I am a boy at heart. And boys love toys. And I have plenty.
Not the kind of toys many other men have like snowmobiles, jet skis or hunting and fishing gear. Mine run a bit more techie.
I have a collection of no fewer than 8 digital music players. I sit at a desk with 3 computers, 6 monitors, 2 printers, 3 scanners (including a flat bed, negative and print scanner), video and music editing software suite, the latest Blackberry (I don’t want an iPhone, so I got the Blackberry and an iTouch), tons of woodworking tools, a commercial grade mower for my 11 acres, cameras, and so much more crap it sometimes makes my head spin.
My wife dreads Christmas and my birthday. She has no clue what to get me.
What brings me the most joy though are the little things. A leather journal, a fountain pen with an old fashioned ink well, a coffee/cream mixer or a cool innovative miniature stapler. Yes, I can be as weird as the next person.
This Christmas she thought of the ABSOLUTELY PERFECT Christmas present for me. The problem was that when she bought it online she printed out the receipt on the wrong printer. It printed wirelessly on one of my office printers downstairs and I found the receipt.
Telescoping BackScratcher. $10.00. 100% perfect, and 100% me.
I told her I found the receipt and we decided I’d get my gift early.
Yes.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
How Wireless Printing Ruined Christmas, But Makes For A Nice November
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Sunday, October 26, 2008
90% Weed Free
Today at lunch my wife Michelle expressed to me (read that as complained forcefully) that the rest of the family doesn’t help out enough in keeping our landscaping weed-free. She certainly bears the brunt of the back-breaking work- bending over pulling weed after weed, one at a time.
Its no small feat. I would estimate that we have somewhere around 2000 square feet of landscaped area. Estimating between 1-2 new weeds per square foot, per week, you can do the math and realize quickly that’s a heck of a bunch of weeds to bend over and pull out.
We took two cars today. We had to split up after church so Michelle could take one of our girls to a birthday party on the other side of town, and I had some errands to run (the dangerous trip to Home Depot where I traditionally spend 10X more than I intended).
After the complaints about the lack of help, I decided after lunch to head home and surprise her.
Its 3:30PM, and after 3 hours of weeding, we’re about 90% weed free. I really don’t think we can get too much cleaner than that- there’s always tomorrows weeds just under the surface of the mulch waiting for a new day to break free.
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Saturday, August 11, 2007
July 1993 Heat
Here in Nashville, like much of the south, the heat this week and last is unbearable. Consistently over 100 degrees, the oven is turned on full blast and we have had about enough of summer. Sure, those in Arizona and Nevada scoff at a mere 100-105 degree heat- they regularly endure 110-120 in the hottest days of summer. But I have been there on those days…and I would take 115 in Tucson over 105 in Nashville ANY day.
Michelle reminded me that she has much more experience dealing with intense heat without relief than I. In the summer of 1993 Michelle was near full term with our first child, K. I had to head out to a convention the first week of July and we reasoned that since she was not due for another couple weeks it would be ok for me to go.
My boss got me an open ended ticket and I could fly back from Atlanta on a moments notice if I needed to. I tried to get out of the trip altogether but my company wouldn’t allow it.
No sooner had I landed in Atlanta than my cell phone rang and Michelle informed me the air conditioner in our apartment had broken and the temps outside were well over 100 degrees. The thermostat in the apartment read 98 degrees and rising. The bad news? Our apartment complex told her it would be 4-5 days before they could fix it.
She spent that night alternating between bed with a couple fans pointed at her, and the bathtub with ice cubes poured in. The next day she had to check into a nearby hotel by herself. Her mom drove up from Gaithersburg MD to Allentown PA where we lived to keep my miserable wife company for the weekend.
I, on the other hand, enjoyed 24/7 air conditioning, fine dining, parties and events all that weekend and into the next week.
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Monday, June 04, 2007
Anniversary
Yesterday was my 18th wedding anniversary. Michelle and I were married June 3rd 1989- the day of the Tiananmen Square crackdown by the Chinese government.
That event doesn’t have much to do with our wedding at all, other than what happened on our wedding night. As we moved into our well appointed room at the Gaithersburg Marriott, and Michelle took a shower after the long day, I flipped on the TV.
I am a bit of a news junkie…CNN turned on, and there was the story, and I was enthralled. By the time Michelle had finished I was still watching the news.
But all that is besides the point…I love my wife dearly. She is an amazing wife and mother, and doing an incredible job with our 4 girls. We still wonder, though I have taken measures to prevent it, if we should have a couple more children. Adoption is an option…and we are thinking and praying about it.
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Sunday, May 27, 2007
Before And After: The Garage
9:00AM- This should be fun and interesting. At least to me.
I will attempt to motivate and amaze myself as I tackle, with the help of my lovely wife Michelle and four wonderful daughters K, L, A & R, the cleaning and organization of our garage.
Our builder went a bit crazy on the garage. To say we have good storage space is an understatement. The garage has 4 bays for cars, a door to the patio, 2 large storage areas, plus a safe room/space if we have a really bad storm/tornado. All in the space is about 1500 square feet. Immense.
The work today will be exhausting, but I hope very successful. I am writing this before we begin. We shall see how it goes and what I write at the end of the day.
Here are the ‘Before’ pictures:



7:50PM- It is done.
My entire married life Michelle has teased me and given me a hard time for the way I organize a space. I learned it from my mom- take everything OUT of the space, throw it all about somewhere away from the space, then clean the empty space thoroughly, and finally, start to place the stuff back IN the cleaned space in an orderly and organized way. Michelle has always thought this was insane and added time and effort to the job. We have argued it many, many times, and Michelle always dismisses me as crazy for doing it my way.
Until today.
As we prepared for the task ahead I of course told her how I wanted it to go down. We would all work together to empty the ENTIRE garage of everything that is on or near the floor, dump it all into the driveway, clean the garage and spray for bugs, install the new shelving units I bought this morning, and then move everything back in. While doing the last part, separate out stuff for the dump and Goodwill.
She agreed and thought it was a good idea. Why? Was it the years of arguments, influence and her love for me and belief that I really do know best? Nope. It was a show called Mission: Organization on HGTV she recently watched. Seemed the organizational expert on the show said the best way to organize a space is….exactly the way I do it. But because some lady on TV said it, Michelle believes it now. So much for my influence.
Here are the after pictures:





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Tuesday, April 24, 2007
The Great Race
Occasionally Michelle and I will have to take two cars as we run errands or head out for the day, usually because of some unusual circumstance. Sometimes its Sunday morning at church when I have a meeting somewhere right after service, sometimes its out on errands because I need to swing by Home Depot and she has something earth-shatteringly important to get at Kohls after we see a movie.
Tonight, it was really unusual. Our van has taken ill. The transmission is bad, and a $3000+ repair bill awaits us at the end of the week. We headed out for softball games tonight all in one car (the 6 DigitalRich crew members), and planned on hooking up with my parents at the second game. They each drove their car to the game, and then gave one of them to Michelle to use for the week.
As we departed the last of two games around 9PM, Michelle was directly in front of me, and we kept it that way until we got to downtown Franklin. From there several routes are possible to reach our home, and often when these situations present themselves Michelle and I know exactly what to do. We race.
She takes one route; I take another, and most of the time I win. And I did again tonight. Sort of.
Michelle, pure and white as the wind-driven snow, always accuses me of secretly speeding when we are out of site of each other. She claims to always drive the speed limit. I believed her until tonight. Tonight I made a point of driving reasonably close to the limit. As I made my way through the side streets I hit each light just right, came to two stop signs with no other traffic, and made record time through town. I knew without a doubt I would win the great race.
As we made it through town and had to stop at the last light between us and home, Michelle was nowhere in site, and unless she took an obscure route, had to end up coming up behind me at some point. As we sat at the light and the cross traffic was moving through the intersection I felt the familiar warmth of assured victory flowing through my veins. The light turned yellow for cross-traffic, and readied to turn green for me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a speed demon probably hitting just shy of 50MPH on the 30MPH street. As the car blew through the intersection, the light facing it turned red and mine turned green. I recognized the car- it was my dad’s Ford F150 being driven by my wife Michelle. She had beaten me. And she was speeding like a mad woman.
I turned through the intersection and took my humble second place position behind her for the remaining 8 miles of rural road before we got home. R, my 5 year old, was coming up with all sorts of solutions to help us still beat her. She wanted me to pass her over a double-yellow line. Then she suggested tearing through the grass in our yard when we got to our driveway (its 500 feet long). I told the girls it was over. We lost.
As we turned into our driveway behind Michelle a grinchy idea came to me. We circled around the front of the house and around the back to our garages in single-file, Michelle in the lead. When Michelle hit her garage door opener (she had taken it out of her van when we dropped it off at the shop), I hit mine too. And then I hit her button on my controller as well. Her door stopped halfway as mine opened all the way up. It took her too long to figure out what was happening. She thought something was wrong with the door, and sat 2 feet in front of it as I pulled in. It is well understood in our family that to win, you must pull INTO the garage all the way and turn the car off.
Victory is sweet.
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Thursday, February 08, 2007
Now That's A Stupid Idea
Not much to say today- just don't feel motivated to write. So, I will share with you a great note I read today that I just happened to turn to, TWO DAYS AFTER I talked to my wife Michelle about an idea I have for a new business venture (she likes this one), and a couple weeks after I gave her a hard time for not getting excited/supporting/believing in a wackier idea I had. How timely.
‘Trust Her Intuition’ by Ron Blue
No one has ever come to the office or sent a proposal and said, “Let me show you a bad deal.” On the front end, every business and investment deal is a good one. It only went bad later! What makes investment and business debts so difficult to evaluate and reject are that they are all presented as good deals, and a person would be foolish to turn them down. Therefore, there never seems to be economic justification alone for turning them down.
This is one of the reasons why I feel it is so important to apply the rule that a husband and wife have perfect unity on their debt decisions. God has granted to women a special sense, which some have called intuition, that cannot be explained, but in many cases, it has kept a husband from making a poor decision…
I give two general rules in this area. First of all, if you cannot explain the deal or investment to your wife in such a way that she totally understands it, don’t do it. Second, even if you can explain it so that she totally understands it, but she feels uneasy or unsure in any way about it, don’t do it. Granted, you may pass up many opportunities. However, one of the surest ways to financial success is to avoid the major mistakes, because not only do you have to make up for the lost investment, but also you lose the earnings that this money could have generated, and the earnings that the earnings could have generated, and so on. Again, the Biblical counsel is sound: “He who gathers money little by little makes it grow.” Or, “get rich slow.” 
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Thursday, January 18, 2007
London Wallets Falling Down
My first visit to the UK, that turned out to be just to London, was many years ago (BK- before kids). I had planned everything out- Fly to London, stay several nights in a quaint B&B in Russell Square and see the sights, and then rail it up north to hit Liverpool to do the whole Beatles pilgrimage thing, and then take trains to wherever we wanted on the island, whenever we wanted- Scotland, Dover, anywhere.
The Beatles pilgrimage part sticks out like a sore thumb in the itinerary, but as a Beatles freak it was required.
Michelle and I didn’t have much money. We saved for some time, and had just enough for our core expenses (airfare, accommodations, food, BritRail passes) and a tad more for discretionary spending (Beatles stuff, gifts for family and friends, more Beatles stuff).
Shortly after we arrived- I think it was the second day- we rode a double-decker bus on a tour of London. I took my wallet out to check something, and then tucked it under my leg instead of putting in back in my pocket. Why, I don’t know. When we got to our destination we got up, walked off the bus, and left my wallet on the seat. Amazingly I did see it again.
Inside the wallet was £200 (almost all of our discretionary money) and the BritRail passes. Our planned trip to Liverpool and the rest of the island was shot. Fortunately the B&B in London was able to extend our stay.
A week later, back in the US, I took a small package out of the mailbox. Inside was my wallet, with a note from a semi-nice stranger that said they had found my wallet and thought I might want it back to save the hassle of replacing drivers license, credit cards, miscellaneous other ID and membership cards. The note mentioned the money was taken, as well as the BritRail passes- “sorry about that.”
The incident made an impact on Michelle far greater than me. To this day, when we leave a restaurant, theater and especially a bus, she often asks loudly “do you have your wallet?” Just a little embarrassing, but deserved.
Despite many visits to the UK since, I have yet to make it to Liverpool or the northwest coast. Someday.
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Wednesday, January 10, 2007
$10,000 Wedding Gift
I am not a heavy gambler, not even a moderate gambler. I have never taken a trip with buddies specifically to blow money at a casino, and I think the grand total number of times I have played poker for anything other than peanuts or valueless cheap plastic chips is 2 or 3 times in my life.
I do, however, enjoy a night at the casino every other year or so when I am in Las Vegas or New Orleans on business. When I have gone, I am always the quiet and careful guy at the $5 blackjack table whiling away the hours with a business associate or two while they bet and lose insane amounts of money. The people watching and light banter with table mates is really what I enjoy about it. Not to mention the occasional cigar.
A couple years ago on one such trip I found myself getting bored with the only casino game I know (I despise slot machines), and decided to tour the casino floor observing some of the more exciting games that elicited great shouts and applause from the other parts of the room.
As I wandered around I found myself attracted to the roulette tables. Craps seemed interesting, but too chaotic for me. I walked up to one table to observe how it was played. I really had no sense of the game other than what almost everyone knows about it- you put chips on a number and see if the little ball lands on it. That’s it.
I watched for a few minutes and thought I had a rough idea of how to play based on seeing players spread chips on different numbers, and reading the little plastic sign that gave a rough outline of rules and limits. I noticed that new players put cash on the table, and the guy that worked the table asked what value of chip was desired, and he exchanged the real money for the rubber/plastic disc shaped kind. I noticed that the table I was standing at had attracted a large number of observers, but I didn’t know why.
I pulled out my $100 bill. On occasions I do gamble, I take a $100 bill with me, and no other money. That’s the limit- if I lose it, its over. I placed it on the table, and the roulette table thingy was spun (not sure what that thing is called- a wheel?). I waited patiently for the guy to ask me what kind of chips I wanted ($1 chips of course), but nothing happened. I waited. The wheel starting slowing. I waited a bit longer. Something was amiss.
It turns out you can bet on other things than just numbers, and you can bet cash in addition to chips. For example, you can bet on sets of numbers (odd, even, 1st set of 12, 2nd set of 12, etc), and you can also bet on colors- Red or Black. The reason the table had attracted so many people is because the last 10 spins had resulted in black numbers, and a bunch of onlookers had been placing bets on red in hopes of doubling their money. I had placed my $100 bill right on top of the empty black space (the red space was piled high with various chips, cash and other valuables) and the roulette guy had assumed I was trying to double my money on black. I was horrified as I realized this moments before the little ball settled into its new home. My plan for a couple hours of once-every-few-years gambling was about to turn into 5 minutes.
It hit black. I doubled my money, and walked away. The next day I decided to give roulette one more try, but this time do it a bit more carefully. I found a table, and after some trial and error settled on a little system that seemed to work for me. There are 38 numbers on the wheel- 1 through 36, and then 0 and 00. I placed $18 in chips with each bet, $2 per number over 9 numbers laid out in blocks that covered roughly ¼ of the numbers at any one time. I reasoned that I would cover almost ¼ of the possible numbers, and each win would get me $72 providing me 4 more bets. It worked. Over the next few hours I won $800 and walked away. Not bad.
The last time I was at a roulette table, in Las Vegas last year, I watched an amazing thing happen. A wedding party had come to the casino floor from wherever people actually get married at a casino, and walked up to a roulette table. The lady who was working my table explained to the group that it was a tradition at some Las Vegas weddings to take a portion of the money received as wedding gifts and place it on a roulette table on the number corresponding to the date, today, of the special event. It was the 11th of the month, so there on number 11 went $300 of the wedding money. From the look of the wedding party, that was about all the money there was.
The group numbered around fifty guests, a rather large wedding party for a Las Vegas wedding I suspected. Our table stopped the action to watch the new couple lose their first $300 together. The thingy was spun, everyone held their breath, and sure enough 11 was hit. The couple turned their $300 into $10,000 in a few seconds. The place erupted in laughing, screaming, jumping and crying. It was amazing to behold. The couple grabbed their chips, and with wedding party in tow, went to the exchange desk, got their cash, and headed out the door.
My system, however, failed that night. I lost my $100.
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Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Quiet In The Men's Room Please
A year ago last month I resigned a position at a great company to purse a dream. This month, that dream ends. I believe there are few coincidences in life. I don’t read into everything, making room for the “that just happened because it just happened” possibility. But with a little time and distance even some of those seem to paint a picture.
About sixteen years ago I was at the end of my rope. I was twenty-four years old, in a job I despised (and being encouraged daily by my boss to lie to make a sale), was still a newlywed (using the 12 months or fewer rule), and going through a very tough time adjusting to married life. On top of all that we were broke and had one car between us with jobs 25 miles away from each other. Things were not going well. Let’s just leave it at that.
In October of that year I hit the wall, and made a very simple request of God. “Please get me out of this mess, I promise I will shape up.” Not quite a fox-hole prayer, but close to it.
About a week later I was sitting in the parking lot of Giant Food grocery store waiting for my wife to finish her shift as a pharmacy tech. I was bored out of my mind because she was late finishing work, and no one had yet invented the Blackberry. I must read or do something all the time. Kind of a problem I have. In the back seat of our tin can Geo Spectrum sat a ceramic Christmas tree my mother-in-law had made for us. It was wrapped in newspaper. Yes!
I fished out a section and settled back to read while I sat in the no parking, no loading, no standing zone. I opened it up, looked to the top left hand corner, and there it was. “Music Company Seeks Sales Rep.” I had pulled out the classifieds.
Music has always been a big part of my life. In high school I played in a band called Entranzit and we did all the keg parties, battle-of-the-bands, the whole burrito. At the time I read the classified ad I was still writing, playing and recording as a hobby. My entire life I had wanted to work in the music business one way or the other. One more piece of background- I was starting to develop the ability to sell and persuade. “I could do this” I thought reading the detail of the ad.
I stepped out of the car, went to the pay phone next to the store entrance (no cell phone back then), and deposited the $3 or so in change the operator instructed me to (after running to the car to get it leaving the phone dangling off the hook, and the operator waiting).
The gent that answered the phone, Steve, told me that the position was still open, and that he and his boss were actually headed to the airport right then to fly into Baltimore and conduct interviews the next day. The slots were all booked, but he assured me I would get squeezed in if I showed up. I wrote down the name of the hotel, gave Steve my name, said thank you, and hung up.
I didn’t tell my wife when she got to the car. In fact, I didn’t tell her that night either, or the next morning. Fortunately she didn’t have to work the next day, and as she slept I called in sick and drove from my home in Gaithersburg, MD to the airport hotel some 40 miles away.
I got there at 7AM. Steve had mentioned the interviews started at 8, but I wanted to get there early in hopes of getting in first. I waited all day for someone to call my name. No one ever did. Unless, it happened the ONE time I couldn’t hold it any longer and hit the head. I tiptoed through the men’s room being as quiet as possible and straining to hear if my name was called out in the lobby right outside the door.
Around 6:30PM two guys came out of the elevator at dinnertime. The only way I knew these were THE guys was that one was wearing a jacket with the record company logo. I got up and introduced myself, and Steve said he sort of recalled our phone conversation the night before. Laran, his boss, invited me to join them for dinner. I told them I would love to, and would meet them at the table after I visited the restroom.
By dessert I had a job offer and accepted. Minor details: the position was in New York (they had hired someone already for the DC/Baltimore position, and saw me as a chance to cancel the next days trip and head home), our parents (both Michelle’s and mine) were in the Washington DC area, and, oh yeah, I still hadn’t told my wife about the ad in the paper or the interview. Oh, also, I didn’t know what the job paid. Turned out, territory sales reps didn’t make much. Less in fact than I was making in my current job. Much less.
As I drove home I thought to myself ‘She’s gonna kill me.” We didn’t speak for days. Finally, after much discussion and some persuasion (we laugh about it now) Michelle agreed to go north with me. It was touch-and-go there for awhile. Really. I believed God had provided this direction (and so told Michelle we WERE going to do this), and Michelle believed I was an idiot (and that we WERE NOT).
My first commission check in January 1991 was for $47. I didn’t care. It could have been for $4.70. I was out of my old job, and in the music business, and where I truly believed I was supposed to be. 15 years later I left that company and my position as the president.
Was that all coincidence? The Christmas tree, the newspaper, my wife running late that day, a guilt induced dinner that shut-out all the candidates in NYC? I don’t think so.
The weird thing is there were similar indications that led me to make the decision to leave my position last year and strike out with a start-up company and a dream. This time, things turned out differently. So, as I wrap up this month and this dream, I will be patient knowing that what has happened, good and bad, is preparing my family and I for what is next. We can’t see what that is now, but with a bit of time and distance behind us, I am sure it will be clear.
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Tuesday, November 28, 2006
New Study Leaves Me Speechless
Perusing through the news last night I found this gem: “Women talk three times as much as men, says study.” I imagine Fiona Macrae, a writer for the UK’s Daily Mail, delivered this to her editor with a straight face truly believing she was reporting the news.
Meanwhile, 50% of the worlds population- the men- (well...maybe more like 48% or so if you catch my drift) see the report as just another 700+ time-consuming words thrown around about something they already know. Time wasted that could be better put to use watching sports or hanging out in the workshop (or for me, playing Battlefield 2 on the PC).
The key findings from the study:
- Women talk almost three times as much as men, with the average woman chalking up 20,000 words in a day - 13,000 more than the average man.
- Women also speak more quickly, devote more brainpower to chit-chat - and actually get a buzz out of hearing their own voices.
- Girls arrive already wired as girls, and boys arrive already wired as boys. Their brains are different by the time they're born.
Dr. Luan Brizendine gathered the data from this new study to put forth her findings in a new book titled 'The Female Brain.' My favorite quote from the “news” story is this from Dr. Brizendine:
"Women have an eight-lane superhighway for processing emotion, while men have a small country road."
Love it. So true, and apparently, so newsworthy to the good doctor from San Francisco. As I read the “news” story it became clear that this book and the findings in it mark a huge change in Luan’s life. She seems to have turned over a new leaf- pledging it seems to now favor truth over political correctness. She admits this clearly in her next quote:
"I know it is not politically correct to say this but I've been torn for years between my politics and what science is telling us. I believe women actually perceive the world differently from men.”
Torn for years between "my politics" and what science is telling us? Hmmm. I wonder how many other scientists and doctors in her field, or in other fields of study, have the same problem?
Perhaps after Dr. Brizendine uttered these words to the reporter, she remembered that soon after the publication of the “news” story, she would have to hang out with her female friends for drinks and deal with glaring evil stares and 10-20,000 words worth of bile. She quickly redeemed herself by throwing out a bit of reverse-sexist red-meat:
Fiona Macrae writes “Dr Brizendine explains that testosterone also reduces the size of the section of the brain in men involved in hearing - allowing them to become "deaf" to the most logical of arguments put forward by their wives and girlfriends.”
Hilarious.
So here’s how it boils down for me personally. My wife talks way more than I do. I do not listen very well. I have a hard time talking about what is going on inside my head and heart. That is why I started this blog. I am able to sit here and drink coffee, listen to music and pour out thoughts and ideas (and I guess feelings or emotions of some kind- but I hate admit that) without having to say a single word.
Michelle- if you are counting- please include the 1000-1500 words per day from this blog to my normal 7,000 or so spoken words. That is somewhere around a 14.29% - 21.42% increase over the norm. Progress!
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Sunday, November 26, 2006
Our Family's Off-Road Adventure
I live in a relatively rural area, full of horse farms and rolling hills. We moved here three years ago from a large development about ten miles away. Living in Leipers Fork has been a dream of ours since we came to Nashville in 1994. Shortly before we moved into our new home I thought it would be a good idea to get a truck as I imagined having to haul manly things around since I would soon become a gentleman farmer (we don’t really grow much here on our land except for lawn grass and the occasional wild flower)- things like planks of wood, chain saws, stuff like that.
I’m not really a pick-up truck kind of guy, so I went with a hybrid (not the environmental kind- more of a mix between a rural truck and the kind of ride Tony Soprano drives- a black tricked out Chevy Suburban). When I bought it I instantly felt a bit of country bloom in me. Just the idea of pushing the button on the dash board and transforming my Suburban into a 4x4 was appealing. This lead to my demise, and taught me 3 things:
1. My wife’s concerns and worries can sometimes come true
2. Humility
3. A Chevy Suburban is neither a sports utility vehicle or a 4x4
Our eleven acres is flanked on one side by a 15 acre lot and a 60 acre lot on the other. Shortly after we moved in I secured permission from the land owner with the 60 acres for our family to use his land for taking walks and exploring. He lives in downtown Nashville and plans on building his dream home on the land when he retires in a few years. I got his name and number from my realtor. I didn’t specifically ask if I could go 4x4’ing on his land- I sort of put that under the “exploring” classification.
It was a Saturday afternoon, and for some reason I can not recall, our family took 2 cars on an outing. I think it was because I had to pick something up in my truck and bring it home, while my wife was going to stay out shopping, meeting up with her sister. After lunch, and after picking up whatever it was I had to pick up, I headed home with my two oldest daughters.
We turned into our driveway, and as we headed towards the house I made a fateful decision. “Girls- you want to take the truck out onto the land next door and do some off-roading?” The word “yes” rang loud and clear, and so I veered left, and made for the opening in the woods that took us “next-door.” We went through the clearing, down a small hill, and crossed the small creek in my new 4x4. Great so far. It was awesome bouncing and splashing over the creek like I was in a Land Rover commercial.
We spent the next 10 minutes bounding over hills and through sparse woods exploring the land, and it got real exciting when I told the girls we were going to speed up and shoot across the clearing up ahead- hoping to catch a few bumps and jumps that would cause some epic bouncing. As I accelerated and sped forward a strange sensation came over me. It almost seemed like the truck was on an elevator going down, and the horizon line seemed to unnaturally rise around me. The truck started to slide sideways, and then we came to a sudden stop. I noticed that if I reached out my hand from the window, it wouldn’t take much to touch the tall grass. We were stuck in mud.
If anyone tells you that the best way to get your car or truck out of stuck mud or snow is to slowly rock in back and forth, alternating between drive and reverse, don’t believe it. Especially if you are already in about 3 feet of mud. The result of doing that is to sink to about 4 feet of mud.
I decided to get out and take a look, and when I opened the door I had to push hard to get it open far enough to step out- and when I did the bottom of my door scraped about six inches of mud off the top of the ground. Big trouble. Bad. Very bad. The words my wife spoke to me only a half hour before were ringing in my ears- the words she said as a response to my mentioning that I might do exactly what I ended up doing…”Rich- don’t do it. I’m telling you something will go wrong- you’ll get stuck or break something, and it will cost a ton of money to get it fixed. You might even ruin your truck. Don’t do it.”
I had left my cell phone at home that day- of course- and so, took my shoes off, jumped into the mud (I sunk up to my thighs), and carried each girl, one by one, to the safety of the shoreline. The “field” I thought we would trek through was actually a large swamp that collected the rain from the surrounding hills. It was deep in the back part of our neighbors land, and I could not see any homes or roads from where we were. We walked home, I changed clothes, and set about fixing the situation- hopefully before Michelle got home.
Earlier that week I had seen my neighbor across the road working in his field with a tractor, and though I had not met him before this, I walked to his house and knocked on the door. You can imagine the conversation…”Hi my name is Rich- we live across the street…nice to meet you…you have kids?...so do we…its a nice day, isn’t it?...can I use your tractor to try to get my vehicle out of 4 feet of mud way back in the field behind my house?”
He agreed to help. He drove the tractor while I jumped on the side and held on, and we made our way to my car where we promptly got the tractor stuck.
I called a tow truck. The trucker got within 100 feet and started to sink fast. He was able to back out to safety, and informed me he couldn’t help me and drove away- charging me $50 to tell me so. I went back home and sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out what to do. I looked in the yellow pages under towing and learned there was a specialist in the towing field that was an expert at off-road/extreme vehicle recovery. That was the one. I called and they were out to our place in about an hour- right after Michelle pulled in and I gave her the update. That was fun and humbling.
The recovery team had a truck with 2 wenches- and seemed to know the drill perfectly. They purposely drove their truck full speed into the mud, sliding to a stop as close to my truck as possible sinking to the full four feet. They attached one wench to my truck, and the other to a tree behind the tow truck about 150 feet away. They pulled my truck to within 3 feet of theirs, and then turned on the other wench and pulled both of the trucks out of the muck while almost pulling the tree out of the ground. Success. 10 minutes. $250.
I have not, and will not again, take my 4 wheel drive off the road, I listen to my wife’s cautions (even though I don’t always indicate to her that I do), and I am content to stick to the excitement of navigating the pot holes in our 500 foot gravel driveway.
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Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Promise Me You Will Never Grow Up
My heart hurt yesterday. While I do have a few extra pounds on me (well…more than a few), and I don’t exercise as much as I should, I assure you it wasn’t that kind of pain. It was more of a heart-ache. I have “lost” some people in my life and it hit me hard last night.
K, my oldest, performed in her school musical. She had a great part- a few solos, good dialogue, and an overall stellar performance. The other kids in the show did an awesome job as well. It was one of the best middle-school musicals I have ever seen (granted- this was only the second). There was one particular part in the musical that impacted me far deeper than I expected. K walked out on stage to start off a scene and it hit me hard. “Who is that woman?” She’s not my little girl, that’s for sure. She looked like she went from 13 years old to 18 in a matter of minutes.
While one half of my brain continued to pay attention to the show, the other half started diving deep into thoughts and memories. Where are my little girls? I remember K and L holding onto my neck as I walked around with them, each with their feet firmly planted in my hands. I remember them crawling into my lap and hugging on me, asking me questions, kissing all over me. I looked to my left and saw L and my two little ones, A & R, and sure enough…they looked older too. It’s as if some magical dust was sprinkled by the witch in the musical that made my girls age several years at about 7:30PM last night.
I think what might have contributed to all of this was a recent decision to convert all of our old High8 video tapes to DVD. I dropped them off at Wolf Camera, and within a couple of days, we had amazing DVDs of all our family movies. They even create a couple music video’s out of several scenes. The last month or so we have been watching them, and the kids are fascinated at who they used to be. Me too.
I unconditionally love my four girls, just as they are now, and am excited to see who they become. That does not take away, however, the longing I have for who they were 5 or 10 years ago. Those kids are gone forever.
Before I had kids, I remember people telling me that I will not truly understand love until I do. Romantic love is just one part of love- to have children, to love your neighbor, and to love God completes the circle. After Michelle and I had our first, we got it. Really got it. But no one told us about the pain that goes along with having children. Well- maybe during child-birth Michelle figured that part out.
For me, the pain started soon after the love. That pain becomes most evident when your child gets physically hurt, or sick, or loses a favorite toy, forgets something at a restaurant or theatre- and breaks into tears, weeping and gnashing of teeth that is worthy of an academy award. The hard ones are when a friend betrays them, or a mean kid at school hurts them with words. It is shocking how personal their pain becomes. How it feels like the pain is completely my own. It makes me love and appreciate my parents even more.
These next few years are more critical than ever. I want to be there for my oldest two as they become women, to support, encourage and challenge them to continue to grow in grace, to love God and others, and to make right decisions. I also want to have a fresh heart and mind with my two youngest- to do the same things with them I did with my oldest. Man, this is hard.
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