I wish I had a photo of that day.  I wish I could see my brothers and I leaping into the air in the midst of a balloon downpour, grabbing handfuls of those apostolic balloons, while, in the background,  the Baptist congregants watched their missionary dreams stolen by the pastor’s kids across the street.  I’ve often wanted to apologize to those Baptists.  I’ve often thought Heaven would feel like that day.  Like you’re eight years old and suddenly a cloud burst of helium balloons lands on your front yard.

I also stated in the original 119 post, I think that with all this talk of greatest performer ever we should all just admit that Victor Borge was the greatest performing artist of the last century.  A couple of the many examples:

A couple nights later it was my turn again to put James and him to bed.  I sat on the bottom bunk with Caden, and James asked me to tell them a story.  “Do you guys know the story of Rumplestiltskin?”  I asked.  They didn’t so I began telling it to them–and quickly realized it had been so long since I’d heard it that I barely had a grasp of the basics of the story.  I remembered the young woman somehow getting herself locked in a room in the castle with hay and told she had to spin it to gold but I had forgotten that she was there because of some rash bragging her father had done to the king.  I also remembered that she had been rewarded by marrying into the royal family but I couldn’t remember exactly how that had worked out.  I definitely hadn’t remembered that she had to marry the greedy king who had threatened her life if she wasn’t able to perform the miraculous spinning.  So in my version she got to marry the good prince and the king soon died after they were married.  I did remember the terms of the deal between her and Rumplestiltskin so once I got the king out of the way I started feeling comfortable with the story and settled in, embellishing the tale with knights and the quest to find the name.   As I neared the end of the tale I remembered that R. had been betrayed by singing about his name within earshot of one of the queen’s messengers.  I had absolutely no idea what the words to the song were but by that point I’d already committed to telling them what he’d sang.  Here are the actual words:

to-day I bake, to-morrow brew,/the next I’ll have the young Queen’s child./Ha, glad am I that no one knew/that Rumplestiltskin I am styled.

Here is what came out of my mouth:

oh no one knows/that I am Rumplestiltskin/and if they asked/…I surely… wouldn’t tell them…

Both boys had been into the story up to this point but at the conclusion of that little ditty the air went out of the room.  James frowned and looked away, Caden stuck his thumb in his mouth and laid down.  I quickly finished up the tale and said goodnight.  Caden sat up and said “Dad, can you take that book out of the room?  Over there.” He pointed at their bookshelf.  I looked at the roughly sixty books on the shelves and said “Which one?”  He got out of bed and pulled There’s a Nightmare in My Closet from where he’d hidden it underneath some other books.  “Sure,” I said.  “Did this book scare you?”  He nodded quietly.  “This book has been very bad.  Do you think we should punish it?”  He nodded again smiling.  So he spanked the library book.   Hard.  He  didn’t get up once for the rest of the night.

A few evenings ago Thatcher laid out his personal version of advanced interrogation techniques.  If Caden doesn’t like something we’re having for dinner he tends to sing about it.  A typical song will go something like this, “I don’t like corn/I don’t like cooorn/I don’t like corn” repeated with gusto until one of his brothers tells him  to be quiet at which point he’ll whisper sing for another ten minutes “I don’t like coooorn…/I don’t like cooooorn…/I don’t like cooooorn…”  James reached the breaking point and said “Stop it, Caden!  You’re torturing me!”

Thatcher quickly interjected, “No, James, two–no three things would be torture.  One, Attila the Hun and some guys pull on your limbs.  Two, sticking your head in a bee hive for one day while they sting your face.  Three, smelling a cabbage for an hour.”

Story at the Chicago Tribune.

And then there’s this from Discovery News:

Go West Young Man – Michael W. Smith

“That’s a great card, son, but it’s probably not a good idea to give it to your teacher,” I told him.  Searching for a quick explanation I said “Kids probably shouldn’t be discussing a teacher’s love of grown-up drinks with them.”

He nodded and left the living room for the kitchen where Jamie was.  “Look what I made you, Mom.” I heard him say.

I waste so much time staring off into space wondering what I would do if I found myself alone in the world.  It’s not healthy, I don’t know why or when it started, but I do it a lot.  Naturally I have a lot of questions about my ability to survive in just such a scenario.  And by “survive” I mean maintain electricity to the house I live in to power my amazing tv looted from a store so that I can play video games and watch every movie ever made.  I also need to have a working freezer so I can live off frozen spinach and artichoke dip.

Now that the last, lofty goals of humanity have been established, these are just a few of the questions I need Life After People to answer.

1.  Will the nuclear waste materials from power plants, missiles, dump sites, etc., escape and contaminate life on earth?  If so, how soon?  Will such contamination kill me or grant me superpowers?  If superpowers, I would prefer time travel.  It would be easier to go back in time to get more dip than to constantly widen my looting circle.

2.  Should I evacuate the Tennessee Valley?  There are a lot of dams around here.  Will they break, how long until they do?  If they do will I need a houseboat?  If the water and nuclear materials combine will I mutate into the Mariner like Kevin Costner in Waterworld?  Breathing underwater would be pretty cool, drinking my own urine, hm…I don’t know, could be something new to do in a world post watching every movie ever made.

3.  Will I still have the internet?  I’d hate to have to give up on this blog.

4.  Astute reader Eric pointed out my glasses may break.  This is true, because if everyone disappeared except me I am obviously in The Twilight Zone.  I don’t wear glasses now, but I probably will need to after watching every movie ever made.  If that is the case, can I perform LASIK surgery on myself to avoid breaking my glasses?

5.  The cows in the pasture behind my house, how long until they break out?  Will they still like people?  Hamburger, that’s, what, a piece of them and you put that on the grill?  Is that just any piece?  Anything else you’re supposed to do?

These are the questions the show should be answering.  I want to know how would I, specifically, survive a life after people.

This is a later one, but such a good video:

A.  Robert Ashley is a guy whose work I admire.  He brings a quick wit and thoughtful consideration to his writing and projects. Even though only two episodes of A Life Well Wasted have been posted, it’s already become one of my favorite podcasts and I feel completely comfortable vouching for its quality.  It’s also been nice hearing him on Shawn Elliott’s new podcast Out of the Game.  While not as enjoyable as the old GFW Radio podcast (and, man, that was enjoyable) it’s still nice to listen in to those two guys with former GFW host Jeff Green, along with Luke Smith and N’Gai Croal.  In addition to those treats, his band I Come to Shanghai is about to release its first album, which will be available for free or donation.  As a fan of Ashley I will have no problem putting some money down to support him.  The two tracks available now definitely have me interested in hearing more.  Let’s just hope the Pink Floyd taco is not the actual artwork for the album.

Your Lazy Eye

Pass the Time

B.  B is for Baseball.  Huzzah!  I hope this season proves to be the beginning of a resurgent Royals team.

C.  I am not the best TV viewer.  I tend to quit on shows way too quickly.  Eventually I’ll rectify my abandonment of Lost after Mr. Echo died.  Right now I’m catching up on the last two seasons of Friday Night Lights.  Jamie and I loved the first season but shied away after the first episode of season two.   I just couldn’t hack the plot thread of Landry murdering Tyra’s attacker, but I’m back now and couldn’t be happier.  Clear eyes, full hearts.  Can’t lose.

D.  The Art of Making Do is finally back with some great posts.  Jamie is easily one of my favorite writers, and she’s incredibly easy on the eyes too.

E.  Last, and most importantly, I had the great privilege of serving as a groomsman in my friend’s wedding this past weekend.  What an honor, and what a testament to the bonds of friendship.  My sincerest congratulations to Jared and Inger, and my deepest hope and well wishes for their future.   Best of luck, guys.  I’m looking forward to your next visit to Cleveland.

That’s it for now.  Hopefully I’ll be getting back to a more regular posting schedule soon.

For those of you who do not already listen to Radiolab I highly recommend the latest episode, In Silence.  Putting aside their usual themes of science and discovery for Holy Week, this episode is a sermon co-host Robert Krulwich delivered to a synagogue, exploring a story in the Bible where the big question wasn’t asked.  It’s a masterful sermon that movingly addresses the constant grappling of humanity with hope and dismay regarding reason and faith–essentially our need to ask “Why?” and how we deal when no answer is given.

As someone who often struggles with faith and doubt this episode was a poignant reminder that we all question why.  Those of us who still find ourselves with the capacity to believe can only hope that there is a good reason for what we go through, that St. Paul was right when he wrote “…we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us…”

Here’s the deal, I love my kids, immensely and immeasurably.  I would die for them without hesitation.  I routinely have dreams where my kids are threatened by lions.  I know the only hope for my kids is to offer myself as a sacrifice to the lions.  I have punched more lions and yelled “Run to your mom!  Don’t just stand there, run!” than is psychologically healthy.  I would do anything for my kids.  But, I have a low tolerance for the tom-foolery that kids specialize in, a tolerance that runs out after about four hours.  When Jamie drove off we did not know when she would be coming back.  Here’s a snapshot of some stuff that went down.

Thatcher

The most responsible.  The first night I pulled him aside and said, “I’m not sure when your mom is coming back.  I’m going to need your help.  Help me keep an eye on things, if there’s anything that needs to be done that I’m missing let me know.  If your brothers are doing something that will result in one of them crying, let me know.  Can you do that for me?”  He said “yes.”  I had no doubt in his answer.  And, of course, he’s been great.  Addie’s found a pair of scissors?  Thatcher let’s me know the millisecond Addie goes “Whoa!” and grabs them.  Caden’s still awake at 10:00pm and playing with LEGOs?  Thatcher warns him a couple times and then comes and gets me.  But Thatcher is also one of the more exuberant of our children.  Thatcher constantly, blissfully, obliviously, runs everything through a filter in his mind that outputs how, precisely, every situation can go that will look the coolest.  When things don’t happen that way he gets upset.  A light-saber battle with his brothers and neighborhood kids in the backyard exists solely for him to stage an extravagant, well-coordinated play that results in him as the last Jedi standing.  When not one child follows his mental script he breaks down a little.  As a parent it’s hard to balance my desire to encourage his creativity, my awareness of fairness for everyone else playing with him, and my personal wish to train and spare him from as much eye-rolling embarrassment as I can.  This evening was the first time I opted for the third priority over all others.  While we were driving home he thought it would be cool (cool, mind you, not funny) to roll down his window and hang out as far as his seatbelt would allow him while playing air guitar and lip-syncing to a song while we slowly drove though our neighborhood.  Feeling exhausted, and unable to come up with anything productive to say, I whispered “Thatcher.  Not in public.”

James

Perhaps our most naturally “winning” child, James is a good soul but needs steady guidance.  A great student, James is already two grades ahead on his reading level, but his prowess causes him to grow bored with his nightly “read a chapter aloud to your family” assignment.  This causes him to begin reading in an operatic falsetto.  It can be pretty funny, unless I’m wrangling scissors away from Addie while Caden goes into an impromptu “Naked Boy!” routine.  Unfortunately his reading skill has not transferred to his penmanship and spelling.  While going through his backpack I came across a note from a girl in his class named Layla.  Layla calls James daily.  In this note Layla, in wonderful handwriting and perfect spelling, wrote “Hope you had a good Valentine’s Day.  And do you like me?”  James had responded in letters half-a-page big, that defied the existence of straight lines, with all his e’s written as 3′s, “Y3s, as a fird. Thaks!”

Caden

Friends of ours will recall that Caden, at age 1, began speaking an octave lower than James Earl Jones.  Once Adlai was born he would sometimes revert to an impossibly high baby-talk.  He still does this.  It’s been great dropping the boys off at school and spending time with him and Addie during the days.  Tonight was our first rough patch.  As I was getting the boys ready for bed James informed me that Caden had stolen a toy from our next-door neighbor.  It was not a good thing to tell me on our third night together.  Caden and I are on a two-day standoff about his refusal to pick up a puzzle he had been working on in the living room.  He insisted that Addie was the last one to play with the puzzle (meaning Addie stood on the puzzle while Caden screamed at him to get off) and he should be the one to pick it up.  I know that Addie is not at a level to understand cleaning right now, not without some serious bribery.  I had told Caden that he would eventually understand that it was his responsibility to clean the puzzle and I was willing to wait.  Couple that situation with a big time confrontation on our way home from Wal-Mart today about a rubber band he had given Addie in the store but was demanding back while they sat next to each other in the car, and the knowledge of his theft did not go well.  ”Did you steal this?” I asked.  Caden looked at me for a minute, reading my mood, then pulled his voice up to an impossibly high decibel and said “I don’t know.”  That’s all I’m going to say about that.

Adlai

I’m tired.  Here’s what I’ll say about Addie.  Today I received the second part of my birthday gift from my parents.  It was a Whirley-Pop Popcorn Popper.  The boys and I were pretty psyched.  Addie, so much so, that when I put the giant bowl of popcorn on the living room floor for us to share, he immediately and repeatedly began shoving his hands into the large bowl and triumphantly raising fists full of popcorn up to the ceiling while yelling “Whoa!” as crumbs rained down from above his head onto the rug.  That’s him, always.  Unbridled, innocent joy always leaving a large mess behind to clean.  And tears.  And, sometimes, laughter.

Jamie called Thursday and said she’d be home Friday.  Her grandmother is stable and doing a little better.  I announced this news to the boys during dinner and we immediately and simultaneously broke into a chorus of yay’s.

What a chore, converting everything to mp3, editing ID3 tags, listening to multiple folders containing files simply labeled Track 01 through Track 10 (or in the case of Teenage Fanclub’s Four Thousand Seven Hundred and Sixty-Six Seconds: A Shortcut to Teenage Fanclub, Track 01 through Track 21).   So many instances of me squinting at the screen asking myself “What is this?”  But it’s been fantastic to get reacquainted with some gems I haven’t listened to in a few years, songs I never transferred over to my old Dell laptop or the MacBook.  It’s Rufus Wainwright’s “Oh What A World”, and, geez, I forgot how much I loved Pedro the Lion’s It’s Hard To Find A Friend, an album I purchased on both vinyl and CD.  And, man, Appleseed Cast’s Low Level Owl, Vol. 1 still sounds amazing.  It’s nice to already be feeling nostalgic about the Aughts.  I recall the Never Ending Internet Mixtape’s 23rd mix from March ’08, Space…Yes.  But Not Time.  No., with the description on the cover “This is the kind of music that your future kids will sift out of your dusty MP3 bin to impress their friends with.”

It takes me back, too, to when Gmail was still new and we were still enamored with the idea of “conversations.”  Back then we used to start up a thread wherein we’d hit shuffle in our media players and list the first ten songs that came up.  It was an enjoyable time-killer, and I’m going to do it again while I have all these songs in my iTunes before I back them up.  Watch all ten be from 2009.  If you feel so moved, leave your list in the comments.  In the meanwhile, here’s that Rufus song.

oh what a world – rufus wainwright

1. walking on a dream – empire of the sun
2. knee deep at the npl – camera obscura
3. do you remember the first time? – pulp
4. living on the outside of your skin – cloud cult
5. zero – yeah yeah yeahs
6. to go home – m. ward
7. mirador – efterklang
8. since k got over me – the clientele
9. act of the apostle – belle and sebastian
10. bitter, once again – luxury

I couldn’t have asked for a better closer.

But instead I did this.  I’m chuckling to myself right now because I’d intended this post to be mildly celebratory and now I’m just staring at the screen going “ooohhh….whoops.”  Yay 100!