A Face Full of Thankfulness

A trend on Facebook is to post something you’re thankful for every day throughout November. There’s another November Facebook phenomenon alternately called “No Shave November” or “MowVember,” in which male participants pledge not to shave for the entire month.

Having sported a mustache, goatee or full frontal beard since the summer after I graduated from high school, “No Shave November” is a non-event for me. On the other hand (cheek?), I do like the idea of deliberately being thankful for something thing every day.

 
While there isn’t room here to give all 30 thanks, I would like to note a few, as follows:

I’m thankful for my kids – who are now adults, each one pursuing their own unique dream, living (or planning to live) in places distant from their Crescenta Valley roots. Would their mom and I love to have them closer? Absolutely. Would we ever want them to stay local for our sake? Absolutely not.

I’m thankful for five healthy, happy grandkids – each one a beautiful blessing beyond measure.

I’m thankful that tomorrow I can “legally” open up our vault of Christmas music and start the annual tacky-music-athon.

As I face the annual “hanging of the lights” ritual (also known as ‘Dad loses it on a ladder’), I’m thankful that I still have hundreds of spare incandescent Christmas light bulbs on hand. So, hopefully, I won’t have to switch over to strings of those hideously garish, green-no-matter-what-color-they-are, LED abominations for years to come.

I’m thankful for dogs. Big dogs. Manly dogs. My kids call me a “dog dude” which I’m pretty sure is the equivalent of “cat lady.” I’m okay with that.

I’m thankful that – finally – the high profile, disgraced, disgusting and dishonest national politician most in the news this month is not from Washington, DC, but rather, Toronto, Canada. Whew. It’s nice to know that the U.S. doesn’t have a monopoly on stupid.

I’m thankful for love and marriage. Our two unmarried sons are both engaged to wonderful women who make each of them better men in so many ways. One son will be married next May, the other next September. 2014 is going to be amazing. Expensive, but amazing.

I’m thankful for the small group of Christian couples my wife and I have been meeting, studying and praying with on Thursday evenings this year. It’s a blessing to grow through life with you all!

I’m thankful for the new mercies I see, morning by morning.

I’m thankful whenever a heat wave breaks and an infrequent low-pressure system gives us a glimpse of what real seasons must be like.

Which reminds me, I’m thankful that I sweated it out and didn’t turn on our air conditioner during our recent So Cal “nineties in November” heat wave. Not sure I could’ve handled the depression I’d feel from using A/C so close to Thanksgiving.

I’m thankful our family never started the “Elf on the shelf” tradition at Christmastime. Sorry, that little squatter just creeps me out.

I’m thankful that I replaced our old mailbox just in time for the annual dumpage of catalogs. The poor thing is already experiencing metal fatigue.

I’m thankful that the Winter Olympics begin in only two months. I’m not a sports junkie until either the Tour de France or the Olympics begin. Then you can’t pry me away from the daily coverage.

I’m thankful I don’t feel any compulsion to join the mobs of mall (maul?) shoppers during Black Friday tomorrow. I can’t promise that I won’t be shopping online, however.

Finally, I’m thankful for my wife of nearly 28 years, an impossibly patient and grace-filled woman who somehow tolerates a husband for whom every month is No-Shave-November. Love me, love my fur.

And with that, I wish you and yours a tender turkey, creamy mashed potatoes, good drink and conversation, a warm home and even warmer relationships.

Happy Thanksgiving, and I’ll see you ‘round town!

A Wonder-Fall Season

Everywhere I go lately, more people (myself included) are commenting on how fast time seems to be going by – this year more than any other. For example, how could it already be almost six months since I “wondered” in this space? Better fix that right now. Ready?

I wonder ... how many irate letters were written to Capital One about their new Quicksilver credit card commercial where celebrity endorser, Samuel L. Jackson, looked straight at the camera and used a swear word. It only took about a week before they felt the wrath of viewers and replaced the offensive spot with a tamer, more civilized version I’m sure they had in the can just for that purpose. Mr. Jackson now says, “ ... every single day.”

I wonder ... how long it will be until nobody notices such language from primetime network advertisers?

I wonder … how many times I’ll be suckered into buying the latest Paul McCartney album? Let the 71-year-old man retire, for crying out loud. He only transformed the world of music and pop culture for multiple generations and will forever be remembered as one of the greatest songwriters of all time. But seriously, if anyone other than Sir Paul had produced such boring, repetitive albums as his last couple of dozen, they would be insignificant bottom-dwellers of the iTunes sales charts.

I wonder … if advertisers are really using more sound effects of door bells in their commercials? Or am I’m just noticing because I have a hyper-active, 90-pound maniac of a Labradoodle puppy in the house who will knock down chairs, leap over couches and move his four furry legs faster than Fred Flintstone at quitting time in the quarry every time he mistakenly thinks there’s somebody at our door. The other morning I counted no less than 8 different commercials using a door bell sound effect in the span of two hours. My poor dog.

I wonder ... if women will ever participate in the national “No-Shave November” event like more and more men do each year? I mean, if our longsuffering lady folk have to put up with our bristly, scratchy faces, it’s only fair that we should have to do the same with their legs, right?

I wonder … if anyone in management at LAX realizes the instant negative reaction their airport receives wherever one travels around the world? This past summer I took one of those shared airport shuttle vans to Dallas-Fort Worth airport from my hotel about 40 minutes away. Two of the passengers crowded into our van began comparing airport horror stories and nominating which one they would least want to travel through. The other travelers soon joined in and eventually, there was a consensus that either Pittsburg or Sao Paula were the absolute worst – until I mentioned LAX. Immediately, there was a unanimous groan of acknowledgement that LAX was the place no one wanted to see on their itinerary due to a combination of rude, unhelpful employees and overused, poorly designed facilities. Other than that, we got it goin’ on, Angelinos!

I wonder … why more entrepreneurs for whom English is a second language don’t have their business signage looked at by someone a little more familiar with the mother tongue before hang it up for all to see? Along Foothill Blvd alone, there are many storefront signs that are, to say the least, confusing. For example, what does “Building your healthy place” mean for a pizza parlor? Beats me. At one time (it’s closed now) there was a Chinese restaurant on Foothill in Tujunga with a deliciously terrible name, the “Poo Ping Palace.” Not surpisingly, I could never get up the nerve to try their food.

I wonder ... if we’ll all be wearing coats or cut-offs for this year’s Montrose Christmas parade? Only the Doppler Nine Thousand Mega Radar Dookickey knows for sure.

I’ll see you ‘round town.

A Reunion with High School Angst

The 40th reunion of the Crescenta Valley High School Class of 1973, my class, was held last month at the Chevy Chase Country Club. I didn’t go.

It’s not that I was out of town. I didn’t forget to put it on my calendar. I wasn’t in bed with a horrible cold or otherwise incapacitated. And the cost of the tickets to attend wasn’t overly ridiculous (although $140 at the door was just a bit spendy). None of those reasons kept me away. I just didn’t go.
 

Why? That’s a question that I’ve been asking myself ever since the morning after.

For at least a year leading up to the big event, I had been getting (to the point of annoying) regular reminder emails and snail mail from the company who organized the reunion. The date was highlighted on all of my calendars, and I had every intention of attending. Then, as tickets went on sale, I hesitated.

Again, I can’t say exactly why, but I never did buy a ticket. Which is too bad. Because, from the photos that were posted on various Facebook pages I’ve seen since that night, the early-October shindig was a big success.

Speaking of big, in many of the photos I’ve seen online, I’m pleasantly surprised that more than a few of my former classmates are also battling the bulge of middle age. I was a little relieved to see pictures online of many of the guys who (in my memory at least) were the studly, babe-magnet types in high school but now – well – look just like any old average Joe. Like me, in other words.

Also much in evidence in the posted photos are plenty of receding hairlines and bald spots. And those were just the women. (Rim shot!) But seriously, apparently I’m not the only male from my graduating class who has lost hair and gained weight.

On the other hand, seeing photos of various groups of classmates who reconnected at the reunion – the very same groups who hung out together on the CV Quad or the lower field or Tobacco Road – brought back many the feelings of being in or out of “the cool kids” club. I could probably go through my dusty CVHS yearbooks and find almost identical photos (but with much younger faces staring back) of the same old cliques.

In the months leading up to the reunion, I often logged on to the organizing company’s web site page that listed who was coming, who wasn’t coming, who had left comments, etc. One of the more interesting lists was who had yet to be located. I would think in this age of Google, Facebook, LinkedIn and NSA surveillance of every move we make, it would be virtually impossible to be un-findable. And yet, surprisingly enough, there were quite a few members of my Class of 73 who simply could not be located. I think that’s more than a little sad.

Even worse, though, was the online list with the names of my CVHS classmates who had already passed away. A quick scroll showed something like 25 of my Class of ’73 classmates have already died. How could that be? I mean, we’re not that old yet. Are we? It was a painfully sobering reminder of just how fast and how much life changes once you leave high school.

Not to get all melancholy, but maybe the reason I didn’t attend the reunion was because I didn’t want to see those changes played out in person, in real time. Only my therapist knows for sure. And who knows; maybe in another ten years, I’ll attend my 50th. As long as I can grow back my hair and lose another thirty pounds, that is.

To my fellow classmates who attended the reunion, my deepest apologies and regrets for not joining you. Until 2023, hopefully, I’ll see you ‘round town.

Of Dogs & Daylight Savings Time

Arizona and Hawaii have the right idea. 

They’re the only two states in the union with the collective common sense to ignore the biannual foolishness that goes by the name of Daylight Saving Time (DST). Actually, it’s a little more complicated than that. The Navajo Nation within the state of Arizona does follow DST, as well. Go figure.

I’m convinced that when the history of our modern age is written, the phenomenon of DST will be summarized as a quirky combination of Old World practicality, perpetuated by contemporary good intentions and political stubbornness.
Daylight Saving Time was first proposed in 1895 by New Zealand entomologist, George Vernon Hudson. Mr. Hudson wanted more afternoon daylight hours in which to collect insects. No kidding. Years later, the concept of advancing clocks during the lighter months at the beginning of springtime grew in popularity around the world for other reasons (some more valid than collecting bugs at dinnertime), and was first instituted in the U.S. in 1918. The observance of DST in America has been abandoned, modified and reinstated several times over the past nearly 100 years, most recently during the energy crisis of the early 70s.
Even more recently, with the passage of the Energy Act of 2005, Daylight Saving Time was lengthened an additional four weeks (not taking effect until 2007, however) so that it now begins the first Sunday in March and ends the first Sunday in November. As I researched this topic, I learned that Senator Michael Enzi and Representative Fred Upton actually argued before their colleagues that the DST extension was necessary to give children across the country more daylight hours to safely trick-or-treat. I can almost hear the bloviating bluster in the chambers of democracy, “Hey, fellow lawmakers! Here’s an idea ... let’s mess with everyone’s businesses, leisure activities, traffic patterns, travel schedules, record-keeping and sleep patterns so kids have more time to go trick-or-treating while the sun’s up, I mean, who wants to trick-or-treat in the dark, right?”

And that, boys and girls, is why we all just spent the last week eating dinner at 5 o’clock and waking up before the newspaper is thrown onto the roof. Sort of. 

To be fair, I’ve studied the intended benefits of Daylight Saving Time; that it was supposed to boost energy conservation and help farmers harvest their summertime crops. But I’ve also seen many more recent studies that debunk or at least greatly minimize any benefits in these areas. If fact, some of the most recent data even show an increase in energy consumption due to DST.
Then again, if we can play with time itself, why not mess with the months of the year? I mean, I’ve always wondered why all the big holidays, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years come one right after the other – boom, bang, bing! And then Valentine’s is the next month. But after that? Nothing. Nada. Squat. It’s one long, dry stretch of calendar wasteland until the fireworks fly in July. (Easter is too sacred and solemn, it doesn’t count!) So why not pass a law that shuffles the months to more fairly balance out the holidays?
I remember how goofy the whole time-change thing sounded trying to explain it to our kids were old enough to understand the concept. Then again, I’m still not sure that I understand it myself. I do know one thing; that it’s impossible to explain to a 70-pound chocolate lab and 90-pound Labradoodle why it’s too flippin’ early to get out of bed even though only yesterday at the exact same moment it was time for breakfast.
I’ll just be happy when I’ve adjusted enough that every time I look at a clock I don’t automatically think about what time it “really” is or would have been this same time last week. And now, back to resetting all of our clocks.

I’ll see you ‘round town.

Goblins, Ghouls and Grown Ups

(Note: the following column appeared yesterday -- on Halloween -- in the Crescenta Valley Weekly newspaper) 

Do you know yet what you’re going to be for Halloween? That was a question asked of me and every kid I knew back in the day – and I have no doubt it’s still asked this time of year wherever there are excited kids, plastic pumpkins overflowing with candy and neighborhood doorbells to be rung. One big difference today, however, is that parents more often than not are also asked the same question: Got your Halloween costume all figured out?

Increasingly, the adults will have chosen costumes that are much more elaborate and costly by far than the ones their kids will be wearing. Do a search online for “adults” and “Halloween” and all sorts of scary headings appear – many of them including “sexy” or “plus size” or even using both descriptors in their listing. (Now, that’s truly frightening.) But salted between the links to sketchy sites I don’t ever want in my browser history, are multiple news stories reporting how much more money is spent on adult Halloween costumes and activities than on kids.

I don’t want to open a big can of cultural worms (and I’m only given room for 650 words in this space each week) so I’ll let wiser pundits than yours truly discuss the cultural reasons and ramifications of the fast-growing phenomenon that has Halloween becoming nearly as significant a holiday as Christmas.

From my own observations and admittedly limited research, it’s apparent that both kids and adults have more costume choices available than ever before. Along with the usual monsters, mummies and other malevolent nasties, there are sure to be legions of pop-culture icon lookalikes ringing doorbells and attending parties tonight – from Duck Dynasty’s quirky Uncle Sy to the sadly lascivious Miley Cyrus.

I even saw an online post showing a ridiculously clever costume made from a full body stocking with hundreds of paint chips like the kind you pick up at the hardware store attached to the fabric. Every chip was a series of graduated gray colors, some almost white, some almost black and all tones in between. Can you guess what the wearer was? Yep, 50 Shades of Gray. Hopefully the person wearing this bit of ingenious creativity is an adult and not a fifth grader. But nothing would surprise me any more.

Every year my wife and I tried to be as creative as possible with our kids’ costumes when they were trick-or-treating age. The standing rule in our house was you could be as weird or whacky as you wanted to as long as the character wasn’t evil, bloody, flesh-eating or gaggingly gross. It also had to be something we could make, not pre-packaged or store bought.

My wife was one of the last Glendale Unified students fortunate enough to learn the fast-disappearing art of sewing, so she was always willing and able to create amazing costumes. And I have always loved the challenge of making costume props – from a 4-foot long, chicken-wire and papier-maché alligator for a Steve Irwin, “Crocodile Hunter” character to a wooden sword and shield for a Legend of Zelda “Link” costume.

My all time favorite, however, was the good ship “Trout-anic” which we built as a wearable fishing boat (your legs and feet poked through the hull and suspender-like straps over the shoulders supported its weight) for our fishing fanatic son who went door-to-door in his waders trolling for candy.

If for some reason my wife and I were dressing up this year, I think it would be fun for her to go as HHS Secretary Kathleen Sebelius carrying a Commodore 64 computer and a stack of “100 Hours Free AOL” startup disks. I would wear a really bad hairpiece and walk alongside of her as a short and stumpy version of Donald Trump. Every few minutes I’d point my finger at her and say, “You’re fired!”

Happy Halloween! Be safe and I’ll see you ‘round town.