Month: November 2016

Categories
Family

Grand Familyfest Hotel

My family spent a few days at a hotel over the holiday. It was a nice stay at a lovely complex with lots of fun and exciting things to do. A few observations from the stay:

  • Pushing a button is not exactly roller coaster exciting, yet there is something apparently hard wired in siblings where they HAVE to push the button first. I saw several times with parents saying, “No, you pushed it  last time. Let you brother push it first.” Mine are teens now. And we still have to do that, for some reason. I haven’t been on an elevator withany of my three sisters in years, but I wonder if we would still have the same desire to compete. Or if they would just let me go ahead and push the button, since it’s clearly my turn.
  • My children are inherently loud people, as they come from a long line of inherently loud people, myself included. We just talk louder than most. I was pleased that my kids were able to turn down the loudness during the stay in the hotel room.
  • That said, many people can’t or don’t turn down the loudness. And several of them traveled in large groups in the hallways early in the morning.
  • There was a heated pool at the hotel, and my son really wanted to go one night and burn off some energy. I agreed to go down there with him, and told him that if there was no one in the pool, we could throw a ball around. Well, a heated pool is nice, even when the air is rather cool. You know what is even nicer? The hot tub connected to the pool. We decided to sit in the 100-degree water and pitch the ball back and forth in there, enjoying the super hot water. After a few minutes, an older woman approached and started to enter the hot tub. Parker knew it was going to be time to stop throwing the ball. As she entered the hot tub, she said, “Don’t stop throwing it on my account. I’ll dodge it if it comes my way.” I like you, ma’am.
  • We were staying in Stone Mountain, Ga., which is positively gorgeous this time of year. Normally, when driving in the car, I don’t particularly care if my crew members are on their phones. Keeps ‘em occupied and lets me focus on other things, such as not them. However, the brilliantly vibrant changing leaves and the amazing views of the lake as we traveled the winding roads of the park were just too breathtaking. “Phones up everybody.” Nothing like a direct order to enjoy nature, stat!img_9695
  • I had never played chess on a giant chessboard before. This one was outside over a space of about 12-feet by 12-feet. It had pieces about three feet tall. And it was awesome. I played my son, and reminded him that sometimes, especially in chess, there is no mercy.
  • Hotel coffee is one of the greatest gifts to mankind we have ever known. I know lots of folks love their gourmet coffee that costs like $5 a cup. But there is something deliciously rewarding about some single-serve coffee in a styrofoam cup, especially when sitting on a patio overlooking a lake. Keep in mind, I’m a guy who finds gas station hot dogs delicious, so I may not exactly be a gourmand.
  • I don’t have a cleaning service at my house, but if I did, I feel confident I would be the person who cleans up the entire house before the maid comes over. That’s how I am before leaving the room before room service comes in. “Come on, everyone. Let’s tidy up the room before the people who tidy up the room get here.” Fairly certain housekeeping comes into my room and says, “Have we already been here?”

Glad we had a nice visit, and glad my family can be a civilized group when the need arises. I look forward to our next stay in a hotel, when we will be quiet and, of course, take turns on who gets to press the elevator button. Pretty sure it’s my turn.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Categories
Childhood Family

Baby, it’s (already too) cold outside

The weather is getting cold, which means it’s time for getting the fireplace into the action.

In case you are wondering what I think is cold, it is currently 55 degrees outside, and I consider this almost too cold for humans to venture out in.

Those of you who love colder temperatures, good on you. You are a hardy, robust people and the reason our lands were settled. Were it up to me, we as a nation would probably be concentrated somewhere around Tampa.

Anywho, it’s fire season, so of course it is time to stock up on firewood. I don’t have a set firewood acquisition strategy. It varies from year to year. Last year, it was grab a bundle at the grocery store every few days. Previous years I’ve headed into the woods with my dad and some friends, armed with chainsaws and axes and filled up truckloads of firewood, and then drove said trucks home fueled solely by the near record amounts of testosterone produced.

This year, I opted for a middle of the road approach. There’s a guy near my house who has a front yard full of firewood for sale. There is a large board out front with his phone number spray painted on it. Personally, I find things advertised for sale on giant signs with spray paint to be a part of our treasured Americana.

So I called the number on the sign. No answer. Recording began. At the beep, I said, “Hi, I was calling about the firewood. Whenever you get this message, if you could…”

“Hello?” I heard.

“Oh, hi, are you there?” I said.

“I’m here. You were calling about the firewood?”

We chatted for a few minutes about price and pickup, and I told him I’d be back at his house in about a half hour.

I hung up the phone and looked at my son, who had a puzzled look on his face.

I was pretty sure he wasn’t confused about the firewood acquisition, since we had just had this conversation:

ME: We should call that guy and get some firewood from him.

HIM: Yep.

So I said to him, “What’s the matter?”

My son shook his head. “How … how did he answer while you were leaving a message?”

It was at that point it dawned on me that my son has always lived in a world with electronic voicemails, rather than answering machines.

I explained to him how answering machines worked, and how back in my day we had to actually dial a big wheel to make a call, and you didn’t even know who was calling, and even if you did want it to go straight to voicemail, you had to wait for it to ring a whole four times, not just push a magical “decline” button. Kids today.

Once we came back from our trip down Memory Lane, we were poised to load up the back seat of my car with firewood. Normally, I would use my wife’s SUV, but she was going to be gone for, like, two hours. And I have, well, no patience. I got it in my head that we were getting firewood, so by goodness we are loading up the back seat of a Honda Civic with it.
I covered the back seat with a tarp and we headed to the gentleman’s house. I parked my car and gave the man some money. I grabbed a few logs from our section of purchased wood and walked it about 15 feet to my car. I then said out loud, “Yeah, that was dumb. I should move my car up to the pile of wood.” My son and the firewood man both nodded.

In no time, my son and I had the wood unloaded at our house and covered with a tarp. We have had our first fire of the year, and it was glorious. Tonight’s weather will dip even lower, to a practically unsurvivable 48. But it will be toasty inside, with a fire roaring. And I can spend the evening regaling my kids with other foreign ways of life from my childhood, such as when we didn’t have cable, and when we had to write letters by hand, and worst of all, that awful time it got into the 30s.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Categories
Uncategorized

A key issue

I was heading out the door for work the other morning, and I found myself missing one tiny little thing that was kinda critical to getting to work: The key to my car.

Now, most people would just grab their spare key and head on from there. Unfortunately, my spare key decided to head out on its own several years ago to a destination unknown, so I have been operating with a single key for quite some time. My wife and I looked all over the house, and could not find my car key. And a meeting was fast approaching.

Being the forward thinking guy I am, I told my wife, “I’ve got to take your car.” She reminded me that she, too, was about to go to work, so we found ourselves in a fun game of “Whose Next Meeting is More Important?” There are no winners in this game.

My wife, being the quick thinking problem solver she is, called a co-worker who agreed to pick her up.

Not having my key led to another obstacle, however. My wallet was in my car. As were my work keys. (Yes, they are on separate key rings. I don’t need a lecture. Again.)

I went into work for the meeting, and headed straight back home afterwards. I am a creature of habit, and I always pitch my keys in the same spot. But perhaps I deviated from my usual routine. Perhaps it was in my pocket and I pulled out something else, flinging it to the ground. Perhaps it fell into a grocery bag and got pitched in the trash. Perhaps one of my kids saw the key and said, “Hey, you know what you would be fun? Throwing Dad’s key on top of the cabinet and making him sweat it for a while.”

Guess where my key wasn’t? The trash, the cabinet, and 83,000 other places where I could have possibly passed by the night before (and that includes the dryer, the clothes hamper, and several drawers I may or may not have opened). I searched my car as best I could from the outside, but could not see every nook and cranny, so there was still hope that it was inside the locked car.

I called the dealership and explained my predicament. I asked if I could come in and get a new key. No problem, they said. Just bring the car up there and they would get a new one programmed. I had this conversation:

ME: Wait, you need the care there?

THEM: Yes. We have to program it here.

ME: But I don’t have a key.

THEM: Hmmm. Guess you’ll have to have it towed. And we will need your ID.

ME: But that’s locked in the car.

THEM: Hmm.

ME: Can you make a key that will at least open the car?

THEM: Sure! It will unlock the car, but you won’t be able to drive it. Just make sure you bring some ID.

ME: Sigh.

Knowing I could not bring my driver’s licence (let’s just overlook the fact that I was having to drive without one for the better part of a day, OK?), I gathered up as much information as I could to prove who I was. I brought my birth certificate, a copy of my car tax bill, a newspaper column with my name and picture on it, and a badge from a conference I attended a few months back. Because no one can dispute a statewide arts conference badge.

When I arrived at the dealership, I shared my story and presented my proof of who I was. He glanced momentarily at the pile and said, “Do you have the VIN?” Apparently, he didn’t think I was someone who needed intense vetting to prove who I was. And I guess most seasoned car thieves don’t bring reams of paperwork to a dealership to get a key that won’t actually start the car. I handed him my car tax bill, and about two minutes later, he returned with a metal key that would, in fact, open my car.

Alas, when I opened it, no key. When my wife got home from work, she began the search for the key and started looking in all the places I had already looked. No key.

I needed to remove myself from the search, as I was becoming just a smidge testy, and had resigned myself to getting my car towed and buying a new key. “Well, you’re not going to have it towed there tonight,” my wife said. “Just relax.” I hate it when she’s right.

I headed out to the store, and about two minutes later got a text from her. “Found it.”

My key had fallen snugly in a chair, resting against the cushion and some slats. My wife was able to find it because she has the patience of Job and the detective skills of Columbo. I, meanwhile, have the patience of a puppy and the detective skills of Inspector Clouseau.

Fortunately, the key is back now, in its usual spot. I think I will go and get a spare made at some point so I can have that backup should the need arise. Most likely, I will do this just in time to lose my original key.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Categories
Animals

Dog day afternoon (and morning and evening)

My wife and I are dog people. We had a cat for a long time, and she was the most evil creature the world has ever put forth. We kept her for the entire 18 years of her life, despite many people over the years suggesting we get rid of her. We could not do that, as she was our cat, and even though she may have made us question our sanity at times, we had a responsibility. And part of that responsibility, apparently, was to randomly get attacked by a mewling ball of rage as we sat on the couch watching TV.

Our cat left us a few years back, and we decided then we would be a dog-only family from that point forward. The one caveat I have issued is that, should we ever have a barn, I would like to get a barn cat. Since we do not have plans ever to have a barn, I think we will be OK.

We currently have two dogs, a spry and loveable boxer named Maddux, and an old and grouchy Dachshund named Murphy. If you are a cat person, I have no issue with your personal inter-species preference. We are just, well, dog people. That said, as dog people, there are a few areas in which I ask the dog species on the whole to up their game a little bit, just to make sure there is no room for us to consider seeking another species:

  • I often sit on my back deck working. And over the course of any given hour, I estimate that I open our sliding glass door roughly 23,000 times per hour to let dogs in and out and in and out and in and out. Please. Inside or out. Pick one.
  • I’ve seen what you eat out in the yard. It’s nasty. So when a piece of cucumber falls on the kitchen floor, please stop pretending you’re better than that. Vacuum that up like you did the squirrel carcass the other day.
  • Yes, we are lenient on our furniture rules and let you hop up on couches and beds and such. That said, be happy with that. There is no need for a dozen rapid spinning turns, digging at pillows, flinging couch cushions onto the floor so that you can wedge yourself into some never-before-created couch crater.
  • We have established that you do not like fleas, and thus we spend good money to make sure you have the best preventative medicine out there. Once a month, you have to take one small pill to make sure you don’t get infested with the pests. Please don’t make us set out a family budget line item on cheese or turkey slices to get you to take it. Just eat it.
  • If I am inside and you are outside and would like to come in, one bark will do. I heard you. Can I please finish pouring my cup of coffee before you let off a series of barks and yelps as if a pack of wolves was closing in on you?
  • When we go on walks, I get that there are a lot of really amazing smells out there. And lots of territory to be marked. Could you maybe skip every, say, tenth one? A 30-minute walk should go more than 50 feet.
  • Those treats you love so much? Please remember that if I have no fingers, it will be difficult to give them to you. Gentle.

Dogs, you’ve got my vote. I’m solidly in your camp. So if you could just take a few of these small steps to ensure we stay a dog family, that would be great. And, of course, thanks for not randomly attacking us while we sit on the couch watching TV.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.