Embarrassing Moments in My Life

About 10 days ago Marathon Girl and I were in bed. Marathon Girl was engrossed in a novel. I was trying to write. Unable to write further and feeling like snuggling, I changed the screen saver on my computer to read "Get Naked Now!" then told Marathon Girl my computer had a suggestion for her. She laughed and put her book down. I turned off the computer and snuggled up next to her without changing or thinking about the screensaver. Fast forward to Sunday. I have a great lesson prepared for the teenagers we teach in Sunday school. It worked out this week that all of my notes for this wonderful lesson are on my computer. Since we don't have a printer at home, I opted to bring my laptop to class and refer to the notes that way.

Admittedly, I was a little worried about bringing my computer to church. I didn't want it to be a distraction to the class. I turned the computer the screen was facing one of the side walls, thus making it visible to myself and two students. The lesson began. And it was a good lesson. The class was participated more than usual. They were having a good discussions, asking good questions, and providing well thought out answers to my questions.

"Finally," I thought. "I have a lesson that's really reaching them."

Then one of the class members said "Nice screensaver," and started to laugh.

I looked down at my computer. There in big, bright letters spinning on my screen were the words "Get Naked Now!"

I immediately closed the laptop as if that was going to make a difference.

Those who hadn't seen the screensaver demanded to know what it said.

"Get naked now!" said the class member that saw it.

This of course sent waves of laughter throughout the room. Any semblance of reverence that was part of the class was gone and never coming back.

"Was that intended for us?" another student asked.

"No, it was for my wife," I said.

"That was more information than I wanted to know," said a third student.

"You need a computer to get some loving from your wife? That's pathetic," said a fourth.

This last comment sent another wave of laughter through the room.

I thought about where this incident was headed. A rumor was going to spread through church about the screen saver. By the time it reached the ears of the bishop, the message of the screen saver would have changed to something very bad or it would be said that it was intended for someone in the class. (Stay tuned for the post of me getting kicked out of church or not teaching Sunday school.)

I was finally able to restore some sense of order to the room but teaching was almost a moot point. Though the lesson went on, but there were sporadic outbreaks of laughter and, lets face it, who can take me seriously as a teacher after that incident?

The only upside about the whole thing was that Marathon Girl wasn't in class that day. (She was home with Aidan who was not feeling well.) Had she been there and not died from embarrassment, I'm sure she would have killed me.

The Lesson of Hurricane Katrina

Since hurricane Katrina slammed into Louisiana and Mississippi, local, state, and federal government bureaucracies, politicians, and political organizations are doing what they do best: pointing fingers at each other and assigning blame elsewhere. A swift response from any government agency, even in times of crisis, is rare. There are rules and regulations to be followed, forms that need to be filled out, papers that need to be processed. No matter what "reforms" are made, I doubt the response time will change much next time a similar disaster strikes. There has been much made about the lack of leadership from local, state, and the federal governments, but the lack of leadership on the ground while help was "on the way" was equally appalling. When it became apparent that help was not soon coming to those stranded at the Superdome, for example, where was the leadership of trying to evacuate those people in small groups or making some kind of attempt to find supplies and bring them back to those stranded?

The lesson of hurricane Katrina is not what government can do better next time a disaster strikes, it's what can we do to better prepare ourselves should we find ourselves in the midst of a similar catastrophe. Sitting in waiting for someone else to help is one option. Taking charge and finding a way out of difficult circumstances is another.

Knowing how fast bloated, bureaucratic organizations tend to move, should I be finding myself in similar circumstances, I'll be taking matters into my own hands.

The Real Reason Is Global Warming

The hurricane that struck Louisiana yesterday was nicknamed Katrina by the National Weather Service. Its real name is global warming. When the year began with a two-foot snowfall in Los Angeles, the cause was global warming.

When 124-mile-an-hour winds shut down nuclear plants in Scandinavia and cut power to hundreds of thousands of people in Ireland and the United Kingdom, the driver was global warming.

When a severe drought in the Midwest dropped water levels in the Missouri River to their lowest on record earlier this summer, the reason was global warming.

-- Ross Gelbspan, The Boston Globe, August 30, 2005.

Dear Marathon Girl,

I know I should have mown the lawn several days ago. Yes, your right, our yard is beginning to look like a real jungle and if I don't mow it soon, the HOA will be all over us. But before you ask me again to mow it, I think you need to realize, it's not my fault the lawn needs to be mowed. The real reason is global warming.

Because of the increased carbon dioxide and heat trapped in the atmosphere, the lawn is growing faster than it normally would. So fast, in fact, no reasonable person can be expected to keep up with it. In fact I'm thinking about petitioning the HOA to wave the grass cutting rule entirely. When they realize that global warming is at fault, I'm sure they'll understand.

Then there's our lawn mower itself. Sure it's only a year old but don't think congress has passed any kind of bill regulating emissions from lawn mowers. I could be spewing out tons of CO2 when I start it. I think I'll wait for the wise, elected representatives in Washington to tell me when it's safe to mow the lawn. After all, when it comes to global warming, one must think of the children. Do we really want Aidan living in a world where lawn mowers can spew out filth? I think not.

Then there's our garden. We've referred to it all year as the Miracle Garden. We should start calling it the Global Warming Garden. It's not our fault the squash and zucchini crossed pollinated creating some inedible yellow-green atrocity . The real culprit here is global warming. Pumpkins not turning orange? Tomatoes still small and green? It's because of, you guessed it, global warming.

Then there was the wind the other night that tore off a single or two from our roof. Don't bother driving to Home Depot for replacement shingles. That strong wind was due to global warming. And global warming isn't going away anytime soon. So don't replace the missing shingle. Global warming is just going to blow it away again. In fact if it wasn't for global warming, I'm sure there wouldn't be any wind at all.

Now I don't mean to alarm you but the effects of global warming have extended beyond our neighborhood. You know the 12 straight losing seasons of the Detroit Tigers? It's not the result of poor decisions by management or inept ballplayers. The Tigers are simply a victim of global warming. So when ESPN highlights the latest Tiger loss or incompetent pitching, they'll be no more moaning from me. I'll just chalk it up to global warming and know that I'm doing my part by not mowing the lawn.

These are hard and trying times but if we stick together, I'm sure we can make it through the most difficult times humanity has ever faced.

Thanks for being so understanding. I'll get right on the lawn as soon as this whole global warming thing goes away. Be sure to keep an eye on Aidan as he walks through the grass. You never know when a Jaguar will leap out and devour him.

All my love,

Abel

Missing Child Found

Last night I looked outside and noticed a police car in front of our house. This in itself isn't a big deal. Cops routinely park their cars on the street in the summer as it's one of the few streets in this small town with trees large enough to provide a small degree of shade. However I noticed the police officer wasn't in his vehicle so I looked down the street and noticed two other police cars parked nearby. Now three police cars on any one street in this town at the same time is very unusual. Something was up.

I moved to the living room window where I noticed the police officers were talking to a frantic woman. She looked like she was crying but I couldn't be sure. Two of the cops were talking into their radios and stopping the occasional car that drove down the road and talked to the drivers.

Then I noticed it. A blue plastic tricycle with large red wheels was in the middle of the sidewalk. No one went near it. Amid all the people on the sidewalk, no one touched it. Everyone walked in wide circles around it. Then it hit me. There was a missing child.

A few cars drove up. A man wearing a baseball cap emerged from one of the cars and ran over to the woman and hugged her. He was crying too.

Then a black sedan pulled up. A blond haired three year old girl emerged from the back seat and ran over to the man and woman. The look on the woman's face was priceless. She hugged the girl and said "I love you. I love you." over and over again. The parents apparently knew the person who found her. He pointed to a far corner of the neighborhood telling them where he found her. The girl said something and everyone, including the police officers, laughed. Then she walked over to the blue plastic tricycle and started to pedal down the sidewalk. Mom wasn't about to loose her daughter again. She gently picked her up and held her in her arms and put her in the back seat of their car. The dad put the tricycle in the trunk and the family drove home.

Within minutes the street was back to normal. The only sound was the occasional yell of encouragement from a coach watching his soccer team practicing in the park across the street.

Big Babies

Running this time of year is always bittersweet. Since the sun isn't up, it's cooler and the run is more pleasant. Yet every morning a little more darkness creeps into my run and I know that soon I'll be running in the dark again -- something I don't particularly enjoy. But for a few weeks I'll be able to race the first rays of sun to my front door. This morning the sun beat me by a good thirty seconds. Tomorrow I'll try to even the score.

***

The new baby was really squirming around last night. It's no wonder Marathon Girl has a hard time sleeping. Since she couldn't sleep, we talked late into the night.

One of the things we talked about was the size of the new baby. We're a little worried he's going to be huge. Aidan was born two weeks before his due date and weighed 8 lbs, 9 oz. (And you should see him now. At 15 months the kid towers over most two year olds.) Both Marathon Girl and I are quite tall and big babies run in our families.

The doctor says Marathon Girl is measuring normal but so was Aidan when he was this far along. The problem seems to be that Marathon Girl carries babies more high and inside than most women which can hide the actual size of the baby. We don't mind having one the size of Aidan again, but would prefer to deliver a baby under 9 lbs. (Marathon Girl feels particularity strongly about this. Go figure.)

At her last doctor's visit, I told the doctor our concerns. He didn't seemed too worried about the baby's size but that did little to calm our fears. At her next appointment next week, I plan on bringing up the size issue again. If he's still unconcerned, I'm willing to pay for another ultra sound. The last thing we want is a difficult delivery.

Reading and Writing with Marathon Girl

As her pregnancy reaches her final months, Marathon Girl has difficulty falling to sleep. To help, I've been reading short stories by Ethan Canin or Tobias Wolff to Marathon Girl the last few evenings. They've been fun to read and, if we're not too tired, talk about it as we drift off to sleep. I haven't read some of these stories in years and it's interesting how my thoughts about them or the characters has changed as I've grown older. Some stories I like more, some less. And I enjoy having someone to talk too about them. Marathon Girl has wonderful insight on them. I enjoy talking with her about them when we're done and letting our words fill the dark room. In my world, talking about a story we've just read is one of the best ways to fall asleep. Her perspective has been good for my book too. The other night, before we read the short story Hunters in the Snow, Marathon Girl looked over the first few paragraphs of a chapter I've been struggling with. She was able to help me smooth out some transitions and improve it quite a bit. Until recently, I've never knew she had such good editing skills. She has a natural way of making sure things events are structured in a logical way -- something I struggle with. I only wish I would have brought her into the book earlier. It would have saved me quite a bit of rewriting.

What else can I say?

Marathon Girl is amazing.

I'm the luckiest guy in the world.

Living With the Dead

I received an interesting email over the weekend. Another young widower came across my Dating A Widower article and had some questions about it. Though he seemed to agree most of its contents, he found the tone of it a little "callous." The emailer also found the phrase "my first wife is no longer part of my life" a little shocking and wondered how I could feel this way. I've written about this in my old blog. But since I have many new readers since coming to this site who haven't read through my old one, I thought I'd post my reply here.

Thanks for your email. I appreciate your comments on my Dating A Widower article. I'm glad you found it helpful.

You aren't the first person to mention that some of my writings have an unfeeling quality toward my first wife. However, please don't take it to mean I don't love her or think about her on occasion. I love her tremendously and I always will. My first wife's influence will always be part of me. You can't spend years with someone and not have a part of them stay with you.

As for my first wife not being part of my life, I suggest you read the context in which that phrase was written. I was talking about celebrating or acknowledging events such as my first wife birthday, our anniversary, or date of her death. I stated that I don't do anything to celebrate those days.

Why?

Because I've remarried.

Read the rest of the paragraph. I stated that things might be different if I was still single. In fact if I wasn't married might do something for those days.

When I decided to remarry, I made the decision to make Marathon Girl and her happiness the main priority in my life. What possible benefit to my current marriage would commemorating my previous anniversary, first wife's birthday, or any other significant event?

Marathon Girl knows how I feel about my first wife. We talk openly about my first wife and my relationship with her. My first wife is a part of our marriage and always will be. But that doesn't mean her birthday, our anniversary, or other special day needs to be part of my life with Marathon Girl.

Put in that context, my first wife is no longer part of my life. Right now I have more important and pressing things to do then celebrate events that have little significance to my current situation. Marathon Girl's birthday, our anniversary, and other special dates the two of us share take precedence.

Marathon Girl has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. In a lot of ways I don't deserve someone as caring, loving, and beautiful as her. I feel very fortunate to have found love again and I'll be damned if I'm going to make Marathon Girl feel like she's competing with a ghost. I attribute a lot of the success and happiness in our marriage to the fact that I don't let my previous one wiggle between the two of us.

Since you're a recent widower and just entering the dating game again, I can understand how my attitude may appear uncaring. But when you find someone you can love as much as your deceased spouse, things will go a lot better if the new woman feels that she also has a special place in your heart. I receive a lot of emails from women dating widowers and by far the most common complaint they have is that they're dating a man who can't let go enough to love them too.

Life is meant to be lived, not wasted thinking about the dead all the time or what might have been. I've was lucky to find love once and even more fortunate to find it again. I will not let the dead come between me and enjoying life and living it to its fullest potential.

-- Abel

The Beauty of the Night

For most of my life I've been a morning person. I'm one who has no trouble waking up at, say, 5 a.m. and starting my day. It's been during these wee morning hours that I've tried to dedicate to working on my book. Within the last month, I've started writing at late at night. Much to my surprise, it's been extremely productive. When I have all day to think about what I want to do with a chapter, I find that I can write faster and better than early in the mornings when it takes a good 15 or 20 minutes to clear the cobwebs and get my brain up to writing speed.

It's been interesting to see how I've evolved into more of a night person over the last 30 days. And truth be told, I don't mind it. As long as I continue to write well, I'll stick with this late night thing for awhile.

And it's been a nice change write near an open window feeling the warm night air on my arms and hearing the occasional sound of skateboard wheels on the sidewalk or the conversations of a couple out for a late night walk. Those sounds are something you don't hear at five in the morning.

(By the way, for those who want to know the latest on the book, I suggest you join my mailing list. I usually update subscribers of the books progress and even include an occasional excerpt.)

***

Correction: In my last post I stated that Terrell Owens walked out of training camp. As an anonymous comment pointed out, Owens was actually asked to leave camp. Either way, I still claim it's not news.

Why I'm not a Journalist

One of the reasons I decided not to pursue a career in journalism many years ago was the lack of "real" reporting. Especially during the summer months it seemed that journalists were bored and needing something to write (or film) would pursue something not worth most people's time and try to turn it into a real story.

Hence whenever see the headline for the latest Terrell Owens antics, I wonder if the world of sports so incredibly slow that there's nothing else do to than indulge the ego of a millionaire wide receiver turned crybaby?

Who cares if he walked out of camp? Who cares if he won't play without a new contract? There's nothing a prima donna likes more than attention and if the media stopped covering Owens' temper tantrums he'd probably behave. Instead of an interview with Owens in his driveway, how about a story that actually requires some work, like, say, on what would happen to the rest of us if we walked off our jobs and refused to return without a raise.

And it's not only sports journalism that's guilty of turning molehills into mountains. I see the same thing with the coverage of Cindy Sheehan.

The media, bored out of their minds in Texas, have decided to turn this woman into a story.

Christopher Hitchens wrote an excellent article in Slate today about it. He says:

What dreary sentimental nonsense this all is, and how much space has been wasted on it. Most irritating is the snide idea that the president is "on vacation" and thus idly ignoring his suffering subjects, when the truth is that the members of the media--not known for their immunity to the charm of Martha's Vineyard or Cape Cod in the month of August--are themselves lazing away the season with a soft-centered nonstory that practically, as we like to say in the trade, "writes itself."

Covering one woman's cause isn't news. Walk the streets of Washington D.C. and you'll see tons of people with signs protesting something or another. Everyone has an axe to grind. That doesn't make it news.

Thankfully with the advent of the Internet, I no longer have to waste my time watching national news or reading local papers to find interesting hard news stories. Thanks to Google News, the Drudge Report, or other news boards, I can find interesting stories without having to wade through the garbage.