Christmas By Numbers

Don't look now, but Christmas is practically upon us once again. You know what that means... Getting out all the decorations, knick-knacks, untangling lights, moving furniture, re-arranging spaces and putting the Christmas tree together. It's a process in my household. It began several days ago and will end, well, sometime prior to Christmas itself.

I have a process for everything from loading the dishwasher to putting up tree lights after the holidays. I call it extreme attention to detail. My wife and son call it... Never mind what they call it. However, she has admitted that my tree light system is clean, neat and efficient and makes stringing it on the tree much easier. I've even gone so far as to custom design the insides of three plastic tubs, compartmentalizing them to make for easier ornament putting away, storage and so forth.

One of the biggest challenges came when we switched from real to fake trees for Christmas. It seems my son is allergic to Evergreen trees. My parents gave us a nice one one year, and we used it for several years. About five years ago my wife's mother gave us her old tree which is nearly eight feet tall and as big around as a VW Beetle.

Don't get me wrong, I like the tree. I wouldn't have used it for the past five or six years if I didn't. However, the first Christmas I put the tree up was one to remember. It wasn't the gifts or the music or the great holiday cheer that made it memorable. It was the tree.

My wife decided what day the tree would be put up. Coincidentally, she was out shopping on said day. All day. This phone conversation took place approximately 45 minutes after her departure.

"Hi honey," I said. "Where are the directions on the tree your mom gave us? There are none? Okay... Well, is it color coded or something? Umm... No, I don't see any colors on the branch bases. You're right. How do you know what goes where? Ha ha... (Jokingly)Perhaps I'll just get out my handy-dandy tape measure and measure each branch as I put them on largest to smallest from the bottom to the top."

Half an hour later, I had four branches on one tier and was crawling on the floor measuring out branches with my handy-dandy tape measure. Flash forward past some of the colorful comments I made during the assemblage process and, voila! One 10 hour tree! Please don't ask how long it took to put nearly 20 strands of light onto that Christmas tree.

Regardless, after that holiday season, I announced to my wife and young child that I, Phillip H. Haworth, would not assemble that tree ever again. After some sage advice from my wife, young child and mother-in-law, I announced that I, Phillip H. Haworth, would devise a system to make assembling that crazy tree easier.

Now, each branch has its own special numbering system. Once I get the base of the tree up, it's simply a matter of locating the number at the base of the branch that corresponds to the correct tier. With the remnants of Thanksgiving dinner put away let Christmas by numbers begin!

It's Good to be Thankful

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. It followed on the heels of an awesome performance (by everybody, not just me) of  "Miracle on 34th Street, the Musical." After the excitement of the show died down and Thanksgiving dinner was stashed in the fridge, I sat and quietly contemplated my life and those things that I am thankful for.

Here is a small sampling of those things that I am truly thankful for:

That I have only three fuzzy, black dogs and not four or more.
My family, which consists of my wonderful wife and weird, but sweet, teenage son and three dogs.
My really cool sister-in-law, Kat, who gave me her iPod touch.
My good set of golf clubs that remind me each time I see them that I really can't afford to play golf these days!
The large, mossy patch of ground in front of my house that never requires mowing.
My in-laws who live around the corner from me. No, really, I am thankful for that!
My family, who just happen to live around the corner in the exact opposite direction. That, incidentally, was not planned. It was merely a lucky happenstance.
The small amount of weight I've lost and kept off, despite overeating for Thanksgiving.
My sisters for teaching me the value of ALWAYS lowering the toilet seat before exiting the restroom!
My job, because not working sucks.
My nearly thirty fishing rods that I currently own.
Did I mention my wonderful, sweet wife?

I'm thankful for many, many more things that are much to numerous to all be listed in one simple blog posting. I do want to mention one more thing I'm thankful for -- the readers of this blog! I hope you enjoyed reading this (and continue to enjoy reading it!) as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

The Elusive Windshield Scraper

I actually love this time of the year. The leaves change colors, decorating the world in brilliant yellows, reds and oranges. The air becomes cooler and crisper. And windshield scrapers go into hiding as car windshields begin frosting over. Ultimately, the impatient car owner must turn to more creative means to clear the vehicle's viewing screen. I've discovered that cd cases work pretty well.

Three years ago, it was The B-52's "Cosmic Thing." I made excellent use of that pearl case. It held up the entire winter season. Then, last year, it was John Prine's "Lost Dogs and Mixed Blessings." It should have been Mixed Dogs and Lost Blessings for all the good it did me. I still have the cd case. I'm not sure why I kept the bits and pieces of plastic that fall apart when you open it, but I did.

I have many, many Beatles cd's and, therefore, the numerous cases that go with them. However, The Beatles have a special place in my heart and I've still not forgiven myself for using "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" one time when I was in dire need of scraping my windshield and I had, once again, lost my roaming window scraper.

I have one in my Volvo currently. At least, I think I have one in my car. I should probably go check. Anyway, it's a fancy one with a long handle and the little bristles for cleaning off soft debris from the vehicle. I earnestly await the day that soft debris rains upon my car and I can use the bristles for just that purpose.

I start each fall with a window scraper in my vehicle. I had one in my VW Dasher, my truck (second truck, since the first had a broken plastic trowel I called a scraper), one in my Land Rover, in my Beetle, my Cabrio, my other Volvo (wait, both my other Volvos!) and one in my Scirocco. Yet, by the time the first frost comes, that tricky little device is no where to be seen!

So I'll spend all winter looking in the glove compartment, under the seats, all the floorboards and in the spare wheel well. During that time, I will utilize a cd case to clean my windshield. If I'm lucky, the case will last long enough until I find the scraper, or until spring comes. Those two events, unfortunately usually occur at the same time.

Welcome to Doggy Daycare

I have neglected my poor blog site and my awesome fans! In the frenzy of rehearsals for the upcoming play, "Miracle on 34th Street," I have nearly forgotten to offer any literary tidbits or philosophical conundrums, or even any just plain funny non-sensicals about my dogs!

And, speaking of my dogs, the dog count has risen. It seems we have become the doggy daycare for our family. Kay, my sister-in-law, has brought her dog to stay with us while she goes... She is going... Well, someplace out of town that won't allow her to bring her dog, Bear, along. We now have Ace, Lilly, Bob Barker and Bear.

I'm not sure what kind of dog Bear is. I do know that Bear is not a fuzzy, black dog. He is more of a gray, somewhat fluffy dog with a severe underbite that makes you think he's part piranha. His fur is curly, like a poodle. He's got a whispy tail, like a schnauzer. He's got a toy terrier-like face and sometimes smells like a month old coffee cup that hasn't been cleaned. And his body seems to secrete some odd protective oil that gets on everything.

I once asked Kay what kind of dog Bear is. "Your guess is as good as mine," was her simple answer. Despite all this, he's actually an adorable, cute little dog. Somehow, Bear manages to make all this work for him. We haven't yet had him a full day and, already, he's getting along with the psychotic, fuzzy, black quadrupeds I call my pets. Let's hope it stays that way.

What Is Weird?

Due to some of the comments I recieved from my previous post, "May the Force be With You," I realized that many of the people who read this bastion of fine literature may not understand me quite as well as my family. Personally, I prefer to use the term 'eccentric' to describe myself. Unfortunately, my own adage negates that fact and brings me down to just plain weird. My adage? It is as follows:

"The only thing that seperates the eccentric from the weird is about a million dollars."

Regardless, it's time for me to coin a new term for someone who is delightfully different from what is considered to be the societal norm.

Be that as it may, my original plan of attack on the Star Wars novels was to read them all, starting with the first one on the SW timeline. When I started, that would be the "Darth Bane" series which occurred more than a millennia bby (before the Battle of Yavin). I think I got to around 800 aby (you got it -- after the Battle of Yavin) when I got frustrated and began skipping around the timeline. When I read about a one-armed Wampa trying to get even with Luke Skywalker on the ice planet Hoth, I knew I was reaching the end of my metaphorical SW rope.

I will be continuing my research of what is considered weird and what is considered downright bizarre. For example, is it so weird to always eat M&M candies in order of color, always ending with the green ones? Is it so weird to have your unread books lined up in order of how you plan to read them? Is it so weird to arrange the dishes and the glasses in the cabinet so they are either symmetrical or in order from the largest to the smallest?

While these are merely examples I came up with, I will delve further into this matter for the sake of my readers. Once completed, I plan to publish the results of my research here to enlighten and possibly entertain my loyal readers.

May the Force be With You

I like to challenge myself with my reading sometimes. Right now, I'm reading -- albeit, very slowly -- a three series (books), post-modern novel that my Father-in-law gave me for a special occasion. While I won't tell you when I started the story, I will tell you that I am currently 50 pages into the first book. Wow! Only approximately 2.8 more books to go until I finish. I plan to have it read by Christmas. Next Christmas, that is.

Every now and again, though, it's good to just lay back and enjoy a no-brainer and just get lost in the story. I went through a brief period where I did just that. I read nothing but Star Wars novels. I'm pretty certain that phase lasted approximately eight months. According to my wife and teenage son, however, that phase lasted for two very long years.

My original plan was to read ALL the Star Wars novels available, which numbered around 140 books at the time. Unfortunately, more books are being added all the time and that number changed. Also, they seemed to be having a strange effect on me.

According to two family members (since the other three don't speak English), I began to make all sorts of Star Wars metaphors and analogies for random life situations. They said I also began speaking gibberish, or, as my son not-so-quaintly put it, speaking a stupid Star Wars language no one but me understood.

Shortly thereafter, the intervention took place. Drugs, my son and wife told me, are not the answer. Then they explained that drugs can take many forms, such as the form of a Star Wars novel. My current drug, they pointed out, was not only poisoning my mind, but ruining their lives as well.

I won't bore you with the rest of that event except to say that they are sometimes prone to exaggeration. I have since moved on, though, and have finished nearly every Preston & Childs book available, except two. I plan to get those very soon.

Until I do, may the force be with you all.

A Brief Moment with Bob

[loosely translated from the newest fuzzy, black dog:]
Hello. My name is Bob. I'm a really cool, black spaniel. I have three people who live with me. And two other dogs. I don't know what they are, but they sure do bark a lot. Life here... Hey! A squirrel!

What was I saying? Anyway, we each have our job to do. Mine seems to be to clean the house. I take it seriously and have eaten lots of things. Some of them might not have been food. But they tasted good. I used to lick the tallest human -- Phillip, I think -- to wake him up. He got a real bad attitude and I stopped that. I still lick him to tell him to feed me. Sometimes he... That squirrel again! Woof!

Ummm. These people are crazy. The other dogs don't do anything. Me? I protect the house. I sleep by the door. That way, nobody can open it and come in. Also, if things get too crazy, I can make a quick getaway. I also sleep there because it hasn't been taken. Ace gets Phillip's lap. Lilly takes the high spots. I think she's half cat. Grrrr. That leaves me the doorways. The mailman!

Sorry! False alarm. It was one of the big, brown trucks. Lilly and Ace barked really hard and I thought it was the mailman. Phillip says I have ADD. He says life distracts me. I say there's simply too much neat stuff out there. Like that squirrel. And that black and white cat. And that pizza box right there. And that... Smell? Do I smell bacon? And that pizza box. I don't think that was there before. I'm hungry. Do I smell pizza in it? And the mailman. And... I'll just take a little look in that box...

Dog poo to your writer's block. You yelled at me. I won't help you any more. I'll be laying by the door when you want to scratch my belly and apologize. And I WON'T forget... The mailman!