Viruses and Dinosaurs

Wish I was exaggerating about having a computer virus, but it turns out the part I was a little hyperbolic with on that subject was the word "had"... as in "I had a computer virus." No, it turns out that, while that was true, not only did I "had" a computer virus, but I still have one.

The other computer I have at home is a dinosaur sooooooooo old that turning it on takes a good half hour.

Right now, I'm pretty hosed as far as posting much to the blog. I'll try starting something from my home computer tonight, and maybe I'll have something within the next two days. Now, though, since I'm at work, I need to make this short. I hope your lives are going great.

Aside from the Dolphins being 0-3... well, is there really an aside from that?

The Sky Is Falling

Been a little slow on the blog. Hate to go all personal on you, but a few things:

• My friend a co-worker, Dan Phillips, passed away after a bout with cancer. I blogged about him here, and in case anyone's interested -- because his wife was a fantastic writer and the story was so touching -- the Caring Bridge journals can be found here.
• My computer caught a virus, and that was irritating.
• The Miami Dolphins are 0-2, and last night's gut-wrenching, abysmal defensive, hollowed-out-my-heart loss in a game our offense dominated... total misery.
• My younger son brought home a robust 50 (F) on his science test, so more studying needed.
• Instead of a blog/website I really read on the sidebar, Ken included a Precious Moments Doll site, which promptly includes the Diabolical Genius in the Buzzard of the Week discussion.
• My co-worker is out at Disney World, so I'm here at 9:30 at night at work trying to do two people's job.
• Working on 8 hours sleep in the last two days.
• Even with Auburn being 3-0, our defense looks as much like Swiss cheese as Georgia's and Arkansas'.
• I'm gonna be late on two bills, and I keep not making it to that oil change I desperately need.
• Mom's waiting on lab test results from some nodules on her throat, and Dad just had a procedure to check on his semi-clogged arteries.

Anyway, all this to say I haven't been blogging much lately, and look what happens when I do. This drivel that I post that reminds me of blogs I'm not interested in reading. Come back for more of this!!!

Notwithstanding my complaints, please pray for Dan's family and my parents.

And I'm sure I forgot to mention -- the Dolphins are 0-2. Mizzzzzery.

Scents You Asked

[Ed. note: This post is for Milly and all the other great-smelling Lords and Ladies of the Realm.]

I love smells. Well, not all of them. But I do love the idea that invisible molecules wafting through the air can create intense reactions of pleasure or aversion.

{Disclaimer: The author of this post appreciates all 5 senses equally and would not want to be deprived of any of them. The above paragraph is just his goofy attempt to begin a blog post which focuses on the sense of smell and in no way intends to slander or diminish the importance of any and/or all of the other 4 well-respected senses. Thank you.}

When you visit someone else's house or ride in their car... or get closer to them than you usually do... you are introduced immediately to the curiosity that is their personal smell. Maybe the smell is dominated by pets, or exotic foods, or candles, or poor hygiene, or fantastic hygiene, but in any case there it is... confronting you.

This smell could be a repulsive odor or a haunting fragrance, but regardless, your nose runs (not as in dripping) through your accumulated smell memory banks frantically searching for a match or etching a new entry which will never be forgotten.

The smell could be an obvious repeat offender. The smell could be deliciously mysterious: an olfactory puzzle to be solved. The smell could trigger past associations with another time and place. Or the smell could prompt evasive maneuvers.

Scents you're still reading and not because you asked me, here are my very own categorical smell rankings. See if they pass your sniff test, and then give me your own aroma winners and losers. Please don't think that because you've smelt it that anyone here will think you dealt it.

And by all means, if you have a funny smell story, do tell. I'm sure I'm not the only "smeller feller" around here.

Top 5 Best Smells (Overall)

• A clean baby
  
• Chocolate chip cookies baking


• The mixture of plumeria and sugar cane in the Hawaiian air


• A Spring afternoon shower


• Model airplane glue


• Honorable mention: The smell of the beach when you first arrive

Top 5 Worst Smells

• A paper mill


• Vomit in a hot car


• Sour milk


• Nursing homes (sorry)


• A football locker room


• Honorable mention: Coffee/beer breath
  

Top 5 Parfumes/Colognes

• Sunflowers


• White Linen


• Old Spice


• Victoria's Secret Heavenly


• Chanel No. 5


• Honorable mention: Beautiful
  

Top 5 Food Smells (other than above)

• Pit barbecue


• Fresh peaches


• Chili


• Fresh-baked bread


• Bacon


• Honorable mention: Vanilla extract
  

Top 5 Plant/Tree Smells (other than above)

• Roses


• Sassafras tree roots


• Coffee beans


• Drying tobacco leaves


• Cinnamon bark


• Honorable mention: Spruce trees

Top 5 Worst Plant/Tree Smells (other than above)

• Bradford pear blooms


• Dead leaves


• Freshly-cut grass


• Geraniums


• Scotch broom


• Honorable mention: Wild onions

Redemption in Elizabethtown

Most people, it seems, didn't like the movie Elizabethtown. Reviews were not good (27% fresh at Rotten Tomatoes), as I recall, and if you go through the blogsphere, you'll probably find more people that hated it than loved it. Bad-script, bad-diaglogue, and stale-performance glutton that I must be, I really enjoyed the movie, and more specifically, I loved the redemption aspect in the movie. For me, it brought to life a lot of the parallels of my own personal Christian journey, and I'd imagine it might resonate with some others (27% of our readership, maybe?) as well... if you can allow that Claire is the Christ-figure in the movie. Obviously, with a movie about a romance between a guy and a girl, this analogy won't be perfect, but it's works for me.


“Claire literally saves his life.” ~ Cameron Crowe, the movie's writer and director. "His life", here, refers to the life of the movie's protagonist, Drew Baylor, played by Orlando Bloom.


The beginning of the movie is where Baylor recognizes his sin. He states later that developing shoes is the only thing he knows how to do. Essentially, that's life for him. To wit, we receive this narrative epiphany by the lead character:



As somebody once said there's a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is simply the non-presence of success. Any fool can accomplish failure. But a fiasco... a fiasco is a folktale told to others that makes other people feel more alive because it didn't happen to them.


A fiasco. In life, if I'm honest, that's what I am. A train wreck. We tell ourselves something else most of the time. Socially, who wants to show the truth? We walk around trying to act as if we have at least some of it together. If I grow up not messing up too many times, have a good career, a respected family, get my retirement in line, graduate my kids from college, go to church on Sundays, help out in the community when I have time, at the end of all this God's gonna invite me in, saying, "Welcome, My good and faithful servant." Another line in the movie, spoken by Claire, penetrates the real truth.


Do you ever just think 'I'm fooling everyone'? Drew Baylor's reply is honest. You have no idea.


The truth for many of us is so much different than the facade we put up. I verbally abuse my kids/my parents all.the.time. I spend every leisure minute playing video games or fishing or on the computer or watching TV, away from everyone else unless it's on my terms. I told one friend that my other friend was a loser, because I always want to make myself look and feel better. I cheated on my wife/husband/significant other. I want to skip church this Sunday... well, every Sunday. I hate my job. I don't have time or will to pray. I scammed the government on my taxes. I'm divorced. I'm a drunk. I physically abused my child. I read/looked at crap on the Internet. I stabbed my best friend in the back. I'm "living in sin." I hate my husband. I don't tithe or give to charity. I like taking drugs. I want a better everything. I want my neighbor's wife. I can't help lying. I can't help cussing. I want to be left alone. Or worse, I'm so much better than all the people who do any of the stuff on this list. We're a fiasco.


And if we can't come to the realization ourselves, at least we have helpful hands to lead us there. Family, friends, co-workers, church members, teammates, enemies, books, movies, the Bible... to get the Law portion of what we've done down. In Elizabethtown, Alec Baldwin, plays shoe guru and corporate exec Phil Devoss, who enlightens his protege on the realization that Drew's already come to:


How do I make the concept of $979 million dollars more real to you? It's the operating budget of a midsize country... a small civilization. It's big! It's so big you could round it off to a billion dollars.


The sin is a gap so big that it could never be made up, never be paid off. You're stuck with that legacy the rest of your life. And really, with a legacy like that, it's not only going to affect you, but it's going to affect your children and your children's children, down to the fourth generation, quite possibly.


The result of this horrifying realization is death, and that's just what Drew Baylor aims to do. Kill himself. However, just before he does exactly this, he's informed of another death, that of his father. When his sister calls him while he begins the act of suicide, Drew's informed, because his mom and sister are in such bad states, that he's the one who needs to carry out his father and family's wishes for cremation. So he avoids killing himself for the time being, but instead walks around like death warmed over.


However, on the way to Elizabethtown, his dad's hometown, he meets his redeemer, Claire Colburn, who happens to be an airline stewardess. At first, little does he know the effect she;ll have in his life, and really, he doesn't want anything to do with her. Nonetheless, she gives him some directions that he has a hard time following - and that seems true-to-life for me, at least for some, with our first encounters with Jesus.


Yet, through the movie, Claire and Drew get to know each other better. However, Drew can't tell her his deep, dark secret. Not until later in the movie after they've been intimate. The next morning, Claire's out the door after trying gently but unsuccessfully to rouse Drew, but he awakes soon afterward and realizes she's gone. He runs after her, and she turns to him with the open and welcoming smile of someone willing to save him, saying:


Just tell me you love me and get it over with.


Finally, though, he comes out with what he's been hiding:


Four days ago, I lost a major shoe company... frankly you could round it off to one billion dollars! And by tomorrow afternoon, everyone will know. Something's gonna be published that pinpoints me as the most spectacular failure in the history of my profession, which is all I know how to do. And I've been here this whole time trying to be responsible and charming and live up to this success that doesn't exist. I have a very dark appointment with destiny. That's my secret. That's who I am.


Drew states what I alluded to previously - we try to be responsible and charming, and we try to live up to a success that doesn't exist. Not to belittle sin, because Christ paid the ultimate price for it, but rather in the relational context, I think Claire's answer is perfect:


That's it?


The next exchange is funny, because here's it's where we think that God can't forgive us for this monumental sin or the monumental sinner we are, while He just wants us to love Him.


Drew: Yes, that's it.
Claire: I guess I just thought a small part of you might be a small bit sad to see me go. But I guess this is all mostly about a shoe.
Drew: Of course, I'm sad about you. But this is just a little bit bigger than you and me. And by the way, I didn't say million. I said billion. A billion dollars! That's a lot of million!
Claire: So you failed.
Drew: No, you don't get it.


It's like God's saying, "Love me, Rich." And I'm saying, "But God, I've done this. How could you ever love me. I did this. I'm a wreck." And God's replying, "Yep, you did that. You surely failed there, Rich. But I'll take your wreck, thank you. Love me anyway." "No God, wait!" I counter, "You still don't seem to get it." As laughable as I sound here, there's a lot of truth in this exchange - and I don't mean just once. This is recurring theater between God and me. So finally, as Claire says, God puts it in perspective:


So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You think I care about that? I do understand.


You have the Creator of the Universe, your Creator, right here, Rich, right in front of you, loving you enough to have died for you, knowing every last foible and flaw and all the grandiose, colossal fiascos you've had, have, and will have in your life. I love you, and I'm not going anywhere. Just tell me you love me and get it over with. Ah, grace. That's really the whole story right there.


At the end of the movie, after Drew's dad's ceremony has completed, Claire gives Drew a road map, with cassettes of her voice to help lead him along this time of wilderness and introspection. I love this part of the movie as Drew goes from place to place, seeing it, somewhat, through the eyes of his redeemer, and spreading his father's ashes at special places along the way. And then he comes to a reckoning place:


Here you have reached a fork in the map. You can go to your car and the rest of the directions will take you home. Or... look for a girl in a red hat who's waiting for you with an alternate plan.


Drew decides then and there that he's not going to try it his own way anymore. He'll thankfully go with the one who loves him. Because we're human, we know, even that doesn't make things perfect. Additionally, we also know that even if Drew did go the other way, God would have sought him or waited on him - He's saved him.


What an awesome God we have that loves us despite the fiasco. Loved us enough that He sent Himself, His Son, to the Cross for us. Boyoboy, do I need to remind myself of that over and over. Everything that we couldn't do, can't do, and never could do, He's done. That's a great love story.

These Times We Cherish

I picked up Carson from the Regional Airport in Mobile for his Little League State Baseball Tournament last Friday. He had flown from Orlando, after three days at theme parks, on Delta with a layover in ATL, and he had an escort with him. For Car, it was a big deal riding alone for the first time on a plane, and for me, I was just glad to see that he had made the switch at Hartsfield and, more importantly, to see his little body walking from the ramp. When he was smaller, his whole face would have lit up and he would have run to me for a big hug, but now ten years old, he turned a timid smile my direction when he saw me and held up the Fantasy Football magazine that he had read for the flight. I put my arm around him and gave a squeeze. He did grab my hand, and we walked through the airport holding hands, talking about football, because that was what was on his mind, and that went on until after we had driven away and transitioned into lunch.

The week of baseball was a long one with long days of waiting for games. Once the baseball games started, they were full of highs, lows, and weather delays for the team. Nonetheless, Carson had a great time being a part of the baseball. Baseball, though, was just the excuse for me. These days are passing way too fast.

Fortunately, Carson and I still hug, and he still likes when I grab him and kiss him all over. He laughs and giggles when I grab him from behind and wrestle and tickle him. I got my fill of that walking up and down the hotel halls when it was just the two of us. I don't know what the magic age is when you don't hug or kiss your son anymore, and though it's coming like a locomotive, I'm tossing nails on the tracks and throwing sticks, rocks, straw, dirt, anything I can clutch to try and slow it down. When we went to the Gulf Shores beach on a team trip, Carson asked me to build sand castles with him, and later I buried him in the sand. We also played the "make spectacular catches" game, throwing and catching a football diving in the waves. When other kids joined us, Carson accepted them, but this week, he was happy when it was just him and me. Each trip like this we take now, I wonder if it'll be the last one. We'd work sudokus at night before bed - the hard and challenger ones - and when I wanted to start jotting numbers in the corners, Carson would keep holding me back so we could try to do them just using our heads - not seeing the number puzzles worked out on paper. And almost every night before we turned out the lights when we'd be finishing the numbers, he'd say, "I love you, Dad" with no prompting. I'll never get sick of that. The whole week, Car just surprised me with touching moments, sometimes childlike, sometimes mature beyond his years. I didn't want the trip to end.

Neither did Carson. The last night, we were walking to our room together after the game and had been talking about the Harry Potter movie we had seen with the team earlier in the day. Carson was going to be riding home with his mom, who had arrived to watch the final game or two after her Disney and beach trip, the next day. Just before we got to our room, he broke away from the conversation we had been having and told me, "Dad, I think I'm gonna cry." Although it was sort of out of the blue, I thought I knew what he was talking about.

I might've written this before somewhere here (forgive me if you've heard it before), but when I was in sixth grade, I remember we had some kind of assembly for our whole elementary school (1st to 6th grades back then). At the end, a Sesame Street skit finished the program, and the show's theme played over the loudspeakers. And at the time, the thought occurred to me that I had passed the "Sesame Street" part of my youth. I'd never have it again. And I loved that part of my childhood. Overwhelming sadness sort of floored me, then, and I ran to the bathroom, closed the door of a stall, and wept for the days I'd never have back. Silly maybe, but true.

While not exactly the same, I can't help but think Carson's own thoughts were similar. Something like, this time Dad and I are having - it'll never be like this again. The fact that, if that's what he's thinking, he'd be right kills a part of me inside. I'm old enough now to realize every part of life, and I'm speaking of my kid's lives here, are special. They all have their special parts. Holding him the day he was born. Letting go of his hands for his first steps, or letting go of his bike the first time he rode without training wheels. Comforting him beforehand and then watching him get taken away from the dropoff his first day of school. Pulling in a halibut the size of Carson when fishing on our trip to Alaska a few years back. There have always been special heartfelt moments of togetherness in every life stage. Doubtless, Carson and I will have awesome bonding moments when he's a teenager doing whatever it is he'll be doing, graduating from high school or college, and I won't even mention the m-word. And I've had them and I'll have them with my other son, Davis, and my daughter, Mason, too. None of them are the same, though, and they all leave different imprints on the mind. But if you're not careful, they can also slip your mind.

I don't want to take this time, this specific week we just had, for granted. Ever.

Reprise: No Kinda Hunter

I once posted on the misadventures of my hunting exploits, or lack thereof, back when we first started The Realm of Possibility. Yesterday morning I was driving my kids, and we were talking about hunting for some reason. One of the boys asked, "Dad, did you ever kill anything?"

"A snake," I told him.


A lot of hooting and hollering came after that. "Yeah, Dad hates snakes!" "Was it poisonous?" "Didja blow it's head off?" Until the noise quieted and Davis asked, "No, did you ever kill anything real?"

They waited, and I said, "No. I came close once, I suppose. It was the only time Zack really ever got upset with me." (Zack was my "f-i-l" in the other story).

"Really? He did? What happened?" they asked.

We were turkey hunting in the Spring, and it was my first time at that. I was with Zack and my brother-in-law at the time, Mark. Zack, while a great deer hunter, was really just learning how to turkey hunt at the time. The dawn had gone and it was into mid-morning, and we were heading back to his cabin. As we walked, Zack used his turkey "screecher" caller box (I forget what they're called) to call out - the female turkey sound - to any straggling gobblers. Suprisingly, at least to me, he got an answer that sounded something like: gggrrrrrbbgggrrrrlll!!! Hey! was the look that passed between Zack and Mark. They told me to wait in a certain spot near a dirt road, and they'd try to circle around where they had heard the turkey reply and try to get him to come my direction.

I planted myself a good twenty minutes behind a bush aside the road, gun at the ready, sweating like a melting snowcone in a sauna, to wait for a turkey I didn't think was ever going to come. Across from the road was a clearing that sloped down away from me with just a couple of trees in it. Then, suddenly, after about a half an hour, I did hear something. I figured it was probably a squirrel or rabbit, but I raised my gun just in case. Now, remember, I had never shot anything, but I didn't think it'd be a big deal. Lo and behold, a real, 100% actual wild turkey strutted out from behind one of the two trees in the clearing, and I had a clear shot.I have to say, it was a beautiful bird.

Then... I thought to myself, "You know, I'll probably have a better shot when it passes by the other tree." However, I also knew it was sloping down the hill as my finger caressed the trigger of my shotgun. If I was going to take the shot, I needed to take it now. So in fine Rich Pearce fashion, I decided that I'd take the shot if it passed by the next tree. The turkey went behind the tree.. and I never saw it again.

Only a minute later, Mark came up and said, "You saw it, right? It was right there."

"Oh yeah, I saw it," I replied.

"Did you have a shot?"

At this point Zack walked up. I nodded. "I think so. It was right there." I pointed twenty five or thirty feet away to a space in the clearing between the two trees." Well, er, yeah. But I thought I might get a better one once it passed the other tree."

"Wait!" interrupted Zack. "You mean you had a shot, and you didn't take it?"

At that point, I don't remember much of what was said except that Zack was upset with me and I should never pass up an open shot. Not one of my fonder moments in life.

Turns out, that was the only game I ever had a clear shot at in my few times hunting before I started creating clever excuses to get out of going.

-----

"Wow, so you had a decent shot at the turkey, Dad?" Carson asked me. "Why didn't you take it?"

I looked back at him and then to Davis before my eyes returned to stare down the road which I was driving.

"Because, guys, there was a slight chance I might have hit it."

You Know What's Cool?

I gotta brother who just went to Israel. He called my Dad from the Garden of Gethsemane a couple of days ago. Over the 4th of July, our family's having a nuclear reunion, and we're going to get to share, play games, joke, be tender, and hear about his trip to Israel. It's going to be great. Does that sound cool or what?

I gotta friend who holds my feet to the fire, who listens and advises with wisdom, and who loves in action and deed. He's been a rock. I call him outtatheblue, and it's like we never missed a day. Kinda cool, huh?

I gotta sister who has an autistic child. Sometimes, she thinks she's the worst mother in the world to him and his brother. Reality is, though, that her children couldn't have a better parent... set of parents. And my sister and I are close. We share everything, laugh and cry together, and she's been a blessing and a dear friend to me in countless ways. I love her with a passion. Is that not cool?

I gotta a friend who has waited and waited on me, and he still waits. And he's never given up. Speaking of "given", he's given and given and still gives. I'd put this guy against anyone who ever spawned an idea. I'm simply amazed by him. Cool, eh?

I gotta set of parents that have been married forty-some-odd years, and who have been there through thick and then. Despite it all, they still love me, my brother, my sister, and each other. Is there a cooler gift they could give than that?

I gotta friend, who when I'm in his house, he'll pick up a guitar, and anyone there will just start singing and nobody worries about how they sound. They just sing. Same friend loves me like Jesus loves me. Wherever I go, if I rise, fall, run the race, stray from the trail, go desolate, he's there for me and I know that I know that I know will always be there. Cool doesn't even touch that, does it?

I gotta son, another son, and a daughter, and if you added up every sunrise and every sunset that have ever been and ever will be, they don't measure close to the beauty of those three. Could anything be cooler?

I gotta God with grace, and I wallow in it. He lived and died for me. Lived again, even. He soooooo loves the world... That breaks the Cool-o-meter, does it not?

Relationships are cool to me.

Anyone else got anything? You know what's cool?

The Magic... Goes

A couple of weekends ago, my eldest son and I had "the talk." He was standing aside my car, ready for his Little League All-Star practice, and he just blurted it out.

"Dad, is Santa Claus real?"

The whole Santa Claus mythos, I know a lot of Christians have trouble with it. I'm not one. While I respect those that choose not to lie to their children about a jolly old fellow (some hundred years old) that lives with elves, bee-bops about on a jingling sleigh drawn by flying reindeer, and delivers toys in a sack on said sleigh to one billion families on a singular night each year, it's not something about which I really want to quibble. My parents and grandparents (both sides) were Santa families, most of my childhood friends believed, we watched and loved the Christmas specials (there's a Top Ten list I made somewhere on the site), and for me, each family can come to their own decisions about that. But as for Rich, FEED THE LIE says I.

Carson's ten, so he's believed longer than most. Time and circumstance as they were, he caught me unsuspecting and offguard - but don't many of the landmarks of life hit us like that? My son brought his evidence when I rhetorically asked him, "What? You don't believe in Santa Claus?"

"How does he get down all those chimnies with all those toys?"; "What about all the houses without chimnies and with locked doors?"; "What about the people without homes or the ones that live in apartments?"; "Are there really flying reindeer?"; "Isn't the North Pole uninhabitable?"; "Wouldn't his sleigh burn up in the atmosphere going as fast as it would have to travel to get to every home in one twelve hour night?" (Cunning as I am and proud of the fact that you can't slip a Santa Claus question by me, I countered that last one with the fact that the way the world turns, he actually gets twenty-four hours.)

Of course, wisdom being the better part of valor, I tabled the discussion for the night and changed the subject to baseball.

When I was a Santa-believing child of five or six in Ocean Springs, MS, I remember my know-it-all (at the time), seven-year old friend asking me if I wanted to hear a secret. I looked up to him, and he was the fastest kid on our block and in first grade, so I said, "Sure." And he proceeded to enlighten me about Santa Claus, or the lack of one thereof. I don't have many crystalized memories of my five- and six-year old years, but this is one that has lasted. I was sitting on the toilet of my parents bathroom, and I blurted out the same question my son did to me to my parents. They gave each other "the look", and then my dad did something kind of wonderful. He told me the truth about Santa Claus but then followed that up with a story about this thousand dollar train set that he and his brother received at Christmas when they were boys that there was no way in the world that his family or his grandparents could afford. Obviously, I don't remember his story word-for-word, but it left an indelible magic of the Santa-side of Christmas for me when he could have just let me suffer the come-down.

Stealing from Dad, I called Carson into the bedroom alone the next morning while his brother was playing Wii and his sister was building with blocks, and I echoed Dad's story as I told him the truth about Santa Claus... and his wife, elves, reindeer, and the North Pole... and Peter Cottontail... and the Tooth Fairy... and the Great Pumpkin... and the Thanksgiving Turkey that brings presents to good, little children on Thanksgiving Eve...

The experience turned out good for both of us, but it's certainly a precursor of more (personally) dreaded things to come. Right now, my relationship with all my kids is one where I hug and kiss them, go and eat lunch at school with them, dance crazily in the house with them to fun songs, and they love and want all that. But the day's coming not too long from now, where while they'll still want the love in a different fashion, there's also the breaking away that comes with life. That's gonna hurt. Carson's question was the prequel.

Yuck. Anyhow, merry Christmas in July!

Chick Turned One Yesterday and I Had Some Semi-Related Thoughts

My daughter, that is.

This is the way we do things: my younger son's fifth b-day was in March, but his Kingdom Birthday Party was last weekend. My girl's first b-day was yesterday, which means her party will come, say, maybe sometime in August -- which so happens to be when my birthday is. And, of course, I'm getting to the point where birthdays aren't celebrated so much as hidden and locked under old freezer chests until they suffocate to the point of saying, "Uncle!" and are mentioned no more. My oldest son turns eight in September, and he can just STOP!!!

It truly is amazing how fast time goes. Do you guys remember (and I know this is asking a lot for some of us) when you were young and summer vacation came around? Man, I thought it lasted forever, at least in those years before I was ten. Christmas just never came -- you had to wait like ten years for it. And, unfortunately, when the school year did come around, it was eternal.

Then, something happened and time sped up... Enough of the melancholy.

Anyway, I now have a one-year old girl crawling around the house and cruising when she can. As a prize, she got to go to the pediatrician today for her one year old check-up and got three shots. "Thanks, Daaaaad!" She did well, though. Hardly cried at all. I'm sure she'll be a little sore throughout the day -- but her Nana's got her ;) She'll be all smiles when I go to get her tonight after the Angels' (who are now somehow 4-4-1) baseball game.

Just as important I suppose is that there will be many women playing Bunko at my house tonight, so thank goodness for baseball!!!

The whole point of this post -- well, really there wasn't one -- is that my daughter turned one, and God has blessed me in the greatest of ways. She is a delight, and I love her with everything. It's nice to love like that, isn't it?

The Party

My son's 5-year old birthday party, the one for which I had been building the castle, ended up a magical celebration for the boy. We had Sir Lancelot leading a dubbing ceremony, where our son was crowned king and all the other children were dubbed lords and ladies of the realm. Following that, Merlin put on a magic show that entranced the forty or so lads and lasses that attended. We, then, had a treasure hunt for kingdom jewels that were hidden somewhere in the yard. Before the pizza and cake, we presented a check to the Children's Hospital - one of those big placard checks - which said we had raised $1,000 but in reality it's a little more. The doctor that had done my son's surgery when he was three months old (my boy, not the doctor, of course) accepted the donation. He's the one with the vision to take volunteer services to the poor in Alabama and later nationwide, so we feel like that's a great cause. A friedn had come over and baked a three-layer castle cake that looked truly marvelous. Picture the witch's sweet-laden cottage in Hansel and Gretel, and then imagine it's a castle instead. That's how it appeared.

My 14-year old nephew and I finished the castle about an hour and a half before party-time, and that's after I took Friday off to work on it and then the two of us pulling an all-nighter (well, we finally went to sleep at 5:00 a.m., but I was back awake at 7:45 and he at 9:00. So really, there wasn't much sleep, and I was living off fumes for the party and clean-up. Still kind of am a day and a half after.

Nonetheless, the castle ended up looking grand. Four towers/turrets with long walls, a drawbridge that could be raised and lowered (which, granted, is what makes it a drawbridge), and a portcullis. We painted "stones" on the towers, giving the castle a real look. And, in the end, it passed every test. The kids loved it, the adult guests thought we had bought it, my wife stated it was more than she ever imagined, and it even took a beating from the late Saturday night storm, withstanding the torrential rains and wind. So we received a passing grade. I do have to confess, without my totally game nephew (I had vastly underestimated the work), the structure would not have gotten finished in time for the party -- thank you Lord for him.

Seeing how seriously the kids took the dubbing, watching them transfixed by the magic show, and then having sword fights galore across the back yard -- and lastly, getting to hear kids as they walked away say things like, "That party was sooooo AWESOME!!!", well, it almost makes me think all those late nights and the all-nighter were worth it. But the crowner that does make every minute and dollar invested worth it is knowing that through my son's eyes, he couldn't have had a better party. My first remembrances (now) are when I was a five year old, and I'm betting his oldest memories, once he's grown, might be of this party - and that's kind of a cool thought.

On a separate but related note, my older son (7 year old) and I were talking late last night as I was putting him to bed - and we discussed how while we were having this fun party, there are other Christians in all parts of the world that cannot have these kinds of events, either because of their government laws, poverty, they don't have the resources, etc. It's good to keep everything in perspective, and I'm so pleased, in a fatherly sort of way, that my eldest son sees how much excess we have and has compassion for others. Obviously, it's one thing to talk about having compassion and another thing to show it, but it has to start with the seeing. And then having a soft heart. And he does have a tender heart. God couldn't have given me a better gift -- and it wasn't even my party.

Bottom-line: Banner castle! Banner party! Banner weekend! I'm so glad it's over...

Gonna Build a Castle

Each year for my younger boy's birthday, we've had a big party. When he was young, he had cranial stenostosis (of the sagittal variety) and the good doctors at Children's Hospital performed surgery when he was 3 months old (another post entirely, and I could go on at length about the problem) to correct the skull abnormality where his skull grew over his soft spot too early. Anyway, for the last three years, for his birthday, in lieu of presents, we accept donations to the Children's Hospital, specifically to help out the work of Dr. John Grant (the plastic surgeon who performed the surgery), in his effort to take his services to the needy -- starting with what's called the "Black Belt" of Alabama -- most of whom have no insurance, and to perform his surgeries on a volunteer/donation-funded basis on children with cranial stenostosis and craniofacial problems (cleft palates).

Well, this year, my wife's invited the doctor and also the local and Birmingham media to come to the party to generate additional support here in Huntsville for Dr. Grant's work.

For the past two years, my son's had a Captain Hook/pirate b-day and a Peter Pan Neverland party. For each of these shen-digs, I've made a major construction out of mainly cheap lumber and refrigerator boxes. The first time was a huge ship around our fort in the back yard. The thing ended up looking more like Noah's ark with Jolly roger flags than it did a pirate boat, although I had nets tied from the boat to the fort and the fort tarp colored black with a skull and crossbones. the next year I constructed a Neverland Lost Boys hideout, which didn't turn out nearly as good. Well, this year, my wife has requested a castle. And she has a threshold of satisfaction that I need to meet in my castle-building as she completes all the other stuff required for the party (i.e. invitations, cake, giveaways, etc.).

So here's the deal. I'm planning on having four circular turrets (which I've started and the process is painfully slow) made of two planks, cardboard circles duck-taped to them to hold the form, and then roofing material (the back stuff that goes under the shingles) circling the planks. I'll cover that with gray butcher paper, and then I'll use black paint to create a stone-like look. I'll use cardboard to create the circular chess-rook top of the tower. Or so I'm thinking. For the castle walls, refrigerator boxes covered by the butcher paper. For the front, I'll have a upper wooden frame connected to two turrets, and a refrigerator box will be staped to the front of the frame. I'll cut a drawbridge from the fridge box with pulleys to raise and lower the thing, and then I'll have a cardboard portcullis stuck on the back stapled halfway down.

So that's the plan. However, these turrets are problematic because they're not sturdy, and it's hard for me to make them alone without someone holding up the planks. All the work is done in the late night hours, which is fine except the no help thing. Anyway, if anyone has a better plan -- beside just renting a moonbounce castle [that won't cut it] -- especially for the turret-building, let me know. I'm REALLY, REALLY open to suggestions. Keep in your consideration that I'm not handy at all. But let me know.

My wife's sent out 67 invitations, so the pressure's on to make this thing look pretty good.

Yikes!

My Son's mp3

My son won his school's Math-a-thon by collecting the most money for the math work he completed and, in doing so, was awarded an mp3 player. Now, we have the most noteworthy responsibility of downloading a batch of 30 decent, "mainly" kid-friendly songs. [He has requested U2's Vertigo and a couple of Bill Mallonees -- that's my boy -- but for the most part that's not what I'm looking for].

I'm asking for requests for songs that a seven-year-old (who likes more grown-up music, probably, than most seven-year-olds) might enjoy. Here's a few that I've come up with or that they've played at his school, and this should give you an idea of what song types I'm hunting:

Hound Dog, Jailhouse Rock, and Blue Suede Shoes (Elvis)
Rockin' Robin (who knows?)
Build Me Up, Buttercup (The Foundations)
When Bull-frogs Croak (Zak Morgan)
Joy to the World (Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog) (Three Dog Night)

On the other hand, he's specifically requested NO Father Abraham, London Bridge, Mary Had a Little Lamb type stuff.

That's sort of where I'm going. That said:

Suggestions?

Remembering

A visitor from Heaven
If only for a while
A gift of love to be returned
We think of you and smile

A visitor from Heaven
Accompanied by grace
Reminding of a better love
And of a better place

With aching hearts and empty arms
We send you with a name
It hurts so much to let you go
But we’re so glad you came
We’re so glad you came

A visitor from Heaven
If only for a day
We thank Him for the time He gave
And now it’s time to say
We trust you to the Father’s love
And to His tender care
Held in the everlasting arms
And we’re so glad you’re there
We’re so glad you’re there

With breaking hearts and open hands
We send you with a name
It hurts so much to let you go
But we’re so glad you came
We’re so glad you came
-- Twila Paris, A Visitor From Heaven

Taylor David
He would have been nine today.

After the Moaning and Groaning

That's right. After all the riggamarole I wrote about taxes a couple weeks ago (a week and a half? I forget), I just finished them last night. And I'm, like, way tired. In fact, the Steakhouse seasoned Oberto Beef Jerky I'm eating (and it's a gift that keeps on giving, I assure you) to try and maintain my consciousness isn't working as well as I thought it would. I may have to break down and head up the hall for the Coffee IV.

I don't really have a lot of congruent thoughts for a post right now -- but that's par for the course, right? -- however, I thought I ought to try to get something down so The Realm of Possibility doesn't seem so dead. Weekends are pretty dead around here (until Ken gets the flame again), especially holiday weekends. Speaking of which, I hope everyone had a Happy Easter. Christ is Risen! He is risen, indeed!

So for my incongruent thoughts, here goes:

-- I didn't notice The Ten Commandments on last night. Wasn't that an Easter television tradition? Maybe the show came on Saturday and I just missed it. Well, I probably would have missed it anyway. Still, it's comforting to know somebody's watching it. I guess nobody was last night.

-- 24. Looking forward to that if I can pry my eyelids open after my son's baseball game tonight. So far, both my son's teams are 0-1, and neither game has been close. Both those teams could use a Jack Bauer.

-- We had a great Easter. Threw a neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt on Saturday. After church on Sunday, which was also great, we had a family get-together with all my in-laws on my wife's side. Feasted, played basketball, another egg hunt... just a joyous day. The night wasn't so hot. Taxes, or have I mentioned...

-- The NFL Draft is two weeks away. That's correct, I'm one of those idiots.

-- My wife mentioned that there's a Five K-run next weekend. Not sure if she meant for me or for her. If for her, I guess she's saying (without saying - communication's our thing, y'know) she needs me to watch the kids. If for me, I'm not sure what she's trying to say. I'm okay with windsprints, even suicides, but anything over a mile straight and I'm just looking to make it to the next house with every step I go. Plus, I've been losing weight - a little at least. She must mean it's for her.

-- I'm going to give that Coming Up Sevens post two more days before posting the correct answers. Everybody's probably looked by now anyway, all two of you. And as long as I'm slipping stuff in about posts, I'll just ask here where I know Ken won't read down to: what did you guys think about his re-run of the Poopy Doopy post and then his Haiku? I'm thinking I need to give him a hard time again. Actually, the Haiku was kind of clever. Running poopy-doopies over again was a cheap way of him telling me he was going to get something up that day (night, as it turned out). Heck, I've got hundreds (literally, now) of crappy posts I could re-run. I just spare the public. Ah, "Ken"... I say the word and just shake my head.

-- The prize my wife received for taking our daughter to church (Sunday School last week) for the first time since baby dedication was a case of Pink Eye. We've had sort of a running disagreement. I've sort of said we should go ahead and take our babies to church after six months (or even less, really) at home, and she likes to keep them away from church for at least a year because of the germ aspect. Well, this latest episode didn't help my case, and it'll probably be 18 months now before my daughter harkens the doors of the church again.

Now, I've gotta go to work, so it's back to the moaning and groaning.

Really Quick Now

A few things:

1) Uh, I think I swung and missed on trying to post yesterday. Well, actually, I probably just stood at the plate and watched three strikes go by. Just a lot going on. Sorry about that.

2) After last night, it sounds like the Dorkman release date is being moved up once again to early August. Since my b-day's in early August, I'll count it as a gift like no other. We should receive edits early in May, and then it should be a pretty whirlwind process. The earlier release date is good on a couple fronts. First, we might beat school openings, which is a good thing. Then, at this point, the sooner the better as to seeing the "Pearce & Story" moniker on a real, live book. Lastly, locally, there's some marketing reasons and potential signings by which we may benefit from with the book coming out at the first of August as opposed to the first of September. So, we're excited to say the very least.

3) I may not be the only person to put up a post today here in The Realm of Possibility. Not naming any names, but maybe we all have something to look forward to. Of course, I make no promises.

4) Penultimately (and I'll always love using that word), harkening back to the Golden Age of the Realm (or was it the Bronze? or was it the Quartz Age? or maybe the Talc Age - oh bother, who cares), I'll be putting out another Top Ten list in the next day or two that no one in the world could possibly care about, so we can all disregard that.

5) Lastly, I think I mentioned my oldest son's team (the Angels) got drilled 16-3 in their first machine pitch baseball game - blame the coaching (the other team's coaches did - nice to hear all their comments on how ridiculous our team was when I was coaching third base late in the game - grrrrrrr! it just makes it so easy to love others... UGH!!! Many thoughts that other historical Christians might have had go thru your head at a time like this, one such being, "I wish they were being fed to the lions." Of course I jest... mostly). Anyway, my younger son's team, the Devil Rays (Angels & Devils, we got it all covered in the Pearce household), have their first tee-ball game tonight, so hopefully we can get back on the winning track.

Okay. That's it. Nothing much else to say, and I've got to run. You're free to stop reading now. Seriously, you can. You don't have to keep reading this trivial nothingness. You aren't still reading are you? Please, your life is more valuable than this. Still reading? Be brave. Walk away. Sigh. One last chance. Sigh (again). Okay, since you can't help yourself, I guess I'll have to be strong for you. Have a great day.

Tonight's the Night!!!

Boy-o-boy!!! I've been waiting for this night ever since January 1st came around. Nothing's more exciting. You guys and gals can have all your TV, sports, reading, writing, hanging around with your spouses or kids, movies, games, Bunko, poker, or whatever else you're doing tonight, but I've got you all beat. And it's not even close. That's right.

I'm doing my taxes.

Is there any single event to look forward to in a year than this one? The Super Bowl? The Oscars? Your birthday? Christmas Day? Easter? HA!!! All those pale in comparison to the one or two nights we get to do our taxes. What a privilege that the Government gives this special time. In fact, we ought to make April 15th the most special of holidays. We could all dress up like Uncle Sam (or Aunt Samantha, I guess) and parade around Independence Avenue in DC. In fact, we could get on floats and throw money to heads of Government agencies. It'd be magnificent.

But I digress. Now, as I was saying, yes... right after work I'm heading over to Staples or Best Buy, and I'm making the funnest purchase of the year for me. That's right. TURBO TAX!!! How awesome can it get??? Try saying "Turbo Tax" and not smiling. You can't do it can you. I can't either. As an added bonus, I've tacked on a pic of Turbo Tax Deluxe for everyone's viewing glee. I think I could stare at that little picture all day long. Night, too -- except then I'd miss the absolute pleasure of actually doing my taxes -- and I can't do that. And Turbo Tax doesn't come alone -- no-no. Along with it, you also get Quicken so that you can enjoy the splendid excitement of doing your finances ALL YEAR LONG!!! What can beat that, I ask you?

Life is good.

Life is sweet. Like nectar on the vine or the taste of honeysuckle.

I love today.

And tonight's my night.

Wrecked Up

Yesterday afternoon as I went to pick my kids up from school, I was stopped waiting on a two lane road to turn left into the school's drve-thru. In my rearview mirror, I saw a white car slowing down behind me, and then I looked back at the two cars passing from the opposite direction.

Behind me, I heard THUD!

Looked into my rearview and saw the guy behind me sort of flop and his vehicle being plowed by a green car foward toward mine. I didn't have time to accelerate to avoid the accident before another BUMP -- a crash right into me. I have a pretty darned sturdy SUV, so the damage wasn't too bad on my vehicle. Both other cars had to be towed away. Everyone was alright, I should add.

The long and short of it was that a little sixteen year old kid who had just gotten his license two days ago -- at least from his words -- had his music playing too loud and wasn't paying attention. Later on, he mentioned something about his brakes not working too well, but mainly, the poor kid had his thoughts elsewhere, and we're all lucky no one was hurt too badly. In fact, with his airbags popping on, his bloody nose seemed to be the worst of it. The guy in the white car behind me said he blacked out for a second when first hit, but he was okay after that.

I called my wife, and after all the "Are you okays", "How did it happens?", and "Was it your faults?", she gave me the standard lines of not saying anything... all the stuff you're supposed to do at an accident for insurance purposes. And for the most part, I followed the advice.

But it occurs to me that all of that is hardly Christlike. I actually thought about that at the accident. And I was sort of torn. I told both guys that I was sure glad nobody was hurt, and then I let the kid borrow my cell phone to make a call or two. But anyone there would have hardly mixed me up with being Christ to the other guys. I was too wrapped up in what I should do for insurance purposes, the hassle that this wreck was going to cause, to make sure I pleased my wife with my actions, thinking about getting my kids before their school closed, and with my own introversion. I think I failed in this instance (as I do in most, maybe almost all, I guess), because I was pretty far from being like my Lord to the others involved.

Of course, I'm not altogether sure what exactly I should have done, but I know I could have shown more care than the aloofness I exhibited.

And all this comes on the heels of another member of The Realm -- I won't mention any names -- being involved in his own el accidente. But it's not my place to say anything about that. However, if bad things really do come in threes, then we've got one more on the way.

I wonder what it could be?

H.A.T.U.

Oh by the way, I've been married to Brenda 13 years as of today. Lucky 13? Unlucky 13? Bah! Neither. Tonight when we go out to celebrate (as I miss "24" although we'll tape it just the same), I'll drink to 13 more better than these last, and 13 years from now, I'm toasting to 26 more years better than the first 26.

Happy Anniversary To Us!!!

Anything else of note happening today or has happened in history on March 20th?

That Light at the End of the Tunnel That I Was Running Toward

Turned out to be a steam engine that pancaked me. I have to say: my job is taking its toll -- not that I'd want to work elsewhere, but I'm just not getting much of a break for blogging. Nights are: t-ball practice on Monday, Tuesday machine pitch baseball which I help coach (and I play basketball afterward), Wednesday is soccer practice, Thursday is baseball again, and Friday are soccer games. We also have batting practice on Saturday, and that's when t-ball games will be. Once baseball games start, those will be weekdays as well (practices will decrease then, thankfully). Sunday School, church, Bible study and AWANAs on Sunday. Throw in housecleaning, lawn and outdoor care, bill paying, grocery shopping, any family time, and walks -- and the busy-ness just doesn't seem to end. Can somebody throw me a rope here? I'm looking for a rescue... or a noose.

The excuses, however, must be wearing thin, so I'll try to stop making them after this and just post when I can. Even when you can't seem to see much, you find time. For me, that's time for God, writing, blogging, basketball, and mental health. But the other thing you need, generally, to write good posts (or novel/short story writing) is focus, and that's hard with the time crunch. Usually, I resort to wimpy or content-less posts, which I figure are better than nothing... but probably only slightly. They do seem to keep you in touch with people out there in the blogsphere to a degree. So every once in a while, you can expect a "What's Your Favorite Dessert" kind of post that I'm notorious for.

Fortunately, Ken's posts have pretty good content most of the time, so you can always look forward to those. Additionally, they come out fairly routinely, although probably not as often as either of us would like. However, that also gives him time to add something with content so that people actually enjoy coming to our blog. Which, in the end, is what it's for. Well, that and for us to enjoy as well.

Penultimately, there are also some personal issues to overcome, and I'd appreciate any generic "prayer for Rich" that you might send up to the Lord. He knows. Thanks in advance. And I also wanted to say to all you other bloggers out there that come around ours -- THANKS!!! -- I enjoy reading your blogs, and if I haven't got to them yet, I bet I will at some point.

And the last thing: rejoice in the Lord always; again, I say rejoice.

Alien Zombie War World

This weekend, which was so excellent - in the 70s, breezy, shorts weather - that I could have just camped outside the whole two days and three nights long, I took the time on Saturday to play with my younger son (who turned five years old March 6, btw) at his level. My older son was playing, too, but if he'd had his druthers we'd have been playing some sport or contest. I think I've mentioned several times, my younger loves his imaginary worlds, usually pirates and Peter Pan. In the same breath, I've probably written that it's hard for me to just play in those imaginary worlds for hours at a time.

Anyway, Saturday it was Alien Zombie War World. My older son had arranged the way this world was working. Aliens had attacked our world and they had some mechanism to bring themselves back to life once dead, and after that, they could only be killed in one way - to take them to the Earth's core. Meanwhile, the aliens were wreaking havoc with their undead counterparts all over the world, and we were part of the last vestiges of the former world trying to save what was left. At first, my sons wanted to be robots, but when I joined in, I told them I wanted to be part of humanity. All of a sudden, my younger, "Agent 2" wanted to be a cyborg. "Agent 1," my older son just wanted to be in charge. That was cool with me.

I told him, okay, if you're in charge, then I want to be the toughest guy. Waaaaay-eeeeellllll, that started a fight. He wanted to be the toughest. I said, okay, then, I'm in charge. That was fine with him. Agent 2, meanwhile, got to be the special ops agent who was our "stealth" man. All that was great... until we started playing.

But before we did, I named myself, the leader, Bork. I called Agent 1: Hamilton and Agent 2 (the cyborg): Schaeff (short for Schaeffer). It was time for a mission. Before they went, however, we all armed ourselves with pirate swords, naturally, as pirate swords are the most effective weapon against alien zombies. Then, I sent Hamilton (who informed me that he was the only one who could take the alien zombies to the core) and Schaeff to the alien stronghold to steal their maindrive computer disk. They'd bring it back, we'd plant it with a virus, and then they'd go on Mission 2 to reinstall it and therefore corrupt the main computers of the aliens, thereby rendering them effectually without communication.

They started out on the mission, but I wanted them to report back. That little detail irked Hamilton, who wanted no part of me, Bork, being in charge. I had empowered him, and now he was the leader. Since I'm about as mature as my two kids, I argued, with an explanation that he was like the quarterback, and I was the coach. I still called the plays; he just ran them. He ended up stomping the ground and shouting, "BUT THIS ISN'T FOOTBALL!!!" For him, it was worth making it a knock-down drag-out that ended up with him pouting in the playhouse alone. So Schaeff ran the mission by himself. And guess what? Even without Hamilton, we completed the mission about thirty minutes later.

Eventually, Hamilton came back out and led the alien zombies to the Earth's core, but then he mutinied, and we all ended up fighting each other.

We did all this while I was watching my daughter, who crawled around outside on a sleeping bag and played with toys the whole time. Aside from arguing with my older boy over and over, it ended up being a really good time and special for my younger boy.

In fact, the next day, he wanted to play it all over again. Sunday after church when we went outside again, he excitedly asked, "Dad, can we play that game again with the aliens, and where your name is Dork?"