1. I go to the school for an interview. I guess I ace the interview because not long after I leave, I get a call that they want me to substitute teach for the position until the end of the week to make sure we were a fit for each other. I get happy. I drive back to the school to get paperwork done. I’m told, “See you tomorrow,” and sent on my way. I’m still happy but I begin to realize I just took a job that will test me by fire. I start freaking. A little.
2. I pick up the family along the way home. We walk in the door. The house smells like rotten eggs. “Gas,” I think. I freak again. I call the gas company. They check around. They test. No gas leak. Was coming from somewhere else. I stop freaking until I remember the job.
3. I go to bed and wake up. There’s ice on the roads. They’re salting them so it will ok. I take a shower and get ready for work. I head out. Car slides backwards. I freak. I call the school and tell them the situation. They understand and ask me to come when the roads are clear. I stop freaking until I remember I’m still going to the job. Seniors. They have teeth.
4. The roads clear because the sun comes out. I get happy. I start driving to work. In front of me are a few cars that decide that 35 is the new 55. I snail my way to work about an hour later than expected. I freak again because they really wanted me to be there for at least one certain class. I walk in and it’s the end of that class, but enough time to introduce me to them. I stop freaking until I realize the seniors are my next class. I mentioned seniors have teeth, right?

And that was my last 24 hours. I had amazingly good luck getting the job. The other was bad luck. No. I mean really bad luck. Or so I thought. But then I remembered Haiti.

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As I tumbled into the warm sheets I felt that tightness in my chest. It felt odd. It felt different. But then I felt that skipping heart beat. I called my doctor the next day. I wish I hadn’t and I’m glad I did.

I was waiting quietly in a room. I’m only 35 and therefore feel like maybe I took a wrong turn somewhere down the road. Everyone in the building is in their 70s or older. It felt like those dreams of being caught in your underwear walking down the hallway at school. But I waited. Patiently. It’s easy to do that when you smoke. I remember those times. When I smoked and could wait patiently. But I get ahead of myself.

I was asked to come to the back room. They attached a few cold pieces of plastic and metal to my skin. I just knew a large switch on the wall was going to be pulled soon and all of this would be over. But that didn’t happen. Instead, I walked on a treadmill for 4 minutes. Yeah. Only 4 minutes. Sheesh. There had to be something wrong. Then they took pictures of my heart. I was claustrophobic. Not anymore. I then was able to go eat and hang out until they took more pictures of my heart. But the IV had to stay in my hand. I looked like an escaped mental patient. Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing a hospital gown. Oh wait. I did. Later.

See, something was odd about that stress test. The heart doctor said I must get a heart cath done. I am told that a heart cath is where they make a hole in your nether regions and push a tube up into your heart to take some pictures of the inside. That is all I’m told. I’ve never heard of a heart cath before. Nether regions? Exactly where would this hole be? What size tube? How come I’m not allowed to eat anything for 18 hours before doing this? Are they scared I’ll relieve myself once I see what is going to happen to me? This scares me.

Then the day comes when I dress in the hospital gown, down a couple of “the good pills” and lie down on a cold metal slab only to wake up talking like a 2-year-old with a severe case of ADHD and wondering why there’s pressure on my right leg. About an hour later I wake up again, this time with purple bumblebees flying in my room and the doctor telling me I have a head like a bowling ball. 30 minutes later my wife tells me those purple bumblebees were not in existence and that the doctor actually said I had the heart of a 25-year-old. Since I’m 35, I guess that’s a good thing.

So my doctor gives me Nexium. Turns out, it was indigestion. But hey… I managed to quit smoking and gain 30 pounds. Oh, and now I really do have ADHD since I no longer have nicotine to curb it. There’s got to be a lesson in there somewhere. I just can’t find it.

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Then she was born.

Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself here. She wasn’t born instantly as we all know. She began as a mood in my wife. Guys with kids know that mood. It’s that swinging mood that punches us in the face or kisses us behind the ear. Then it was the craving mood. Ice cream and pickles? I hear people mention that one every once in a while. Sorry guys. It’s normally much weirder than that. I’m not going to describe the combination of food that my wife craved because if you’ve just eaten your food won’t stay in your stomach.

Finally, I got used to the moods. But the moods were easy compared to the days in the hospital. Those days when your wife is screaming as if the child is ripping through her very heart on the way out. She’s screaming in such a manner that you’d do anything to take the pain away. So then the other screaming starts. The screaming that comes form the husband to the nurses to get his wife some darn pain medication. Then there’s the scream of the husband as his hands get crushed by his wife. And finally, there’s the scream of the child.

It’s a beautiful sound. Or so I’m told. They took her in the delivery room while I was outside talking to my mother. “Oh, it’ll be another 20 minutes Mr. White.” “Ooops. Sorry. She was ready in 5.” Thank you very much Ms. Nurse.

But then I saw her. My daughter. And I fell in love for the second time in my life.

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I sat in a chair facing the open door to my house staring at our van parked in the driveway. Just three days before, I had been watching mechanics use their tools on the van. The impact wrenches sounded like they were jack hammering holes into my van. But this… this was different. This was five or six limbs laying on the top of my van. Not little limbs that would break off during a normal storm, but thick limbs from the trees that surrounded our house.

The sky was a scary shade of gray with very small amounts of natural light allowing me to see it. The power was off on our street, so no safe, secure artificial light to block the true horror of that sky. The rain was not falling nearly as much as I thought it would be. This was a hurricane. “Where’s the water?” I asked myself. It’s not like we needed it. The wind was a fear unto itself. Trees in the distance bent over as if to tie their shoes. I listened as one very large tree cracked across the street. I watched as it fell on the power line behind the house directly in my sight. The boom made my chair vibrate.

“So this is a hurricane?” I had always wanted to see one for myself. Guess it was my curiosity. But now, I never wanted to see one again. Another tree fell. The next thought was my daughter. She was in the top bunk of her bunk bed, close to the ceiling. I imagined a tree falling and going through our roof to hurt her. I got up out of my chair and rushed into the room to have her move into our bedroom with my wife. After she quickly fell back asleep, I headed back to the door. Katrina was calling me, wanting to show me her strength, wanting me to bow to her power. I couldn’t help myself. I obliged her every whim.

>BOOM<

Another tree had fallen. This one was much closer, but I couldn’t see where it fell. I raced to the back door to look out. There it was. A pine tree. It had been beaten by the angry woman and was lying still about two meters from the back of our house. It’s bark was being ripped away by the harsh winds. I could almost hear it scream as it was being skinned alive.

>BOOM<

This one didn’t land in the back yard. So again, I rushed to the other side of the house. Lying there in front, about the same distance as the one in the back, was another victim of the storm. This one was oak. The wind forced it to lift its shallow roots out of the ground. But it would live for a while longer. Its roots would not go thirsty because the rain began to fall harder.

(To Be Continued – Comments will make it come sooner than later)

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Kristen: Ahhhhh, thanks. Very nice of you. I’m honored. You realize though that this makes you my best friend. I’ll buy us matching bracelets and everything. :)

Me: Cool! One of those two-pieces-of-a-heart ones? I like those. ;)

Kristen: OK, but only if it’s made out of certified organic, biodegradable, zero-calorie, hypoallergenic, non-comedogenic, non-toxic, not-from-China, PETA approved materials, is labeled with a warning to not let children under 3-years-old play with it, and has earned the Better Homes and Gardens quality seal of approval. Oh, and can we get it in bright orange?

Me: I completely agree, except with the orange. How about orange and pink polka dots?

Kristen: Brilliant! You and I should go into fashion design together.

Me: From student, to blogger, to dieter, to fashion designer? Ok. Let’s do it. ;)

Kristen: Cool! You get to pick the brand logo. I vote for pickles.

Me: How about mustard and pickles? Then the name could be “Must Pick Clothing” ;)

Kristen: Awesome! Then we could have runway shows and all the models will wear pickle costumes with mustard hats.

Me: Ooo! Ooo! The models could ride Harleys onto the stage!

Kristen: You realize what this means, don’t you? Orange with pink polka-dots fashion lines with our pickle and mustard logo and our models wearing pickle suits and mustard hats and riding Harleys on a fashion runway. It means that we’re more than just simple fashion designers. We’re artists, man. And that means we’ll get to charge lots of money for people to buy our stuff. We’ll have to open boutiques in shopping malls and maybe even a grand shop on Rodeo Drive in BH, CA where we’ll serve lattes and Champagne to the rich and famous, who will, of course, beg to buy our clothes (but we’ll laugh at them and refuse because of their recent tabloid scandals). And we can host huge parties filled with people we don’t actually care about just so we can sit back and make fun of them as they try to impress us. Then we’ll expand into other mediums like custom oil paint pigments and lawn gnome designs. Before long, we’ll be able to run for governor and work our way up to president, and, of course, finally, achieve the status of Emperor of the World. We’re starting a revolution, my friend.

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Since I’ve become an active member in the blogging community I’ve gotten to read tons of marketing blogs. They also basically spout the same information over and over so I’ve about learned it by heart. So I decided to have some fun this time. The conversation went like this:

Me: “Hello?”
Him: “Mr. White. I have an exciting offer to tell you about…”
Me: “Would you like to monetize your phone calls?”
Him: “I’m sorry sir?”
Me: “Monetize your phone calls. You know. Make money with your phone calls?”
Him: “Yes sir. I’m a telemarketer. Now this offer…”
Me: “Have you ever heard of Con Jow?”
Him: “Con Jow?”
Me: “Yes. He’s a well known phone call monetizer throughout the callosphere.”
Him: “The call o what?”
Me: “Nevermind. My point is that he recommends that you use Callvertiser to monetize your calls.”
Him: “Sir. I’m trying to tell you about a cruise, so let me tell you about the different stops…”
Me: “Callvertiser can benefit your calling business tremendously. Throughout your calls audio ads will interrupt and get the caller’s attention so they can buy products from you as an affiliate.”
Him: “One stop is in Cancun and the water is lov…”
Me: “Grab a pen.”
Him: “Grab a pen sir?”
Me: “Yes. Grab a pen. I want you to take down this number real quick.”
Him: “Ok sir.”
Me: “The number is 1-800-382-5968. Make sure to dial extension 3825.”
Him: “Is this your office sir?”
Me: “No, that’s my affiliate phone number to Callvertiser. You’ll learn everything you need to know about this great service there.”
Him: >click<

It was nice to be the one hung up on this time. So, next time a telemarketer calls, have a little fun. You might even start looking forward to 8 o’clock at night. I know I can’t wait. And thank you Internet marketers for the “ammo.” I appreciate it much.

And before you mention it, yes, I know there’s a list. This was more fun though.

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See, after my escapade to Wal-Mart and Lowe’s yesterday, I swore my life as a cool human was over. Well, my life as a cool human is over depending on the definition of the word. But temperature wise, I was getting worried. Ok, so the weather was supposed to be colder come Thursday, and as a reader pointed out, that’s the same day the air conditioner guys are coming. But today, it became 90 degrees in my house.

90 degrees. Did I mention I love the heat? Parts of my house still are 90 degrees. But not where I’m sitting. See, a friend of mine told me to try Geno’s Taxi. I’ll repeat that: A friend of mine told me to try Geno’s Taxi. Now, not being from around here, I never thought to call a taxi company for an air conditioner. For a taxi maybe. Not an air conditioner. Well, they had one. A 6000 BTU air conditioner less than 26 inches wide that could fit in my storm window and provide a layer of coolness that the pet rock could never have provided. Even has a remote, which is nifty and all, but I doubt that sucker is going to be used at the moment as I want the air conditioner to stay on.

So right now I’m typing on my daughter’s laptop because it’s still 90 degrees in my bedroom where my computer is. But in here, with a blanket covering the archway, it’s about 75 degrees and dropping. There’s a fan behind me. I am in true bliss at this moment.

However, in about 5 minutes I’m going to have to go to the bathroom, and my daughter decided to use hot water when she took a shower earlier. If I don’t suffocate from the heat, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.

Moral of the story? When you need an air conditioner, don’t go to Wal-Mart who carries heaters in 90 degree weather. Go to your local taxi company. They are much smarter about such things.

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So, we decided to go look for some window units. My daughter, wife, and I put our shoes on. We have those neat little rubber shoes with holes in them. I can’t remember what they’re called, but they have good arch support and work like sandals. This is good for me as my feet like to sweat a lot. Anyway, we load up into my best friend’s Cadillac because our van is not working very well and we’ve been borrowing his car. We borrowed his car for two reasons: 1. To not have to keep filling our van with power steering fluid. 2. For air conditioning because that’s also broke on our van. However, while borrowing it, his air conditioner stopped working also, so in 90 degree weather, we’re off to the stores. I love heat.

We pull up to Wal-Mart and practically run inside. However, my feet decided to sweat anyway, and for some reason feet don’t like to stay still on wet rubber. It’s quite slick. So, I’ll correct that, we STUMBLED inside of Wal-Mart. We head to the area where the fans and air conditioners are, and in their place, as determined by the marketing genius of the Wal-Mart corporation, are heaters. Little heaters. Big heaters. Skinny heaters. Heaters with remote controls. Heaters that use propane. Heaters that use electricity. If I was in the market for a heater, they’d have it. I ask someone where the air conditioners and fans are. “We don’t have any. But we have Christmas trees on sale.” I hope he was kidding. I love the heat.

We stumble back to the car, footprints of sweat trailing us, and head to Lowe’s. It’s only a block away. “They’ll have air conditioners. They’re Lowe’s. They’re big. They carry more of stuff like that.” At this point I’m wearing a shirt that is purely made of salt water molecules. It has transformed. I’ll call it my “ocean shirt.” So, we walk in and the air conditioner there creates an “iceberg shirt.” I’m now happy. I’m going to get an air conditioner. I walk to where the air conditioners are, and guess what I find? Heaters. Little ones. Big ones. Skinny ones. You know the drill. Of course, an aisle away are Christmas trees. I find someone and ask him where the air conditioners are. “We don’t have any. Want a tree?” I love heat.

So now, I sit at the computer in my renewed “ocean shirt” waiting for Thursday to come. That’s when the air conditioner guys come to fix ours. If they offer me a tree, I’m buying a rifle.

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There is a fairy print done by Amy Brown called “Always.” My wife loves fairies. She collects them. Well, about 3 or 4 Christmases ago, I decided I had to find something special for her. I’m not the kind of husband who hands my wife jewelry every year just to appease her. Each gift has to matter in some way. Thought must go into them. So a friend mentioned Amy Brown to me. I had never heard of her but the moment I saw her artwork I knew my wife would love it. But which one to get?

I looked through her site and found plenty of fairy pictures. There was one of a fairy holding an infant fairy. That one caught my attention because of our daughter. Then I saw other whimsical fairy pictures. But when my eyes settled on the picture above, I knew I found the right one. I loved the title: “Always” It felt as if it transcended the bounds of mortality. It was a simple word but with powerful meaning. The male fairy kneeling down to the female was a profound profession of love. I knew my wife would love it. So I ordered not only a print of it but also a gift card with it and, here’s the kicker, a statue that had been made of it.

They arrived in about 4 days. I wrapped up the gifts while my wife was off running errands and place them under the tree. When Christmas came the whole family was at our house. My daughter was wearing a “Santa’s Helper” hat and my wife was wearing the actual Santa hat we have. Angela, my wife, finally finished having my daughter hand out all of the other presents so people were absorbed in opening their gifts. But I was watching my bride carefully. She was opening her gift.

She started with the card. In it I had simply written, “I will love you… Always.” The first smile appeared on her face. She then opened the flat package and found the print of the fairies that she had just seen on the card. Her smile grew and tears began to well up. Finally, she opened the statue. She stared. She smiled. She cried. She turned to me and the world centered on her. The sounds of other presents being opened were muted. My vision omitted any sight but her. She mouthed the words, “I love you.” Even with the noise around me, I heard those words clearly and hung on to each and every syllable as time stood still for that moment.

I will love my wife always. She knows that. I know that. That picture hangs above our bed. The statue right by it. That picture is a symbol of our love and our life together in this world and the next.

Always.

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