Euchre, or something like it.

It's 7:00 on a saturday morning, and a man's thoughts turn to Euchre.

Not true.   It turned to Euchre yesterday.  
On the way to family game night at my daughter's school.

"It's family game night", I thought to myself.   And in my family, for many generations, "family game" equals.... euchre.

For those of you who don't know what euchre is..... I pity your ignorance.  a crucial part of your upbringing was missed.  You are incomplete.  How sad.

No, wait.     For those of you that don't know what euchre is, it's a card game.  Typically played by two teams of two people.   It can be adjusted and modified to play three man, or even two man euchre.
But for the sake of this post, we'll just stick with the traditional 2 on 2.

And this game has been the centerpiece of my family's get-togethers since before I was born.
I learned to play when I was... eight years old, I think.   Over some winter holiday when my not-very-healthy grandparents were visiting, and... it was how we could interact with them.  They were not up for much else.    And since it was the one thing that everyone did on both sides of the family when they were together, it seemed like a good skill to obtain.

And it was.   We had more fun with grandma Murray that morning than I can recall ever having before, or after.  And we were in the club.  We had the tools to more fully participate in all subsequent family visits.  Doors were opened.   Interactions with grandparents and aunts and uncles took on greater depth.

Laughter, always laughter, ensued.  And continues to ensue, whenever the cards come out...

Today, 37 years after my first game,  memories of random euchre game moments, quotes from my grandma, a woman who at age 90 could still hold her own at the euchre table, more so than in many aspects of her life; family legend.... thick with euchre references.

That one time, 20 years ago, when so and so euchred my loan.  
"Aunty Missy Cards"
"Dad could go alone with a hand consisting of a Subway punch card, two uno cards, a beer coaster and a get out of jail free card..."

And I delight in the fact that my nieces and nephews have picked the game up and are carrying the tradition on...

Little known fact about euchre.   It's magic.
24 cards can generate untold amounts of conversation and laughter.   Not just for the four people playing, but for the numerous others who are sitting around, watching, kibitzing.   Because when those 24 cards are in play, it's where the fun is.

On a non-family side note:   It's magic does not end at family gatherings.     I was delighted, upon going away to college, to discover that euchre was not an "Ohio thing", and that lots of people for SE MI grew up playing it as well.   It was nothing short of amazing how the same game, the same 24 cards, could put you in a room with virtual strangers, and in moments you were laughing with new friends.
It all started with someone sticking their head into your doorway.
"We need a 4th for euchre.  do you play?"
F*ck yes I play!    

And strangers become friends,

Anyhow, back to family game night...

Peeling it all back, removing the cards, the table, the ritual of it all, it boils down to tradition.
"Euchre"  doesn't HAVE to be... euchre.

But I hope, for all my friends out there, that you grew up a "Euchre" in your family.
And my hope for all who read this is that they pass their euchre along and down and keep it going.

My daughter just walked in, clutching a bear, all sleepy-eyed.
Good morning, peanut.

"What are you writing about?"
"Euchre."
"What's that?"
"It's a card game.  You're gonna love it in a couple of years..."

It was too good of a deal to pass up....

Happy New Years, everyone.

We happened to be walking past a new consignment shop this past saturday.
(4 days ago.  4 LONG days ago...)

And there, in the window of the shop, was an extremely cute headboard / footboard with matching bedside table.    It was perfect for Fiona's room.

Fiona's 5.5 years old, and has been on us recently to buy her a bedside table.  She likes the ones in our room, and apparently feels she would benefit from having a similar convenience next to her own bed.

So, there the pieces were in the window.    Whilst we had not planned to furniture shop that afternoon, we also have learned to maintain flexibility in such matters, over time.

"I'm almost positive I've seen these exact pieces in __________ catalog"  Wendy mentions quietly to me as we enter the store.
"They're wicked expensive."

So we look around a bit, find a very nice guy to help us, we looked at the pieces, and at the extremely reasonable prices on them, taked the guy down a bit, and ended up purchasing the bed and table.

How could we not?  It was just too good a deal to pass up.

"Does it come with rails?"  I asked before we left.

Nope, but they should attach to any standard frame.......

We stop by a hardware store near the consignment shop, a ndget the requisite bolts, nuts and washers for it.

We get it home, and go online and see the frame in the catalog, and congratulate ourselves on getting such a great deal.

And.... the metal frame that Fiona's bed is sitting on, does not have footboard attachments.

Strike one.

No problem, I hate the metal frame in the spare room, we'll buy a new one for Fiona's room, and use hers in the spare room.  

6 phone calls later, I find a place that both sells the frame I need, AND has it in stock.  And it's only.... 30 minutes away.     But closes in 10 minutes.

Sunday morning, I took a drive to the bed store that had the frame, bought it (for more than the headboard and footboard cost me) and realized I'd need narrower bolts....   Stopped at another hardware store on the way home from the bed store, made sure I had the right bolts for the new frame, and got home.

Only to discover that the large holes that were pre-drilled on the head/footboard did not line up with the new bed frame, and therefore would not line up with any standard  bed frame.

Strike two.

What to do, what to do... ponder...ponder.... ponder.....     I set up the new frame, it's easy peasy, and put Fiona's bed on it.  At least she'll be able to sleep.   I took her old frame to the spare room, swapped it out with the frame-I-hate, and took solace in the fact that at least something worked out just the way I pictured it.  

After much deliberation and lots of swearing, I decide that there's one more thing I can try, before taking an ax to our too-good-of-a-deal-to-pass-up.   I can measure new frame holes against the wood of the head/footboard, and very carefully drill new, small holes, attaching the boards to the frame in a way that would keep them from being weight-bearing.   Attach them for strictly cosmetic reasons, in other words.

I got a pencil, lined it all up, realized it would be close but  juuuuuuusssssttttt doable, as long as I did not allow them to be be load bearing.   No problem......

Went to a 3rd hardware store for the narrow bolts (and nuts and washers); the drill bit that would be exactly the right size; and a wee-tiny little wrench for tightening the wee tiny nuts onto the wee tiny bolts.    Get 'em all home, and.... the battery on my drill is dead.


#$^($%&(#$^( GOD #($%^&(#$%&(@#$^(GOAT F(#$%^&(#$^(#% SUCKER!!!

I had used the drill for, like... 2 minutes, 3 days earlier, and didn't pop the battery out and plug it back in.....

Strike 3.  
(At least.  I'm not counting each individual trip to a hardware store as a separate strike...)


Fast forward to today.   The drill's fully charged, the holes are drilled as planned, everything lines up, and.... the bolts are too long.   I chose the side of caution when I bought them, and... they won't work.

Back to the hardware store, shorter bolts, come home, slap it together and.... there it is, looking cute in Fiona's room, and she's terribly excited about the whole thing.

And we are too, because it was simply too good of a deal to pass up.

(If I don't think about the fact that I've spent 4x more on frames and gas and bolts and drill bits and wrenches and band aids and the $$$ my time is worth.... )

Not sure about y'all, but this is, sadly, not that unusual.     I've dozens of tiny plastic bags of various nails and nuts and such from hardware stores all over south suburban chicago in my tool box, each trip costing me less than $5, and therefore not worth a special trip just to return them.

But it's a new year, and a new me, and I've already been back to the first of those stores, with my little plastic bag o' bolts.

"You want to RETURN these?"  they ask, with a certain astonishment
Yep.  here's the receipt.

"And here's your... $3.80."  they say in return with a "Don't spend it all in one place..." undertone.  

I put the most of the refund right into a donation canister for some charity, on the counter at the hardware store.

"Thanks!"  I reply cheerfully, as I stuffed most of it into the canister.

 I haven't felt this good in 4 days.....

Cobb, Clemente, Rose, and... this blog

Hey, everyone.   

Hit a kinda cool milestone the other day, with this thing.

It received it's 3000th hit.

See, that's why I listed Cobb, Clemente and Rose in the post title.

It's a baseball reference. 3000 hits... big milestone for ball players...

never mind.

I started this, 4.5 years ago, just.. because.   Because it was suggested by someone who made it sound like fun.   Because I'm lazy about writing unless I impose deadlines / assignments for myself.

Because... I could.

And I was fairly sure it would just sit out there on "the internets" without anyone reading it.   

And it sorta did, for awhile. 

And then y'all started checking it out a bit, and a bit more....

Anyhow  - Thanks everyone.  Thanks to those who read it, follow it, occasionally comment on it.

Hope that you continue to get something out of the transaction, moving forward.  

Thoughts at Christmas 2012

Seems, in reviewing past history here, that I’m in need of at least one “Christmas-related” entry, to keep the multi-year streak alive.   

Thoughts at Christmas, 2012.

We’re not sure our daughter believes in Santa.
She's only five years old.

I remember lying awake in a bedroom I shared with my brother in the farmhouse my family was renting at the time, when I was five.   It was Christmas eve, and at one point in the night, we SWORE we heard sleigh bells.    

But like with most kids, by the time the folks made it official, we were ready to accept it as gospel.  The logistics of the operation simply made it too much to accept.

Back to my daughter:   She doesn’t get excited about Santa, doesn’t ask a lot of questions about him. 

“Do you want to watch this Christmas cartoon?”
 “No thanks, how about a Wild Kratts?”

Maybe this has as much to do with the fact that Rankin Bass made really… bad cartoons, as it is an issue of Santa belief.   

(See old post, highlighting top 5 holiday tv shows.  No I’m serious. Go find it, read it, and come back.  Now!  I’m going to count to five…)

 I’m quite sure that if there is doubt, the fact that she’s seen him in 4 different places in the last 10 days, and he tends to look quite different each time, doesn’t help.

“If he’s Santa, and is getting ready for Christmas, why is he posing for photos in my gym?” she may be thinking to herself.   And at the zoo, and in a parking lot at the village community center, and at a freakin’ pancake breakfast….

And likely at another pancake breakfast, this coming weekend.   (Yay pancakes!)

He’s freakin’ everywhere.   

Can’t believe we  actually stood in line and spent money to get pictures taken with him at the mall, in 2010. 

 

But if she isn’t buying it, she’s not saying so, and how do you broach the subject with your child?          

So, hon – you believe in Santa or what?
Of course I do, daddy.  Why do you ask?

Oh… uh… no reason.  Have a cookie.

Which leads to a serious issue:  If you’re not active in a church, and Santa’s not a big deal, what do you do to instill a sense of wonder and magic in your five year old, for Christmas? 

This has been weighing heavily on me the last couple of weeks, as I don’t want it to be simply about receiving presents.   

And at what age can you hope to get her to understand  why it’s better to give than to receive; why the story of Scrooge is so meaningful?

Confession: I struggle with getting excited about Christmas, every year.  

You dedicate so much time and effort into the gearing up for it, preparing for it, shopping, decorating..What are we gonna cook on Christmas eve, what are we gonna cook for our dinner on Christmas day; did we make sure that all the kids on the list got equal treatment; can we finally remove ____ from our extended gifting list, as we didn’t get anything from them last year… blah blah blah…..  

   

Jesus.    

And while I write this, I know we behave this way  because we DO care about each other; we do love the kids on our list, we DO want to instill a sense of importance and relevancy to the day…

 And I approach Christmas for myself with no expectations, yet still manage to frequently feel a sense of disappointment,  which is stupid, and all on me, and I know it, but… there it is.      

And I really don’t want my daughter, who’s already happy and full of imagination and wonder and whimsy, to grow up feeling the same way.  

Not on my watch, anyhow.  

Confessions of a dad. #1

Confessions of a Dad.  #1

So, last night, I went in the tank, when playing “Sorry!” with my daughter.

I threw it. 

She needed one specific card to win, and the deck needed shuffling anyhow…

I saw the card, and made sure that she’d get it, on her 2^nd turn. 

This was no professional grade slight of hand. Those who’ve played euchre with me over the last 35 years know that I actually suck at stacking decks, and therefore simply never bother to try.    

She’s five, you see.  And was far too busy playing with her game pieces and talking to her mom to pay any attention to what I was doing….

Ok darlin’, it’s your turn… Hey!  It’s the card you need!  You won!  Great job sweety!.   Not bad for your first try at the game.

Now go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas.

I love you, but it was getting really late, and you WERE ahead,  so probably would have won eventually, and we all had lots of fun….

It was getting really late…

Which brings me to bedtime stories.

Sometimes, I… skim a bit.   Less so now that you’re older, and better able to follow narratives.  

The Little House on The Prairie books?  

I skimmed the shit out of those.   

So much for my father of the year award.

A whole page spent on describing the minutia of dress making cira 1880?  Gray poplin under skirt, with enough room for hoops in case…….

Oh, hell no.  I’m a DAD!!!  Skim!  

You really didn’t miss anything important, I’m pretty sure.

But I WAS reading to you.  Snuggled up with you on your bed, reading you chapter books that I knew you were enjoying, modulating my voice as it got later and later, to become a little quieter, a little more soothing… 

So, no harm, no foul, right? Can I have a hug?

Excellent.

Oh, and sometimes, when we say “it’s time to go.  2 more minutes!” when you are not done having fun yet?

There’s no real reason for it.  “time to go”  is relative sometimes, based solely on a whim, on how we feel about it at that very moment. 

It's a harsh reality, best not to think about it too much.

Would you like me to read you a book?  maybe play a board game?

When kayaks attack, or... I had it coming....

So, my kayak attacked me this morning.

I built it a nice rack to hang upon, on the wall of my garage.  

And there it was, laying in wait this morning.

And there I was, minding my own business, sliding by it to get into my car to go to work, like I have done countless mornings before.

All of the sudden, I found myself snared, entangled in the strap I keep on the front end of it.  It had wrapped itself around my lunch pail and neck.    

Keeping my cool, I spun myself free, and hopped into the car, quickly shutting the door behind me.  I looked out the driver’s side window, to make sure there would be no further aggression, and drove out of the garage.

Oddly enough, I understand.  I haven’t really been there for it.  I’ve not given it the attention it deserves.   We never go out anymore, I never take it anywhere nice…

Our relationship’s never been overly exciting, more a casual thing than any kind of serious commitment.   We go out and have fun together a couple of times a summer, maybe I’ll let it go on vacation with me if the circumstances are right.   But, up until now, it's worked for me, and I assumed for it as well.

But for whatever reason, it’s not moved from its nice rack, so far this calendar year.

If this is the kayak’s reaction to a year of me not paying it enough attention, I dread going anywhere near the corner of the basement where my fishing gear is stored.  

Yeah, we had a lovely weekend away together in Wisconsin, back in May.   But since then….

And since my fishing gear is full of pointy metal objects and knives and lead weights, I could be in big trouble, if I turn my back at the wrong time.     

Bad things could happen.

And my pristine, unwrinkled, so-clean-you-could-eat-off-of-it IL fishing license will sit on the shelf, laughing as it all goes down.  

On the other hand, my camping gear should LOVE me, as we dusted IT off, and took it away for a weekend in the woods for the first time in over six years, a few weeks ago.

And it was awesome, and smelled of promise of more to come.    

And wood smoke.

And Citronella oil.

Maybe that’s what promise smells like, to camping gear….

Anyhow, you’d think it would have my back, protect me from violent kayak-tic outbursts.

Where’s the gratitude?

Matchmaker matchmaker... thoughts on recruiters

Given my rather rarified career choice, I get calls and emails from random recruiters on a fairly regular basis.      In this economy, I feel blessed about this fact.

Truly, and without joke.  I am lucky that I get those calls and emails.


But at the same time- I have learned to approach all of these calls with caution and at best guarded optimism.  

Honestly, I'm shocked how many of these folks are out there, and also shocked that so many of them seem to make a good living at this.

You've been at this for 15 years?  But... but... you're kind of a goof....

Sure, Bob, I remember talking to you a couple months back, about that opportunity in suburban bumf*ck.  We talked about the fact that as long as it was an opportunity here, and not in someplace like suburban bumf*ck, I'd be happy to talk to you again.   Another opportunity? Awesome, where?
Really? Suburban Bumf*ck again?   It's actually the same exact position?  Please lose my phone number.

And you over there, you just took an hour of my life up, giving me hard hitting interview tips like.... don't swear, don't talk with a mouth full of food, and wear a freakin' tie.
And this is the chat I couldn't have while driving, in case I needed to write down some of this important information?
The tie, by the way, that you won't even bother to verify is really necessary, given that it's more and more accepted that the interviewee match the dress code of the company who's interviewing him. Oh and given that it's after hours at a bargain family restaurant chain...
By the way, can I assume they're buying me dinner?
You don't KNOW???????  Can you find out?  You can't????

How will they know who I am, to meet me?  I'll be the only guy in a freakin' suit, the guy that everyone else in the place is staring at.

(And that's pretty much exactly how it went down...)

And YOU....YOU.... were contracted to submit non-local candidates for consideration, but didn't even bother to ask if they'd be willing to do a phone interview?  I'd really like to do the first round over the phone.   No?  Can you at least inquire?  They must realize they're half a day's drive away... You don't want to alienate them by pushing for it?  okay doke.

While it WAS a lovely day for a 3.5 hour drive to the potential employer, I knew less than five minutes into the interview that I didn't want the job, and that they didn't want me.
But I drove 3.5 hours, so my desire to say "well, I've heard enough, do you validate?" was kept at bay...
Oh, but you wanted feedback after the interview?
Ok, here's your feedback.
A phoner would have been really damn handy.  But I found a nice cheese shop by the interstate, if you're driving through the area there....

In my youth, my mom approached me about asking out the daughter of a coworker of hers.
She said that the daughter had seen my picture, and thought I was cute.   So, I went on what was the most disastrous and uncomfortable date of my young life.   No kiss, home by 8:30, a dozen words exchanged all evening.  Movie even sucked....

Mom, what the hell?    turns out, the COWORKER saw my picture, and thought I was cute, and would be a good date for her daughter, who maybe, just maybe, liked her men a little more.... trashy.
But, wait.  the coworker thought I was cute?? Maybe I had a better shot with her.

Bad communication, less than complete honesty and understanding of the players and the game.....
While I never encouraged my mother to repeat her attempt at matchmaking, I happily take calls and emails from strangers, who are no better equipped, informationally speaking.


With a few exceptions (great exceptions that keep my mind open to those calls and emails), I've never spoken to so many people that consistently know so little about the one task they've been given to complete.

Last week was a fine example.   Random guy does a word search on Linked In, and gets my name.
He has an awesome opportunity.    He tells me about it, and...it sounds familiar.   And I check old emails, and find that a completely DIFFERENT random person from a completely different random company tried to get my interest in the exact same position, over two months ago.

Against my better judgement, I involved myself in his quest.  And... after a week he confesses that his client did not want even want to look at my credentials.
Didn't want my....??????  WTF?
They weren't looking at any more candidates, at this time.

You're recruiting me without even knowing whether or not they're still looking for candidates?
Awesome.  Top notch, Spaulding!   Top notch!

You've got a girl you think would be perfect for me?  Sounds niiiiice.  Set it up!

What's that, she's ENGAGED?  To another woman??
On who's behalf were you calling me, exactly?

I get it.  Really.   You operate within a business model that states you get no $$$ if your potential client does not hire someone you present to them.  So it's in your best interest to cast a wide net.

And I'll gladly let you cast your wide net onto me, every time, because... you simply never know.

Maybe this girl will be different. Maybe she'll smell nice and bathe regularly, and have a good sense of humor, and like good music, and have a job, and no anger issues, and be physically aggressive in a good way....


But can y'all tighten it up a bit?   And ask better questions, get better answers, and assume, if I have the background you're looking for, that I am a professional?   And never, ever, forget that YOU called ME?

Please?