What Takes Twenty-three Years to Happen?

Well, twenty-three years, of course. In that amount of time, sixteen-year-olds become thirty-nine. A thirty-two-year-old becomes … never mind that part. A lot happens in that many years. And for those of us who wander about like some sort of lost Gypsies, a lot of ground gets covered as well.

Which leads me to share about an unlikely reunion.

It was 1993 when we left Alaska. My growing family, two cats, and all of our worldly possessions were bundled into the Warthog and the Getwangefargen, and we headed for America.

Some people don't get it that Alaskans feel isolated from the mainland, and we probably will never be able to explain it, so just take that at face value. As for the funny names, the Warthog was our '75 Dodge Power Wagon, full time 4x4, which was seemingly indestructible. It was ugly, with more rust than steel, but it never quit. The Getwangefargen was our boat. Trust me on this one, there's a long story to the name. And all of our worldly possessions really amounted to a bunch of junk we held on to. Some things never change.

It was a sad departure in many ways, not the least of which was leaving behind friends whom we had acquired and grown to love during those years. But, after many years, twenty-three actually, and unimaginable circumstances, we were able to reconnect with some of those old friends in Memphis, Tennessee, of all places.

It was our son's senior recital at Visible Music College, just a week ago. Our friends saw the information on Facebook. Yes, I know it's fashionable to hate on Facebook, but we have had a number of good things come about from the popular social media site.

Meanwhile, our friends had relocated to a southern state. And since they were within striking distance of Memphis, they decided to meet us there. It was a fabulous time which brought forth a flash flood of memories. I'm sure I shed a few tears during the weekend.

So I present this nostalgic little tidbit as a peek into my world. Kay and daughter Grace are pictured here with us. Often, in Alaska, we did our laundry at Kay's house. And Grace used to babysit our kids. There are so many more stories to this story, so stay tuned.

As an odd piece of trivia, the room we were in was called the Green Room because it is the prep room for the musicians before they go on stage. The name apparently has nothing to do with its actual color.

Poorly Timed Genius

There is nothing like a fifteen-hour drive to feed the internal invention machine. For the record, I would never classify myself as genius. I have known a couple of bona fide geniuses, and I'm not in that club.

Occasionally, however, I feel like I have had an ingenious idea. And this is one of those days.

So, let's cut the small talk and get straight to the invention. I don't dress in shirts that button all the way, all that often. I'm a much more casual creature than that. My wife might even say I dress like an unkempt hobo. I prefer to think of it as Alaskan Formal. But every great once in a while I do put on a shirt that buttons all the way up.

Of recent I have noticed that those shirts have a few extra buttons sewn on the inside seam, so when a button gets lost, voilà, said shirt can be redeemed with a matching button. But those clever little clothing designers in their French Rivera bungalows have missed a strategic trick.

Now I want to take a moment to revel in my victory. Those shirts have extra buttons, but no extra buttonholes!

What if a buttonhole wears out just minutes before a speaker is scheduled to make an important public presentation? Is there an emergency tailor line one could call? I don't think so!

If you had a few spare buttonholes already sewn into the shirt, even a nincompoop-level sewing novice, such as myself, could simply relocate the hole!

Talk about saving the day. Wow!

There is only one drawback to my invention. Unfortunately that problem is as old as time itself, and even Solomon, the wise king of ancient times, acknowledged it. Everything has a season, and this just probably is not the right season for my brilliance to be recognized.

Maybe if I had shared this on the first day of March, or the first day of May, people would have taken it seriously. But I bow to the whimsy of public opinion and say, Happy April, my friends.

Riding First Class

“I don't always let my books go into retail stores, but when I do, they go into classy ones!”

Haha! With a reader base in the neighborhood of thousands and not millions (so far), I can't really be picky about which stores my books go into. Up to this point, my marketing plan has consisted primarily of a website base and word of mouth. That's not exactly the fast track to fame and fortune. In fact, it may not even qualify as a plan. But that is all right with me, because today we have a breakthrough.

The Adventures of Boathouse Mouse - A New Adventure, A New Name is officially stocked in the Jarrett Bay Boathouse in downtown Beaufort, North Carolina! That is down on the beautiful waterfront, and if you have never been to Beaufort, put it next on your to-do list.

I've never traveled first class, but I'm delighted to say the Jarrett Bay Boathouse is a first-class place! And it gets even better. They are stocking Boathouse Mouse in the Jarrett Bay Store in the North Hills Shopping Center in Raleigh, North Carolina, as well!

So, be sure to stop in and visit the great folks that run those stores, and pick up your copy of A New Adventure, A New Name. There is some chance you may also find some other treasures in those places. And it may be possible to pre-order your copy of The Cat and the River Thames, the soon-to-be-released Book 2 in the Adventures of Boathouse Mouse.

Thank you Jarrett Bay Boathouse!

Special thanks to Tracy Merkley for the photo.

JARRETT BAY BOATHOUSE
507 Front Street, Beaufort, NC 28516
Phone: (252) 728-6363

JARRETT BAY
4209 Lassiter Mill Road, Suite 126, Raleigh, NC 27609
Phone: (919) 803-1990

Coffee Must Be a Sedative on My Home Planet

I have never felt like I fit in. Not in school, not in work, not in any place I've ever lived, and not even at any job I've had. I guess I am a genuine misfit.

In kindergarten, when all the kids were happily running about the playground being kids, I stood off to the side just out of vocal range of the teacher. From my position of relative isolation, I happily observed all the human children playing. It was a great time of data collecting. Humans are a peculiar species.

I knew back then that I did not fit in and I even cried when I had to stay for kindergarten lunch. When all the other kids would be excited for the big event, I hid behind the door until the tears dried. Only then would I enter that big room with all the other kids.

So much for kindergarten nostalgia.

My parents always pretended that we were indigenous to this planet. But in my later years, I've suspected that was a cover story. Maybe they just wanted us to blend in. Or maybe they were refugees from a troubled galaxy. Maybe even it was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Sorry, I couldn't resist that one. The sad truth is, blending in has not worked out so well.

Despite all that, I do enjoy one hobby that is common among normal people on this planet. I like coffee. There is only one problem with coffee and me. Coffee does not wake me up, it relaxes me. In fact, I can fall asleep drinking coffee. I do so often. The only time it has ever awakened me was when I spilled hot coffee on myself as I dozed off in the car.

No, I was not driving at the time.

So, if you ever find yourself nodding off with a cup of coffee in your hands … there is some chance we came from the same planet.

The Day the Cat Ate My Avocado

I suppose he technically did not actually eat my avocado. It was more like he kidnapped it and mauled it.

That day was today. It all started as an innocent plan to have tacos for dinner. In the morning, I set the avocado out on the counter to make sure I would remember it, since I don't always get those decadent little treats. Why the cat got on the counter is a simple enough mystery. He got up there because he was not supposed to. That's why cats do anything.

The real question is, what in the world compelled him to knock it off the counter, drag it into the next room, then proceed to maul it? My theory is our cat has a grizzly bear complex. I'm almost sure of it. He thinks he is a grizzly bear!

Like a grizzly bear, he prowls around looking for some unsuspecting migratory animal to get separated from its herd. And since we live in North Carolina, and there are no caribou wandering through our kitchen, he spotted the most likely candidate: my avocado! Instinctively, he channeled his inner grizzly bear, and the rest is history.

For the record, my tacos were fine without the avocado, even though it was a substantial let down. But while the cat is strutting around victoriously, I am plotting revenge.

The next time my wife breaks out the cat treats, I'll be ready. When she throws the treats for the cats …