The Funeral-Part I

Toyota Prius backseats are not made for sitting. At least for tall guys like me. After four hours back there, legs wrapped around my ears, I could barely move, not to mention the fact that my tailbone felt like I'd been sitting on the business side of a claw hammer for half a day. So when we pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home, I was the first out of the car.

I leaned against the car, not caring if my already-rumpled black suit jacket got a little dirty, arched my back, closed my eyes, and stretched. The morning sun shone warmly on my face as I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with the clean, crisp Los Angeles air.

Suddenly I felt arms wrap around my waist. My eyes shot open. I looked down.

A short guy, hair cropped close, wearing a Redskins sweatshirt and a black fanny pack, had his arms around me, head resting against my chest, crying softly.

Dad was out of the car by this time, but he didn't rush over to save me; in fact, I thought I saw him chuckling quietly behind his hand.

"I was at your wedding," the short guy cried.


I looked around bewildered, hoping for some help. Mom, still in the car, pressed the automatic door luck button.


"Um...well, thank you for being there, Mr...?" I asked, patting him tentatively on the back.


"Mark Jr.! I'm your UNCLE ROY," he cried. "And I was at your wedding!"


"Well, Uncle...thank you."

He held on for another minute or two, sniveling a bit, then dried his eyes on my suit jacket, pulled away, and stood, too-close, face-to-face, smiling demurely down at his feet, hands clasped in front of him.


Just as I started to get a little creeped out, I saw the funeral home door open, and out barreled a monster of a man--my height, but a good fifty pounds heavier, with biceps the size of cantaloupes, and no real neck to speak of. I breathed a sigh of relief; the big man was coming to rescue me.


"MARK JR! YOU'RE MY NEPHEW!" he bellowed as he got within arms-reach. "I WAS AT YOUR WEDDING!"


Funny; I don't remember my wedding to have been quite this overpopulated with strange, dysfunctional relatives.


"Well...Uncle; thank you for being there. You should have got a thank you card, but if we missed you, it was inadvertent, and I'm sure we can get that cleared up without any bodily injury."


Too late; he nearly yanked my arm out of socket with his two-handed, sledgehammer-swing, handshake. He grabbed me as the momentum started me toppling over, and lifted me off my feet in a too-tight bearhug.


"I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN EIGHT YEARS!" he yelled into my ear. "YOU'RE GETTIN' SO BIG!"


"Thank you," I wheezed back at him, but I don't think he heard me.


He let loose suddenly and, as I crumpled to the pavement, gasping for air, he rushed over to my Dad. "MARK! MY BROTHER! HOW YA DOIN' BROTHER?" Dad saw it coming, and performed a smooth parry-thrust maneuver, tossing his long-lost brother headlong into the side of a mustard-yellow Hummer H2. The H2's passenger door wouldn't open after that, but the impact didn't seem to affect Uncle Matthew's head any.


"DID YA' ALREADY MEET YOUR UNCLE ROY?" Matthew bellowed, as he dusted off his hula-girl-on-a-surfboard print Hawaiian shirt, bent over and pulled up his blue and red striped tube sock, and fastened the Hi-Tec sandal that had come off his left foot. He pointed at the short, closely-cropped guy, still crying over against the side of the Prius. "HE WAS AT YA WEDDIN' TOO!"


"Yep. Met him already," I opined. "Unforgettable experience; trust me."


"My wife didn't come," Matthew interrupted, quieting down to a moderate shout. "She's been pukin' all night. We 'et leftover enchilada's from the taco truck fer supper last night, but I think we shouldn't 'a left 'em out on the counter for more than 'bout three days, 'cuz--dear LORD, they made us sick!"


As we made our way to the funeral home chapel, he continued describing, in great detail, how the enchiladas had affected his bodily functions. "But, there's NO way," he proudly stated, "that I'm gonna miss my own Mother's funeral just 'cuz of some diarrhea. In fact, I ain't gonna lie to ya', it hit me somethin' fierce on the way over here, and I didn't get stopped quick enough, but it's OK, dontcha think? You can't see anything on these dark pants, can ya? And I stopped and threw the undies away in the dumpster at the church right down the way."

We had to wait while Dad ran after Mom, who'd, sometime during his description, made an abrupt U-turn, and made a beeline for the Prius.

I expected there to be soft organ music playing, once we stepped inside, with family and friends sitting in the pews, talking softly to each other, remembering times with Grandma--good and bad. Laughing softly from time to time, weeping quietly and comforting one another. Instead, when we walked in, all eyes were glued to the front of the room where, just to the right of the casket, a scrawny looking man with a scraggly looking beard and disheveled hair was attempting to yank a potted plant from the arms of a teen aged blonde girl.

"My work sent it," the girl sobbed as she tried desperately to hold on the the plant.

"Ya, but she was MY mom," he retorted, "and so I'm gonna put the plant in my apartment. Now give it to--" suddenly his voice broke off. A collective gasp went up across the little chapel. He stood staring toward the floor for a moment, then, as he looked up, his gaze seemed to visibly cloud over, his mouth set, and he hissed at the girl, advancing on her suddenly, "You MADE ME DROP my cigarette; you're gonna pay."

Uncle Matthew leaned over and whispered into my ear: "That's your OTHER uncle, Hicker. He was at your wedding!"

-To Be Continued...

-Disclaimer: This is a work of art, a mere fictional story. Any similarities to individuals, dead or alive, is purely coincidental.

Toothbrush Marketing

Tonight we went to Target (pronounced, someone told me, "tar-jhay", as opposed to the "tar-git" pronunciation that we uncivilized country folk are accustomed to). We were shopping around for various household items--toiletries (that's what they call toilet paper, right?), laundry detergent, hairspray, etc...

We were standing in the dental care aisle, looking for mouthwash. Do you know that they have mouthwash for kids that dies their left-over mouth gunk some bright color so that they know how terrible a job they're doing brushing? I DIDN'T know that.

Until the other day.

I used some of Lex and Gentrys "Plaque Detecting" mouthwash after brushing, and then headed off to work. I ran (a few moments late) into a fairly important meeting, and rushed to the head of the conference table, distributing my packets of handouts on the way. As I walked past, colleagues broke off conversations mid-sentence, looking up, heads bent, puzzled looks on their faces. I assumed that they were just admiring the positive affect of the OXY Acne Wash that I've been using the past weeks.

Self-confidence soaring, I stepped to the head of the conference table, pulled my handy-dandy laser-light from my pocket protector, and launched into my presentation. Almost immediately a colleague cleared his throat and raised his hand.

"Yes?" I pointed at him.

"Are those braces?" he asked querulously.

"What?"

"On your teeth; you have hot pink between each of your teeth. What is that?"

I don't use the mouthwash anymore.

But I digress. I was standing there in the dental care aisle, staring aimlessly at the broad selection of Scooby Doo toothbrushes when Lex walked up next to me. She stood quietly beside me for a moment, hands behind her back, and gazed in awe at the cartoon-themed toothbrush selection. Then she cleared her throat.

"Daddy?"

"Huh? Oh! Hey Lex, what's up?"

"Well," she began, "do you know Hannah Montana?"

I don't actually know her. I know who she IS of course: a tweener female pop-star, whose real name is Miley Cyrus (daughter of that hunky, and oh-so-famous country star--the one who sang the timeless classic, Achy-Breaky Heart; what does that mean anyways?). Her TV show, produced by Disney catapulted her to almost cultish stardom before she was old enough to drive.

"Yes, Lex; I know who she is," I answered.

"Have you ever seen her teeth?" she asked.

"Um...well, I don't know, now that you mention it. Why?"

"They are SO white," she responded, just as I imagine Hannah might have--with that teen aged "OH-MY-GOSH" lilting, valley-girl half screech in her voice. "And you know what?" she continued. "This is the TOOTHBRUSH she uses!"

She held up a toothbrush festooned with Hannah dancing about the handle, and across the plastic packaging. Then she pressed a button on the handle, and Hannah opened (metaphorically) those stark white incisors (and bicuspids, and molars--you get the point), and began belting out, in a tinny, screechy voice, a song telling me (I think) to "place a bet on both horses"...or something.

She didn't get the toothbrush, but only because her mother came around the corner just before I'd fallen completely under the spell. Lex HATES brushing her teeth, but somehow, through the genius of marketing, the folks at the Hannah Montana toothbrush factory convinced her that, if she is to have pearly whites like Hannah, she's going to have to buy the $9.99 Hannah festooned toothbrush, and listen to Hannah sing out her gambling recommendations until the battery dies on the dumb thing.

I didn't have the heart to tell Lex that those are $40,000 veneers.

An Amazing Physical Feat

A friend showed me this video clip. NBA Superstar Kobe Bryant, promoting his new tennis shoe, performed an amazing stunt (as shown in the first part of this video). The stunt inspired a sports commentator to perform his own similar feat (albeit with drastically dissimilar results).

Be sure to watch through the first 2 1/2 minutes or so (at least).

Red-Handed

The tooth came out. Last night. During church.

I was on the platform singing, and I happened to glance over at Shawna. She caught my eye, and motioned to her mouth, and then to Lex. I understood immediately. Lex grinned; I could see the gap from across the sanctuary!

I'm so excited--not so much that she lost the tooth, but that she lost it while I was otherwise occupied.

After service, Gentry and Lex came up to me. "Letsis lost her toof," he said, "and she's gonna put it under her pillow and get some money!" he said.

She grinned broadly, and showed me the gap. For some reason, I could tell that, with the loss of that tooth, she was finally comfortable in her 6 year-old skin, that she finally felt like she belonged.

I was happy for her.

Late last night, I got up and tiptoed into her room to check under her pillow. She'd put the tooth in a baggie, along with a handwritten note. She'd written a short note to the tooth fairy explaining that she'd lost the enclosed tooth.

I was touched, so I went and got a baggie, put a $10 bill in it, and wrote a brief note from the tooth fairy, congratulating her on her loss, and wishing her many more easy "tooth-losses." I stuck the note in the baggie, and replaced her baggie with mine.

I stuck the tooth into a kitchen cabinet, and I went to bed.

This morning when she got out of bed, she dug around under her pillow almost immediately. And there she found the note and money. She read the note, asked my help reading "congratulations." She looked thoughtfully at the note for a few minutes, stuffed both the money and the note back into the baggie, and went off to find Shawna.

I heard her in our bedroom explaining that she'd put the tooth and note under her pillow, and this morning she'd found the money and a response note. "The tooth fairy gave you ten dollars, huh?" Shawna asked Lex.

"No," Lex replied.

Shawna was silent for a moment, not sure what to say. I tiptoed down the hall, and stood just outside the room listening.

"No, the tooth fairy didn't come last night," Lex told Shawna. "It was Daddy."

"What do you mean?" I asked, sticking my head into the room.

"Well," Lex started, "first, you knew too quickly what that word "congratulations" was. And, I know your handwriting; that was your handwriting. It was YOU Dad."

I was dumbfounded. Shawna started chuckling. This is the same girl who, not a week ago, was arguing VEHEMENTLY that there most certainly WAS a Tooth Fairy, and now, with a few minor slip-ups, she knows the truth.

So much for letting her enjoy some of the fantasy of childhood. I ruined it without even trying.

I should have typed the note...

Already Clean

Shawna woke Gentry this morning, started the shower, and told him to undress and hop in-that he had to hurry to make it to church on time. Then she came into the kitchen and talked for a few minutes to Kevin and me as Kevin ate his third bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

After ten minutes or so, she went back to check on Gentry.

"Bubs!" I heard her exclaim, "What are you doing? Why aren't you in the shower?"

He was sitting naked on the bathroom floor, leaning back resting against the cabinet face.

"I don't have to take a showah," he said.

"Why not?" Shawna asked.

"Because," he replied, clearly exasperated, "I checked my feet and theow cwean."

Only Two Left

We have a house guest-a friend of mine, Kevin, a pianist to rival Liberace (without the bodysuit and cape), and overall musician extraordinaire. He arrived this morning, and we spent the day rehearsing for this week (we're singing at a conference). Gentry stuck with me while Shawna and Lex went and did "girl stuff".

We finished rehearsal, and so I brought Kevin over to the house to get his luggage in the house, and get situated. After he was settled, we sat down in the living room for a few minutes to catch our breath.

While we talked, Gentry went to the pantry, grabbed a fruit roll-up, and ate it while playing with his cars on the living room floor. He finished it and we were still talking, so he hopped up, went to the pantry and grabbed another. He finished that one and we (well, Kevin really; he's a talker, that Kevin) were still going strong, so he made his way back to the pantry and went for a third round.

As he opened the wrapper on this one, Kevin said, "Hey. Can I have a fruit roll-up?"

Gentry stopped and looked up at Kevin. He cocked his head, and squinted at him for a second, not quite sure.

Then he shook his head. "Thewe awe only two left," he said, as he moved back toward his toys.

We've tried so diligently to teach our children that others come first, to treat others with the highest level of respect.

I'm not quite sure Gentry's getting it.

Can I Help You?

We were sitting in a Chinese food restaurant this evening eating, and Shawna's phone rang.

I realize that the economy is poor; I pay attention to the news. But I didn't realize it was this bad.

It was 911 calling.

"Do you need emergency services, Ma'am?" they asked.

"Um...no," she replied, with a befuddled look.

"Oh. Well, do you need an emergency transport--and ambulance?"

"Uh, no I don't," she said, a little concerned.

"OK. There's nothing we can do for you then?" the woman asked.

"No. We're all fine."

"OK. Thank you anyways," the woman said, as she hung up.

Since when did 911 start cold-calling potential customers? I wonder if the head 911-guy got up this morning, called a staff meeting, and threatened rolling heads if "we don't pick up the pace of business around here."

It just seems a little bizarre to me. And, isn't that one service that is BETTER underutilized? It seems kind of...strange?--no, worse than strange--creepy, to push for more use of emergency services and equipment.

I wonder if they have frequent buyer discount cards?

(I'm not making this up folks; it's true!)

Holes in the Earth

Yesterday when I got home from work, Gentry and Lex were in the front yard playing. They both had table spoons, and were squatting over a sizeable hole in the grass.

I walked over, and peered down into the hole. They were industriously hacking at the sides and bottom of a pit roughly the size and depth of a five gallon bucket, removing the dirt, spoonful by spoonful, and piling it in the grass off to the side.

I watched them for a moment. They ignored me.

"What are you guys doing?" I finally asked them. "Digging a hole to China?" I laughed.

They stopped digging, and slowly lifted their heads and looked at each other in that "we-know-something-he-doesn't" way.

"China?" Lex said, incredulously. "No, Dad!"

"Oh," I said. "I feel stupid now. I'm sorry. Well, what are you doing then?" I asked as they got back to their digging.

They stopped again and looked up at me, exasperated.

"Dad. You can't dig to China," Gentry said.

"Sure you can! We used to when we were kids!"

Lex tossed down her spoon, and stood and looked at me in disbelief. "No," she said, "you didn't. You MIGHT have dug a hole to the southern Indian Ocean, but not to China."

"Unless," Gentry said, "you gwew up in Costa Wica or somewhewe else in South Amewica."

"Um..." I said.

Lex grabbed my hand. "Come on." She dragged me into the house, jumped on the web, and navigated to a site that shows where, exectly, you'd pop out, if you dug right through, directily through the center of the earth, and straight out the other side.

"See Dad? We're on the opposite of the earth from the Indian Ocean, south of Madagascar. If you want to get to China, you have to start in South America."

I stared at them for a moment. They looked back at me briefly, then jumped up, and ran back outside. I was so dumbfounded that I couldn't think of anything else to say.

And, for the life of me, I can't imagine what it is they want to see at the Indian Ocean.

Oh yeah: be careful if you drive through town, if you go down our street, you might have some issues trying to navigate the huge pile of dirt that's creeping out into the road.

OK; that's not true. They didn't do that. But I WAS amazed to find on this website, last night, that if we were to dig that hole that we've all talked about since we were children, we'd end up nowhere near China. Lex was right; we'd pop up somewhere in the Indian Ocean, south of Madagascar.

I'm dejected, of course. It's strange isn't it, that you live your life hearing something that is, in hindsight, no more than a myth, and the evidence is right in front of us to prove that, but we readily accept it because we hear it so often.

You see, perception truly is reality. The truth really doesn't matter all that much when it comes to relating to other people; all that matters is what they BELIEVE to be the truth. I learned that lesson early on in business for myself. We started off with nothing (I wrote about it awhile back); no money, very little experience, and no real business to speak of. Only a passion and a vision for something great.

But we determined early on that we weren't going to show anyone the reality; we were going to show them what they wanted to see. And so we built a "brand"-a corporate identity, with a professional logo, nicely printed business cards, a website, nice shirts and logos on our truck. And I walked in to meet with prospective customers, having never built a home for a customer in my life, with my head up, a juanty walk, and a self-confident attitude. I listened to their questions, answered those that I knew the answers to, and made up answers to those that I didn't. All this, while we were operating our business out of a garage.

But it sold us. People believed it; they paid us good money to build houses for them. Why? Because that's what they wanted to believe. They WANTED an energetic, excited, professional and knowledgeable builder, who emanated experience, and most of all, security.

We were wise enough to recognize what it was that people who were looking to have a home built were TRULY wishing to buy. My job wasn't only to build houses. In fact, I think that my job, as a custom home builder, was to make people feel secure. To make them feel like it really is OK to pay these folks an enormous amount of money, and have them build me a home.

I guess maybe that made me a marketer; I prefer to think my job was to develop complimentary perceptions in the minds of our prospective customers.

In hindsight, maybe I messed up. We're, obviously not in business anymore. Why? A number of reasons. But I think that part of the reason is that, the whole time I was convincing our potential customers that we were a little more than we really were, I was slowly convincing myself. The job of a GOOD marketer is to build a perception in the mind of the customer that doesn't EXCEED the reality that the enterprise can create.

You see, I started to believe myself, and forgot my limitations. And reality went out the window. Why? For the same reason my customers did; because the picture that I painted for them was the picture that I wanted to see. And everytime I painted it, it became a little more real to me. Until it WAS the reality.

And that's where it all fell apart.

It pays to remember that, no matter how many people tell you that a deep enough hole will take you to China, if you act on it, you'll end up in the Indian Ocean.

We're All in This Together

Shegazelle's post of a few days ago reminded me that I'm supposed to be working on a guest post for Normal is Broke. I Wanna be WEIRD. It's not that I don't WANT to guest post-I'm perfectly content--in fact excited--to write a post about our journey to financial freedom.

It's just that our story isn't all that exciting. But I'll write it. Soon (I promise). If I have to, I'll make something up.

The kids, though, have overheard us talking about money, and our quest to be more frugal, and they periodically pitch in, without our asking.

I figured this was the case when I realized that Gentry has taken to wearing no underwear on occassion.

For example, the other morning, I woke him up, and started to dress him for the day. He pulled down his pajama pants, and there was nothing underneath.

"Gentry!" I said. "Where are your underwear?"

He just looked at me sheepishly.

I figured that he thought that, between his wearing the underwear out less frequently, and the energy savings associated with fewer laundry loads, he was contributing to the family's bottom line.

"Bubs," I told him, "as much as Mommy and Daddy appreciate your help with our finances, there are some things that you shouldn't sacrifice. This is probably one of them."

He looked at me puzzled.

"Well, we appreciate you wanting to help the family get ahead financially, but maybe we can identify a better way of doing it, huh?"

He smiled and leaned close.

"Dad," he whispered. "I'm NOT twying to help you save money! It's just that it's YOUW week to wash clothes!"

Another Great Search

I was browsing through my site traffic reports this morning, and came across a search string that someone had entered at Google that directed them to MyndFood.

I couldn't resist telling you about it.

Someone went to Google and typed in:

katie baboon

That just resonated with me, for some reason.

I'm REALLY curious to know who it was! Do they know Katie, I wonder?

Raisins

Late last night, on the way home from town, I mentioned to Shawna that my stomach was upset.

I've battled, for the past year or so, with a stomach condition that's forced me to drastically modify my eating habits. The condition is more of a nuisance than anything else-definitely not serious, but on occasion, when I eat something I shouldn't, it grumbles and complains a bit. And sometimes, when it's really angry, it "irregulates" my bowels (I can't believe I'm telling you this).

Lex, of course, being the observant, insightful, six-going-on-sixteen year old that she is, perked up. Ever eager to be of assistance she said, "Dad, you know what you need?"

"What?"

"You need some of those poop raisins."

"Poop raisins?" I asked. "Do you mean PRUNES?"

"Yeah! They'd help your stomach, wouldn't they?"

It's hard, I've found, to be an effective parent to someone who prescribes you poop raisins from the back seat.

Me: "Lex, did you clean your room like your mother asked you to?"

Alexis (with a thinly veiled smirk): "Dad: never mind that. Have YOU had your poop raisins today?"

It keeps me humble.

Laughing Out Loud

I'm tempted, for the first time (I think) in my blogging career, to use LOL in a post. In fact, I'm going to.

LOL!!!

I stopped in to check on the blog a few minutes ago (blogs require a great deal of personal attention and care, you know), and read through my post from last night. It was actually a very good post (I'm certain you'll agree). But I got to the end, and literally started laughing out loud; I was almost ROFL (that's Rolling On the Floor Laughing for all you old folks who still speak king's English; get with the program!). Because, the last lines of the post were:

"...simply take three handy-dandy MyndFood cards, and give them to
three different people whom you believe will appreciate the blog. Convince them
to come, and to use sellulite. OH!

THAT would make me happy."

WHAT?!?! What does "...convince them to come, and to use sellulite. OH!" mean? I've wracked my brain, and I have to say that the sleep-deprived mind comes up with some strange stuff!

No excuses! Honestly! If I were inclined to provide an excuse, I'd simply go in and change the post, and you'd be none-the-wiser. But I found that the final lines of the post added a certain degree of mystery--something that has been missing from many of my posts.

And frankly, for some reason, it's the funniest thing I've read in weeks! Every time I read it, I start cracking up!

So I'm going to leave it!

But I WILL say that I've only slept about 3.5 hours per night the last few nights (various obligations, as well as some hefty work commitments), and so I reckon my mind, by 11 or so last night, was in a Diet-Pepsi fueled fever state, and a few neurotransmitters mis-fired.

And created the most humorous line ever to show up on a blog (well, at least on this blog)!

Now: what in the world is "sellulite"?

My Fortune

Found this picture out somewhere on the internet. It's a real fortune.

It was definitely meant for me.

In Search of MyndFood

A few weeks ago I wrote in a post that I was excited that a Google search for "Gods plan and bubble gum" put me right at the top of the charts.

Then, following a particularly biting comment by Katie, I felt a bit foolish. Really, how likely is it that someone is going to be searching for God's thoughts on bubble gum on the web? Not very.

It start me thinking though. My sitemeter has a feature that allows me to see, for those visitors who come to MyndFood via a search engine, what they were searching for. So I made a short list.

Here are a few. They're interesting to say the least; in some cases, downright hilarious!

• "what is the bubble gum cow called"
• "sleep deprivation makes you look older"
• "can you really chew spruce sap"
• "how long does dubble bubble gum last"
• "flyless briefs"
• "gum chewing is like smoking"
• "chinese food SYMBOLS"
• "jesus clears the temple t-shirt"
• "i'm very sorry, but i have to go to bed now -."
• "Paul Wetter of Wetter Construction"
• "grapes of galilee"
• "done that got that tee shirt"
• "sleep deprivation life expectancy"

Yes, folks; these are actual search terms that Net surfers have used to find MyndFood in just that past few days. I think it's a testament to the variety you'll find here, and it excites me.

It's also a little disconcerting though. I'm not quite sure how I should feel about someone searching the Net for "what is the bubble gum cow called" or "i'm very sorry, but i have to go to bed now."

At any rate, I thought you'd enjoy...