We capriciously ask for things, though our greatest gift is ticking past us, moment by moment. Even with the briefest of pauses and with the most minuscule of sideways glances, time slithers past, confiscating the only irreplaceable measure of us.
Category Archives: Holiday
Election Day – OR – First Day of Apocalypse
It’s federal election day in the United States, for those who otherwise wouldn’t know it.
I made this picture so that fans of any side could use it and laugh.
I’m devoutly liberal for all social policies, if you need help guessing how I cast my votes.
Memory Day Each Day
Starting the day with a gift of 5 lbs. of wild birdseed to Jimmy, scattering it for the birds to feed on noisily. The birdsong isn’t Metallica, but I would imagine that it is as close to heavenly as could be devised. There were no muffin-fetching dogs to scamper about, nor cacophonous, mischievous laughs to startle passersby – but there were echoes of these, fluttering in the late May breeze, above the creek, below the sky, observing us all. Memorials aren’t events; they are memories of daily life, shared moments that fade into whispers as we recall them. With love to Jimmy and the world he ineloquently slipped away from.
“If you say these words aloud, in soft awe, you may summon the times you would ask to revisit.” – X
Best April Fools’ Day Story Ever
A Bill Qualls Baseball Story as told by X
I remember this day as if it were thirteen Thursday ago. It was the perfect late-April day for tomfoolery. That day was one of the best pranks ever perpetrated by any person in the history of the world. April Fools’ Day comes and inevitably evokes memories of this epic day. Had I not been there, I would have never believed such a prank was even possible.
Bill Qualls (top row, first on right) had come by and picked me up to go watch his friends and family play ball. Even though their jerseys all had “A’s” emblazoned on them, judging by their apparent prowess, I would have opted to name them the “B’s” or “C’s.”
Since all the adults were tired from working, they voted that I should be the pitcher for both teams. Because Miller Lite had interfered with a few of the adult’s speed and balance, they had moved me to within 15 feet of home plate. I felt like the Germans must have when the Allied Forces burst into Berlin, facing the barrels of a million rifles.
I decided to play a prank on the batting team, given the volume of ridicule and mockery they were lobbing my way. As I gestured to those playing the field to come up for a conference near the mound, everyone in the infield and outfield ran up to me and I told them my plan. We never imagined it would possibly work. We were like a motley group of idiot savants, embarking on a road trip in which no one knew how to read a map.
Kenny went up to bat and at my signal, I threw the ball as fast as I could. Or I pretended to. Like a game of distract-the-dog at the park, Kenny didn’t realize that I had in fact not thrown the ball at all. Jake, who was the catcher, hit his fist into his glove as if the ball had landed there. Bill yelled “Strike 1” from the side and then laughed. I reared back and threw another pretend fastball. (The batter should have noted that no one had the thrown the first ball back to me. I guess Miller Lite had loosened his reasoning skills enough already.) Kenny swung with all his might, spinning around home plate dizzily. Bill again yelled and shouted “Strike 2.” Kenny then demonstrated his command of every dirty word in the English language and several from Central America. He had already bragged that his batting average was “7,” whatever that meant.
As I threw the ball the third time, Bill was ready and waiting behind the plate and to the left, next to a wooden utility pole holding the electrical wire leading to the box behind the bleachers. As Kenny swung, Bill solidly hit the wooden pole with his own bat, mimicking the echo of a hit at home plate.
Everyone in the outfield starting screaming “Home Run,” or “Fly Ball.” Kenny, who hadn’t hit anything at all, couldn’t tell where the ball was. (It was still in my glove.) His own team hollering “Idiot” was drowned out by ‘my’ team, all of whom were running back and forth, looking upward to the sky, trying to get a bead on the nonexistent ball that was both going over the fence for a home run AND about to be caught for an out against Kenny. The guys looking skyward and prancing around under the invisible baseball now remind me of a ballet company being slightly electrocuted.
Kenny threw his bat and started running the bases. Even as he rounded second base, he didn’t seem to notice that the ball must be in Earth’s orbit at this point, given that so many seconds had passed since he ‘hit’ the ball. He ran even faster, although his idea of a straight line looked more like the stream of water coming out of a hose on a summer afternoon – that is to say, all over the place.
I stood between the pitcher’s mound and home plate, amazed at the spectacle of a grown man being duped into believing that he had hit a home run just by the sound of a bat thumping on a wooden pole.
In what seemed to be two minutes of Kenny running the bases, he rounded home plate. As his foot touched the base, I noticed that Bill had been standing near the utility pole along the fence, holding another baseball in one hand and a lighter glowing red with flame in the other. (This was not part of my plan.) The flame was burning the side of the baseball against his glove. He then quickly hurled the burned baseball as far as he could to right field. John caught it lazily and shouted, “I caught it. My god that thing must have been half a mile in space.”
Kenny stopped a few feet away from home and turned toward John, who was now running toward him, waving the ball he had just ‘caught’ after about two minutes in the air. John started excitedly shouting, “Look, I caught it! It went so high it got burned in the atmosphere.”
Kenny just stared at him, unable to comprehend what was happening. John tossed him the ball as he jogged past me and neared home.
Kenny caught the ball and stared in wonder at the white ball, now covered with black streaks and feeling extremely warm. He sniffed it and said “No way, man!” in a voice resembling both that of Rod Serling from “The Twilight Zone” and Cheech Marin.
We watched in awe as Kenny turned the ball over and over in his hand, his head turned slightly sideways, as if he were holding a chicken with four heads.
In unison, we all burst out in laughter, watching as Kenny admired his “Ball From Outer Space.”
Bill took a bow and smiled.
April Fools’s Day Should Be More Often
Sometimes, I wish every day were April Fools’ Day. With enough creativity, hilarity becomes infectious and we fall into our respective pillows filled with shaving cream, believe fantastical stories without regard to reason, and remember that life itself is one continuous prank on each of us. It is the best thumb-in-the-eye to this stuffed-shirt world.
The world would be both more interesting and tolerable if tomfoolery flourished with greater frequency. I’m not just saying this because I evidently am built with nothing except goofiness in mind.
I don’t usually do much, but I admire any attempt to catch someone off guard.
Earlier, I called the warranty manager for my home-builder and slowly told her I had an awkward situation. “Well, the heating technician who came to our house was outside without protective eye-wear and got his face full of dust from the unit. He came inside to use our bathroom and flush his face clean. He left his glass eye in a cup next to the sink. And I think he forgot he left it there when he was done.” It wasn’t until she started typing that it hit her that she probably ought to reconsider sending that email. It was good fun and she laughed.
Everyone should get a laugh like that one.
Another Great Weekend at Wisteria Lane
While all 4 cabins have great amenities, the truth is that cabin #4 is the best location, as it is at the end of the property, abutting wilderness and quiet. No one else stayed at the cabins this weekend, which was a shame for everyone else and a blessing for us.
My wife and I spent the weekend at the best cabin retreat possible: Wisteria Lane, with 70° weather in February. I grilled 3 times & was visited by the largest crow I have ever seen. I christened this new bird the “Dawnus Bird,” for humorous and legitimate reasons I am forbidden to disclose. We watched a couple of spectacular movies, listened to some great music and Dawn pretended to read while being interrupted 256 times. But nothing compares to the porch swing in the middle of nowhere.
I am so appreciate of the fact that our lives allow us the time and ability to get away to such a great place. It’s north of Eureka Springs and Holiday Island, short of the Missouri border, tucked away in a valley. I’ve written about it before and will undoubtedly sing its praises in the future. I’ve stayed at Wisteria close to 30 times and always miss it when I’ve not been in a while.
A Children’s Book for Xmas
Recently, I finished one of the best surprises I’d made in a while. I made a very basic story book with many edited pictures for a friend’s son. While the premise of the story was religious in nature, really I just wanted to try to make something that might be remembered fondly.
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After getting all the ideas compiled, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that Snapfish was offering something similar to what I wanted for a steal. I would have paid $100 per book, as I spent many, many hours editing the photos and trying to get the project to fit inside the confines of the finished book. I bought two copies, as I needed to ‘see’ it with my hands.
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It was a labor of love and it was something that I had a great deal of fun and moments of introspection doing it. I made dozens of pictures I discarded. Toward the end, I realized that I was letting myself get too far astray from the purpose of the story book – and from that realization, it was easy.
Here are pictures of the book once finished…
The book was a success with the child’s mom. I had so hoped it would be both a surprise and a treasure. So much of what I do is far from expectations. I sent the extra to her mother, the child’s grandmother, hoping it might be as well-received with her.
From there, I made a video version of the book and made it available to the mom digitally. It too was a success. I used a surprising song to provide the background music: Disturbed: The Sound of Silence.
A Festivus Pole For the Rest of Us
I splurged and got Dawn one of the best possible holiday gifts possible: a Festivus pole from Wagner steel.
As all of you know, Festivus is right around the corner, normally celebrated on Dec 23rd. Dawn’s birthday is the following day on the 24th. Dawn spends a few minutes a day compiling her “Airing of Grievances.” I fear it might rival the reading of “War & Peace” and that I might be the central thesis of same. (She did ask me what the difference between ‘stun’ and ‘disable’ on her taser was.)
When I assembled this delicious celebration of all-things-yuletide, the cat became so overwhelmed that he fainted at the base of the pole. Dawn’s smile was so large that I feared her features would permanently freeze in that position.
Where our house was before a structure absent the spark of joyous living, we were now bathing in the unbeatable combination of both Xmas tree and Festivus pole.
The cat’s actual words prior to fainting: “O, Festivus!” and then he fell, where he lay for 17 minutes. The only way to revive him was by opening a can of Vittles in the kitchen and waving the open can in front of his tiny nostrils.
Experts caution against the proximity of Festivus poles near Xmas trees. That’s just too much holiday spirit.
You’ll note of course that the base is a simple “X,” denoting great sensibility and stability. The directions were in Navajo and Elvish. Wait, no, they were upside down. Never mind.
I drive around, looking at those poor souls without their own Festivus poles to light their lives. I spent hours searching for people who couldn’t afford their own Festivus poles. Festivus Pole Farms are a rare sight in these parts.
If you want your own high-quality Festivus pole: ORDER HERE
A Sample Xmas Story For a Friend
Below is a simple Xmas story I wrote for a friend, to post on his social media page. He had a good scare a few weeks ago. While we don’t see one another often, we once shared a huge overlap in family and concern.
I tried to keep the story simple. I could have worried about how me might interpret it or create imaginary consequences and either made it lukewarm or ineffective. Like life, though, we are going to be misunderstood by so many no matter who careful we are or the words we choose.
Post: “This is a Christmas story. Like all good stories, it wouldn’t have an impact if people we know and love weren’t major cast members to the plot.
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Everyone knows the story of Santa’s letter to Virginia, beseeching her to hold out faith in Santa. It’s one of the most powerful messages known to us as a culture.
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Many of us prance through life, confident in the magical stories of our childhood: Santa’s reward on Christmas morning, the reindeer diligently traveling the world, showering young hearts with the things they most desire, or even of the ritual of surprising Saint Nick with cookies and milk. (Or a shot of whiskey and a plate of potato chips if we really want to make Santa smile with glee…)
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However, there is a dark side to the season. No moment is more sombrous than that in which an adult realizes that his or her family and friends no longer believe in the miracle of Christmas and all that Santa brings to us..
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Several years ago, I had the unfortunate experience of seeing such a somber occasion. I watched in horror as Mark Adams looked around the room at the faces of those he loved, growing increasingly certain that they no longer believed in Santa Claus. It’s a moment which often knocks without invitation in my mind, usually as the season approaches, even as my anticipation of the yuletide days encroach on the calendar.
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Despite my reluctance, I decided to take a photo of his distress. I did so as a remembrance to vow never to deliberately or inadvertently endeavor to lessen another person’s sense of wonder toward the world. That picture is the one accompanying these words. But don’t despair! Christmas stories inevitably come around to a time of surprise and good resolution. Be of cheer, so the saying goes.
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Mark’s belief in Santa didn’t abate on that day, however. As family and friends hugged him and gave him gifts, the spirit of both Santa Claus and Christmas renewed itself. It seems trite to say it, but the spirit of Christmas is best increased by those we treasure.
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Today, Mark is a happy, content fellow and Christmas is his yearly reward. As Mark lies down to slumber on Christmas Eve, he thinks of his own son, Jaxon, wondering if visions of Santa fill his youthful head, too. Of Shawndie, as she balances the weight of family and frivolity. And he smiles, hoping against all hope that those he loves can come to believe and renew their happy abandonment of the pressures of the daily world.
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Magic floats in the air, waiting for each of us to reach for it, embrace it, and spread it to others.
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As we do, might we live happily ever after?” (End of post.)
A Sample Birthday Social Media Post
I wish everyone would take a few moments and do something interesting for their close friends and family on social media. We don’t have to spend hours of our cramped free time to surprise someone – and we don’t have to do it every time someone has a birthday or special occasion.
Below is an example of a typical FB birthday post I did. I took an old, familiar joke and personalized it. I also made a picture and while this particular one isn’t multi-layered, it used a running joke I have with the birthday girl. My friend resembles Helen Mirren, so I tagged her in the photo to further confuse friends and family. I usually don’t stress about getting it perfect, or if there are errors. If the effort and thought don’t shine through, it was going to fall flat anyway.
Post: “Since it is Marilyn Fisher’s birthday, I thought it best to deviate from the expected trite social media post. In order to pay homage to the birthday anniversary of Marilyn, it seemed more appropriate to share a personal anecdote, one that demonstrates her level of personal warmth and humor.
I first met Marilyn a few years when she and Larry resided in Northwest Arkansas.
I had left my car parked on Holcomb Street so that I could walk along the tree-lined sidewalks of Maple Avenue, leading to the hospital in Springdale. It was a beautiful, serene spring late morning and I was admiring the quaint houses, decorative fences and the variety of birds.
About 100 yards along Maple Avenue, I looked up and saw a tall, older gentleman casually walking along the same side of the road as I was. His hands were in his pockets. He was wearing a bowling hat, a bright green shirt that had the name “Larry” printed above the pocket, and I could hear him humming the first verse to the “Ukulele Song,” his feet stomping to the rhythm in his head.
As he approached me, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned toward the wooden spruce fence on my side of the road, peering fixedly at it.
I listened intently.
I heard someone softly chanting “Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.”
My curiosity had gotten the best of me, so I cautiously moved past “Larry” and toward the wooden fence along Maple Avenue. I could see a hole in the fence slightly higher than waist level. Again, the soft whisper of “thirteen, thirteen, thirteen, thirteen” could be heard over the trees rustling overhead.
I leaned down as close as I could to the fence, trying to look directly through the hollowed out hole in the fence. The second I peered through the hole, a finger darted through it and poked me right in the eye!
Then, the chanting changes to “fourteen, fourteen, fourteen, fourteen.”
I hear Larry howling with laughter behind me.
That is how I met Marilyn (from beyond the fence) and her husband Larry for the first time.
It’s how I also discovered how Marilyn used her lunch breaks at work, trying to get to “thirty” with their well-choreographed ruse by the sidewalk fence.
She still calls me “Fourteen” to this day.” (End of post.)
In the comments, I added specific details about when the fake picture was taken, the circumstances, etc. Most people have a great sense of humor; even if they do not, they often play along in the ridiculousness of the story and details.
All I ask is to consider telling a personal story or be a little creative. Social media is only as good as what we put into it. If you are nervous about the risk of not being funny, or worse, not being engaging, don’t be. Trying to make personal connections through laughter or sharing is almost never a mistake. If you are nervous about sharing on social media, it might not be the best idea for you to use it except as a connection tool.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 