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!