Days with Disney pt05

As would be expected, I spent a lot of time waiting while at Walt Disney World. Waiting in lines for rides. Waiting in lines for food. Waiting in lines for buses and monorails. But there was this one particular kind of waiting that was really tough to deal with: the waiting for my kids to come out of the facilities (a.k.a. “the toilet”).

I don’t get to go in there with them, being of masculine descent, so I can’t say with certainty what they do when they go in there, but I have some ideas. I’m thinking:

1. Secret planning for world domination.
or, perhaps...
2. Long conversations about the meaning of life.

I’m just saying that with the amount of time they spend in there, it breeds big expectations. But, while waiting, I had a little time to consider some things that you consider while you’re in Walt Disney World. For instance, what’s my favorite thing in Walt Disney World? That’s a question we ask the kids, “So what was your favorite thing?” “What was your favorite ride?” And I think I know what my favorite is.

My favorite thing is the architecture and design of the Disney Hollywood Studios Park. I know there were probably hundreds of people involved in this, but from what I’ve been able to find out, it started out as an expansion of Epcot, under the direction of Marty Sklar, a gifted and creative leader at Disney, and then Michael Eisner suggested starting the new park and putting the ideas in place there, which is what they did. The Disney employees I’ve talked to and read about over the years didn’t seem to like Michael Eisner very much, but this new park was a great idea. They used to call it “Disney MGM Studios,” but something didn’t pan out and they changed the name. My guess is that money didn’t pan out, as that’s what really drives Hollywood above all other things.

But when you walk into the Hollywood Studios, the buildings along the avenue and even the layout of most of the ride exteriors – like the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror – they all have a kind of fantasy Hollywood of the 40's and 50's vibe going on with touches of Art Deco mixed in and very California color schemes.

I wish the real world looked like that section of the park. Well, not exactly. But I wish that in our towns and cities we did things with the same sense of energy and design and attention to detail. Of course, we could never afford it, given the way we do things in the world, but it would be great if we could. They say that’s how Paris, France is. But I’ll probably never make it there.

So, call me weird, but that’s my favorite thing. Something about that environment just clicks with me. Don’t know why. It just do.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Days with Disney pt04

On almost every ride we went on at Walt Disney World, the moment we’d get off the ride, my youngest daughter would say, “Can we go again?” She had, and I think still has, no concept of the size of the parks and how many things there are to do and see. This is true of all of my kids. They had no idea of the potential, and it created a kind of tension that I didn’t handle very well. I wanted them to see as much as possible, to whiz around and laugh and try to take it all in, like the kids you see in the commercials, which makes sense when you consider the cost of the venture and the quality of the attractions. But they just wanted to do whatever struck their fancy, which doesn’t work out well. You end up crisscrossing the parks, using up their limited energy and time. And when you add in all the bathroom breaks, food breaks, and all the rest, including simply getting them up and into the parks in the morning, you wonder how you manage to see much of anything while you’re there.

The sheer size of the Walt Disney World complex is staggering. It’s about 50 square miles of stuff. Just for comparison, the suburb I live south of Detroit is only about 7 square miles, and it's considered a fair sized city around here. The city of Detroit, which is the 11th largest city in the U.S., and just north of our city, is around 140 square miles. So the Walt Disney World properties in Florida are about 1/3 the size of Detroit.

Yow.

And there was me, with my wife and my sister, trying to rush three young girls through it all in a few days.

I must be crazy.



© LW Publishing 2011

Days with Disney pt02

A man and woman were in line behind me as we moved through the Swiss Family Robinson Tree house exhibit in Adventure Land at the Magic Kingdom. They spoke with a Brooklyn, New York accent, which immediately drew my attention. Yes, I was kind of eavesdropping on their conversation, but not really because they were talking very loudly. I think it's actually part of the accent. But, anyway, in case you don’t know, the Swiss Family Robinson movie, based on a book, is about a family who are shipwrecked on a tropical island in the early 1800's.

Woman: So this was the kitchen?

Man: Yeah.

Woman: So how would they keep their ice from melting?

Man: Ice? They wouldn’t need any ice on a tropical island. They could get everything, fresh every day, right from the jungle!


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Days with Disney pt01

Me and the fam just got back from the always great Walt Disney World. Did you know that it’s very specifically “Walt Disney World,” not “Disney World.” Roy Disney, Walt’s brother, wanted to be sure Walt’s name was on it as a tribute because Walt had passed away with cancer before they could finish the park.

My sister went with us and put up with our insanity. For that she deserves a medal.

We spent a week seeing things, and I thought I’d do some posts on the experience, from my slightly twisted perspective. So that’s what you’ll see here for the next few posts. Our Days with Disney.

If you hate Walt Disney World, then you go on vacation for a while and when you get back, maybe I’ll be finished with this. Then you can post about some place I hate if you want.


Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

Progeny 2

 Went out on the town with progeny number 2. My middle daughter has always been an interesting kid. She has a strong personality and a huge heart. It was her turn, so we spent the day together, just me and her.

I try to plan something I think each kid will like when we do these daddy/daughter outings. And for her, the Detroit Science Center seemed like the right thing to do. So that’s where we went. And we had a great time too. Not that they made it easy. They wouldn’t accept my discounts, which I spent some significant time finding, for no good reason. The more you want to do, the less they’re willing to work with you on the discounts. Which is as stupid as you can get. And they have what could best be described as a lack-luster general presentation of things. Employees who reek of an “I don’t really want to be here” aura. So on and so forth.

But in the end, none of that mattered. We were there to have a good time and we did. When you’re with someone you love, that’s how it works sometimes. It’s amazing how you can be in some pretty nutty situations, but if you’re there with people you love, it just doesn’t matter as much.

So we looked at the dinosaurs and the exhibits and we watched an IMAX movie and we made these pop bottle rockets shoot up to the ceiling. It was great.

It was great because she is great.

And on the way home we ate at Applebee’s Restaurant. It’s not the greatest, but I like it. They have a tendency to way over season their food. Very salty. And if you start sending it back you’ll be there all day. But it’s better than a lot of other joints around here. And you can kind of tailor what you order a bit. They’re good about substitutions.

The Beauty had chicken strips and fries. And an ice cream with a brownie.

Then we picked up her sisters from grandma’s house and went to see a dollar show together. Mr. Popper’s Penguins. Which was okay. Not the greatest.

But who cares.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

The Crwth

I can’t remember if I mentioned this before, and I’m too lazy to check. But I was doing some research into my last name and I found out that my last name means something close to “the player of the Crwth.” The Crwth? Never heard of it. It sounds like something made up by Lovecraft, but it’s a real thing. Turns out a Crwth is a musical instrument. It kind of looks like a lute, or a guitar, depending on how you want to stretch it. It looks like this:

According to some of the things I've read, it’s a Welsh instrument, popularly used in music for about a thousand years. It was played with a bow, like a violin, but it had a flat bridge, so you couldn't play it one note at a time like a violin. That means it was probably used primarily to accompany a singer or another instrument. It’s probably the violin that killed off the Crwth because you could play melodic lines, so it was a more versatile instrument.

I thought I’d buy a Crwth and learn to play it. Makes sense, right? But the cheapest one I could find is a box Crwth for about $500 dollars. A real Crwth, carved out of a large piece of wood, can run you about $3000, and usually has to be ordered from England.

Yikes.

If you don’t know me personally, it is fitting that my name is about a person who plays a musical instrument. I have been involved with music almost my entire life. And it’s a big part of my heritage. My grandfather was a string player. He played violin, or “fiddle” as he would have called it, as well as guitar and banjo. The story goes, in the family, that he tried out for the Grand Ole Opry in Tennessee, but the pay wasn’t enough so he refused and took a job at the factories in Detroit instead. It’s stunningly frustrating to think about. I can totally relate to his situation. Music don’t much pay de bills.

So I’m thinking about taking my name back to the original. It would be something like “McCrwther.” I love that. But I wouldn’t really change my name. Another way of pronouncing it is the last name “Crowder,” which is from the same root, so David Crowder and myself might be related. Ya know. Talent running in the family and all. Heh heh. Maybe I can use that as a cheap excuse to get him to record one of my songs.

I’m reminded at this point of sir Michael Jackson, who said, and I quote: “You keep dreamin’”


Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

On the Town

I had a “date night” with my youngest daughter last night. I’m trying to do at least one night out with each of them, exclusively, over the summer. Only problem is that money is so tight it’s hard to do much. I’d like to have done something a little more elaborate, but we’re saving for our vacation, so there ya go.

We went to the dollar show.

The good thing about my youngest is that she doesn’t care about any of that. She just likes hanging out with dad. We watched Kung Fu Panda 2 with her cuddled up on my arm. What could be better than that, right? I got her a popcorn and pop and we had a good time.

We talked about stuff on the way there and the way home. She’s a pretty good conversationalist. She doesn’t just ask a lot of questions, like a lot of kids do. She has ideas and things she likes to talk about. Things she likes. Things she’s done or wants to do.

She thinks she might like to be a singer some day.

In case you don’t know, I have three daughters and no sons. Which is an interesting place to find yourself in life. It is very challenging sometimes. But there is this He Man thing some guys attach to having sons, which I find to be stupid. And not just because I don’t have sons. I’ve always felt that much of what passes for “masculine” in our culture is pretty stupid. What if the truth is that a “real” man knows how to raise daughters? What if the truth is that a “real” man knows how to humble himself and serve? I have daughters and I LOVE having daughters. If I had boys I’d love that too. But, as it stands, I wouldn’t change anything. My daughters are great.

My youngest is one of the most kind, fun loving, enjoyable people you could ever meet. She is a very straightforward person. She makes me proud. Like all my kids do. And if you want to know what kind of humor she has, just look at the picture on the top of the Blog. That’s her.


Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

21 Years

For twenty one years her light has fought my darkness. Her flesh has healed my hurts. Her eyes are the skies that keep hope breathing. We rise again to the surface for another breath of cool, clean air. And she laughs anyway.

For twenty one years she did. And she still does. Having and holding is second nature now. It’s where we are. With three glowing gifts slowly reaching out, with beauty, into the world. They reach out with the same quiet fire that she possesses. The spirit of perseverance.

For twenty one years we have been carried across impossible places, through empty, lonely spaces, against the crowd and a world of growing discontent. We hold tightly, like a little child, to the hand of the Holy One. Trusting.

He has us. He will not let go.



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

200

I just noticed that I’ve done around 200 posts. Yikes. This is getting serious. I must be really, really seriously serious about this. Which is funny because I don’t feel all that serious about it. It’s just something fun I like to do that helps a few people get to know me a little better. Seems to me that 200 is kind of a lot, considering I don't really write about anything in particular. Or non particular, for that matter. This isn't exactly what you could easily call a "definable" blog.

Like I’ve said before, I’m hoping that, someday, my kids will have this to read, and maybe even grand kids, who can say. I hope it helps them to understand me in some ways. I’m hoping it will show them my heart to some degree. There’s a lot more of me in these posts than you might guess at first.

I don’t know. Maybe my kids will find some encouragement here. Maybe they’ll be a little less critical about me when they realize I’m just a well meaning schmo doing what I can to love God and love people and make some kind of meaningful difference in this world.

Maybe.

Let me just say this to be clear.

I love you.



Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2011

What To Do?

I wanted to take the kids to the movies the other day to see Kung Fu Panda 2. But the timing didn’t work out to go to the early show, which is the only one I’m willing to pay for, and I'm only willing to pay that price because it’s 3D. So we skipped that and I thought we’d go to the dollar show, which costs more than a dollar now. It’s a dollar fifty or two dollars, I’m not sure. But the only movie showing that was kid friendly was one my oldest daughter had already seen with a friend, so that was a no.

As for me, I have been entrenched in deep study. I’m preparing some stuff for church that is labor intensive and it’s eating my days alive, so I just wanted to get out and breathe a little. But it was soooo hot outside, in the high nineties, which meant we had to go somewhere indoors. I was getting tired of trying to figure out what to do. It was too late for the zoo and that kind of thing.

Spur of the moment adventures are hard to muster up with a big family.

So this is where I made my mistake. I said, “How about we go walk around the mall, not to buy stuff, but just to look around. Maybe we can get an ice cream or something!” Which sounds great on paper, but in real life it’s a fantasy. My four fems don’t do the “look but not buy.” At least not very well. And they always have a good reason to buy whatever they want to buy. Clothes for summer. Things they really need. And they probably do. Money is tight around here and we’ve been cutting back a lot.

But, see, if I hadn’t taken us to the mall in the first place, there wouldn’t have been this urgent need to get that stuff. The option wouldn’t have been on the table. They would have been blissfully unaware of how unhappy they would be without buying that stuff.

This conundrum is lost on them like water through a screen door.

Right now they’re in their room with their mom organizing and putting away their new summer clothes and putting away the winter stuff. They’re all chatty and girly and at one with the universe.

I don’t know. Maybe it was worth it.



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2011

Just Another Everyday

 So, Sunday afternoon my kids had some friends over. We almost always have a lot of kids over here. There were half baked humans whirling about, laughing loudly, imagining who knows what kind of whatnot, blissfully unaware of the wider weirdness of the world.

It’s a beautiful thing.

At one point I looked outside to be sure everyone was still breathing and noticed that one of my kids and a few of the others had strange wet spots on their clothes that made it look like they’d all peed their pants. At first I thought they must have sat on a wet swing or on the ground and gotten their butts wet. But they cleared up the mystery.

Them: “We put ice cubes in our butts.”

Me: “You what?”

Them: “We put ice cubes in our butts.”

Me: “Why in the world would you put ice cubes in your butts.”

Them: “Because it’s so warm today!”

Me: “It’s not that warm.”

Them: “But it feels good!”

Me: “Well. Um. Um. Uh. Well. Just don’t take them out and lick them or anything.”

Them: “We won’t!”

But they had this look on their faces like the only reason that wasn’t happening already is because they just hadn’t thought of it yet.



Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

From a Lawnchair

We sat on the driveway in cheap lawn chairs, looking at the first edge of the sunset. She seemed timeless to me then, like parents do to their children, but I know now how young she really was. She had been throwing the ball to me so I could learn how to catch. Then we sprayed the driveway with a hose to clean it. Then we sat in those chairs, smelling the cool, clean water clinging to the air.

The grass, the whole front yard was immaculate. She took pride in it. She had a green thumb, just like her mother. So there were flowers. It was all very green, very alive. And so were we.

I looked up and down the street. I knew the people there. Most were okay. A few were risky to know. Unpredictable. One house, across the street, at the end of the block, was rumored to be a drug house. In the middle of a small, suburban neighborhood. And it probably was. But people weren’t so ready to shoot each other over drugs back then. It was much safer to sell or use drugs than it is now.

For the most part, though, the neighbors were nice people who ate spaghetti and fried chicken and meatloaf and potato salad, who went to work long hours and came back home looking for a little quiet. Just like us, they watched M.A.S.H. and the Carol Burnett show and Happy Days. We waved at each other and smiled. It was the right thing to do.

We were floating in this place, at that time, drifting slowly from day to day. Being. Doing what seemed right to do at the time. We had our place. There were shadows there, but we learned to live with them.

We sat on those chairs on that summer evening, looking at the sunset, wishing the day would last just a little bit longer.


Psalm 39:4-5
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Simply Complicated

Occasionally I’ll meet someone who has a very simple life. It’s very rare, but some people still pull it off. They don’t have too many responsibilities. They don’t try to do too much. They aren’t buried in commitments to other people. They don't have too much stuff. And I kind of admire them.

It's also true that some of these same people are very lonely. They don’t have strong ties to very many other people. They have ties, but not necessarily strong ones. That’s part of the reason they’re able to keep things simple.

Relationships complicate life. It’s just how it is. I think Jesus, for instance, probably had a pretty simple life until he took on those twelve guys to train. Then everything changed.

And then there are all of those other things that add to the mix. The extra curriculars of life. I personally have a somewhat innate desire to be a polymath. It’s really more of a passive thing, but I have recognized it in myself. Unfortunately, I’m not really smart enough for it, but the desire is there, and it always has been. It’s a part of who I am. I am nothing if not curious. But, while this makes life interesting, it also complicates things. It creates a lot of clutter.

A part of me wants a simple life. But, at the same time, the chaos of many friends and family, many things to learn, many things to do, is exhilarating.

I wonder sometimes if there is a way to balance these things. If it is possible to embrace the fullness of life and somehow keep things simple?

If you figure it out, let me know.



Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2011

Pastor Nance

I, personally, have two pastors in my life. I have the pastor I had when I was a kid, who I still think of as my pastor. And I have my pastor/friend/mentor, appropriately named Paul, who has been helping me for years to find my way and be faithful in what I do. I love them both.

Unfortunately, we found out last night that the pastor of my youth, Willard Nance, has passed away. I have to admit it’s got me feeling pretty down. It’s sad to see him go, but he was very ill, very old, and it’s good to know his suffering is over. He had a stroke a few years ago, and he was incapacitated by it. I went to visit him a few times and he became frustrated and agitated because he couldn’t communicate clearly and we couldn’t understand him. It was miserable and it made me feel bad for him, but I couldn’t do anything about it.

I could write a book with memories of this pastor. We went to church a lot in those days. Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. Plus, eventually, youth group things with our youth leader, a guy named Gary. It was a big part of my childhood and teen years. I remember standing in the baptismal pool and being dunked by Pastor Nance. I remember going to a Holloween party in the church basement, and finding a creepy person in a mask that all the kids were standing around, trying to figure out who it was. It was driving us crazy, and it ended up being the last person we would have guessed. It was our pastor.

A pastor who wears creepy Holloween masks to spook the kids. Or, just a pastor who will wear a Holloween mask in the first place. That’s my role model. And he was a great role model. We KNEW he loved us.

And there was never any doubt about how Pastor Nance loved Jesus. He loved the Gospel. He knew what the word “grace” means because he believed so much grace had been poured out on him. I don’t know the details, but we heard glimpses of stories over the years about how he had struggled with substance abuse in his younger years. We knew that when he presented the Gospel, he was sharing something that was very personal for him. It mattered to him, so it mattered to us.

He never had a mega-church. He wasn’t asked to speak at conferences. He didn’t do a lot of big, impressive things in the eyes of the world. He was a working class, working man’s pastor, and I loved him for it. He was a great man, but not for the usual reasons people might bring up. He was a great man because he had a great love for Christ and he acted on that love. He served faithfully for years until he literally couldn’t stand anymore.

He is one of my heroes, and he will be greatly missed.


Peace to the family and friends of Willard Nance.

© LW Publishing 2011

Getting There

I recently saw this picture of a family driving together on a motor cycle:

The baby in a bucket is obviously fake, but it gave me a flash back:

When I was a kid, we went on a few vacations. Nothing fancy, but they were still vacations. We went south to visit my dad’s family, and sometimes we would hit some other places on the way there or back. The Smokies or King’s Island, that kind of thing. We usually had enough money to get in the door and drink out of whatever water fountains we could find. Dad would do everything in his power to direct us away from gift shops and food stands.

By the time I was six or seven, my oldest sister had passed away and my oldest brother was on his own. Which still left four kids at home. Four little kids who had to fit in a car with two parents and a lot of luggage. We didn’t have a station wagon or a mini van. Did they even make mini vans back then? What we had was as big a car as my dad could find and afford. Dad packed the trunk as tight as he could and we headed out.

Seat belts? They were safely tucked up into the long bench seat, out of our way. People didn’t wear them back then. I didn’t wear a seat belt until I was in my twenties. And air conditioning? That was for rich people. My parents didn’t even get air in their house until long after I moved out.

I distinctly remember one trip, driving at night to avoid traffic. We all slept while dad drove. My younger brother was in the front between mom and dad, and I was on the floor of the back seat, with my older brother and my sister sharing the seat. I was slumped over the hump on the floor that covered the drive shaft, hearing and feeling the wheels on the road, humming beneath me. Somehow it was soothing.

It was good when we were asleep, because when we were awake, someone was usually fighting. It was mostly my older brother and younger sister, but we all got into the action. It’s what happens when you pack people into a car like sardines.

Now I have my own family. We have a mini van which, no matter what anyone tells you, is the greatest vehicle ever created by mankind. We only have three kids, but we’re still packed like sardines when we go on a trip. The kids manage to fill every square inch of the van. And they manage to fight about pretty much everything. But we have a great time, just like back in the day.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

But we do make them wear those newfangled seat belt thingamajimminies.

Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

365

I realized, belatedly, that I have just reached my one year anniversary as a blogger.

It’s been interesting to me how I don’t fit into the world of blogging much better than I fit into the real world. I’m not doing a cute mom blog or a heartbreaking confessional blog or an angry political blog or a trendy blog. This is clearly not a professional blog or a Biblioblog or anything like that. And I definitely am not doing a self help five-steps-to-a-better-life blog.

I’ve looked back at some of my posts and I’m having a hard time figuring out what the red hot hemoglobin I’m doing here. I imagine others are having the same issue.

The truth is, my heart and soul have been poured out in these posts, but not in obvious ways. I have revealed some of my weaknesses, more than you might realize at a glance, but I have not been simplistic about it and I definitely don’t like fishing for sympathy or pats on the back. I have tried to write kind of specifically about faith and life and music and art, and yet my posts often seem to be about something other than what they seem to be about, if that makes any sense. It just turns out that way. Kind of like my life. And the order of things doesn’t make any real sense from post to post. It’s kind of confused and disjointed. Once again, like my life.

I'm guessing that if you want a lesson in how not to blog, just read this one.

I wasn’t sure I was even going to do this for more than a month or two. And I’m still not positive it’s a great use of time. But I think I’ll keep blogging for now. I like doing it. I feel good when I hit that publish button. And I like hearing from people about the stuff I get down here. Sometimes people read it in a totally different way than I intended, which is massively fascinating to me. And some people seem to be taking encouragement from it somehow. I don't think it's an easy read. But I'm not an easy read.

As I write, I’m still mostly talking to my kids and my wife, painting a picture of myself. Sort of a Jackson Pollock approach, but with words. They don’t read this blog right now, but I’m thinking a time will come when they do. And I hope they like it.

I hope you like it too.

If not, it’s perfectly okay with me. I’m not sure I like it either.


Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2011

Spectacle

Well. The outside Christmas decorations are finally up. Got the lights on the bushes and the blow up thingie blown up and the trim around the door and all that. Christmas kitsch is alive and well.

Wasn’t sure I’d get the outdoor stuff up this year. There have been a few years where things were so nutty that I just never got to it, which disappoints the wife and kids. But I took Nike’s advice. I just did it.

I really enjoy the decorations that people put out on their lawns at Christmas, even though, if we’re honest about it, we’d have to admit that 99.9% of all the decorations are pretty horrid. I’m with the horrid crowd myself: Slapped together hodgepodges of this that and the other thing. Even in the big fancy neighborhoods, where people have enough money to do a coordinated decorating extravaganza, most people just put up whatever they saw in the store that they thought was cool at the time.

One thing that makes it a challenge is that if the stores end up stocking some decoration that happens to be really nice, and not overly priced, then EVERYONE buys the same thing and you see it all over town.

Whatever.

I like the decorations. I like that people take the time to put them up. And some of the most horrible decorations are the most fun to look at. I love it when people go crazy and make their yard look like some kind of deranged Christmas circus. I wouldn’t want to live next door to them, but I like the drive by. Some streets absolutely glow as you turn onto them because they have so many decorations.

At our house, we take advantage of the spectacle: It makes for a good trip through the neighborhood every year with the family. A very cheap night out “on the town.” We pick a night, and we drive slowly from street to street for a few hours, listening to Christmas music, eating some unhealthy fast food drive through grub and talk about, you know, stuff.

It’s a family tradition. I highly recommend it. And you can’t beat the price.



Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Masculinectomy

You need to understand: I was not overly blessed with manliness to begin with.

I have never been good at or much interested in team sports. And don’t get me started on the game of golf. What is it with watching golf on TV? How do people do this? I’m sorry, but I will never understand it. And I have a hard time relating to guys who can’t look you in the eye while they talk about how everything is “okay” all the time. I’m not big on hunting, though I do like to go fishing on occasion. But I’m not good at it. And I don’t like pickup trucks. I actually, honestly, really do like my mini van...

I think you get my point. If you don’t get my point by now, I’m sorry, but I can’t keep going with that. Suffice it to say, I’m troubled by the fact that I’m just not in a very good position to turn my lack of manliness around because I have been blessed.

With three daughters. Three. T-h-r-e-e. And no sons. I’m all alone here, people.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my daughters like crazy. I wouldn’t trade them for anything or anyone. They are light in my life. They are beautiful and amazing. But these three daughters are growing up into three teenage girls who will, God willing, become three grown women. And if you add their growing estrogen factories to my wife’s fully developed and highly functional estrogen output, what you have is a prescription for my ending up with a complete masculinectomy.

Example: I get in the shower. Can I find a bar of soap? Not a chance. Do they even make bars of soap anymore? I haven’t seen one in years. So what do I have to choose from? Cucumber melon sparkle something or other body wash with Jojoba and rice juice extract? Something nutty like that. And shampoo? Watermelon lime whatsit whatever with maximizer this and volumizer that.

You say, “Okay, grown man, go to the store and get your own bar of soap.” I say, “Oh yeah! And where would I put it? Every nook and cranny is filled with odd concoctions, scented in every conceivable way.

I get out of the shower smelling like the fruit drawer in our refrigerator.

I sense that my testosterone levels are progressively decreasing, day by day, due to environmental influences, and I may be reaching a crisis point where all that’s left is a shell of a man who should have prepared himself by playing a little sports now and then and maybe chewing some tobacco or learning how to grunt out expletives while fixing my car. That is, I mean, my truck. Pickup truck. With a gun rack on it, right? Something. Anything. I don’t know.

What I do know: I don’t stand a chance.



Philippians 4:13
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Hoax

When I was a child, I was sitting in my Grandfather’s living room. He lived in the city of Detroit, where he had come to find work many years before. All of my memories of my grandfather are from after he retired. We would visit my grandparents at their house in Detroit constantly. I would watch my grandpa drink Maalox right out of the bottle, constantly sipping it all day long, to keep his stomach in check.

This same grandfather, so the story goes, was once asked to play banjo and fiddle (that’s “violin” for you arteests) for the Grand Ole Opry in Tennessee, but he refused because it didn’t pay enough to support his large family. But he still pulled out his fiddle and banjo on occasion and played a little something for us kids, which I absolutely loved. But it was hard to get him to do it. He’d say, “My author-rye-tiss is given me trouble,” and that was the end of it.

So. I was sitting with Grandpa, watching TV, and a commercial came on for the brand new Disney World in Florida. I was transfixed. I wanted to head out there immediately and take up permanent residence. But when the commercial was over, Grandpa turned to me to say something, which he didn’t do very often. He just didn’t talk much. But he turned to me and said, “I don’t believe it! It’s a bunch a nonsense! Cain’t be no such thing as that Disney World! They’s a bunch of liars!”

For a moment I was startled, shaken up by the idea that I had somehow been duped by “The Powers That Be.” For a moment I took the word of my grandpa that Disney World wasn’t there and we were all being cruelly misguided by someone higher up than us. Considering that my life’s goal at that moment was to get to the fabled Land of Disney, this was quite disturbing.

But then I settled down and realized, for the first time, that my grandpa was just wrong.

I was not foolhardy enough to try and correct him. But years later I tried to make sense of what he said, and what I think is that Disney World was just too much for him. He had been born in 1899. He had been through the Great Depression. The world he grew up in was just so far removed from the images on the TV of Disney World that he simply could not even imagine a place like that existing. All of the colors and rides and music. All of those smiling people. It was just too much. So he dismissed it.

It seems to me that a lot of us do this with a lot of things. Some people dismiss joy and peace because it’s too far from their experience. Some people dismiss love and hope and forgiveness for the same reason. But just because we can’t imagine something doesn’t mean it’s not possible or true.

I have been to Disney World. It’s really there. Honest. And it’s amazing.

I just wish my grandfather could have seen it.

Ephesians 3:20-21
Peace to you.

And yes, that really is a guy from Kiss singing "When You Wish Upon A Star."


© LW Publishing 2010

Drive-In

Growing up, I lived a few streets away from the Jolly Roger Drive-In theater. When I was really little, we actually went to this theater a few times, but into the 1970's, and I have no idea how they got away with this, the theater started showing some hard R and maybe even X rated movies, it’s a little hard to remember, except that my parents were outraged, of course. And, so you understand, this was not in the middle of nowhere. This was in the middle of a suburban neighborhood and any kid was free to go over to the street that ran next to the theater and feast on carnal knowledge better left unknown.

But they showed other things too, especially in the late sixties and early seventies. I remember watching one of the Ray Harryhausen movies on the street that ran next to the theater, trying to figure out what the people were saying, but still amazed at the images on the screen. I believe it was one of the Sinbad movies, but it’s hard to remember.

Almost all of my movie viewing during the first 10 or 13 years of my life was done at a Drive-In theater. I saw Disney’s The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (good old Dexter Riley, played by the incomparable Kurt Russell). I saw some Disney Animated films, and I always loved every minute of it. I would watch my siblings slowly doze off as the night wore on into the second show, wondering how they could stand to miss the movie.

I loved the popcorn and the “shrimp” roles that had who knows what really in them. I sure don’t think it was shrimp. I loved the atmosphere. I loved the way the gravel made noise under the car as you slowly made your way to just the right spot to park and see the show. I loved everything about the Drive In. The whole thing.

I think my favorite Drive In experience was when I saw Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory at the Ecorse Drive-In. This was in a suburb outside of Detroit. I would have been a very impressionable eight years old at the time. My family and I were eating at a little burger joint we went to a lot that was across the street, near the Ecorse Drive In. When we pulled out of the restaurant, instead of turning left for home, like we usually did, we turned right and went into the Drive In. I still vividly remember this moment. We all shouted and screamed, we were so happy to be going to the show. My parents laughed at us.

You need to understand that we almost never did this. We couldn’t afford it. So it was once, maybe twice a year at best. For us, this was a very big deal indeed.

And it was Willy Wonka. And it was amazing.

This movie still holds a special place in my heart, partly because it’s such a great movie, with strong songs and a performance by Gene Wilder that is completely worth the price of admission. But also because I can still remember the light of the movie shining on my parents faces in the front seat. I remember looking and thinking about the shape of their faces. I remember the smell of the popcorn and the glow that filled our car as we huddled together quietly in the dark, listening to the little speaker hanging on the window.

Entranced and at peace, we were a family. We had scars. We had been broken. Life was not perfect, but this was one of the good days. We were one.



Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2010