Christmas Day +2

Back to work. It was a short break, but it was an awesome celebration with family. I spent four days kicking back in Abilene. Despite the location, it was still fun.

An interesting thing happened Christmas eve. My parents had retired for the evening, and I was half reading my book/half watching a Christmas Eve church service on TV. I noticed a certain familiar fatigue taking hold of my body and knew that it was time for bed. Instead of proceeding directly there, I took a circuitous route through the kitchen. There, I filled a glass with water and drank. That's when I noticed the lights. Out the window beyond the breakfast table I could see Christmas lights adorning a fence. I thought it would be nice to venture into the back yard to get a better view and perhaps stargaze a moment or two before finally allowing visions of sugar-plum fairies to dance in my head.

My parent's house has changed a great deal from the time I lived there. A large percentage of those changes have happened in the past year. Since I'm there infrequently, I'm not yet accustomed to the new rythm of the house. What I'm about to reveal illustrates this point.

Already dressed for bed, I walked out into the cold night air and pulled the back door shut behind me. After walking a short distance out on the grass, a sense of dread descended upon me. A small and distant voice within my head began to repeat a warning my mother gave about the back door from the last time I was home. Returning to the door, I confirmed my fears; it was locked. It's around 11:45pm. I have no phone, no keys, no shoes, not much clothing, it is chilly, and my parents are sound asleep.

I am confident that making noise at the back door will go unnoticed, which means that I must go the front door. I can take one of two paths to get there. To go around the west side of the house requires that I traverse a rock garden replete with various cacti and full of tiny, hard stones. To go around the east side requires I enter a dark path between the rock fence and the house lined with small trees and make my way over the flower garden; in summary, the perfect environment for those nocturnal arachnids. I choose the west path. I assume Aragorn would have done the same.

I begin rapping on the front door and ringing the doorbell. There is no immediate response. I notice the neighbors arriving home and briefly contemplate asking them if I could use their phone. I don't know them, however, and choose to consider them only as a last resort. My knocking continues. Eventually, I settle on a morse code-like doorbell medley to which I'm sure a parent will respond. Twenty mintues later, my father groggily opens the front door. I apologize and hastily go to bed.

But there was much laughing the next day as my mother related this amusing tale to the rest of my family. I leave you with this wisdom; never leave home without a key.

Christmas vacation: Day 1

I arrived in Abilene last night so that I might celebrate Christmas with my family. It was an enjoyable and uneventful trip, though sadly devoid of snowfall. I like snow.

A strange incident occurred this morning. I was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a cup of coffee and a slice of banana nut bread while reading the paper. At one point I glanced away from the paper to see that bites of the bread had produced an interesting shape. Whether it was an act of my subconscious or authored by a higher power or completely random I don't know. It was in the shape of Texas. I took another sip of coffee as I pondered the significance of the event. I wish now that I possessed the foresight to grab my camera and document the occasion. Foolishly, I instead took another course. I savored another drink of coffee, then picked up the bread. I pondered it a second more, a wide smile breaking across my face. Then I bit off the panhandle and chewed slowly.

I hope everyone is having as much fun as I am

tales of youth

I'm finally away from the office for Christmas.  It wasn't a busy day, and it seemed endless.  I found myself remembering stories of Christmas past this morning.  One is amusing now, but was rather traumatic at the time.

 

When I was twelve or thirteen, I found myself in the basement of my aunt and uncle's house in Littlefield, Tx.  My two cousins and I decided that since temperatures outside required indoor activities, the secluded basement was a perfect substitute for a football field.  Donning helmets, pads, and jerseys we began our game.  Low ceilings and the twenty feet wall to wall prevented most passing options, so we went to work perfecting tackling.  Rarely did I tackle; most time was spent with the two of them tackling me.  They were determined that eventually they could bring me down.  Once in a while, they were successful.  About fifteen minutes into this scenario, tragedy struck.  I faced the two of them and braced myself for their worst.  They tossed me the ball and quickly closed the distance.  One of them finally remembered some training and lowered his shoulders, bringing his head in line with my chin.  The helmet I wore snapped back and exposed my two front teeth to the glancing blow of his helmet.  Except it didn't glance; it was a solid hit.  In an instant, I knew something had gone wrong.  I could feel shrapnel on my tongue and my face hurt.  My tongue darted to and fro over the jagged edges of my altered toothline, disbelieving its perception of reality.  At first, I tried to play down the moment, but that didn't last because I started to cry.  Tearfully, I repeated to my cousins what I had learned in school about how tooth enamel was a harder substance than bone.

 

This is also the source of my first conspiratorial lie.  My cousins and I were no strangers to trouble; they had theirs and I had mine.  By experience, we knew that there would be consequences for this situation.  We devised an alternate version of events.  Instead of tackling one another in full football gear (less mouth guards), I had been walking down the stairs to join them in another game.  It was during this descent that I tripped on something and tumbled, my fall broken by contact of my face to the handrail.  This is the version we first tested on my aunt.  It passed and it was also shared with my parents.  Only much, much later did I discover how deftly manipulated I had been.  How much trouble would I have been in?  I had only held the ball, and I was the one with broken teeth.  My cousins, however, were significantly more culpable.  So, not only did they escape punishment, but the incident report to family served to emphasize my clumsiness.

 

I spent the first weeks of that January at dental appointments, which repaired my smile.  I didn't even have to wait until the next Christmas to get my two front teeth.

next door

The apartment next door to mine was recently vacated. Too bad it couldn't be the apartment below mine, which would cure the 7AM wake-up on Saturday mornings by their dog. That's another story. I've been curious about the apartment next door ever since I moved into this complex. As you walk to my front door, you pass by a window into the unit's living room. Of course, it's impolite to stare into somebody's home, but almost impossible to avoid when the blinds are up. These few glimpses have always proved mysterious, and nurtured the germ of obsession.

The web site for my complex lists all the floor plans for the community, but I could never determine which of these was for this particular unit. Was it a one or two-bedroom? I live in a two-bedroom unit, so was this one larger or smaller than mine? I've thought about this occasionally for the past eighteen months.

When I arrived home from work last night (later than usual due to a failed attempt to purchase "Serenity" at Best Buy), my eyes fell on something strange as I approached my front door. There were keys hanging in the lock of the now empty apartment. Was there someone inside performing some last minute or maintenance task? I thought it improbable since there were few lights on and a completely empty front area, information gained thanks to a wide open window. My mind started to race with the possibilities this offered. However, I quelled all such thoughts deciding that I would wait at least half an hour. If, upon checking at that time, it appeared nothing had changed and no one had retrieved the keys, I would decide what to do.

So, I settled in to some household chores and an interesting episode of NOVA about unmanned military aircraft, or UCAVs. This topic was quite apropos given that this past week I had watched the movie "Stealth". At the appropriate time, I checked the situation.

The keys were still there. No other lights were on. I had heard no one come or go. I made my move and entered the apartment. It was nothing like I had pictured it. The kitchen and living area (visible from the window) were as expected, but I immediately learned two things. It was a 2-2 and bigger than mine. Whereas my office and bedroom are adjacent to one another, this unit had each bedroom on opposite ends. There was access to the balcony from the master bedroom, causing immediate envy. Otherwise, it was a rather unremarkable apartment. I really liked it, and might consider moving in. Two things prevent this thought's progress, however. The rent would be higher, and there's this window right by the front door, which to me is a security risk. Now I know, and I took some pictures in case I forget.

Another curiosity sated in a serendipitous turn of events.

Blogging...what's up with that?

Okay...I've held out for a while. Much longer than I thought I would. I mean, in this great technological medium of the Net, what more could I add to popular culture.

But, escaping the fascination of these things is impossible. I've witnessed friend after friend succumb to the siren of the Blog. Conversations and catch phrases no longer rely on simple shared experiences at the movies, a Farkle faux pas, lazy Saturday afternoons channel surfing, or finding out how many drinks it takes before I dance.

Of course, dear reader, your eyes on these words now reveal how far behind the times I've fallen. I never professed an expert tongue in the street patois, nor could I be accused of being on the leading edge of fashion. However, I labored under an illusion that I knew what was going on out here in cyberspace (is that even an allowed term these days?). I am from the first generation to turn in high school research papers comprised entirely of internet source material. Of course, this admission indicates that I am woefully underqualified.

Is this an effort to keep up with the digital Joneses? Perhaps... Yet, I feel it's an answer to a question that hasn't been asked of me. Am I ready to put aside a mere envy of those who grabbed the attention, and profess my true self?

To which I respond, "Bring it!"