Month: April 2013

I recently found myself in an all out war with a household item used by thousands of women every day.   It’s name….. Saran Wrap!!!!  (Cue blood curdling scream)

There are only two things you need to know about Saran Wrap.  It sucks and it was discovered by accident in 1933.  Notice that I have italicized and placed in bold letters the word accident.  That indicates it is a key word.  The reason it’s a key word is because I have come to believe that no one intentionally would have invented this stuff.

It looks so quick and easy to use.  The commercials show a woman making a delicious something or other.  She then deftly rips a piece of plastic wrap off of the role, covers the bowl with it, and for an added touch of flare turns the bowl upside down, shaking it in order to prove just how good the plastic stays in place.  It’s great theater, and something I would love to try if I could ever get the crap out of the box (without having it stick to itself) so I could actually put it over the bowl!

I decided to make a french toast casserole for Sunday breakfast last week.  Everything  was going fine until I came to the part in the recipe that said, “cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate.”  I went to the cupboard got the Saran Wrap out and the first thing I realized is that I couldn’t find where it had been torn off the last time.  I couldn’t find the starting point.  After about 5 minutes of searching, my wife found it for me.  Because I know from past experience that stupidity and stubbornness are two traits that under normal circumstances do not work well together, I should have asked her to tear a piece off and just do the job for me.  I didn’t.

With wrap now in hand I carefully pulled a section from the roll.  So far so good.  Having a large enough piece to cover my pan I gave a quick tug in order to cut it off using the sharp cutting edge. (note italics and bold letters)  The sharp cutting edge while sharp enough to nick my finger and draw blood somehow was not sharp enough to cut through the plastic wrap and I cursed loudly as the entire roll of plastic flew out of the box.  It hit the kitchen counter fell onto the floor and twisted into a tangled pink mess.  One small piece was wound tightly around my pinkie cutting off the circulation.

I can’t understand why an entire episode of “I Love Lucy” was never devoted to this stuff.  The TV Guide listing would say something like. “Lucy attempts to cover a cherry pie she just baked when plastic wrap somehow gets wound around Ethel’s face and starts sucking the life out of her.  Lucy races around the kitchen screaming “Ricky, Ricky!” while Ethel gasps for air and hilarity ensues.”

That we even have this stuff in the house is a mystery to me.  The only reason I can think of is that my wife enjoys the comic relief she occasionally derives from watching my antics.  After almost 28 years of marriage you would think the humor she finds in my suffering would get old, but she never seems to tire of it.  Last night she laughed so hard watching me try and fold a fitted bed sheet I had just taken out of the dryer that the beer she was drinking squirted out of her nose.

Think I’m crazy?  Well then why else would she wait until after my third attempt at using the Saran Wrap to remind me I could just cover the casserole with the lid that came with the pan.  See what I mean?

My french toast turned out terrible.  I’m blaming my wife and the Saran Wrap.  Yes I know, my wife didn’t cook the casserole and the Saran never ended up covering it, so technically neither is to blame. But if you think I’m taking the wrap for this, you ‘re nuts!

The older I get the more I see my dad.  My good traits, as well as some that are not so good, remind me of him.  When I was in my mid 20’s I didn’t understand why he had become less tolerant of so many things when I was becoming more accepting of seemingly everything.  It’s probably much the same as what my kids must be feeling now.

I was mentioning this to someone, while recalling an incident that recently happened to me.  While driving my stylish 2001 Hyundai Elantra down a parking lot aisle, a woman in a brand new Denali decided it was time to back out of her parking spot.  It caused me to slam on my brakes in order to avoid a collision.  No big deal though, I’ve made that same mistake when pulling out of a parking space, we all have.  I wasn’t upset about it until the woman, who also needed to slam on her breaks, stuck her arm out the window and angrily raised her middle finger toward me.  Seriously?  She thought this was my fault?!?  I started to lose it.  Fighting the urge to return her loving gesture, I continued on my way when all of a sudden I realized I was rethinking my position on gun control.

Anyway, while telling this story to a friend, I mentioned that just like my father, I now become more easily disturbed by the rudeness and insensitivity of people.  When confronted with the “me first” attitude which has become so common place in our society, I have to look to my faith and turn the other cheek, or risk doing something stupid that I will undoubtedly regret later.

“Do you think you use your religion as a crutch in order to avoid conflict?” he asked.  I have heard this all before, normally from people who have no affiliation with any type of religion, but I asked him to go on.  “It seems like sometimes when Christians get angry or sad, frustrated or afraid, they don’t know any other way to handle the situation but to throw their hands up and hide behind their faith.”   He continued, “Is it a crutch, a way to avoid acting on a problem?  There are some who say it is ya know.  They say it’s a classic indication of weakness.”  I said, “Thank you doctor Phil.” and left grinding my teeth.  Suddenly I realized I was again rethinking my position on gun control.  I clearly have some issues that someday need to be addressed.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about his crutch and faith argument.  I thought back to when I was in high school and had injured my leg, forcing me to use crutches.  I began to recall what the job of those crutches was.  First, they raised me up and allowed me to keep pressure off of my bad leg, preventing me from injuring myself further.  The crutches allowed me to stay upright too.  Without them I would have had to stand on only one leg, possibly causing me to lose my balance and fall.  They also enabled me to walk.  Without the crutches I would have been forced to remain in one place, stagnant and unable to move forward.

Wouldn’t it be foolish for me to use crutches to help heal my body and not use my faith to heal my spirit I thought?  Both can raise me up, help me stand, and move me forward.  While there are people who would like you to believe that weakness and shame go hand in hand, the truth is we all are weak, the shame only comes when we refuse to admit and confront whatever weakness we have.

So the next time someone hints that maybe I use my faith as a crutch, I am going to agree with them and then explain exactly why I do.  I won’t expect them to understand but that’s okay, because that’s their weakness, not mine.

 

With a career coaching record of 664 wins and 147 losses, John Wooden is widely known as one of the greatest college basketball coaches of all time .  Between 1964 and 1975 his UCLA Bruins won 10 National Championships.

The year this seemingly endless string of championships began I was 9 years old.  By the time I was about 15 I had become so tired of watching them cut down nets to celebrate another first place finish, that I had built up a dislike for anything related to UCLA basketball, from players Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Henry Bibby to Coach Wooden.  Rarely getting out of his seat to confront a referee or player like other coaches do, Wooden would sit calmly, always clutching a rolled up program in his hands.  “Of course he’s calm, he always wins.  He should always win, he always has the best players.” I whined.  UCLA won consecutive championships in 1967, 68, 69, 70, 71, 72, and 73.  Oh how just once I wanted to see Wooden lose.  Just once I wanted to see him get angry, throw down that blasted program he was always holding and stomp on it in frustration.  Just once.

Then came the 1974 National Championship semi final game in Greensboro North Carolina.  UCLA vs North Carolina State.  Earlier in the season UCLA had defeated NC State by 20 points.  Late in this game UCLA led by 5 points and it appeared they would win again and play for another championship.  But as Wooden sat stoically in his coaches seat N C State tied the game and sent it into overtime.  Tied again after the first overtime, UCLA was now winning by 7 points in the second OT when all at once the game began to slip away from them again.  “YES!!!”  I watched gleefully, waiting for Coach Wooden to finally lose his composure.  As the final buzzer sounded N C State had pulled off an improbable 80-77 victory.  There would be no championship for UCLA this year.  After what was probably the most devastating defeat of his career, John Wooden walked calmly over to Norm Sloan the North Carolina State coach, put out his hand in a gesture of congratulations, and quietly walked off of the court.

What the heck?!?!?!  That’s it?  No tantrums?  Not even a look of frustration?  Come on, give me something!!  As happy as I was about UCLA’s loss, it just wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be.  Damn that Wooden!  He couldn’t even give me the satisfaction of seeing him throw that stupid program he always carried around!!

The next year, 1975, was John Wooden’s final season as a coach and his team won yet another National Championship.  When the final horn went off, Coach Wooden walked calmly over to the opposing coach and offered his hand, conducting himself in victory exactly how he had conducted himself in defeat the year before.

Many years after his retirement I came across an article and discovered some things about Coach Wooden that I had never known.  It turns out that Mr. Wooden was a devout Christian who took very seriously the importance of always conducting himself as one. Suddenly his calm demeanor and the dignified way he always seemed to carry himself began to make sense.  He was quoted in the article saying;  “I’ve never stopped trying to do what’s right.  I’m not doing it to earn favor with God.  I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”  I find those words to be quite profound.

As for that program he always had rolled up in his hand while coaching?  The one I was dying to see him slam down and stomp on?  The story goes, that in it was a Cross. Whenever the coach would become angry or frustrated during a game, he would squeeze that program hard enough to feel the Crosses impression.  It was a reminder to him that no matter what the situation, he was going to conduct himself in a manner that would honor the Savior he worshiped.

I could use a program like that.

Isn’t it interesting how differently you can feel about a person when you take the time to find out a little something about them?

 

Today a good friend posted a picture on Facebook.  The picture was of a mug she was using to enjoy her morning cup of coffee.  It was her ‘granpaps’ mug and as she so beautifully put it,  ” A piece of him I keep close to (my) heart.”   When I’m looking for something to blog about, these are the things I can’t pass up.

We all have fond memories that tug at our minds.  The kinds of memories that bring smiles to our faces and sometimes tears to our eyes.  Contrary to my last post where I said that sometimes a chess set is just a chess set, today I have to admit that sometimes a coffee mug is not just a coffee mug.  Sometimes it’s a memory.  Not just any memory but a piece of family history that can be held on to, moved around in the hands until it almost comes to life.  It’s the kind of mug we all should have.

 

In late fall of 1980, my mom at the age of 54 was diagnosed with a brain tumor.  In November of that same year she underwent surgery.  Originally the tumor was believed to be malignant and she was given 16 weeks to live.  Two weeks of anguish later, that diagnosis was found to be incorrect.  The good news was that the tumor was not fatal.  The bad news was that mom had not come through the surgery well.  So it was, the day after Thanksgiving, 1980, my dad and I received a call from the hospital urging us to come in as soon as possible.  Mom was not expected to make it through the day and it was time to say our goodbyes.  And that’s what we did.

Doctors can be wrong.  That Friday as well as others came and went, and by Christmas day while still not able to communicate much but at least finally becoming aware of her surroundings, mom was transferred from intensive care to a regular hospital room.

Because of all that had transpired over the last couple of months, dad and I had not prepared much for Christmas.  We struggled through the tradition of putting up a tree, promising to leave it up until mom came home, no matter when that turned out to be.  But when the subject of purchasing gifts came up, we made the decision not to.  We had no heart for it.

But standing by my mothers bedside that Christmas morning my dad turned to me and said, “Your mother and I would like to give you a Christmas present.”  My response, that we had decided not to exchange presents, was cut short when I looked down at mom. Too weak to sit up and barely able to open her eyes, she managed to reach out her arm and when she opened her hand it held a ring.

The ring was her fathers.  Because my mom had no brothers or sisters, my grandfather had years ago passed it down to his son in law, my dad.  Now they were passing it to me.  It’s a simple ring, one that my gramps had made using stones from his wife’s engagement ring.  Diamonds from a family member I had never met.  A grandmother who died long before I was born.  The ring remains the best gift I have ever received and that memory is still the most cherished one I have of my parents.  While I rarely wear it, I do at times take the ring out of it’s box.  I hold it, slide it on to my finger, make it come alive.  And I remember.

 

Have you put something aside for a loved one?  Something they can move around in their hands when they no longer have you to hold?  If you haven’t, maybe you should.  It’s one of the ways in which God allows us to remain with family while at the same time spending eternity with Him.  Whether it’s a 2 dollar coffee mug or a 500 dollar ring doesn’t matter, because the value is in the memories not the materials.  And the memories aren’t for sale.

 

 

I woke on Easter morning, and signed on to Facebook.  Scrolling down the news feed I came across a comment directed at my most recent article titled “A Change of Heart.”  It read;

“Indeed Dale. Well said and Happy Easter to you and yours.”  It was from someone whom I consider to be a close friend and whose opinion I value greatly.   But before I could thank and wish him a Happy Easter also, I saw another comment.  Someone whom I have never met named Steven had responded to my friend.  About my blog Steven wrote;

Sorry, but what I find particularly interesting is that the blogger uses images that are based on Chinese Confucianism and are not Christian. In this representation of himself on his blog he is voiding any idea of Christianity by using a non-Christianity visual. Is he upset because of the “anti-Christian” demonstration by this professor, but fulfilling it himself by using “pagan” images on his own blog?

Huh?  Chinese Confucianism, non-Christianity visual, “pagan” images?  It was obvious that Steven did not appreciate my blog, but I wasn’t grasping exactly why.  I read his comment again.  Then a third time, and a fourth.  I was stumped.  Confused but wanting to respond I simply said,  “Steven, while I don’t understand any of the points you are making, I want to thank you for reading and contributing.”

At church that morning, between trying to concentrate on the service and attempting to prevent my grandson Leland from puking on my suit a second time, my thoughts kept drifting back to Steven’s comment.  What was I missing?

When I arrived home I went immediately back to the computer to try and figure it out.  Again I re-read what Steven had written when suddenly “The Da Vinci Code” came to mind and I began to laugh.  Steven was not upset with the content of my post but with the picture I use as the header on my blog site.  The picture of the chess set with the Chinese figures.  Now it all made sense……sort of.

I couldn’t stop chuckling.  If Steven knew anything about me he would have realized there was no hidden meaning behind that image.  I’m not that deep.  The truth is, originally I had a photo of myself on my blog page, one I didn’t like, so I changed it.  Word Press who supports my page gave me some options, the one which was the most visually pleasing to me was the Chinese chess set.  I have no idea why I liked that picture better than the others, but I’m certain paganism was not one of the reasons.

I was reminded of a scene from the movie “The Great Outdoors.”  Dan Aykroyd and John Candy are sitting in front of a cabin looking across a lake at a beautiful grove of trees.  Aykroyd says to Candy;

I tell you what I see when I look out there. I see the undeveloped resources of Minnesota, Northern Wisconsin, and Michigan. I see a syndicated development consortium exploiting over a billion and a half dollars in forest products. I see a paper mill and if the strategic metals are there, a mining operation. A greenbelt between the condos on the lake and a waste management facility focusing on the newest rage in toxic waste, medical refuse. Infected bandages, body parts, IV tubing, contaminated glassware, entrails,syringes, fluids, blood, low grade radioactive waste all safely contained sunken in the lake and sealed for centuries. Now I ask you what do you see?

John Candy says; “I see trees.”

Sometimes we over think things.  We try too hard to make something out of nothing.  I suppose it’s human nature and makes us feel good to imagine we have figured out a secret, discovered a deeper meaning to something that others were not smart enough to spot.  But ultimately what we see really says more about us than it says about anyone else or about the image itself.  And sometimes a chess set is just a chess set.

Now if I had chosen to use the picture I had originally considered for my blog, the one of the smiling devil with his arm around my shoulder, then we might have had something to talk about.