All is well.  I have been busy with 8 children, and have just lost the lust for writing.  I hope it is a temporary thing.

 

Thanks for your concern.

 

   * *

Before heading into work this morning I had to make a stop at the Salt Lake City Airport to do some phone stuff. I generally dislike driving to the airport, but by staying away from the terminals I was able to have a fairly nice visit.  No crowds, no deadlines, and very few people on the road at that hour made for a nice morning – it was something different and I was getting paid after all.

 

As I left the Airport and began driving eastward toward Salt Lake, I could not help but notice the wonderful sunrise that was just beginning in earnest.  The upper level whisps of cloud were stained and saturated in pumpkin orange while the lower level clouds were thicker and darker against the impossibly orange sky.  The scene was one that could never be captured by camera because of the dynamic nature – the high clouds were rushing eastward while the lower clouds were taking a more leisurely route to the north-east – and thus the scene was changing faster than the eye could take it in.

 

This scene needed no accompaniment, but Richard Wagner’s Overture to the Flying Dutchman was playing in the car and it fit so well with the mood of the sky that I let it continue playing.  I believe that I will never hear that music again without thinking of a sunrise.

 

With ghostly-themed music and an orange sky, I was well treated on this Halloween.

My face has become a barometer for stress and fatigue and just as a barometer goes down with bad weather, so does my face.  Today I feel the stress in my sagging muscles of my face but I can not account for all the stress I am feeling.

 

Yes, I had a project designed and ordered when it was torn from me and re-done by a supervisor who ordered something that is not working.  That would not be so bad but everyone assumes it was my work now that it keeps breaking.  I place about 30% of my stress on this.  It would be more if it were actually my work, but as it is I don’t even have the access to fix it.

 

The only other unusual stressor from work is a lady in purchasing that is poking and prodding at another project that was designed, quoted, and even approved.  I don’t worry so much about this because I know she won’t find anything.  She is just wasting her time and mine but I do need the product now – trying to make do with what I have only increases my work load – and the frustration of the people requesting a product I can no longer deliver.  I would give 10% to this – an inconvenience really.

 

From the home side, there are the constant background stressors like kids, finances, health issues, and the regular dad stuff.  Really, how much stress can this provide when Carol is so good at taking care of it?  Things have been very stressful for her this past week, but I only get what tips over the top – maybe another 10%

 

So you can see that I can only explain away about half of the agitation that I am feeling but it is beginning to take a toll on me.  I felt earlier today as if I was only one unreasonable demand on my time away from walking out of here forever.  This, of course would be a foolish reaction because I need the flexibility to come in to work at 9:30 after dropping the kids to school and you don’t often find that at a new job.  After 13 years with the same company I don’t have to prove that I am a good employee or that they are going to get their money’s worth from me so I am stuck here by circumstance.

 

Somewhere I have a huge bucket of stress and that bucket is leaking.  Unfortunately the bucket is well camouflaged.  I need to find it because I feel very much like someone who has been up for two days and is keeping going only by sucking in vast quantities of caffeine. 

 

Yep, that describes my physical state pretty well.  I wish it were just sleep because I would know how to fix that.

 

   *  *

Why is it that children behave badly to get attention?  Why is it that these same children can grow up and think that it is acceptable to behave badly to get what they want?  I don’t understand where this gets started, but I have seen the results.  I think everyone has met someone who feels that they are above the rules or that they are somehow exempt from common courtesies. 

 

As you can tell, I have been thinking a lot about this and wondering what a parent should do with a child who acts this way.  I have plenty of ideas, but they are untested.  Maybe some of my readers have had some experience with this kind of thing and can give insight.  With eight kids you can expect any kind of behavior to show up eventually, and it is best to be prepared.

 

Read this story and let me know if I am way off: I know it works for dogs, but can you expect a child to respond as rationally as a dog?

 

Once, a man wandering the woods found two puppies that had been separated from their mother.  Perhaps the mother was a stray, perhaps she was a wolf – but it was obvious to the man that these dogs were mostly wild.  Still, he could not leave them in the cold so he arranged homes for the two dogs with two brothers in the town; each was given one dog.

 

These dogs were difficult to deal with and they were anything but housebroken.  They snapped, nipped, and growled constantly and both brothers received many hurts from their individual dogs.  Despite the behavior of the dogs, both brothers loved their dogs very much, but they had different ideas about what was best for them.

 

You see, the first brother took his dog as it was.  Yes, it growled, it snapped, it bit him almost constantly, but this brother accepted the dog with all its problems.  He was always saying “That is just the way he is.  He don’t mean nothing by it.  He can’t help that he had such a tough time living in the forest as a wee puppy.”  The dog would snap and the man would comfort the dog with hugs and treats from his hands.  Often as not this dog would bite the man as it was being fed, but it never stopped the love from flowing from them.

 

The other brother took his dog and treated it differently.  This brother insisted on good behavior from his dog, and this was something that the dog did not understand.  This man also got bit, but when he did – punishment immediately followed.  No sweet things were given to this dog when it growled and when it snapped it was shut away until it calmed down.  The dog was certain that the man hated it and the dog rebelled and ran away.  The brother would always find it, bring it home, and start over.

 

Eventually things changed.  Things always change after all.  For some reason both brothers were suddenly called away and both dogs were out on their own in the great big world again.  The second dog had learned to wag its tail and set its head on someone’s lap when it wanted attention, and it found food and lodging with a loving family within a few days.  This dog soon found the greatest pleasure was having children crawl all over it and love it in their energetic way.  The dog lived a happy and contented life but never thought to think of the sacrifices its first owner had made to allow it such peace.

 

Things were not so good for the second dog.  This dog also got hungry and lonely and it responded as it was taught – it snapped, it growled, it barred its teeth – but no one responded with a kind pat on the head; no one had a kind word and no food was thrown to this dog.  The more it asked in the only way it knew, the more it was shunned, hated, hunted and hurt.  This dog eventually found its way to the dump on the outskirts of town where it slept in the wet and fought rats for its meager dinner. 

 

Both brothers loved their dogs completely, but which one showed that love in a better way?

 

 

*  *

It was almost a year ago that I was introduced to Carol.  In preparation for this anniversary, I got sent a copy of my first e-mail to Carol – She had just sent me an e-mail to my previous blog account and I wasted no time replying.  As you read this e-mail, you will just have to remember that I called Carol Rebecca back then… it was a silly thing to do, but she did not seem to mind.  Remember that my mother set us up in cooperation with Carol’s sister.

 

I think I can publish this without asking permission – after all, I wrote it… but then again, I gave it to her…  What an ethical dilemma!  I will just take my chances.  Things are going so well between Reb... I mean Carol -  and I that I think I will be OK.

 

Rebecca,

 

I love your screen name!  Booksinger has a nice ring to it and if you love books and singing, I am interested in getting to know you.

 

Curiously, I just sent an e-mail to my mother asking if she had set up an introduction for us yet, so I am glad that you took the time to say hello today.  I must warn you that reading my blog can be dangerous because I don't think I can live up to the image I have built in this textual world.  The thoughts are mine, but they are the carefully cultivated thoughts that are worthy of being shared.  Beyond that, they are only shared at the peak of maturity.

 

I know almost nothing about you -- I know your sister as much as you might know someone after having taken a very few voice lessons from them, and I know that you have five children.  I assume that you know a bit about me (or think you do) from reading my blog.  The careful reader will notice that I gave my space a title that gives me plenty of flexibility when it comes to being truthful and I have been known to take creative license with the truth in the interest of provoking thought (or just to make a story better).  Oh, and if you read too much, it will leave nothing for us to talk about when we do meet.

 

I hope you use the name Rebecca because that is my sister’s name (she goes by Becky) and I have a niece with that name too (who goes by Becca), so other than perhaps ‘Reeb’, all the derivatives of Rebecca have been taken.  When I give a bit more thought to the idea, that would be a good joke to play on my sister to date someone with her name, and being her older brother (her only brother), it is my duty to tease her in any conceivable manner.

 

It is obvious that I don’t know what to say to you, so I had better quit.  I would love to get to know you by any means: E-mail, phone, lunch, double date… what ever will make you feel most comfortable.  I have tickets to the Symphony this Saturday, but that is an awfully long time to be stuck with someone if you immediately decide that you have no interest in me.  Your sister and my mother both think I am a pretty decent guy (at least comparatively), but that is a very small survey to base an opinion on.

 

Thank you for taking the initiative to say hello.

I don’t often whistle; I am not among the annoying group of people who insist on hearing themselves constantly – as if they might cease to exist if they ever went quiet. I am quite comfortable, even when in silence. 

 

I never need to hail a cab, I don’t work with dogs, I have a beautiful wife that loves me and never understood the need to whistle at women anyway, and I don’t have time for sporting events.  Why would I whistle at all?  Whistling is a skill that I spent hours developing as a young boy, and that skill somehow helps define my masculinity.  Real men know how to whistle after all.  Really masculine men know how to whistle well.

 

I feel I am less of a man since the palsy because I can’t whistle anymore.   My face has almost completely recovered, but my lips are still a little lazy and I can’t purse them tight enough to make any more than a strange windy hiss when I attempt a whistle.  The fact that I can not whistle has made the act of whistling an important one and several times a day I find myself trying to make my lips pucker enough to get a noise.  It remains an annoying proof that I am still broken.

 

It is an interesting reaction, to worry so much about a skill that should mean nothing, but it defines the way I work fairly well.  In the midst of palsy I said that if I could just speak normally I would be happy.  When speech came back, I looked for a symmetrical smile.  When that was well on its way to completion, I realized that I had lost my whistle and suddenly that loss was almost equal in importance to speech or appearance.  I seem never to fully arrive. 

 

I hope I get my whistle back; I want to find out what the next layer of concern for my recovery is!

 

  *  *

I have come to have the opinion that my life is better for the unexpected variety it provides.  I try to look forward to the unknown and the unexpected and I get a lot of practice with this!  My planning rarely gets beyond ‘tentative’ anymore, but despite the sudden and continual shifting, the important things continue to get done.

 

I thought it was important to go get a trailer full of wood this past weekend; with three fireplaces and a long winter ahead, and the knowledge that the first real snow of winter will close down the access to the property, last weekend seemed the best and only chance.  It turns out that it was not as important to get wood as I thought and when Carol’s ex did not come get his children Friday night as planned, and then did not come get them at 10:00 Saturday morning under the new plan, nor at noon under the revised new plan, or at 2:00pm as scheduled under the advanced revised new plan, I recognized that my being home to provide stability for the kids was more important than getting wood.

 

Last night I was looking forward to an early evening, and perhaps a chance to finish No God But God: The Origins, Evolution, and Future of Islam, but found instead that my priority was reading with five children who found themselves unready for bed.  I spent an hour reading Charlotte’s Web, and when the book was finished and the kids were still clamoring for more, I began The Hobbit.  I was not sure, since I sit outside the doorway to the bedrooms of the four youngest when I read, if the book would hold any interest for these ages, but they have all seen the animated movie of the book and they are able to follow.  I am ready for something with a bit more meat than any of our recent books – Little House on the Prairie, Bed-knob and Broomstick and the like.  I found out that our Third Grader has been going to school and taking the reading test for the books I have been reading to him, and I am not sure that it should count.  At least reading The Hobbit will keep him from this as he is unlikely to find a comprehension test for it.  If he does, his teacher is sure to question his taking it.

 

 I try to make it a priority to read for myself  a little every night, and thanks to a first edition club I am part of, I have had many wonderful (and autographed) new and exciting books to read.  I am falling behind a little in my reading, but skipping The Garden of Last Days has caught me up a little. 

 

I have enjoyed reading this last book No God but God.  It has built upon – although occasionally contradicting – a foundational understanding of Islam that was laid by countless hours of discussion with my personal tutor in Middle Eastern Studies, Fares.  (Fares, you will be glad to know that when the book deviates from the belief you have shared, I assume your insight better reflects the pure Islamic religion.)  I find that I am excited for bed time and an opportunity to turn a few pages under the warm light of the bedside lamp, but I rarely get the chance that I anticipate.  Last night it was only wiggly teeth, but with two children suffering, it was enough to keep me from my book until long after everyone else was asleep.

 

Last night the important things were done, it is just that sleep was not important.

 

*  *

Loose teeth are so much fun!  They are not only fun for the child who has evidence that they are growing up, but they can be fun for the parent too.  Little Alice has her first loose tooth and she is determined that I am going to get to pull it out so she comes and sits on my lap and says “Wiggle it Daddy.”  I tried to pull it straight out last night but my fat fingers could not grasp such a little tooth in such a little mouth.  I guess that was for the best because as long as the tooth remains wiggly she has a reason to climb on my lap.

 

It won’t last; Alice really wants that tooth out.  I don’t know if she is more driven by the idea of having lost her first tooth or if she just wants the money from the tooth fairy. 

 

I wonder how long it will take Alice to realize what her big sister realized long ago: that the tooth fairy pays better at my house than at her mother’s house.  I remember once when Cindy had lost a tooth but was going back to be with her mother for a few days.  She did not want to wait to do the pillow exchange with the tooth fairy, and she did not want to get the going rate at her mother’s house so she made me a deal.  I bought the tooth from her for the same rate that the tooth fairy gives at my house and then it was my responsibility to put the tooth under her pillow and collect the money left the next morning.  I thought it was a very practical solution for everyone involved.

 

The tooth fairy at Carol’s house did not pay as well as the one at my house either and this has some of the older children – the ones who have lost all their teeth – a little upset at the sudden change in the value of a tooth.  The younger children are counting up the teeth they have still to loose and are dreaming of swollen piggy banks.

 

I never said life was fair.

 

   *  *

In Utah we have two seasons of blooming:  There is the traditional spring bloom of leaves and flowers where you wake up one morning to find winter gone and flowers everywhere, and then there is the autumn bloom of color.  Sometime this past week the autumn bloom happened and everything decided to turn colors.  Carol walked out the front door and asked “When did the trees in the front yard change?  Were they like that yesterday?”  I assured her that they were just the same as yesterday and the day before, but then on my way to work today I noticed the hillsides are covered with autumn and somehow this transformation took place without me really noticing. 

 

I read a study once that spoke of the way our eyes work and the finding was that most of what we ‘see’ is just replayed from memory.  Our brain catalogs information and replays what it expects to see rather than processing new information.  When you get in the car to drive, your brain knows what the dashboard should look like so it never processes the input for that – and this is why you suddenly look down and notice you are out of gas.  Carol knew what the trees should look like and so her brain did not process the changes to the trees until some critical mass in change was reached and she really saw the trees as they currently were.  I know what the mountains look like so my brain just filled them in with cached information until something started a more careful processing.  I am sure that this is why fingerprints suddenly appear in the hundreds when I am cleaning too.  I am also sure that this is why I can’t find my car keys when they are right in front of me – but not where I expect them.

 

Having a case of Bell’s Palsy has changed the way I view some things about health appearance, and especially about thought.  It was a minor thing indeed, but enough to set my mind working on issues that I have never before stopped to question.  I can better understand the frustration that might come from having an active brain that can not communicate with the body.  I think I can also better understand how often our brains give us bad information about the world around us because of the way they have been wired in the past.

 

I have come to realize that I am often lazy, but I believe that our brains are even more careful with their energy.  I believe that rather than process everything as an individual occurrence, our brains cheat and do only the minimum required to provide a result that is plausible.  I hear a voice and my brain immediately categorizes that voice as angry, happy, or sad without doing a full audit of what the voice really represents.  My brain seems happy just getting close to the right answer.

 

I can see that this would come in handy at times – when attacked by a mountain lion it is not important to know the color of its eyes so the fact that my brain just sticks in a random rendering of a cat to allow me to make choices based on the immediate and incomplete data available.  At other times it works to my disadvantage: I certainly could make better decisions if I took more time before deciding how someone else was feeling.  Sometimes my simple brain plugs in threats that don’t exist.

 

Maybe I got the brain of… of Abby somebody… Abby Normal.  I’m almost sure that was the name.  (“Are you saying that I put an abnormal brain into a seven and a half foot long, 55 inch wide Gorilla?”   I can’t think of a brain without thinking of Dr. Fronkensteen and that should in and of its self provide proof that I am normal.  “For what we are about to see next, we must enter quietly into the realm of genius.”) 

 

I prefer, however, to imagine that my brain is just as good as any other.

 

   *  *

On a couple of occasions this past week, I have watched myself and others pre-react to a problem that did not materialize.  This, and the commute that still takes me at least 30 minutes despite the Legacy Highway now being open, has led me to contemplation on perception and its power over our lives.

 

I think we learn early that the sure way to have a bad day is to wake up fearing that the day will be horrible.  Despite stacks of empirical evidence of this, I still find myself heading to work under a cloud because of what I fear I will find when I get there.  Sometimes I am wise enough to change my attitude before getting to work, but it does not feel like irrational decision making and behavior when I am living it so all too often I let my fears ruin what might have been a good day.

 

As another example, this week Carol was supposed to call me about a problem we were facing, but she got busy and did not do it.  When she was reminded, she became convinced that I was going to be angry with her for this when in reality I just went on to make the best decision I could with the information I had – it was not life or death and I felt adequate to making the decision alone, so there was no problem.

 

Ah, but there was:  When I got home, my behavior was perceived by Carol as anger, frustration, or annoyance, when I can honestly say I was feeling none of these things.  It took me a while that night to convince Carol that the only thing that bothered me was her thinking I was angry.  Talk about a cyclical problem.

 

This problem is magnified by marriage because many events are shared.  This means that my unjustified concern is just as likely to affect Carol and her plans as hers are to affect mine.  What might have been a wonderful day, evening, or activity can be quickly rained-out by one or the other of us reacting to expectations.  This is true when the children are absent, and even more a reality when eight children all have an opportunity to allow their imagination to shape the present.

 

Now, I have identified a problem but this makes me only a politician.  I wish I were a statesman and could present a solution to the problem.  Perhaps I could have a team of doctors follow me around with brain-scanning equipment so they could administer electro-shock therapy every time I began to react to a perceived eventuality. 

 

But then again, the ability to shape our future is what sets us apart from dogs.  Somehow I need to figure out a way to look forward, but only look forward positively.  I think drugs might alter my brain in such a way as to make everything ok, but I have no experience with drugs and I don’t want to start now.  I want more than to just feel that everything is good, rather I want to get to that place.

 

It is no use.  I will never figure it out.  I can’t recognize when I have a self- defeating attitude anyway.  I will publish this, but I am sure that everyone who reads it will hate me for it and will never read my blog again.  Soon I will be a friendless husk of a man…

 

  *  *

This is my place now.  It took some time for me to feel ownership for it, but it has finally happened.  I don’t have the same attachment for this place as for the last one, but perhaps that will come if I continue to write here for two or three years.  I had a rhythm and a flow going with the last site that has been hard to recreate here but it was a situation where success was my downfall:  If I had not had such a popular site it would have continued to go unnoticed.

 

This is my spot in the WWW and I am interested to see what it becomes.  I am even a little excitied to sit and compose something every day.  This space is continually monitored by my errr… by my neighbor.  Yes, my neighbor – that is it - and my neighbor will sue if she finds anything in here that she does not like so I have to be careful not to write anything to upset her.  This, of course, puts blinders on my creativity and forces me to walk a very narrow path.  There are interesting things within the path, but I lack the freedom to explore like I had before.  I wonder sometimes that I did not try to create a space that my neighbor would not know about, but I would always run the risk of being too successful again.

 

It is interesting that my neighbor tried to say that I had broken the covenants of the MSN spaces and that I was breaking the law with what I wrote.  I don’t know about that, but I will never forget the thrill of being featured on the front page of MSN news.  I was sure that if my space were going to be found, it would be during that week.  MSN spaces obviously had no problem with what I was writing, but you can never please everyone.

 

I can relate well with Cole Sear, the young boy in the movie The Sixth Sense who concedes to the authority of school and teachers and now draws pictures only of rainbows.  He is right when he says “They don’t have meetings about rainbows”.

I came to an interesting conclusion today as I sat in my cubicle and looked at all the parts and pieces of half good things that have accumulated over the past 13 years.  Every where I look there is something that is too good to throw away, but not good enough to put into service the way it is.  My overhead bins are full of things that I once needed desperately, but don’t need today, but I have to keep these things because as soon as I throw them away I know I will need them urgently.  Piles of broken cell phones that I don’t have a business use for, an old modem, software releases and manuals, 10 employee handbooks (it is interesting to see how that has changed over the years), a bag of tools that is spilling out onto the floor, a fold up chair in case I ever have to entertain…

 

The conclusion I came to is that I need to be fired.  I don’t have the will or the time to get rid of this junk so the only way my cubicle is going to look pristine again is to clean it out after I am gone.

 

I pity anyone who has to pick up my job the way it is now because everything I do is locked up in my head.  There is only very limited documentation, no cross training, and no backup for me.  I know, this is a recipe for disaster, but if it ever comes to someone replacing me, I am not likely to care, am I?  I remember when I walked into this job 13 years ago and I thought it was complicated then.  I would like to believe that I have simplified things since then, but I think it more likely that I have just designed it to mesh with the twisted machinery in my head.

 

   *  *

All right, fair readers, you deserve an update; a story, a something.  You deserve some proof that we are still broadcasting and that the writers are still busy creating scenarios here in fantasy land.  I don’t want to be relegated to reruns, and that requires stuff to happen regularly.

 

This past weekend was a very nice one in the Brady house.  We had our share of challenges; it seemed that every time we made plans someone came along and squished them.  Despite this we had a good time together.

 

The kids are weaving the fabric of a home, even as Carol and I watch.  This weekend was proof of the progress that they have made:  we had very few tears and lots of concern shown.  Oh, sure there were momentary breakdowns and individuals that did not want to cooperate or be involved, but such is to be expected and it is a small miracle when only one of the ten of us is feeling a bit down or out of sorts.  There is a different feeling in the house now.

 

The weather was not very cooperative, rainy cold on Saturday and snowy cold on Sunday.  Everyone was forced inside for warmth, but everyone got along well.  I was probably the grumpiest of all, but that is my right… at least that is what I keep telling myself.  Inside in front of the fire, and outside getting wet and cold, the kids seemed kinder to each other than they have been in the past.  I don’t know that the kids recognize the difference, so I am going to point it out at Family Night tonight.

 

I have heard it said that kids will feed of the energy of their parents and become frayed when their parents are falling apart, docile when their parents are calm.  I think that there is a case to be made for this, but I think an equally impressive case could be made for the mood of the parents being set by the behavior of the children.

 

Then again, if I stand on the merits of the first argument, I can take complete credit for the progress the kids have made…

 

Tempting.

 

   *  *

Duck hunting is a curious activity, and not just because it matches creatures that like to stay dry against ones that are so covered with oils that they can’t get wet.  The most curious thing about duck hunting is the set of rules that have been applied over the years to insure that the hunt is fair.  I imagine that my great grandfather would get quite a laugh over the rules imposed on hunters – in his day you went hunting when you needed meat badly enough to want to eat a duck.

 

Perhaps this is the real reason we need so many rules:  I know many hunters who really enjoy hunting ducks, but who can not stand the taste of duck.  I admit that the flavor of a wild duck is strong and ‘gamey’, and that most of the time I prefer the mild, domestic flavor of chicken or turkey.  I will not, however, waste the meat of anything I hunt – nor will I ‘feed it to the dogs’ as some will ‘use’ the meat.  If I take the life of a duck, goose, rabbit, deer, or carrot, it seems fitting that I should respect that life lost by consuming as much of it as possible.  It would be nice if people only harvested what they were really going to use.

 

One of the strange rules for the duck hunt is that opening day begins at 8:00 in the morning.  For the rest of the hunting season the time is determined by sunrise and sunset and I can understand the need to impose some regulation to make sure that hunters are not just shooting at shapes in the darkness to keep non-game birds from being shot accidentally.  Because hunting begins at 8:00, the morning hours are spent lining people up along the roadways that delineate marshland and swamp.  There are not so many hunters now, but when I was a boy it seemed that any bush, tree, or shrub capable of concealing the shape of a man had at least 4 men hiding behind it.  It quickly becomes irrelevant because when people run out of bushes to hide behind, they stand out in the open anyway.

 

Then the waiting game begins for the hunters who are almost being pummeled by ducks winging from one place to another.  Many of these ducks have never seen a hunter before, but they certainly recognize that something is up because one day the swamp is theirs alone and the next there are people, boats, and dogs everywhere.  They nervously flit from one pond to another, but largely ignore the shapes below them that all seem fascinated by the lighted dials on their wrists.

 

Eventually, somewhere in that swamp, a hunter can no longer stand the suspense.  Somewhere a duck will present a target that is irresistible, and a shot will go off.  Hunters run the risk of being ticketed for shooting before the open hours, and so they play the game we all play with speeding to decide how much early they can be.  Saturday morning they made it until 7:56am – I was listening from my window with the clock in front of me.  Once that first shot has been fired, the season is open regardless of the hour.

 

It was WWIII in the swamp west of my house, with hundreds of shots being fired in the first 15 minutes of legal hunting.  At times it sounded more like a string of firecrackers than individual hunters who are each allowed only three shots in their guns at a time.  By 8:20am, the shooting was largely over.  Just because the shooting died off does not mean that all the ducks were dead though.  On the contrary, most of the ducks survived the momentary onslaught of steel shot (lead shot is prohibited), and simply found sanctuary.

 

You see, another crazy rule we have made is to have set aside vast lakes and other waterways for ‘rest areas’ where the ducks can light and be unmolested.  Ducks are not stupid and within fifteen minutes of being harassed by hunters, their collective memory kicks in and all the ducks make their way to one of these safe havens.  In the marsh by my house it is some sick joke that you have to drive by one of these lakes as you leave from hunting.  Here, ducks are doing just ducky as they swim right up to the edge of the lake’ mocking the occupants of the vehicles passing only yards away.  There are so many ducks on these lakes that it looks like one solid raft of feathers. 

 

One air-boat, or even a dog off his leash, would really stir things up out on that dark smear of ducks sitting so peacefully on the lake, but so patrolled are these areas of refuge that no one is willing to chance the consequences of disturbing the birds.  The ducks are safe and they know it.  The few ducks that are still flying are going long-distances and they are safely above the reach of a shot gun.  That does not deter the green hunters who have by now shot up several boxes of shells, and who, having nothing to show for it, are willing to take wild shots at these high flying birds.  I had a friend who reloaded shotgun shells that could reach into the stratosphere after these birds, but they were not safe to shoot and they quickly destroyed his gun.  Most green hunters are shooting factory loads that have no chance of even tickling the birds they are shooting at.

 

And so the opening day came and went without me.  Sunday morning announced its self with far fewer hunters, as most where I live reverence Sunday as a day of rest.  This week is full of work and family, and this coming weekend as well.  I can’t see an opportunity arising for me to waste half a day hunting this year, so I am already looking to next and saying "maybe next year will be different".

 

It probably won’t: I did not get out duck hunting last year either.  With any luck I will find someone who loves hunting and has the time to actually go, but who hates eating duck.  It would be a nearly perfect partnership if they would just drop their ducks for me to consume.

 

   *  *

I was left with five kids yesterday.  Carol kept asking if I would be OK before she ran of to a party at her sister's house; not that she was worried about my ability, but she wanted to make sure I was not going to feel abused when she left me to care for the kids.  Eventually Carol and I will learn what sets the other off, but until then we are both overly cautious.  I kept telling Carol that I would be just fine with the five kids and that she should go – have fun – and not worry.

 

I am sure that she was wondering why I called her after only 45 minutes of being left alone and it seemed to me that there was a note of concern in her voice.  I wasted no time in telling her that I could not be left alone with five kids anymore.  This was carefully scripted to increase her concern of course, and it seemed to work because her voice dropped into the octave of concern and she asked me what went wrong.

 

I strung her along as much as I felt I could without being overly cruel and then I responded that the reason for me to never be left alone with five children is that I spend all my time looking for the missing ones.  When I have five children to care for there are not enough bodies and I can’t quit feeling as if I have lost some.  Counting bigs and littles, boys and girls, top to bottom or bottom to top – I always came up with five bodies but I could not convince my internal auditor that there were not three bodies missing.

 

Of course there were three missing yesterday, but only because they were with their mother.  I had this same problem before I married, but when the three were gone with their mom I had an empty house and it was easy to see why I might feel as if something were wrong.  When I felt this way, I just tabulated the feeling under the title of ‘lonely’ and left it alone.  I never expected the feeling of emptiness and loss to continue to a house that is bursting with life.

 

It seems that the old TV title is correct:  Eight is enough.  Eight is just enough.

 

   *  *

I am in a surly mood today but I don’t know why I should be.  Life is good and yet I found myself laying on the horn when some idiot merged in front of me.  It is autumn, my favorite time of year, and yet everything grates on my tender nerves.  I look at this list of things to do today and I know I need to get out and get them done but instead I sit here and tap my foot in frustration, but with frustration with what?

 

I have heaps of inconsequential concerns shifting around my feet but I have learned that as long as I keep shifting my feet, I don’t sink too deeply.  Most of the concerns are things that I am powerless to fix, others are disappointments.  Still other concerns are for things that might happen but probably won’t – in fact, half the pile is probably of this nature.

 

I am glad to have this big, complex brain that can imagine so much but it would be nice to shut it off as well.  Today I would like to live life as a dog lives and just go from one thing to the next as it comes up.  Nothing productive would get done, but I would not much care, would I?  Today I find myself envious of a dog that is totally satisfied with having a rug to lie on and a toy to chew.

 

Perhaps I am trapped by having too many things.

 

   *  *

Autumn has begun in the mountains behind the house and I am glad to see it finally show up.  There were no signs of autumn on the grouse hunt of a couple weeks ago and no indication that the summer-like heat was ready to give way either.  I remember from biology that it is often the shortening days that first trigger color changes in leaves, and cold weather crystallizing sugars that finalizes it.  The trees – at least the native ones – know that it is time to prepare for winter.  The animals are probably enjoying an extended opportunity to grow fat in the warmth of this harvest season.

 

I always rush autumn because it is my favorite season.  Autumn is the fat season when food comes easy.  So far I have not wowed my wife with my hunting or fishing skills, but that does not mean that the food is not there, just that I have not had time to go look for it.  The duck hunt begins Saturday morning at 8:00am but I won’t be there to greet it this year because of other obligations.  I am sure the ducks won’t miss me at all (although it is guaranteed that I would miss many of them if I were to go).  I will keep talking about hunting and listening to the loving teasing about me being ALL talk.

 

I understand that there will be a cooling for a couple of days this weekend but that it won’t last and I will seize the moment and build a fire at the first opportunity.  We had one earlier this year when it was dark and rainy (although not cold enough to warrant one).  I love fires.  This year promises to be a good one because I have a new wife to share a warm fire with, if I can only get some firewood set aside.

 

Did I mention that this new house has three fireplaces?  Unfortunately none are in the master bedroom, but perhaps we can figure out how to get a gas insert installed up there someday.  Three fireplaces... I bet heaven has three fireplaces too.

 

GASP -- what if all the fires are down the other way?  Oh well, my fate was probably decided long ago; I wonder if they will let me poke the logs in the furnaces.

 

Did I mention that I love fires?  Did I mention that I love autumn?

 

I have a lot to look forward to.

 

    *  *

I had an employee review today.  These used to be horrible, but that was back when I had a horrible boss.  Today’s was nice. 

 

One thing that the company does with reviews these days is send out an e-mail asking for input from co-workers and other managers – people that might have had dealings with me in the past year.  One of the comments received was this:  “Mike can be warm and helpful and funny – or he can be surly and obstinate and frustrating.  I have noticed that my recent interactions with him have been of the first type.”

 

Boy does this ever describe me accurately.  I think my mother, my wife, and certainly my children would agree that this is definitely me.  I am glad that recently I have been warm, helpful and funny.  It must be because I am happy.

 

   *  *

With this palsy affecting my ability to be understood when I speak, I have been a little concerned about the opportunity I was given to teach in church this past Sunday.  With only one half a face working I had to stretch my sagging face into a mock-smile using my hand to enunciate, and although I got used to doing this it was sometimes very annoying.  I imagined that I would need to teach with one finger poking my mouth into a smile to keep my lips tight.  After all, I had to do this every evening when I read to my children.  I did not like the image of teaching that way but I was willing to do the best I could.

 

I need not have worried because once again God provided exactly what I needed to fulfill my responsibilities:  I reported in an earlier entry that my mouth began twitching a bit last week, and this twitching increased slowly throughout the week until Sunday when I was able to speak clearly.  As I taught, I only felt the need to stretch my mouth when speaking one particularly difficult word, but I wonder if that was just habitual after three months of having a mush mouth – I may use the palsy as a crutch.

 

It makes me wonder how my life might have been different had I made differetn choices:  I was offered the opportunity to teach one month ago but I declined because I had a trip to the mountains planned with the family (I still remember the luscious wild raspberry ice cream from that trip with fondness and a bit of longing).  The trip was a fun one and full of good memories that will stay with the children for the rest of their lives but I could have cut it short to teach if that had been more of a priority.

 

There will be some who will say that it is a good thing I did not accept the opportunity because my face was not ready, or who might say that God put that trip in my way because my face would not be ready to teach yet.  I don’t see things this way.  I truly believe that God gave me exactly what I needed to be able to do His work the way He wanted it done and I believe that if I had accepted the opportunity to teach a month ago, God would have provided the healing in time for me to teach well a month ago.  The timing for my face to come back alive was too perfect to be anything other than a miracle -- a miracle that was just waiting for me to claim it.

 

It has humbled me to realize that I only have this mouth by the Grace of God.  I should use it better than I do.

 

 

    *  *

I took a couple of days off because I felt achy, and I paid for it today.  I still don’t feel all that great but there comes a time to be a man and just deal with it… right?  That is what I am being told anyway.

 

Since I am the only sucker that they have to do my job, I had three days worth of work to do today and only one of me to do it all in.  On top of this I had to work with my old supervisor – a guy who spent most of his time telling people that he hated me and was trying to make my life so totally miserable that I would quit.  He did a good job of making me miserable, but when I heard about what he was telling people I could not give him the satisfaction and stuck around until I was reassigned.  I got my payback in just knowing that he hated me but was powerless to fire me.

 

Today he got his.  He messed me up royally and glossed it over as stupidity.  “I told everyone what I was going to do before I did it” he said – as if that made it all ok.  I will need days to sort out the mess he made.  He already knows I think he is an idiot so I did not need to refresh his memory.  Imagine someone who is proud of the fact that he has been fired from every job he has ever held… yup that is my old boss.

 

This is short – I have to go back to it and get as much done as I can tonight.  The people expecting their phones to work tomorrow will not recognize the problem but they will complain if they don’t have dial tone.  Life, Liberty, the Pursuit of Happiness, Dial Tone:  the inalienable rights.

 

I am invisible when the phones are working.

 

    *  *