Month: December 2015

Family

Continuing resolutions

I’ve never really done New Year’s Resolutions, mainly because I am, well, perfect. Nothing to improve on here.

Clearly, the first paragraph was not written by wife.

So the reason I don’t do New Year’s Resolutions is not some contrarian, anti-establishment thing. It’s just that I never really have done it. I’ve tried to quit or start numerous things in my life, with varying degrees of failure, and I’ve found that the best time to do it is when everything lines up. Basing it on a single date never seemed like the best strategy for success.

To those who make them, good on you. Go to church more. Hit the gym. Quit smoking. Stop spoiling Star Wars for people who haven’t seen it. I wish you success in your endeavor, and hope you make it past next week.

For those who don’t succeed with their resolutions, to those I say: You are an abject failure and a disappointment to all who believed in you.

Ha! Little demotivational humor there. Seriously, get back up on that horse and finish what you started. Or quit. Or whatever it was you decided you would do.

As for me, I’m not going to make any real definitive resolutions again this year. There are several areas of my life that could use improving upon, as is the case with anyone. But I’ll address those in due time. Instead, I think this year I will offer up some Continuation Resolutions, although not the kind normally reserved for political maneuvering. This new year, I will vow to continue doing — or not doing — some things that I think make me just a swell person.

I resolve to continue to put back my shopping carts in either the corral or back in the store, as that is the easiest and most direct way of proving you are not horrible.

I resolve to continue to give a courtesy wave that is clearly seen by a fellow motorist who lets me in traffic.

I resolve to continue to stick rigidly to the 10 item limit at the grocery store express lane, and never, ever try to justify it with, “Oh, it’s only 11, and the store is practically empty.” Integrity. It’s what’s for dinner.

I resolve to continue to be fascinated by airplanes, deer, dolphins, and As Seen on TV products. Yes, I really am a simple man. But those things always bring me child-like happiness.

I resolve to continue to let birds come eat at my squirrel feeder.

I resolve to continue not complaining when the trash guys leave my trash can in the middle of my driveway after emptying it. I backed into it one time, and my initial reaction was, “Oh, come on — did you have to leave it right behind my car?!?!?!” I then reminded myself (a) I should have looked and (b) dudes are hauling away my garbage. Leave it wherever. I’ll take it from there, and I look forward to next week’s visit.

I resolve to continue to take the dogs out in the morning as a pair, not individually, since apparently a big bad boxer will cry and whine if the old Dachshund doesn’t go with him. The big baby.

I resolve to continue to try and convince my wife to watch a Marvel movie with me. Any of them. I feel confident 2016 will be the year I break her and convince her superhero movies are one of our nation’s greatest exports.

I resolve to continue to look at the boxes in storage in my garage and strongly consider going through them.

I resolve to continue visiting with you good folks each week and sharing what I hope is a pointless but enjoyable diversion, which will most likely be needed during a presidential election year.

Happy 2016 to you all, and thanks for continuing to put up your shopping carts.

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

Christmas memories

The other day, my son found an old video recorder. He wanted to charge it and use it shoot some nature videos. No problem, I said.

I dug into a basket that has roughly 48,000 assorted chargers and eventually found the right one. (For what it’s worth, I am fairly confident that, should you ever need a charger, we have the exact one in that basket. There are far more chargers than the number of electronic devices I have ever owned, so I can only assume they multiply and evolve.)

Once the camera was charged, I turned it on and saw the video screen on the back come to life. There are nine panels on the screen, each a thumbnail of the video it represents. Eight were blank. The ninth showed a tiny image of two little critters sitting on some stairs.

I pressed play on the video. The image filled the screen. The two critters were my kids, sitting on the third step of the stairway in our home. I heard my voice. “It is 2010. We’re on the third step. Merry Christmas!” (The third step is a critical Christmas morning barrier, and anyone who lives in a one-story should assemble a three-step stairway unit that kids are required to sit on Christmas morning. It’s the most effective child containment device ever assembled. The third step is the ultimate Christmas morning blockade. Leave the third step and Santa’s offerings will have disappeared. I don’t make the Christmas rules. I only enforce them.)

My kids were 7 and 10 in the video. My daughter is an old soul, so she probably had already figured out that Santa had certain helpers who were key players in the Christmas morning bounty, but she was not about to let on any doubt. Hedge your bets. My son, however, was all in. I asked my wife what was next. The kids chimed in.

“Look at the carrots!” my son said. “The carrots!!!” my daugher echoed. I looked outside. Indeed, the chewed up carrot bits left on the front steps showed that the reindeer had, indeed, been there and feasted upon their treats. I really don’t like carrots, so I am glad the reindeer did. And that we are now beyond that. You know, for other reasons…

“Back to the third step!” my daughter said. Training.

At this point, they were, understandably, most interested if Santa had come. I told them to wait for a second while I checked with mom.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” my daughter said, trying not very well to hide her annoyance at the Christmas delay.

The video showed me trailing into the den, surveying the scene. We had a slight pause as my wife had to plug the tree lights on. This did not please some. “Don’t peek, Parker!” I heard my daughter say. Ever vigilant. It appeared Santa had indeed been to our house. They seemed almost relieved. Apparently, there had been some doubt. I suppose they were sitting on the third step going over the previous year’s behavior and wondering what was potential for nullification.

Once my wife was in place, we told them they could come in. They sprinted into the room and squealed with delight. There was Felicity (which I think is a doll), my daughter’s very own “hair supply thing with my name on it” that she had wanted (whatever that was), some hex-bugs (whatever those are), a Razor scooter that sparks (because that sounds safe), and a mechanical dog that walks on a leash (because our three actual dogs weren’t enough apparently). There were also Smurfs somewhere in the mix. Also, Santa left a letter to the kids, which was awfully nice of him. The video was three-and-a-half minutes of bliss.

This year, Christmas will be, hopefully, full of similar bliss. But it will be different. I think that was the last time they will have both been at the age where Christmas magic envelopes them in a sphere of awe and amazement. Christmas is still awesome, but seeing a kid completely swathed in the moment is pretty special. I’m glad my son dusted off the video camera and I found that clip. It was a special moment for our family. That time of mystical amazement may have passed, but I still look forward to every Christmas morning with my family. Certain things may be missing now, but that’s OK. It’s the nature of life. And if we need to find even more positives, carrots are no longer part of the equation.

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May the Force (Awakens) be with you…

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date December 16, 2015
No Comments on May the Force (Awakens) be with you…

We are just a few days away from the most anticipated movie in a franchise in decades.

I am talking, of course, about “Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Road Chip.”

Ha! Little nervous humor there. Like any good 40-something, I cannot wait for my Christmas to come early this year, when the latest Star Wars movie hits theaters. I have not been this excited for a new Star Wars movie since the last time they rebooted the franchise, with the oft-maligned prequels.

I had a similar anticipation for those movies, and while they weren’t exactly the same caliber as the original trilogy, I don’t hate them with the white-hot intensity some do. The main reason for that: Yoda.

When “The Phantom Menace” was re-released in theaters in 2012, I took my son and nephew to see it. When Yoda appeared on screen — in particular when he busts out his lightsaber and a heaping helping of green Jedi fury — I watched a 7- and 9-year-old experience the same thing I had years ago. All the Jar Jar hate in the world can’t take away the image of seeing two little boys experience big screen Star Wars awe for the first time.

And so here we are again, wildly anticipating the next chapter. And 43-year-old me feels like 8-year-old me all over again. Is it a little silly for me to be this excited about a sci-fi movie? Probably. But I don’t care. So a few thoughts as we bide our time waiting for Dec. 18:

My kids are excited about going to see the new movie and asked if we could do a marathon viewing of the earlier movies. I said that we could, but we’d probably just skip the prequels because, you know, Jar Jar. Then I realized why no longer having brick and mortar Blockbusters around is a bummer. You can’t rent Star Wars anywhere. You can buy it online for $20, but that’s about all I could find. So, one day when they are grown, my kids will get to share the story of how their dad showed them the original trilogy by stringing together YouTube clips.
I still have all of my Star Wars toys, and have passed them on to my son. They are in rough shape, especially the greatest Christmas present I ever got, the Millennium Falcon. They are not in rough shape because of my son. They were in rough shape when he got them, because I played the heck out of them when I was a kid. Anyone who kept their Star Wars action figures in the packaging to preserve them should not be allowed to go see the new Star Wars movie. In fact, if you are my age, I think you should have to present one busted up action figure in order to be admitted. (“Here’s a one-armed Lando Calrissian. If that doesn’t work, here’s a C-3PO I spray painted blue, and a Darth Vader with a plastic martini sword glued to his hand.”) If you are a kid with action figures and a Millennium Falcon, you need to play with them. And make the “pew pew” noises.
My Chewbacca and Yoda impressions are strong, and my wife will undoubtedly have to endure a larger number of them than usual this week. Please keep her in your thoughts.
Anyone who posts spoiler information online is a bad person and hates good things. I’ve never quite understood why ruining surprises in a movie is fun for some people.
I don’t particularly like it when movies in a franchise make cheeky references to previous movies. That said, if somebody doesn’t “have a bad feeling” about something in the new movie, I will be disappointed.
When “The Phantom Menace” came out the first time in theaters in 1999, I went to a midnight showing with some friends. I did not have kids then, and thus I will not be doing that this time. It’s not that it’s too late for me. Rather, I don’t want to endure the next day with two grouchy kids who didn’t go to sleep until 3 a.m.

So my fingers are crossed that the new movie will live up to the hype that we had for the first reboot. Even if it falls more into the prequel camp than the original trilogy in terms of quality, at least I will be heading back into the Star Wars universe again on the big screen. If you are not a Star Wars fan and just don’t get the hype, that’s fine. You like what you like, and I’ll like what I like. And may the Force be with you.

Adventures Food

A cut above

Nobody likes line cutters. Well, at least no one who is adhering to the actual rules of the line.

I am a fan of order, so I think a nicely formed line is something to be admired and find it abhorrent when people cut in line. However, I am not sure how to handle it when I become the line cutter.

It happened recently at a Sam’s Club. When my family signed up for our membership, they had a promotion going on where, upon signing up, you would get a free rotisserie chicken. That wasn’t the sole reason we signed up, but hey, nice bonus because, hey, free chicken.

We didn’t have to get the chicken the day we signed up. A few weeks later, I found myself in the Sam’s vicinity. I remembered that we had a chicken waiting on us, and that my wife and I had not made plans for dinner that night. Free chicken to the rescue!

When I entered the store, I headed toward the customer service line. I was not sure how the chicken procurement process worked and decided I would just go there. There was a short line, but I had time to kill. As I stood in line, I noticed that the line leaving the store was growing longer. For those of you not familiar, when you leave a Sam’s, you have to show your receipt to the clerk at the door to make sure you’re not stealing a 412-pack of toilet paper.

As I stood in my line, I watched the line leaving the store grow. And then I heard her: “EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!” A woman was barreling through the store, pushing her cart past all of the folks in line. The folks in the exit line took turns staring at her, and then back at each other, wondering who was going to be the line vigilante. No one, it turns out.

She got to the front of the line and handed the clerk her receipt, completely ignoring all the decent folks who were respecting the line. The clerk looked at her, and looked at the line. No good choices here. While the vengeance part of my conscience wanted her to summarily reject her push to the front of the line, the clerk probably took the best path — she checked the receipt and sent the woman on her way. Not sure where the big win was going to be had the clerk decided to exact justice on the line cutter.

As I sat watching the line collectively hate the woman who had cut, my turn was up at the customer service desk. I explained to the clerk that I was here for my chicken and needed to see what the protocol was. The clerk told me to go and grab my chicken and come right back to her. “Don’t get back in line,” she said. “Just come back to me.”

Oh, boy.

I went to the other side of the store and got my chicken, which was about a six mile walk. When I came back to the customer service area, I saw the line, as well as the line going out the door. And I was about to go cut in line, as I was directed to do.

I walked to the clerk I had spoken with earlier and set my chicken down on the counter. I looked around and felt the eyes on me. They saw me as the Excuse Me lady.

“Everyone thinks I’m cutting in line,” I said, trying to make small talk to someone who probably had no interest in small talk.

That’s when she stepped up to the plate and tried to make my line cutting OK. She turned to the lines, all of whom I certainly felt like were staring holes in me. “It’s OK, everybody. I told him to come back here.”

I gave a little wave to say, “I’m not a line cutter!” to the folks, and grabbed my chicken and headed out the door, making sure not to make eye contact with any of the folks who were no doubt staring a hole in me.

I hope some of the folks in line understood that I was not cutting, per se, as the other woman had clearly done. I was just following directions, and thus helping to keep order, right? Because order is good. As good as free chicken.

Childhood Family

Respect the cows.

I just completed a 1,500 mile road trip with my family, and I am pleased to report that we will never, ever go on a trip in a car again.

I say this not because of my family, but rather because it feels like someone has inserted hot needles into my lower back. I am sure this pain will subside in due time, and by the time we are ready to head out again, I will have forgotten the white-hot intense pain that sitting in a car for eight hour stretches does to me. Plus, I have taken the proactive healing approach of reminding my wife every six minutes that my back hurts.

Fortunately, my family is getting to where they can travel in a fairly civilized manner. My daughter is 15 and my son is 12, so the main issues that arise are summed up in two sentences that were repeated my son approximately 43,000 times:

“Allie, I can hear your music. Turn it down!”
“Allie’s Snapchatting again.”

Ah, little brothers. As my three older sisters would no doubt agree, they are wonderful. His first complaint is rather trivial. My daughter has her earbuds in perpetually, usually listening to Broadway songs. If he can hear so much as a peep from “Hamilton,” time to sound the alarm.

The second one comes because of our constant warnings to the kids about using too much data on their phones. We made a mention once that the social media app Snapchat can be a data hog. And, since my daughter is 15, she is Constitutionally required to Snapchat every waking moment of her life to her friends. That said, I don’t need Deputy Parker to enforce our data laws constantly on the interstate. Sheriff Mom will handle that in due time.

As we were driving (and getting constant updates on Allie’s music volume and data consumption), my wife and I reminisced on how this was waaaaaay better than traveling with them at other stages of their lives. We thought of the stages:

STAGE ONE: One brand new child. We drove to Florida, and she screamed. The. Whole. Time. When we discovered that Elmo would practically hypnotize her, we became car TV converts for life. “La la la la. La la la la. No screaming…”

STAGE TWO: One toddler, one brand new child. Toddler is old enough to inform us that brand new child is ripe, something we could already determine because, you know, we have the sense of smell. One particular time, brand new child decided to evacuate everything possible, and just for fun did it during a torrential downpour. I pulled off at the first interstate exit we came to — with toddler giving running commentary the whole way — and pulled into a fast food place. Turns out, this was probably the sketchiest, filthiest fast food restaurant ever, and I managed to clean up a brand new child while he was balanced on a raised knee, lest he come in contact with anything associated with a Sketchyburger restroom. Meanwhile, my wife and toddler had the pleasure of sitting in the car, windows rolled up because of the storm, with toddler commentary going strong about the wonderful smells her brother had left behind.

STAGE THREE: Two kids, both mobile, both communicative, both wanting to watch a different movie at the same time, despite the fact that there was only one TV. This was one of the times my wife went Super Jedi Mom and laid down the ultimate mind trick on both of them. After miles of squabbling over, I don’t know, which Toy Story to watch, we had both had enough. My wife does not often raise her voice. Thus, when she does, it comes with some serious gravity. She whipped around in her seat and barked, “PARKER! ALLIE!” They both stopped and looked at her. She pointed out the window to a field — “THERE ARE COWS. NOW BE QUIET!” They both immediately went mum. After a few miles of silence, I quietly said to my wife, “Cows?” She said, “It worked, didn’t it?”

So I guess we’re at Stage Four, teen and a pre-teen. I guess the next big road trip we take will be Stage Five, two teenagers. Perhaps at this point, they will both be so consumed with social media and massive data overuse they will simply ride for the duration of the trip in silence. Granted, if they do start to get out of hand, I know how to handle the situation.

Cows.