The Politically Incorrect German Shepard

Back in the early 80’s, on a cool autumn afternoon in late October, the 31^st to be exact, I stood in my Mamaw’s living room trying to explain to her what I wanted to be for Halloween.  Since there was a more than an apparent generation gap between us, just suggesting a character from a popular TV show was not going to be enough information for my “ever eager to please her grandson” Mamaw to draw up a cognitive image of this person of whom I was speaking.  So she asked me to describe him. And I did. Thoroughly.

“He has brown skin,” was my first descriptive clue in what was going to be much harder to explain than I had originally anticipated.  Had I not been raised in a somewhat sheltered manner, the quest of becoming my favorite TV character would have abruptly ended then and there.  There would have been no way my Mamaw would have let me be what I considered to be the ultimate TV icon.  But thanks to my parents not exposing me to human labels, my quest was allowed to continue.

“You mean he has a tan?” replied Mamaw. “Yes. A REALLY brown tan.”  So she grabbed bronzer and went to work.  After my face was of a close enough hue to what I deemed acceptable, she went to work on my arms.  She did her best to stretch bronzer to cover both my arms.  And it didn’t look half bad! I was very impressed at how this most epic of Halloween costumes was beginning to come together.

“OK, what else?” She asked.  “He wears a lot of gold necklaces!” I exclaimed with feverish jubilation, knowing that a distinguished lady such as my Mamaw would, without a doubt, have acquired plenty of gold necklaces in her time.  It wasn’t quite as many as I had anticipated, but it was enough to make it to the next step.  I already had bronzer covering 100% of my exposed skin, so there was really no point in changing my mind at this juncture.

“OK, what else?”  I already had on the proper clothing for the costume, and I already had the necessary hardware to make the costume believable.  There was only one thing that remained.  “Mamaw, I need you to cut my hair so that there is just hair on the very top and around the ears.”  Well, Mamaws will go to the end of the world for their grandchildren’s costume aspirations, but cutting hair was something that she just was not going to do.  So she assured me that wearing a blue bandana over my hair would be just as convincing.

My costume was complete.  It was time to pound the pavement in search of endless amounts of candy.  Almost every house in the neighborhood had its porch light illuminated.  This was a very good sign!  Just thinking of all the candy I was going to rake in almost gave me a self-induced sugar rush!  “Come on, Mamaw!” I rabidly squealed as I raced through the neighborhood.  As we approached the first house to begin what I had already determined was going to be” the greatest night of trick-or-treating ever,” a confused expression came over the face of the woman that was poised in the doorway ready to hand out candy. 

“And just what are you supposed to be?” the woman asked in a somewhat befuddled tone.

This wasn’t good.  I thought my costume was spot on and that there should have been no confusion of who I was supposed to be emulating. I was crushed.  Heartbroken.  But I held it together.  She was about my Mamaw’s age, so I quickly chalked it up to the generation gap, as the explanatory experience with my Mamaw was still pretty fresh.  “Perhaps I should recite some catch phrases,” I thought to myself.  Still nothing.  I decided to just end the turmoil and tell her who I was.

“I’m B.A. Baracus from the A-Team!”

Laughter ensued.  I was somewhat confused due to her immediate response.  She obviously knew of B.A. Baracus, yet my embodiment of the A-Team character did not meet her standards.  It must have been the blue bandana. It had to be.  It was the only element of the costume that didn’t belong.  From then on I just decided to make my identity known outright.  And each time, copious amounts of laughter ensued.  I was beginning to become ever so curious as to why my costume was so amusing.  My Mamaw was pleased that I was having such a good time, but I could tell that she was a little curious as well.  And when she asked one of the candy givers exactly who B.A. Baracus was, she was quickly illuminated as to whom in fact this distinguished gentleman was that I had so courageously been portraying.

 “Oh dear,” she replied.  “Jeremy, the sun is beginning to go down and we need to start heading back to the house.”

I had already collected a quite a severance package of tasty treats, so I wasn’t reluctant to start our journey back to the house. There were just a few houses with lights on during the trek back to Mamaw’s house, and I convinced Mamaw to let me stop in for my last efforts of conquesting for candy.  Well, it turns out that the next house was going to be the last house.  And certain lessons were about to be learned.  An epic night of trick-or-treating was about to be transformed into a traumatic experience of life lessons learned in the school of hard knocks.

Lesson #1: Don’t be greedy.  When you have more than you can possibly manage, it is time to retire.

Lesson #2: If you want to pet a dog, in this case a full-grown German shepherd, ask the owner first.

Lesson #3: Don’t dress up in blackface.  Even if it is after Labor Day.  Just don’t do it.

The dog bite wasn’t that bad, but it was bad enough to teach me a lesson.  A little Neosporin and Mamaw’s love quickly made the discomfort dissipate.  A supper of Sloppy Joe’s brought the evening back around to a comforting level, and that my friends is the story of “The Politically Incorrect German Shephard”

Back to the Blog

I have been away for quite some time now.  Busy with work.  Busy with kids.  Busy with life and whatnot.  As most of you know that follow my mother's blog Retirement Daze, you are aware of the recent passing of my grandmother.  For my following posts, I will be sharing some of my fondest memories of her.  I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed remembering and writing them.
Have a blessed Christmas season and my joy come to you and yours.

Memories of an Open Living Room Window

     Growing up in the South, one quickly becomes acclimated to the warmer, more humid weather.  Contrary to popular belief, we do have seasons.  But the longevity of our seasons seem to coincide with the concepts behind thermal science, meaning that the warmer seasons expand and the cooler seasons contract. Which was unfortunate for me, because I really enjoyed the cold (of course when I refer to "the cold" I mean temperatures between 45 and 65 degrees).  But around the end of September the nights would start getting cooler, which would prompt my dad to cut the AC and open the windows.
     Well, after a pretty thorough heat streak here in south Louisiana, the good Lord has decided to bless us with a cold snap.  And, yes, I have cut the AC and have opened the living room window.  And as the cool air flows over my shoulders and into the rest of the house I am instantly transported back to my formative years.  The years when my dad and I would sit on the living room floor with our backs against the couch and watch the Atlanta Braves play whoever on TBS.  Or Saturdays later in the football season watching the eleven o'clock game on Jefferson Pilot.  Whatever it was, the cooler air made it much more enjoyable.

Now let's just hope those levees hold up!

When the growing gets tough

     Being a route salesman, I am on the road quite a bit, so I see my fair share of landscape.  Lately, I have been paying more attention to trees. Contrary to popular belief, the deep south does experience seasons.  Maybe not regarding "fixed temperature" seasons, but with cooler weather and placement of the sun, the trees do change color and lose their leaves.  Having observed several areas over the course of 3 years I have enjoyed watching the shedding of leaves in the fall and regrowth in the spring, and recently it got me thinking.
     It really must be difficult being a tree.  They have to constantly grow, expand their roots, fight for their share of sunlight, and then spend 4 to 6 months out of the year completely exposed.  It certainly doesn't sound like an easy task, but are we that much different?  Well, except for the being exposed...unless you belong to a nudist colony or have a career in...... nevermind.
     The truth is we have the potential to do these things, but seldom is that potential realized.  To quote Larry Winget, "Humans are the only species on the planet that don't live up to their full potential.  A tree doesn't grow 6 feet tall and then say, 'You know what? I think I'm good where I am at.' No. A tree grows as tall as it can grow."  Can you argue with him?  And then add all the advantages we have over trees, mainly our ability to choose.  Trees can't choose where they are planted, they can't choose how often they receive nourishment, and they can't choose their neighbors!  They simply have to do the best with what they are given, and they do.

     We, on the other hand, can choose where to live, how often we eat and what, and many other things that add to our comfort.  And how often do we do our best?  How often do we strive to grow into better versions of ourselves?  How often are we given everything we need accomplish these two tasks I have mentioned?  We all know the answer, we just don't want to accept it.
     Grace.  I forget where I heard this, but it is the best definition of grace I have come across.  I was listening to a sermon on God's grace and mercy. The main idea was this: Grace is when God gives you something that you do not deserve.  Mercy is when God does not give you something that you do deserve.  When I heard that, it sank in rather quickly!

     All of us have "fallen short" if you get my meaning.  But what gives us a fighting chance is the grace and mercy of God's love.  Just as a tree receiving limited sunlight in the winter, we too sometimes move ourselves away from God. And just as a ray of sunlight can shine down upon the bare branches of tree and encourage springtime growth, God's grace and mercy can shine down upon us, giving us the encouragement to do better.  Ok, so His mercy and grace are always shining down, we just may be having a "the future's so bright I've gotta wear shades" moment.
     As a tree does its best to grow towards the sunlight, we should make our most valiant effort to grow towards God.

2 Peter 3:17-18 

“Ye therefore, beloved, seeing ye know these things before, beware lest ye also, being led away with the error of the wicked, fall from your own stedfastness. But grow in grace, and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To him be glory both now and for ever. Amen.”

Food and Comfort

     I grew up in a family that was on the generous end of comforting. Both my mom and dad had no trouble expressing their affection and, in hindsight, neither did my older brother.  Granted, it wasn't always "unicorns and rainbows" but conflict was something that was quickly a memory (of course I am excluding my teenage years, I was a downright turd during that time).  But one thing that I found routinely comforting was my dad's ability to cook a meal in 30 minutes.
     Now your probably thinking, "Oh, like Rachel Ray, I love that show!"  WRONG!  Sure. If you have a gas range on an island and all of your ingredients readily accessible and plenty of takes and an editor to boot then yes, a thirty minute meal is not only simple to make, but "YUMMO" as well. BARF!!!  No one in the real world has that much space in the kitchen, and if they do, I bet you they don't even cook!
     My father, on the other hand, was the TRUE pioneer of the thirty minute meal. Mom also helped with the salad and such, but the Dad was the cook of the family.  There was no room for error, no second takes, just fast, wholesome, flavorful food.  (Side note: Mom was no slouch in the kitchen either, but we were on a schedule, and that schedule just didn't have the time. I love you, Mom.)
     So now we get to the inspiration of this post, the theme, the "main idea" if you will.  What so irresistable, so indulgent, so tantalizingly tasteful yet modestly mesmerizing could this comfort food be?

AN OMELET???

     Yes, simple I know, but therein lies the beauty.  So easy to make, yet so many people are terrified of attempting, at least those with which I have spoken.  And with a side of hashbrowns and toast (without butter because you have to cut back somewhere, right?) you have a delicious meal in 30 minutes.

     Growing up, this was our typical Wednesday night meal.  With mom getting home from work at 5:30 and church starting at 6:30 the quickly prepared meal was paramount if our family was to gain admission past the pearly gates (is it the first of the month? great...business meeting...hoorah...). That was an inside joke for any Baptists out there!

     The omelet was also comforting to my dad.  As I remember, he worked late every other Saturday, making sure the i's were dotted and the t's were crossed before the Sunday paper went out. When he got home he would cook an omelet before he went to bed. He ate it too, of course.  And wouldn't you know it, when I went off to college and got a job working at a bar, I would come home after work and do what? Make an omelet.  Not realizing at the time that it was becoming a ritual passed down from one generation to the next.

     So this week my wife, Katie, started teaching the new semester of dance on Wednesday evenings and I resumed my role as chauffeur  to the kiddos from the studio back to our home. After feeding them their supper and getting them settled into their toys I began to rummage through the kitchen looking for something to eat.  There was nothing. Well, almost nothing.  And then it hit me. "I bought eggs for pancakes last Saturday. Do we have cheese? Ah! We do!" And not only that, but I had an extra shallot and some bacon and I was now on a MISSION!

     Some may think an entire shallot is too much for a two-egger. Not me. An entire onion wouldn't be too much for me. I can't help it. When it comes to eating stuff that makes my breath stink I think I have a genetic predisposition.  So an entire shallot (sauteed), three pieces of bacon (cooked then crumbled), cheddar, and some green onion for color surrounded by the soft yellow binding of two beaten eggs was to be my supper for the evening. I didn't have a potato, but I did make some toast (without butter, because you have to cut back somewhere).  

     And I ENJOYED it. Every bit of it. And the kids let me enjoy it. Molly Kate was in her own world with her new doll house, but Walker was in his Exer-saucer a few feet away, sitting in silence, but watching me, with deliberate scrutiny, observing how happy I was as I relished my well deserved victuals. And that made me happy. Seeing my 7 month old son look at me in a way, almost as if he were trying to tell me, with a developing grin, "Dad, that looks great. Can I have what you have?"  And I hope that he does. And I am sure that he will.  Food and comfort.

New Year's Resolutions

     As many others have done, I too have made New Year's Resolutions.  I tried to make mine a little less generic than that of, say, "losing weight" or "being nicer" or "being a better person." Granted those are all valid resolutions and by no means am I looking down, but personally, I need something less cliche.
     So what were my resolutions? Well, as I typed and retyped them while writing this post, I discovered that they were just glorified versions of what I would refer to as cliche.  But at least I have admitted it, so I guess I am no longer in denial about it, so I guess we can move on.
     Resolution #1: To revert back to my days as a practical Catholic. (Catholics that have never been practical Catholics would call this being a "good Catholic," however, I was raised Southern Baptist, so I was taught that there was no such thing as a "good" Catholic, but that deserves its own post, so, moving on)  When I had first converted to Catholicism I was very involved in the church. Attending weekly Mass, observing Holy days of obligation, so on and so forth. Then we had kids, and that ritual began to slowly fade.  We then became the Catholics you only see at Christmas and Easter.  This year, I am going to change that.
     Resolution #2:  Do a better job of being a husband (read: comprehend the words coming from my wife's mouth that are directed toward me).  And the words that aren't directed towards me as well.  As a male, I have a highly developed auditory system. So advanced, in fact, that I can choose what I want to hear and cancel everything else out.  The wife finds this to be very annoying, especially when I ask her for the 5th time about anything.  Granted, we just had an addition to the family back in May, so I am still adjusting to the new dynamic, not that I am making excuses, because I am, but I like to give myself the benefit of the doubt, especially when it comes to the use of commas.  My wife is an amazing woman. She is a miracle worker with the kids, me included. I love her, I need her, and I have resolved to do a better job of showing her that.
     Resolution #3: Cook more. Have you ever seen the movie Julie and Julia? Well, not cooking like that. That's crazy. But at least cook a meal three nights out of the week. I'm not that bad in front of a stove so this shouldn't be a problem.  I just need to make a game plan.
     Resolution #4:  Build my skills as a photographer.  At the moment, I would technically be classified as somewhere between enthusiast and amateur.  I picked up a Nikon dSLR about 2 years ago and it changed the way I looked at things, so becoming better at this venture to the point of generating modest income would be nice.
     So thats it. Those are my resolutions for the new year.  It's day one. How am I doing, you may ask?  Well let me enlighten you!
We skipped mass because we are all sick with sneezing, coughing, and everything that is on the Nyquil commercial,  I made a flippant remark to my wife which didn't make her a happy camper, and I did not take one single photograph today. Not one!  As a matter of fact, my only saving grace comes from my wife asking me to make this southwestern dip that she had bought at some fair. So technically I did cook something. Although it had so much cheese in it that it that my arteries began to soften a bit just recently.


Well thats my first post for you wandering readers of the blogoshere.  May your New Year be blessed.