Lunch Surprise!

I rarely know what I'm having for lunch on any given day. I pull my lunch bag from the refrigerator in the lunch room at work and open it to find what my lunchtime surprise is for that day.

Allow me to explain in order to quickly put to rest any notion that my mental faculties have deteriorated to the point that I no longer remember what I made for lunch each day. Diane has gotten up with me well before dawn and lovingly made my lunch virtually every day for many years. On occasion she will ask what I want that day, but most of the time I have no idea what I'm having for lunch until I sit at the table and open my lunch bag.

Diane normally puts some special treat at the top of the bag that I take out to have for morning break. It's often some homemade muffin, coffee cake or other special treat. The rest of my lunch waits in the refrigerator for the Noon bell.

My lunch isn't anything fancy. In fact most days my lunch simply consists of a sandwich, some chips or cottage cheese, a piece of fruit and a carton of yogurt. Either the fruit or the yogurt stays in the bag for a snack during my afternoon break, but I dig into the rest for lunch.

I always enjoy my lunch - no matter how simple it may seem - because I am reminded of Diane's loving hands preparing it for me each and every day.

I Can Do It Myself!

It has been said that you can determine who is really your best friend by locking your dog and your wife in the trunk for an hour and then seeing which one is happy to see you when you let them out. I'm quite sure I already know the answer to that question, and I'm glad that is not the true test of determining which one loves me more. That said, it's a wonderful feeling to have a dog that loves me.

I don't doubt that Sadie loves me. She is always thrilled to see me when I get home. (Of course, she's always happy to see anyone when they arrive.) There is also no doubt that I love my dog very much.

For all of her wonderful qualities, Sadie also has a rather annoying habit. She apparently thinks that we are unable to perform routine tasks without her. For example, Sadie will push into the bathroom and lie down on the bath mat while one of us is in the shower if we do not make sure the door is completely latched behind us.

Really, Sadie, I can do it myself!

Sadie is not allowed in the basement. The cats' litter boxes are down there. Anyone with both cats and dogs needs no further explanation. Anyone else can simply use their imagination. We have a baby gate installed in the doorway leading to the basement to keep her from heading downstairs. My newly re-configured workshop also happens to be in the basement. Sadie apparently thinks I am unable to function in the workshop without her so she fidgets at the gate while staring downstairs to make sure I don't get out of her sight. She will slowly sneak down the stairs if I neglect to close the gate behind me. She sits there until I either come back upstairs or fire up any of my power tools. She doesn't like the noise they make so she reluctantly abandons her post when I use them.

Really, Sadie, I can do it myself!

Perhaps most annoying, though, is that Sadie apparently thinks that we are unable to function in the bathroom without her help. She often lies just outside of the bathroom door awaiting our return - her whimpers building as the time passes.

Really, Sadie, I can do it myself!

UNCLE!!!!!

There Ought To Be A Law...

Living ten time zones away from Sochi, Russia has both good and bad points. It's good, because I would rather live in the Upper Midwest than anywhere closer to Sochi. It's bad, though, because it means the Olympic hockey games are on at very strange times.

So, while Team USA is in the midst of pounding the Czech Republic; I am stuck at work - limited to following the game vicariously through periodic text updates from Diane.

There ought to be a law prohibiting companies from expecting their employees to work during an Olympic hockey game.

The Gift Of Languages

I am severely lacking when it comes to linguistics. I failed French, Spanish and German in school. I ran out of languages to fail at that point since the schools had not yet added the variety of languages available to today's students.

I don't really know what it was about foreign languages that stumped me. I simply couldn't get them no matter how much I studied. I suppose I just am not gifted when it comes to foreign languages.

I excelled in English, though. I also flew through Koine Greek, but that's another story entirely.

I didn't even realize how much of a passion I had for English until my college advisor told me I had taken enough English/Writing courses to complete my Minor in English. I hadn't taken them for any particular reason; just because I enjoyed them and used my electives to take English courses. I immediately declared an English Minor and my advisor turned in the appropriate paperwork to mark my minor complete.

My boys did not inherit my language deficiencies. Both of them easily cruised through advanced levels of both high school and college Spanish. Joseph developed such a fluency that he was designated as a Spanish-speaking teller, and then teller supervisor, at the bank where he worked after graduating from college. Many of the bank's Spanish-speaking customers commented that he spoke Spanish as if it was his native tongue.

Matthew, while not as comfortable as his brother in foreign languages, also developed a level of fluency that put me to shame.

I could never even pass the most rudimentary level of a foreign language and here my sons were flying through advanced courses in conversation and literature.

They excelled where I failed.

For some reason, my brain simply couldn't grasp the sounds and inflections of any of the three languages I so spectacularly failed. They just sounded like gibberish. I couldn't even understand people who spoke heavily-accented English. It's as if they were just making up sounds that had no structure or cohesion.

My language failures have become even worse as my hearing suffers from the effects of age and abuse. I am often forced to turn on the closed-captions on television when someone with an accent is being featured. The church we used to attend had a large Spanish ministry. I often found myself standing there feeling foolish as I habitually misunderstood our Spanish-speaking members as they spoke to me (in English, no less)! I did better with our Deaf members because I had managed to learn at least a modicum of American Sign Language, and the Deaf could figure out what I meant even when I botched it up.

But when it comes to spoken langues - I am lost.

I have resigned myself to the fact that my foreign language struggles dating back to seventh grade French class are destined to only get worse in the future.

I'm just not gifted when it comes to languages...

One More Chance

I have often wondered what I would say to Dad if I had one more chance to speak with him. What is the most important thing I would tell him, or what would I ask?

Would I apologize for something in my past?

Would I seek his advice on a matter in my present?

Would I introduce him to my family?

After all, he was gone before I graduated from high school or college; before I got married and before I had kids. He never got to meet Diane or the two young men who now carry on the Brader name.

What if I was told that I could speak with him one more time, but I could only say one thing or ask one question. It could never happen, of course, but what if...

What would I say if I had one more chance.

I have come up with many options through the years, but every time I have thought through it I find my ideas lacking.

I'm pretty sure that, if given one more chance, I would simply say, "I love you, Dad."

If I had one more chance...

Built To Last

I have been accused of over-engineering many of my projects through the years. I strongly disagree. Merely because something is designed and built to withstand virtually anything short of a direct hit from a tactical nuclear weapon does not automatically mean it is over-engineered.

It simply means that it was built to last.

I am reminded of the value of that design philosophy every time I look at the playset in our back yard. I set out to design and build a playset for the boys after we were unable to find a pre-built play system that had the features we wanted at a price we could afford. I (correctly) surmised that I could build a much more robust playset for far less money than the ones commercially available.

So that is exactly what I did.

That playset consists of a massive deck that sits about six feet off the ground. A slide at one end provides a means of rapid egress when needed. The deck is accessed by set of stairs leading to a bridge that leads to another, smaller set of stairs back down to the deck itself. The underside of the bridge serves as the mounting points for a couple of swings and a set of rings. The playset also has a single monkey bar connected to one side.

That playset was a magnet for the neighborhood kids when the boys were young. As the boys grew, it became the "high ground" to be captured and defended as the boys and I acted out massive AirSoft campaigns in the yard.

The playset still stands tall and proud in the yard today; and I'm sure it will stand strong in the yard long after I'm dead and gone. For now, though, it sits idle; ready for any grandchildren that may one day revive the glory of the playset in our back yard.