "Why quit facebook altogether? Why not just moderate your time spent on it? Why is it always all or nothing with you?" Why indeed.

I am an all or nothing guy. I don't know why I am, but it is true. I just don't do things halfway. As a child, I wanted a guinea pig. My brother and I begged our dad to buy us each one and we promised to take good care of them. Our obsession faded quickly and when one day we discovered two cannibalized corpses of baby guinea pigs lying beside the cannibalized corpse of their mother, it became obvious that a profound lack of interest and attention may have contributed to their ultimate demise.

Back in the late '90s, I bought a bass guitar and played it for hours each day until I became pretty good at it. However, I eventually hit a wall where I ceased improving and ceased enjoying playing so I sold the instrument to a buddy and haven't picked one up since (although I have toyed around with a six-string on occasion.)

In 2000, I quit drinking alcohol cold turkey. I went from drinking a 12 pack or so every day to nothing- for two and a half years. However, I did resume my love affair with fermented beverages eventually and have managed to consume a moderate amount per sitting (for the most part) ever since. Maybe I can live in moderation. Maybe it doesn't have to be all or nothing with me. But honestly, I just have no desire to be on facebook anymore.

Please don't take it personally, folks. At the risk of sounding like George Costanza, "It's not you, it's me." I spent so much time on facebook that I ceased deriving enjoyment from it. It became an obsessive habit, probably like smoking is to some people, that just didn't satisfy me anymore. Can smokers continue to smoke "in moderation"? Probably. But should they? Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should, right?

At any rate, I hope my legions of fans understand where I'm coming from and continue to read my blog. I also hope that if you have pictures or stories about your kids or yourself that you feel are worth sharing with your facebook friends, you will feel free to email me those same things any time you care to. In the meantime, rest assured that I am no where near the ledge and I am doing just fine, thank you very much.

Past Due

UPDATE, December 7, 2:39pm: After posting the original "Past Due" story on my blog (below), I received a response from a customer service representative (CSR) from Reader's Digest. Through email, this individual explained that Mom had enrolled in the Continuous Renewal Service four years ago. The CSR apologized for any inconvenience and cancelled the account and waived the money owed without hesitation. I am very grateful and somewhat amazed by this unexpected, yet greatly appreciated gesture on the part of this kind and helpful person. Thank you Day Anne!

ORIGINAL POST: I received a collection notice from Reader's Digest today that was addressed to my mother, who has been dead for almost exactly one full year now, informing her that her subscription renewal balance is eight months past due. Does that mean she renewed her subscription four months after she died? According to Reader's Digest, yes. I have received several of these notices from the magazine publisher over the months since Mom's passing. I suppose I could have alerted them long ago that they stood no chance to collect, but the tact they took in trying to extract money from a dead woman pissed me off. So now we play.

It started shortly after Mom died. Reader's Digest automatically renewed her subscription, since they had not received a notice to cancel (In my experience, dead people usually can't be depended upon for picking up a phone or mailing a letter), and demanded payment. Each month I've received an "overdue" notice or a "we'll cancel your coveted subscription if you don't pay up" notice along with her other forwarded mail. Eventually, they stopped sending the magazine, yet have continued to try to collect the amount for a full year's subscription, despite having sent only two or three issues that were neither asked for nor read by the addressee (Did I mention she was dead?). The tone of subsequent statements became increasingly hostile and I resolved to jerk the chains of the idiots in the collections office for as long as they were willing to dangle them in front of me by never telling them that their delinquent subscriber has gone on to a better place (where magazines, Diet Pepsi, and Little Debbie Fudge Rounds are very likely free).

Today's notice took the cake. In gigantic bold letters at the top of the page it reads "OVERDUE BILL". Below those menacing words reads, "Subscription status: PAST DUE." Below that, le piece de resistance, "Previous attempts to collect: IGNORED BY Donna Keller." Don't you just hate it when dead people ignore you? I know I do. Do they think they're better than us? I mean honestly, the nerve of some of these corpses! Who do they think they are anyway? Do they think they're too good to stuff a check into an envelope (with perhaps a brief note of explanation- if not an apology) and mail it to the world's most beloved periodical ever to be read exclusively in bathrooms? I think somebody needs to take these stiffs down a notch if you ask me. At any rate, the letter goes on to say, "To change the status of your subscription, we must hear from you at once." Well, let me tell you, if they hear from my mother before I do, I'm gonna be pretty mad- especially if she doesn't call me or stop by or buy me something pretty or explain where she's been for the past year. Dead people. Can't live with 'em...

Day One of Post-Facebook Liberation

This morning, Truman and I stopped by the Parents as Teachers room at the Southern Boone primary school for what is called "Drop in and Play." P.A.T. is an organization that provides helpful tips, developmental assessments, and support to parents of pre-school age children at no cost to the families. One service they provide is the opportunity for shut-ins like Truman and me to interact with other people "out in the world." You see, we don't get out much. Living 20 miles from Columbia and Jeff City leaves us with a long drive any time we wish to relieve our country-livin' induced cabin fever, so having a get-together at the school in Ashland (a very small town devoid of most forms of entertainment not involving cows and/or beer, but conveniently situated a mere three miles from our home) gives us something to do without making an hour's round trip into civilization.

As I sat in a metal folding chair observing my child NOT playing with the other children in the room, I discovered a book of advice for dads that was located on a bookshelf labeled "Parenting Resources." I thumbed through the pages while periodically peeking up to see whether Truman was having fun or bleeding to death. I saw no obvious indications of either scenario, so I continued reading. Eventually I found a passage in the book about toddlers at play that mentioned that they do not usually interact with other kids their age. They merely play near them rather than with them. Okay, I thought to myself, Truman is behaving normally for a child his age. Of course his being a Naughton prevents him from ever being truly "normal" however. (I admit that I didn't see that written anywhere in the book, but I'm sure it's true.) So if the kids aren't predisposed to play together, then I wondered why it was that we came to "drop in and play." It seems the appropriate title for the event should be "Drop in and watch your kid ignore other kids." If they would have called it that, then I would have known Truman was behaving normally without having to read it in a book. The only good parenting advice I ever read in a book suggested that when your toddler behaves in an outrageously infuriating fashion, the parent should pretend that their child is an alien born on another planet, unaware of how to behave appropriately here on Earth. Would you spank a Martian in the middle of Wal-Mart for refusing to put the family-size bag of gummy worms back on the shelf while screaming "You're killing me!" as you yank the contraband from his tiny alien fists? Of course not. You would simply say, "That's not how we act here on Earth. I don't know how it was back on your home planet, but that kind of behavior will not be tolerated in this galaxy, mister."

Even if Truman doesn't really play with the other kids, we will probably continue to "drop in and play" in the future. Living in total isolation here on Planet Naughton is probably not healthy for him. Take me for example. I've been holed-up here at the Hartsburg Hideaway for ten years now. Let's face it- "normal" is not the word you would likely use to describe me, is it?

PS: For the sake of my facebook friends, I will keep my fb account active so that my blog posts will automatically appear on my page. However, I will not check my messages or anything else, so if you wish to drop me a line, just email me. I'll be here. Or I may be in the P.A.T. room. Or I may be drunk and doing something with cows. At any rate, stay in touch.

Facebook vs. Blogger

I have become lazy. But it's not entirely my fault. I blame it on Facebook. The social networking site has occupied countless hours of my free time - time I could have spent writing my book or writing on my blog. Instead, I have regressed to the point of writing one-sentence blurbs meant to get a quick chuckle from my 405 or so Facebook friends. While these friends are important to me, I don't feel that I am doing them or myself any favors by avoiding the task I had outlined for myself many months (and really years) ago: writing a book. Facebook is a fine way to reconnect with old friends, but so is a 20 year high school reunion (which is coming up next summer.) What the hell will we talk about if we already know what everybody is up to via Facebook? I mean, I know what these people eat for dinner, what virus their kids currently have, and how many times they get drunk every week. (I can't keep track of all that in my own life, much less theirs.)

When I started writing this blog several years ago, it re-ignited a creative spark that had dimmed over time due to various factors such as work, kids, damaged brain cells, etc. My writing has evolved through the years and I have only recently felt comfortable referring to myself as a "writer." (I have not yet published a book, but I have had two stories published in a local paper that I was actually paid for.) My novel was coming along, but when it occurred to me that fiction writing is not (at least at the present time) the format for my voice, I took a break to regroup. I intended to get started right away on a collection of non-fiction essays (some of which first appeared on this blog), but that damned old Facebook just kept getting in the way. No more! In order to save my blog and my budding writing career, I feel that I must say goodbye to Facebook.

But how will we stay in touch?! I seem to recall that I was able to interact with friends and family before Facebook was invented through something called "email." (And the telephone and snail mail for that matter.) My address is linked on my blog and can be found on the info tab of my Facebook page. I will keep my fb account active for a while in order for my peeps to glean this info, then one day, without fanfare, I will cancel my account. If you enjoy reading my random thoughts, then save this blog (travisnaughton.blogspot.com) to your favorites list and check it often. I promise that you will get a lot more enjoyment out of my blog posts than you ever could from the inane fluff I put on Facebook.

Thank you to my dedicated blog followers who have not given up on me through these dark times. Your loyalty shall be rewarded. Special thanks to my cousin Larry, my uncle TK, my friend Ben, my mother-in-law Glee, and my writer-friend (and cousin-in-law) Jane for believing in me and encouraging me to keep writing. I won't let you down!

Gotcha Day

For anyone who has ever adopted, the day that you first met your child is celebrated just like a birthday. For many families, that day is called, "Gotcha Day" because that's "the day we gotcha." I am one of those lucky fathers fortunate enough to have both witnessed the birth of his biological child and experienced the joy of being handed his adoptive child after a long, long wait. Both events were life changing and more emotional than I could ever accurately describe.

As Alex was being born, on October 3rd, 2000, his heartrate dropped drastically while the doctor was trying to coax him out of his cozy little hideaway. Suddenly the medical staff leaped into action and as I was trying to soothe Bethany, my eyes met the panicked look on a nurses face. With no time to ease the baby out, the doctor abandoned her gentle and patient approach and basically yanked Alex into the world. It was not a beautiful moment. It was terrifying. For a while, he didn't make a sound, although his mama more than made up for that. Let's just say this: she used no anesthesia, and Alex weighed ten pounds. (I don't know how anyone can consider women to be the weaker sex.) A few breathless moments later, we finally heard a cry, and I was reduced to a quivering heap of sweat and tears. I whispered in Bethany's ear, "I never want us to go through that again. Next time, we're adopting a little girl from China."

Six years later and apparently unable to conceive another child, I remembered my prophetic statement in the delivery room. Bethany agreed that fate was telling us that we were not meant to bring another hungry mouth into the world. We would adopt. After two years of waiting for a baby girl, we found a picture of a beautiful, healthy two-year-old boy on our adoption agency's website. The listing included pictures of his left hand, which was missing two fingers and his left foot which was missing three toes. For these birth defects, he was abandoned on the side of the road by his birth parents and was found by a concerned stranger who then brought him to the local police station. After unsuccessfully trying to find his birth parents, he was brought to an orphanage where he spent the first year of his life with no mother or father to love him. He was lucky to be placed in a foster home after his first birthday where he remained for the second year of his life.

On Novemeber 3rd, 2008, we were escorted into a dingy room in an old government run hotel in Nanning, China. Along with our new friends Lisa and James Foard, who were adopting a beautiful five-year-old girl they would name Avery, we were told to sit and wait. "Whatever you do, don't cry. Crying upset babies," our translator/guide David warned us. We all knew we would fall to pieces when we saw our children for the first time, like any parent does when their child is born, but we resolved to be strong. Imagine laying eyes on your beautiful child for the first time, holding them, hugging and kissing them, but trying not to get emotional! Well, we somehow managed to hold it together when after an seemingly endless wait, a beautiful little boy was carried into the room and quickly handed straight over to Bethany. I think we both were so overwhelmed with emotion that we kind of had to go into "shutdown mode" to avoid breaking down in front of the child. We were trembling, but smiling and nodding when the "aunties" from the orphanage and the foster mother were telling us about our little bundle of joy. He was given the name Jiang Yizhan and was called "Zhan-Zhan" (which sounds kinda like "John-John"). We introduced ourselves to him as "Mama" and "Baba" (Chinese for Daddy). We had learned how to say "I love you" in the Chinese language course we had taken. "Wo a'i ni," (pronounced "whoa I knee") we told him over and over. "Baba a'i ni." Daddy loves you. "Baba a'i Zhan-Zhan." Then, "Ni shi Truman." (You are Truman.) Finally, we braved, "Baba qing-qing" (pronounced cheeng-cheeng) and "Mama qing-qing." Give daddy a kiss. Give mommy a kiss. And he did it! I will never be able to find the words to describe the joy that that first kiss gave me.

So here we all are, one year later, getting along as if Truman Jiang were born into this family. He's a Naughton thru-and-thru. Crazy, tempermental, funny, ornery. We love him as much as we love Alex. We know now that we were never meant to have another biological child. We were meant to fly halfway around the world and import the greatest item ever "Made in China." Happy Gotcha Day Truman. Baba a'i ni!

Alex's 9th Birthday

On Saturday morning, Alex woke up in Liberty, Missouri, at Bethany's sister Charla's house, as a nine year old. After telling him "happy birthday," we quickly rushed out the door to the "Eye on AIDS" 5k/10k race at Doug & Char's church. Bethany finished 2nd in her division and set her personal best time! Doug took third in his age group despite stopping during the race to tie his shoe. Char had to volunteer to work at the event, so she couldn't race. Afterwards, we enjoyed a pancake breakfast which was very tasty and filling.

Immediately after filling our bellies, we rushed to cousin Olivia's volleyball match and enjoyed watching her team win two out of three games. Then we hurried back to the Hecker House for Alex's birthday party. He opened presents, blew out the candles, scarfed down a piece of delicious German chocolate cake made by Grandma Glee, and then changed into his football uniform.

We left Liberty at 11:45 am and got to Alex's football game in Ashland at 2:15 (after a quick stop for lunch in Boonville). There, Alex's Southern Boone County (Ashland) Eagles defeated the Hallsville Indians 48-0. It could have been even more lopsided, but the coach decided to give five different players a chance to play quarterback during the second half. Alex rushed the oppposing quarterback really well on one particular play and forced him to heave a desperation pass to avoid the sack. The pass was intercepted and led to an Eagle touchdown two plays later. In the past two games, the Eagles have outscored their opponents 90-0! They are now 2-1 on the season, with a chance at revenge against Moberly coming next week.

After the game, we joined our neighbors for their annual bonfire and hayride. Truman loved riding behind the old tractor and Alex had a ball while running and playing with a bunch of other kids around his age. We ate venison chili, drank some tasty beverages, and finally called it a day at 11:00. When Alex was asked if he enjoyed his birthday he said, "This was the best birthday ever!"

It certainly was the busiest. I think the couch and I have an appointment this afternoon.

Road Trip

I remember taking a driving vacation with my parents to the west coast back when Blake and I were kids. We had an old VW bus that Dad was prone to sticking his head out the sunroof of in order to take better pictures of the passing scenery. I specifically remember him doing this as we crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. It embarrassed Mom, the native Californian, to no end to have her husband so gleefully playing the part of tourist, replete with Missouri license plates on the van, camera strap around his neck, black socks pulled up to his knees, and shorts pulled up to his nipples. Now that's sexy. Dad, Susan, Blake, and I drove out to the east coast several years later and really honed our "look like a tourist" skills. We camped throughout that trip, in exotic east coast locations such as a parking lot in Jersey. That is what I call "roughing it." Many years later, when Mom decided to move back to California, I followed her out there in her Nissan pickup while she drove a car for Blake to use while he attended Stanford. A two thousand mile trip spent alone in a small, over-packed compact pickup isn't as much fun as it sounds, especially when driving through the Donner Pass during a blizzard at one in the morning with big-rigs flying past you like you were days-old road kill, harmlessly occupying an insignificant portion of the side of the road forgotten by the world of the living. Good times.

In college, several fraternity brothers and I road tripped from Columbia to New Madrid, MO on the date that all the experts predicted the end-of-the-world earthquake would happen back in 1992. We figured there was no better place to be than the epicenter to feel the earth-ending quake. We were a little disappointed that the cataclysmic event never occurred, but we did get on "Good Morning America", and were interviewed by several radio stations and newspapers. The same group of guys also took trips to Carbondale IL, Ames IA, and Rolla MO. Those memories are pleasant if not extremely blurry.

My Hannibal friends and I have taken more road trips than I could ever count. Many entailed simply driving aimlessly on back roads with no destination in mind. Several have been taken with the goal of visiting a friend who circumstances have caused to move away. A few have ended with a piece of furniture being defiled and/or burned. One trip saw Bill Herrin and I drive to Vegas and back in a 1984 Plymouth Horizon that was literally held together with duct tape and baling wire. How any of us survived these wild days on the road is a mystery to me.

Now my family gets subjected to my love of the road whenever we go on vacation. We have driven to Orlando, Colorado, Michigan, Baltimore, Chicago four times, and Kansas City and St. Louis many, many times. Thank God for portable DVD players. Actually, the kids are good travellers, as is my beautiful spouse (whenever she has managed NOT to lose her glasses in the ocean.) I am still trying to convince her to: 1. Let me buy an RV and 2. Drive out to see Blake and Meredith in Philly this Christmas rather than fly. (We could buy an RV for what we would spend on airfare for four people.) I'll let you know how it turns out.

After recently reading "On The Road" by Jack Kerouac (for the first time in my 38 years, sadly), I have been re-energized and I have re-dedicated myself to a life of discovery that can only be found on the road. I hope to get that RV (a small, used one will do) and set out on new road-tripping adventures soon. Don't be surprised if you hear a honk in your driveway or a knock on your door sometime in the near future. And when the road calls, you'd better answer. Or else you may find a flaming bag of poo on your front porch. "Shitter's full, Clark."

The President's Speech to our Children, (straight from the source.)

For reasons I cannot fathom, there is a raging debate about whether or not our prsident should be allowed to speak to our kids in school. In my humble opinion, Barack Obama is the President of the United States, not just President of the Grown-Ups. What is wrong with allowing a few minutes out of a 180 day school year to give the president an opportunity to challenge young people to do better in school?

Some people claim that Obama is a socialist who is using this speech as a chance to indoctrinate the youth. They call it Marxist propaganda and make comparisons to Hitler. I for one find this disgusting and decidedly un-American. It seems that some conspiracy theorists are afraid that Obama will brainwash their suseptible children in this short, live broadcast. His powers of hypnosis and persuasion would have to be pretty amazing to overcome all the brainwashing being done by these kids' parents at home.

Here is a link to the exact text of the speech, which I copied from the White House web site. Decide for yourself. If you can still find something wrong with ANYTHING written in this speech, then by all means don't allow your kids to watch it at school. But for goodness sake, stop with the Hitler comparisons, stop the fear-mongering, and admit that this speech is simply an effort by our president to motivate our youth do do better in order to make our country better.

http://www.whitehouse.gov/MediaResources/PreparedSchoolRemarks/

Football Player

We signed Alex up for tackle football this year expecting it to be similar to his experiences in baseball and basketball. We figured he'd practice once a week and play a few games. No big time commitment, but he'd still have a good time. Well last night was the first practice and we learned a little more about what we got ourselves into.

The team is made up of 3rd & 4th graders from Southern Boone County. They will practice four nights per week. They will play 7 to 10 games including away games in towns as far as Moberly, Fulton, Hallsville, and Jeff City. Each kid will play at least six plays per game, but this is not simply a "just for fun" league. The coaches aim to win every game, while making the experience enjoyeable for all the kids. In short, my baby, my son Alex is playing on a real football team in a real football league.

How did this happen? How is it that I have a child old enough to be playing tackle football? How is it that the child of two band geeks is a football player? It just doesn't seem possible, but when I saw Alex in his full uniform with pads and helmet running drills last night, it seemed all too real. That being said, I am actually quite excited about watching him play. I think he's really going to enjoy it. He wants to play linebacker because, as he said last year during flag football, "Dad, I just wanna HIT somebody! I'm all twitchy." That sounds like a linebacker's mentality to me.

Wish Alex, and whoever the poor kids are who will be unlucky enough to get in his way, good luck. I'll keep you posted on his progress/medical bills.

Fight Scene from Chapter Five of "Burning Couches"

I couldn’t believe it. Chris was serious. There would be no way to worm my way out of the mess I was in. “Okay, friend,” I said as sarcastically as possible. “Let’s do this.” But before we were turned loose on one another, our “corner men” had to pat us down for weapons. Apparently Dave and Rosie had discussed the ground rules on their way home from the Dunes the night before. It became obvious that they had actually been looking forward to our little “battle-royale” since I threw down the challenge at the party. They took their jobs seriously as they each diligently searched Chris and I for hidden weapons. It was all so surreal that I just stood there and tried to force myself to believe that it was all really happening. Suddenly reality, and Chris’s left fist, hit me square in the jaw. Game on. I shook off the initial blow and circled around Chris while he searched for another opening. As he came back in close, I ducked a left hook that would have surely killed me had it connected, and threw my right arm around Chris’s neck. I squeezed with all my might and found myself controlling my flailing opponent in a deep headlock. With my left, I fired uppercut after uppercut into Chris’s face. I landed at least six or seven shots before he finally managed to wrestle himself free. “Wrestle” being the key word, because Chris was a member of the school’s wrestling squad, and he knew exactly how to end the fight at any time. We danced around for a few more minutes and then he made his move. He lunged at my legs for a textbook takedown and had me laid flat on my back before I had any chance to react. His fists started raining down on me while I lay pinned under his weight. We would have never met in an official wrestling match because he outweighed me by a good forty pounds. But there were no such safeguards in place on the golf course that day, and Chris proceeded to pummel me relentlessly. I finally managed to roll onto my belly, which did nothing to stop the pounding Chris was giving me. It only slowed his attack down when his fists started to ache from hammering them repeatedly into the back of my skull. After a few minutes, he at last rolled off of me, utterly exhausted. I lay there for a while, half expecting him to resume, but thankfully, he did not. Our corner men helped us to our feet, dusted us off, and inspected our wounds. I was bleeding from my nose and from a split and swollen lip. Blood trickled down Chris’s face from a nasty gash above his left eye. While catching our breath, we both took a second to look at each other and admire our handiwork.

Dave broke the silence. “Are we all done?” We both nodded. “Good. We still have a case and a half of beer left over from last night.”

“Love Shack?” I asked.

“Love Shack,” Chris agreed.

I vowed to never fight again. As the wise Dave Richards once said, “Fightin’ just gets in the way of drinkin’ beer.” Who could argue with that?

Book Excerpt

The following is just a little teaser pulled from one of the first four chapters of the novel I'm writing. Enjoy.

One of our favorite road trips led us along a winding, dusty road terminating near the Mississippi River at a place just south of town that we called “The Dunes.” Flooding on the river had created several sizeable mounds of sand along this area and it made for a perfect place to convene gatherings of drunken teenagers to play beach volleyball, pitch horseshoes, and do keg-stands. It was far enough from town that we could be as loud and obnoxious as we wanted with no worries about being hassled by cranky neighbors or law enforcement, yet close enough that we could be home in our beds within twenty minutes after the party broke-up. As the sun cast the Big Muddy into shadow, a bonfire would be built and couples would climb around the backside of the dunes to make out. Invariably, someone would blare some Skynrd or Zepplin from their car stereo and as the night wore on and the piles of empties got bigger and bigger, our discussions ranged from “who’s screwing who” and “what does it all mean” to “it doesn’t get any better than this.” To a group of teenaged guys, life couldn’t get any sweeter. Rather than face the reality of our lives at home, we could make our own reality whenever we wanted.

Is facebook killing Blogger?

With the facebook insurgency upon us, I wonder: Does anyone read my blog anymore? If not directly, then do you read the version that is posted on my facebook page from my blog? I hope so. Anyway, I want you to know that I will continue to blog and write for your entertainment despite the temptation to simply update my facebook status. Jack Kerouac did not "Twitter" his way to literary greatness. Nor will I. Look forward to future blog posts and a forthcoming book from yours truly. I will not let you down. And for $19.95, what do you have to lose?

Bicycle! Bicycle!

Bethany thinks I need to start working out. She is right of course. It is hard to find the time to do so when you are at home with two kids and one of them is only 2 years old. When Bethany comes home in the evening, she leaves again to ride her bike or go for a run since she is always training for her triathlons. When she gets back from exercising it is dinner time, after which we enjoy an hour or so of family time before the boys' bedtime routine kicks in. That leaves me pretty much no time to leave the house to do anything, ever.

So it was decided last evening that I will be allowed time to ride my bike a few days per week. Apparently, Bethany is willing to give up a couple of her days of training so that she doesn't have to be seen with a flabby husband. (We all have to make sacrifices.) Frankly, I've heard enough comments about my physique and or health lately. But I look forward to riding more often. I used to ride a lot when I was a young buck, and I loved it.

So the plan is to ride at least twice a week and hit the punching bag a couple times a week. I will track my progress and keep you posted as I become the lean, mean love machine that my wife married 13 years ago. Wish me luck.

"Merle's Door", book review

You are probably familiar with "Marley and Me," a wonderful book about the world's worst dog. As great as that story was, I finished reading a book yesterday called "Merle's Door," written by Ted Kerasote, that blew me away. This is the story of the best dog in the world (in contrast to the ornerey Marley.) The book paints a most vivid portrait of Merle and the Teton Range in Wyoming where he lived with his owner Ted. By the end of the book, thanks to Kerasote's detailed and intimate accounts of life with his dog, I felt like Merle belonged to me. I couldn't help feel like I had known him all my life. Which made the story very emotional for me as well.

Kerasote appreciated every small detail about his dog's life. He allowed Merle to be himself which allowed the dog to blossom into a magnificent animal and companion. His accounts of their life together has caused me to re-examine the relationship I have with my own dogs. Am I too controlling? Do I micro-manage every aspect of their lives? Do I allow them the freedom to be themselves? Are they happy? I hope that I can be a better dog owner from now on and give my dogs the opportunity to live their lives to the fullest. It's what Merle would have wanted for them.

Thanks go out to Kim McCullough, my good friend and fellow dog lover, for recommending this book to me. Although this story caused me to cry for the first time since my mom died, (and for only the second time since my beloved dog Jake died a year and a half ago,) I feel that my manhood is still in tact. In fact, I think I'll be a better man (at least in my dogs' eyes) now that I've read this book.

Facebook and Fireworks

First of all, I love facebook. I love it like I love beer. It makes me all warm and fuzzy. But just like beer, a person can have too much of FB. One of the unintentional side effects of all my time spent on FB is that I have not been blogging as much. I used to put a lot of thought into my blog and lately I take the lazy way out and just post one sentence here and there on my FB page instead. My 335 FB friends obviously appreciate the frequent tidbits I post for their amusement, but I feel that I am leaving my blog-followers unsatisfied lately. I vow to rectify that. Starting...now.

On July 3rd, Truman will have been with us for 8 months. Time really flies. Actually, it feels like he has been with us since he was born because he is proving to be 100% Naughton. (His Irish temper betrays him.) This 4th of July will be his first spent as an American. I hope that as he grows, he will appreciate how fortunate he is to be a citizen of this country. I think a lot of us who were born here take for granted the freedoms we enjoy. When I reflect on our time spent in Communist China, watch news reports of bedlam in the streets of Tehran, and read accounts of never-ending violence in Baghdad, I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have been born in the United States. Our country is far from perfect, but I will take growing up in the American midwest with it's laid-back lifestyle, friendly neighbors, and relatively safe streets over just about any other place on Earth. I hope when Truman gets older, he will feel this way, too.

So while you are watching fireworks (made in China) this Independence Day, take a moment to appreciate what it means to be an American. Then take a moment to appreciate what it must be like to be Chinese, working seven days a week in a factory making fireworks for Americans' amusement while earning about a dollar a day in the hope that someday you can make a better life for your children. That's all any of us can hope for, no matter where we're from. Isn't that what we call "The American Dream?"

Happy 4th of July. Now, back to facebook...

The Discovery Club

I have been promising to build a clubhouse for Alex for some time now. Yesterday, I finally did it. It took nine hours, and I finished just before it started to pour outside. Alex calls it the Discovery Club. I built it as an "annex" to the party porch, so it doesn't take up much space and it sort of blends into the wordwork. It has two windows, shelves for Alex's treasures (fossils, bones, seashells, etc.), a table and chairs, rubber floor mats, and it didn't leak a drop when it rained last night! The boys love it. I kinda do, too.

Truman's First Campout

Naught's Landing, our beautiful party porch, has many wonderful features such as a mini-fridge full of beer and nightcrawlers, a cd player, fish mounts on the walls (including one that sings), and seating for eleven. But it also has a beautiful little camping spot adjacent to it, tucked nicely into a stand of cedar, hickory, and oak trees. That is where we spent our first night of camping together as a family of four.

Truman loved playing in the tent with his big brother Alex. Naturally, since the tent hadn't been used for a while a little maintenence was necessary first. Apparently a mouse decided to chew his way into it while it was rolled up and stored in its bag over the course of the past two years. Nothing a little duct tape couldn't fix. As I said, it was good to go and provided much entertainment for the boys.

We also have a nice fire pit where we had a weiner roast and toasted marshmallows. I was cooking four hot dogs on one stick when suddenly the stick caught fire, burned in two, and dropped half a package of weiners into the flames. Nothing a rinse with the hose couldn't fix. Delicious. And Alex was quite helpful in keeping the fire going. It was nice to have a child laborer round up the hundreds of sticks it would take to keep the flame lit.

At 5:50 this morning a storm rolled in and we "slept" to the sounds of driving wind and rain as we silently prayed that the tent stakes were strong enought to keep us from blowing away to some god-awful place like Kansas or Illinois. Eventually, the storm let up and we went inside the house for breakfast. As I changed his diaper after we ate, I asked Truman if he had fun camping. He exclaimed, "Tooman happy!"

Me too, pal. Me too.

The New Indiana Jones Adventures

Indiana Jones and his sidekick Short-Round. Sure other kids can dress as Indy for Halloween, but how many of them have their own Chinese kid?

First Fish

Today at our neighbor's pond, Truman caught his first ever fish. It was too big to reel in by himself, so his big brother Alex helped him land it. A two pound largemouth bass! The boys also teamed up to land a nice bluegill. As you might imagine, Dad is mighty proud.

Full Circle

My dad bought me my first trombone the summer before I started junior high. It was a Conn 16H Director model student horn, and it was brand new. Don't let the term "student horn" fool you. Conn was known to produce the best American-made musical instruments for years, and even their beginner's instruments were well built. And not cheap. Well after proving that I was serious about playing, Dad bought me another trombone when I started high school. The horn he found for me was a Conn 88H large bore tenor trombone with an F attachment trigger. It had a thin rose brass bell (ultra rare and highly prized by professionals for the warm tone it produces), and nickel and gold plating throughout. If the student horn was the Chevy, this new horn was a fully loaded Cadillac. And the sounds I was able to get out of that old horn were pretty damn sweet if I do say so myself. But of course I didn't fully appreciate the rarity or the value (both monetary and sentimental) of the 88H, and I sold it to my fellow trombone player friend Brian Montgomery so that I could give the money to my mom for the 1979 Monte Carlo she was buying for me. Yes, I sold a horn that my dad paid for and gave the money to my mom. Did I mention I was a teenager? Since when were teenagers expected to make good decisions? Anyway, a few years later after selling my student model horn to a friend I found myself trombone-less. Until this week, I hadn't played a trombone since 1996.

Until this week. Thanks to facebook, I reconnected with Brian and asked him if he still had the old horn. He said that he had donated it to the high school 15 years ago after he lost interest in playing. I contacted another friend Shelly Taylor Bode who is the vice president of the Hannibal Band Boosters and asked her if she could try to find out if the horn was still there. Her sax-playing daughter Angela asked her trombone player friend Danika (the daughter of another former band mate of mine named Steve) if she'd ever seen a horn matching the description of mine. Immediately, Danika said yes and in fact she had played my old trombone before. After all these years, it was sitting in a locker in the band room just waiting for me to find it.

Several cool things developed after this quest began. I was inspired by Brian to start a used instrument donation drive. I dedicated that to the memory of another friend and former band mate Jason Dugger, who had recently passed away. Desiring a more lasting tribute, I came up with the idea to start The Jason Dugger Memorial Instrument Fund. Also, Shelly told me the boosters could use some help with raising money for band camp scholarships for kids who can't afford the fees which gave me the perfect opportunity to honor my former band director by creating the Craig Buck Scholarship Fund. Finally, when Shelly said the boosters wanted me to try to get former band members involved with the band program, I created the Pirate Pride Band Alumni Association. Membership dues go to support the two funds and the band boosters. But there was one more cool thing that had to happen. I had to get that old horn back.

And now I do have that old horn back, twenty years after selling it to Brian. I can't go into details, but suffice it to say that the band now has a brand new trombone to use, and I have my old 88H again. And I'll tell you something, after practicing a little every day since I got it back this week, that old horn is starting to sound pretty good again. I feel like I have recovered more than an instrument. I have replaced a part of my soul that has been missing for a long time. Despite having a beautiful wife who enables me and two awesome kids who fill my heart with boundless joy, there was always something that I couldn't quite put my finger on that made me feel unfulfilled. I guess it was not having (and playing) that old trombone. A painter without her brushes or a sculptor without his chisel can have a happy marriage and great kids, but will they ever be truly happy without the tools they use to express themselves? I doubt it.

So beware the band geek! Or band stud. After coming around full circle, I'm back baby. I'm back.

Pirate Pride Band Alumni Association

A little something I've been working on...

HANNIBAL HIGH SCHOOL BAND BOOSTERS PRESENT:

The Pirate Pride Band Alumni Association

Our Mission:
To offer a means for former HHS band members to remain involved with the instrumental music program after graduation by supporting HHS band and Band Booster events, programs, and activities while also creating a social network for Pirate Pride Band alumni to enjoy.

Pirate Pride Band Alumni Association (PPAA) Programs:

A. The Jason Dugger Memorial Instrument Fund
* In memory of HHS band alumnus Jason Dugger, this PPAA dues-funded program will help the band department purchase new instruments as future needs arise.

B. The Craig Buck Band Camp Scholarship Fund
* In honor of former HHS director of bands Craig Buck, this PPAA dues-funded program will help offset the cost of attending band camp for deserving students.

C. Alumni Performances
* Former band members are invited to “sit in” with the band at home basketball games during which the Pep Band performs and at other select events.

PPAA members are also encouraged to attend other Band Boosters supported events such as “Spaghetti, Jazz, and More,” “Band Day,” and various fundraisers. Annual membership dues are $25* ($10 for each of the aforementioned funds and $5 for Boosters membership.) Membership is open to all former band members, so please join today! Not a former band member, but still want to contribute to these funds? No problem. Simply send your donation to the address below. Be sure to specify which fund you wish to support (if you have a preference.) Thank you for your contribution.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Member’s name:_______________________________________________
Year Graduated:__________ Instrument(s) played______________________
Mailing Address:________________________________ Apt:____________
City__________________________ State_______________ Zip_________
Phone:______________________ Email:___________________________
Signature:___________________________ Date:_____________________

* Please make checks payable to: “Pirate Pride Alumni Association” or “PPAA” and return form to:

Travis Naughton
16881 Bud Wyman Lane
Hartsburg, MO 65039

Happy Birthday, Buddha

Today is the day many Buddhists celebrate the birth of the historical Buddha, Prince Siddartha Guatama. No one knows exactly what year he was born, but most agree that it was over 2000 years ago. Of course, upon achieving enlightenment, the Buddha realized that he had lived many previous lives as a result of reincarnation, so his actual birthdate is irrelevant. Mine is not however. I expect the world to celebrate my birthday for the next 2000 years and beyond. Buddhists reject attachment to material possessions, but since most of my friends and family are Christians (a religion that encourages the giving of material gifts to honor the birth of its spiritual leader Jesus), then I expect nice birthday presents and Christmas presents from all of you. When I move on to my next life, I also expect you to celebrate my birthday by recognizing it as an official national holiday. I expect people to take off from work, patronize a local watering hole, and then come to work the next day completely hung over and cursing my name. Okay, I've digressed.

The point is that today we honor the life and teachings of one of the world's most influential spiritual guides. A lover of peace, a seeker of happiness, a discoverer of enlightenment, the Buddha still ushers the citizens of the universe away from the path of suffering toward the path of pure bliss, or Nirvana. (Not the band.) Thanks for that, Buddha. Happy Birthday.

(The photo was taken at the Buddhist temple in Guangzhou, China where a monk blessed our little Truman. Very cool.)

Fight Day

The following is a round-by-round recap of the exhibition boxing match between former champion of the world, the "Master of Disaster" Apollo Creed and the challenger Travis "Blog Daddy" Naughton that took place today in the Hearnes Center in Columbia, Missouri.

Pre-Fight: This bout is scheduled for 15 three minute rounds. There will be no standing 8 count and fighters cannot be saved by the bell. Said Apollo Creed prior to the opening bell, "I'm 60 years old. My doctor advised against me taking this fight. I said, 'Have you seen whom I'm fighting?'" Naughton's reply, "My training was derailed by a bad bout with strep throat, but I still don't think that old man can take me."

Round 1: Lot of dancing around the ring as both fighters try to feel out their opponent. Blog Daddy landed a few quality jabs. We'll give round one to Naughton.

Round 2: Naughton continued to use the jab effectively, setting up shots to the body with a strong left. Creed show-boated for the crowd, taunting Blog Daddy for most of the round. Round two goes to Naughton.

Round 3: Blog Daddy flew out of his corner and immediately went to work on the body of Creed, setting up a devastating overhand right to Creed's temple. Naughton landed several scoring shots and by round's end began mugging for the cameras and taunting Creed. Round three scored for Blog Daddy.

Round 4: Naughton's punches lacked some of the zing of the early rounds. First signs of fatigue setting in. Creed winks at Naughton and begins to use his awesome jab. Round four goes to Creed.

Round 5: Creed landed several body blows of his own, causing Naughton to drop his guard. Creed landed two solid rights to the head leaving Naughton with swelling over his left eye. Score round five for Creed.

Round 6: Naughton mounts a furious attack to begin the round leading to a surprise knockdown of Creed at the 1:35 second mark. The former champ regained his feet and narrowly avoided a second knockdown as the bell rang. Round six to Naughton.

Round 7: Gassed from his round six explosion, Naughton fails to do more damage. Creed resumed his attack on the body and caused Blog Daddy's eye to swell even more. Round seven, Creed.

Round 8: The spring returned to Blog Daddy's step once more as he danced around the ring. Creed wears himself out pursuing the younger fighter. Creed lost mouthpiece after a wicked succession of eight unanswered rights by Naughton. Creed staggered to his corner as the bell sounded. Round eight, Naughton.

Round 9: Naughton foolishly stands toe-to-toe with the larger Creed and takes a lot of punishment. The left eye is now swollen completely shut. Round nine goes to Creed.

Round 10: In an apparent attempt to confuse his opponent and perhaps protect his left eye, Naughton fights the entire round southpaw style. Creed managed to land several scoring blows to the head. Back in his corner, Naughton yells to his trainer, "Cut me Mick." Round ten to Creed.

Round 11: In a rage caused by seeing his own blood, Naughton unleashed an overwhelming number of combinations to the head and body of Creed. Apollo hits the mat for the second time of the fight, but climbs to his feet before the bell rings. Round eleven clearly goes to Naughton.

Round 12: Apollo bounced back again as the blood trailing into Naughton's left eye hinders his vision. Once again, Creed pandered to the audience only this time was met with "boos." Round twelve to Creed.

Round 13: Unable to see out of his left eye, Naughton was caught by an earth shaking overhand right by Creed. Blog Daddy was knocked to the canvass and remained there until the referee counted to seven. Miraculously, he managed to stay on his feet until the end of the round. Round thirteen is Apollo's.

Round 14: Naughton stormed out of his corner and let loose a barrage of punches not seen since the early part of the fight. Both fighters exchanged vicious blows until the bell rang, saving nothing for a rematch. Naughton landed more punches, leaving the fight all square at seven rounds a piece.

Round 15: Both men looked dead on their feet. The torrent of punches slowed to a near stop as both fighters drained their energy in the fourteenth. In the closing seconds, Creed caught Naughton with a crippling body blow, causing the challenger to take a knee. He quickly regained his footing, but the damage was done in the eyes of the judges. The fight is over.

The decision: The fight is scored 8 rounds to 7 in a split decision as Apollo Creed is named the winner. Both fighters embraced in the middle of the ring. Creed was overheard telling Naughton, "No rematch." Naughton replied, "Don't want one." In this reporter's humble opinion, this fight was one for the ages. It promised theatrics, action, and entertainment- and it delivered. Thanks for tuning in and good night.

Back on Track

Having taken all of my antibiotics for strep, I resumed my training program in anticipation of my big fight with Apollo Creed. Jumped rope 600 times and hit the heavy bag for 15 minutes. I'm a physical specimen I tell ya. I only hope that John Briscoe's bachelor party on Saturday doesn't set me back too far in my progress. Four words: Ralls County Bachelor Party. Nuff said.

First Fish of '09

What a day. I caught my first fish of the year- a 2.5 pound largemouth bass. Caught three fish total. Then I got the boys' bikes ready for riding season (Truman got a big boy bike with training wheels courtesy of his big brother.) My beautiful bride took over the chore list for the day since she was off work. I may go to the other neighbor's pond and try for some catfish this evening. And, to top it all off, I smell dinner cooking. And I didn't have to make it. What a day.

My Mentor, My Friend

I was a band geek. I played trombone and was pretty good at it for someone who hated to practice. Aside from my family, there was only one person whose approval or disapproval mattered to me. His name was Craig Buck, my band teacher. But he was way more than a band teacher to me. He was a real role model. He carried himself with dignity, treated students with respect, and motivated me to be all that I could be as a musician.

After high school, my interest in playing waned and after selling both of my trombones to friends, I stopped playing altogether. I tried to learn bass guitar, acoustic six-string guitar, and the trumpet, but they weren't for me. I have occasionally thought about buying a used bone and starting up again, but never managed to pull the trigger. Lately, I have been searching for a new hobby to enjoy between battles with my two year old at the dinner table. Only one idea keeps popping up. "It's time to start playing again," the voice in my head keeps saying.

Thanks to facebook, I reconnected with my old friend and bandmate Brian Montgomery. I asked whatever happened to the old trombone I sold him in high school to help pay for my Monte Carlo. He said he donated it to the HHS band years ago and expressed his apologies. I told him "No worries" and that I would figure something else out. Well, I called my friend Shelly Taylor Bode who is the current vice-president of the Band Boosters and after some sleuthing, she informed me that my old horn is actually still there at the school! I contacted the new band director and proposed a mutually beneficial arrangement. In exchange for donating one or two newer horns, I would take back my old, faithful trombone. (He is looking into the legalities and procedures and promised to get back to me soon.) It seems like fate. I think I was meant to start playing MY old trombone again. I haven't seen that horn in 20 years, and now it's tantalizingly close. I'll keep you posted as I progress in the process.

Meanwhile, back to Craig Buck. I called him today after tracking down his number with more help from Shelly. We talked for quite a while and caught up. It was so good to hear my friend's voice. I mentioned to him that the annual Studio Jazz Ensemble spagetti supper (a tradition he started before he retired) is taking place at the HHS cafeteria on Monday, April 20th. He said, "I'll see you there." I can't wait to see him again after all these years. And he wants to see everyone. So, if you are a former HHS band geek and want to visit with our old friend Mr. Buck, then plan on attending. Also, that evening will kick off the "Jason Dugger Memorial Instrument Drive." I am asking that anyone who has an old, seldom played musical instrument in their closet, to donated it to the Hannibal band program to benefit the next generation of musicians. The donations will be made in Jason's name as a tribute to his love of music and as a way for his friends to honor his memory. This drive will continue until the end of the school year. If you can participate in this event, please email me dacoynol@yahoo.com and let me know if you plan to attend the spagetti dinner to visit with Mr. Buck and/or donate a used instrument.

I look forward to seeing my mentor/friend and all of my other band family soon.

Rocky 10

Day Ten was not a great day. No running, no push-ups, no jump rope. After battling with Truman to get him to drink some juice at lunchtime, I needed to vent. So I went downstairs and hit the heavy bag as hard and as often as I could for five minutes. I held nothing back. Apollo Creed could not have withstood my tiny fists of fury. Had it been our heavyweight title fight, he surely would have gone down in the first round- K.O.'d. I felt much better afterwards but by dinner time, Truman was repeating his same antics and I went out for the evening to get away. Next time I'll go for a long, endurance -building run rather than drive to the beer store.

Two year olds can be effective boxing trainers. Who knew?

Rocky Day 9

* Jumped rope 500 times
* Hit the heavy bag for 20 minutes

*Getting ready to crack open a Boulevard Brewery Bully Porter (or three) to ease the pain.

Also, I think I figured out what my 30 day challenge is going to be for the month of April. Stay tuned...

Rocky 8

Just...ran...1.2 miles...dying...need...my...inhaler...and...beer...

Rocky Workout, Day 7

* Jumped Rope 400 times.
* Worked the heavy bag for 30 minutes. (It's no side of beef, but I'm pretty sure Rocky would approve anyway. I bought a 40# Everlast punching bag and a pair of gloves today. It was a prestent for Alex as much as it was for myself. He spent quite a lot of time taking out his frustrations over "not being allowed to buy a Nintendo Gameboy.")

I think I am starting to feel some results after just one week of workouts. I have increased my runs from 300 yards to one mile. I have managed to improve my jump rope totals from 100 to 400 before I felt like dying. And when I worked on the bag, I never felt so tired that I thought I would pass out.

I will be ready to challenge Apollo for the title on April 1st.

Rocky 6

Day Six, Rocky Balboa Training Program:

* Took my kids to Grandma's house
* Took my wife to the ol' Heidelberg
* Drank a pitcher of Fat Tire Amber Ale
* Ate a platter of chili cheese nachos

Bring on Apollo.

Rocky 5

Holy Shit. I'm tired.

* Jumped rope 300 times
* Did 60 push-ups
* ran One Mile in 10 minutes flat

Beer...

Rocky 4

* Jumped rope 275 times (including 61 in a row)
* Did 50 push-ups
* Ran 3/4 mile in 6:57

* Bought beer
* Gonna watch MU-OU game and pass out on the couch

Ouch.

Rocky 3

Day Three:

* Jumped rope 250 times (Including 53 hops in a row without messing up)
* Did 40 push-ups
* Ran half mile in 5 minutes flat
* Didn't die

I need a beer.

Rocky 2

Day Two:

* Jumped rope 200 times
* Did 35 Push-ups
* Ran 6 laps around our circle drive. One lap = exactly 100 yards for a total of 600 yards or 1/3 mile.

* Oh, and I ate 10 pancakes for lunch and about a pound of Chinese food for dinner. Do you know what they call Chinese food in China? Food.

I'm gonna go puke now.

Getting Stronger

30-Day Rocky Balboa Workout Program, Day One:

* Jumped rope 100 times
* Did 25 Picture Perfect Push-ups
* Shadow boxed for five minutes
* Nearly died of massive coronary

One Month

Have you ever seen the show "30 Days"? Film director Morgan Spurlock (of "Supersize Me" fame) had a show on FX where he assumed a new identity for 30 days in order to see what it was like to walk in someone elses's shoes. I thought this was a grand idea and tonight I was inspired to take on my first role. After watching "Rocky" earlier this evening, I was inspired to train for a fight with Apollo Creed in 30 days. In my mind, the fight takes place on April 1st, April Fool's Day. I will run, jump rope, and train as if I were scheduled to fight for the heavyweight title one month from now. I just wish I had a side of beef to pummel. I think "April Fool" is pretty appropriate.

My reasons for doing this are not just because I am insane. No, I have been trying to motivate myself to get into shape for quite a while now. The other day, I showed Alex how to jump rope and after only four or five repetitions I nearly died. I want to replace my twelve pack abs with six pack abs. I want to be so sexy that my wife won't need to be coerced into having relations with me. She is a triathlete, and I know that she would find me more appealing if I fine-tuned my form a little. Plus, I'm fairly certain she loves me and wants me to be healthy enough to live for a few more years. So I figure getting into shape is not a bad idea. However, I have never been able to exercise just for the fun of it, so I need to make it interesting. So, Sylvester Stallone came around this evening and said, "You are going to fight Apollo Creed on April 1st. You have one month to train your butt off. Burgess Meredith is standing in your corner, ready to cut you at any time. Let's get started." How could I argue with Rocky Balboa?

Tonight, I weighed in at 154 pounds. That is officially the most I have ever weighed in my life. I realize that adding muscle will not help me shed pounds, so I will not fret too much about my weight. Instead, I will grade myself on how much better I look and feel. If my spouse finds that she can't keep her hands off of me, then I will know that I could have gone the distance with Apollo. That will be good enough fo me.

Stay tuned as I chart my progress every day for the next month. Maybe you will be inspired too. I won't fight you though. This face is just way too pretty.

Powerful Words

For those of you who have kids, do you remember the first time they said, "I love you" without any prompting by you? I sure do. When Alex was two or three years old, he and I were sitting on the front room floor playing with toys and watching TV. Out of the blue, he looked over at me and said, "You know what?" I said "What?" And then he said, "I love you." I was blown away. It was one of the happiest and most humbling moments of my life.

This morning while I was laying in bed watching the news, Truman was playing with some toys. He crawled over to me, climbed on top, gave me a big hug, and said "Wuv ooo." Yep, that's his version of I love you. And yep, it was pretty freakin' cool to hear. Because even though I've only been his daddy for three months, he really does love me. How awesome is that?!

Stay-at-home blues

I'm bored out of my mind. Truman and I need to get out more, but we live 20 miles from anywhere and when you factor in breakfast, naptime, lunchtime, and picking Alex up at school at 3:15, we don't really have much time to justify an hour long round trip to town. That leaves us with the choice of going to the Ashland city park, our tiny branch of the Boone County Library in Ashland, or just staying at home. With the cold weather, the park is usually not a good option and because Truman doesn't read, the library isn't much fun either. So, we find ourselves spending most days at home, isolated from the rest of the world. Other stay at home parents probably feel this way, too. The difference is that they can walk or take a short drive to somewhere fun. Playdates, museums, nature centers, big parks, interesting stores, and other attractions are simply not realistic options for us. Don't get me wrong, I still wouldn't trade being a stay at home dad for a job in the real world. I also really enjoy living in the boondocks. But as we all learned from watching "The Shining," long-term isolation can make a man go a little nuts.

Come on spring. Daddy's got a serious case of cabin fever!

Terrible Two

Truman refuses to drink anything- EVER. Every meal turns into a battle to get him to drink. Every single meal. He has been this way since we got him on November 3rd and it is not getting any better. I am becomming quite frustrated. I am tired of hearing him scream. Now I must weigh dehydration against the psychological harm done by force-feeding him liquids. I swear to God, this boy will be the death of me. He is by far, THE most stubborn child I have ever known. Is it any wonder my wife keeps spotting more and more gray hairs on my head?

Truman In China

Our good friends James and Lisa shot some great video in China and sent us a nicely edited clip for all to enjoy. It captures some of the "firsts" we experienced with our baby boy. The last scene is my favorite. Hope you like it.

Third Time's a Charm

Back in 2001, Bethany and I bought a brand spankin' new 2001 Dodge Dakota Quad Cab 4x4 truck. It was "Inferno Red" and had nearly every option you could think of. I knew the dealer, as I worked at an auto auction at the time, so we got a pretty good deal. We happily drove it for about a year, but when 0% interest came about, we traded it for another brand new Dakota. At the dealership, we changed our minds and took a $3500 rebate instead of the 0% and drove away in a brand new truck with a smaller payment than our one year old truck. The new model was blue and silver and looked gorgeous. But eventually, we decided to get ourselves out of debt and therefore my beloved truck and its outrageous monthly payment had to go. I have driven various vehicles since then, but none appealed to me as much as that truck.

Fast forward to five years later. Yesterday, we drove to St. Charles and bought another 2002 Dodge Dakota SLT Quad Cab 4x4. Only this time, we did it right. We paid for it in full, thanks to being debt-free. And it is black in color, which means that it is a ready-made Tiger Tailgatin' Truck. It also has remote start and a nice, spray-on bedliner in addition to all the options our other Dakotas had. Four full-sized doors that open all the way out are a nice touch for getting kids in and out of the back seat, too.

So, is it the new tailgatin' truck or what?

Master of the Internet

I have just discovered how to import my blog to my facebook page automatically. Now I won't have to copy and paste every time I write something. Who has time for all that copying and pasting anyway? I mean, I'm a busy guy- what with the naps and endless facebooking and all. I'll write more later when I can spare some time.

Closure

Well, I am back at home after a weekend in California with my brother Blake. Our mom was originally from northern Cali, so we decided to scatter her ashes there after she passed away. The location was chosen by Blake who recalled Mom talking about going to the Santa Cruz boardwalk where her grandmother took her when she was very young. We chartered a 34' yacht to sail us off shore to a beautiful spot a few hundred yards off the coast. The captain and his first mate were very professional and surprisingly thoughtful as they guided us through the process. They even circled the boat to calm the waters just before Blake released the ashes. They gave us as long as we needed to sit and reflect and be in the moment. It was one of the most beautiful and intensely painful moments of my life. I know Blake felt the same way. After a while, the captain rang "eight bells," in the nautical tradition, to signify the changing of the watch, in a sense dismissing Mom from her duties and handing over the business of carrying on to my brother and I. We let the wind guide us back to shore as we watched dolphins, seals, and sea lions swim by as if to say, "Life does go on." It was a perfect way to say goodbye to our Mom.

Back on shore, Blake and I rode the rickety, 80-year-old wooden roller coaster that Mom rode with her grandma so many years ago. It felt so good to laugh out loud again and to think about Mom doing the same in that very place. Finally, we went to the area of land closest to where we scattered Mom's remains and took a moment to breath in the fresh air and listen to the waves crashing on the rocks below. (See video.) That's when I finally felt at peace. I knew that somewhere Mom was watching and giving us a big thumbs-up while saying, as she often told me in life, "Ya done good."


I love you Mom.

The happiest, saddest day of my life.

Where to begin to describing the emotions of January 20? Of course I was moved to tears by the inauguration of Barack Obama. I was inspired by Yo-Yo Ma's performance for the new President. Ma is a Chinese-American came to this country as a child, just as my son did, who along with our first African-American president proved that in America anyone can grow up to be anything they want. I was saddened that my mom could not witness this joyous day. As sick as she was toward the end, she still insisted on going out to vote for her candidate. (Special thanks to Bethany's mom Glee for giving Mom a ride to the polls.) I was thrilled for Blake and Meredith because they were going to the inauguration. I was saddened later to find out they were turned away at the gate with VIP tickets in hand after waiting in line underground with up to 50,000 other extremely disappointed Obama supporters for four hours. I was happy for them again later, when they eventually got to see the First Couple in person at an inaugural ball.

But the exhilaration of the historic day was tempered with the sobering task I faced after watching the inauguration. I needed to clear out the remaining items from my mother's duplex. (Special thanks to Glee and Bethany's niece Jessica for helping us clean the place two days ago.) Upon loading the last item into the van, I buckled the kids into their car seats and went back inside the house for one last look. Then it hit me, as it had my brother just before he returned to his home in Baltimore two weeks ago: This was the last time that I would ever be in my mother's home. Never again will I be able to go to Mom's for a visit. Never again will I be able to drop off the boys to spend some time with "Nonna." Mom's house was always a place where the family could convene no matter where any of us lived. Even with Blake and Meredith living on the east or west coast, we could always count on meeting at Mom's house for Christmas or other occasions throughout the year. The loss of my mom and the loss of that comforting place called her home cannot be replaced. The emptyness of that house left me feeling an emptyness in my soul that hopefully time and the love of my friends and family will fill in.

January 20, 2009 was the happiest, saddest day of my life. But, Janurary 21st is a brand new day...

Motor Memories

In anticipation of getting my truck back this afternoon from the fellow who has been working on it for two and a half months, I started thinking about the various vehicles I have owned since I began driving over 20 years ago. The following is a list, in somewhat of a chronological order, of every car, truck, van, and SUV I can remember owning (not including those bought while I was a car dealer) and the reasons I parted with them.

1. 1979 Chevy Monte Carlo. Electrical system repeatedly failed, driver door stopped opening, got lousy gas mileage. God, I loved that car. Mom said she'd have it sold at the auction she worked at, but later claimed it was stolen. I never saw a penny.

2. 1985 Mazda B2000 pickup. Overheated after head gasket failed, ruining motor. Sold at garage sale for $400.

3. 1989 Pontiac Grand Am. Bethany owned this when we got married. Traded in for new car after heater core failed.

4. 1996 Chevy Corsica. Purchased in 1997, our newest car ever. Head gasket eventually failed. Sold at auction.

5. 1978 Chevy K-1500 Pickup. Needed hundreds of dollars in repairs to pass inspection, so traded it for a newer car.

6. 1991 Pontiac Sunbird convertible. Had prior salvage title and electrical issues. Traded it before it died.

7. 1993 Isuzu Rodeo. Traded it after engine started making worrisome noises.

8. 2001 Dodge Dakota Quad Cab pickup. Bought this when 0% interest first hit the scene. Our first brand new vehicle we ever owned. Traded it for another one the next year.

9. 2002 Dodge Dakota Quad Cab pickup. Took advantage of a huge rebate and traded the '01 in for it. Got a new vehicle for a smaller payment. Loved the truck, but eventually sold it to get out of debt.

10. 1966 Chevy C30 dually pickup. The original tailgatin' truck. Motor blew on the way to dropping it off to a guy in trade for repairs he did on another car for me.

11. 1957 Chevy Bel-Air. Had a knucklehead "paint" it for me. He didn't use any of the parts from my parts car to repair any rust. He just painted over it. I was so disgusted I sold it.

12. 1957 Chevy parts car.

13. 1975 Chevy C30 dually pickup. The second tailgatin' truck. Transmission died. Sold at auction.

14. 1983 Chevy Chevette. One-owner car with only 30,000 miles when I bought it. Blew the head gasket and fried the motor within three months.

15. 1995 Oldsmobile Aurora. Fried tranny.

16. 1996 Honda Odyssey minivan. Fried tranny.

17. 1996 Ford Crown Victoria Police Interceptor. Great car. Sold to niece Jessica for her first car.

18. 1999 Dodge Grand Caravan. Fried tranny within a few months. Replaced tranny and still driving today at 175,000 miles.

19. 1998 Nissan Altima SE. Mom's car. We bought it for her at the auction I worked at. She paid us back. Then we bought it from her and gave her a cheaper, but paid for, Toyota. She hated the Toy, traded it for a Ford ZX2, hated it, sold it, and bought the Altima back from us. When Mom couldn't drive anymore, we paid off the Altima again, and took over ownership. Yep, we've bought the same car three times.

20. 1975 Ford F250 pickup. Three quarter ton. Four wheel drive. The third tailgatin' truck. Thought the tranny was fried, but later found out the rear end blew up. The four wheel drive transfer case was also damaged. The motor was weak anyway, so I had a guy replace all three components at once. If and when I get it back, it will be mechanically like new again. My six coats of paint should hold it together for a few more years before the rust takes over.

Honorable mentions. These are vehicles that my parents let me drive in high school:

1. 1975 Datsun B210. This was Mom's car that she shared with me when I turned 16. After a while it only ran on three of its four cylinders. It tended to smoke, so Grant dubbed it "The Fireball."

2. 1980 Ford Thunderbird. Dad traded his four speed Jeep for this automatic while I was learning to drive. I managed to learn how to make a 6 cylinder car go 100 miles per hour in Hannibal city limits.

That's quite a list. It seems I have owned 20 vehicles in the past 20 years. Hmm. That's an eye opener. One car per year. Wow. I don't know if I am proud or embarrassed by this feat. I should buy another car while I think it over, don't you think?

More Mom Memories

Mom with a belly full of me. Mom recycling me. Mom wheeling me out to the curb with the rest of the trash.

Recent Photos

I had to post a few new pictures of the boys although I am certain my fans want to see more old pictures of me. (Check back tomorrow.) The first photo is of Truman walking in our woods on this warm January day. The second shot is of his first experience in snow. The third shows a couple of rough and ornery cowboys. (Click on photos for better detail.)

Paternity Suit?

These two pictures were taken on Christmas morning, 21 years apart. One is Blake, the other is Alex. (Note that coincidentally, both boys are opening Transformers toys.) Now that I think about it, Blake was at our house for a New Year's Eve party exactly nine months before Alex was born. Very interesting.

Holy Crap- I was a good looking kid!

Old Pictures

After going through Mom's stuff, Blake and I found a ton of old photos that we had either forgotten about or had never seen. It was like opening a window to the past. I will scan many of them onto my computer and post one or two per day for you to enjoy. Check back daily. Happy New Year!