“Peace, prosperity, liberty and morals
have an intimate connection.”

- Thomas Jefferson

And when you're The Night Writer it makes it harder to get your posts done. Actually, what I need are longer days and nights. I've outlined blog ideas on marriage (gay and otherwise) and on abortion and the Tiller slaying but haven't had a chance to complete these to my satisfaction as I handle a busy phase at work, try to finalize travel arrangements for our upcoming trip to Spain, and tonight I'm going down to the Red Wing Correctional Facility for a cottage visit that's part of the preparation for this Sunday's service down there.

I'm also trying to figure out how to move this blog to a new host with better design and a fabulous new logo done by my wife. I had it all just about figured out once but then had to set it aside and now I've got to re-educate myself so I can get my new host and WordPress working together, along with my all my archives. My objective is to make the switch-over before we leave for Spain so that my travel posts will show up on the cool new page.

So if things are spotty here the next few days it is not a sign that I'm losing interest; merely that things are a bit too interesting.

Road-tripped with the Reverend Mother and Tiger Lilly this weekend, and among the tunes on the car stereo was Marc Cohn's "Silver Thunderbird":

Don't gimme no Buick
Son you must take my word
If there's a God in heaven
He's got a Silver Thunderbird
You can keep your Eldorados
And the foreign car's absurd
Me I wanna go down
In a Silver Thunderbird

Which raises the question, "If God drives a silver Thunderbird, what does the Devil drive?"

I said, "Pinto."

Tiger Lilly: "A Prius."

Enter your suggestions in the comment section.

(Actually, I've always heard that God had a Chrysler, because the Bible says He drove Adam from the garden in his Fury.).

My habit when I get to work in the morning is to log on to my computer and, while its doing its thing, make myself a cup of coffee (I brew my own because life is too short and you spend too much of it at work to drink corporate coffee). When I get back to my desk I open Outlook, check for emergencies, then open my web browser and check my blog to see if I received any comments overnight. Then I use my blogroll to hit Day by Day, Shot in the Dark and blogs on my Daily MOB roll (though these keep dwindling). By then the caffeine from my coffee and the browse through the roll has got my heart beating and I'm ready to go to work.

At lunch I'll often start or outline a new blog post, especially if something I read earlier has sparked anything, and save the draft for when I get home. Other times during the day I'll have a free moment and re-visit the morning group or hit some faves in the Night Lights list. It's usually about six o'clock when I've finished responding to work emails and did the things that I'd know I'd forget to do if I waited until the next day to do them and then I'm off for home. Once there I'll have dinner and try to spend some companionable time with whatever family happens to be about and then around 8:30 or so head down to the man-cave to write about whatever struck my fancy during the day. I'm usually up until 11:30 doing that, then it's to bed to get ready to do it all over again.

That all looks as if it's going to change. When I sat down with my coffee this a.m. and hit the bookmark for my blog I got the big Websense message saying access had been blocked. Wha...? I double-checked the URL and refreshed. Definitely blocked because my company now blocks "Forums and Social Media." Carp. Unable to access my blogroll, I tried some back-up bookmarks to other blogs. All blocked. That means that my blog-reading has to wait until I get home, and that means the blog-writing has to wait until I get done reading, and that means....I don't know, it's kind of a scary path to contemplate.

Ok, fine. I know the company owns the computers and the servers and the T1 connection and they pay me really good money to do things that will help it make money. It's not unreasonable that they require my full attention while I'm on the premises, except....except this is the latest in a long line of micro-managing indignities foisted upon my co-workers the last couple of years and it's really getting annoying.

....

....

Ok, I'm back. I just went and deleted about four paragraphs of text detailing the face-slaps visited upon my co-workers and I over the past few years. It's not that I exaggerated anything, or don't think someone has some 'splainin' to do, but I remembered that whining and complaining doesn't really help anything. And yes, I know, in this economy I should be thankful to have a job because, you know, only 9 out of 10 Americans can say that.

All I'm saying is that I've got to find a new rhythm for my blogging life ... and right now I can't predict what that's going to look like.

Here's a little recycling in honor of St. Patrick's day — a couple of older posts that I'm re-running here because they fit the occasion. If you weren't reading this blog in 2006 they'll be new to you, and if you were, well, you've probably forgotten and they will seem new to you.

The first is an account of the events surrounding my first college St. Patty's day, celebrated on a campus truly dedicated to the holiday:

I don't think there will ever be a St. Patrick's Day when I don't think about my first semester of college when I enrolled in the Spring term at the University of Missouri-Rolla campus. UMR is mainly an engineering college but it was close to where I lived at the time and a convenient way for me to knock out some general liberal arts credits before transferring to the main Mizzou campus in Columbia.

St. Patrick's "Day" was actually a 10-day party at UMR. The campus was about 90% male then, almost all in grueling engineering classes that seemed to require binge drinking in order to cope. The reason St. Pat is such a big deal at UMR is because he is deemed to be the patron saint of engineers for having driven the snakes from Ireland and thereby creating the first worm drive (engineering humor). The rites and festivities of the season were under the auspices of the St. Pat's Board: upper classmen (some I think were in their 30s) elected by their fraternities, eating clubs and campus organizations. For most of the year their duties seemed to be based around regular "meetings" marked by drinking and carousing. Come March, however, they were especially prominent in their filthy green coats (part of their semi-secret initiation rites) as they enforced the rules and protocols of the holiday (for those familiar with the St. Paul Winter Carnival - especially in the older days - think green Vulcans).

Part of the tradition was that all freshmen males were to have beards in the week or so leading up to St. Pat's, and were to carry shillelaghs (an Irish cudgel). Most people think of shillelaghs as being a bit like walking sticks, but at UMR there were specific requirements: the shillelagh had to be at least two-thirds the height of the student and at least one-third his weight, and it had to be cut from a whole tree with at least some of the roots showing. The punishment for being caught beardless by a Board Member (and they usually traveled in packs of two or more) was to have your face painted green. The penalty for being without your shillelagh was to be thrown into Frisco Pond. Frisco Pond was actually the town's sewage lagoon, but was called Frisco Pond because the St. Pat's Board of 1927 rerouted the Frisco railroad into the pond after one of their meetings. I'm sure it seemed like a good idea to them at the time.

Fortunately I was able to cultivate my first beard, red and wispy as it was, and I cut myself a suitable cudgel. Carrying books and a shillelagh of the stated dimensions was a challenge, and even more so when certain professors wouldn't allow them into class, meaning they had to be stacked in the hallways and guarded because Board members liked nothing better than to snatch unattended shillelaghs and then wait for their rightful owners to appear — followed by a honking procession to Frisco Pond. (I did mention the campus was 90% male and fueled by alcohol, right? During St. Pat's week the campus looked like No Name City from "Paint Your Wagon.")

The reason we carried cudgels was in case a Board member approached you with a rubber snake and demanded that you "kill" it. This generally meant pounding on the snake with your cudgel until the Board member (not you) got tired. I weighed about 170 then; you do the math as to what my shillelagh weighed, minimum. I was fortunate to go largely unnoticed (as unnoticed as a guy carrying a tree can be) through most of this period. This was especially remarkable given that one of my friends from my hometown was on the Board. Toward the end of the week, however, he came up to me in the dining hall. "Red," (for my beard) he said, "I think I see a snake." With chants of "snake! snake! snake!" I was led outside and my "friend" tossed said snake on the ground. It landed, however, in a flower bed. "Freshman! Kill!" was the command. Hoisting my club over my head (and somehow not tipping over backwards) I brought it crashing down onto the hapless rubber creature — and even more hapless plants in the soft earth.

"Hit it again, it's not dead," was the order. I looked down once, then again. "Oh, it's dead, alright," I said. Actually, it would be more accurate to say, "Missing, presumed dead" because the rubber snake was nowhere to be found in the newly-created crater. Rather than wait around for CSI, or the gardener, the small group repaired to the dining hall to toast the success of the mission and I survived the week, the highlight of which was the St. Pat's Parade.

In those days the St. Pat's Board would be out early in the morning with mops and barrels of green paint, painting Pine Street in advance of the parade. High school bands from around the area would march, car dealers would drive demo models with pretty girls in them and various and sundry other parade standards would be present. In particular, however, I remember the Precision Pony Team: a group of students scooting along on empty pony kegs strapped to skateboards with rudimentary heads and yarn tails attached to the kegs. They wove patterns and formations down the street, stopping periodically to lift the tails of their "mounts" and drop handfuls of malted milk balls.

Much like the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, the event culminated in St. Pat (not St. Nick) appearing on the route, riding a manure spreader and attended by his Guard. The duties of the Guard were largely to keep St. Pat vertical (he'd probably been drinking for four days straight) and to bring any fetching lasses from the crowd to St. Pat for a good luck kiss. (I did say the campus was 90% male and fueled by alcohol, didn't I?).

After this particular St. Patrick's Day all the other ones I've experienced have just kind of faded from my memory.

Note: the annual UMR St. Pat's parade and related festivities still go on, but in a much more muted manner. A couple of alchohol-poisoning deaths were a factor (sad and true) to be sure, but I also think it was because some of those Board members finally graduated.

Also in keeping with this sainted day, here's my "Fundamentals in Film" review of the great John Ford and John Wayne classic, The Quiet Man:

(Click here to read the review.)

I can't believe I missed the opportunity last Friday, St. Patrick's Day, to feature John Ford's The Quiet Man, a classic Irish tale and my all-time favorite John Wayne film. Oh well, like the train to Castletown, better late than never.

This is a delightful and beautifully photographed movie with great performances by Wayne, Maureen O'Hara, Ward Bond and the quirky Irish cast. The depiction of the Irish as colorful but short-tempered folk much given to drinking and fighting is perhaps a bit politically incorrect in this day and age, but very entertaining. As it is Ford's tribute to his homeland, it gets a pass from me (though I'm not Irish) Definitely not politically correct is the bit where a woman hands Wayne a stick "to beat the lovely lady" but it's played for humor and within the context of the story (all I can say is you have to see it to understand).

The interesting contrast for me between this film and others in the Fundamentals series is that in other movies the main character doesn't quite know what he is capable of and is unsure of what may happen when pushed to the brink. In this movie, Wayne (as Sean Thornton) is fully aware of what he is capable of and fears that it might happen again. He plays an American prizefighter who killed an opponent in the ring and has since retired and immigrated back to Ireland to buy the cottage where seven generations of his family lived. He is resolved to control himself and live quietly — even to the point of allowing people to think he's a coward — but his pursuit of the cottage and the lovely and fiery-tempered Mary Kate Danaher (O'Hara) sets him on an inevitable collision course with Mary Kate's brother, Will Danaher, the biggest, roughest and richest man in the county.

Sean's patience and self-control in the face of the offenses and goads of the Danahers is admirable, but hardly to be seen in his courting of Mary Kate where he is more than a little forward. No doubt the script was written this way to accentuate the cultural differences between America and Ireland, but it does open the door for discussion with young viewers on proper behavior. The story also reminded me of some of the things my wife and I learned recently about why the Bible emphasizes that a husband love his wife but that a wife respect her husband. In this story Sean loves Mary Kate despite her temper and faults but fails to understand how important her things and dowry are to her. Mary Kate on the other hand loves her husband but struggles to respect him, at one point even leaving Sean, telling Michaleen Oge Flynn, "I love him too much to go on living with a man I'm ashamed of," as he drives her to Castletown to catch the Dublin train. Both, however, come to understand each other and make a formidable team.

Despite the personal tensions and strife in the movie it is mainly a comedy and when the inevitable fight comes at the end of the movie the release is thoroughly enjoyable. All in all it is a very fun movie with some excellent performances and more than a few good points to make.

Questions to answer:

1. Why were Mary Kate's possessions and dowry so important to her? Was it a matter of greed or something else? What was the significance of these things, given the place of women in that culture?
2. Why was Sean afraid to fight? What did he value more than his reputation?
3. Describe the differences between Sean's American ways of courting and the Irish customs. What purpose do you think the Irish ways served, and do they have value today?

Great Quotes:
Michaleen: "What do they feed Irishmen in Pittsburgh to make them so big?"
Sean: "Steel, Micheleen, and pig iron in furnaces so hot a man forgets his fear of hell. And when you're hard enough, and strong enough, other things."

Mary Kate: "What manner of man have I married?"
Friend: "A better one than I think you know, Mary Kate."

(hide)

Gino, here are a 24 to 50 more reasons to come to Minnesota for the wedding...

Pet Pigs Go Hog Wild in Western Minnesota
Officials recently discovered that pot-bellied pigs — a southeast Asian species imported to the United States, often as pets — have been roaming wild and apparently reproducing for the past few years. The pigs could number 25 to 50, and the first ones either escaped captivity or were illegally released into the wild.

"It's just really, really bad news,'' said Steve Merchant of the Department of Natural Resources. "They can be very destructive to native plants and wildlife habitat, and they carry diseases that can affect wildlife and livestock. We're definitely concerned. We want to get them out of there.''
...
Pot-bellied pigs can grow to 300 pounds. Vacek said the carcass of one pig he examined probably weighed 90 to 100 pounds. It was a boar with 4-inch tusks.

Come out a few days early and maybe you can help us save some money on the reception menu!

I received an email this evening from someone who said, "Did you know that your Comments are turned off on your last post?" Uh, no, I didn't. I went into my site administration and, sure enough, Comments were inexplicably turned off for "The Greatest 'Degeneration'?" post.

Lately I'll admit to feeling a bit disappointed after posting some edgier content, expecting to see comments or brickbats, only to get...zilch. I was left to assume that my argument had been so sound and complete that no one could refute it...or so boring that no one had been able to get through it. Checking the admin page and, sure enough, Comments were off on these posts! Meanwhile, Comments were on for all the other recent posts...only "A Way of a Gun" and "A Poem for Choice" were turned off. Believe me, I'm not ducking argument. Most of the posts here have a 30-day sunset, but I've only deliberately shut down comments on posts that have attracted spam.

Maybe my blog-host is trying to protect me from myself, or merely sending me a message that it's time to move on.

Today The Writer's Almanac has an interesting snippet from history on the power of outrage and the written word in the face of injustice:

On this day in 1898 the French novelist Émile Zola was found guilty of libel for writing "J'accuse," in an open letter to the French government. It accused the government and the military court of deliberately mishandling the case of Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish officer who was wrongly accused of giving intelligence information to Germany. People were eager to convict a Jewish man, and Dreyfus was given a life sentence and sent into solitary confinement on Devil's Island. Soon after, the government found conclusive evidence that another man, Ferdinand Esterhazy, was actually guilty of the crime. But to save face, the military and the government produced false evidence to acquit Esterhazy and confirm Dreyfus' guilt.

Émile Zola was a prolific novelist and a well-respected public intellectual. Two days after Esterhazy was acquitted, his 4,000-word letter took up the entire front page of the French newspaper L'Aurore, with its one-word title, "J'accuse!" ("I accuse!"). Zola took apart the case, proved Dreyfus' innocence and Esterhazy's guilt, exposed the government cover-up, and directly accused government and military figures of anti-Semitism and abusing the justice system.

Zola was well-known outside of France, and "J'accuse" brought the Dreyfus case to the attention of the international community. After reading it, most believed that Dreyfus was innocent. Zola was arrested for libel, and his trial got a lot of media coverage. In the courtroom, people screamed and got in brawls, and mobs tried to attack Zola as he left each day. He was convicted on this day in 1898 and ordered to spend a year in jail. He escaped to England, where he lived in exile. But in less than two years, a new court reversed Dreyfus' sentence and dropped the libel charge against Zola. Both men returned to France, and in 1906, Dreyfus was reinstated in the army.

Today is (or was, since it's almost over) the fourth anniversary of this blog. According to my web-host's stats there have been 1,333 posts over the past 1,456 days, and according to Site Meter, some 166,000 visitors. That's pretty amazing to me. While I'm no Dread Pirate Roberts ("Good night, Wesley, I'll probably kill you in the morning") when it comes to keeping this going, I set out with nothing more than a commitment to myself to try this for six months and with even fewer specifics as to what I was going to write or hoped to accomplish. Yet here we are.

I have to thank and give credit to the readers who have come by here. While there's really no reason to maintain a blog of this sort except for one's own amusement, your patronage has been both amusing and encouraging to me. I know I would not have posted as often — or for this long — if my own amusement were the only factor. In turn, I hope I have made you laugh and sometimes — oh joy — made you think. Judging by the comments that have been posted here and by the emails I've received, I've been occasionally successful at those two things. What has really blown me away, however, are the messages I've received that in one way or another say, "You've helped me." That wasn't really in the original charter, but now that may very well be the biggest incentive to keep on with this.

Yesterday I re-upped the domain registration and paid the annual fee in advance. In addition, plans are under way to move this blog to a new location and a slightly different (and simpler) URL, probably within a few weeks. My wife is at work on an awesome new header and I've begun playing around with some ways to make this look cleaner and make searching and archiving more efficient and complete. The appropriate details and directions to the new home will be posted when the time comes.

In the meantime and on behalf of myself, Reverend Mother, Mall Diva and Tiger Lilly, thank you for being there. I can imagine, but I can't stand to think of, what my life would be like now if it wasn't for the new people and relationships that have come as a result of this little experiment. Some of you I've never actually "met" and others — like Ben — the Mall Diva and I will probably never be able to get rid of now. I honestly don't know how much longer I'll be doing this but I truly appreciate that you're willing to do it with me.

Be sure to cut yourself a piece of cake!

A few years ago I stopped at a local gas station and convenience store to tank up. It was a Saturday and back in the day when you had to go into the store to pay, and it so happened that I was in a hurry. I stood in line while the sole cashier seemed to take his sweet, ever-lovin' time in handling the transactions of those in front of me. When it was my turn I felt a strong urge to make some cutting comment, or call the guy "Lightning" or something similar. Just as I was about to do that, however, I had an even stronger thought: "What if I say that and this same guy shows up at church tomorrow as a visitor while I'm ushering?"

My fiery-hot comment turned to ashes in my mouth. I swallowed hard, signed my receipt and beat it out of there. I may have lost a few minutes but I probably gained something more.

I still think of this little episode from time to time as I surf my favorite blogs and drop in on their Comment sections. Many of these have their "regulars" who engage in spirited debate, and typically the more spirited it gets the less respectful the tone of the commenters back and forth. There are times, I must confess, when funny, inventive and highly personal and derogatory ripostes have wanted to leap through my flying fingers onto the comment page to symbolically gut not only another person's argument but his very being. Such is the anonymity and immunity of the internet. I have bitten my tongue, or perhaps my fingernails, however to keep from doing so.

When I write for this blog I often have a picture of a composite reader in my head. Not necessarily anyone in particular but someone who is obviously intelligent and who has good taste or otherwise he or she wouldn't have stopped by. Having this sense moderates, or modulates, some of what I might type — along with the thought that stuff tends to live forever on the web like so much space junk orbiting the earth. Meanwhile some cosmic gravity will see to it that my least generous, most base and unedifying words will turn up in someone's Google-search. Therefore my fingernails grow ragged.

Likewise in the various comment sections I always try to remember that there are real people on the other side of those electrons, no matter how cartoon-like their on-screen personas might appear. Therefore, while I may use a clever turn of phrase or pointed observation in responding to their argument, I don't go personal or suggest that they molest collies. Sometimes I'll type something inflammatory, take satisfaction from that sparkling eviseration, and then delete it. Whether the person I'm responding to is 5'2" or 6'5", if I wouldn't say it to his/her face, I shouldn't post it either. Someday I might actually meet that person and if he's 5'2" I'll feel like a heel and if he's 6'5" I might get ground under his heel.

And, someday, I just might meet them at church.

... are in order for the Carlson family.

Peace, friend.

I have to confess I'm living a double-life. I've been doing this blogging thing for a while now but a couple of weeks ago I finally got into the Facebook thing; mainly just so I could read what my daughters were putting on there. Of course, once the Facebook organism recognizes you it runs all of its tendrils out through your past and present in its proprietary way and starts re-connecting you with people. Which is fun, but leads to more time on-line writing notes and on walls, poking and tagging people and so on.

It's kind of like getting a new pet. The thing about a new pet, however, is that no matter how cute it is, it's still got to be fed. And if you've got other pets — like a blog, for instance — these want to be fed, too, and it can get kind of hairy trying to run back and forth between them. Then those long-lost friends want to get all caught up on your life, and get you all caught up on theirs, so they tag you with the "25 Things" Meme.

Well, my short answer to that is "Read My Blog!" because basically everything that's gone on, or is going on, in my life shows up there in one way or another. But doing it that way is the War and Peace version (on DVD, with Director's commentary). So I decided to do the Reader's Digest version (albeit annotated), while simultaneously "feeding" both my Facebook page and my blog. Here then, is my "25 Things" thing, many with links to past blog-posts that provide the back-story to that "thing".

1. I know a lot of words, but I can use just a few of them at a time if necessary.

2. I can't access Facebook during the day because it's blocked on my company computers.

3. Sometimes I can be a real smart-ass.

4. And sometimes I can be a fair (or, perhaps, unfair) poet.

5. A movie that I always have to stop and watch if I come across it while channel-surfing: Zulu.

6. I teach a monthly "Fundamentals in Film" class to a group of teenage boys, using popular films to illustrate timeless truths of character and honorable behavior (as opposed to the images of Homer Simpson and professional wrestlers they're most often exposed to).

7. Sometimes, the movies and lessons come alive.

8. I'm in love with my wife!

9. I'm also Dad to the Bone.

10. My wife and I home-educate our children at the Stewart Academy for Girls.

11. And sometimes we get unexpected help and lessons ourselves.

12. And I'm still learning stuff:

13. I've been to England twice. Once as an exchange student in college and 28 years later with my family,

14. I've also been to Italy,

15. And to Scotland,

16. And to Ireland,

17. And to the Emergency Room!

18. I know the difference between men and women.

19. And I'm not afraid to stick my neck (and head) out when it comes to my kids.

20. But a lot of people think I have some funny ideas about how to go about getting married:

21. I worked for a while part-time as a scoreboard operator at the Metrodome for Twins, Vikings and Minnesota Gophers games, and the odd rock concert, Wrestlemania and tractor pull - some odder than others:

22. My life frequently resembles something out of Monty Python:

23. My 14-year-old daughter and co-blogger is already a prize-winning author!

24. My wife and daughters go out for coffee together every Friday morning and often "live-blog" the experience. I sometimes wonder just what has been poured into their stream of consciousness.

25. I'm tired.

It's been a hectic couple of weeks but I'm looking forward to posting several pieces this week as a lot of weighty notes and ideas have been piling up in my Drafts queue.

For the moment, however, I'll feed you this fluffy bit of blogging folderol that I saw on The Wide Awake Cafe the other day. It's something better-suited to Friday foolishness but last Friday was far too busy for foolishness, so here it is now: What Gender is your blog? The Gender Analyzer website will scan the writing on a blog and use its arcane tools to project the gender of the writer. It's formulas might be a bit suspect since it guessed that the Wide Awake Cafe — sole proprietor Laura Lee Donaho — has a 69% probability of being written by a man. Running the Night Writer blog through the black box results in the following: "We guess the Night Writer blog is written by a man (55%), however it's quite gender neutral." Well, given that three of the four regular contributors here are women, I think it tells you something that 25% of me is still enough to deliver a 55% manliness rating.

It's Thanksgiving week and I'm busy finishing up projects at home and work before jumping in the car with the wife and kids and Ben, heading for the family gathering a good ten hours away.

As I reflect on the things I'm thankful for, I must include those of you who have made it a point to visit here regularly.

Yes, I write this blog to amuse and test myself, but I appreciate your interest and I want to have something (hopefully) interesting here each time you look in. As such, I don't want to let this blog "go dark" in the coming week while I'm traveling and enjoying my family so I've collected a few past posts that you may or may not have seen that illustrate the things I'm thankful for and collecting them here by theme in the coming days for those of you who take the time from your own obligations and celebrations to stop by.

Today's theme: I am thankful for what God has shown me.

Duty is ours. Results are God's

Love — and the difference between being a friend and being friendly

Oh Theocracy!

The Bridges of Minneapolis and San Luis Rey, and the Tower of Siloam

Man in the Street

It's Thanksgiving week and I'm busy finishing up projects at home and work before jumping in the car with the wife and kids and Ben, heading for the family gathering a good ten hours away.

As I reflect on the things I'm thankful for, I must include those of you who have made it a point to visit here regularly.

Yes, I write this blog to amuse and test myself, but I appreciate your interest and I want to have something (hopefully) interesting here each time you look in. As such, I don't want to let this blog "go dark" in the coming week while I'm traveling and enjoying my family so I've collected a few past posts that you may or may not have seen that illustrate the things I'm thankful for and collecting them here by theme in the coming days for those of you who take the time from your own obligations and celebrations to stop by.

Today's theme: I am thankful for health.

Night in the Emergency Room

Of Migraines and the Fear of Man

The Difference Between Men and Women: #436

It's Thanksgiving week and I'm busy finishing up projects at home and work before jumping in the car with the wife and kids and Ben, heading for the family gathering a good ten hours away.

As I reflect on the things I'm thankful for, I must include those of you who have made it a point to visit here regularly.

Yes, I write this blog to amuse and test myself, but I appreciate your interest and I want to have something (hopefully) interesting here each time you look in. As such, I don't want to let this blog "go dark" in the coming week while I'm traveling and enjoying my family so I've collected a few past posts that you may or may not have seen that illustrate the things I'm thankful for and collecting them here by theme in the coming days for those of you who take the time from your own obligations and celebrations to stop by.

Today's theme: I am thankful for family.

Dad to the Bone

My Head in Her Hands, and a Wistful Mr. Henri Looks Back

The Knowing

What a Dad's to Do

I was tagged by Gabrielle at I'm Free Now. The "55 Things Meme":

55 Things
1. The phone rings; whom do you want it to be?
Ummmmmm, Publisher's Clearinghouse.

2. When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart?
Always.

3. If you had to kiss the last person you kissed, would you?
I think so.

4. Do you take compliments well?
Yes, thank you very much.

5. Do you play Sudoku?
Yes, but I'm not obsessed like some people I happen to live with.

6. If abandoned alone in the wilderness, would you survive?
It seems unlikely.

7. Do you like nipple rings?
Never seen one up close and personal, if you know what I mean.

8. Did you ever go to camp as a kid?
Nope

9. If a sexy person were pursuing you, but you knew he/she were married what would you do?
Cough, cough. That happens all the time. I just ignore it.
NW: Hey! *puff, puff* Come back here!

10. Could you date someone with different religious beliefs than you?
I'm married so I quit dating a few years ago.

What kind of writer do I want to be? My interests are so varied that I'd hate to limit myself to one niche, and in that Roy Blount, Jr. is another writing idol of mine. In a piece on Saturday noting Blount's birthday, The Writer's Almanac included this description:

Roy Blount has been a freelance writer for more than 100 different publications. He has written profiles, essays, sketches, verse, short stories, and reviews. And he's written about politics, sports, music, food, drink, gender issues, books, comedians, language, travel, science, animals, economics, anatomy, and family life.

Wow - sounds like my blog, except no one's ever paid me for my profiles, essays, sketches, verse, short stories and reviews. Yet. The Almanac goes on to name Blount's new book and mention that it comes out this week. The title is 34 words long, with 17 punctuation marks but I'll call it Alphabet Juice for short.

The new book contains the following excerpt:

To me, letters have always been a robust medium of sublimation. … We're in the midst of a bunch of letters, and if you're like me, you feel like a pig in mud. What a great word mud is. And muddle, and muffle, and mumble. … You know the expression "Mum's the word." The word mum is a representation of lips pressed together. … The great majority of languages start the word for "mother" with an m sound. The word mammal comes from the mammary gland. Which comes from baby talk: mama. To sound like a grownup, we refine mama into mother; the Romans made it mater, from which: matter. And matrix. Our word for the kind of animal we are, and our word for the stuff that everything is made of, and our word for a big cult movie all derive from baby talk.

What are we saying when we say mmmm? We are saying yummy. In the pronunciation of which we move our lips the way nursing babies move theirs. The fact that we can spell something that fundamental, and connect it however tenuously to mellifluous and manna and milk and me (see M), strikes me as marvelous.

Mmm-hmmm, that's good stuff.

I've finally decided to do something that several people have been after me to do since I started this blog nearly four years ago.

No, not "Quit."

The time has come, however, for me to do something different, and it will affect this blog, at least for a while. As the Mall Diva would say, "Here's the dealio:"

I know I'm a good writer. I don't type that in a boastful way because I know there is very little I've had to do with that fact. It was something imparted to me when I was born; to brag about it would be like some 6' 6" guy taking pride in being tall. My grandfather had the gift, my mother, myself. I've seen it in my daughters as well. Some people can sing, some people can paint. I can't do either, but sometimes a song or something I see paints a picture in my mind and it comes out in words that even make me wonder where they came from.

So. I know I'm good. The question that I've put off asking myself, for fear that I'll then have to try and find out the answer, is "How good can I be if I really applied myself?" Good comes naturally, but great takes something else again, and if I don't have what it takes to be great, can I live with it? In a way, by not trying, I was indeed saying that I could live with it.

I mentioned fear in the last paragraph. I've been thinking about fear a lot lately. In the movie class with the boys earlier this month we watched "The Ghost and the Darkness" about the man-eating lions of Tsavo, Kenya. After the movie we talked about courage not being the absence of fear, but the mastery of fear, of acknowledging but ultimately ignoring what would seek to hold you back in order to accomplish something great. Sometimes, however — as I commented on a friend's blog recently — fear isn't a lion roaring in the dark; sometimes it is the sibilant hiss of self-doubt from the shadows of your own heart. Can I tell you what one of my deeper fears is? I am afraid that in my heart I am lazy, that I don't have the will, or intestinal fortitude, to start something and stick with it, and that I'd find it all too easy to take it easy — physically, mentally, spiritually. I sense the coils of slack waiting in my heart, waiting for me to cut it for myself.

I felt like that in the months leading up to February, 2005 when I finally launched this blog. I didn't know what I'd write about, or how often I'd write (or could write) or for how long I would do it. I set a couple of objectives for myself. I would try to post at least once every weekday, and I would do it for at least six months and see where I was at. Blogging would be a test for me to see if I had the discipline to commit to the activity and the chops to make it interesting (both for myself and whatever readers came along). I have been somewhat amazed at how relatively easy it has been, and I've come to enjoy the challenge of waking up every morning without knowing what I was going to write about that night. More than that, I've truly enjoyed and appreciated the community of bloggers that I've come to know (though many I've never actually met in person). I've found a rhythm and a comfort zone in blogging, and that in its own way is kind of scary.

Certain thoughts have been in the back of my mind for some time, and I let them come to the forefront while I was on vacation the last couple of weeks, and I've made a decision. Blogging has been a great exercise ... almost like calisthenics. The thing with calisthenics is that you can develop your muscles but at some point you're going to want to do something with them. As the Anthony Trollope quote in my header this week says, "Three hours a day will produce as much as a man ought to write." I now know I can put two to three hours a day into writing, because I've been doing this and now...I need to break from the familiar and comfortable and see what else I can write.

As when I started this blog, I have no idea what I'm going to write about, or what form it will take. I think I'd like to try a novel, but I don't have a vision for a story yet. It may be short stories at first, as the next step in my process. What I do know is that I'm going to take those two to three hours a night to work it out, and that means not writing as often here.

I'm leaving the lights on, however. I'd like to post snippets from whatever I'm working on or finished pieces as they come to me from time to time, and there may be current events that I just cannot keep from commenting upon, especially if I can do so quickly. If so they'll be cross-posted on True North as well. And I definitely plan to keep reading (and commenting on) other blogs. I will not be a recluse. In addition the Mall Diva, Tiger Lilly and even the Reverend Mother are by no means finished. My invitation to regular readers is to sign up for the RSS feed in the right hand sidebar so you will automatically be tipped off when something new is posted.

It's been surprisingly hard to change direction even though so little is really at stake. While I was on vacation, however, I started re-reading Mark Helprin's exquisite, achingly beautiful collection of short stories compiled in The Pacific. Sometimes it felt as if I could barely breathe as I read, so perfect is the prose and so great my desire to try and create something similar, even as insurmountable as that may be. I also came across a reviewer who both shared my appreciation for the book and also set a target for me to pursue.

I’m not saying that Helprin’s stories always have happy endings. But they are filled with purposeful action, sharp with clear intent. The Pacific features women that are really beautiful, battles that are actually worth fighting, and melodies that can break your heart. Helprin’s prose shines because his genius has a moral compass, and it comes as a relief to read stories that do not end in existential anticlimax.

In this moment, my purpose is clear. I'm going for it.

You can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs...and I'm going to feel like an omelet if I don't take a short break. I'll be back after the holiday weekend, but the Mall Diva and Tiger Lilly are going to the fair again on Friday and they may do an update on last week's 2-year-old post — if they get on the stick!

Meanwhile, a fun bunch of guys are tail-gating over at Savvy Daddy for this week's Manival. Check it out, Tony's got food!

Sheesh, what a week. It's budget time at work, which means I have to forecast how much money my department will need next year, how much I'd actually be willing to live with, and how much of a bite the levels above me are going to take just to show they're serious. And it all has to be turned in the day after Labor Day. Fortunately, the instruction manual for this year's budget process has been cut down to 236 pages ... in a PDF file.

Oh, and someone had the bright idea to move our offices AND install new telephones all at the same time back on Monday. Never fear, the instruction booklet that comes with the phone is 10% of the size of the budget manual and is printed in 16 languages, none of which I understand. So far I've unpacked my calculator and my coffee cup; the rest can wait. WHY does that red light keep flashing at me?

I'm thinking it's high time for a Keegan's run Thursday night. Who's with me?

It's been a hectic week already and I've had little time to ponder blog-postings even if there's a lot of material just laying around, what with the Mall Diva's birthday, the arrival of two Chinese students who will be staying with us for a little while they find a place to live, and preparing my notes for the "Are You Marriageable?" class (only one more week to go). Here are a few odds and ends that have caught my attention...

This is a picture of the bike we bought the Mall Diva for her birthday.

It's very similar to Hayden's new bike, who didn't find it so amusing that the Diva and I referred to this style as a "Grandma Bike." I thought it was amusing, until I discovered that you don't mess with grandma.

This is the time of year when Beloit college comes out with its annual "Mindset" list for faculty describing the things that happened before the incoming freshman class members were born. I had penciled in doing a post about this, but Mr. Dilettante beat me to it. I guess I can cut him some slack since he's a Beloit alumnus and he did a great job of dissecting the Academic "mindset" that came up with this year's list. Currently my mindset is "waste not, want not", so here are a few things that Beloit left off the list that I added to Mr. D's comment section:

For the class of 2012...

• ...There has never been a Soviet Union (yet).
• ...There has always been one Germany.
• ...Nelson Mandela has never been in prison.
• ...Salman Rushdie has always been under a death sentence.
• ..."Imelda" has always been the nickname of someone with a lot of shoes.
• ...Ronald Reagan has never been president.
• ...Pete Rose has always been banned from baseball.
• ...There has always been a Sega Genesis.
• ...Bart Simpson has always been 10 years old.
• ...Iran has always been pissed off.

Last year at the end of the season I announced on this blog and to my Fantasy Football league that I was stepping down as Commissioner and retiring from the game. Yesterday I learned that my old league is disbanding because no one else wants to step up and be the Commish. I guess that makes me the MVP...

Finally, I was blessed and surprised to get a link from Mitch at Shot in the Dark for the "Man in the Street" post the other day. In the three-plus years I've been blogging, two things have always amazed me. The first is that I'm still doing it (which set in at about the 6-month mark), and the second is how hard it is to predict when a post will get someone's attention and suddenly drive a lot of traffic to your blog. Certainly there have been "masterpieces" I've written and then sat back waiting for a book offer and never even scored a comment, and then something I almost didn't post doubles my average traffic in one day. It's moments like that that help explain amazing item #1. Thanks, Mitch, and to everyone who commented!

After a brief vacation (every man needs one from time to time), the Manival returned this week with edition #15, hosted by Discovering Dad. I didn't notice it was up right away, but once I did I read through the week's selections. Here are some of my faves:

A couple of decades ago I wrote some advertising and catalog copy for a mail-order steak business. I learned the ins and outs of great cuts of meat and what each cut was best suited for. After a morning of that exposure I was ready to throw down a couple of bacon-wrapped filet mignon, even though my budget could barely handle a quarter-pounder with cheese. Reading Know Thine Bovine at Primer Magazine brought back happy memories of those days, though.

The Reader Challenge: David post at I Am Husband was already familiar to me as I had read it (and commented) during a regular visit to that blog. It deals with the common issue of wives disliking their bodies and the effect this has on the relationship.

More happy memories were stirred by Dad of Divas' Teaching Your Child Entrepreneurship as I recalled the early development of Tiger Lilly's head for business. And if you're going to teach your children how to succeed at business then you should also help them learn the important lessons about debt offered by The Common Man in his post, In Your Debt.

Finally, you know I'm going to be partial to posts by Tom at Being Michael's Daddy — Levels of Understanding — and by Kevin at Return to Manliness — Never Use Eight Words When Four Will Do — because they are in a similar vein as my Fundamentals in Film series and my Manival #1 post on three-word sentences that will endear you to your wife.

I'm sure you'll find your own favorites when you browse the rest of the submissions for yourself.

I think I got dinged a little on my score because I answered "yes" to the question about whether I'm a manager. I was much smarter before that happened.

HT: Mr. Dilletante, by way of Anti-Strib.

Manny Ramirez of the Boston Team Manny has one laudatory skill: being able to hit a baseball. Perhaps he would benefit by checking out
Manival #14. It's back "home" this week at the blog that launched the Manival carnival, The Art of Manliness. As usual there's lots of good stuff and several different categories to explore, especially if you're Manny Ramirez.

For example, check out Dr. Awesome for valuable advice and important rulings on what is or isn't manly: this week's topic concerns long hair. In addition, as the summer winds down and the play-offs draw near there's still time to review a list of "Top 10 Summer Activites for Dad & Kids" from Discovering Dad. And if you're into naming the "best" and "worst" of anything you'll probably like "The Best Foods for Men" at Fat Man Unleashed (oh, Manny!) and "The Worst Karate Move I Ever Learned" at Martial Development (I wonder if this involves knocking down the club's 60-year-old Traveling Secretary?).

There are also plenty of good posts for those of us non-All Stars who might still like to take our game to another level. This week I want to call special attention to two Manival articles: Seven Proverbs for Skilled Living from Cameron at Schaefer's Blog; and Cory's challenge to make it a point to schedule doing something special for your wife each week in Monday Morning Amour over at A Good Husband. You should definitely read the other Manival entries as well, or — as Twins' announcer John Gordon would say — "Touch 'em all!"

I'm still tired after spending the weekend trying to recover from the annual Millard Fillmore Memorial golf tournament (aka "The MILF") last Friday where I was in the woods so much I think the tourney should be renamed "Lumberjack Days." I wouldn't be surprised if I'm now battling Lyme Disease.

Then there was my stepping up at the last minute at the post-MILF party to serve as a replacement "Master of Sausages" without first being able to perform the standard three day meditation and purification regimen that goes along with that. Fortunately I was able to pass through the flames without injury, but it was a very close thing and that will take something out of you.

I've also been devoting time to preparing the second lecture and homework assignment for this week's "Are You Marriageable" class that I'm teaching, set for Wednesday night. Speaking of which, here's an interesting link to a post over at The Art of Manliness on How to Ask a Woman's Father For Her Hand in Marriage.

Maybe I'll have enough energy to post something tonight after I finally get home. I first have to stop off and see Ben; he said there's something he wanted to talk to me about.


Update:
Developing further...