Who’s That Girl?

Last week Franklin High School’s choirs put on a “Winter Performance” (winter of course being code word for CHRISTMAS). We dropped off our little K-girl and headed to dinner while the choir prepared for the evening.

I took Michelle and the three other girls to dinner at our favorite Thai spot- Chlay’s. We always enjoy seeing the owner Suwane (most people call her Pam) and catching up on family news.

After dinner, and placing an advance to-go order that we would pick up for K-girl on the way home after the concert, we headed down the road to Franklin High School. We took our seats and awaited the beginning of the show, Sony HandyCam at the ready of course.

I was a bit shocked. While I was certain we had dropped off little K-girl, what I saw on stage and on the viewer screen was not her. I saw an amazingly beautiful young woman. Absolutely gorgeous (she gets that from her mom for sure), and looking way to mature for my little girl.

It took me a full 5 minutes to recover. Flashing through my mind were images of a newborn K-girl crying at the bright hospital lights and then settling down as I shielded her eyes. Our little toddler pointing at everything in sight and awaiting the proper word and intonation from her mom or me. The stunning 5 year old trotting off to kindergarten with barely a glance back at us. And the uncoordinated and goofy tweenager starting to struggle with increasingly hard homework and the intricate web of life I call the female social structure.

She’s growing up way to fast. It’s no longer years and years ahead of us having this precious person in our daily life… we’re down to months now. About 32 of them. Oh man, this is starting to get real hard.

When Anchors Float

I sense that the world is experiencing a sudden awareness that in this physical realm there is nothing of substance to anchor oneself to. At least this latest generation is learning this lesson that has been learned for countless generations before.

The worldwide economic situation is unstable. Fear is rising. The super-rich are becoming distraught as billions of dollars of their wealth disappear. The average American is also now very concerned as neighbor’s homes are foreclosed, 401K values slip even further below what seemed for sure to be the floor in October, and the illusionary safe-haven of home value becomes a vaporous cloud.

Automakers on the brink, schools in shambles, the treasure of the next generation being squandered on the silly gamble of throwing good money on top of collapsing companies and industries. Things appear to be getting dire.

What are you anchored to?

What in this world can possibly provide stability and safety? Is it your home? Values are dropping and stray embers or bad weather can take care of that false stronghold in a moment. Not to mention your home owners insurance company may be on the brink of insolvency. Is it your wealth? Last week the world learned a respected and seemingly honorable financial giant was actually running a giant Ponzi scheme and $50 billion dollars disappeared overnight. Is it your family? Your wife or husband, parents, kids or friends that provide love and companionship? Any of us could be gone in an instant. Then what?

What are you anchored to that could possibly hold you steady during the storms of life?

The Lost Generations

This past Friday the last of three generations of family members passed away.

I had the pleasure of getting to know and spend time with Great Grandma Clara, Great Uncle Raymond, Grandfather James and Grandmother Dorothy, Grandfather Antony and Grandmother Astrid and Great Uncle Richard.

My Great Uncle Raymond was the last of those family members, on both sides of my family, older than my parents that was still alive.

He was such an amazing link to the past. A true world traveler, merchant marine during WWII and beyond through retirement. He told stories of ports of call from the USSR to China, the Horn of Africa to Alaska, Australia to Thailand.

My parents rushed down to Florida to be with him. The hospital reported that he was only a few days away from leaving us. On Friday my sister Natalie flew down from the DC area and arrived just an hour or so after he died.

He was a good man. Kind, loving, dedicated to the family, and always there to help out in many ways.



I have such great memories of staying in his guest house as a kid in Miami, of Christmas Eve orange picking when his grove was hit by a freeze, of hanging out at his lake house in Umatilla FL and watching for the ever elusive alligator that haunted the neighborhood.


He will be, is, greatly missed, and I mourn for the lost generations of wisdom and experience from our family.

One of the things I loved most about him was his cool and calm demeanor and deadpan style. It was nearly impossible to tell when he was being dead serious, or when he was delivering the heapingest pile of BS you ever heard but were convinced it was true because of the delivery.

Even in his final years, well beyond 80, he cracked me up. Just recently he got a traffic ticket in Florida for not coming to a complete stop at a stop sign.

The policeman pulled him over and asked for his license and registration then asked Uncle Raymond if he knew why he pulled him over.

Uncle Raymond: “Yes.”

The policeman: “You didn’t come to a full stop at the stop sign. Didn’t you see it?”

Uncle Raymond: “Yes.”

Policeman: “Well, why didn’t you stop?”

Uncle Raymond: “If I’d seen you, I would’ve."

12 year old Raymond Dennis at his childhood home on
Brasher Avenue in Nashville. He's holding his dearly loved "Buck the dog."
The date is September 1936, and he has his whole life ahead of him.

Shocking Information About Women’s Restrooms

A few years ago while enjoying a family dinner at one of our favorite area restaurants, J. Alexander’s, I had to excuse myself to make a quick trip to the restroom.

While there, I took a few moments to get caught up on the news. No, I wasn’t relaxing on the porcelain throne reading through the newspaper often tucked into the space between the toilet paper roll and the wall in men’s public restrooms, I was actually standing in front of the, umm, urinal (I can’t find a nicer word).

Conveniently placed in front of the “P” spot (an imaginary little dot straight ahead on the wall in front of urinals where most men stare intently so as to not even CHANCE a stray glance), are various pages of the newspaper. Stall 1 is page 1, stall 2 is sports, stall 3 is business, and so on. Take your pick.

Not every bathroom is the same. Some have a collection of advertisements in front of the P spot (cigars, pick-up trucks, gas grills, sports tickets, all the manly stuff), and some even have televisions tuned to ESPN. A guy doesn’t need to know how many rating stars a restaurant has to judge the quality of the joint- what really matters is whether they care enough to provide something in front of the P spot.

Back to the story… when I came back to the table I told my family about an interesting story I had just read. My wife and girls were fascinated. “Where did you just read the newspaper?” asked one of them. I explained to them about how most men’s restrooms often have reading material in various places. They were flabbergasted and had never heard of such a thing- even my wife. I was amazed that they hadn’t- it was just so normal for men. We just assume women have the same thing in their restrooms.

My wife said once in a while, rarely, there’s one of those mini billboards with multiple ads on the back of the stall door, but that’s about it. Michelle and the girls had no idea there was reading material in front of men’s urinals and they thought it hilarious.

Well… fast forward to last week. I learned something about women’s bathrooms that I had never known, and I would guess a good number of other men don’t either. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement.

Here it is- it is not uncommon for women or girls to get locked or trapped inside a stall and have to crawl on the floor under the door. Yes, you heard it right.

It turns out, according to my wife and confirmed by all four of my daughters…and two other women I checked with, that every so often women get inside a stall, lock the door, and then can’t get it unlocked. It’s sort of the bathroom equivalent of not being able to get a jar lid open in the kitchen without help.

While it’s more common in young girls, it happens occasionally to older kids and adults as well. I was told also that every so often a woman will go to open a stall, find it locked, notice there’s no one in it, and know exactly what happened- “Oh. Someone got stuck in there and had to crawl out under the door.”

My wife said one of the most horrible experiences she’s had (not including the incredible incident that took place at a gas station this summer while on our family road trip) was when she got trapped in a stall whose walls and door came down to within an inch or two of the floor. Horror.

Team Lifting at Target

Last night Michelle and I went Christmas shopping to wrap up most of the final gifts on our list. Afterwards we debated and disagreed on a spot for dinner. Back and forth we went- Thai, Chinese, Alexander’s, Logan’s and more. In a fit of frustration I suggested McDonalds and Michelle agreed. I headed that way until she realized I was serious and called me off.

We ended up at the local pub for a burger and beer. I was so hungry at that point I could care less where we ate.

Our shopping excursion was at Target and we about broke the bank. One of the items we bought is classified by Target as a “team lift.” This means 2-4 people, depending on the weight of the item, are required by company policy to help lift the item off a shelf or sales floor. This particular item listed the proper number as 3.

I asked for help getting the large and weighty item off the shelf and to the front of the store for check-out. A petite clerk answered my call from help (one of those “I need help” buttons in the aisle at Target I love so much. I’m working up the nerve one day to push the button and when help arrives, ask them for career advice). She saw what I wanted to buy and went to get more help. In a few minutes the petite clerk arrived with a flat-bed cart and one other short female clerk.

Now this items weighs at least 250 pounds. As they leaned in to lift it up I jumped in to help.

“Sir, you can’t lift this, it’s against store policy- we’ll take care of it”

So there I stood… a large and relatively strong man, watching as two little ladies struggled with everything they had to lift the item. I felt like a union boss or a construction supervisor.

As they lifted it (well, it sort of fell off the low shelf as they grabbed on for dear life to keep it from falling on them and ending their short lives) I noticed the back was totally scratched up. I asked for the other one that was behind it.

They had to move the original one they removed from the shelf nearby and lean it up against a wall while they struggled to get the second one on the cart. After several minutes and just a few life-ending close calls, they succeeded.

These girls have a great future in commercial and residential moving.