Since I Left the FB...

I have been deprived of the ability to succinctly announce my mood to all those who care.  Therefore, I'll post a few pictures for you.

I will not go into detail, and will let you leave a comment to describe the situation.  Closest one to the final answer will win a virtual high-five.

360 Degree Panoramic View of Agua Caliente

It only took 4.5 years for me to finally put this together (of course, I had to find the pictures first).

click  to enlarge

Anyone up for a trip?

Conditioned Air

Obviously from the previous post, one can glean that the main topic of dinner conversation would be fear.  To me, this emotion is the one aspect that prevents many people from reaching their full potential.  Whether it is change, the unknown or something new to one’s world, fear can have a powerful impact on how one lives.  I am a firm believer that the only two aspects of your life that are not in your control are your birth and your death.  Everything in between is something that you can be master of, if you allow yourself to overcome your fears and make sacrifices.

Until recently, I had always considered myself a well rounded individual.  I am highly educated, a loving husband and father, an appreciator of arts, fine food and drink, a ballroom dancer, a sports enthusiast, an introspectively religious man, etc. Yet, I always have two drawbacks (three if you include poor communication): fear of failure when applying knowledge; and fear of being able to provide for and protect my family.

So, after reading Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley, I made a conscious decision to address my fears.  To step out of my comfort zone, and learn skills that I think every father should know, so they in turn can teach their children.  I decided to become better rounded (to which my wife replied, “Are you going to go eat another slice of pizza?” Not funny, and indicative that I am not who I should be).

To accomplish this task, I realized that I, and society in general, are too reliant on food and technology.  It amazes me that if you ask a random person where food comes from, they invariably reply the market.  Occasionally, someone will reply a farm, but no one ever answers the Earth.  One of my favorite quotes from Travels with Charley is:

“We Americans bring in mercenaries to do our hard and humble work.  I hope we may not be overwhelmed one day by peoples not too proud or too lazy or too soft to bend to the earth and pick up the things we eat.”

That quote had a profound impact on me because it captures two important aspects of my beliefs: Man should be humble; and the Earth is our provider.  It also did not hurt that it was congruent to the Arizona Immigration Law debate.  In addition, because of my wife’s diligence in providing fresh, unpreserved, non-treated foods to our table, as well as my work in my Father In Law’s garden, I have grown to appreciate what the Earth provides.  Through sunlight, soil and water, everything a human needs is available.  One does not need manmade technological objects to survive, especially since man has existed for thousands of years with only what nature provides, and hard, humble work.

Manmade items are what has made us “too proud or too lazy or too soft.”  I admit technology does has benefits (i.e., medicine), yet I think it has distanced ourselves from mankind’s true reality.  For years my mother railed against computers, etc., for she and my father are from a generation where nearly every hand was calloused.  Today, mostly index fingers and thumbs are calloused.

It’s no secret that I have been turning away from technology.  I eschewed Facebook, we do not use credit or debit cards, we do not have television, and as of January, we will not have cell phones.  Yet, I am no fool, for I still understand technology and use it to my advantage when available.  But in there lies a fear, what happens if that technology is not available?  What if one day it was gone (which is entirely plausible)?  What if I had to provide and protect my family without the benefit of 1s and 0s, and a steady supply of food and water?  Well, I used to think that I’d be alright because I considered myself “an outdoorsman.”  Ha, that is obviously not even close.  I camp, but with all the trappings of a 21st century woodsman.  Plus, I consider myself doing a disservice to my children and their progeny if I do not instill in them the basics of being a human.  Sure, I will advocate the use of technology and help them learn those skills; however, I intend on providing them with basic and primitive skills that will make them rounded individuals.

This leads to another Steinbeck quote from Travels with Charley:

“Communications must destroy localness, by a slow, inevitable process [...] Radio and television speech becomes standardized, perhaps better English than we have ever used.  Just as our bread, mixed and baked, packaged and sold without benefit of accident of human frailty, is uniformly good and uniformly tasteless, so will our speech become one speech [...] What I am mourning is perhaps not worth saving, but I regret its loss nevertheless”

Spot on quote to my beliefs.  No wonder I’d want Steinbeck next to me at the dinner table.

Now some may read that as me being a doom and gloom “the sky is falling” Chicken Little.  Nothing could be further than the truth.  I’ve read many blogs about these scenarios, and all of them are corrupted with fear.  The terrorists are going to get us, the Chinese are going to set off an EMP bomb, there will be anarchy!  Bullshit.  The simple solution is to take advantage of all skills, technological and primitive, and then one can face any situation without fear. 

So, I’ve started my little journey.  Last Sunday, I asked my Father In Law for a length of rope.  For some reason the ability to tie and untie a variety of knots felt like the perfect place for me to begin.  Hey, at least if I fall on this journey, a good Alpine Butterfly will keep me from hitting the ground.

Finally, I’ll leave today with another quote.  Not one from a book, but from a Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar radio drama I was listening to in the mall parking lot while waiting for my wife to get off of work (we only have one car – saves green in many forms).  The back story was the investigator had to go to Venezuela to probe an insurance claim, and while doing so, Johnny Dollar met with the local chief of police, El Jefe.  As Dollar waiting in El Jefe’s sweltering office, he glanced at the rickety rattan fan, and sweated under his suit collar.  El Jefe coolly stated,

“Down here, this is all us humble people have.  Unlike you Americans and your Conditioned Air.”

Dinner for Six

Many moons ago, I remember the fad of the five people, alive or dead, you would invite to dinner.  After almost 35 years, a clear and definitive list has presented itself to me.  I am ready to let go and live the life that my bones yearn to live.  A life unencumbered.

"Fear of death increases in exact proportion to increase in wealth." - Ernest Hemingway

"Power does not corrupt. Fear corrupts... perhaps the fear of a loss of power." - John Steinbeck

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." - Psalm 23:4 - God

“Many of us crucify ourselves between two thieves - regret for the past and fear of the future.” - Fulton Oursler

"O you youths, western youths,
So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,
Plain I see you, western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,
Pioneers! O pioneers!" - Walt Whitman

I wonder what the topic of conversation would entail?  Once the vision clears in my own mind, you shall know, too.

If There's a Place You Want to Go...

...I'm the one you need to know.  I'm the map.  The map.  I'm the map.  The map.  I'm the map!

Most intriguing one to date...

Told you so!

It's pretty cool when your Thesis is proven on a massive scale.

Article

And if anyone ever tells you that bacteria in a box will solve your problems (ahem, Rid-X), I have a bridge for sale. 

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Driving back from the in-laws last night, Ana and I got on the topic of Jon Cusack, and how I used to think I looked like him when I was in college.  Anyways, Ana said, "People always told me I look like Helen Hunt."

 

I immediately said. "Oh, yeah.  She's hot."  Then I stopped myself and said, "No wait, I confused her with Holly Hunter.  Now, she's hot."

That is where I should have stopped because then I said, "Helen Hunt, no, she's not hot."  Then I immediately tried to backtrack, "Well, she is good looking though."

DOH!

I'm the Map!

Finger's crossed...

Paradoxical Dichotomy

Read this story on CNN, and it brought about a surge of emotion for me.  Specifically, these two paragraphs:

"Five anonymous marksmen will use matching .30-caliber rifles, standing behind a wall cut with five gunports. One of the rifles will be an "ineffective" round, similar to a blank, which delivers the same recoil as a live round. That ensures none of the riflemen will know who delivered the fatal shot.

The marksmen fire from a distance of 25 feet. The inmate is blindfolded, strapped to a chair and a target pinned to his chest" 

Barring the multitude of Biblical translations of the Hebrew text, one of the most sacred commandments is "Thou shalt not kill."

I realize this man murdered two people, and he should pay for his crimes, but what gives man the right to kill him in return?  

Ideally, there are only two things in our lives that are not in our control, when we are are born and when we die.  Everything else is within our power to change, control, etc.  So why should man control when this person dies?  Isn't birth and death divine?  Aren't we heralded into this world as a miracle and then called to Heaven when we die?  To me, man has no right to take the life of another man, or any other being, save for sustenance.

Now here is the paradoxical dichotomy...

From a broad viewpoint (read stereotype):

Democrats, Liberals, progressives etc. believe in pro-choice and anti-death penalty.

Republicans, Conservatives, etc. believe in pro-life and pro-death penalty.

In either instance, both viewpoints are paradoxes.  How can one believe in preventing a birth and saving a life, while the other believes in saving a life and ending a life?

Code of the Cardboard Gods - Part I

Code of the Cardboard Gods 
Part I - The Starting Nine

Setting: National Baseball Hall of Fame – Cooperstown, NY
Players: Museum curator and YOU
Puzzle Difficulty: 3½ stars
Points Possible: 20

It is a brisk autumn evening at your upstate New York farmhouse.  You have just finished a long session of working on your newest cryptology book about the Mayan calendar when your phone unexpectedly rings.  You contemplate not taking the call due to the late hour, but, suspecting it may be your publisher, you decide to answer.  You pick up the receiver, expecting your old friend, but hear an unknown voice asking your name.

“Yes, that is me,” you say, and then you ask, “Who is this?”

There is a brief pause, and then the voice replies, “I am a curator at the National Baseball Hall of Fame, and I need your help.  There has been a break-in, and I found an envelope addressed with your name and phone number, along with a curious code.  It is like nothing I have ever seen before.”

You ask, “Have you called the authorities?”

“No,” the curator replies, “Nothing has been stolen, and I’d like to avoid any… unpleasantness.  I am familiar with your work and judging by this envelope, you are somehow involved or are intended to be involved with this mystery.  You must understand. I need your help solving this code.  Money is no object, and I will pay whatever fee you require.”

Feeling the tug of greed, you inquire, “Can you send me a picture of the code?”

“No, you must see this in person,” he replies.

Your curiosity is piqued.  What better opportunity to combine your lifelong work of cryptology and your favorite pastime?

You agree, “I’m only 45 minutes from Cooperstown, I’ll be there within an hour.”

After an almost breathless drive as your mind is racing, greasing the gears for the puzzle that waits, you pull into the parking lot and notice a security guard vehicle and two non-descript sedans.  You grab your satchel and head for the grand front entrance.  As you approach, you see a balding man of middle age with a clean shaven face holding the door open.

“Are you the curator?” you ask.

“Yes, yes,” he briskly replies.  “Please, come this way. Quickly.”

You enter the atrium and immediately your eyes dart around, looking for the code that requires your interpretation.  You try and calm your nerves, remembering there is an envelope that will likely provide precious information.

“On the phone you mentioned an envelope.  What does it contain?” you question.

He answers, “I do not know.  It is sealed with wax.”

You take the envelope and examine the wax seal, and see the initials “OCG” emblazoned on the red paraffin.

“OCG,” you mutter.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

You reply, “It means Order of Cardboard Gods.”

Your mind races even faster over this new development.  Could it be?  You’re actually holding a letter from the mysterious Order of Cardboard Gods?

The curator shifts nervously and asks, “Order of what?”

“Cardboard Gods,” you distantly answer.

“Who are they?” he asks.

You ignore his question; your mind is drifting.  You break the wax seal, revealing a coded letter:

Click picture to enlarge

You smile at the simplicity of the code.  To the untrained eye, it looks like gibberish, but to you, the words shine through.

TO BE ANSWERED BY YOU (4 pts)

[ANSWER: ]

The last line gnaws at you.

The curator peers over your shoulder and brashly asks, “What does it say?  Who are the Cardboard Gods?”

You turn your head and flatly say, “Take me to the code.  I will tell you later about The Order and this letter.”

The curator backs away, and begins to lead you down the long hallway into the Hall of Fame Plaque Gallery.

Midway down the Gallery, you see the code ahead of you, basking in bright moonlight.  The plaques of the Class of 1936 have been removed, and placed at the foot of the wall now bearing a mysterious puzzle.

You approach the coded puzzle in awe.  A puzzle you have never seen before, a new challenge for your restless mind.

A wry smile crosses your face, and you think to yourself, “Oh, this will be so much fun!”

YOU SOLVE THE PUZZLE (16 pts)

Click picture to enlarge

[ANSWER – ]

[Author’s Note: You must provide the correct answer and your logic to receive the points .]

Tangent, Secant, Cosine, Sine, 3.14159...

Reasonable Suspicion

After reading A's Tuesday Rant regarding the hypocrisy of the illegal immigration movement, I found the Arizona Senate Bill 1070 that is garnering a lot of attention in the media and causing a vocal backlash from the Latino community.  I have somewhat mixed emotions about illegal immigration, but predominantly it is due to the white majority viewpoint.  


Almost every time illegal immigration enters the forefront of the American consciousness, it becomes synonymous with our southern border.  Never does the topic of illegal immigration through our western shores (Asians), our northern border (Canadians) and eastern shores (Europeans, Caribbeans and Africans) get mentioned.  No, illegal immigration is a Mexican albatross.  The fact being though, many who illegally immigrate through our southern border are not even Mexican, but Central or South American.  In essence, it is a "brown people" issue that white America has.


I understand that protecting our borders is important from a national security stance (i.e., preventing terrorist activities) and from a drug enforcement viewpoint, of which I am staunchly in favor of preventing cocaine, heroin, etc. from entering our country and ruining lives.  But I do not see the harm in people, hard working people, coming to America to earn a living for their families.


Family is the most important tangible connection we have in life.  For someone to break their backs doing labor that most American citizens would never contemplate doing is admirable to me.  It is humble.

Now some say that they are taking jobs, using resources, clogging hospitals, but the fact is most employers do garnish their wages for taxes.  Illegal immigrants do pay sales tax, gas tax, cigarette and alcohol tax.  They are paying taxes, in some form or fashion, and when those wages are garnished to remit to the IRS, almost none of it is returned to the employee for they do not file taxes, unless they are trying to obtain legal citizenship.  


We can't build a wall around this country.  It is not and should not be a part of the American psyche.  This country was built by immigrants through their own hard work, the shed blood of Native Americans and the sweat of African slaves.  I think it is high time the descendants of the original immigrants realize that America is not theirs, but it is OURS.  


The law in Arizona should be repealed or at least amended.  Check out a few of the parts I find extremely offensive:


Article 8 - Subparagraph B - FOR ANY LAWFUL CONTACT MADE BY A LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICIAL OR AGENCY OF THIS STATE OR A COUNTY, CITY, TOWN OR OTHER POLITICAL SUBDIVISION OF THIS STATE WHERE REASONABLE SUSPICION EXISTS THAT THE PERSON IS AN ALIEN WHO IS UNLAWFULLY PRESENT IN THE UNITED STATES, A REASONABLE ATTEMPT SHALL BE MADE, WHEN PRACTICABLE, TO DETERMINE THE IMMIGRATION STATUS OF THE PERSON. THE PERSON'S IMMIGRATION STATUS SHALL BE VERIFIED WITH THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT PURSUANT TO UNITED STATES CODE SECTION 1373(c).


Article 8 - Subparagraph E - A LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICER, WITHOUT A WARRANT, MAY ARREST A PERSON IF THE OFFICER HAS PROBABLE CAUSE TO BELIEVE THAT THE PERSON HAS COMMITTED ANY PUBLIC OFFENSE THAT MAKES THE PERSON REMOVABLE FROM THE UNITED STATES.


Section 4 - Subparagraph E - NOTWITHSTANDING ANY OTHER LAW, A PEACE OFFICER MAY LAWFULLY STOP ANY PERSON WHO IS OPERATING A MOTOR VEHICLE IF THE OFFICER HAS REASONABLE SUSPICION TO BELIEVE THE PERSON IS IN VIOLATION OF ANY CIVIL TRAFFIC LAW AND THIS SECTION.


Reasonable suspicion?  Without warrant?  Stop any person operating a motor vehicle if there is reasonable suspicion they are in violation of this section (i.e., SB 1070)?  


To me that screams put a yellow star on every Latino's lapel.

Letting go, in albeit a minor fashion...

Dear Facebook,

We need to talk.  This has been coming for a while now, but I don’t think either one of us had the nerve to admit it.  I think we should just be friends.  Wait, I don’t even think we should be that.  I think we should see other people.  Make that real live people.

“Are you breaking up with me?” you ask.  Yes.  Unlike every other toxic relationship in my past, I am setting my digital foot down and terminating our connection.  We had our good times, but it was just a fad, a phase, a broadband interlude.

I am grateful for one thing, though.  You did bring me back in touch with people from the distant and recent past.  For that, I thank you, but that is not enough.  I am tired of feeling the voyeur and looking at peoples’ cruise pictures and reading comments irrelevant to me.  I despise your cyber reality and cherish that which is tangible and outdoors.

Therefore, to all of those who I have reconnected with in either a passive or active fashion, I offer you this.  Message me your mailing address, and at a minimum I will add you to the old Christmas card list.  Better yet, request a letter, and I will actually write you one.  Request my mailing address, and I will gladly provide it and eagerly check my mailbox.

FB, I will hang around until May 1st or until the security deposit is returned, and then I’m moving out.

FB Friends, if I’ve offended you in some odd way, oh well, we’ll all get over it in about 3 seconds.  If you want to un-friend me prior to May 1st, go ahead, I won’t be put off.  If you want to keep in touch for real, like I said, message me and we can trade mailing addresses.

I’ve had fun with all of you at one point in my life and in some form or fashion, but life is better served with real, not digital, connections.

Remember, happiness is found between the sole and the soil.

Nathaniel

God and Religion, or Something Quite Like It

Part I

I am not particular sure where this line of thought will go, but it has been on my mind quite a bit, especially since RKT was born.  Perhaps it will help me understand my ancestors, my upbringing and my own beliefs better, or perhaps it will not. 

For the longest time, I always thought that people did not change, that one was the product of their childhood and for the most part belief structures and thought patterns were hardwired for life.  I staunchly thought this during my divorce when my ex-wife was undergoing a profound alteration to her beliefs and viewpoints, which at the time I resisted.  I realize now that she was changing, and that it wasn’t that I objected to the change, but that I objected to what she was changing into.  Qué sera, sera.

From a personal standpoint, I still was adamant that I would not change until a brief conversation with Analee on Moore’s Pond Road two or so years ago.  I do not recall how the conversation began or specifically what it was about, but the final comment from Analee was “You’re changing.  You’re growing up.  I think you are ready for church now.”

I am sure I clammed up at that point because I was aghast that she would say I was changing, and that I, a Thornburg, was ready for church.  In retrospect, that made me realize that change can be good, and not necessarily the end, but perhaps a beginning.  That is one of the most important conversations we have ever had, and I have not and will not forget it.

Since that day, I have mulled over what I am changing into, likely dragging my heels in apprehension.  As my wife can attest, I am painfully slow at decision making (a personal weakness) and even slower at moving in general.  I liken it the fact I like to do something once, so I make sure I’m right before taking the first step.  That too may be a personality flaw, but it makes me more secure.

With Analee’s Granddaddy’s passing on Saturday, I was the one who received the call.  The house was quiet, as the kids and Ana were napping, and then the cell phones rang.  I silenced them quickly to avoid waking the kids.  Then the house phone rang, and I knew I had to answer the phone.  It was Mamaw.  I curtly said “Everyone is asleep.”  She calmly replied “Granddaddy passed at five past three.”  I think I abruptly said “Ok”, and that was it.

I laid back down on the couch and then wondered if I should wake Analee.  I thought “No.  She’s sick and tired.  Let her sleep.  It can wait until she wakes up.”  During the next 30 minutes I blankly stared at some NCAA basketball game wondering how I was going to tell her that her Granddaddy had passed.  I have never been in this situation before and was dreading telling her.  I cowardly thought of calling her Mom, and having her call back later to tell her, but I knew that was wrong.  If Ana had to bear me bad news, I would rather it come from her for she is my rock.

Around 3:40, I heard RKT quietly calling “Daddy, where are you?”  I went upstairs and found him tucked under his covers playing with his blankets and toy bus driver.  Apparently I rushed him too quickly out of bed to get HNT, and he immediately went into melt down mode.  This raised the stress level for me because surely he had woken Ana from her much needed nap.  After getting HNT out of her crib, I made for the bedroom door to tell Analee the news, to which RKT blocked the door.  Finally coaxing RKT to let me into the bedroom by conning him into playing with HNT in the family room, I walked up to Analee.

“You need to call your Mom.” I said, almost chickening out again, then said what I needed to say, “Your granddaddy passed away.”  I didn’t know what to expect next, but she said “What time?  Did she say what happened?”  Then I realized that death is not necessarily a bad thing.  I am sure it made her sad, but it also came as a relief to her because death, like change, is not necessarily the end, but a new beginning.

Friends of the Smokies

Those who know Analee and I are aware that we are both environmentally minded.  Whether it be from career choice, recreation, recycling, etc.  We both love the outdoors in all its glorious venues.

We even support the North Carolina Coastal Federation by purchasing a special license plate, which leads me randomly to an interesting observation I made the other day.


Where I work is not the best neighborhood in town.  It's near the interstate with lots of seedy hotels nearby and a very well visited ABC store.  During my walks and drives home (I see no one on my drive to work), I have noticed an inordinate amount of this license plate around:

Now, I am not judging, but based on the drivers persona's, I have NEVER seen any of these individuals (from a subset of a subset) at a County, State or Federal Park.  Which got me thinking, why do they have this personalized plate? Then it came to me...


The plate should be renamed "Friends of the Munchies."

ABC's Sing-a-Long-Trainwreck from Hades

Undeniably this is the worst DVD ever made.  If MST3K was still in existence, I doubt they would have the cajones to lampoon such an atrocity as this "children's show." 

The DVD consists of 26 "songs", titled from A to Z, with an occasional 42 minute story about the Hare and the Tortoise and some banal drivel about Xavier the never ending story about an X-ray machine.  To compound this DVD-i-cide, the songs are obvious horrid karaoke renditions of kiddie songs with inexplicably atrocious "home" videos of some French family , a 12 year old girl in need of a bra and a belt, a pedophilic old man chasing young girls, a woman  portraying Old MacDonald by using a pitchfork on concrete, and a kids painted like cats when they are singing about dogs.

The karaoke songs are almost tolerable and our kids appear to enjoy them, but the visuals are too much to handle.  I have searched high and low for screen shots of this DVD, but Hitler must have burned all the prints during the French Occupation.  Just imagine a large woman dressed like a harlequin clown and kids with scary painted faces intermixed with blatant stock footage.  

To seal the deal, consider the fact the jovial ball playing child on the DVD cover is nary to be seen in this frenchtesticle tripe of a DVD.  Yet, now matter what we do, our kids repeatedly ask for this show.

Think I'm nuts?  Read the Amazon reviews.  By the way, I consider it no coincidence this DVD sells for $6.66 on Amazon.  Dante never considered this ring of hell in his infamous inferno.

Viva La You Owe Me $3 France.

A Tale of Two Fellers

A Tale of Two Fellers
by
Doc T

    In the spring of 1953, identical twins were born in the New York borough of Brooklyn.  Immediately they were separated at birth and sent to different orphanages, one in Paris, Tennessee and the other to Cleveland, Ohio.  I will tell you now that this is a tragic story.  One of these twins lived a short life, and the other, through the aid of good luck, fortune, science and technology may quite well live forever.

    The first twin did not stay long in the Cleveland orphanage.  One summer day, he and five of his friends were adopted.  His new home was warm, inviting, and full of laughter and love.  His new father played with him constantly, and took the young lad wherever he went.  His father took him to baseball games, the zoo, his new great-grandparents house, and they even slept in the same room because his father could not bear to have him out of his sight.  His father even taught him the proper way to ride a bike, and how to play the “flip” game.  He was loved, loved so much that even his father’s friends wanted to adopt him, but his father would never part with him.

    Eventually, all the activity began to wear down the young child.  The bike rides and games began to take their toll on him causing breaks and tears, but the father seemed to love him more because of these flaws.  His father even took great lengths to ensure that every scratch on his body was quickly mended using whatever household item the father could find.  The child was despondent over how quickly his body was failing him, but his father’s love reassured him that everything was fine.

    All was perfect in this young boy’s world until August of 1956 during a fishing trip with his father and grandpa on Beyer’s Pond.  While on the pond, the canoe capsized and all three fell into the murky water.  The father tried frantically to hold onto his son, but lost his grip.  The father dived underwater, feeling, searching, clawing in vain to find his son, but the water was too murky.  Heartbroken, the father had to give up his search and help the grandfather.  For a long time the father mourned the loss of his son, but knew his son was loved more than any other during his brief life.

**************************************************

    The other twin was not as fortunate to be immediately adopted.  He spent countless years in a cramped sickly sweet smelling room within a drafty and cold orphanage.  For all he knew, he was trapped in what felt like a barn or basement, deprived of love and contact.  For ages he never saw the sun, or any adults, only his peers.

    Then after what seemed like eons, he saw the light of day.  Someone had finally come to adopt him.  His new father was old, much older than he thought he would be and seemed very cold, calculating.  He was balding and had a permanent smirk.

    His father did not play with him, and treated him as if he were sick.  The father even went as far to wear gloves when touching him.  There were no sports, no bike rides, no trips.  The child was again locked away; in order to protect his body from the world is what his adoptive father said.

    After witnessing his father’s odd behavior, the child began to think that he was ill, stricken with some contagious disease.  His fears were soon realized when one day he was quarantined to an acid free polypropylene containment unit.  Hopeless, the child submitted to his fate and began waiting for a cure that surely would come.
       
    And came it did.  His father was sending him to a doctor in Dallas, Texas.  The child was ecstatic to finally have a chance at a real life.  Upon arrival at the clinic, the child was examined under a microscope and put through all the requisite tests.  The doctor exclaimed that he was a wonderful specimen and in top grade condition.  The child was relieved and ready to play, but then the unthinkable happened.  He was permanently encased in a rigid, air-free cell, and sent back to his father in Montvale, New Jersey.  His disease must be incurable the child thought.

    When he returned to his father, he exclaimed “What have you done to me?”  To which the father replied that the child had been given a chance at immortality thanks to his financial resources and that he should be grateful for this opportunity.  The child was skeptical and wanted to be freed to play.  Damn the disease, he didn’t care if he died outside of his bubble, but the father would not budge.  The child began to resent his father, and the father must have known this, for one day he gave up on his son, selling him to another man.

    Hopeful of a brighter future, the child was not saddened to have his original adoptive father out of his life.  The child was overjoyed to go to his new home, and was ready to play.  Yet, he remained in his cell, urging to play, yet he waited, and waited, and waited…

Now, you tell me who had the more tragic life?

Where The Time Goes

Last night while I was trying to fall asleep, I wondered where all my time goes in a week.  Trying to be with the children as much as possible, most of you know that I work 4 days a week, in order to spend most of my Fridays with the kids, so Ana can have a break to run errands or just have some peace and quiet.

Another goal of mine is to not work more than the amount of time I spend with the kids.  Growing up, I always missed my Dad because he worked and traveled so much.  I know now that he was doing that to provide for us, and I realize how hard it is to not get trapped into working all the time.  I'm sure if my life had taken a different direction 4 years ago that I'd be working 50+ weeks in order to amass a huge surplus of comp time in some vain attempt at retiring a few years early.

Anyways, I sat down this morning and figured out where my weekly time goes.

On Monday through Thursday, I wake at 4:30 a.m., get to work at 5:30 and get home at 5:00 p.m.  This leaves me 4 hours to play with the kids until they go to bed at 9, and then that leaves me an hour and a half to rub Ana to sleep.  Then I go to bed around 10:30 p.m.

On Friday through Sunday, I wake at 7:00 a.m. (usually) and spend time with the kids until 9:00 p.m., and then I usually spend an hour and a half with Analee.

So, the breakdown is this:

Time waking, commuting and working - 50 hours
Time with the kids - 58 hours (58 > 50, yeah!)
Alone time with Ana - 10.5 hours
Sleeping - 49.5 hours

Which sums up to 168 hours, exactly a week's worth of time.