You are using an insecure version of your web browser. Please update your browser!
Using an outdated browser makes your computer unsafe. For a safer, faster, more enjoyable user experience, please update your browser today or try a newer browser.
So I have tuned 41. At least, I think I have. My mother seemed to think I had turned 40 when she called me, but it could be that she was starting with her age and subtracting how old she was when she brought me into this world. This works well for many women, but my mother hasn’t aged since Reagan was president, so it does kind of mess things up. And to be honest, I don’t have a lot of memories about the actual day of my birth. But there are very official looking documents in existence that imply, if not directly state, that I am 41 now. So, I am gonna roll with it, cause it’s one year closer to senior’s discounts at Lubys and Dennys! (and if we’re being honest, it’s something we all look forward to – a discounted Moons Over My Hammy!? EPIC!)
Folks, if that don’t get you fired up, your wood’s wet! Seriously!
Ok, enough about that. You didn’t come here for the food. You came to hear, see, um… read me celebrate the day of my emergence from the womb. Yeah, that doesn’t make a lot of sense to me either, but what they hey, it’s my birfday! (or it was recently and I will stretch out the celebrations as long as is possible – and for the record, what is possible is WAY more than what is proper.)
So, I am old(er) now that last time you read my stuff, so you’ll probably notice a new maturity in my words that wasn’t there before. It’s all part of the aging process and I am told that it comes all on its own with no real work from me – which is good, because I have been looking for exactly that kind of stuff since I was 18. If you were hoping for more bodily humor or crass style missives, then you will be disappointed. I am past all of that now.
Ok, not really. But it could happen, so you should all be preparing for it like the zombie Apocalypse – all the terror, but nowhere near the media coverage.
You should know that for the birthday dinner, I chose to consume copious amounts of oysters on the half shell. I don’t know why you should know that, just that you should. When the information becomes necessary and you have it handy, you can thank me.
If you are ever in the Greater Toronto Area and would like to buy me dinner, I highly suggest this place. If you aren’t planning on taking me then by all means try this. Rodney’s, and my company, is the better choice by far. But it is a free country. Unlike the oysters…
So Ferf and friends took me out while the Muppet stayed home with a new babysitter that she adored. We have now been requested to “leave more often” so that she can enjoy the company of her new bbf – best babysitter forever. I am thinking of making trademarking that, but haven’t yet so feel free to use it before I do.
I am gonna close this up cause I don’t have as much to say as I thought I did…
Feb 29th! 2012 is a leap year and this is the leap day. Personally, I wish we had tagged an extra day onto a month that wasn’t quite so dreary, but no one asked me. So, February gets an extra day. Which is nice because the rest of the time it really does get the short end of the stick.
I wanted to share something today that I heard just this morning as I walked into work. I passed a group of folks talking about leap year and as I went by one of them made the comment that they were all working for free today. It took me a moment to catch what she was saying, but I realized that technically speaking it was true. If you are a salaried employee, then you are donating your time to the company today. You get paid the same this year as you did last year, and yet you will have worked an extra day – for free.
Now, before you get too upset, my intent is not to stir the proverbial pot. Employers, please forgive me if I inadvertently became the catalyst for a small uprising in your office. My point with this is to make us all stop for a moment and think about what we could do with an extra day.
Many of us decry how we never seem to have “enough” time. There seems to always be more that needs done than there is time to do it. But what if we were given an extra day? A “free day” as my daughter called it. “It cost us nothing, and we got an whole extra day!” was how she described it to me this morning over breakfast.
I must admit that this was a completely different way of looking at the day than I personally had been doing. But there it is. We have been given an extra day. What are you going to do with it? This is an incredibly valuable resource that only comes around every four years. I think it deserves some thought and intentionality. What are you going to do to make the world a better place with the extra day you have been granted in 2012?
I asked some of my friends this question, and I was surprised with some of the answers. After getting a lot of “I don’t know” responses, I had one friend write that she was going to declare this to be EXTRA day – and give everyone extra. But only the good things: extra hugs, extra game, extra ice cream, extra Wii time. (I am sure her children were especially thrilled with the ice cream and Wii time.) Another friend become more contemplative and said, “If I am working for free this day anyway, than I am going to take it a step further and donate one day’s salary to my favorite charity.”
You can be sure that his comment stood out to me, but I am not here to be pushy…
I am asking this question of you too, and honestly I would love to know if you have ever thought of LEAP YEAR in these terms before. And if you do take a moment and think about it as an extra day, then what specifically are you going to do to take advantage of this amazing gift?
Let me know! Talk with your friends, coworkers and family, and tell me what their answers are too.
Howdy folks! The way back time machine is still on here on the Maru, and so I thought I would regale you with yet another Muppet story. This one took place about a year and a half ago – at the start of first grade. I am starting to realize rather quickly that my daughter is smarter than I am. Ok fine, I am not just starting to realize it, and I finally starting to admit it.
SO let’s go back to that warm September day in 2010…
Recently the Muppet started a new school, because we moved across the country. But no matter where you live it appears that some child-interactions are ubiquitous. For the last 2 years (JK/SK) the Muppet had issues with specific children who wanted to play only with her. They would tell other kids that couldn’t join them. And they would push the Muppet into excluding other kids. The level of sophistication regarding how they did it was fairly impressive for 4 and 5 year olds. Once they had the Muppet alone and playing with them, they would tell her that if she played with other kids that the two of them couldn’t be friends anymore and regale her with stories about how they were best friends and no one else could ever be as much fun as the two of them. The Muppet would inevitably end up feeling trapped and emotionally distraught as other children weren’t “allowed” to play with her. And if you know the Muppet, she wants to play with EVERYONE!
Moving across the country was semi-liberating to me on this front. I figured that the kids who were behind that would be left in BC and the Muppet could move into full freedom and play with whomever she wanted. HA. Little did I know. It wasn’t a week into school when the Muppet told us that one of the little girls she had made friends with wasn’t letting other kids play with them. She was building an exclusivity clause into her and the Muppet’s relationship from the get go. She finally just pulled the Muppet aside and told her that only the two of them could play together. The Muppet was her friend and they would be best friends.
The Muppet thought about that for a moment and said to her, “you know, if you have an attitude like that, no one will want to play with you.” At this, the little girl burst into tears and ran off. (For the soft hearted among you – not that I really believe you would be reading my stuff if you were indeed soft hearted – you can sleep well knowing that by the next day, she was back playing with the Muppet – and with other children too.)
Ok, first things first. How do I know how this went down?
I wasn’t stalking the elementary school playground.
I am not a helicopter parent who hovers around my child constantly.
I do not pay off teachers or students to give me a daily rundown of things my daughter does at school (though now that I saw that out loud I am reserving the right to implement that little gem at any time in the future – read: HIGH SCHOOL)
No, the Muppet told us that story when we picked her up from school and we asked if anything exciting had happened in her day. In fact, her actual response was, “I made my friend cry.” Generally not the kind of thing one hopes to hear from their child…unless one writes a blog. And then it makes one’s ears perk up. (I am still working out the balance between good parent and interesting blogger) But when we gently prodded about the circumstances around that incident, she told us the whole story.
As Ferf and I debriefed about it later, I started to realize what an amazing thing the Muppet had done. With just a few words she had completely defused what could have been a difficult situation that would have followed her all year long. You would think that she had just walked out of the Harvard School of Negotiations.
Allow me to sum up for those of you who haven’t taken the Harvard course. (See you get an ivy league worthy education when you hang out on the Maru – it’s all part of the service I provide.)
When the little girl told the Muppet that only the two of them could play together, she had assumed a power position in the relationship. She was establishing dominance and trying to set the tone for who was in charge of the group.
Consider the options then available to the Muppet. She could have:
responded in anger and tried to assert her own dominance – which would likely have ended the relationship in its infancy
cried – a passive aggressive from of establishing dominance – turning the relationship into a needy individual/caregiver situation
punched her in the throat – dominance firmly established. Ok, not really the best option, but we are from Texas and I like to have all my choices on the table.
In fact there are any number of ways the Muppet could have responded within the bounds that the little girl had set. But she did none of these. She went all jedi mind trick genius on her. Truth be told, the poor little girl never stood a chance. Muppet’s got mad skills this chick’s never seen!!
Rather than do any of those things, the Muppet redefined the argument. She got out of the box, deconstructed the box, and then handed the item previously known as a box back to the girl. And because of that, the situation suddenly was not about her at all. It was about he little girl and EVERYONE ELSE.
The Muppet deftly extricated herself from the equation. It was no longer about “them” as a two-some. Now, let’s be honest, if only for a moment -cause I know that makes some of you really uncomfortable. Logically, one would assume that the little girl didn’t care about everyone else – she was after all trying to create an exclusive group that did not include anyone else. But the Muppet did not become tangled in the surface logic. Nay. Rather she went counter-intuitive, restating the issue with the assumption being that the little girl wanted to be liked by everyone.
Using that as the new basic premise, she pointed out that this particular line of behaviour would lead to the logical conclusion that no one would want to play with her. AND THAT’S THE BRILLIANCE! See it’s one thing for you to choose not to play with anyone else. That’s a power position – a choice. But when you aren’t playing with others because THEY don’t want to play with YOU – then it is a helpless position – you have no choice.
With that one little phrase the Muppet changed the reality and shifted the paradigm. The power was not transferred – it was gone. Because it wasn’t about power for the Muppet. It was about friendship with everyone. It was about freedom. Instead of getting backed into a corner by this budding little terrorist, Muppet created a new reality. One in which she pitied this child’s obvious future. And she did it through being involved with her instead of becoming enmeshed with her.
Now the Muppet and this little girl still play together a lot. But they play with other kids too. The Muppet freely moves from playground friendship to playground friendship with no burden – and her little friend found that there is more to be gained by including people than can ever be gained by excluding.
And she did it all with one sentence.
Crap she’s scary. She was with me the other day when I realized those weren’t the droids I was looking for…
Ok. For the record my daughter is now 7… 7 and a half… Possibly 7 and 5/8… you know what? it doesn’t really freakin’ matter (except to her of course and then it is of paramount importance, but to you and I suffice it to say that she is older than 6 but not quite 8. There. Everybody happy? Can we move on? Excellent.
Here’s the thing. We stopped talking for a while. I know I said I wouldn’t keep bringing it up, but it’s kinda relevant as to why you are getting a story that is over a year old. Stuff happened while you were…ahem…gone, and I am simply trying to get you up to date. How does that make me a bad person!? Sheesh..
So, here’s the scoop. The Muppet was six when this story took place. I documented it. Then, I extrapolated learnings from it. Then I wrote them down and waited for you to come back so I could share them with you. Which I am now. Ok, here we go. Setting the time machine for star date 34.56.32 – you know what? I don’t have a time machine. I am not fooling anybody here, so let’s forget that and just take a walk over to the holodeck…
There. Set this dial, turn this knob, and walla…
Last night my six year old lost her first tooth – the culmination of over a week of wiggling and giggling as she played with her first loose tooth in her life.
Knowing that this was coming, we had suggested eating apples and crackers and anything else that might hurry the process – since she was vehement that I could not tie a string around the tooth and a doorknob to facilitate the process. Days led into days of feeling the tooth and guessing how long until the fateful day would arrive – until dinner last night. As we enjoyed a rotisserie chicken dinner the tooth finally decided to come out. When she felt the tooth come loose (and a bit of blood mingled with the chicken in her mouth) we watched the emotions on her face go from wonder to horror to excitement – the kind of excitement that only a child’s first experience at something can contain.
After bagging the tooth for the convenience of the anticipated arrival of the tooth fairy, the obligatory phone calls started to grandparents, and godparents, and aunts, and uncles, and cousins as well as family friends that she could remember in her euphoria. As the calls happened one after another, I realized that within moments my daughter had fallen into a consistency in her recounting of the events – one that flowed with the ease of a semi-prepared speech.
After hearing her tell the story three or four times in a row, I also realized that my daughter in the exhilaration of the moment had nailed the elements of communication in a way that would make a professional proud. Her phone calls became a template that I could use to explain how to communicate effectively.
The text of her side of the conversation was neither long nor complicated. It went like this (and I only give you her side because I couldn’t hear the responses and I am not sure they mattered to her anyway):
“Hi <name of relative or friend>”
“wanna know what just happened??”
“MY FIRST LOOSE TOOTH FELL OUT!!”
“I took a bite of chicken and I said, ‘My tooth is falling out. My tooth is falling out!’ Then mommy pulled it out of my mouth and we put a cold cloth on the hole.”
“Yeah, when it starts to really jiggle, that’s when you know it’s gonna come out soon.”
“Now, it is really hard to chew bread, but I can spit water through the hole in my teeth and that’s cool!”
“And now my dog thinks I look different than I did this morning.”
“Okay, I have to go so I can make some more calls. Love you, bye.”
Can you see the brilliance in this? Let me point out her use of communication:
“Hi <name of relative or friend>”
Begin my greeting someone by name. It shows you know them and that this is a conversation between friends.
“wanna know what just happened??”
Engage your audience – the use of a time sensitive adverb conveys the feeling of importance and immediacy triggering the psychological need to be in the know and not be left out. Also, the judicious use of rhetorical questions allows you to begin a story with their tacit approval, removing their ability to disengage from the conversation.
“MY FIRST LOOSE TOOTH FELL OUT!!”
Get to the point of your story quickly and state the important facts with passion! Allow your audience to feel your excitement and put themselves into the situation with you – experiencing your enthusiasm vicariously. This keeps their interest that you already engaged.
“I took a bite of chicken and I said, ‘My tooth is falling out. My tooth is falling out!’ Then mommy pulled it out of my mouth and we put a cold cloth on the hole.”
Using a first person speaker further justifies your passion for the story and brings the listener further into the narrative. The use of direct quotes, spoken with they same intonation and cadence as they were the first time, brings the story more to life as the listener imagines they are hearing it as it actually happened. The use of familiars in reference to people (i.e. mommy) also puts the listener into the shoes of the storyteller.
“Yeah, when it starts to really jiggle, that’s when you know it’s gonna come out soon.”
Gain credibility by showing subject matter expertise.
“Now, it is really hard to chew bread, but I can spit water through the hole in my teeth and that’s cool!”
Show visible effects of the situation to help them gain an understanding of impacts – both positive and negative – allowing them to gain a fuller appreciation of the scope of the situation.
“And now my dog thinks I look different than I did this morning.”
Possibly my most favorite point: When necessary, embellish. Make the story your own!! And always feel free to bring humor into it. It allows your audience to release emotion and let their guard down.
“Okay, I have to go so I can make some more calls. Love you, bye.”
When closing, let them know indirectly that they were among the first to hear the story by telling them that there are others (evidently less important) people who still need to hear this. The fact that there are others, gives credence to the listeners own belief that they are among the most important people to you. Also, reminding them of the deep affection that the two of you share is a powerful way to end.
So there you go. You are now a little more in tune with the happenings in the real world AND you learned a little sumthin’ along the way. Don’t say I never gave you nuthin’.
she could totally spit water through there too. seriously. you know…after I taught her how…
恭喜發財 Happy Chinese New Year everyone. It’s 2012 and the year of the dragon.
Now, I will be honest and tell you that Chinese New Year was not a real big shin-dig in the part of Texas I grew up in. I have never heard my mother humming traditional Chinese folk music while making taro fritters and laughing sesame ball cookies. Dad never painted a lion mask and practiced his dance moves in the backyard, and I was never given a red packet filled with money from any relative. In retrospect, my childhood was rough…
But this year I am fully engaged. The Muppet bought a killer red Chinese outfit and borrowed a faux imperial dynastic headdress to go with it. And Ferf had to learn how to braid hair and make little mini-buns on the top of her head. This is no small feat. I was helpful though. In fact, I might be correct in taking quite a bit of credit by pointing out some obvious similarities that probably helped tremendously.
I suggested that she picture the hair as a cross between Princess Leia and Pai Mei…Kind of a Star Wars meets Clan of the White Lotus:
I am sure you can see how helpful that would be. It’s all part of the service I provide. Ferf was so thankful as to be at a loss for words.
But it wasn’t only the Muppet that got into the spirit of it this year. Nay, I too decided to welcome the dragon because the whole fam damily was invited to a 10 course Chinese New Year banquet. And while I am as multi-cultural as the next guy, I will rarely say no to 10 courses of anything…especially food. So with a hearty “xièxiè” (that’s thank you for all you culturally illerates out there. Sheesh, doesn’t anyone bone up on their traditional Chinese anymore???) I got the whole family out to an evening of frivolity and festivities…Chinese style!
Ok, actually it was more Malaysian style, because this particular dinner was hosted by the Malaysian Association of Canada. I can only assume that it’s kind of like going to a St. Patty’s dinner being put on by the French, but whatever. Did I mention 10 courses?
So off we went. We were greeted at the door by Cai Shen the Chinese God of Prosperity. He seemed like a decent fellow.
Plus he was giving out those red packets to kids. Turns out they had $5 bucks in them!! If I’d have known that, I would have sent the Muppet back through the line a couple more times. What? I’d have split the profits with her…
The dinner was lovely and the conversation was pretty good. Our table was a bit of a mix of Cantonese, Mandarin, Malaysian and English speakers. But with smiles and pointing we all got plenty to eat. I mentioned 10 freaking courses right?
Not only was there inordinate amounts of food available, but there was entertainment too. In keeping with tradition, there was a lion dance. As I am sure you would have all expected. It looked a little something like this:
So the entertainment started really strong. Then there was a lull. And when the lull happened, the DJ decided to take it on himself to fill that lull. That’s when things got pretty surreal. I was in mid conversation with a gentleman about a Bordeaux that he had snuck into the establishment and was pouring into my glass when I stopped mid-sentence. It was probably very rude culturally. But I couldn’t help it. My brain was unable to truly handle the overload that finally took place. There was no solid established reference point for me anymore. I was adrift. It hit me with reckless abandon that I, a Texan, was in Canada at a Chinese New Year dinner, hosted by Malaysians being entertained by Filipino dancers, discussing French wine until the air was filled with the dulcet tones of the Village People singing freaking MACHO MAN.
At that point I kind of curled up in a ball.
I went to my happy place inside my mind. I was brought out of my revere but sudden movement in the corner of my eye. It was the Muppet.
We were 2 1/2 hours into a night where she came to this place knowing absolutely no one her age, and by this time she had a posse of 4 Asian kids of varying ethnicities, following her as she climbed onto the stage and jumped off of it. It must have been fun because suddenly there was a congo line of small children stage diving in front of some 200 horrified Chinese/Malaysian elders, all the while my head is full of “Macho macho man…I’ve got to be, a macho man.”
I curled back up in a ball.
There was more, but let me skip to the end, because reliving parts of this is making me twitch. The last entertainment of the night was a lovely Korean lady singing for us. She began with an Air Supply tune, and ended with a rousing rendition of Dolly Parton’s “I will always love you” while a bunch of older Malaysians got out on the dance floor and attempted to do the Electric Slide.
I swear I can’t make this up. Besides, even if I could, why would I?!
If that’s how the Dragon enters, I can only imagine how this year is gonna go. It’s 2012, the year of Power, Passion and Drive.
So in this auspicious year of the Dragon, may you truly be a Macho Man.
I can hardly believe it. I feel like we broke up or something, but I can’t remember why. Did I do something to offend you? Did you do something to piss me off? Did we just grow apart?
Well, as awkward as this is, I am willing to let bygones be bygones if you are. I won’t even bring up the really long absence. Honestly. But we should catch up with one another. You know, a lot can happen in 3 years.
You go first.
…
…
…
I think I am starting to remember what happened…you just don’t talk.
Ok, fine. I’ll go first, but I expect some quid pro quo at some point. “Quid pro quo. I tell you things, you tell me things.” That’s how it has to be Clarice. (I typed that with a wicked Anthony Hopkins accent by the way)
So. Let’s see. Since we last touched base (though not even first base mind you) I have moved Ferf and the Muppet across the country and settled in what I would call the east and what every one here calls central. It’s the first of many disagreements I have with the locals. But I plan to be here for a while, so I have lots of time to correct all of them about all these type of things. I want to be clear that moving within the same country can have its own level of culture shock. In fact, I almost moved right back west within the first 24 hours of being here! I kid you not. No word of lie, I went out the very first night to get some coffee and donuts to celebrate our arrival…what? Don’t act like Tim Horton’s doesn’t play an integral part in your most heartfelt family celebrations…Anyway, I order the coffees (both double-doubles cause that’s how I rolled back then – though now I am a black man. wait, not a black man as in a man that is black. not that there’s anything wrong with that, but a “black man” meaning I drink my coffee sans sugar and sans cream/milk. I’m hard core. It’s all part of the new me that you’ve been missing for like 3 years. Not that I am mentioning that trial separation we had. We’re all back here on the Maru and that’s what’s important.) Like I was saying, I ordered the coffees and a couple (ok, maybe a dozen) donuts. And I picked them out individually with love and affection. Chocolate dip, boston creme, old fashion plain, regular old donut, and a bunch of others before I loaded up with 3 honey crullers because they are the best donut ever designed and I think were brought to earth by God himself…possibly when he did the whole burning bush thing, but I cannot confirm that. So the lady places each donut into the box as its name is called – almost like a roll call in class. Each little donut raised its metaphorical hand and said “here” as it was lovingly placed into the last place it would ever reside before it was consumed with great affection by myself and Ferf. The box, now full of donuts that were crying out to me in thanks and anticipation of their consumption, was laid on the counter next to my steaming hot double-doubles and the lady rang up the total cost of this celebratory feast. As she told me the reasonable total, I handed her my debit card. You know. A debit card. They are ubiquitous. Interac. Nobody carries money up here because we have debit cards. That and because the money looks like I robbed a monopoly game. (which I should note, was a much funnier joke before the whole US economy tanked and the greenback’s value dropped to the floor like a dress on prom night. Now, the humor is more an allusion to how things used to be than a thinly veiled reference to the higher power of the US economy and the little brother status of Canada). But I digress, the point is I handed this lady my debit card. AS I HAVE DONE AT EVERY TIME HORTON’S WEST OF FREAKING TORONTO. So you can imagine my dismay when she looked at it with a certain level of disdain, then leveled her judgmental stare at me and said, with no small amount of contempt, “we don’t take that.”
I was gobsmacked! I fumbled for words. I looked around trying desperately to solicit support for the absolute absurdity of her and her words. But alas, I was alone. All alone in a strange new world inhabited by awful people who did not have the decency to accept interact and a god forsaken donut shop at 9pm on a Sunday night when all I really wanted was to have a standard “I just moved my whole freakin family across the country and made it safe and sound donut and coffee celebration” same as anyone would.
Confused and discombobulated, if not, fully catastrophied, I awkwardly and sheepishly pulled out my VISA card – because as we all know, it is everywhere you want to be – and handed it over like a child giving back a stolen sucker when they’ve been caught trying to put it in their pocket because they deserve a treat for being so dang good and their mommy all but promised a treat when she told him to be good and then reneged on the verbal agreement when the time came to pay up and she was already in the Stop in Go and getting her a Dr. Pepper anyway so what would a little sucker cost in comparison to that…
ahem, I may have gotten away from myself there for a moment. I apologize and I am back now. Back to giving the VISA card to the horrible horrible woman who pretends to provide a customer service to those of us who just want some hydrogenated oil and sugar. She took my card, looked at it like I was some kind of foreign cretin whose sole purpose in life was to vex her mightily, and tossed it – yes tossed it like you would a play thing – on the counter and said, with the exact same level of warmth and kindness she bestowed on me earlier, “we don’t take that either. Cash or MasterCard. Nothing else.”
Transfixed on her burgeoning mustache and the snarl curling up under it, I simply stood there. Waiting. Hoping. Praying that this was all some kind of cruel joke gone awry. I was waiting for Mr. Kutcher to jump out of the back and tell me I’d been punked. But alas, as the moments ticked awkwardly away, I realized that this was not going to happen. I had indeed crossed over into some Twilight Zone-esque land of cash and mastercard. There was to be a permanent guardian standing between me and my beloved box of 12 handpicked donuts. I tired to offer to pay her Tuesday for a donut today, but there was no budging her. And I am pretty sure it was a wasted cultural reference too. Nobody loves Wimpy anymore.
At this point I was mortified and humiliated and catastrophied. There was no solace for me, no balm in Gilead, no freaking donut in Toronto to be had for a simple VISA or interac transaction. My money was no good here. So, being the bastion of calm that I am, I simply channeled my inner zen master (yes, I have an inner Phil Jackson) and turned to exit the store. My hands full of nothing but shattered hopes. When the lady says to me, “Hey, where you going? What about these donuts and coffees?” To which I responded, quite calmly, “well, I suppose you have more options than I do. I can offer you two perfectly good means of currency in exchange for them. Those are my only options. You one the other hand have at least three options. You can:
make the exchange with me. It’s an economic system widely used in the world today.
give me donuts now, in exchange for a promise from me that I will bring you the cold hard cash you so covet
throw them out so no one gets them since you have taken the off the shelf and put them in a box and the health code prohibits you from putting them back on the shelf making them worthless
So, all things considered, you have more options than me. So, I guess the real question is, “What are you going to do?”
She sneered at me for a moment, I figure mostly because she really didn’t completely follow my vague economic treatise, and then threw the donuts in the trash. Then she tilted her head and sneered at me like a junior high bully. I looked at her and thought about leaving right then. BUT…
(And lets be honest if only for a moment, if I were the kind of guy who just turned and walked away, this would be a pretty boring blog.)
instead, I smiled at her and said, “here’s the thing. I came in here without donuts and I am leaving without donuts. It’s a net zero for me. 10 minutes ago you had a dozen more donuts than you have now, and you have nothing to show for it. Your store has lost inventory, payroll for the time you have spent on this, and the goodwill of myself and all these people in here who just watched you throw away perfectly good product all the while giving a loyal customer a sophomoric sneer that visibly shows the kind of person you are underneath that…ahem…lovely exterior. I’m leaving soon. You on the other hand, now have to smile at the the 5 customers in line behind me and serve them with the best smile you can, all the while knowing that I am standing right here in front of you emailing your boss from my iphone – telling him exactly what happened from my perspective. But don’t worry, I am sure that when you finally have some time to answer to him when he follows up on this, he will be very receptive to you explaining how you would rather trash his product AND his customer good will than you would just be kind to someone who is new to the area and unaware that you are not receptive to 2 of the most accepted forms of currency in this country. You have a lovely evening ma’am.” THEN I walked out.
Suffice it to say that I know have a Tim’s card on my person at all times. But you will also be happy to know that Tim Horton’s have now begun to accept interac out here in the east…central…whatever. I would like to think I played a part in that. And I think you should think that too. Next time you are out here and buying a coffee, you should think of me…and buy me a box of donuts.
So I realize that if I had lots of time and an complete lack of need for income, I could regale you with Muppet stories pretty much every day. So if you love reading this as much as I love living it and sharing it, we can definitely strike some kind of deal. You give me money, I provide you with consistent enjoyment, amusement, hilarity, breaks from your daily grind. Just wanted to throw that out there. Run it up the proverbial flagpole and see if anyone salutes…
Anyone?
Anyone?
Buhler?
Buhler?
Ok, guess not. Well, then fine. Have it for free. But no more bitching about the quality of service on the lido deck then. And we are moving to well drinks in all the bars now. All the fine liquor will be in the captain’s quarters from now on…come to think of it, it always has been. Move along -nothing to see here.
Alright, you know something mush have happened to drag my sorry butt back to the keyboard. So let me get to it. Once a month, I have to be in K-town now to do some work. It’s a good situation, but it does take me away from Ferf and the Muppet for short stints and that part can be trying. The Muppet has been surprisingly nonplussed about it. Ferf has been fairly good about it. I have been accepting all forms of sympathy however and milking it for all it is worth – but that’s just how I roll. With the advent of such wonderful technology like Skype and internet phones I can all but touch my family while I am gone. If I could actually touch my family, or at least Ferf, while I was gone then I am pretty sure that this would quickly become a little too personal a post for most of you to read. That or I would make it a members only site and start making some real money…but I digress.
SO one morning, I got a phone call from Ferf. This is not that unusual, but normally we do our calls in the later afternoon or right before the Muppet goes to bed so we can stick with the whole bedtime ritual and routine. But this day I got a call fairly early in the morning. So I answered it (cause that is the normally accepted response to a ringing phone. In fact, it has become almost Pavlovian these days, which you would think would mean that I should be able to get my dog to answer the phone, but the best I can do is get him to run to the phone and slobber…). Anyways, I picked up the phone and seeing it was a call from m ever-lovin’ wifey, answered it. (cause with caller ID that whole Pavlovian response things is less relevant. In fact, you shouldn’t even bother trying to get your dog to answer the phone. If you could get him to read the screen and tell you who was calling however, that would be a neat trick and could probably score you an appearance on David Letterman’s Stupid Pet Tricks. Unless he was busy destroying his show by sleeping with people who work for him. Maybe he might want to sleep with your dog…you know what. Let’s put this whole dog, phone, David Letterman affair behind us shall we. It leads to dark, awkward places.)
So, lets go back to the beginning. The phone rang, I saw it was Ferf and I answered it. See, that wasn’t so hard was it. There is absolutely no reason to go delving into things like dead Russian psychologists and whether or not David Letterman has a predilection towards bestiality. Why do you people do this!?
SO I answer the phone with out a single thought outside of answering the phone…and Ferf tells me that the Muppet doesn’t think she should go to school that day. Now, understand that this is a HUGE thing. The Muppet likes school. In fact, the Muppet loves school. She’s a role model for goodness sake! She loves the kids, the teachers, the uniforms – she loves it all. So her not wanting to go is well, huge. So she gets on the phone with me. And I ask her how she’s doing the fine morning. (Cause you don’t want to play into anything unwittingly.) She tells me that she is not doing well. I can tell this is going to be a bit of a drawing out process.
Me: Why are you not doing well? Isn’t today a beautiful day?
Muppet: I don’t know if today is beautiful I haven’t seen it yet. And I probably shouldn’t see it.
<Now, to be fair, and in the interest of full disclosure, she did have a bit of a cough – and evidently a tickle in her throat judging by the horrid sound she was making that was more than clearing one’s throat, but less than anything else I could imagine. I realized that at some point it would be my fatherly duty to teach my little princess how to “hock a loogie”. I have come to understand that this is not a practice that girl daddies normally participate in. One doesn’t see a lot of little girls all dressed up in frilly lacy pinky things spitting hocked up snot onto the sidewalk like they might see a teenage boy doing. But even if one is reviled by the concept, one must admit that said teenage boy had to have been taught how to both hock and spit said loogie at some point – either through intentional tutelage or by personal practice from mimicry. However it happened, there was a definite exchange of knowledge, and as I am less inclined to allow others to teach my daughter things “on the playground” I figured that it probably fell to me to cover that particular portion of the life curriculum – mostly because I know for a fact that her mother doesn’t have the knowledge to share with her. I know this because her mother once asked me to teach her how to do it. We were already engaged, so I guess the gloves we off and she figured I had made enough of a commitment that she did not have to fret over whether or not I would call her the next day if she asked me how one does it. Being the good and kind fiancee I was, I acquiesced to her query. We were sitting in Queeny Park in Vancouver – overlooking the entirety of the place, which by the way, is gorgeous. That fact plays little part in the story, but it does help with setting and sometimes context matters. It was late morning, so we had the place pretty much to ourselves. We were sitting on a park bench that was placed with a perfect view of the city, but probably not with loogie hocking practice in mind, but hey, you cannot anticipate everything. So Ferf got the hocking part pretty quickly. (She does have a younger brother and I know for a fact that ScottyBear can bring up quite a loogie, so I assume that she learned the internal portion of the project from mimicking him.) Evidently, though, she never had really “gotten” the concept behind spitting. So there was a gap in her learning that she desired to close. I showed her a couple of times with what were, I must admit at the risk of sounding prideful, beautifully arching blobs of the perfect mixture of saliva and mucus that flew no less than 7-8 feet before impaling themselves on the blades of grass on the lawn before us. I talked at length at the importance of rolling the tongue, the science of creating an airtight seal with your lips until the last moment to achieve maximum velocity, and the art of the perfect trajectory. In fact, it might have been one of my finest off-the-cuff lesson plans. When she finally worked up the courage (and the loogie) to try, she was giddy with anticipation. We were sitting side by side and both looking forward in order that we might together view her first successful attempt so we could do an after action review of her performance. I counted it off for her….three…..two….one….GO!
The sound that emanated from her cheeks, as well as the flakes of spittle on the side of my face gave me instant informational feedback that she had indeed not made an airtight seal like we had spoken of. It was then that I felt the delicate pressure on the top my shoe. That perfect amount of pressure that only comes from a dainty loogie being deposited by gravity onto the top of your foot. I looked at her briefly before looking down to survey the carnage that was my Nike Air. I knew two things instantly. One, the girl before me who would become my ever-lovin’ wife, was not going to “get it” when it came to this activity. And two, she was getting a cold. But I digress…>
So the Muppet had a tickle in her throat that she was unsure how to scratch, but the noises she made suggested that she was not going to scratch that itch before she made anyone around her with a half decent sense of auditory awareness really uncomfortable. Also, she had a bit of a dry cough. Not quite Swine Flu, but evidently annoying enough to her to be worthy of a “I can’t go to school today” intervention.
Me: Muppet, what’s the problem? Are you sick?
Muppet: Oh yes daddy. I am SO sick.
Me: How sick are you?
Muppet: Too sick to go to school!
Me: How sick is that?
Muppet: Well daddy, I have a cough. I couldn’t sleep last night because of the cough.
Me: Baby girl, Daddy went to school lots after not sleeping all night. You can do it.
Muppet: Daddy…<sniffing like tears were beginning to well up in her puppy dog eyes> you don’t understand.
Me: What don’t I understand baby girl?
Muppet: I am exhausted and catastrophied!!!
Me:
Muppet: Daddy, did you hear me!?
Me: Ummmm, yeah. I got you there chief. Exhausted and catastrophied. That sounds bad.
Muppet: Oh it is bad Daddy. So very bad.
So Ferf let her stay home from school. The cough was not very nice and the sounds she was making would have been distracting even to the most dedicated kindergarten student. And through it all, I got a new vocabulary word. One that I am certain we have all felt at one time or another. Catastrophied. Yep, we’ve all been there baby girl…we’ve all been there.
So I picked the Muppet up from Kindergarten today. It’s a fun thing to do when I am able to. She’s always surprised that I am there, and she is always ready to talk about her day: who she sat next to at lunch (which has the possibility for endless drama on an almost daily basis), what she did at school, what she learned, who her favorite teacher is (which never changes, but she wants me to guess every time and seems genuinely amazed at my almost precognitive ability to guess right every time), and other such important details in the life of a 5 year old.
Truth be told (and every now and again it is here on the Maru) I really enjoy the entire verbal process. It’s her inviting me into her world. I know that she might not be so eager to do so later in life, so I relish it now. Today I got some serious scuttlebutt on the goings on in the kindergarten class. There is all kinds of stuff going on there. The Terry Fox run is tomorrow and the kids are raising money for the Terry Fox Foundation. The Muppet decided that she wanted to raise money for Terry Fox like she did last year. She told the kids this. They were not as impressed as she thought they should be – mostly because they are all doing the same thing. SO, being the Muppet, she felt it necessary to remind them that she raised more money than them last year and would do so again this year.
Heh. Funny, cause last year I was working in an office and I could let her go from cubical to cubical soliciting people who would feel occupationally obligated to help her out. This year, I work from home…
But this would not be something that held her back. She told me that we could make calls and get people to give on the internet. Seriously, my child is 5 and has a pretty good understanding of the vehicles best suited for fundraising. I told her that we would make some calls, but she had to do the entire solicitation. SO she had to be prepared to ask people to sponsor her, and then be ready to tell them what she was doing and WHY she was doing it. She seemed to get the picture, so I called a buddy and asked him if she could solicit him for a fundraiser. I explained in great length that he was welcome to say yes or no because the lesson was learning how to ask and how to be grateful no matter the response.
So after the quick run down, I handed the phone to the Muppet. She said hello and then immediately asked if he would like to support her cause. (I winced a bit because first rule of making an ask is to spend some time establishing rapport with the donor…seriously, everyone knows this and the kid blew right by it.) I could hear his side of the conversation and it went like this:
The Muppet: “Hello. Would you like to support my cause?
Her mark: “Well, what’s your cause?”
The Muppet: “We are raising money for Terry Fox.”
Her mark: “How are you doing that?”
The Muppet: “I am calling people and asking them if they want to support my cause.”
Her mark: “How much are you trying to raise?”
The Muppet: “I am letting people decide how much they want to give.”
Her mark: “What does the money go to?”
The Muppet: “The money goes to help little kids in the hospital who have cancer in their bodies, so they don’t have to die like Terry Fox did.”
Her mark: ” <blink> <blink> “uh, okay…how much do you want?”
The Muppet: “However much you want to give so the kids don’t die.”
Her mark: “How’s $50?”
The Muppet: <pulls the phone away from her ear> “Daddy, he’s giving fifty bucks!!” <puts phone back to ear> “Thank you…daddy will get your money.”
Seriously, this happened over and over for about an hour (though the $50 was the high water mark in single gift size). She told the same story time after time. I asked Ferf if she had coached her on wording, and she assured me that she had not, and that the Muppet had come up with that all on her own.
So she’s running in the Terry Fox run. I am pretty sure she will be the highest fund raiser in the class again. But, if you want to give, you can. Click this link to the Terry Fox National School Run. Where it asks for a participant code, type: APSEQT That’s the Muppet’s page. Donate however much you want so the kids don’t die. The Muppet and Terry Fox will both be grateful.
But to get back to the original point of this story – drama in the classroom.
Where were we???? Oh yes, we were on the way home from Kindergarten and the Muppet is sharing her day with me. She sat next to Emma at lunch because her favorite friend was absent. But that’s okay. Her favorite friend was probably sick…or on vacation. And Emma is nice to sit next to because she chews with her mouth closed. And she doesn’t spit when she talks. Both of which are social skills that are evidently not universally practiced in her class. Then, with absolutely no segue, she mentions that Nate doesn’t like it when everyone in the class looks at him when he gets in trouble. I mentioned casually that maybe he should stop getting into trouble if the looks of others bother him so much. The Muppet seemed to be underwhelmed with my suggestion and gave me a look that I AM CERTAIN she learned from her mother who gives me the same look when she is underwhelmed with suggestions I make. She paused dramatically to give the look and continued on with her story about Nate and his distaste for groups of people looking at him when he gets in trouble. Wanting to be an active listener, I asked what kind of things he did to get in trouble and thereby garner the looks. The Muppet told me that he is usually just silly or does inappropriate things.
Now, to be fair, the Muppet has a vocabulary that is kind of outside the norm for 5 year olds (at least this is what I have been told by others. Personally, I think she has an appropriate vocabulary for a 5 year old, but then she is the only 5 year old I have ever had and thus she is judged against herself in my world – thereby ensuring that she is constantly normal). So when she says that someone does something “inappropriate” I (a) know that she is aware of the meaning of the word and (b) ask a follow up question that you would expect me to: “What kind of inappropriate things does he do?”
Again, I am honestly expecting her to reply with something fairly benign like “forgets to wash his hands before eating” or “cuts in line at the water fountain.” Inappropriate to be sure, but hardly earth shattering. So, when I asked the question it was almost a throw away line. I am driving, she is in the back seat and I simply want her to know that I am listening and engaged with her. So you can understand that I almost drove off the road when she said, “Like when he’s inappropriate with others in the cloak room.”
<blink>
<blink>
<blink>
<remember to breathe>
<stop the trembling in your hands>
<release the death grip on the steering wheel>
<calm your voice before you speak and sound relaxed>
“What do you mean baby girl? What kind of inappropriate things does he do with others in the cloak room?”
<blink>
<blink>
<blink>
<check the clock>
<what’s taking so long to answer?>
<don’t sound pushy>
<don’t panic>
“ahem…Muppet? Did you hear my question?”
“What daddy?”
“I said, ‘What kind of inappropriate things does he do with others in the cloak room?’”
“oh…he talks. You aren’t supposed to talk in the cloak room – it’s inappropriate. He does, and so he gets in trouble, and then everyone looks at him. He doesn’t like that.”
<as feeling returns to my extremities and thoughts of justifiable homicide recede from my consciousness and my heart rate returns to normal>
“yes…I can see that. Wanna listen to the radio for a bit?”
Seriously, we’re like 3 weeks in…I don’t know if my heart can make it through a whole year of this kindergarten drama…And poor Nate has no idea how close to death he came today – somebody was gonna get hurt real bad!
note to self – teach the Muppet another word for “inappropriate”…one that doesn’t illicit such strong emotional responses from little girl’s fathers.
Yes, it has been a long time. Officially this is the longest I have gone without a post of some sort since I started this voyage back in 2006. My bad. It’s summer and things have been hectic. Remember that Ferf broke her foot? She milked that for a full 2 months in a big boot and “couldn’t really walk” and I was doing WAY more than normal around the house – which is saying something cause, let me tell you, on any given day I do A LOT. Seriously, Ferf married well!! But I was doing way more than the way more than normal I do, and bottom line – I (a) didn’t have time (b) was too dang tired or (c) couldn’t come up with an amusing was of telling any stories for a bit. Oh, and add to that the fact that I had been working more than ever on Ferf’s website and running the business side of her occupation and well, one can only do so much. At least I can only do so much. A dear friend of mine recently said to me, “turns out I have a ceiling.” Evidently I too have one, and unfortunately, the Maru was on the other side of it for a bit. But two things have me encouraged – first, I am back on the Maru. Second, I may have a ceiling, but at least it ain’t glass!! (though that would be so cool during a thunderstorm – but probably not so much during a hurricane)
Anyways, this summer was back to nature here on the Maru. We, as a family, spent a good deal of time outside and got back to the whole natural eating thing we had slipped away from for a bit. To that end – we did some serious canning and freezing. So if Y2K ever shows up again, I suppose we’ll be ready. But don’t you come knocking on my door simply because you didn’t prepare like I did. I don’t have enough for everyone – but my neighbor down the street does still have a chemical toilet left over from 1999, and he’d prolly let you use that if you came by and needed it.
So, one of the things that Ferf wanted to do this summer was to get some fruit – lots of fruit. She wanted blueberries, a whole lot of blueberries. The upside of living where we do in Canada is that fruit grows here like mushrooms in sheeit. It is everywhere and it is wonderfully sweet and juicy and yummy. For those of you who were not blessed with knowing me as a young child (and believe me that would truly have been a blessing to you) you would not know how strange it is for me to have written a sentence like that last one – no, not the you would have been blessed to know me as a kid one…the one before that about fruit and it being described with terms like yummy goodness. As a child I was NOT a fruit fan. I would eat apples (red delicious only) and occasionally grapes (especially green seedless ones frozen in the freezer). That was about it. I simply did not like the flavor or the texture of such things. I figured that if eating a piece of fruit caused the freaking fall of man, then I was better served to stay away from such things. Imagine how much better off we’d all be if Adam hadn’t liked fruit.
Genesis 3
The Fall of Man
Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?”
The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, 3 but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’ ”
“You will not surely die,” the serpent said to the woman. 5 “For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”
When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her.
But Adam was not a fan of fruit and said to his wife, “No thank you.” His wife said to Him, “But I have taken of it and eaten and did not die.” Adam cocked his head to the side and said to her, “Look woman, this has nothing to do with the rightness or wrongness of eating a piece of freaking fruit. You wanna listen to a dang snake, you go right ahead. But I don’t like fruit all that much, so back up off me woman.”
Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the LORD God as he was walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and she hid from the LORD God among the trees of the garden. But the LORD God called to the man, “Where are you?”
He answered, “I’m over here, watching my wife try to hide from you in a berry patch. I told her the thorns would hurt, but she dove right in. It’s crazy! She said she had to hide cause she’s nekkid”
And he said, “Who told you that you were naked? Have you eaten from the tree that I commanded you not to eat from?”
The man said, “The woman you put here with me—she ate some.”
Then the LORD God said to the woman, “What is this you have done?”
The woman said, “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.”
Then Adam said, “honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into this one Lord. She’s hanging out with snakes, eating bad fruit. The whole thing is sketchy to me.”
And the Lord, wiped serpents, Eve and fruit off the face of his creation and replaced them with dogs that could speak, beer and women that were totally hot and utterly compliant.”
But that is not how it went down, and here we are today. But that is not really the point of this post, I was simply letting you know that I used to loathe fruit and now, I really like it. No, the point of this post is the berry picking portion of the story, which I haven’t even been able to get to yet, cause that saucy tart Eve screwed stuff up so long ago. We’re still paying the price for her…<sigh>
Anyway, back to the story…let’s see, fruit, yummy goodness, oh yes, I remember! Ferf wanted fruit. We have an abundance of “you pick it” fruit farms around us here in the valley. She thought we might go pick some fruit. Blueberries to be exact – cause it was blueberry season and she wanted like A LOT of them. I am into this a bit, but still leery that I will be doing the majority of the picking because the Muppet will enjoy it for about 10 mins before she gets utterly bored and Ferf has the broken foot…SO, I ask the ever-lovin’ wifey how many berries she is thinking about obtaining. She tells me, “no more than a hundred pounds.” Oh, good. Nice to have an upper limit. 100 FREAKING POUNDS OF FRUIT!? Are you kidding me?? And you want to PICK IT? BY HAND??? “Well,” she tells me, “it would be cheaper.”
Admittedly, that does tend to get me attention. “How much cheaper?” I ask. “I can call and ask,” she replies. (don’t you love the witty banter we have in our home. We’re like the Gilmore Girls, only we’re not named Gilmore, and we’re not mother and daughter, and we’re not both female, and..you know what – turns out we’re nothing like the Gilmore Girls…just ignore that whole train of thought.) SO she calls. Turns out that to have them picked is $0.10/pound more than you picking them. Hmmm…so if we got 100 pounds, that would be a $10 difference in total price…It would probably take me 2 days to pick that many berries doing 8 hour days, so my time would in fact be worth…<add the two, sum up, carry the naught, divide by the sum of the parts> $0.62/hour.
So we called and ordered 100 pounds of already picked berries. WooHoo!! The next day I got to the berry farm to pick up said berries. I go to the counter and give them my name and they go to get the berries. As I am standing there, I figure I’d give something a shot…So I ask the girl, “Since I am buying so much at once – I assume I get a bluk discount, right?” She looks a little bewilderd, but says, ” I can give you $0.10 off per pound.”
