Two Things... Um... Sunday?

Yep... the first time T3 totally slipped through the cracks and we got busted!  Happy Howdies to Maya who was the first to remind us from her spot on the other side of the globe... she'll be getting a little treat sometime soon for catching us with our keyboards empty!

So, to catch us up... let's do something culinary for the Columbia crowd...
The Pack of Three hit up Bandanna's on Friday at their new location on Clark Lane.  No noticeable changes; that bread's just as good for you as ever!  It seemed the door count wasn't hurting... the place was pretty full.  ALSO... Five Guys is finally making an appearance in CoMo!  I don't know that I've ever had them, but saw a White House clip on Obama making a 5 Guys run and have wanted some ever since... Here's a clipping from the Tribune's Street Talk section:

Fans of Five Guys Burgers and Fries will have to wait until February or March.
Jeff Offutt, owner of the local Subway sandwich shops, said two Columbia locations have been selected for new Five Guys restaurants: one in the Broadway Shops, in the former Hollywood Video location, and the other in the Stadium Shoppes, near Pet-Smart.
Originally, Offutt hoped to have a Five Guys restaurant open in the Broadway Bluffs — next to Starbucks — by this fall. Offutt made that announcement in anticipation corporate officers would sign off on the project.
Instead, they preferred the Hollywood Video location, which closed this summer and has excellent visibility.
“They basically told me to hold off on the first location,” he said. “I want to open as soon as I can. Whenever we open, it’s going to be good.” 

Number Dos...
The Lodge was abuzz as we did a full day of photoshoots!  We covered the gamut, from Halloween costumes to family portraits.  It's what Jaime and I have done for years, but never quite on this level for our own brood. I'll leave you with the following teaser... we caught a Growley Bear in the Pumpkin Patch, but we'll post the rest next week after Lightroom has had its fun!

Who ya' callin' Towheaded?"

From Yahoo Answers:

In colonial times, families grew their own flax to make into fabric for clothing. Transforming the flax into thread was a complicated, involved process with many time-consuming steps. After the flax was harvested, it was soaked in water for several days to soften it so the inner fibers could be removed from the stalk. To separate the long, thin fibers from the shorter, coarser ones, the flax was pulled through a bed of nails or combed in a process called "towing." The shorter fibers that were extricated were of a lesser quality and were called "tow." This led to the term "towheads" to describe people, particularly children, whose hair resembled these strands.

Our favorite online dictionary, MerriamWebster.com, provided further support and evidence for this explanation. The definition for towhead reads: 

Pronunciation: 'tO-"hed (noun) 

Date: 1829 

a head of hair resembling tow especially in being flaxen or tousled; also: a person having such a head of hair

 The dictionary dates "tow" to the 14th century and states that its origin is "Middle English, from Old English tow-spinning."

SUZI: Skateboard Psychology

A few weeks ago, I was taking a walk with Cooper.  I saw something that has stuck in my head.  It was our normal route; we were weaving our way through the streets near our house.  We passed a group of probably middle school aged kids.  From the way they were interacting, I could tell that this group gathered on this street regularly.  "Where have you been?  I beat you walking here today and you're on your bike," I heard one of the kids mouth to another.  There was a comfort amongst the group, yet a lot of one-ups-man-ship was going on. 

I passed them and when I was a few houses down, I saw another boy, seemingly the same age, exit his house.  He jumped on his skateboard and headed in the opposite direction of the group.  There was no glance toward the group.  No acknowledgment from him or them.  He clearly wasn't a part of the group.  A few houses down, he hit a bump and tumbled off his skateboard.  I mean, he rolled and then smacked the ground.  His skateboard went flying across the street where I would be in a just a few seconds.  What do I do?  The kid immediately got up, but it had to hurt and he was probably embarrassed.  I quickly debated whether I should say anything.  I didn't want him to think he was invisible, but did he really want some "old" lady with a baby checking on him?  I only had a moment to figure out what to do.  When he reached my side of the street to retrieve his skateboard, I simply said, "You ok?" He muttered a "yeah" and then headed on his way.

I had several things running through my mind after seeing this incident:

1.  I'm so thankful that I'm not in middle school anymore.  I know there are people who would give anything to relive their youth.  My word...I am not one of them.  Once was enough.

2.  Cooper is going to be in middle school one day. Is he going to be ok? And who will his friends be? And will people treat him well? And how can we make sure he gets a good education? And blah, blah, blah.  I could actually feel my heart beating faster at the thought of it all.  I comforted myself in knowing that for now my sweet baby boys loves his parents best of all and decided to ignore all irrational fears about the future.

3.  Why couldn't the boy on the skateboard be friends with "The Group?"  Why did we all have these stupid delinations about who we're friends with and who we're not?  Why do these things have to be such a big deal when you're young and do we actually ever outgrow these barriers that keep us from connecting with people who aren't like us?  Then I decided that that sounded like I was living in a rose-colored world. 

We headed home, and I still wasn't quite sure what to think of what I had just seen.  I still don't.  Maybe the lesson is just that we should all be nice to each other.

Two Things Thursday

Today, it's all about the kids... Wednesday Cooper spent the day with Heidi, out of necessity since Mom & Dad were in St. Louis for a funeral.  They played and laughed and took each others toys away and took semi-long naps.  It was a grand ol' time.  I particularly love this shot of them digging through Grammie's toy chest.

And second, but certainly not least of all, Cooper got a shot at a real banana.  We've been slowly inching him toward a big kid menu.  Emphasis on the slowly.  Heidi seemed to make that jump pretty quickly.  Cooper not as much.  In fact, today he tried out crackers for the first time.  This is a kid who will stick everything into his mouth... he took the cracker, laughed and proceeded to crush it.  Pieces went everywhere but in his mouth!  A repeat performance later confirmed his response: Crackers are for fun, not for fuel.

First Snow and other rabbit trails

I'm in the midst of downloading CS5 right now... and I anted for Lightroom 3 since there were these great deals going on... which I thought I'd missed and proceeded to have a mini-hissy, but then I decided to throw it into the cart to see what happened and viola! the sale ended at 11.29PM PST and that made me a very happy Adobe shopper... and helped out some poor coder's 401k. 
Speaking of LightRoom, I hung out over Nathan's shoulder while in Amman and was really impressed with the ease-of-use LR provided.  The quickie presets... the comfy layout... I'm really looking forward to it.  But that'll have to wait, oh, ELEVEN HOURS while the rest of the downloads hit my router.

OK, ENOUGH about my newest acquisition and more about the fact that it SNOWED in Moberly today! 

I woke up early and popped open the shutters to see what was aflutter. 
And what to my wondering eyes should appear but white flakes so light, flitting about without fear!

(Wow... I should blog more often at 1AM.  I get all poetic and stuff.)

It was Cooper's first snow, which meant that he had to get all bundled up and that can only equal glad tidings of great screaming, mitten throwing and arched-backed feelings of "I'm not putting on another layer!"  But we managed to get a family shot on the back deck.  The first of which we realized Cooper's hat was down over his nose.  Seems we're such good parents... all focused on the comfort and security of our baby and not at all on documenting those memory moments in frigid temperatures.

I hope everyone's Thanksgiving was fun and full of poultry.  We did the St Louis run and had a great time in O'Fallon with all that crew.  Since the Czechs didn't land on Plymouth Rock, we celebrate with Suzi's family on Saturday in Columbia with the Schrader bunch... it's a good enough reason to have turkey again.  I talked to a guy this week who was doing four T-days in a row.  That's an awful lot of family time.  He said that his grandmas used to coordinate their two feasts.  One would have ham and the other, turkey.  The following year they'd swap.  Then one of the grandmothers passed away and an aunt took over the hosting, but she doesn't do a check-in and there's some serious stuffing burn-out potential in the offing as a result.

I personally can't get enough of Aunt Helen's smoked pork loin.  My left-overs got smothered in Jim Benner's secret BBQ sauce.  There may have been some words tween the two of us near the fridge when it came down to the last piece.

Tasty.

(Not sure why the two grandma story up there, but I just liked the image of the two of 'em on the phone chattering about what they'd be serving the kiddos this year.)

The Sunday After Thanksgiving

This morning a long-time member of our church passed away. 

At church.

She suffered for many years from a long list of physical ailments.  Cancer, diabetes, various amputations as a result of infection.  How many times did I hear her requesting prayer on my dad's voice mail?  Most recently, she had broken her foot and there was an issue with pooling blood around the wound.  I'm not going to go into long detail, but one of the men in the church and I were asked to help her to a waiting vehicle as service was wrapping up.  She'd been sick in the bathroom for a good part of the service, feeling nauseous, she said.

As we walked alongside her, supporting her as she leaned on her walker, it was obvious she was in terrible pain and quickly she began to sink.  We called for a chair as we reached the front doors, but she was already gone.  I held her head and looked into her eyes as the life we know flowed from her body.  I called 911 and a nurse and former EMT in the church started CPR.  The ambulance arrived, but there was little to be done.  Her husband watched as they worked on her, laying halfway out the front doors of the church.

One of the last services Catherine Claggett was in, she testified about meeting a perfect stranger in a gas station in Oklahoma and praying for that person's need.  She had a crackling voice that would slowly turn to an echoing boom as she would exhort and call our church to gratefulness or greater service.  Her life was one of constant pain and seemingly unlimited suffering on this earth, yet she never lost sight of her eternal goal.

Tonight, she doesn't need the walker or giant, orthopedic shoes any longer.  I'm grateful for her... and not a little humbled to have been by the side of a saint passing from this world to the next.  I have to admit there weren't a million things running through my mind.  I did manage to keep from taking pictures (purely tacky) and I learned a valuable lesson about calling 911 from a county address (always stay on the line even if they say they're on the way... a physical address, detailed driving instructions & a cell number don't always guarantee delivery of emergency services).  As the pastor mentioned later, I was proud of the health-care professionals we have at our church who were able to assess and give assistance.  When the police arrived first, they simply looked over the situation and said, "Keep going."

I was also struck by the thought of the spouse.  What do you as a husband of 42 years say at that moment in time?  What do you think?  How does it feel?  One of the guys in the church rode with him as he drove to the hospital.  Some of us and his family came to the ER.  But then he went home.  Alone.  I went home to Suzi to tell her I loved her again.  And again. 

May God extend His Amazing Grace to each of us when that time comes.  

We'll need it.

I Bought a Gun

A few years ago, I started whining about my 2nd Amendment rights and how I wasn't upholding my end of the Constitutional bargain.  I was a little taken aback when Suzi agreed with me.  Now, don't go all NRA-Crazy on us.  I'm not some "check yer weapons at tha' door" type.  I do believe that gun ownership is an option that we as Americans have built into the accessory list that comes with our citizenship.  You know, floor mats, alloy wheels, pursuits of happiness and such.  When Suzi's dad immigrated to America just as the Iron Curtain came crashing down, one of his early purchases was a small revolver.  Why?  Because it was something his previous government prohibited.  In this era of "enhanced pat-downs," we, as Americans, take for granted the freedoms we hold in comparison to the rest of the world.

OK, so now I'll reach under my soapbox and pull out my gun 'cause I know some of ya'll out there wanna  see it.  I had always expected to buy something tactical, with a laser and a Surefire light-up-your-world cannon attached.  Something black and spec-ops.  I figured on a 9mm for ease of access and relatively inexpensive ammo.  But when my "buyer" called one Saturday morning and said he'd found something I might like, I had no idea I'd fall for a Cold War relic.

Relic.  That's a strong term.  "It's got wood grips!" was my first thought.  This is NOT what I had in mind.  But after I hefted its all-steel frame and felt the satisfying whump of its decently balanced recoil, I was sold.
Just like that, at 36 years old, after a late night transaction in a remote, dimly lit, Taco Bell parking lot, my first gun was Hungarian Hi-Power clone: the FEG PJK-9HP.  The seller even threw in a couple of boxes of ammo.  And that, I think, has been the most interesting part of this whole exercise.  I was amazed at how cheap and how easy it is to pick up a gun.  I simply put the word out that I was interested and scoped a few shops.  When dealing with individuals, there's no government intervention.  It's like shopping for an extra Snoopy sippy cup at a garage sale.  If it looks clean, take it home.
Since then, I've picked up a few extra mags off Gunbroker and a paddle holster from Target Masters.  I've read a year's worth of Guns & Ammo and gone out a few times to a range near us to blown stuff up.  All that's made me the same guy I was pre-gun; I now just know some range etiquette and the difference between a .22LR and a .22Magnum.
There are folks on both coasts and quite a few through the middle of this great country who shake their heads and think, "What pitiful stuff... a waste."  But I'm not carrying the piece to the Mall or keeping it hidden 'neath my pillow in case some black-hat traipses through the door with nefarious deeds in mind.  It is what it is: an intricate example of mechanics, an interesting sidelight on a Saturday afternoon, another piece of gear... That makes a very loud boom and pretty little groups at 25 yards.
Anybody wanna throw some lead downrange this weekend?