Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

It seemed simple in theory. Sitting behind this desk, Googling up directions costs nothing, requires no real effort and, if done at the right time of night, is pretty quiet.

It takes almost no time to say, "We're going to Naples, Florida." No packing required, no seat belts needed.

Driving 2,100 miles, however, is a whole different world. It's a world at 75 mph with frequent stops for the unhealthiest foods and foulest bathrooms. A world populated by tractor trailers, state troopers and creepy rest area attendants.

And it's a loud world.

But it's a world we explored for 10 days and it was (mostly) good.

We stopped first in Greensboro, GA, to visit with my grandparents, eat a delicious steak dinner and sleep in comfort for free. I always enjoy my grandparents' house and their company. We visited a nice park so the kids could run off some pent up energy and then laid around all night sipping wine, playing games and reading.

And listening to stories. I could listen to my grandparents tell stories about growing up all day long.

The very next day we packed up the kids and headed toward the tip of the dangle. It was a long, long drive. This is the first time we've driven to Naples and it was every bit of 10 hours. It felt like we would never make it to Tampa and, once we did, that we'd never make it the final two hours to my mom's house.

We did make it, though, and there was a houseful waiting on us when we arrived. My mom, stepdad, brother, sister and her family were all there to greet the weary travelers.

For the next six days we visited the beaches of Naples, swam in the pool, played endless games of Wii bowling and spent hours talking. It was the perfect way to spend a week. Our first excursion to the Gulf was to visit Vanderbilt Beach, which was much nicer than I remembered. The next time, though, we ventured downtown and found the city pier which extends out from a white sand beach butting up against homes in a quaint tropical neighborhood. We were smitten and visited it again the next day despite the half-hour drive from my mom's house.

We ate seafood and ice cream at Tin City and explored the paradise of Naples a bit.

It was great for my kids to get to visit their grandmother in her own home for the first time. They certainly made themselves at home, taking over her living room, video games and television, and declaring them for their own.

The following Saturday we learned that you can drive all. day. long. in Florida and at the end of that day you'll still be in Florida. It took us another 10 hours to make it to Panama City Beach where SAM had taken an impromptu vacation and met us for the weekend. We stayed in the townhouse of the fabulous Robin's parents (thanks again!), had dinner at Billy's Oyster Bar, swam in the pool, had the perfect Father's Day on the beach with lunch at Schooners.

After a couple of days of that, we loaded up once again for the drive back to Memphis. There was a time in my youth, before kids - long before - when I could make that drive in eight hours. This day it would take 10. A miserable 10 hours.

We made it home. We had a great time, all of us. The kids, hopefully, have memories of beautiful beaches, long days at the pool, visits with grandparents and great-grandparents and quality time with their mom and dad, and not just of the interminable drives.

I look forward to our next trip, whenever and wherever that might be.

Storybook Couple

I have a story in today's Commercial Appeal on Corey and Cheryl Mesler, the owners of Burke's Book Store. This is one of those stories you look forward to telling - how two people met, where they fell in love, the small business they run and raise their family around.

The Meslers were a joy to talk with, an interview that took over two hours because we kept getting sidetracked by books, movies, jazz and other such interests. It was a pleasure to meet them and to tell their story.

You should go in yourself and say hello. And buy a book, making a living at retail is an uphill struggle, trust me. Show the Meslers how much you enjoy their shop by spending a little cash. It doesn't take much.

I was embarrassed to see that I misspelled Harriette Beeson's name. She was the previous owner of Burke's. I have a very vivid memory of doublechecking the spelling of her name as I was writing. I know I did. I ... think I did.

Other than that, I'm very happy with the way the story turned out. And the way the Meslers' story is turning out should make us all happy at this time when marriages and small businesses fall apart on a daily basis.

June 4, 1994

I put on the best suit I've ever owned, brushed my teeth and put some sweet-smelling pomade in my hair 15 years ago today to marry this girl.

And even though I had on a new pair of wingtips and a flower in my buttonhole, she still stole the show that day, as she's done every day for 15 years.


Happy anniversary, Kristy. I love you.

He Knows the Tooth

C lost a tooth tonight. Another tooth. I think that's number 37 or 38 thus far and I'm not sure how that kid even chews any more.

He just came into the office and said, "Make sure the tooth fairy remembers I lost a tooth."

I asked him how I was supposed to get in touch with the tooth fairy and he said, "I know the tooth fairy doesn't exist."

I told him that once the magic of believing goes, then so does the money, and he said, in regards to his naive siblings, "But they still believe and if they ask to see my dollar in the morning then I have to show it to them."

So while the magic of the tooth fairy and of childhood beliefs have gone the way of his eye teeth, it appears that extortion is still vibrant and healthy.

Can I borrow a dollar?

Memphis Parent

I have a story in the June issue of Memphis Parent magazine, on newsstands now.

The June issue focuses on fathers, Father's Day and men's issues. I wrote an informative piece on vasectomies, calling on some friends for personal stories as well as Dr. Eber of the Conrad-Pearson Clinic for an expert's opinion. It's different than the column I wrote about the subject back in February.

I hope it's helpful for anyone considering this method of birth control.

Pick up your copy today!

Two Columns

I stepped out of my comfort zone last week and wrote a column that is not typical for me.

On Monday last week I sent in a piece that had been carefully crafted, impatiently re-crafted, and then tweaked ad nauseum until I, at last, couldn't wait any longer and let go of it.

Wednesday morning I woke up and read the story in the newspaper about county commissioners and local ministers coming together to denounce a certain segment of society's way of life and I sat down and wrote a new column in about 10 minutes.

The writing was quick and passionate and it just felt right. I sent it in to my editor, Peggy B, and asked if I could get that one in the paper instead of the previous column. She liked it but said it would have to be approved by someone higher up because it was controversial. I'm not sure if she had to go to bat for it or not, but it got in and I thank her for jumping through the hoops for me.

I still like the column, still believe in what I said. I got quite a few e-mails and the vast majority of them were agreeing with my sentiments and thanking me for writing it. And I got the e-mails from people questioning me, lecturing me, praying for me and letting me know that they will no longer read my column. And that's all fine, too, I thank them for taking the time to read and write to me.

The next column, I hope, will be funny, there's still plenty to laugh at out there.

I'm not going to run the column from last week that was replaced because it was timely as well and that time has passed. Here it is below as I wrote it:

Downtown Memphis is a living, breathing museum where local pages of history have been turned for the world at large to learn. It’s a place where Memphians and tourists travel to see a ball game, a concert, to eat and drink and celebrate. And for six years my kids traveled there to go to school. Since the day it opened, we’ve had our children at Downtown Elementary, beginning with Calvin in kindergarten.

They learned some of that local history with field trips to the Rock-n-Soul Museum, Mud Island, Beale Street, the Orpheum and the Fire Museum. Walking to these destinations from school gave them the opportunity to become a part of the pulse of downtown, and the city, and absorb the good and bad, the neglected and reborn. The landscape became a nursery for the first seeds of civic pride to be planted.

On Madison Ave., in the shadow of the Sterick Building and a mere pop fly from AutoZone Park, our kids have learned multiplication, history, science, piano and, probably, a little bit of panhandling. But this past school year was their last year at Downtown Elementary.

Due to our move to a new neighborhood, one with well-respected schools of its own, we have elected to move the kids and say goodbye to the teachers and staff that we’ve come to think of as family.

Who other than family would you entrust your children to every day for so many years? The staff there have been as approachable and available as any sibling or cousin. So it was with a bittersweet start to the summer that my wife, Kristy, and I went to Downtown Elementary on the final day of school last Friday to say goodbye.

We didn’t get much past the front office and the principal, Mrs. Wunderlich, before the emotions poured out. This emotion continued as we made our way to Mrs. Porter, the kindergarten teacher who has taught each child we’ve sent to that school. She started them on the journey of education in such a way that they have all become good students, eager to learn.

We’ve been asked by other parents over the years what we think of Downtown Elementary and whether we’d recommend it. Even with three kids there, they’d ask if we like it. And we did, we loved it and the kids loved it and that makes it very difficult to leave. Our kids will be at Richland Elementary and White Station Middle next year where we expect them to excel due to the seeds planted Downtown in previous years.

Memphis City Schools gets a bad rap. Some of it is deserved, much of it is not, especially at the most basic, most important, level: the teacher/student relationship. The schools in this city are full of caring, competent and imaginative teachers who unfairly get lumped in with the pencil pushers and cell phone abusers at the administrative level.

With the economy tightening, more and more parents of children in private schools are looking for other options to paying tuition when the best option may be right there in their neighborhood. We made a decision to put our children in the city school system, we chose Downtown Elementary, and we couldn’t have been happier.

Memphis Most?

Perhaps today isn't the day to bring this up. Then again, maybe it's the perfect day to bring this up.

Currently, over at The Commercial Appeal's website, voting is open for the Memphis Most, that paper's take on the best of the best of our fair city. There happens to be a category for your favorite columnist.

Now, I'm not suggesting you vote for me. I'm just hoping you get out and vote because it's your duty. And because if you don't vote you forfeit your right to later complain about who was chosen the "most" columnist in town.

My kids have voted often this year, which means Geoff Calkins is a shoe-in. I'm simply hoping for second ... okay, maybe a distant third.

You can peruse past columns by visiting here or here. You can read today's "Because I Said So" column here.

Raindrops

What do you do when you're stuck at home with six kids on a rainy day? You stick them out in the rain; miscreants shrink in the water.

See? I went from six miscreants down to only three.


Here are some other photos:

Memphis Zoo Visit

We packed this zoo up this afternoon and headed to The Memphis Zoo.

We saw lions and gorillas, a skink at the gorilla habitat, pandas, budgies and polar bears. We saw pythons, hippos, ducks and gibbons.

I saw a guy with a picture of his kids on his t-shirt. I may have to get me one of those.

We saw giraffes, ostrich eggs, alligators and a duck.

But what was the most exciting item at the zoo for my kids? What commanded all of their attention? Was it the meerkat? The Bengal tiger? The orangutan? No, it was the Radio Flyer wagon we'd brought along to haul GK and Mr. Baby around in. That molded plastic conveyance that sits in our driveway every. single. day.

From time to time at home they'll want to ride in it, be pulled down the drive to the sidewalk and back before becoming bored with its lack of speed, comfort and television. We'll use it to take the kids up the street to the park, and for that it's pretty useful.

But today at the zoo you would have thought it was Evel Knievel's rocket car or the Batmobile. They all fought over it, pleaded to ride in it and sat in it when we stopped to watch a zebra or the sea lions.

We have a family membership to the zoo, but if we hadn't, it would have cost us about $95 to visit today. That's $95 to be pulled around in in a wagon that we own and that sits gathering rainwater most of the time.

Next time I'll know better. Next time I'll pile them all in that wagon and pull them around the yard to see the squirrels, Cardinals, toads and mosquitos for free.

Downtown

I've played the part of parent well the past couple of days. In public, anyway.

Tuesday night we went to hear JP play in his piano recital at school. He sounded great, just like Thelonius Monk, only less crazy. Slightly less crazy. He sort of slowed down in the middle of his piece, stopped actually. I think he may have gotten lost while reading the notes. To me, it added to the drama of the tune, just a little lull so the gathered crowd in the lunchroom could soak in what he was playing.

He's been taking lessons for two years now and I think he's pretty good. We should probably get our piano repaired and tuned so that when he practices he'll know just what he's supposed to sound like.



On Wednesday, I joined the kids, and all of Downtown Elementary, at the Memphis Redbirds game. It was a beautiful day for a game, no rain at all and full sunshine.

I don't know how their teachers and staff do it. There were kids running everywhere, yet they kept them all in order and, somehow, got them all back to school in tact. Not one missing. At least, not one of mine.

At one point I took two of my kids to a concession stand and almost lost one of them.

The game, and talking with the teachers and the principal, Mrs. Wunderlich, made me sorry that this is our last year at Downtown. We've had a long run of six years at the school and they've been great, from the people to the curriculum to these wonderful field trips the kids go on that they get to walk to - AutoZone Park, the Orpheum, the Rock-n-Soul Museum, Mud Island and many others.

C began school there in kindergarten the first year it was open and his teacher, Mrs. Porter, set in motion his love of education for, hopeuflly, the next couple of decades. I expected nothing but screaming and crying that first morning I dropped him off, but it was just the opposite and for that I'm grateful. She had JP and S in turn as well and they've all become bright and dedicated kids.

We'll have two at Richland Elementary next year and one at White Station Middle, and we're very excited about both schools, we've heard nothing but good about them. But we will miss Downtown. We've had a great time and knew our children were in the best of hands each and every day.

Because I Said So

This is the face of evil in my house as described in today's Because I Said So column in The Commercial Appeal.


Just to disprove me and make me look like an ass, though, GK sat behind me on the carpool run this morning and softly sang "Hush Little Baby" complete with the line " ... if that diamond ring don't talk to you ... "

Field Trip

In my six years of gnomeschooling, or however long it's been that I've been keeping almost-3-years-old GK and almost-2-years-old Mr. Baby at home on Monday and Tuesdays, I've never left the house with them. Sure, we've gone outside when the frenetic Memphis weather permits to look at birds and argue over swings and flowers and such, but I've never taken them into public.

Scared? Some may call it that, though I regularly, willingly, take four to five kids out and about, so it can't be fear.

It's probably something closer to disinterest, or downright apathy. These two toddlers are happy-ish at home, why mess that up just so they can experience new things and see some of their city? They don't know how big this city is, I'll take them across the yard and tell them that bush is called "Overton Park;" I'll let them wander around the outdoor storage and say, "Welcome to a mall."

But today I took them to Davis-Kidd Booksellers and it mostly went as expected. Upon entering the children's section with its books and toys and, for the moment, serenity, GK declared she had to go potty. So I trudged them both off to the men's restroom where she used a public toilet and I threw up just a little bit at the thought.

Once we were back at the children's section, Mr. Baby declared that all he surveyed was his. He opened his chubby arms wide, held his head up and said, "Mines!" And the arguing over toys that didn't belong to any of us ensued.

Shortly, another parent came over with her child and this stopped GK and Mr. Baby in their tracks. For the rest of the time they just stood and stared at these people as though they'd never come across another human, as though a couple of Morlocks had just surfaced and GK and Baby, having forgotten their cameras, needed to memorize their features so they could describe them in detail to the authorities later.

Sometime during all of this staring the clock struck 9:12, so Mr. Baby pooped.

Eventually the two in my charge returned to playing and bickering and stinking. Not too much later, having finished reading my magazine, I declared the field trip over and headed for the door with the two little ducks following.

They behaved well, overall, which means ... absolutely nothing when it comes to the possibility of future outings because, with the exception of Mr. Baby's bowels, these two are as unpredictable as the weather in Memphis.

Breaking the Dress Code

It's not all fun and games when you're being gnomeschooled. In fact, it's hardly any fun at all, though almost always gamy.

We have a dress code here, a strict uniform policy. Below you will see GK's attire. Mr. Baby's publicist wouldn't sign the release for photos of him in uniform, something about "Kangol not sending a check promptly."

Urf!-Tiki

I recently read a magazine article on Plastiki, a boat being built out of plastic bottles and other recycled products. Once it's complete later this month, or in early May, it will sail from San Francisco to Sydney, Australia, making stops along the way. One of those stops will be at what's called the Eastern Garbage Patch, a "huge region of floating plastic and particles" in the Pacific Ocean.

The skipper behind this project is 30-year-old David de Rothschild, adventurer and heir to the European banking fortune. He intends to collect water samples to study and use a satellite phone to send photos and video clips to the web site of the organization he founded, Adventure Ecology.

The adventure aspect of this story intrigues me. I'm fascinated by stories of survival and of pushing oneself to his limits, especially against the elements. And I'm as green as the next guy; I use those swirly little light bulbs and I haul the empty wine bottle down to the curb once a week or so.

Plastiki got me thinking, though, of what else I could do. Namely, what refuse I have around here that I could build a ship out of. We have empty toilet paper rolls, Pop-Tart wrappers, socks riddled with holes, broken remotes, stained sofa cushions and partially-chewed string cheese.

I have a feeling we could fashion all of this together into some sort of crude floatable vessel and set sail down the Mississippi River for the Gulf of Mexico.

Plastiki is named for Kon-Tiki, the balsa wood experiment sailed from South America to the Polynesian Islands 60 years ago by Thor Hyerdahl. Ours will be more in the style of the original Kon-Tiki in its crudeness and liberal use of duct tape.

Our communications will consist of three cell phones, so I hope Cingular gets reception at Cape Horn and that we remember to pay the bill before setting sail.

Provisions will consist of juice boxes, peanut butter and jelly, half cans of Pringles, hummus and Ovaltine.

Our trip to Sydney will be full of adventure and family closeness. Time outs will be spent in a laundry hamper being towed behind the boat. We’ll make it a point to sail past the Eastern Garbage Patch, traveling, as we are, from our own East Memphis Garbage Patch. Instead of taking samples, however, we’ll leave some, because these kids can’t go anyplace without having to leave a sample.

The purpose of Urf!-Tiki’s excursion will be adventure and it will be vacation-like. My kids have always wanted to see Australia and other floating detritus. They are an eco-minded lot, as well, and rarely, if ever, toss things out without first checking for an alternate use, such as something to throw at a sibling or wipe their noses on.

They’ll adapt to their new home at sea, their buoyant boat of bric-a-brac. And if they don’t, they’ll walk the plank, assuming they consume enough Popsicles between now and launch time to build a plank.

Beep

When you move, as we have recently, old toys become new again. Such was the case today when JP came across a metal detector that C got for Christmas some years back. He replaced the battery, set the sensitivity level to high and began detecting.

His method of sweeping for metal involves going straight to any obvious metal and holding the detector against it; something like a doorknob or a handful of change or the van. Such is the nature of JP's thirst for adventure and the anticipation of treasure.

The constant beeping has already brought threats from his mother, so I believe the detector has been retired - again - probably until our next move.

Ah, then again, he just came galloping through the room on the thing as though it were a horse, or maybe Harry Potter's broom. Or a thoroughbred metal detector.

Happy bUrf!day

Thirty-six months ago today I started this little blog. What began as an easy way to aggregate all of my kids' funny, clever, weird, cute, goofy, abnormal and dumb actions and conversations eventually grew into something more.

Actually, it has remained exactly that, but more people than I ever expected have read it. It also helped to spawn a column-writing gig and a new career. And, possibly, another child; GK was born only two months after Urf!'s conception. So to speak.

I've enjoyed my time on Blogger, yet the posts have been coming fewer and further apart. This is in part because The Quartet is older and less funny, just more moody. It's also because I write for a living now and that takes more energy and time than I expected.

I'm not ready to abandon the blog, though I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. I'm still working on finding the balance with working from home, taking care of kids, doing housework, spending time with the family and updating Urf!.

So there may be fewer posts in the future than previously, certainly more than those first few months, and there may be less on C as he gets older. I keep GK at home on Monday and Tuesday along with a friend's baby, so there may be more about those two and their love/annoy relationship.

Or there may just be more about me and what I think about things other than the kids and family; maybe save the good family fodder for the column.

Who knows? I've just been making this up, just as I raise my kids, all along and I suppose I will continue to do so, on both fronts.

But I do thank all of you for reading. With over 63,000 hits over the years, it seems that something I'm saying has struck a chord with the two of you to each come back more than 30,000 times. Thank you for that.

Incidentally, this post written back in May of 2006 is the most landed-on Urf! from Google and other searches. I don't know why, but people from all over the world have ended up here. So I submit it, I suppose, as a Best Of on this 3rd bUrf!day.

Please enjoy, and please keep reading.

RJA
March 31, 2009

PSA

I know there are people out there who feel that their dogs are their children. They are not.

And while it may be fun to take Skipper out for a run with no leash at a playground intended for children, and while you may be able to explain to me that little Skipper is very friendly and has never hurt anyone and loves kids, you can't explain that to a 2- and 3-year-old as your dog charges towards them.

Leave your dog at home. Or on a leash.

And, yes, this is intended for the ignorant SOB at Peabody Park about 45 minutes ago.

Gnomeschooled

Things learned today at home with the gnomes:

• When you're taking a 2- and 3-year-old outside to feed old bread to the birds, take extra bread for the birds
• When a little kid falls down, I'm laughing with that kid, not at that kid. Even though I'm laughing when I tell you that, that's what it is
• Sippy cups grow on trees
• Babies who spend a lot of time together will sync up on their pooping
• Enough wisteria will overwhelm and mask the smell of all that poop
• Mr. Baby has 10 fingers, which means he will slam something on his digits 10 times a day
• Bees do it
• GK can't reach the martini shaker without standing on a bar stool

Recess

On Mondays and Tuesdays I keep GK (almost 3) and Mr. Baby (almost 2) at home as a kind of remedial home school experiment. I was outside with them the other day for our morning walk-fall down-cry-become distracted-bird watch-throw a fit exercise when they decided they needed to swing. Naturally they both went for the same swing, causing a scene, which I deftly curtailed by threatening to cut that swing in half. And then we flipped a coin, which Mr. Baby later swallowed.

As the kids were swinging I grabbed the overhead bar and did five chin-ups. And by five, I mean I did just over four. Just barely more than four. GK laughed and said, "Do it again!" which I couldn't, and I told her so, and she laughed some more.

So I took each of them and held them up to a lower crossbar until they held on and I told them to do a chin-up. They just hung there, wide-eyed, looking at me like babies do while I laughed and mocked them.

That concluded recess for the day.

Memphis Connected

I attended the launch party for the new website memphisconnect.com this evening. It was a lovely affair put on by the good people of The Leadership Academy and attended by movers and shakers and those in the know in Memphis. And me.

And people knew me! Well, they could read the name tag I proudly stuck on my costume, my threadbare sport coat I don when I'm going to be rubbing shiny elbows with movers and shakers.

I was surprised, though, by why people recognized me ... or, my name anyway. I never expect to be recognized, but when I am, I don't expect it this way. It wasn't from my column or this blog or Facebook or even the retail store I owned for 10 years. It was from Twitter.

Twitter? Really? A hundred and forty characters at a time compels people to walk up to a person they don't know and say, "Hi, we've never met, but I follow you on Twitter ... " Don't get me wrong, I'm glad they did. They were friendly and engaging people, and not at all stalkery. They were folks with dreams and kids and stories to tell, and just like you and me, for the most part. Although they probably make more money. There's no reason for me to think they'll be peering in my windows tonight or standing at the end of my driveway in the morning.

This Twitter fascinates me. All of the social networking sites do, actually. I'm relatively new to it all and it doesn't quite make sense yet. I can't wrap my virtual brain around it. I feel there is a sense of community, but I can't get my fingers on it, it's ephemeral. It's there, yet it's not.

Is Memphis really such a small town that we're all connected by just a person or two, or is the internet just that good of a host; putting people with just enough in common, yet unlike each other enough for conversation to happen organically, together at this friendly, pixelated dinner party?

I wonder how much Twitter and Facebook would have affected the end of a story, and an ideal of American life, as universal as It's a Wonderful Life. The inscription from Clarence in the copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer left for George Bailey at the finale of the film reads: Remember, George, no man is a failure who has friends.

But are those I've invited to be friends truly that? Are you all my friends? Had Mary put out a call for help with her laptop, would she have rounded up enough cash to keep George out of prison? Or would she have received only a collection of "Bar w/frnds drnkng all nite. Gd luck @GBailey! U rock!!!!" along with 483 pieces of flair, 39 people bitching about the new Facebook and PayPal donations totaling $14.72?

If my wife put out a call for help to you people, would you respond? I mean, with real money? (That would be good to know, actually.)

Should you want to see what the world would be like had you never been born, you don't need a guardian angel to show you. Simply delete your Facebook account, lose your Twitter login or do the unthinkable and unplug your wireless modem. But then turn it all right back on for God's sake, you might miss something! One of your friends might have found out what '80s movie best defines her.

I think about the future and whether my will kids grow up with good friends and a community of support. Will they have wingmen, confidants and supporters ... or just a bunch of twits?