Well folks, it's Christmas Eve. We finally finished up our shopping and just completed the monumental task of cleaning the house. Ryan is content in his 'man cave' and Sidney is quietly reading an online book. Kristi is scurrying around finishing up a few final touches to the gifts she will soon set under the tree, and I'm writing this blog while simultaneously eating a steaming bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup with a fork.
Two years or so ago, a strange and unsettling phenomenon crept over our house in the form of disappearing spoons. To say that this oddity is a tad on the strange side would be somewhat of an understatement. The problem began a couple of years ago when I noticed the little slot in the silverware drawer was devoid of teaspoons. I had taken note of their dwindling numbers weeks before, but I always assumed that they would eventually 'turn up'. They didn't. Soon after, the table spoons began to suffer the same fate. Eventually we were reduced to being forced slurp any liquid foods while stabbing what morsels we could with a fork.
"Dad, I'm telling you, I have NO idea where all the spoons have gone! Besides, why are you blaming me?" Ryan asked, after I had grilled him for ten minutes concerning the whereabouts of our missing silverware. "Ask Sidney, maybe she knows," he continued.
Sidney also gave the standard answer...she didn't have a clue.
On at least three different occasions in the last two years I have watched my wife tear open a new set of spoons, wash them and place them safely in their respective slots in the drawer. As usual, it only took a few months and 'poof', no spoons. We have searched the garbage, under furniture cushions and under everything in the house to no avail. This is an oddity of epic proportions.
I can only imagine that they are in this home somewhere. I can also imagine that years into the future a team of archaeologists will excavate in this area long after this house has succumbed to age and decay and will find a cache of spoons of various sizes and excitedly exclaim that they've unearthed something of true historical significance. The press conference that I envision would go something like this...
A harried and unkempt older fellow with wispy graying hair ambles to the microphone and begins to speak. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Digsalot, chairman of antiquities of the University of Finds a Bunch of Useless Stuff. What we have unearthed on New Hope Road just outside of Staunton is of what we feel is of tremendous historical significance."
"What is it that you've uncovered Doctor?" an eager young reporter asked with a smiling face and wide eyes.
"Well, we found a crapload of spoons. Now, it should be noted that these aren't just ordinary spoons, but spoons of all shapes and sizes. There's small spoons, large spoons, spoons with bent handles, spoons which appear to have been used as tools, possibly to open paint cans and others with strange markings that we've yet to decipher," the good doctor says. "We feel that given the sheer volume of spoons found in this one site, there must be some significance that we don't yet understand. But, what we have begun to conclude is that there must have been some sort of religious offering of spoons to appease the gods. Or, perhaps aliens visited this site and it's some sort of code letting us know that they too use spoons. We've even considered that the inscription found on several of the spoons could mean something prophetic," he continued.
"What was the inscription?" another reported asked.
The old Prof reaches onto the table beside the lectern and holds a tablespoon high for all to see. "It's barely legible, but it appears to have the letters 'O-N-E-I-D-A' etched into the underside of it. We're thinking this is some sort of alien code possibly." The crowd is hushed except for the occasional ohh, and ahh. "There's also a very strange emblem etched there as well. We're thinking it's a sketch of a star cluster in the Andromeda Galaxy. Yep, probably of alien origin. We are not alone. This is the smoking gun. Forget the religious stuff, this is pure alien."
For now, we will continue to watch our spoons vanish without a trace. We surely live in a Bermuda Triangle of sorts, except instead of vanishing ships and aircraft, we experience vanishing teaspoons and tablespoons. I'll keep on looking in vain trying to locate our lost utensils, and my wife will keep right on buying more.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to stab the last remaining carrot in my soup bowl. Then I will slurp the broth and continue to wonder what the heck is happening to our spoons.
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
BELL RINGERS, LITTLE OLD LADIES AND GRUMPY MIDDLE AGED MEN
"Oh my gosh! They ARE NOT staring at you, and they don't give you a second thought when you walk past them. I swear, you're the grumpiest forty-four year old I've ever seen!" my wife said while unloading the dishwasher yesterday evening, "and those little old ladies would probably help you if you weren't so prideful and ask for their assistance."
I had just walked into the kitchen upon my return from the grocery store. Usually, during the Christmas season, I am tasked with running a few errands for Kristi which usually involves a mile long list of things needed to begin and complete her baking needs. As always the dreaded bell ringers are posted at every entrance to every store. When I say every, I mean every. Heck, I think I saw one standing outside the bathroom door the other day. It should be noted that the ringers provide a necessary service to their organization, but I feel a twinge of guilt every time I walk past and don't deposit a few dollars into their kettle. Anyway, immediately after Thanksgiving, the ringers begin to do their thing. As always, when I pass them, I dig into my wallet or pockets for a few dollars to deposit into their kettle. By mid-December I always feel like I've given my fair share and should be done. So, by that point I simply walk past, smile and give a cheery greeting, usually "Merry Christmas". It's then that the ominous stares begin.
"Dad, aren't you going to put some money into the kettle?" Sidney asked while looking up at me and speaking loudly enough for most of the county to hear.
"Not today. I've given plenty already."
"I think he's staring you down," she continued as the automatic doors to the store slid open.
"Oh, I doubt it. Maybe he likes my jacket or perhaps the way I've creatively combed what's left of my hair. Well, maybe he's staring a little bit," I said as we continued toward the baking isle.
We stood silently and studied the list which resembled a bill of materials for building an aircraft carrier. "How does she expect me to find all this stuff?" I asked, still slightly concerned about the staring bell ringer outside in the cold.
"Heck if I know, but maybe if you give me half the list and you take the other half we can finish faster," Sidney surmised while eyeballing a pack of Hershey's chocolate morsels.
"Good idea," I answered, as I ripped the list into two pieces. "You take this part and I'll take this one and with any luck we'll be out of here in no time." With that, my daughter disappeared into another section of the huge building.
I decided that I would most assuredly need a cart to haul all of the items on the list around the store. Marching with purpose back toward the front to where the carts were lined up, I could see the shivering bell ringer standing just outside of the automatic doors. With steam coming from his nostrils, he turned and stared at me, surely thinking, "there's el cheapo again getting ready to load up his cart and yet he can't even spare a dime for the needy!" I gave him a halfhearted smile and quickly galloped out of his sight.
Standing and staring at the seemingly endless varieties of sugar, I became suddenly aware of a little old lady standing directly behind me. "Oh no," I thought. "As if it's not enough that I've made the bell ringer mad, I'm holding up a militant old lady from getting her groceries." I began to sweat, and the more I perspired, the more irritated she became. My philosophy concerning little old ladies in the grocery store was formed years ago. Occasionally my wife would make a list and send me to the grocery store just as she had that day. There was always something on that list that I'd never heard of and would go from isle to isle looking in vain for the item. Invariably, some old lady would cross paths with me on each isle. The look was always the same. A scowl as if to say, "Beat it novice. You've got no business in my store. Get out of my way and quit holding me up. I ain't getting any younger you know?"
I gave up on the confectioner's sugar and headed for the pie crust section. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of Sidney speeding past with her cart almost half full. I still didn't have a single item. Still nervous about having to cross paths with the bell ringer upon our exit from the store, I stood once again studying the various pie crusts. Again, I became acutely aware of the eerie feeling that I was being watched. Directly behind me and breathing heavy, was the same little old lady from the sugar isle AND a friend. "Oh great, not only am I being followed by Granny Clampett, but now she's formed a coalition!," I thought, while becoming increasingly nervous. I cut and ran, speeding for distant isles and the safety that a hasty retreat would afford me.
Luckily, I didn't have anymore close encounters of the elderly kind, but we did pass on several occasions. Sidney finally found me and was able to complete my part of the list. We then ambled toward the checkout line.
"Dad, the bell ringer is staring at you," she said, while studying a candy bar that would surely wind up on the conveyor.
"No he's not. In fact there's someone totally different there now," I said while unloading our cart.
A slight smirk crept across the child's face and then she spoke once more, "Just kidding."
I was able to dodge the newest bell ringer and make a mad dash to the car. I wasn't about to look back and suffer the wrath of being stared at by two scorned bell ringers. Finally we made it home.
I bolted through the back door into the kitchen where I found my wife emptying the dishwasher. "Don't bother sending me to the grocery store again. I can't take the pressure of being stared down by a wayward bell ringer, and don't get me started with the militant old ladies who think I've invaded THEIR store,"...
I had just walked into the kitchen upon my return from the grocery store. Usually, during the Christmas season, I am tasked with running a few errands for Kristi which usually involves a mile long list of things needed to begin and complete her baking needs. As always the dreaded bell ringers are posted at every entrance to every store. When I say every, I mean every. Heck, I think I saw one standing outside the bathroom door the other day. It should be noted that the ringers provide a necessary service to their organization, but I feel a twinge of guilt every time I walk past and don't deposit a few dollars into their kettle. Anyway, immediately after Thanksgiving, the ringers begin to do their thing. As always, when I pass them, I dig into my wallet or pockets for a few dollars to deposit into their kettle. By mid-December I always feel like I've given my fair share and should be done. So, by that point I simply walk past, smile and give a cheery greeting, usually "Merry Christmas". It's then that the ominous stares begin.
"Dad, aren't you going to put some money into the kettle?" Sidney asked while looking up at me and speaking loudly enough for most of the county to hear.
"Not today. I've given plenty already."
"I think he's staring you down," she continued as the automatic doors to the store slid open.
"Oh, I doubt it. Maybe he likes my jacket or perhaps the way I've creatively combed what's left of my hair. Well, maybe he's staring a little bit," I said as we continued toward the baking isle.
We stood silently and studied the list which resembled a bill of materials for building an aircraft carrier. "How does she expect me to find all this stuff?" I asked, still slightly concerned about the staring bell ringer outside in the cold.
"Heck if I know, but maybe if you give me half the list and you take the other half we can finish faster," Sidney surmised while eyeballing a pack of Hershey's chocolate morsels.
"Good idea," I answered, as I ripped the list into two pieces. "You take this part and I'll take this one and with any luck we'll be out of here in no time." With that, my daughter disappeared into another section of the huge building.
I decided that I would most assuredly need a cart to haul all of the items on the list around the store. Marching with purpose back toward the front to where the carts were lined up, I could see the shivering bell ringer standing just outside of the automatic doors. With steam coming from his nostrils, he turned and stared at me, surely thinking, "there's el cheapo again getting ready to load up his cart and yet he can't even spare a dime for the needy!" I gave him a halfhearted smile and quickly galloped out of his sight.
Standing and staring at the seemingly endless varieties of sugar, I became suddenly aware of a little old lady standing directly behind me. "Oh no," I thought. "As if it's not enough that I've made the bell ringer mad, I'm holding up a militant old lady from getting her groceries." I began to sweat, and the more I perspired, the more irritated she became. My philosophy concerning little old ladies in the grocery store was formed years ago. Occasionally my wife would make a list and send me to the grocery store just as she had that day. There was always something on that list that I'd never heard of and would go from isle to isle looking in vain for the item. Invariably, some old lady would cross paths with me on each isle. The look was always the same. A scowl as if to say, "Beat it novice. You've got no business in my store. Get out of my way and quit holding me up. I ain't getting any younger you know?"
I gave up on the confectioner's sugar and headed for the pie crust section. Occasionally, I caught a glimpse of Sidney speeding past with her cart almost half full. I still didn't have a single item. Still nervous about having to cross paths with the bell ringer upon our exit from the store, I stood once again studying the various pie crusts. Again, I became acutely aware of the eerie feeling that I was being watched. Directly behind me and breathing heavy, was the same little old lady from the sugar isle AND a friend. "Oh great, not only am I being followed by Granny Clampett, but now she's formed a coalition!," I thought, while becoming increasingly nervous. I cut and ran, speeding for distant isles and the safety that a hasty retreat would afford me.
Luckily, I didn't have anymore close encounters of the elderly kind, but we did pass on several occasions. Sidney finally found me and was able to complete my part of the list. We then ambled toward the checkout line.
"Dad, the bell ringer is staring at you," she said, while studying a candy bar that would surely wind up on the conveyor.
"No he's not. In fact there's someone totally different there now," I said while unloading our cart.
A slight smirk crept across the child's face and then she spoke once more, "Just kidding."
I was able to dodge the newest bell ringer and make a mad dash to the car. I wasn't about to look back and suffer the wrath of being stared at by two scorned bell ringers. Finally we made it home.
I bolted through the back door into the kitchen where I found my wife emptying the dishwasher. "Don't bother sending me to the grocery store again. I can't take the pressure of being stared down by a wayward bell ringer, and don't get me started with the militant old ladies who think I've invaded THEIR store,"...
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