Saturday, April 30, 2011

Garage Sale Blues

I love going to garage sales, yard sales, auctions, etc. I love it so much that if I had a job--and an income--our house would be so full of other people's junk that I'm certain my wife would invite me to pack it all up and take it with me after inviting me to move out. Oh, but she tolerates the occasional purchase such as a singing fish for the wall of my man cave or an odd toy or two for the boys. A few weeks ago I scored a sweet Kenwood home stereo system complete with a stereo receiver, 200 watt amplifier, tape deck, record player and three-way speakers--all for just $25! Bethany the Enabler agreed that this was the deal of the century despite the fact that we already owned three other stereo systems (one in the TV room, one outside on the Party Porch, and one in our living room upstairs.) She agreed to the purchase when I explained to her the "necessity" of hooking up two amps/receivers together in the living room to power the two energy-thirsty sets of speakers that I had procured second-hand over the course of this winter's gathering/hoarding season. MORE POWER! Three garage sales later, however, Bethany the Voice of Reason put her foot down when I spotted a complete 200 watt Pioneer home stereo system (minus speakers) for the low, low price of just $50. That system cost well over $1000 new I explained to her, but to new avail. "Just try to imagine the wall of sound I could generate with over 500 watts of power and three sets of speakers!" No dice. What could I do to convince my overly logical bride to let me buy this treasure? Then I saw it: a clothes dryer sat in the middle of the garage with a sign that read, "$25 works great." Our dryer had just died earlier that week, so I thought rather than spending $400 on a new one, we could buy this used one and then Bethany would be so happy that she'd gladly let me buy another stereo or three.

"Oh, no. I am NOT buying another used dryer," she declared. (Admittedly, it would have been our third since we've been married.) I knew not to push my luck any further. I decided to be grateful for the $25 superfluous stereo that was already squirreled away in my trunk and sped home as fast as humanly possible to hook it up. And when I did connect all the components together and fire up my new super-system, I discovered that it was so loud that when turned up halfway, Truman covered his ears, Bethany pleaded for me to turn it down, and Alex fled outdoors. It was GLORIOUS! If I ever get a moment to myself without the delicate ears of my family around to injure, I will attempt to crank it up even higher.

I recently rediscovered a box of my mom's old vinyl albums and another full of some once belonging to my grandparents and have been playing some of them on the "new" stereo today. A flood of very warm childhood memories came rushing back to me as I listened to Billy Joel's The Nylon Curtain, the original Star Wars soundtrack, The Police's Synchronicity, and my favorite of the day, The Charlie Daniels Band's Devil Went Down to Georgia. When Blake and I were kids/indentured servants to our mother, we listened to those records as we did chores around the house every weekend. It made the drudgery of vacuuming, dusting, and doing dishes almost enjoyable. I loved watching my mom as she danced to Wings' Speed of Sound featuring Paul McCartney, the Eagles' Hotel California, and Fleetwood Mac's Rumors. Of course, she had a lot of great records from the 70s that sadly are no where to be found. Some of my all-time favorites are long gone including Rumors and Speed of Sound. Also missing are three of the greatest comedy albums of all time by Redd Foxx, Steve Martin, and Bill Cosby that I used to sit and listen to over and over as a kid. I miss those old records, and of course I miss my mom. She never had much money, so I suppose at some particularly tight financial time in her life she must have sold those old albums at a garage sale. She probably did it to raise a few bucks for a birthday present for me or Blake. If she only knew that those old records and the memory of listening to them with my mom were all I ever needed.

From now on when I go to garage sales, I'll avoid buying stereos or clothes dryers. But if I ever stumble upon some classic vinyl, you can bet I'll take my time looking through them, and if I decide to buy two or three, I'll be sure to be respectful of the seller and the emotions wrapped up in those old records. And I'll think of my mom, too, and I'll tell her thanks for the memories.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Baseball Fever

Tonight, I watched the movie Fever Pitch starring Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore for the third time. The passage of time has finally afforded me the opportunity to fully appreciate the movie's message: Baseball (and life) is beautiful. You see, when it was released, the film depicted the Boston Red Sox victory over the St. Louis Cardinals in the 2004 World Series. That was a hard pill for me to swallow. I have been a Cards fan ever since I can remember. Sure, there was a brief period when I lived in south western Iowa and north central Missouri when I tolerated the Kansas City Royals, but obviously that ended with the tainted 1985 World Series. Since then, I have devoted my fandom to the Redbirds. But after watching the movie tonight, I was reminded of another team I had an affection for. The Bo Sox.

People my age will remember a television show from the 1980s called St. Elsewhere featuring Denzel Washington, Ed Begly, Jr., Mark Harmon, Howie Mandel, and the guy who was the voice of Kitt, the car from Knight Rider. The main thing you should take from this is that Howie's character always wore a Red Sox ball cap, and because I thought he was the only funny person on an otherwise melancholy show, I gravitated towards him. I found myself emulating his comedic stylings and even convinced my dad to procure for me a fitted Red Sox cap. In 1986, the Sox battled the Cardinals' hated rivals, the New York Mets in the World Series. Bill Buckner, the Sox first baseman broke not only every heart in New England, but also my own when he allowed a routine ground ball to pass between his legs allowing the Pond Scum Mets to win the game and the series. I was as distraught as the Bostonians depicted in the film I watched tonight, but despite their lamentations of an 86 year curse on the club following Babe Ruth's trade to the hated Yankees, I felt even more troubled by the fact that the curse was broken against my beloved Cardinals in the 2004 series.

As much as I liked the Sox, it killed me to see them beat my Redbirds in the fall classic that year. It may not have been 86 years since the Cards' last World Series win, but 22 years seemed like an eternity to me. Tonight's movie brought back many painful, yet romantic memories of my life-long love affair with the National Pastime. Suddenly, I didn't hate the Sox. I remembered how heartbroken I was when I first saw poor Billy Buckner commit the worst error of his professional life. I recalled how disgusted I was when Kansas City raised the trophy in 1985 after umpire Don Dinkinger blew a call at first base that would have sealed the championship for St. Louis. I suddenly realized how much baseball has meant to me over the years since I first took the field when I was in the second grade. I recall the pride and horror of having my dad and mom coach my little league teams. I relish the joy of coaching Alex in his first ever year of "organized baseball." I recoil at the errors I made while coaching a t-ball team and arguing with parents over the way I mismanaged their children. But overall, I am overcome with the realization of how much I love the game of baseball.

I have been involved in organized ball, including coach-pitch, little league, Khorey League, junior high, high school, men's slow-pitch softball, co-ed softball (in which I hit my only over-the-fence homerun--with a dislocated knee cap no less!--and won my only league championship), and Alex's teams since I was seven years old. That's over thirty years of dedication to the game. Nowadays, I am in a fantasy baseball league--my first--and I have really enjoyed delving into the details of my favorite sport. I hope that I can win a buck or two when the season is done, but if not, at least my love affair with the game will have been rekindled. Alex doesn't want to play ball this year, and I won't force him. Baseball is a game that can only be appreciated by people who truly love it. My next book may even be about the game, so stay tuned for further updates. In the meantime, take your kids to a ballgame. Have a beer and a hot dog. Teach your son or daughter to keep score. Tell them about your childhood love for the game. Give them your bubble gum card collection and review it with them. Above all else, remember that our national pastime serves a greater purpose. It brings fathers and sons together. It gives us "heroes" to look up to. It reminds us that life is not all about work and drudgery, but also about seeking out the things that we can share with the ones we love. Baseball is not just a game. It is the glue that bonds us together every summer regardless of whether one is a Yankees fan or a member of Sox Nation. It is an opportunity to hold true heroes such as Stan Musial and Jackie Robinson up as examples to our children of what it means to be a great American. No matter what team you root for, baseball has the power to unite the world. In an age of radical differences between various countries and political movements, baseball is the one international constant that has the power to bridge the gap between us.

So do yourself and the world a favor: Go out and rent The Natural, or Fever Pitch, The Bad News Bears, or Field of Dreams. Coach a Little League team. Join a fantasy league. Take your kids to a ball game. Take a moment to remember that life has some pretty sweet things going for it once you stop dwelling on all the negatives we are bombarded with in the media such as the economy, wars, and the New York Yankees.

Beisbol, is been berry, berry good to me.

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Work Wife





























First of all, I have to preface this post by stating for the record that I love my wife more than anyone else on Earth. More importantly, I am in love with Bethany with every fiber of my being. That being said, I do love another woman--platonically of course. That woman is Kim McCullough. I'm pretty sure her husband Rob knows how I feel about her--after all, she was my work wife at Treats Unleashed before she was his real wife. By the time I met Kim, Rob had already swept her off her feet, and I was a very happily married man with a young son. I was also fourteen years her senior. How many times did I have to endure hearing her repeat the phrase, "Oh my god, you're HOW old?! You're almost the same age as my mom!" So there was a bit of a generation gap, sure. But we became good friends during the years we worked together nevertheless.

I watched Kim mature from a relatively naive 19 year old college student to a 25 year old college graduate, retail store manager (after I "retired" from that same post), and a loving wife. In the process, my real wife grew accustomed to hearing me refer to Kim as my work wife, and she seemed to appreciate the friendship that developed as much as I did. Rob & Kim and Bethany & I have become great friends and we have enjoyed painting the town red together whenever we've been able to convince Grandma Glee to babysit our kids for an evening. But sadly, those opportunities will be few and far between from now on. My work wife and her real husband are moving away.

Rob shall forever more be referred to as Doctor Rob since he landed a coveted residency in a Kansas City hospital after graduating from the MU School of Medicine this spring (Congrats, Doc.) But of course that means we will not see our friends very often from now on. Luckily, they are moving to Liberty, where Bethany's sister Charla lives with her family, so we will surely see each other now and then. But I will certainly miss having my friend Kim nearby.

Kim is a vibrant, vivacious person. Spunky. Sassy. Smart. Funny as hell. She and I share many of the same philosophical and political views. We laugh at the same jokes. We both enjoy drunken bowling. We love dogs. In truth, she is much more than a work wife to me. She is my friend. And I am going to miss the hell out of her when she moves away. So Kim, if you are reading this, I want to tell you right now (so that when we all go out one last time before you move, I won't start blubbering like a little baby) that I am going to miss you like crazy. You are a wonderful person and you mean the world to me. I have a lot of "guy friends" who I could never say these things to, but that's the cool thing about having a female friend: You won't laugh at me for being all sappy and telling you how I feel. Well, maybe you will, but that would be tolerable coming from you. I will always cherish the time we shared at the store, especially while my mom was battling cancer and we were going through Truman's adoption process because you were always there for me to talk to. And I was so proud to watch you walk down the aisle with Rob. You looked so beautiful in your wedding dress--and happy. And you have always been great to Bethany and my kids--and to me. I am damn glad I met you. (You too Rob.) :)

This is not goodbye, but good luck. Good luck, Kim & R0b, in the next chapter of your lives. May you always be as happy as you have made me feel over the past few years. And Kim, my work wife, my dear friend; always remember that there is an old married guy in Columbia who is forever grateful for having had the chance to get to know you. I love you.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Writing vs. Parenting

Obsess much? Why yes I do. Whenever I begin an undertaking, I commit myself to it fully, maniacally, forgoing sleep, food, and sanity to complete my chosen task. I ignore the rest of the world while frantically scrambling to accomplish my goals. Once, I sat on the living room floor at my mom's house and assembled a model car from start to finish--over the course of twelve straight hours. Because I have a need to finish tasks in this fashion, the other things in my life tend to get ignored. And if I am worried that I won't be able to finish a project immediately, I'll often not begin it at all. Some may call that procrastination or laziness, but I call it staving off madness.

This same sad truth applies to my writing. I love writing. Whenever I get on a roll, I lose myself in the process and inevitably lose all track of time. I've written for as many as twelve hours in a day, during which time my children may have been arrested, convicted, and incarcerated for some or other egregious offense that should have been easily averted by an attentive parent. Therein lies the problem. I want to write. I want to begin another book and I need to work on getting my first book published. But I do neglect Truman during the day while I am in obsessive-compulsive writing mode. Next year, he will attend pre-school for three or four hours a day, so I will have some more free time to write then. However, I will still have to stop what I'm doing, drive to the school to pick him up, make lunch, play with him, pick up Alex and Tiana at the bus stop a couple hours later, do some chores around the house, and get supper going for Mama, etc. Had Hemingway been required to clean house and take care of a pre-schooler, would he ever have written A Farewell to Arms? I doubt it.

I imagine that very few of the world's most successful writers were stay-at-home dads. Now don't get me wrong, I love being a stay-at-home dad. I wouldn't trade it for any 9 to 5 job on earth. But just imagine if you will, working an 8 to 10 hour shift at your job, spending time with your family after work, and then trying to find the time and energy to write the great American novel. Oh yeah, and you'll need to sleep once in a while, too. Once all three of my kids are in school full-time, then I will have a lot more time to work on my writing. But that is still another year and a half down the road. In the meantime, I will try to strike a balance between being a housekeeper, chef, babysitter, taxi driver, coach, husband, handyman, groundskeeper, mechanic, carpenter, pet groomer, writer, and lunatic. Wish me luck.

Friday, April 08, 2011

A Rose by Any Other Name


Friends, after months of deliberation we have finally decided upon a name for our little girl. Her Chinese name, which was given to her at her orphanage, is Dang Tian Tian. Of course in Chinese, Dang is her surname, so she is called Tian Tian, which translates to "more and more." That's nice, but we have a few problems with keeping that name. First, the orphange gave her the name, not her family. Second, it is actually a boy's name in China. Third, it is the name of the male panda at the National Zoo in Washington DC. Three strikes and the name is out.

Some time ago, I thought about calling her Anna Lee, but Bethany vetoed that idea. Later when watching Disney's The Princess and the Frog we decided we liked the lead character's name Tiana (pronounced tee-on-a). It was close to her given name and also the name of a princess, so it became the front runner. Then one day my beautiful bride threw out another idea: Tianna Lee (pronounced tee-an-na). Immediately I loved the name, but first I had to chastise her because she so quickly and bluntly rejected the strikingly similar Anna Lee idea of mine. Nevertheless, all of us in the family have embraced the name and are relieved to not have to refer to the poor child as simply "our little girl" any longer.

Today we are mailing the last of the adoption paperwork to our agency and to the immigration folks to start the process of bringing home our daughter: Princess Tianna Lee Naughton.

Wednesday, April 06, 2011

Happy Birthday Princess Tian-Tian


My Precious Daughter,


Today is your seventh birthday. I hope it is a great day, despite the fact that you will spend it as you have your last six birthdays--in a cold and lonely orphanage. Now that you are getting older, you may be wondering why you've never been able to share your special day with your family. "Why haven't Mama and Baba brought me gifts? Why haven't they visited in all the years I've lived here? Don't they love me?" These are perfectly reasonable questions to ask and I will do my best to answer them.


Do you know why grown-ups have wrinkles in their skin and grey in their hair? It is because of the important decisions they have to make every day of their lives. Often times, these choices they have to make are not easy and as a result, they suffer more than you could imagine. Undoubtedly, the woman who gave birth to you has developed a lot of wrinkles and grey hair in the seven years since she decided to give you up. We will never know her reasons (or her husband's reasons) for doing so, but I am certain that she has agonized over her decision.


Here's why you've never received any gifts or visits from your parents: Because your real parents live all the way across the world in the United States and it took us a long, long time to find you. We actually talked about adopting a little girl in China the day Alex (your Ge-Ge, or big brother) was born in 2000. In 2006, when you were still a baby, Mama and I started searching for a daughter, but we found Truman (your Di-Di, or little brother) in China in 2008 while we were waiting for our baby girl. Not long after that we decided to resume our search for our daughter. And do you know what? About a month after your sixth birthday we saw a photo of the most beautiful girl in all of China and we knew that at long last we had found our daughter. And of course, that beautiful girl was you!


We're sorry it has taken so long to find you and we're sorry you have to spend this special day apart from your family, but we promise that you'll never be alone on your birthday ever again. We promise to give you a cozy home with a nice soft bed to sleep in, two silly brothers and a bunch of toys to play with, and all the love we have in our hearts so that you will never doubt how special and cherished you are. Happy birthday Mei-Mei. We'll be there to bring you home as soon as we can. Wo ai ni! (I love you!)


Love,

Daddy (Baba)

Friday, April 01, 2011

Breaking News: Pujols Optioned to Triple-A

Memphis, TN (AP)-- St. Louis Cardinals first baseman Albert Pujols, former league MVP and perennial All-Star, has been optioned to the club's Triple-A affiliate effective immediately, sources within the organization confirmed Friday morning. Following a protracted contract dispute, the slugger had his career worst day at the plate in Thursday's season opener, going 0 for 5 while grounding into three double-plays. Manager Tony Larussa said at his post-game news conference, "Obviously Albert isn't playing the way he is accustomed to. He knows he let the team down. He made it clear to me that his contract situation is a big distraction, so he wasn't surprised at all about being sent down to Memphis to get his act together." When asked how long Pujols' demotion might last, the skipper quipped, "As long as it takes."

Teammates of "El Hombre" were shocked when they found out the news. Lance Berkman, a former first baseman with the Houston Astros who signed with the Cardinals during the offseason to play right field expressed his disbelief. "Does that mean I'll be at first (base) now? I never thought I'd be the man to replace King Albert. I wonder if I can get a bullet-proof vest sewn into my uniform. I'm sure I'll hear some death threats tomorrow night."

Pujols declined to comment on the club's decision, but a brief statement from his agent summed up die-hard Cards fans' worst fears. "Albert's going to look really good in a Cubs uniform next year."



April Fool!