I remember the first time as a kid that I was allowed to stay up until midnight for New Year’s Eve. My family watched the ball drop in Times Square on the tube (although this TV probably didn’t have tubes, I don’t know).
I remember being so excited, thinking, “Wow, that’s a really big disco ball! And it’s dropping down to the ground while there’s a countdown! Everyone’s shouting and counting in excitement and anticipation! The ball is getting closer. I know what this means… obviously, that ball is going to explode! Oh yeah, it’s gonna blow up with lights, confetti, and sparkles when the clock hits midnight! This is so awesome!”
I was like, “Wait, what? That’s it? How anticlimactic (yes, I’m pretty sure that’s what I thought even at such a young, prepubescent age)!” Nothing happened. Not even a wet noodle of a toot. The ball just drops and then goes back up I guess. It was then that I realized the world is full of disappointments. Vanity of vanities.
I also thought, “I stayed up for this? What a rip off! I’m tired and grumpy. What’s wrong with adults? They think this stuff is fun? Why would they keep themselves awake just to watch some lame ball slowly descend while waiting for the clock to change numbers? It’s all rather ambiguous, actually, the whole new year thing. You know what’s fun? A piñata. They should make that ball a piñata and fill it with candy and prizes. Now that would be a New Year’s to celebrate!”
So yeah, I hope everyone has an awesome end of the year into the new of the year these next couple of weeks. Whatever that means.
Without any effort whatsoever to conduct any research
The world can be a confusing place. I’m perplexed on nearly a daily basis. In no particular order, here are some things that just don’t make any sense to me:
Before there was the Internet. Before virtual trolls. Before there was social media and tweets and the comment section. There was the highway. Road rage like digital rage takes place in this weird space of social limbo where offenders are protected by the anonymity of their vehicle or their computer. People act like absolute idiots toward their fellow humans when behind a wheel—yelling, gesturing, throwing a total toddler tantrum. And why? Seriously, would you act that way if the person was face-to-face? If yes, then surprise: you have no friends. And what does it even matter? None of your cursing or obscenity makes one bit of difference to the other driver. It just makes the roadways a more dangerous and annoying place. So please stop it.
And on that note: what is up with glitter? It is by far one of my least favorite things. A bane to torment my soul. It gets everywhere and it never goes away. In your eyes, ears, and esophagus. In just all the orifices. ALL of them. It’s these tiny fragments of sparkly synthetic carcinogen specks. Plastic dust that gives you respiratory issues, itchy eyes, and early onset madness. Just the worse.
Why are they called unicorns; shouldn’t they be called unihorns? It’s not like they have a stalk of corn on their heads. If you ate the magical horn would it taste like corn? If unicorns fart rainbows and poop rainbow sherbet, then does that mean that their horns make rainbow kettle corn? I wonder what unicorn meat tastes like. Now I’m hungry.
Seriously, what’s the point? Hey, here’s an idea. You know how cardboard is really great for packing things and holding them together. Well, what if we had a tube of green cardboard and called it a vegetable and told people to eat it because it’s maybe healthy or something like that? Wouldn’t that be a hilarious prank? Plus, it can be really stringy like the packing tape so it gets impossibly stuck in between your teeth until your next dentist appointment. Celery basically tastes like dry sarcasm because that’s what it is. You know a vegetable is bad when they just give it away for free as a garnish on plates. Celery definitely wasn’t in the Garden of Eden. It was a part of the thorns and thistles that came with the Fall.
What weird wonders of our world leave you wondering?
Disclaimer: Some readers may find today’s post slightly insensitive and/or politically incorrect. Please consult your doctor before reading if you are pregnant, nursing, take heart medication, or in general just have a weak countenance.
When I was in high school, my youth group occasionally served with a convalescent ministry. Basically, we would visit assisted living facilities and meet with the residents. We might sing songs or help serve lunch or something, but mostly, we were there to bring the warmth and kindness of genuine human interaction to those that many in society are comfortable to ignore because they’re kept away in forgotten places.
Believe it or not, these visits were always events of hijinks and hilarity; mischief and mayhem; shenanigans and silliness. Something interesting was always bound to happen.
On one such particular occasion, a friend and I were walking down one of the hallways to find someone to visit with when we heard a call from one of the rooms. A crispy voice implored us to come inside. We turned and looked inside a room with the door wide open to find a petite, elderly woman sitting in a chair. She reached out one feeble hand and with one wrinkled index finger curling in and out, she beckoned us to come inside.
As she was summoning us, she said with a soft, crackled tone, “Come here young man. Come closer. Closer.”
We obeyed. “Yes ma’am, how are you today? Can we help you with anything?”
With sharp, piercing eyes and firm, raspy voice, “Do either of you boys have a pocketknife to cut me out of this chair? I gotta use the bathroom.”
It was then that we realized that she was harnessed into the chair with straps across her lap and torso. I stuttered a reply, “Umm, no ma’am, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a pocketknife. Would you like me to go get a nurse to help…?”
“No!” she exclaimed, quickly cutting me off. “No, no, no. No need for that. Just come here closer. Closer. See if you can loosen these straps for me.”
I cannot justly describe this scenario in words. But the combination of her calculated mannerisms, her menacing tone, and her unblinking stare of death had us terrified. The entire time she smacked her lips as if she was about to savor more than just the sweet taste of freedom from her shackles. Was this a Hansel and Gretel situation? Which was I—Hansel or Gretel?
I can still hear those smacking lips. In my nightmares.
As we spoke, we inched our way methodically backwards. “Sorry ma’am. I think we should get some help…” As soon as we were out of the doorway, we sped down the corridor to find a staff person. When we recounted our encounter with a nurse she coolly stated, “Oh yes, her, don’t worry about her. She’s always trying to escape.”
As odd and as frightening as this incident was, I’ve also found myself inspired by this woman who’s name I never caught. She lived in the moment. She lived with purpose and intention. She had a plan and goal. Many of us are content to live in our self-made prisons and self-locked chains. We’re okay to just let life happen to us and never take charge. We let circumstances define us, sitting in the cuckoo’s nest and never taking a chance to fly. We’re spoon-fed the soylent green of the media. We’re too consumed by our past and too preoccupied with our future that we never truly live in the present. Be thankful for your life. Be thankful for today and the time you have on this cherished earth.
As this elderly woman’s words have lingered over—haunted me—I am motivated to strive to live everyday full and free. Also, if I ever need to live in a nursing home, I’ll be sure to stow away a pocketknife just in case.
“All good things are wild and free.” – Henry David Thoreau
When you first opened your eyes, The moment before I blinked With vista full of tears, I thought I saw The galaxy swirling. That a universe so incomprehensibly vast Could be confined to such small vessels.
As hopes and
All shot by at over eleven million miles per minute.
As you became,
I became something new under sun and moon.
More than dreams imagined.
Wishes turned truth.
With a soft cry pushed into being by tiny lungs.
I thought I saw the galaxy be born.
I believe I heard the voice of God.
Safety First: wear your helmet, buckle your seat-belt, tie your shoelaces, and always use a drink coaster before putting a beverage down on mommy’s nice end-table.
Learn to listen before speaking. You have two ears and one mouth which means you need to listen twice as much—especially to me, listen to me. Plus, people will just assume you’re smarter if you stay the strong, stoic type.
Inactivity kills. Get moving. But always use the potty before going on a long trip.
Wash your hands you filthy animal. Ain’t nobody got time to be sick.
Always do the right thing—which is usually the harder thing—and never assume that someone else will do it. Just be the one who does it.
Drink Dunkin’, not Starbucks.
Try not to care too much about what other people think. People are dumb. Except me and your mother. And your grandparents and maybe some of your other relatives. Also, probably the pastor. I guess there’s a handful of people that aren’t total nincompoops, but still.
Write down your goals and plans to accomplish them. Write down thoughts, inspirations, prayers, and checklists. When writing a list for the Internet, be sure to try and include an even 10 things like the “Top Ten List of Top Ten Lists.”
When you grow up and leave home, please remember to call your mother. You don’t have to call me.
Start and end each day with gratitude.
“Hear, my son, your father’s instruction, and forsake not your mother’s teaching, for they are a graceful garland for your head and pendants for your neck.” (Proverbs 1:8-9)
We have this little, wooden Noah’s Ark shape sorter—a toy set with pairs of animals that match slots in the ark so your little one can put the animals inside. (God’s judgment poured out on the entire earth always seemed like an odd choice for nursery paintings and children toys… but I guess it is a convenient way to teach animal names?)
The other day, our two-year-old (or two-and-a-half, thank you very much) was playing with this wooden ark toy. What transpired was equal parts hilarious and horrifying. A sight to behold; a just can’t look away at the impending disaster moment.
In her infinite creativity and premature cynicism, our cute, precious, little child was grabbing the various animals out of the ark, one by one, and throwing them out into “the ocean” and commanding the wooden figurines to “Swim you animals! Swim giraffe! Swim zebra! Swim lion! Swim!” The only thing missing was a maniacal cackle.
I guess these animals had been found wanting, and now they would feel the full measure of wrath of 26 pounds of pure, unbridled princess rage. The day of reckoning had come.
I’m really not sure what lesson to take from this. Don’t mess with the princess, I guess. You shall rue the day. But everyone already knows that. Also, learn to swim just in case you ever find yourself in an Aqua-Armageddon scenario.
Do you have a terrifying toddler tale? Let me know, and we can commiserate with one another on that true life.
Our niece and nephew recently offered some interesting insight into the miracle of childbirth. As a little context, my wife is currently very pregnant—like within two weeks of delivery pregnant!
The conversation centered around the whole “got a bun in the oven” idiom, which they found rather perplexing. The discussion quickly turned to making toast, I suppose because they were more familiar with cooking bread in a toaster rather than an oven.
However, their toaster doesn’t quite work at the optimal level. The toast doesn’t just pop out when it’s ready. You have to manually push the lever in order to retrieve your warm, crispy wheat square. And sometimes, the lever gets stuck and it’s rather difficult to get the toast out.
At this point, my brother-in-law was able to point out to his children the meaning of this timely metaphor: getting toast out of the broken toaster is just like getting a baby out of the mommy… except without a lever, I guess?
So, when my wife is writhing in pain during the delivery, I’ll just need to remind her not to fret and that it’s just like making toast.
Well, now it’s time to grab some seasonal pumpkin butter and enjoy a slice of processed gluten with high fructose corn syrup.