This just in...

****BREAKING NEWS***

Trump Saves Bag Full of Kittens From Drowning in the Potomac River

Joining us to live today is Rachel Madcow who is reporting live from Washington DC.. What can you tell us Rachel?

Well Bob, as you can see, the President is behind me being toweled off by the secret service and served some hot cocoa.  What we have been told is that Trump and his motorcade were driving past this point in the Potomac river when the President noticed something strange bobbing in the river. He leapt from the backseat of the Beast, clamped his hand like a vice on the clavicle of the driver and ordered his driver to pull over. He exited the car and heard meowing sounds. Without hesitation he jumped into the river."

What I really need to ask is why? Why would he do that? For all we know those kittens could be carrying some disease that will now likely spread throughout the animal shelter they were taken too. 

Once again, this appears to be a story of Trump trying to stay in the spotlight. The man has an ego the size of Russia. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Putin ordered him to jump into the river. 

It also highlights the fact that he appears to care more about kittens than the average American. Will anyone save the elderly from his cutting Medicare and Social Security benefits? Will anyone save all those Federal workers who are now unemployed because of DOGE? After all, Federal workers are part of the backbone of this country like your neighborhood mechanic, plumber, auto plant worker, and small business owner.

Back to you Bob.

 Sharing in another spot...

Warmth and Light Bid Thee Adieu

Beyond tomorrow and the moments that make up the now,

sunlight slips away into the grasps of lengthening shadows

No clawing nails, harrowing up parallel paths in the dirt,

soldiers of winter step in cadences fit for funerals

trails of crumbled canopy crowns once green, now brittle

lead the way, fertilizer for the future.

Crunching crystalized dew snaps the attention

of gatherers, harvesters, and panicked daydreamers alike

Sleep away. Sleep away. Sleep away sorrows and disappointing yields

from fields now barren, a sterile and impotent womb as wide as the horizon

nothing preserved, nothing to persevere.

The solstice of summer, a waning memory.

-LHayes

I've paid for a rock concert just once in my life. It was a Styx concert. There have been many bands I've wanted to see, but the timing, place, and life circumstances made a Styx concert possible. However, I was so disappointed that Dennis DeYoung was not part of that concert. It was part of their Brave New World tour (sometime around 1999). Dennis DeYoung is my main reason for liking Styx. I have not cared for any of their post-Dennis DeYoung music.

A Tribute

I recently had the opportunity to take my family back to Paradox. It had been too long since our last visit. My two youngest had never been there. While we were there, a very memorable event happened.

This year my dad will turn 77. You make ask what is so significant about that? A lot of people live to be 77 in this day and age. But not every one lives that long before they finally lose the crown they have been wearing for over 50 years. What crown am I referring to? The crown that belongs to the King of Hayes Horseshoes. My father had never lost a game of horseshoes to any of his posterity until last week. That my friends is a long time to reign.

I once recall hearing a story of a latter-day prophet who was well into his 70's before any of his children (or grand-children) could outdo him when it came to working in the fields.

So my reason for sharing this story is not to brag about beating my father, but to commend him for ruling the roost for so long.

Thank you for helping teach me perseverance. And thank you for being a good enough sport to not ban me from Paradox.

  

Venturing into the Absurd

And so we enter another chapter where the minds of my children are being subjected to the absurd… in Cub Scout Day Camp of all places. This isn’t the first time and it’s sure to not be the last either. This week has been the week-long annual Cub Scout Day Camp and I had the opportunity to attend the first two days with my third oldest boy. On Monday, one of the instructors as giving her spiel about flag ceremonies and asked the question, what do you do if you are having a flag ceremony and you don’t have a flag to salute or even the flag patch on a uniform to salute. . She responded, “You can salute the moon because there was a flag planted on the moon”. I’m sorry, but I’m not about to salute the moon. Guess what? If ever I am in the situation where someone is expecting a flag ceremony and we don’t have a flag… or a flag patch on a uniform to salute, I’m not saluting the moon.


Then on Tuesday, the boys were learning about the solar system when the instructor asked what the name was for the third planet from the sun. Earth! was the unanimous response by the boys. Whereupon we learned that “Earth” is incorrect. The name “Earth” just means dirt and can apply to any planet in the universe that has dirt. The real name is “Tera” and we aren’t Earthlings. We are Terans.


And because it was 2-for-Tuesday, she asked what do we call the “moon” that orbits our planet? Luna! she replied.

 
In departing from the reality tour, I will continue the apology tour by once again saying “I’m sorry”. I refuse to refer to the Earth as Tera. I will continue to use the word Earthlings and I will not call the moon Luna.

Conversation Killer

After three non-university-backed studies and nearly twenty interviews, linguists from the farthest reaches of Nevada, North Dakota and  Mississippi  have come to the conclusion that I ought to be officially categorized into the online/social media "conversation killer" group. I seem to have a knack for posting comments on blogs and Facebook that have a habit of becoming the last comment. Dead last, hence the term conversation killer. What remains a mystery, is why? It's not like I'm always making comments about death, illness, hygiene, taxes, meatloaf, or Justin Bieber.  For anyone interested in proving me wrong, feel free to review any of the post you have made and see how many times other people have posted after me. It's quite impressive, from a pessimistic point of view.

February 28, 2013

Apparently Big Bird is the latest victim of the recession. Proving that the economy is no respecter of persons. Big Bird was seen patiently waiting for his number to be called at the local unemployment office in downtown New York City. Our news team caught up with Big Bird as he was leaving the building.

 
So Big Bird, any luck in finding a new job?


No Bob. It seems like I am unemployable. My case worker asked what work experience I had. I told him I had spent the last 37 years talking to an imaginary shaggy elephant and some grouchy hand puppet that lives in a garbage can. I showed her that I could count to 12, rattled off my ABCs... the works. I also mentioned that I like to nap. Apparently that didn’t equate into any real life skills.


Have you looked into becoming a mascot for a professional athletic team?


Of course, but folks don’t seem to think of a giant sized yellow bird as intimidating enough. They said I would need an extreme makeover, like dying my features red or shaving my head, or getting a pedi to turn these chicken feet into “talons”. How could I ever look at myself in the mirror and like what I see when I’m pretending to be something I am not?



What about running for some political office?



Bob, that’s not a bad idea. You could to be my campaign manager!



Could you introduce me to Mr. Snuffleupagus?



Of course. He’s standing right next to you.

Living in a Proverbial Leper Colony

A few months ago some of the members of my family started getting bit by some sort of bug/creepy crawly in the middle of the night. One of our first thoughts was maybe we were being eaten by bedbugs. We began searching our bedding and mattresses and what not for the telltale signs. We couldn't find any. Weeks went by and we continued to be clueless. We searched online and couldn't identify anything that seemed to match what we were experiencing.

About four weeks ago, one of my sons spotted a little bug crawling on our bed skirt. We captured it and compared it with some online images: Bedbug!
So once again we tore apart our bedrooms, looking for signs. Lo and behold, we found the standard signs on our bed, a crib, two other beds, a couch and a rocker-glider. We've been trying to treat the problem on our own because we don't have $500-700 to pay a professional. I think we are slowly winning the battle. There are fewer bites and they are more sporadic.

Once word leaked out that we did indeed have bedbugs, people started steering clear of us, particularly our home. We haven't had visitors inside our home in a month. People don't want us to be where they are. Some people are concerned about us going to church and spreading the bedbugs around. It’s not the plague! Part of me understands their fear. Part of me thinks they are overreacting. I’d like to think that from this experience, if anything, I can be more empathetic towards those in similar circumstances.

Undeserving a Name

The other day I noticed an unusaul message printed on a water bottle: New smaller cap - uses less plastic. As a consumer, I was insulted. Inferring that a smaller cap is a "greener" water bottle is like telling me that a [fill in the name of a car model] now gets 25.00025 miles per gallon instead of 25 mpg. The company touting this new advertisement shall remain nameless and are undeserving of a name in my blogisphere. Grasping at straws has never been a good marketing ploy.

I Understand What it Means to be Blonde.

For the past six years, we've heard from all sorts of people how bad we are as parents for home schooling our children. Home school kids are freaks of nature. They don't really learn anything. They don't know how to socialize. They won't ever make it into college. They won't ever get to be like normal kids that play sports, participate in choirs, bands, or orchestras. They won't ever go to Prom, Home Coming or Sadie Hawkins. Their childhood will be incomplete.




It's this same form of logic that leads to statements such as:


• All southerners are hicks


• All Muslims are terrorists


• Chiropractors are quacks


• The Earth is flat


• Blondes are dumb



The hard part is, that no amount of explaining about what we do as home schooling parents and how it works ever seems to be enough to bring comprehension, understanding and empathy. I imagine it's like being Jewish and trying to explain to a Christian what it means to be a Jew. Unless you've actually experienced that lifestyle, you'll always be more in the dark than in the light.

Immitation, the Highest Form of Flattery: Jolly Porter

I'm always amazed at the stuff I manage to dig up: Here's an excerpt from a little known a conversation between two contemporaries of the 1800's: Jack London and Stephen Crane.


CRANE: So I hear you have a new book out.

LONDON: Yes. It's called White Fang.

CRANE: Is that some sort of vampire story?

LONDON: If it was, I'd have to call it Red Fang.

CRANE: Oh yeah. That makes sense.

LONDON: Besides, the media is already oversaturated with vampire and werewolf stories. Mine is about a relationship that develops between a boy and a wolf.

CRANE: So you broke from the pack by dropping the "were" part of wolf.

LONDON: You're quite the comedian… break from the pack. Pack. Wolf.

CRANE: I found sitting in a row boat for days on end, trying to reach the shore can have a huge impact on ones sense of humor. It can either make it or break it. After all, my "ship mates" weren't quite the most… uh how do I say it, savory folk to have on board.

LONDON: Anyway, I figured because Call of the Wild was such a huge success, I'd revisit the whole man versus canine versus nature gig. Besides, most of my fan base are a bunch of tree hugging granola eaters and they're into the whole recycling movement.

CRANE: So you're telling me that I didn't have to sweat and toil, strut and fret, labor and worry, pace the floor late into the night trying to come up with fresh new ideas. I could have stuck with my wounded war time soldier routine and just write war novels?

LONDON: Word to the wise: water follows the path of least resistance. My friend, all that extra worry about writing something new and original will just lead to an early grave. But that would also require you to acquire a new fan base and mine is already spoken for.

CRANE: So you're telling me you're not willing to share the spoils eh?

LONDON: Who do I look like, Charles Dickens?

CRANE: No. But with a name like London, you might as well be.

LONDON: See, you're being a wise guy again.

CRANE: It's almost second nature these days. Can I at least get you to autograph my copy of your book?

LONDON: As long as you don't ask me to go sailing with you.

CRANE: Now look who's being funny.

Rewind to 7 months ago, first encounter with one of our backyard neighbors:

Nancy (name has been changed): What a cute adorable baby.

Lyle (with family on a walk around the block): Thank you.

Nancy: Blah, blah, blah.

Lyle: Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.

Fast forward to last week at 7:30 am at my home...

-ding dong-
-ding dong-
-ding dong-
-ding dong-

Nancy: Your children keep throwing red lava rocks into my yard and it's gotta stop. My pup ingested one last night. That can be a very expensive vet bill if he should develope any complications and I'm not going to be the one to pay it. It's gotta stop.

Lyle: We don't have red lava rocks in our yard.

Nancy: I've seen your kids throw them.

Lyle: We don't have red lava rocks anywhere on our property.

Nancy: Your neighbors that used to live next door were always asking your kids to stop throwing rocks.

Lyle: They never said a word to me.

Nancy: Well they were always telling them to stop throwing rocks into their yard. It's gotta stop.

Lyle: If my kids were repeatedly doing something and were being asked not to, and our neighbors never came and told me or my wife, then that's stupid on their part.

Nancy: Well it's gotta stop. I'm tired of picking up red lava rocks in my yard.

Lyle: Show me where the red lava rocks are in my yard.

Nancy: You just need to tell your kids to stop throwing rocks. It's gotta stop and if my dog gets sick, that can be a huge bill and I'm not going to pay it.

Lyle: I'll tell my kids to stop throwing red lava rocks.


FYI: Our other neighbor that lives behind us has oodles of red lava rocks under their deck. Problem: Nancy is good friends with the owners of the red lava rocks.

You know you're not getting enough sleep when...

I work on the third floor. I've always worked on the third floor (at my current job of the last four years). The other day I was in a meeting down on the first floor and after it was over, I began the hike back up the stairs. I exited the stairwell, walked the full length of the building and turned into what I thought was my cubicle before I realized that I was on the wrong floor. Somehow I managed to make a course correction before the cubicle owner realized that I was occupying their space.

Three days later, I found myself on the wrong floor a second time. Fortunately, the error of my way registered in my brain a few moments sooner.

Well Said

How wonderful it is to have access to the words of apostles and prophets, so quickly and with such widespread availability. I totally loved Elder Uchtdorf's message that he delivered during the General Relief Society Conference last Saturday. Women are not the only ones that can benefit from his message about the Forget-me-nots.

Baby Hair Bow Blues

With the recent arrival of our little girl, came the urge to put cute little bows in her hair. It's been fifteen years since we've had to consider using any baby bows and we were on the look out for the latest trend in getting those pesky little bows to stick in the hair via non-permenant methods. My sister-in-law recently had twin girls and sugested using KY Jelly. My firt reaction was "Okay, that sounds reasonable. I'll just run to the store and buy some. How hard can it be." Little dis I know how much the world of KY Jelly has evolved.

Let's just say, that when I got to the right aisle in the store I was shocked at what I saw. I decided to pass having my little girl experience any tingling sensual feelings from having a bow in her hair. I passed on the opportunity to have a glow-in-the-dark- spot on her head. The types of KY Jelly was as almost as endless as the types of shampoo. All I wanted was plain, nothing special, no tingling, no glowing, no enhancing anything, run-of-the-mill KY Jelly to afix those bows.

Finally, I found what I was looking for... 10 minutes later (knowing I couldn't return home empty handed).

Needless to say, the bows are staying in her hair quite nicely... and without any usual side-effects for a two month old.

Hold Your Horses

I figured this cliché could apply to either one of two events: the birth of our second daughter (sixth child). I know many people that think we should have stopped at just one... maybe, just maybe even two. But six???? Are we out our mind?

Happily so.

E.M. joined our family on Saturday, the same day her mother was supposed to direct not one, but three single act plays. Which leads us to the next cliché of the show must go on right? In this case it did. All the kids involved did better than [I] expected. So bravo for them.

The other hold your horses moment with the show must go on refers to a certain rodeo in Utah that chose to move ahead in spite of the horse herpes outbreak. Instead of canceling the event, like other shows that involve horses have, they had the cowgirls riding on stick horses. Stick horses people. Doesn't anyone find that the least bit odd, not to mention embarrassing? These girls obliged the powers that be and literally held on to their stick horses.

Let's just have jockeys race with stick horses folks. I understand wanting to support the participants, but at what cost?

In the end, perhaps I should give the rodeo planners the same slack I ask of others, in terms of how large my family grows. Others are not in a position to make that call for me, just as I am not in any position to decide what goes down in a rodeo. However, in rodeo-land, with six, you don't get egg-roll.

There is no escape. The words cannot be severed. They find release through one medium or another. Time is my biggest enemy. The race is beyond marathons standards. Disjointed like a poorly pruned apple tree -still bears fruit. Some bitter. Some sweet. Ramblings and fragmented sentences, find the path of least resistance sooner or later. In a world of so many failures and disappointments, silence is the only loser. Losers are dead.

Thank you Monty for not being dead yet.

Waiting

Maybe. Perhaps. Whisperings in the wind.

All Good Things

I've known for some time.
Several months in fact.
I've been in denial.
My fate would be tied to the Jolly Porter.
It was the Jolly Porter that introduced me to the Blog.

My blog has served its purpose.
No Facebook.
No My Space.
If you want to know what's going on you're welcome to call, email or heaven forbid, write an actual letter.

Perhaps someday I'll return.
Not in a Micheal Jordon Fashion.
I think I passed my Blog peak long ago.
Not in a Terminator fashion.
I'm not a violent person.
Not in a General MacArthur fashion.
I'm not a General.

I may still sneak peaks at your blogs from time to time.

So thank you Jolly Porter
for the inspiration.
Thank you Jolly Porter
for helping make this easier.
Thank you... those who stopped by
with or without commenting.


and so, Boa Noite.

Reluctant Govenors and my relation to Napoleon Dynomite (...or at least Uncle Rico)

As if very many of my readers care, I was left wondering what's going on inside the head of our good governor of Nebraska... and even my fellow Nebraskans who seem to have taken a left turn in the corn maze. I'm talking about the new license plate that was chosen/voted on for our 2011 design.

This was one of four final contestants [hand picked by the governor], two of which actually portrayed something that relates to Nebraska. So after putting it to a vote, we now get black and white with a subtle reminder to visit your local government online. Are most Nebraskans artfully challenged?



So now I am also finding myself feeling a little uncle Rico-ish.

No, I'm not dying to relive the glory days of high school football [I would actually have to have played high school football to have that happen] but I find myself extremely nostalgic for 80's music. I know life was a lot simpler then and listening to music was such a big part of my teenage years. I no longer have that luxury.

So, what are you nostalgic for?