Wingnutted Adventuresmui rus for XP64

1. Become a Parent. You owe it to your mother for all the hardship you put her through, and you will learn more when you try to help your children with their homework than you ever learned in school.
2. Become a Grandparent. After all, revenge is sweetest served by grandchildren.
3. Ride a motorcycle. Just so you can say you did. Riding a Harley earns bonus points.
4. Visit a foreign country. Not only will it give you perspective about how the world sees your people, you will begin to understand why they do some of those strange things they do.
5. Start a new family tradition. The stranger, the better. You get bonus points if your tradition results in a winning America’s Funniest Video.
6. Volunteer for a charitable event. It will open your eyes to a different side of the railroad tracks from where you live, and if you pick a real good charity, you will being to understand that, no matter how badly you suffer in your particular situation, someone somewhere actually has it worse.
7. Learn a handcraft. It doesn’t matter what the craft is, but if you learn well, you can put your results on ebay and see what value the “real world” puts on it.
8. Participate in a fundraiser. That way you will understand why 80% of the crowd consistently does 20% of the work.
9. Plan and organize a major family event. It is amazing what you will learn doing this.
10. Teach one other person something significant.
11. Ride a roller coaster.
12. Visit with a critically ill or dying person.
13. Take a college (or community education) course. A GED does not count because you already have that or a high school diploma. If not, get one and it is still not on your bucket list. Sorry.
14. Play a game with someone else’s kid. You might even realize they aren’t so bad. You DO play with your own kids, right?
15. Attend a church service of a faith different from your own. It is amazing the perspective you can gain if you attend with an open mind.
16. Learn a musical instrument. It opens a mode of expression that transcends all boundaries and obstacles.
17. Clean someone else’s house (at least help).
18. Do a coworker’s job for one day.
19. Enjoy a family picnic in your backyard.
20. Visit a museum—any museum.
I’m sure there are other things that should probably be on everyone’s bucket list. You may not care to repeat your experience, but at least you will be able to say you’ve “been there done that.”

Growing up in a family that uses music and reading as a primary entertainment and TV as a hidden box in Daddy’s retreat, I had to be creative about my playtime, especially when alone. I was alone a lot because Momma had some dumb rule about cleaning my room first. When we moved to Arizona our new home was a double-wide trailer planted firmly on a corner of the church property where Daddy Pastored.

To foster a homey look, we set our half the property off by large rocks we’d found around the property and placed them strategically at the end of the church “parking lot”. Thus we had a little parking space for our cars, a designated area for church members, and a boundary between the two. We even grew grass in front and back, but the side (where this boundary was laid by the rocks) remained bare and hard.

It was the perfect size for my imagination to lay out a restaurant, and I reordered the rocks as booths. In my little restaurant, you could eat the best of anything and be filled to delight calorie free. I walked from one booth to another taking orders and repeating them to my imaginary cook, who produced intricate recipes with lightning speed so I could dish them up with grand fanfare and collect my generous tip.

Picture how this looked to people driving by. You turn onto a neighborhood street in Podunk, Nowhere to pass by a little church to see a twelve year old girl talking to air, writing in her hand with nothing, and waving empty hands like she were passing food around a huge table, reaching over an empty space to keep from bumping candles that really aren’t there.

Ah, but fantasy is so much fun because you can say what you like, do what you like, and be what you dream. In fantasy, you don’t skin knees, pull muscles, or break bones. In fantasy you can fly without assistance and make straight A’s without effort. In fantasy you are only limited by the dream.

Then I grew up. My fantasy disappeared and real life knocked me in the face. But every now and then I remember the glorious moments when I lived in the world of my imagination. I dined there, became famous there, and ruled the world.

Today I look at snow flurries outside my window and shiver. I remember a world where I can have a blizzard come and go to leave fresh powder, followed by self-propelling snow shovels, massive street dryers, and an arsenal of other such accoutrements designed to keep the snow beautiful and glorious without me getting cold.

Such fantasy warms my heart and makes me wish I could make the real world a little more like my imagination. . Ah, I can dream, can’t I?

I’m sure you thought Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head were the invention of a human genius with a strange sense of humor, but this is absolutely not true, but if the real mind behind this Multi-Eye phenomenon were to come forward and state the real story, he’d have to kill us all. Something about a high level security clearance from what I’ve gathered. I can tell you that Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head try very hard to blend in our very human world because, well, how would you infiltrate if you didn’t?

It started long ago before the Irish came to America with a sack of potatoes, renegade bulbous creatures who left their roots deep in the earth. You see, the true race of potatoes lives far underground, and sends “produce” close to the surface to spy on us. That’s why they have all those eyes you know.

And they actually rule us from underground. But the rebel movement, “Mashed Potatoes” is fast organizing to conquer them and take our world back once and for all. Or maybe they are some of the spies. After all, they’ve never undergone an eye-count, have they?

The plot, our should we say “gravy,” thickens!

We baby them, wear them, and refuse to share them because they represent us, what we do, and who we are inside. Our hats tell the world what is important to us and sometimes they actually provide shelter.
When you look at someone’s hat, you form a snap opinion right then about his life, his love, and his priorities. A hat represents more than a jacket or uniform ever did. When did you ever suggest anyone wore many jackets? The real fact is: a hat has nothing to do with the clothing on your head, but what you do.

Here are some examples of very big hats:
The parent hat also says “coach,” “chauffer,” “teacher,” “nurse,” “pillow,” “cheerleader,” “photographer,” “dancing partner,” “family calendar coordinator,” “acquisitions specialist,” “savings consultant,” “fixit specialist” and dedicated “booboo medicine” administrator.

The secretarial hat covers “schedule coordinator,” “supply consultant,” “receptionist,” “errand runner,” “transcriptionist,” “interpreter,” “ambassador,” “travel agent,” “file manager,” “bookkeeper,” “petty cash disbursement” and usually includes “sanitation engineer.”

The ministerial hat also says “teacher,” “preacher,” “coordinator,” “director,” “administrator,” “researcher,” “speech writer,” “therapist,” “marriage consultant,” “wedding planner,” “music director” and “person that I call in the middle of his family outing because my family member is ill.”

The school teacher hat includes that of “tutor,” “hall monitor,” “mediator,” “hero,” “villain,” “bringer of inspiration,” “tour guide,” “bathroom escort” and don’t forget the all important “germ finder booboo binder.”

These are but a few examples of how many hats one can wear at one time, but I’m sure you can think of more. Maybe you wear them all at one time. If you wear them well, maybe you could come to my house. I’d like to put on a fashion show.

You can’t imagine how rough it is being a blanket in a big kid’s world. Last week, the younger son was assigned a big project. Mom and dad learned about the project yesterday. Today, the house was in a big hubbub about posters vs shadow-boxes, and how big a proper shadow-box should be if you want to display a proper solar system.

Dad lamented that timing allowed tossing the perfect materials to make all the planets, not to mention the covers inside and out. So Dad went to buy a poster and markers. Markers are not my friend.

Here I sit in the corner hiding the black and purple while the yellow has leaked all over my stuffie. And worst of all, I’ve had three close calls with the scissors and glue.

What’s a blanket to do? I think it’s time to wake my teddy. He’ll call for reinforcements. A couple cruise tickets and we’re outta here, baby.

Telling it Backwards
Have you ever noticed that some of the funniest stories are told out of order? You start to ask questions that lead to nowhere when answered, and after all is said and done, the story ends at the beginning. I’ve heard jokes like this told about farmers, court cases, and a variety of other scenarios, but the ingredients for each are the same.
1. The story has a beginning, middle and end.
2. The narrative also has a beginning, middle and end---but the order is quite different from the event.
3. Complications to the plot are involved, preferably quite twisted.
4. The telling of the story can seem confusing, but the end of the story gives clarity to the preceding details.

Example:
Let’s say a teenager is in the emergency room explaining a unique wound. The police officer is trying to remain serious as the teen relates how his shotgun went off, leaving a bullet in his butt.
Join me in the conversation….

“As I was saying, officer, the gun was hanging on the nail upside down.”
“Upside down? Pointing toward the floor ?”
“Well, sort of, but it was pointing toward me more than the floor and I was trying to slide it up by the strap when ‘POP!’ it just went off.”
“But why couldn’t you just pick it off the nail and rehang it properly?”
“Because it was out of reach and I could only reach the sling with the tip of my finger.”
“But why was it out of reach?”
“Officer, the bathroom only has the one nail and the gun was hanging on it.”
“Bathroom? You were in the bathroom with a shotgun?”
“I couldn’t leave it unattended, sir. And as I was saying, the gun was on the nail and I couldn’t reach it. It went off and got me in the butt.”
“In the butt. You were in the bathroom where your shotgun hung upside down on a nail. You tried to maneuver it and it went off. Correct?”
“Correct.”
“And you said you couldn’t reach the gun beyond a part of the sling?”
“That’s right, sir. I was on the toilet when the gun went off.”
***
I hope you got the idea. It’s been awhile since I’ve read a story like this so I need to practice some more of these. It will help a lot if I have Yours to learn from.

My life’s journey has taught me a lot about myself that I’d love to have known back in high school. For one thing, the driving force behind my most enthusiastic endeavors has nothing to do with the ideals I thought I had. However, I find that my most passionate efforts include all the same ingredients that kept me intrigued thirty years ago.

So why didn’t I pursue the careers that kept those tasks I enjoyed so much? Stupidity and impatience. If I had known what questions to ask myself and how to answer them for myself I would have finished the right degree program in college instead of bouncing from one game plan to another before giving up and making a not-so-graceful exit from student life.

Today I find myself working at a job I’d never thought I’d enjoy. I do tasks I actually hate. But I enjoy the job. Why? Because the essence of doing the job well allows me to interact with people in doses, then retreat to my own thoughts (although this routine does not occur by my timing or design).

My previous three jobs required a lot more of the creative process that I truly enjoy, but gave me little to no control how to use what I was so good at. As a result I’d leave work at the end of the day depleted of energy or desire to work on any creative project at home.

Because my current job requires very little of my creative brainpower, I have room in there to ponder at work the ideas I want to tackle at home. I have full control over each project I wish to try and the only deadlines are those I set upon myself. What freedom!

Such is my motivating force for writing, crafts, web design, music, and all those many things I try to master on my own time. This leads to the relationship side of the passion/priority coin.

How passionate am I to develop and nurture my relationship with my God, husband, children and friends? How devoted am I to nurturing those characteristics within me that will keep me “good” and moving forward to maturity?

One day I’ll finish this path and pass my baton to someone else. Then I’ll have to account for how well I traveled the course charted for me. If I’m graded on how passionately I made that journey, I have to wonder if I pass.

What about you?

1. From my father to my mother—“You didn’t have to steal it.” (not famous but still very sweet and it’s still in the memory book)
2. From Linus to Sally—You can share my blanket but I’m still not your Sweet Baboo.

3. Romeo to Juliet—Let’s elope instead…

4. From Mork to Mindy—Let’s make eggs together.

5. From one singer to another—Let’s make beautiful music together.

6. Paul Revere—One if by land, two if by sea.

7. Delilah to Samson—I’d love to snip your hair.

8. Adam to Eve—This is better than any apple.

9. Microsoft to Bill Gates—Wanna share a chip?

10. Jesus---I love you this much.

Growing up in a household limited to classical or sacred religious music and very little television cut a lot of common American culture from my childhood, but it opened my horizons to a different world.

I followed The Sorcerer’s Apprentice narrated by Jim Baccus, who had the creepiest voice on the face of the planet. I knew all the instrumentals to Peter and the Wolf and could sing along with each theme. I could also sing along with variety of musical excerpts from nearly every popular musical without having seen any of the musicals. Most notably, I consistently heard a variety of classical forms---from Bach’s two-part inventions and Vivaldi’s Spring to Beethoven’s long list of symphonies and concertos to Berlioz, Liszt and Schumann of the Romantique period. To this day my favorites include the piano literature from Chopin and Liszt.

My dad’s favorite piece of music (if I had to guess) must have been Beethoven’s Ninth, especially the Third Movement where the chorus would sing in German the music that I know as Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee. The resounding four part harmony with a glorious compliment of the full orchestra filled our home with the world of music at our feet.

On numerous occasions, Daddy would grab any implement that could mimic a baton and begin to direct the air before him with grand gesture, emphasizing each count of the four-beat measures in the conductor’s choreography, singing in German with the choir at the top of his lungs.

Sometimes the music inspired him to the point of taking his violin from its rarely opened case to play a tune. Occasionally his doing so would prompt me to take my smaller violin to play with him. We’d go from one tune to another, sight-reading through the hymnbook. Then he’d put the instrument away and go to the next record, listening and directing—or moving on to another task while enjoying the intertwining melodies.

A few weeks ago my husband had some classical sounding theme playing on his computer, reminding me of my dad. I couldn’t tell you why I did it, but I grabbed the nearest baton-like thing within reach and began to direct.

You see, I have inherited Daddy’s Orchestra and it is truly magnificent.

“Do you think money grows on trees?”

I hear my wallet crying. But there is an alternate universe somewhere that grows money trees in big green forests. In some places they grow faster than weeds---but that’s small change.

If you want big bucks you have to go deep into the rain forest of the International Money Pot Jungle where the high dollar bills grow. You will want to come prepared with gloves, a canoe, money crates and hiking boots to trek across mountains, ford streams, and of course, pick your choice of greenback.

Of course, you must carefully choose the trees you pick from. The yen tree brings a different value than the pound, euro, dollar or lira trees. Naturally the more valuable greens are most difficult to find with harder to reach blooms.

Once harvested, you must keep your money fresh and crisp, because everyone knows what a pain it is to put a wimpy wrinkled dollar bill through a change machine. Picked bills must be carefully placed onto the money crates in layers and secured for drying. Dried money may then be packaged for shipping across multinational borders and traded for goods or stockpiled in the Federal Reserve.

Of course, the flip side of this whole concept is: If money grew on trees, half the world would develop an allergy to it.

Well, I knew there was a catch.