True Grace and Style Never Go Unrecognized

(Travel Date: February 4, 2012. Blog Post Num. 34.4932.78)

The first full day of vacation on the Royal Caribbean cruise line Monarch of the Seas started off poorly. A word to the wise -- don't put off until tomorrow that which needs to be done today!

Normally, one of the first things that my wife and I do upon reaching our travel destination is to organize and put our clothes away. Had we stuck with that plan, then Friday would have ended badly and Saturday would have started better. Somehow, it seems like it would be better to end a day on a bad note than to start a day on a bad note.

As we began organizing and putting our clothes away, I noticed that we had forgotten to pack a few items. Most of the missing items, as it turns out, were minor inconveniences that were easily handled. However, I discovered an essential piece of clothing missing from my wardrobe. I've been home now for approximately two days and I still can't find the missing items! I'm down to only four!

In order to prevent any scarring upon the minds of my readers, I will not mention what it was that was forgotten. Suffice it to say that I had to go "al fresco" (as my sisters and I used to call it ages ago) throughout the remainder of our vacation. For those of you unfamiliar with that term, I believe it is more commonly called going "commando."

A little bit later in the morning, the day got rougher, literally. My wife and I sat and watched the whitecaps and the waves for a short while. The spray coming off the tops of the whitecaps began wetting us down and making us just a little chilly. Once we moved away from the pool, everything got a little better. Or at least until I ordered the bucket o' beer.

A good bit later in the day, my wife and I found ourselves by the pool again. The bucket seemed like a good idea. Through sheer coincidence, as the waiter handed me the bucket, one of the straps on the deck chair gave away underneath me.
"That was not smooth, man," he said in what sounded like a smooth, Jamaican accent.
"That's why I got lite beer," I laughed, handling the situation with true style and panache.
Apparently it was a good joke. He laughed. He was probably thinking what a witty, stylish guy I was as he walked away, leaving me to extricate myself from the chair. I pulled myself out of the hole and inspected the straps. Aha! It was just as I suspected. I discovered some dry rot on the broken strap.

He probably knew about that. If he did, it would explain why he gave me respectful fist-bumps each time he saw me throughout the remainder of the cruise.

"Look... We Can See the World from Here!"

(Travel Date: February 3, 2012. Blog Post Num. 32.4587.29)

The Haworth Herd (since there's too many of us to be called the Haworth Party) made it to the airport successfully and without incident. We arrived at the US Airways counter, en masse. An intimidating sight for any agent, I'm sure, but the US Airways representative behind the counter seemed to take it in stride.

After an interminable amount of time and conversation elapsed, I distinctly heard the agent say that it seemed our flight tickets had been cancelled. Well, he said in his friendliest, no-nonsense way, it seems that they were cancelled back in November. Strangely enough, that was also the same time that my parents booked this cruise ship vacation.

Naturally, several in our herd whipped out cell phones and began making phone calls. The phone calls yielded nothing, of course, since the travel agency we used to book this vacation was NOT open at six o'clock in the morning! The nice airline rep also said it looked as though our travel agent was the one who cancelled the flight.

It occurred to someone that if the travel agent cancelled our flight, did they cancel our trip as well? Would we be able to board the cruise ship? I immediately called "dibs" on the front position of the new boat we might be taking. You know the spot -- the person in the front with the megaphone calling out "Row! Row! Row!"

We managed to clear that mess up with our super nice US Airways rep. Everything seemed to be in order. We were finally ready to go. All we had to do was make a mad dash to the idling-and-nearly-ready-to-take-off  plane waiting on the tarmac. The counter rep read off the list of names for whom he had create a flight ticket. However, one name was missing... Mine!

Some time later, as I sat comfortably -- or as comfortably one can get on a plane -- I heard my seven year-old nephew sum up the situation well to his brother. Shortly after take-off, he said, "Look Dave! We can see the whole world from here!"

Reasoning with Six Year-Olds

I simply can't hold back any longer. Originally, I told my wife and friends that I would not write about work, but I just can't adhere to that promise. Since I started working as a teacher's assistant, I've heard some funny things and had funny things happen to me.

In fact, just earlier today, one of our little girls got sick on the playground. Normally when that happens, it's my job to get them to the office so someone can come and pick them up. I diligently wiped everything she touched with a disinfectant wipe. Then, we made our way to the office.

"Well," I said along the way. "It seems you may have a stomach bug."

"I don't have a bug in my stomach, Mr. Haworth," she said with wide-eyed horror. I had to explain to her what that meant and reassure her that I didn't think she had an actual bug inside her stomach.

There have been numerous kids to ask me how old I am. One of the boys, however, phrased it a little differently by asking me "Are you old, Mr. Haworth?"

"I guess so," I answered with a shrug. "I'm 43 years old."

A long, resonating, bug-eyed "whoa" was his only response. My wife, who is two years younger than I, has had her children tell her "you're older than my grandma!"

One of my favorite incidents happened two days ago with one of my students immediately following a math lesson.

"Mr. Haworth," she said with a most curious look on her face. "What is that on your finger?"
"It's a ring. It's my wedding band."
"You're married?" she responded, amazement burning bright on her face.
"Yes, I'm married."
"How old are you," she then asked.
"I'm 43. I'll be 44 in March," I said. Her jaw dropped. "I have a son who's older than you are. He's 14."
"I thought you said you were 43, Mr. Haworth... And married... He should be about nine."

I tried to explain to her that he is indeed 14, but you try reasoning with a first-grader. While I'm still trying to figure out where I went wrong with that math lesson, she's still telling her classmates that, not only am I married, but I have a nine year-old son to boot.

The funniest thing to happen occurred only about three weeks in to the new job. And a word to the wise -- watch out for the girls. Their observations and inquisitiveness will simply astound you.

"You're not fooling anybody changing your tie like that, Mr Haworth," said one of our girls. When I started the job, I wore button-downs and ties every day in hopes of making a good impression.

"We know you're wearing the same shirt over and over again," she informed me. "Changing your tie isn't fooling anyone."

I told her I wasn't wearing the same shirt. She stood there, arms folded with a look of suspicion on her face. I tried to reason with her by explaining the subtle difference between that day's shirt and the previous day's shirt. They did look similar, I'll admit. However, as I've said, there is no such thing as reasoning with a six year-old.

"Oh, Mr Haworth," she said with a look of misgiving and shaking her head. One would think I was trying to pull one over on her. "You need to ask your momma... Or your wife to buy you some new shirts."

Alien Life Discovered on Earth?

My son and I suspect that fuzzy, black dog number two (or fbd2, for short) may not really be a dog. As of this writing, we have yet to ascertain the black creature's species, or if she really belongs to the animal kingdom here on earth.

We, my son and I, have had numerous discussions on this very topic. There have been many guesses about the fuzzy creatures origins, but none have proven helpful. I have included below some of the main points that come up each time.

"Almighty Princess," another name we call her, does not like drinking from the communal dog bowl. Instead, she acts like a sloppy drunk, wandering from one drink to the next in search of leftovers. Water, tea, coffee or juice. It doesn't matter. If she can reach it, in goes the fuzzy little head. Lap, lap, lap.

Fbd2 gets violently ill every time she consumes any store bought dog food. I have to make all her food for her. This fact is partially due to a mistake which occurred at the vet. A knowledgable vet should be aware of what substance they are injecting into what creature.

Also, every time I trim her nails, they grow back. They grow back fast. And they grow back longer! She uses these incredible claws to climb vertical surfaces, like my front or the back of the sofa, much like a cat.

Most amazing of all, though, is her ability to slip into hibernation at will. Take a good hard look at the picture above. She's only eight pounds. She's easily the smallest of the three. However, she can sleep, unmoving, in my bed for up to 14 hours at a time. No bathroom or stretch breaks. Completely immobile. I don't even know of any humans that can perform that trick!

Anyway, when I get the dna and carbon lifeform tests back, there will be another blog post announcing my newest claim to fame. Until then, we'll just have to wait and see...

A Project Is Only as Good as Its Details

I currently work at a local school as a teacher's assistant for three great ladies. They give me administrative work, which suits me just fine. The more detailed and difficult the project is, the better. I'm quite familiar with the copiers our school uses and can make them do nearly anything I want.

Strangely enough, I've always been a project-minded kind of a guy, even as a young kid. No matter how old I was, each project had its own little details and nuances. I revelled in mentally ironing them out.

There was the Burmese tiger pit, for example. It had to be deep. The original plans called for a depth of no less than 10 feet. It had to have sharp stakes at the bottom since I didn't want to be mauled by a live tiger when I went back to claim my prize. It had to be well covered so it couldn't be seen by sharp tiger eyes. And, most importantly, it had to be someplace my dad wouldn't accidentally find or, worse, fall into.

I did complete the tiger pit. Considering all the sneaking I did to get my dad's tools into the woods behind our house and back again, and the amazing depth of my tiger pit, it came together in record time. About a month after commencement, the tiger pit was ready for its first victim! I diligently checked it throughout the rest of that summer.

Hindsight being what it is, I now fully understand the flaws inherent in that project. First, it seems there's a slight discrepancy between an eight year old's 10 feet and 10 actual feet deep. Secondly, long sharp stakes differ according to age as well. And third, my monumental disappointment at not being able to make my own tiger-skin carpet could have been avoided. It seems I missed the detail where you research the location and range of the quarry you wish to capture...

Expanding My Streak of Insanity for Another Year

Today's post is a very special one. "Why," you may ask, "is it so special?"

Well, this is our first anniversary, my dear readers. It was on this day (January 14) one year ago (2011), that I published my first post, "Fuzzy, Black Dogs Versus Two Inches of Snow." The same post, I might add, that my teenaged son holds as a standard for all the posts that have come since. So, according to my kid, the first was my best and one day, IF I'm lucky, I'll post another that might be as good or as funny.

Of course, I think all my blog posts, with the exception of a few serious posts, are pretty funny. However, I'm particularly fond of "Shooting Ducks" and "The Battle of Yorktown, Revisited." The first simply because I couldn't think of anything to write and I had a fun excursion into an odd writing exercise. The second because it was a direct result of a hilarious conversation I had with my son.

In fact, a good third of my stories come from conversations with my son. Fewer come from conversations with my wife, but that's due to no fault of her own. She doesn't have the same streak of insanity that my son and I share and loosely call 'humor.' She seems to be okay with this. Even more, she seems to be okay being married to someone with such a warped sense of humor.

A large majority of the rest are either taken from real life or have come from my head. That, as my son has said before, explains a lot. So as we venture into our second year together, let's have fun and see where my head will take us!

"Pardon Me... Do You Have Any Grey Poupon?"

I did some stupid things as a teenager. There were some go-cart, skateboard and bicycle stunts. There were even some fireworks experimentation that nearly blew appendages off my body. The one thing that was not part of my repertoire, however, was vandalism.

I've heard of all sorts and types of vandalism before. You know the stories... Toilet paper, eggs or other supplies applied to houses, cars and other personal property. I've even heard of burning people's yards and, of course, there's the famous scene from "The Help" where toilet seats were spread out in the front yard. Heck, I even know of a neighbor who had curse words written in his front yard grass with bleach!

But I have honestly never in my life heard of someone Grey Poupon'ing someone's car! While I'm glad to tell you I have now, I'm sad to report it was MY car!

What, exactly, were they thinking?

"Hey, Fred, let's go around and squirt mustard on peoples' cars."
"Better than that, Eddie, we can Grey Poupon (Dijon, or insert whatever fancy brand you like here) someone's car! Let's do it with style!"

Naturally, the person or persons who decided to mustard my car did it on one of the coldest nights possible, thereby creating a lovely form of frozen pop-art upon the side of my car. Silver, Volvo stationwagons, I imagine, make the best canvasses for this type of art.

Having said that, I'm beginning to wonder if I should clean the car, or sell it. It's possible that the art may actually enhance the value of my vehicle.