July 2005 Archives

When we fly to our destinations, we're concerned about things like carry-on size, our ability to tote a 300-pound wheeled upright onto the plane, and just who is going to be rifling through our underwear at the security checkpoints. We also have to wear clean socks because someone's going to want to look at the inside of our shoes. What a world.

Traveling by road has its advantages and trade-offs. We will need snacks because there won't be anyone in a crisp uniform asking if we want peanuts and a soda. Fewer limitations on baggage size and weight means we are suddenly tempted to pack everything we own. We will have to entertain ourselves, seeing as there aren't a bevy of passengers providing conversation or visual enlightenment as they pick their noses in the first-class cabin. The journey to our destination will be extended, so we must plan for additional fatigue not assoicated with air travel. There will be gas stations and possible truck stops – definite potty breaks and roadside diaper renewals for the Cutlet – which means nobody will want to see what's on the bottoms of our shoes at trip's end.

The open road beckons with its gray ribbon of promise, broken by yellow lines and what we hope is interesting scenery. It's about a 12-hour drive, according to a randomly reliable Internet mapping service. We'll split the trip across two days, seeing as it's already Saturday and I've got a few hours left to work. I will be in a blog-free zone, so miss me while I'm gone, OK? While you're playing desk jockey, or otherwise dealing with the routine, don't hate me while I'm on a Rocky Mountain high. I don't remember the last time I took an entire week off, but I think it was more than two years ago.

Upon our return, it never fails no matter which mode on which we've been traveling, there will be piles of laundry, things left undone because we are The Only Ones Who Will Do Them, and our own return to the routine. The Petite Filet learned last week that she got the job she was wanting, so at least her routine will be somewhat newish for a bit.

May you have a pleasant week, the same as I would wish you even if I was joining you in the humdrum of my normal life. This vacation had better be good.

I opened a new jar of apple butter this week. It's like popping the door to heaven. I grew up putting apple butter on pancakes, waffles, toast, muffins and bagels. Heck, I've even had a few apple butter sandwiches in my lifetime. Yet there are probably millions of people who hate apples and can't stand the mere thought of apple butter. I love the fruit, but must say the sugary, sweet brown glomp that is apple butter is among my favorite toppings. Would it taste good on ice cream?

After the Petite Filet and I got married, she started "trying to change me" into someone "normal" by convincing me that it's weird to put mustard on grilled-cheese sandwiches. I grew up doing it, and enjoyed the tangy addition of the yellow condiment to the crusty goodness that is grilled cheese (that last sentence was a mouthful!). She eats hers nekkid (usually she has clothes on, sadly), and now I do, too, just to stop the ribbing.

After changing a rather heinous diaper this morning (Glad to have you back, Cutlet! What? You're not potty-trained yet?), I pondered one of those ponderables just about every parent thinks of at least once during the Diaper Years: Where do all these diapers end up, anyhow? The short answer is, the dump (ironic that a dump sometimes gets them there, too). It's hard to get a real answer as to how many disposable diapers are thrown away per year; counting them isn't a job I'd like to have, either.

Hardcore environmentalists say diapers are the No. 1 material found in our landfills. Others – incuding scientists who have studied our trash and the makers of disposable dipes themsevles – say otherwise. Either way, there's a whole lot of diapers being tossed away. We could blame Marion Donavon, inventor of the disposable diaper, or maybe the throwaway society in which we live. It's always tempting to blame someone else, but when it comes down to it, cloth diapers are yucky. Ask my mom, who didn't have a choice in using them with me, but had a choice with my younger sister who came along at the right time and was covered in disposables from infancy to pottyhood.

I forgot to tell you, Internet People, of a bloggable moment that happened a few weeks ago. I overslept, was lazy and felt like a heathen, but short story long I skipped church a few weeks ago. That in itself isn't necessarily a sin, other than the fact God watches over me all week so the least I can do is visit His house once in a while, maybe read from His best-selling book, sing a few ditties of praise to my Almighty Creator and his son, Big J the Savior.

Well, He made me pay for the pew truancy.

Today was one of those days (a deadline day for our lovely weekly newspaper) during which I didn't even leave the office once I got there. Had a lot of phone calls to make, stories to finish writing, others' stories to edit, etc. etc. etc. It kind of feels like being in a snowglobe and somebody you can't see keeps shaking it so the snow keeps dancing around. And, of course, you can't get out even after the snow settles.

So I, being the type who hates to sit down for long, got home, ate a little dinner, watched a little bad Friday night TV and took a walk. I hadn't simply gone out and taken a walk for a long time; usually I'm either geared up to run or I'm on my bike – both faster modes of transit (though not by all that much). Slowing down let my mind slow down. Not having anywhere to go and no one in particular to answer to for now was freeing. I even took Isabella Podalini with me so that the lulls in my thoughts would be filled with music rather than thought-inducing silence. I pondered all sorts of random things.

Tonight I was bored. The fam is once again out of town (the PF had an appointment with a nutritionist in her parents' hometown – long story). Anyway, despite having some "homework" to get a little ahead of the workday tomorrow, I had little to do and there wasn't much on TV. Not like there's ever much on my TV (shunning cable means the rabbit ears only pick up 12 stations – 6 in English). So yeah, I watched ABC's "Hooking Up." I was routing for all of the ladies to find love until I realized if I were single, and especially in New York City, I probably would have been immediately in the discard pile.

I am blessed with a with-it woman who is beautiful, loving, capable, level-headed, sophisticated and backwoods at the same time, my soulmate. We are still deeply in love after knowing each other eight years (married for six and counting). It's something I don't deserve but have anyway. Can't blame the flat, dry West Texas desert where we first met for it. After all, I'm quite a catch, right? And I have tons to offer. Except on paper I'm pretty boring and wouldn't make most women's cut. I'm also a little goofy-looking. Hence it's a good thing I'm already married. To wit:

Dear Running Shoes,

Sorry I've neglected you lately. It's not so much that I've been sitting around doing nothing. No, in fact, I've been heading out on my bicycle a lot more lately (not just because of the Tour de Lance now under way). I'd forgotten just how fun it is to ride a bike.

We did have a nice run yesterday, though, didn't we? Because it had been weeks (WEEKS!) since putting you on, that good run has to be attributed to our new running partner. Though I've known her for a few months now, it was the first time we ran together. Her name is Isabella Podallini, but I usually call her iPod. Although she is small and prone to shuffling, that randomness actually made our run that more enjoyable. Music is a great motivator, especially when it's music you pick yourself.

Can't promise I'll be running more often, Dear Shoes. We are going to Colorado in a few weeks, and I don't know if the higher altitude and my mediocre athleticism are the best matches for your New Balancey goodness. If I take my bike, please know it's nothing personal against you. After all, while biking I often wear your predecessors, which happen to look just like you (albeit older and dirtier).

I won't totally forget you, Shoes, and we'll go out for a jog real soon. If nothing else, it gives me time to listen to music.

Gotta pedal,
T-bone

P.S. to the blog and its dwindling readership:
How's it been going, blog? Internet people? Not only have I been out on the bicycle, but without Internet service at home it's really hard to update you. Not like you can rub two sticks together and post something, right? It took four technicians (all nice and hard-working) to find out what was up with our DSL service. They figured it out yesterday, and wah-lah, here we are. I'll try not to neglect you so much in the future, but as I told Shoes: gotta pedal.

Our DSL service at home was supposed to be active on July 1. When I called the company, they discovered it is some sort of line problem that they will try to fix today. That got me to thinking about lines (such as pickup lines), and how they rarely work. Is it because they are transparent attempts for gain, or because they are just so cheesey?

For example ...