I have a really strange feeling that I’ve been there more than once.

Happy birthday, Jack. I thought you would like a picture of you and “Silly Girl” on your birthday. I couldn’t find a picture of you and the original “Silly Girl”, so this will have to do. I think this picture was taken just after many local fishermen thought you referred to me as “Honey Bun”.

I hope your day was great!

I should have seen it coming. I was just relaxing on an Easter Sunday on a back porch in South Texas. And then it happened. The inevitable. A confetti egg and my head were united. The rest is history. I owe my cousin a cascarone to the head. Maybe next year.

22 is a special number for me. It is the date of my birth. It is the date my first two children were born. It is a palindrome. It was Emmitt Smith’s jersey number. Psalm 22 is one of my favorites. The two digits add to four and the product of them is also 4. In my book, that makes this a special number. I bet I could write for hours about the special place in my mind and heart the number twenty-two occupies. It not only occupies (sounds temporary). The number has permanently taken up residence.

If there were such thing as mental or emotional cattle-branding, my brain would be seared with this number, but it has less to do with the info above, and more to do with what happened exactly twenty-two years ago today, on October 22, 1988.

I met her that day.

And she met me. She met me where I was, and accepted all the baggage, and took my hand. I’m thankful.

These 22 years have been full of sickness and health. They have dished out their fair share of  “better and worse”. For some reason, though, the joy I’ve had surfaces in my thinking, while the pain and frustration with life seem to sink to the bottom of my thoughts. She has a way of putting a fragrance in my life. She challenges me to step up and do the right thing. She moves me to be moved for others. She is slowly helping me to smooth down all of my rough corners. She causes me to be thankful on my knees.

She is my wife.

She is my love.

She is my friend.

And it is my bracelet. Michelle and Grace, as you may have read, have been busy making friendship bracelets for their friends. How honored I am to be their friend and wear a bracelet that they made. I wanted to display the bracelet on my blog, so I took this shot. After snapping the pic, I noticed that the arm stretching across my chest does not really appear to belong to me. But it does. My quirky sense of humor prevented me from re-taking the snapshot.

Happy birthday to my lovely bride of almost 20 years! I am so thankful for you, my love. I am glad God put us together and blessed us with such bliss. My prayer is that you have a marvelously magnificent day full of zephyrs of kindness directed towards you. I pray that the kind words received from others would serve to galvanize your faith. Feel free to jettison your fears about getting old. There should be nothing lachrymose about today. Keep up your sanguine and ebullient outlook. Sure, you can look back on days of yore. There are wonderful memories awaiting, though, perhaps somewhat nebulous. I trust, though, you will spend this day with your usual panache. May there be absolutely no debacles in your path.

Love,

Your usually laconic husband.

As the title indicates, we found something under our deck. Before I tell you what it was, I want to point something out. My title is a lot like a recent title used by my lovely bride. I could not be outdone, I suppose.

Unfortunately, my post is not about meeting a TV star or anything like that. It also is not about something nice. It’s pretty negative, in fact. So on with the show.

Today, a couple of my children informed me that they had discovered a couple of snake skins in a crevice between our house and our deck. Before inspecting the situation, I recalled that I had recently stumbled upon a molted snake skin IN our garage. Maybe I’m screaming, maybe I’m not. My wife certainly is. Can you hear her?

So, upon hearing of other evidences of reptilian friends lurking near our abode, I decided to retrieve the skins for inspection. I used a croquet stick to leverage the skins out of their resting place beneath the deck. There was nothing premeditated about that. I saw the croquet stick nearby, and used it. That was all.

I spread out the skins side by side on a table. It was an outside table that I will wash before I ask you to eat with us on the deck that happens to be snake-infested. Let me tell you something. It was a surprise to find two snake skins under my deck. It was an even larger surprise to find that one skin measured three feet, while the other measured four.

My wife happened to be at the library at the time of discovery, and the children who found the skins were nearly at bursting point to tell Momma when she made it home. I don’t need to describe for you the reaction. I really don’t. You have been around her when snakes or spiders are even mentioned. Everything you’ve seen her do before was done again. It’s the “critter dance”.

We immediately endeavored to find the answer to our burning question. “What question would that be?” you ask. It was something in the neighborhood of, “What kind of snakes are they?” or “Are they poisonous?” The latter was the most fiery question of the day, I must admit.

Back and Belly

After scouring the internet, we learned that most snake skins exceeding three feet used to be the clothing for VENOMOUS snakes (specifically rattlers). We also learned that there are exceptions. We were glad for those. One exception is that there are usually two rows of scales at the tip of the tail on the underside of non-venomous snakes. This was true of the ones we found.

Whew! Momma is now happier, and that makes me happy. I use the word happier. She is not delighted. Just happier.

Two Rows

I have thought of  many things today regarding snakes, but one rises to the surface. I am intrigued with the stigma that surrounds snakes. Such a small creature sends most of us running. I can’t help but let my mind go back to the first time a snake became a problem. It was in a beautiful garden, and the snake was Satan, the adversary. He used the form of a serpent to bring on the fall of man, and he inadvertently allowed for such a pouring out of blessing on mankind that never would have been possible had man not fallen.

I’m referring to what God prophesied in that very garden. He foretold that the seed of the woman would one day put the serpent in his place, and that things would be made right. Of course Adam had no idea what all this would mean, but we do.

God’s own Son, Jesus Christ, would many years later take sinful Man’s place on a hill outside of Jerusalem. There He would be fastened to a tree and take the place of the curse. And there He would die. I am thankful the story has a happier ending than our story today. He died, but rose to life on the third day. Those who believe this have life now, and the promise of no condemnation. This really is good news!

New Decor

I know you will call me weird, but it’s ok. I think it’s the truth. I decided to garnish our deck with the new discovery.

Aren’t children wonderful little machines who seem to endlessly produce profound statements? Consider the following:

If you don’t have anything to say, don’t say it.

It was one I almost missed, since it was so close to the intended saying we often use to redirect “ugly” remarks or negativism. I thank my youngest son, Bradley, for that one.

Amazingly enough, he also provided another very amusing one-liner just the other day. I had mentioned that one of the schools in the district where I work had been evacuated temporarily due to a strong odor (we found out later that it was some kind of chlorine leak).

After hearing me mention the evacuation, he sort of smirked and questioned, “They had to leave because of a strong ogre?” We all laughed. I was impressed with his quick ability to shift gears and shift around the original statement. I have a pretty funny picture in my head now of a bunch of school-children running for their lives. Thanks to the little ones for the funny comments.

…lies a funny man.

We had a great time recently during a routine visit to MCD. For the first time in a long time, we sighted a living, breathing, and extremely entertaining Ronald (not that I make it my life-goal to search for a Ronald or anything like that). He was full of fairly clever jokes, and made use of the effect that comes from embarrassing people. Clown power is quite amazing.

My favorite memory deals with Ronald’s time spent behind the counter. He walked past the associates at the registers, and began turning the menu from “dinner” to “breakfast” and then stopped the menus at the in-between place, so that no menu could be seen. Only eye-pain resulted as the lights that usually illuminate the menu now had free reign. Ronald simply asked the customers waiting for their food if they like the new lights behind the menu.

This is the kind of Ronald that we all need to witness every once in a while. The kind that thinks outside the box, and bothers people. He was obviously not the kind of guy that dresses in a clown suit, and fully depends on the fact that he is dressed in a clown suit. You know the kind. He stands there waving at the little kids – and that’s all.

This was the kind of guy that uses the fact that he is dressed like a clown to do things that would get the average Roberto discharged from the establishment.

Bravo to Ronald for restoring dignity to all those who wear clown suits.

If I had not been in the seat next to her, I would not have believed it. My daughter is now driving; the one I rocked, and sang to, and tickled, and with whom I enjoyed many tea parties, has taken yet another step toward independence. I have to ask again, “Is it true?”

And so it is. The picture proves it all.

I know I sound like my parents or my grandparents when I ask, “How is this possible?”  Various family members and friends have warned me about the fleeting moments, and that this day would be here in a snap. So here it is. Right before my eyes, my little one is no longer little.

While this is a sampling of an imminent greater sadness – a sadness that will come when she takes that final step away from the protection and warmth of the arms of her mother and her father, I have also been filled with a magnificent and overwhelming revelation of pride.

I do not speak of the pride a painter has when he has labored to complete the masterpiece. Nor do I point to the pride a sailor feels when he has rushed his ship headlong into a squall, and emerged from its clutches with his life and his ship. The pride I feel is different. I think it is the pride that a mother duck must feel when she sees a new desire in the eyes of her duckling; it is the desire for independence.

I sit in the passenger seat now as the father duck, proud as can be of a duckling taking her step away. I thank my God for this adventure through which he has led me, and continues to lead me. He promises never to leave nor forsake. For this, I praise His wonderful Name.