Sitting on the uncomfortable little split couch in Parsons Hall watching a movie on this day, eight years ago at 11:42 at night–Jess and I officially became a couple.  If you had asked me in that moment what I thought my life would be like eight years down the road, I’m sure you would have received a bumbling answer that would have have no clue to the many joys we’ve had together, the hard times we’ve been there for each other, and the compounding memories that are always perched on the very tips of our noses.

As well, I know that I wouldn’t have been able to say that this shy, intelligent, and stunningly beautiful woman would literally expand the horizons of my world to new things beyond, force me to try new things and to trust myself.

In my best and worst moments, she is a constant–be it a laugh, a surprisingly strong hug, a correction, a sounding board, a travel buddy and so much more.  No longer do I question if I am good enough for her–I know I am–but the real question is, what good have I done for her today or right now in this moment?

As we have gone through these eight years together, we’ve noticed plenty of 28’s, like my first apartment with which the wood grain made a heart on the back of the door.  Jess, I look forward to finding many more twenty-eights and having your hand in mine for many more multiples of eights.  It’s all for you, babe.

Love ya and thank you.

Here’s this year’s school picture… as you may or may not have notice, I am wearing an awful sweater.  It’s not just any awful sweater, it is an extra-large woman’s knitted sweater with a split collar.  This isn’t to say I regularly wear the opposite sex’s clothing–this was a gag that Ricky and I came up with for staff pictures.  Our idea was that we would find an awful sweater from a second-hand shop and then try to convince as many people as possible to wear the sweater.  With a little bit of prodding, the first person hopped into this monstrosity and had her picture taken, then Ricky and I followed suit, which must have set the tone because nearly everyone on staff adorned this purple, green and black piece of art.

I was really surprised at how many people were game for the sweater, there were even a handful of people that I thought would sternly refuse to slip on this hideous rag, yet they did.  I can’t wait to see the yearbook when it comes out, hopefully it shows a staff that can be lighthearted and has a good time together, especially with our goofy mugs adorned in the same outfit.

As the previous tale implies, school is back in swing, for which I am thankful.  Not that I don’t enjoy my summers but I enjoy my job just as much, especially when I learn something new, as I did this year.

As with every year, I see some of my same students from the previous year and then a whole host of others that I have never met before.  I had a new tenth grade class come into my class and I thought I was in for a rough year.  I was sure at least one kid was trying to stare me down, while others were loudly voicing their belief that this class was going to, in her words, “suck”.  Along with that, another gal professed that she loved to mess with teachers and “piss them off.”  I came home a little deflated and was sure I was going to have a hard-line approach with this class.

Then we started our poetry unit–for some reason, unbeknown to me all of those things cracked and quickly faded.  The kid who was staring me down works hard to get his work done.  The girl who was sure how much the class would suck has quickly taken to haikus, illustrating one beautifully.  As well, the one student who said that she was out to make my life miserable has actually made me laugh more than any other student.

So, I guess the lesson belongs to me–the first impressions and my preconceived ideas about my students aren’t meant to held on to, rather, I should just do what I do and they come around… and hopefully they will become, as one of my Educational Assistants said, “Putty in your hand.”

Ps. I won my first game as a head coach 27-0… then proceeded to lose the next two.  I knew I should had retired with a perfect record.

I’ve taken on and accomplished another event that I had never dreamed of doing before: a triathlon… albeit a short one.  As a local benefit, a triathlon was held starting at the Cottage Grove Pool.  Truthfully, I had to be drawn into the competition, I was initially hesitant about having to swim, bike and run… but after insults were thrown my way, my status as a man questioned; the reasoning finally took hold.

I showed up at the race about an hour early, thankfully, I had two buddies to endure the pain and embarrassment: Ricky and Garrett.  We stood around, making assumptions about how hard the swimming portion of the event would be, citing ourselves as the first to be carted away via ambulance.  There were two portions to this race: long and short.  We, being the manly muscle-bound, testosterone infused men that we are decided that we should compete in the short race; unlike Ricky’s wife, Eryn, who tackled the long race.  We watched Eryn and the other Grovers we knew start the swimming and then out onto their bikes.

From there, we got to our start positions in the short (the race officials called it “novice”) group.  Flanked by our fierce competitors, we stood ready to take on their quest for glory, to claim it for themselves, to deny us.  Through eyes, slitted with passion and contempt, we knew our duty.  We eyeballed each of the triathletes individually; those little kids and elderly old women took notice, I assure you.  From the starting buzzer, I was the first in the pool followed by Ricky, Garrett and the two elderly women that were behind us.  For at least two of the laps I was in the lead until some little kid passed me up and eventually one of the elderly ladies passed me on a turn but that was alright by me because I was drafting her… until she pulled away.

When I had two laps to go, a friend’s five year-old daughter came to the edge of the pool as I neared the end of a lap, I stood up and raised my hand because I thought I was about receive a high-five.  Instead, I got a question, “Why’d you shave your beard?”  I laughed to myself through the next lap, I think I aspirated a little pool water because of it.

After my quarter mile swim in the parking lot, my shirt was back on, shoes and socks slid back into place, I was out of the pool and to my bike. I hopped on and took on the three mile ride through Cottage Grove.  Right out of the gate, I flew past one competitor, of course, she was eight and her chain had fallen off but progress nonetheless!  Down the backside of the loop, I was picking up speed passing one little kid after another and even one adult (who may or may not have been in the race), I pulled into the transition area.

My lungs still seizing from the swim, I dropped my bike and starting running down the hill to the chants of, “Go Wells!” from high school students, at which point I realized that they probably saw me running out to my bike from the pool without my shirt off, as desperately as I wanted to stop to explain that those things may look like lovehandles but in reality that’s where I kept my wallet, keys, cellphone, my snackables, and checkbook; nevertheless, I plodded on.  Down the street, up around the old high school and its various fields I found myself at the end of my one mile run with an overall time of 35:28… trouncing half of the geriatrics and incoming fifth graders.

I’m not sure if irony is the right label for it, but it’s amusing that during the school year, even when football is in full swing, I update much more readily.  It is when I’ve been blessed with free time that this here site grinds to a halt.

Nevertheless, the past couple of months have been rife with stuff.  Who doesn’t love stuff?  For nearly a month, Jess and I fled the domestic shores for “our other continent.”

We made a brief stop over in Paris, for about a day and a half.  Nothing against Paris or France but we had already made other plans with Germany; namely, to take a train to Munich.  We bummed about Munich for about five days enjoying the sights, culinary offerings, and of course, their national beverages.

One of the things we gave the highest priority was visiting the former concentration of Dachau.  While there was always a feeling of reverence and of being on hallowed ground, the overall thing that I took away from the exhibit was that it was cleansed.  Not necessarily done intentionally but I think that that suffering of humans and the ultimate cruelty of other humans was slightly filled in.  Buildings had been destroyed, a few rebuilt to show “what it had been like” which didn’t sit well with me. If we are meant to never forget, things like this should be brutally honest, as ugly as it was.

But all things in Germany weren’t bent on the sad parts of history.  One of the best days, at least in my opinion, was when we hiked into a monastery outside of Munich.  While we were initially expecting a hike of three kilometers it turned out being three miles.  Not that the distance was a crucial component but it actually worked up our appetites for the beer garden that awaited us atop the hill.  Although we feasted on various pork products and quaffed our pilsners… we were left monk-less.  Apparently, the cloister doesn’t mix in with the locals nor the visiting American vagabonds.  The hike was amazingly beautiful and the view from the monastery was spectacular which paid us in full for our hike and refueled us for our trek back to the train down the hill, through the forest and back through the brick-laden village.

From Munich, a second train took us onto Prague, Czech Republic.  Prague was going to be my wildcard of the trip.  This was a country I had never been to and a language I couldn’t make heads or tails of except to say “please”.  But please doesn’t help you find a bathroom or consulate.  I was equally prepared to be out of my element or be completely awestruck with the country.  Thankfully, the second was true. Prague was a snapshot in time, nearly every building was at least represented as it would have in another era.

For us, Prague wasn’t necessarily about seeing certain things or doing certain activities beyond walking about the city.  Prague is meant  to be traversed one step at a time.  Over the hand placed two inch sidewalk stones and across the bridges.  There were many times we would just walk in a direction and see where it took us and try to find our way back.  As long as we were able to find the river, we could find home.

We left Prague for a stay in London that was counted in hours rather than days.  I briefly broke off from my travel companions to meet up with my friend from college, Monica.  We met up and made good use of a pub which was fashioned out of an old firehouse.  Many hours later, I wandered back amongst all of the major stopping points of London: Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, etc.  Don’t be wrong, but London was not my place.  The people were amazingly nice but I think I’m starting to approach the end of my stays in cosmopolitan areas.  Maybe it goes back to the summers in Newfoundland but there is a lot to be said for experiencing a country without seeing other people.  I’ll confess, I’m more awestruck my natural wonders than those that are man-made.  That aside, the next morning we made it to King’s Cross station and onto our train to Edinburgh, Scotland.

At this point, may I diverge for a second and speak to the wonders of European train travel. It’s timely, it’s efficent, it’s fast, it’s comfortable and once in a while, it has internet.  To sum it up: me like.

Scotland was a good change of pace.  The first two days we spent hanging about Edinburgh proper.  We took in the castle, walked past the palace down the Royal Mile.  My favorite thing in Edinburgh wasn’t one of those, it was a big hill that loomed over the city.  King Arthur’s Seat was a quick hike to the base of the hill and then a steep climb to the top over the stone steps.  Once at the top, if you’d positioned yourself against the wind, you’d have an unbelievable chance to witness the city and its run toward the English Channel from above.  Jess and I sat on the hillside for nearly an hour enjoying the warmth of the sun and view below.

Scotland only got better once we got a car.  We became more mobile and the things we saw rewarded us.  I’ll admit it for her; Jess is a castleophile.  She loves castles and any chance that we were near one we would take it, which was more than ok by me.  Luckily, our GPS was stocked full of fancy-named castles galore.

Hands down, everyone found the best castle to be Tantallon Castle.  This massive structure stood at least five stories (figuring the time it was made, it’s a comparative skyscraper) with major portions still intact.  You would hope that castles would be cavernous sending you up one stairwell out a new door into an unknown room with the occasional dungeon; Tantallon didn’t disappoint, especially when you consider that it leaned gracefully toward the ocean waves below it.

Tantallon Castle at Dusk

As all vacations should have, we intermingled some beach time into the agenda as well.  We parked our car on a little lane just before it became an even littler dirt road and hiked down two miles to Yellow Craig Beach.  Just to verify, the ocean water in Scotland is cold too. 

In search of more castles, we came upon St. Andrews.  Even though that town’s name is synonymous with golf, I didn’t golf, see a golf course nor ever a golf ball.  We did, however, happen upon the ruins of a cathedral that stood near the cliff’s edge.  Among the bases of where pillars formerly rose up and the walls that somehow still stand, were the countless grave markers and headstones for many people who had been thrown from the mortal coil.  There is a magnetism that exists for me and the ruins of buildings, especially ones that were the keystone of community, but that comes into further play in another paragraph.

Grave marker at St. Andrews

The highlight of our trip could have easily been our day trip across Scotland onto a ferry and onto the Isle of Bute.  On this little island was a forgotten church that was nameless with its roof long collapsed inside of its walls.  We would have nearly passed the grounds had I not seen out of the corner of my eye the blue sky where the roof should have been.  We loitered inside the church (which probably wasn’t something we were supposed to do) for a long time.  Looking at the little details that made up this church, which now laid in a heap where the pews once were or  scattered outside of its walls.  We were able to wander up the stairs, still intact, and look up into the rotting wooden floor boards that housed a church bell at one time.  The door lock mechanism was tossed in the pile of wood and glass just beyond the entrance of the church.  The church had long been forgotten or abandoned but that only made it more beautiful, more memorable.  It had all the reverence and pious beauty of its kind but laid about haphazardly into the jagged piles.

To cap off our adventure in Scotland and on the Isle of Bute, we finally came across one of those stereotypical Scottish scenes.  Highland cattle in a field.  As expected as it is supposed to be, I still think that they are extremely interesting looking and was excited when I finally got to snap off some pictures.

From Scotland, another quick plan ride took us into Northern Ireland.  The consistent question I get from people is about the driving. What everyone already knows is that it is on the opposite of the road from our American roads.  However, what isn’t widely known is that the roads are wide as ours and without a shoulder.  You would have about five feet in your lane, and err in depth perception would have you running your rental car along a rock wall.  Err to the other side, at best toy’ll lose your mirror.  Now imagine this with people parking where ever their Irish hearts please.  Now, you have to deal with multiple cars taking up at least your miniscule lane with traffic coming toward you… and it’s a giant truck, or give it the cute British name, a “lorry”.  I didn’t care if it has a cute name, it still out weighted me by multiple tons and it was  bearing down as I dodge three parked cars in my lane.  That aside…

Northern Ireland was beautiful.  Jess and I made good use of our rental car there, despite said road conditions.  We stayed on the Antrim Coast, in the north.  Our first stop was Dunluce Castle, yet another castle that was perched precariously above a churning ocean.  Even though I really like seeing the castle, I snapped my favorite picture there of a sparrow, as you can see:

We also rambled about at the Carrick-a-Rede Bridge and the Giant’s Causeway.  The Carrick-a-Rede Bridge is an old rope bridge that spans over the water to a little island where fishermen would throw out nets to make their livings.  The Giant’s Causeway is a natural formation of rocks that are all shaped as pentagons that rise up at varying heights.   As someone else once coined, it looks as if someone is offering god thousands of cigarettes.

Giant's Causeway

One day, we drove out to a little coastal community that wasn’t much more than a couple of blocks wide.  We then hopped onto a ferry to Rathlin Island which is only  a minute piece of land.  Once our boat docked, people walked off and went to the left… with that in mind, Jess and I started hiking to the right, down to the southern tip of the island.  As we approached the south lighthouse both Jess and I heard a strange sound.  As we crept closer to the water, the noise became louder.  Jess then asked if I saw the seals.  I said that I didn’t, but what she was pointing was a log.  Lo and behold, that log was a seal, as well as were the fourteen other seals around it.  We must have sat there for near two hours just taking in our solitude with the seals.  It was quite a remarkable moment to be there when we could have easily walked on by never noticing the fifteen slumbering bodies on tossed about on the rocks.

After our time on the north coast, Jess and I drove back to Belfast and used that day as a great opportunity to rest up.  We hung about the downtown of the city and then spent a handful of hours in the pub below our hotel, both of which were called Benedict’s.  We sat there, sipping our pints, listening to an Irish rock band and before we knew it it was approaching time for dinner.  I had a classic Irish Sunday roast dinner and then we headed back to the room because in the morning we hopped yet another flight but this time back to Amsterdam.

I had never been in Amsterdam before, save for its airport but the city quickly became one of my favorites in all of I’ve been to.  I would classify it as a city as beautiful as Paris, yet without the rigid attention to fashion or social rules.  To hedge off any questions: Yes, we did go to the Red Light District but it wasn’t like I had imagined it.  Of course, there was the ‘industry’ present but it is only a small portion of the district.  Truthfully, some of the best restaurants and shopswere tucked into the streets.

An obligatory stop was, of course, the Anne Frank House.  It was a very sober exhibit.  I thought it was done well, fairly minimal with a lot of information.  I twas strange being able to touch the bookcase that hid the family’s refuge.  To stand in the room of Anne Frank and see the pictures of stars and the future queen of England on her walls.  With all of the windows darkened out, I could easily place myself in what her thoughts could have been.

We were lucky to get a chance to also go up the tallest point in Amsterdam, the Westkirk, which was a church just steps from Anne Frank’s house.  From the tower we had a picturesque view of the city.  Through the journey to the top on almost vertical steps, we could see the old wooden structure that was just behind the stone, as well as bells that boomed from behind the church facade.

Sadly, this was our last stop on our trip.  From Amsterdam, we caught our direct flight back to Portland.  Both Jess and I were sad to come to the end of the trip.  We had spent so many months in waiting for its arrival and yet when we were in the midst of it, it was but a flash.  We only scratched the surfaces of the places we saw.  Even after  four flights and the train treks, we have both agreed that there is much of Scotland and Ireland we would like to come back to, but that’s another post all together.

Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to the best travel companion I’ve ever had.

Happy birthday to the person who reminds me of what’s important.

Happy birthday to the one who help me find what I should do with my life.

Happy birthday to my better half, alright, my better 98%.

Happy birthday to my inspiration.

Happy birthday to the beginning and ending of every day.

Happy birthday to my conscience, my confidant, my cheerleader.

Happy birthday to the reason I feel handsome, I feel loved, I feel confident

Happy birthday to the reason I can’t wait to come home every night.

Happy birthday to the one who makes me laugh the most.

Happy birthday to the world’s best conversationalist.

Happy birthday to September 4th, September 28th, and July 23rd.

Jess, happy birthday.  I love you.

Well, yes, it has been a dreadfully long time since I last posted… but, like many of my students, I have a good excuse.  I was too busy. No, seriously, I mean it.  Things shifted into full gear during spring term.  Not only did football morning weights start back up but I also agreed to teach PRIDE after school.  PRIDE is a credit recovery option for students who are credit defeciant.  I taught two sessions, from 3:30 until 5:00.  So most days, I was at the school by 6:45 in the morning for weights, taught from 8:10 until 3:00, and then taught Pride until 5:00.  Needless to say, by the time I did find my way home, I had just enough energy to make dinner, have minimal interaction with Jess and in bed, all of the bonds between the atoms of my body evaporated for at least eight hours.

As tiring as it was to have such an extended schedule, there were definitely some rewards (not just the pay, but hopefully the extra cash will put a deck onto the back of our house).  The aim of my PRIDE class was that each student created a story for an elementary school reader… namely, Jess’s students.  I have to admit, some of the stories were surprisingly good.  My two favorites were Giftless and Underella.  The first was a story about one kid realizing how lucky they are to be as well off, for example, being given an amazing bike for Christmas.  By realizing that his life was so rife with privileged, he discovered that his best friends was not well off.  Eventually, the main character appreciates how happy his friend is without a mass amount of ’stuff’ that he gives up this amazing bike.  Eventually, the kindness is returned to him in another way.  I know this sounds a little pedantic, but the way it was written really made it a good read.

The second book, Underella, was a reverse Cinderella story where a princess who has everything she wants, immaculate beauty, and much more ends up losing all of it because of her conceit and dispise of those who aren’t like her.  Once again, it seems a little too focused on an obvious moral but it was realy inspired.  As this was their only assignment over a six week period, I was asking for at least eight pages, double spaced (I know, I’m harsh).  Surprisingly, most student got this done and done well.  I believe I only had one or two students not turn in a story but considering that these are traditionally students that fail language art classes, having twenty kids turn in eight or more pages of their own writing was impressive.

But all the glory shouldn’t reside with the student.  I was informed by those same students that it was unfair of me to expect them to write that much if I wasn’t writing anything at all.  So I took their challenge and I started writing.  My first day I wrote eleven pages, plus another four after I got home.  It is still a work in progress but I up to thirty-five pages… about 20,000 words so far.  I really don’t feel like delving into the premise, but I thought that I would put some up for a quick read from the beginning.  So, if you don’t feel like reading the extra stuff, stop reading right here:

On the ledge of a New York City’s Empire State building, The Crumpler squatted peering down on to the busy city.  The Crumpler was wearing his famous muscle-showing black disguise, with the dark green stripes running down his sides.  A massive, yellow letter “C” adorned his chest and a utility belt across his waist.  His real trademarks were his massive hands, they weren’t any regular hands but they were metallic gloves that were at least three times the size of a normal person’s hands.  Made from titanium, they made steel turn into putty in his hands, easily twisted.  They glistened in the moonlight, waiting for a reason to be used.

He watches the city for evil doers, those criminals and thieves that prey on the ordinary, hard-working citizens of New York City.  The Crumpler enjoys the nighttime the most, when he blends into his surroundings, he feels the most alive and awake when most people are sleeping.  But he knows that that most of the people that are awake at this time are usually up to no good.   Scanning down the long avenue he spots a black sedan racing down the street, with two people hanging out the windows.

“This will be fun,” The Crumpler whispers to himself.

Within a second, he has leaps from the ledge of the Empire State Building.  Diving straight down, splitting the air at terminal velocity, he grabbed a hold of the side of the building, digging into the stone as smoke and sparks jumped from his hands.  He crashed to the ground with a booming crunch, the sidewalk split beneath him.

He was perfectly placed to intercept the black car.  The dark hero walks to the crosswalk, the sign flips to “Do not cross,” but he steps into the street anyways.  The roaring of the sedan’s engine is getting louder and louder.  The Crumpler takes his place at the middle of the street so the dotted line passes right between his legs; he lowers his dark goggles over his eyes and smiles.  He’s been looking forward to this all day.  The headlights of the speeding car fall on to his face, shinning off of his bright white teeth.  The driver of the car sees the masked man and guns the engine and starts to laugh as the gas pedal smacks the floor of the car.

As the car nears The Crumpler, kicking light off of his crest, he cracks his knucks as he thinks, “let’s do this.”  Sticking his right hand out, just as the car gets within two feet of him, he puts his hand out, fingers perfectly straight.  As the sedan crashes into his hand, the metal tears apart, splitting perfectly down the middle.  Like tinfoil, the car is split into two equal halves, each half rolling on its two tires for two hundred feet until they fall onto their sides.  The masked hero wipes the engine grease and antifreeze from his goggles, turns and heads to the two parts of the sedan.  He struts slowly to the two hulking pieces of split car, now smoking from its long slide down the avenue.

“Evening, Gentlemen,” The Crumpler said as he lifts his goggles off his eyes.

“Whaa, whaa, what did you do?” asked the driver from his half of the car, still buckled into his sideways seat.

“License and registration?” the masked hero calmly asks.

“Hey man, get me out of this thing!” a voice screamed from what used to be the back of the car, “My leg is caught, please get me out.”

“Uno momento, por favor,” The Crumpler said in his poor Spanish accent as he turns back to the driver, “License and registration, please,” he requested a little less calm this time.  The stunned driver pulls out his wallet and hands it to the masked man.  With style, he flips open the wallet and shakes it out onto the ground, money and cards rustle against the scratched pavement.  He picks up the man’s license and looks it over.

“Mr. Smith,” he says with a cough, “it seems you’re driving on an expired license and at such a high rate of speed.  This isn’t good, my friend.”

“Yeah, I… I… I know, I was just going to go get a new one,” the driver stammered.  The screeching of multiple sets of tires squeal behind the scene in the middle of the street, blue and red lights dance off of the two parts of the car and the masked man.

“You sure did a number on this one, Crumpler,” a voice yelled as doors slammed.  It was the chief of police, Chief Taylor, “We’ve been chasing these guys for the last hour, they just robbed three banks in two hours.”  As all of the policemen surround the two parts of the vehicle surrounded, The Crumpler holds one finger up as to ask the chief to wait one second, he lends down and clears his voice.

“Well fellas, it seems like you’re in a bit of a pickle… and I believe this pickle comes with a big helping of jail time,” the masked man chuckles.  The same voice as before yelled from the backset of the driver’s half of the car, “Help!  Please, help me!”

The Crumpler put his thumb and forefinger on his chin and said, “I think I’m forgetting something.  Oh yeah, I remember now.”

As quick as the blink of an eye, he grabbed both ends of the car and bent them both toward him, splitting the roof in half and spilling both men from the car.

“Chief, I believe you were looking for these,” the crime fighter says and points across the other side of the street, “and you’ll find the other half over there.  Look for the car missing it’s left half.”

The Crumpler laughed to himself.

“Jeffery!” a voice yelled.

The Crumpler stopped laughing.

“Jeffery, what are you doing?” the voice questioned.

The Crumpler blinked a couple of times and realized who the voice was.

“Uh, nothing,” The Crumpler responded.

“Jeffery Crumplebeck, I have to say you daydream more than any other third grader,” his teacher, Ms. Turnt scolded.

The Crumpler was no longer there, it was just Jeffery standing atop his seat with two broken ends of a ruler in each hand.  Each kid in the classroom had their eyes on him, they were each holding their giggles in their mouths with two hands but Jeffery could see that they were about to explode.

As he sat back down in his chair, the class erupted.  Fingers were pointed at him, kids roared over his robust laughter and even tried to guess why he had just snapped a ruler in half right in the middle of Ms. Turnt’s lesson about fractions.   Slowly, Jeffery slid his two halves of ruler into his desk drawer and looked down at his paper, he had one question done.  He glanced over at his neighbor’s paper and dropped his head when he saw that everyone else was on question number sixteen.  This was not going to be a good day for Jeffery, and it was only ten-thirty in the morning.

He picked up his pencil and started on question number two.  As soon as he finished writing the number two, his pencil broke.  Jeffery sighed and thought to himself, “I bet The Crumpler never had to do stupid fractions.”

…start reading now.  Eventually, Jeffery will realize to be a superhero it goes beyond just doing what you’re told to do or what is expected of you.  I guess it would be a story about character and pushing one’s self to be better than just average.  Just bear in mind it is written for third graders.  I have actually had a lot of fun writing this and I look forward to writing more.  I am aiming for near 40,000 words, which is about the average elementary-age kid’s book.  A couple of people have expressed interest in illustrating the book which would be really interesting. I’d like to see where this goes, but I will not be holding my breath with any expectations.

On other fronts, Jess and I had an interesting experience last night.  On our way home from Eugene, we came upon an accident that looked like it had happened only minutes before we got there. There weren’t any emergency vehicles on scene yet.  What I learned from the Register Guard today is that an RV going northbound on I-5 crossed the median and hit a southbound car, killing a a passenger in both the RV and the car, with another person flown to a nearby hospital.  You could see the carved out tracks of the RV as it had crossed the median, the reminents all of the vehicles were on the right hand side of the freeway with many people stopped to help.  The RV was so obliterated that I didn’t know what kind of vehicle it was as it burned on the side of the road.

As sad as the accident is, it got me thinking.  Jess and I had been in Eugene to have an early celebration of her birthday with dinner.  After dinner, we hit up one store and did a little bit of shopping.  I had mentioned earlier in the evening that I was kind of worried about spending a whole lot of money.  Later on, I brought up the idea of stopping to get some icecream to drag out the celebration.  Jess said that she wanted to help us not spend money but I convienced her that it was her ‘birthday’ and she should get dessert on her birthday.  So we got our icecream which was tasty.  After that we headed home and came upon the crash.

Two things came to mind.  The first was that the things that happen in life, especially of the most life changing, exist in between seconds.  What would happen if we hadn’t stopped for ice cream or I drove a little faster?  I shudder to think that we could have been in the same situation as that car.  But that’s not the thing I have chosen to fixate on.  The second thing was that it is important to take time and enjoy ourselves.  Maybe I should eat ice cream more.  This isn’t to say that I should be concerned or worried about the things that didn’t happen or things that could of happened; that would cause me to miss out on the good moments.  Just something to think about.

As you may or may not have noticed, the school year stealthily left the room while no one was watching.   Of course, as with every year, the graduating seniors feel it is the duty to pull a prank.  A traditional prank is filling the principal’s office with balloons or something of that manner.  This year, it was a twofold prank.  When I got to school around 6:45 in the morning on June third, the day in question, I got a call from my buddy Ricky who said that I should get to my room as soon as I could because there was a lot of work that was going to be needed for my classroom.  And here’s why:

For as bad as it looks, it only took about twenty minutes to get everything back.  There were about fifty chairs in the back of my room from the neighboring classrooms.  Throughout the hallways of the school, desks were piled and stacked in the hallways.  I guess I got off lucky, seeing as all of my desks were still in my room.

The second prank was ingenious and funny in my opinion.  Throughout Cottage Grove and around the school were giant signs saying, “HUGE USED CAR SALE AT CGHS!!!” and upon all of the teacher’s cars, the seniors had tied balloons and put prices on all of the car windshields.  An Audi was going for $300 but a late 90’s civic was topping out their inventory at $3000.  My car just said for sale, I guess it was a o.b.o. type of sale.  I thought that it was a well thought out prank, no destruction of property, not much as for clean up and it was original.  I like that.

Other than that, the next time I write, we’ll probably be on a different continent.  I’m desperately waiting for the vacation.  It will be nice to just get to a different place for a while.  Pictures and retelling of all of our great adventures in Europeland.

I’m chugging along, it seems like I’ve caught a second wind:

Starting weight: 300 pounds

Current weight: 220.5 pounds

Total weight loss: 79.5 pounds

Total percentage: -26.5%

Original BMI: 37.5 = Obese

Current BMI: 27.5 Overweight (24.9 or less is ideal)

Despite not being able to run, I’ve really taken off this week.  Less than two weeks ago I hit 224, and I’m nearly four pounds lighter today.  It probably also helps that I worked out right after waking up, burning over 1,300 calories and probably buckets of sweat before weighing in… but it’s all good.

On the exercise front, I had been stymied by my foot problem, but after two appointments and an MRI, it looks like a resolution may be in progress.  There is definitely no fracture.  The bone is stressed but with the orthotic inserts that I’ll be fitted with for running will turn all of that force on the outside of my foot and even it out.  I can ease back into my running starting off with 15 minute runs and adding 5 minutes back into it every other time I run.

The thing that had been holding me back the past month was my eating, I found that I was snacking a lot more and not able to turn down food offered to me… and free food always taste so much better than regular food.  Another issue was that Jess and I had been doing a little more baking, and I’m sucker for bread.  It’s like yeast crack.  So we’ve stopped doing that which has greatly helped me.

Also having to do with food, I did something the other day that I’ve never done before… and it was actually a good thing.  On Friday, I had a doctor’s appointment and I had time that morning to run back to our house before I went to work.  While I was there, I snacked a little bit on some left over ham that we had barbecued for the previous night.  After a short crossword session, I headed for school.

Two hours after I arrived at school, it was time for lunch.  I sat down, pulled out my ham sandwich (notice a theme?) and two oranges.  Only, I wasn’t all that hungry.  Usually, I would have thought about it and eventually convinced myself to eat everything that was in front of me (and sometimes some perimeter food).  But not today, I halved my sandwich and gave both halves away.  I was content with just my oranges.  There was a certain sense of pride about giving the sandwich away; even though it was not a unhealthy meal or high in calories.  I just wasn’t hungry.  It was a change in philosophy: just because it’s there, doesn’t mean I have to eat it.  It won’t be offended if I don’t consume it, as long as it’s not being thrown away, it’s not a waste.

Pat on the back, self-high five, self-terrorist fist bump.

Faux Pas: As a teacher, coming to school dressed strangely similar to a student

Super Faux Pas: As a teacher, coming to school dressed strangely similar to two students.

Double Secret Faux Pas Extraordinaire: The students are both girls… and the teacher is a dude.

From 10pm to 6am last night, I was asleep. Giving me 8 hours of completely restless sleep marked with weird dreams.

I’m not sure why, but in my first dream of the night I was aboard a commercial jet. Eventually, myself and another person were sucked out of the open door of the aircraft and tossed out into a free-fall above an ocean. We must have been pretty high up because I fell for a long time. Through the whole fall, I remember thinking how painful the impact with the waters of the ocean was going to be. Re calling conversations about how water is as soft as concrete a fast speeds.  As the waters came closer and closer, I was already beginning to wince as hard as I could. Then the impact came.

It had the sound of a quick step into a puddle and I was left floating on the ocean. Eventually I ended up in a room with Jess, where she was completely thankful that I was alive and did not do my part to become little bits of food for plankton.

Which brought me into the second half of my dream. As Jess and I were sitting there conversing over how not dead I was, I saw a three pairs of headlights pull up outside of the building we were in. My cellphone rang and it was my father-in-law telling me that people were coming by the house and that their intentions were not good.

So Jess, her brother Danny (I’m not sure when he came into the room) and I gathered up our weapons to defend ourselves. Jess and Danny had shotguns and rifles, I had a single shot old-time pistol, something you’d see a pirate carrying around. It was hand carved and rusty.

As the attackers came up the stairs to we were, the gunfire ensued and we had ourselves a gun battle. Shortly after the bullets started flying, I was able to wrestle one of the attackers to the floor in a ‘half-nelson’.

Eventually, because of my perfect use of a wrestling move I’ve never tried, the other attackers wither gave up or were equally beaten without any bloodshed. Because we are decent people or because we felt bad for them, we ended up having dinner together. They were loosely handcuffed as they spooned soup into their mouths. After that, we walked them off to be incarcerated.

I have two ideas about the origins of these dreams:

Origin #1: I’ve been playing too close of attention to the recently resolved Somalian Pirate news story and replicated it into my dreams. (see: Navy SEALS parachute out to see to save captain, snipers, etc.)

Origin #2: My subconscious is telling me that no matter how bad things may seem like they could be, they’ll turn out better than I expected.

Ok, maybe there’s a third option: It’s my subconscious telling me that no matter how bad things get, I’m invincible.

We had an interesting alarm clock last night around two in the morning.  From a deep sleep, Jess and I were jolted awake to howling.  This time, it wasn’t me doing something strange in my sleep, it was Moose.  Apparently, Moose was having a bad dream or a dream where near a fire engine siren.

I said, “Moose!” and he woke up and blinked a couple times, obviously just as confused as I was; he recoiled himself and went back to bed.

We couldn’t get mad at the dog for that, with out heartrates racing, we had a good laugh and went back to bed.  Just for the record, howling is not a good thing to wake up to.