A league of my own

Tonight I went to the Weiser Fiddle Festival. It's official name is The National Old-TIme Fiddlers Contest and Festival in Weiser. I went with an old friend, which is really the best way to go. I guess I should clarify here that many people who attend the Fiddle Festival don't actually go to the contest itself. In a lot of ways, the Festival is an excuse to get a lot of Bluegrass musicians together to jam late into the night in the campgrounds and booth areas that are common to a lot of small-town festivals. That's what my friend and I did. After getting reacquainted and catching up on all the news and reminiscing a bit, we started to jam. It should be noted that while I can play the guitar, my friend (Brent) is an actual guitarist. We had a lot of fun until the gnats drove us away. So, we decided to move to a different location. After moving to a more central locale and playing a few songs, really cool stuff began to happen. Another friend of mine showed up and started to play along, then another, then some of Brent's other friends started showing up and all of a sudden, we were this huge jam session with upright bass, dobro, three guitars, a fiddle (of course) a harmonica, a mandolin and several really good singers. I was truly amazed. What was really amazing is that people started to crowd around and before I knew it there were probably 75 to 100 people who had brought their lawn chairs and were sitting back and really enjoying themselves. Now, I know for certain that they weren't there because I was a phenomenal bluegrass player. On the contrary, I think they stayed in spite of my miscues and utter lack of ability to keep up at times. But mostly they stayed becuse they were genuinely enjoying themselves. There were some really good/great players there so I don't need to say how inadequate I felt during most of the jam session, but there was this one shining moment when Brent asked me to sing a song that Brad and I wrote together that has a Bluegrassy feel to it. "Lenny the Noodler" went over very well with the other musicians there. For one moment, they were listening to a song that I wrote and were really enjoying it. I had some genuine compliments from people I admired a lot musically. There was something that I could offer this amazing group of musicians and it felt pretty good. Even though I was completely out of my league, I had something these musicians admired about me as well. Even for a little while. Many thanks to Brent for still claiming me as a friend after I ruined what were probably pretty good Bluegrass tunes. I owe him lots for other stuff as well, but especially for the experience tonight. Well its late. Bed is calling.

More to follow . . .

Oh the joys of a capitalist society . . .

We bought a new minivan last week. You know, they didn't even have minivans when I was learning to drive and was picturing the dream rod I would have when I finally became old enough to get a real job and drive a real car. So it should come as no surprise that how weird I think it is to see me as a member of the minivan set. Nevertheless, I am going to forego any semblance of pride and masculinity and admit that I don't really mind driving a minivan that much.

Anyhoo, the main crux of my post today centers around the latest trend in car sales these days. It goes by different names: "Nice Price", "No-dicker sticker", etc. but the truth is that dealerships are tired of people who do their research and are better at negotiating really good prices for their cars than the salesmen they hire. So . . . they come up with a marketing idea that they think actually fools us. "We've saved you time and effort by refusing to negotiate the price of your vehicle." They make it sound like they're actually doing us the favor. What a bunch of hooey. Its like the time manufacturers introduced the "new" concentrated dish and laundry soaps and charged us more for it. The difference? the "concentrated" formula has less fillers. Meaning--"we've been watering our product down for years and charging you for it, but since the price of water is going up, we'll just get rid of it and pass the savings on to ourselves. "

We bought a new minivan at a local dealer. (the no-dicker sticker kind) the asking price was 8900. we agreed and paid 1000 down and we were set to make payments of 250 a month. We got into the "sign the stuff" room and somehow got talked into a comprehensive warranty and maintenance plan that ended up costing 4000 more. The confusing thing is that we actually lowered our payments to about 240 a month and lowered the interest rate by like 6 points, but turned our 8900 dollar van into a 1300o dollar what-the-heck-did-we-just-do. As long as I live, I don't think I'll ever get the spine to just buy a freaking car. I was so frustrated that I went home and washed the dishes with our concentrated dish soap.

More to follow . . .

One more day . . .

Its interesting how life can change in a single moment and rearrange perspectives. I don't spend as much time as I should with my kids. I don't appreciate my wife as much as she deserves. I'm not as thankful as I should be for the things I have.

I had an accident on my way to work yesterday. It was on a two-lane US highway with a bad reputation for its hazardous conditions. There are several fatalities per year on this highway for various reasons. The accident was my fault. I simply made some wrong assumptions based on what the driver was doing and rear-ended his vehicle. Mostly we're both fine, although I think he got injured the most. I have a dislocated thumb, a sore chest where I hit the steering wheel, and a really stiff neck. The other driver was already feeling pain in his back and neck by the time the paramedics arrived. I was traveling at about 70 miles per hour when I hit the brakes, so the only real van we have is totalled. As bad as I feel about the entire situation-- Me hitting another vehicle, the other driver getting hurt, me ruining my families main mode of transportation along with the only way for me to get to work, I was able to come home and hug my wife and kids again. I was able to say one more prayer to God for all the blessings I have. I was able to spend another night lying next to my sweet wife and hear her breathing as she slept. And finally, I was able to wake up today and make waffles for my son's birthday (its his seventh, but who's counting) and smell the rain of spring for one more day.


More to follow . . .

Did I mention that I'm not very consistent?

Its obviously been a little while since I posted. I have this problem that only I can relate to: I have great intentions and minimal follow-through. I was thinking the other day about what I could post and nothing came or I ran out of time. There's a great line in a song by the quirk-rock group "They Might Be Giants" that sums it all up nicely: "Now its over I'm dead and I haven't done anything that I want--or I'm still alive and there's nothing I want to do."

My son was sick last Saturday night. I hate when my children are sick. I hate the helpless feeling I have when my son can't move his head without it hurting, or cries because he hurts so badly. I hate the feeling I get when he says " I hurt" and I am powerless to keep him from going through this alone. I stayed up all night with him and held him and gave him more tylenol when his four hours were up. I don't want to assume that I know exactly how it is, but everytime this happens I feel that I become closer to God. As I stayed up with Matthew and rocked him gently, I ached for him. When he cried out in pain I silently prayed that if it were possible, God would let his pain pass to me so he wouldn't have to bear it. When his fever ran high and his pain was greater, I pleaded with him to please take the medicine that would make him better. I know it sounds cheesy, but maybe if you have kids you know what I'm talking about?
I think about God as a loving Father in Heaven. I think about him knowing how much this life hurts at times and how important it is to Him that we go through this life and face those pains and challenges and grow from them. I can picture Him giving us the Savior and pleading with us to please take the medicine he has offered. As I htink about my life's choices and the effects those choices had on me and others, I wonder how many times I cried out in pain that my Father wanted to take from me and the times I refused to take the medicine that my Father offered because I didn't think I'd like the taste.

More to follow . . .

Three holes from the end

I have "issues" with my girth. I don't feel heavy. I don't feel overweight. So I don't have weight issues. My clothes and my mirror beg to differ, however. I have a belt that I have worn for about six or seven years. At my skinniest, the belt is on the fifth hole from the end. When I'm at my portliest like, say, now, the belt fastens at the third hole from the end. When the belt fastens here, it is the official fat tub o' lard stage for me and signals the beginning of another round of diets. The last one I tried was the Atkins diet. A diet that worked very well for me as far as weight loss went, but it made me constipated and I was cranky and got sick easier. So I'm currently trying what I refer to as the non-diet diet. I belong to a gym (more to follow about that later . . .) and I try to work out five days a week including 35 minutes of cardiovascular work on a stationary bike. That coupled with not being a complete psychopath about eating is what I hope will take me to my goal. It worked for me before.

I find the whole diet/weight thing an interesting study in human behavior. Why do we eat way too much, exercise way too little, become disgusted with ourselves, wonder how we got this way and how we get out of it--then spend our money on products, books and experts to tell us to eat less and exercise more? The diet and exercise industry is a multi-billion dollar practice in irony. We pay people to tell us what we already know. Sure, the experts can break it down for us to the molecular level, but deep down inside, we all know that the reason we're fat is because we deposited more than we've withdrawn from our calorie accounts. They can give us all the physiology of how exercise works and why sugar and fat turn us into three holes from the enders, but they don't tell us anything new. So, why do we spend the money? Maybe, like me, we're all trying to avoid paying for our laziness; which is another part of the study in human (and only human) behavior. You don't see monkeys in the jungle pinching the flab on their guts or looking at their hind parts in the water to see if their hiney sticks out too much. They're too busy eating and running around in the jungle. Sometimes our superior intellect can be a real liability. but thats a different subject on which there will be . . .



more to follow . . .

Fruit of my loins

I've heard the question many times. Where do they get it? Of course I'm talking about children and the energizer bunny-type ability to go on forever without stopping. I heard my six-year old one time after running around the house, riding his bike for hours, building a fort, chasing his little sister, and running away from his big sister, tell me that he was tired and needed to rest--he was lying. He stopped for no less than 28 seconds and then with a battle cry of "Hey! That's MINE!" away he went full throttle. So, the question remains: Where do they get all that energy? I have a theory which I believe to be as valid as any the so-called scientific community can provide. Here goes: Children get their energy from their parents. I'm not talking in genetic terms. I'm talking literally. Children suck the energy straight from their parents. Think about it. You had energy before you had kids, right? You were able to get up out of the chair/sofa/loveseat without making those same grunting noises your parents made? You were able to play on the floor, stay up late at night, get around on anly a few hours sleep. What happened? You had kids. Somehow children have mastered the technology that has eluded the technological world for centuries. They are able to extract energy from adults to use for their own evil designs. Possibly the actual point of energy extraction is whe they elicit the anger response. Something about the frequency of their screams and whines triggers an increase of potential energy in me that when finally released becomes absorbed into their own type of fuel cell network. That's it! they are running on limbic energy. They are converting natural emotional distress and frustration into carbohydrates. My plan? I'm glad you asked. One of two things will work. One(and this is my least favorite) : Find some way of surgically disconnecting my limbic system. Two: become more Vulcan-like in my reactions to my children's bad behavior. I just won't respond with my normal emotional strategies because its just what they want. I'll live longer, they'll have less energy to use against me and maybe, I'll be able to keep up with them. And maybe somehow, someday, they'll come and ask me how where I get all my energy at such an old age.


More to follow . . .

Maybe next week

I had this really cool note written for tonight's entry, but I went to spell-check it and it disappeared into cyber-limbo and I'll never see it again. Anyway, kids are fed, wife has new shoes, the lawn is mowed, we have a new wheel on our pathetic wheelbarrow and we have a Costco-size package of toilet paper in our bathroom. I've done enough to save my little corner of the world for this week. Maybe I'll actually get what I planned done one of these Saturdays.

More to follow . . .

PS I won't be using spell-check anymore, so you'll have to find a way to deal with typos found here.

Beginnings . . .

I never know what to write in a journal. I never know what's going to be important to anybody in ten minutes let alone ten years. My life is wonderfully normal. I have a beautiful wife, five children, a dog, some guppies, a mortgage, and one and a half minivans. I have a good job in a stable career; I play music and have quasi-dreams about being able to be a professional singer/songwriter for a living. I play guitar and write my own songs. I have million dollar ideas and a twenty dollar budget. I live in a small town with quiet neighborhoods far from the insanity of the major metro areas. I am deeply religious and like to think that everything is spiritual. Not in some new-age "wherever you go, there you are" way, but in muted, subtle manifestations. My children are happy, healthy and intelligent. I have a lot to be thankful for. I also have a great deal of responsibility that I'm not always crazy about. I suppose I could complain about some things, (I've got some interesting family dynamics and socio-political issues I'm concerned about) but after I get through counting all the ways my life is really enviable, I would be too tired to take on a hypocritical endeavor like that. So until I'm in a fouler mood, I'm just going to have to be a little Pollyanna-ish about things. I hope that's alright.

More to follow . . .

Just a test folks . . .

I set up this to see how it works and with a little help from my wife, it looks like it might actually work. Too late for much more tonight, but I might or might not post again later.