New Kitty on the Block

Occupants in our home must step softly these days. Great precautions are needed against sudden movements of any kind. Dangling of keys is ill-advised and woe unto him who dares roll a ball or attempt to read the newspaper. You see, our house has been overtaken by a wild animal. A crazy-eyed beast that thinks nothing of pouncing on an unsuspecting hand or scurrying from room-to-room at warp speed. This ferocious entity sleeps most of the day, but once the sun sets and the witching hour begins, it awakens with an appetite for destruction.

Or at least minor mayhem.

We've named her Meiko and she assures you she is as tough a little kitty as there ever was. If you don't believe her, just dangle some string and watch the carnage ensue!

I've chronicled in this blog the sad tale of losing our cat Smores just after Christmas. The loss came suddenly and left a void in our family. April spent the past few months pining for a new cat, and after restraining herself for an impressive amount of time, she finally broke down and brought little Meiko home from the pound last week. I was a little nervous at first. There are only a small number of cats on the planet that don't send my allergies into overdrive. Meiko, however, is among the proud few that I am not allergic to. So a minor crisis in my marriage was avoided. (phew!)

Meiko is nine months old and full of spunk. She has beautiful black and white fur and bright green eyes. I'd love to post a picture of her, but I am extremely and humiliatingly inept with computers. The mere fact that I can post on this blog at all is a tribute to how "idiot proof" it truly is. I have no Earthly idea how to use digital cameras, and I couldn't begin to wonder how people post pictures on blogs. I take solace in the fact that renowned author Robert Fulghum admits a similar ineptness with computers. Being a renowned author, however, Fulghum employs an "assistant" to handle such matters and his website is world-class. My only "assistant" at the moment is Meiko, and each time I hand her my brilliant notes to transcribe, she just sits on top of them and purrs.

So our family is back to a fearsome-foursome once again. We've got April, our shining beacon of light (beautiful, successful, currently pursuing a doctorate degree); Michael, our future Oscar winner (accurately portrays all emotions on cue, just proudly completed his first session of preschool, huge Speedracer fan); our husky dog Kiki (cancer survivor, family guardian angel); Meiko, our new bundle of joy (expert pouncer and weaver of exotic kitty stories); and then there's me (expert diaper changer, video game addict, occasionally horrifies audiences with long-winded lounge acts).

Smores remains ever-present in our hearts and souls. Gone but never forgotten.

I'll leave you today with some sound advice. If you ever find yourself entering the Ward castle, make sure you refrain from dropping on all fours and mimicking a spider with your fingers. The ensuing pouncing could get ugly.

Be good kiddies!

- Dave

Too Sexy for My Bike

I thought I would direct my rant today at a rather curious phenomenon occurring around my house. It appears the streets in my neighborhood have been overtaken by serious bike riders. And I mean SERIOUS! I'm sure most of you would acknowledge that bike riders take to the streets with gusto each spring. Lots of you surely partake in this wonderful pastime.

But the riders around my neighborhood have taken the practice to an entirely new level. You see, riders around here don't just slap on a helmet, jump on the bike and go. Oh no! These people spend what must take at least 30 minutes dressing up like they are ready to cross the finish line at the Tour de France! They slip on obscenely bright yellow spandex shirts covered in logos. They wear matching spandex shorts with equally matching logos. They have special bike-riding socks, shoes and gloves. Some of them shave their leg hair to become more "aerodynamic." All of this for a short jaunt through the neighborhood, mind you!

This practice fascinates me. Why do they go to such lengths to simply ride a bike? Are they living out some long-lost professional biking fantasy? Do they pretend to be Lance Armstrong while they whip past neighbors mowing lawns and cleaning out gutters? Do these same people slip on official Los Angeles Lakers jerseys, complete with top, shorts, warm-up suit, ankle tape, goggles, and arm bands, to shoot baskets in the driveway? Do they don shoulder pads, cleats, helmets and eye-black to play catch with a football in the back yard?

Bike-rider guy, if you're out there, please explain! I'm dying to know!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to throw on my official Dale Earnhardt Jr. racing uniform and drive to the store.

Race on kiddies!

- Dave

I Love Springtime! I Love it! I Love it! I Love it!

These past two days have been absolutely brilliant. The first no-doubt-about-it touch of spring in our little corner of Idaho. Life has replenished before unbelieving eyes yet again. Every year it's the same. Months of gray creep along slowly. Snow falls and unforgiving cold seeps into your bones like a virus. You become accustomed to shivering and watching your breath transform to fog. In fact, these activities pass as entertainment.

Then one glorious day you take a moment to stop shivering and notice that everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, has changed. The world is green again. Leaves announce their triumphant reunion with the wind. Flowers every color of the rainbow stretch toward the sky and the sun wraps you in warm rays like a blanket.

While witnessing nature's grand rebirth, only one response escapes from your stunned and delighted soul ..... "How the @#$$# did that happen!!!"

Yes, kiddies, spring has returned and its time to endure Uncle Dave's annual "I love springtime! I love it! I love it! I love it!" rant. Hey this blog is free so you get what you get. Now pipe down and listen!

These past two days have renewed my lust for living. The thermometer climbed toward 90 degrees, the clouds decided to take a much-needed vacation, and the brilliant blue sky flexed its muscles. This is simply a beautiful time of year. It makes me wish I was a novelist, so I could describe the scene with something a little more eloquent than, "It sure is purdy! Yessiree!"

Alas, I am a poet not. And my prose reek of cheese that be stinky. Anyhoo, it was so purdy yesterday that I jumped in the Green Machine and hightailed it down to the river! The same thing I do every year when the sun comes out.

I don't think I've shared this before, but if I truly had my way, I would live in a VAN down by the RIVER. I haven't decided yet if I would wear uncomfortably tight suits from the 1970's and slam myself into coffee tables, but I would lay my head where the sound of cool running water sings me to sleep. (I'm reading "The Grapes of Wrath" right now, so please excuse the painfully bad imagery I'm using).

Michael was off gallivanting with his Grandparents for the day, so the river and I shared a quiet, peaceful reunion during a lazy spring afternoon. I sat on a log in my favorite spot and watched the current float by with the same sense of awe I've held since my first moments on this Earth. Ducks were flying overhead, and the trees conducted their quiet symphony with the breeze (I'm sorry, I can't help myself!). I wish I could say these were the only sounds present, but there was a disturbingly loud generator humming off in the distance. What can I say, I live in the suburbs.

I sat by the water for several minutes, just appreciating the fact I've been blessed enough to share in this vast and incomprehensible dance we call "life." At times like this, it often occurs to me that humans think we have all the answers. The truth is we'll never crack the surface when it comes to the mystery and power of nature and the divine. When it comes to understanding "life," we're all just guessing and that's perfectly okay.

My next thought was equally profound .... "Why did I wear sandals when I knew I would be walking on a dirt path filled with tiny rocks? Ouch!"

And thus my deep thoughts for the afternoon ended.

Feeling at peace after a long winter, I proceeded to show off my "there are rocks in my sandals" dance to several confused onlookers while making my way back to the Green Machine. I returned home feeling calm, jubilant and filled with one simple thought .. "I love springtime! I love it! I love it! I love it!"

Enjoy the sunshine kiddies!

- Dave

Forward march

One of the best reasons to open those eyes and roll out of bed every day is the very real possibility you will experience something so wild, so unexpected, that you could never have seen it coming. It doesn't happen every day. Let's face it, most days pass without a hint of excitement. There are times you can predict every moment of your day. From the first monotonous stroke of the toothbrush, to the final pull of the covers over your tired, bored body.

But then there are the days that make you stand up and take notice. Days when something happens that makes you gaze anew and shake your head in disbelief. Days like I had yesterday.

My adventure started out routine enough. I was deeply involved in living the dream, chugging along in the Green Machine to Eagle hot-spots like Albertsons grocery store and the post office. I was just returning from a riveting visit to the library when my brush with the bizarre took place.

As I was pulling the Jeep into the garage, I noticed a large contingent of people marching up the street on my left. We live on a fairly busy street, but the traffic usually consists of cars and the occasional golf cart. I've never seen a large group of people marching in the middle of that street before, so this was quite a shock.

When I got out of the Jeep, I noticed a familiar yet strange sound coming from the group. I instantly recognized the sound as bagpipes blasting at full volume. I ventured to the end of the driveway to get a closer look and saw the group was actually a very large number of high school kids. They were all dressed in Medieval attire and chanting something that I couldn't quite decipher. Fully intrigued, I couldn't help myself. I walked up to the group of at least 30 knights and damsels and asked the obvious question.

"What's going on?" I asked, trying my best to act like I see large Medieval parades in front of my house all the time.

"We're doing our Medieval Mustang March," a fair-haired lady of the castle answered. "We do it every year. We're marching to the elementary school."

Well, why didn't you say so? The Medieval Mustang March! Of course! Why didn't I guess?

It appears that Eagle High School's mascot is the Mustangs, and every year students dress up in courtly attire and march through the neighborhood to the elementary school located behind my house.

So there you have it. I was methodically cruise-controlling my way through another day, until a parade of Medieval high school kids marched to bagpipe music in front of my house. How's that for unexpected?

March on kiddies!

- Dave

I know you don't care, but ....

I have a number of updates for you guys. Some nice and tidy endings to several open-ended stories I've addressed in this space previously. So here goes ---

First of all, after many hours of pain and suffering, I finally convinced little Michael to wipe his own nose. That's right. I may have lost several battles along the way, but I came out victorious when the war was over. It's these small victories in life that keep the stay-at-home parent going. How did I do it? What was the brilliant strategy that finally brought glory back to the Union? That's easy. I did it the old fashioned way. I shamed him into it! I relayed several tear-jerking stories about going back to preschool and not being able to blow his nose. How the other kids would look down on him and the teachers would be disappointed. Truthfully, these stories had no effect on the stubborn little guy. What actually sealed the deal was a promise that Mommy would be "so proud" if he wiped his own nose. When he heard this, he immediately dropped his artillery and waved the white flag, despite the fact that he had my troops surrounded and beaten. So Mommy saves the day ... Again!

My second update deals with the previous blog entry about Ernest Hemingway. I've just finished reading "For Whom the Bell Tolls," and, yeah, it's not exactly a barrel of laughs. Unless you find guerrilla warfare with everyone calling each other fascists and violently slaying one another funny. I don't, but that's just me. Apparently I spoke too soon about Mr. Hemingway. His novel "The Sun Also Rises," is a tribute to frivolity and devil-may-care living. It stands as a shining beacon of soul-searching that the "Beat" generation of the 50's would expand upon and take to new heights. It's a lot like a European version of "On the Road," but of course it was written nearly 30 years before Jack Kerouac's masterpiece. I loved it!

Apparently this novel stands out a bit and is not exactly indicative of Hemingway's later work. "For Whom the Bell Tolls" is a brutally honest look at warfare and how futile it can be. The novel features characters giving their lives to "The Republic," even though they have no idea exactly what "The Republic" is. They simply follow orders without any knowledge of the big picture. They justify killing because they are following these orders. It's a tremendous novel. Just a whole lot different than my first impressions of Ole' Ernie.

I'm reading a book of his short stories right now, and his preoccupation with death and dying is quite evident. He also has a somewhat bleak view on life, and the ability for people to achieve true happiness. A tremendous author who challenges you. Just not the fun-loving dude I first envisioned.

So, now that I've got that misconception out of the way, I have one final update for you. It appears my "Star Wars" lounge singer escaped from his cage again. I know, I know. This is never good for anybody. But it really wasn't my fault this time! The Minister at my church, Elizabeth, decided to take a Sabbatical from January until August. She basically said, "Hey I'm taking off for a year, and I want you volunteers to run the entire church while I'm gone." Like an idiot I agreed to help out, and I've been working with guest speakers on a regular basis. Well, our guest speaker for last Sunday had to leave town at the last minute because of a family emergency. Three guesses who ended up speaking on the pulpit Sunday morning. That's right, Mr. "Starrrrrr Waaarrrrssss!!!" was back baby!! Complete with a karaoke machine and a new set of dancing shoes! I did manage to reign him in this time. I think there was only one jig danced and I believe I only shouted "thank ya, thank ya very much!" while making the Richard Nixon peace signs twice. It wasn't a pretty sight, but it was last minute and I don't believe it will happen again. Mr. Lounge singer is back in his cage safe and sound.

I hope this clears everything up kiddies!

- Dave

Goin' down in a blaze of glory

Have you ever heard the expression, "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." Well, I'd like to add my own little contribution. Something like, "If your toddler has a cold and a fever, ain't nobody else happy neither!"

Yeah, that about sums up this past week. Our adorable little Michael contracted a nasty spring cold last Sunday evening. His nose sprung a permanent leak and his eyes turned a lovely shade of red. His voice raised three octaves and his thriving four-year-old vocabulary shrunk to just four words .... "I need a KLEENEX!!!"

I spent the entire week glued to Michael's side wiping his nose and drying his eyes. Oh, and there were plenty of tantrums to endure. Wouldn't want to forget about those! Lovely times all around, I assure you.

His fever lasted nearly three days and his nose insists on running non-stop even as I type this. After four days of continuous wiping, I finally crossed my fingers and initiated a showdown I had been putting off for some time. That's right -- I finally insisted that little Michael wipe his own nose!!

Now, you might be saying to yourself, "Why wouldn't a kid nearly four years old wipe his own nose already?" My answer is that I am a terrible parent, and you are wonderful, and I could never live up to the lofty standards that you in all of your perfect glory have established ... NOW BACK OFF!!!

Okay, I feel better. So the showdown went down just like I imagined it. Michael proceeded to scream and cry for several hours, setting off a rash of 911 calls from the neighbors. Apparently they figured that amount of screaming could only be produced through sheer torture. Michael and I had several exchanges fit for a Hallmark card. Here's a sample:

Michael: "Daddy, I need a kleenex! I need a kleenex! I need a kleenex! I need a kleenex!"

Me: "Michael, get it yourself! Get it yourself! Get it yourself! Get it yourself!"

Can't you just hear the violins playing in the background? All we needed were some six-shooters and a dusty road in front of the old saloon. You can guess how this little showdown ended. That's right, I ended up wiping Michael's nose while simultaneously texting my shrink. It doesn't take long to figure out who wears the pants in this family!!

So that was my week. How was yours?

Keep the tissues handy kiddies!

- Dave