Happy "Untraditional" Birthday to Me!

December 4 is my birthday. For me, it usually includes a rather traditional approach: a few presents, a specially prepared cake (yellow not lemon batter of which we eat half of it we eat so the cake is half as tall as a traditional cake), two cans of frosting (so the frosting is as thick as the cake), and a meal with Lori and whatever kids/grandkids happen to be around. The 2018 version of my birthday was, let's call it, rather untraditional.

First of all, last week was a really rough one. Just three days ago, my Dad passed away at the age of 89. The memorial service is later this week so my birthday falls in the between. Still, though untraditional, it was a nice one.

In the morning, my sister Amy and my Mom drove to a funeral home where we filled out information for Dad's death certificate, delivered the obituary I previously wrote and took care of other such arrangements. On the way back home, we stopped at Arby's because "it's my birthday and I'd really like curly-Q fries."

Inside out of the snow and cold

I spent my afternoon banging out some work on my computer. All the while, I received birthday texts, phone calls and Facebook messages. Lori was behind a series of those texts. First, she emailed me a really thoughtful letter and then texted that she was going to forward me some untraditional gifts. The first one is a photo of my truck in the garage. Now that is no small task! When I left home for my folks place in Kansas two weeks ago, my half of the garage was full of leftover building supplies, boxes, discarded closet and bedroom doors a few household items that had no place in our house and all kinds of other stuff. Lori cleared everything out, hauled it to the shed and then (perhaps more impressive) folded the side mirrors in and pulled the truck into the garage without scraping the sides of the garage door. She is not a fan of driving my Silverado. It's a big truck and the garage opening isn't much wider than it is. I'm grateful for her heroic efforts because there's lots of snow and ice outside and who really likes scraping their windshield every single day of winter for months on end? Not me.

Next, she texted me a photo of yet another honey-do project that she (my honey) instead did for me. She painted and placed trim on a door from which I'd previously removed an old window from and replaced with a chunk of mirror that I cut to almost fit it well. Now it is done and in place and looks great.

Third, Lori painted another old door I'd previously puttied and sanded. It will be a placed on a slider to hang above what is now an opening that goes upstairs. This door, when closed, will divert the fireplace-generated heat down the hall to our room instead of letting it drift upstairs. She also used the chop saw to cut the molding we need to go under the bar the door will slide on. We'll hang it when I get home.

If that's not enough, she previously called the only place online she could find in Wichita that would deliver a full course Italian meal to feed me, Mom and Amy. And it was a feast--fetticine alfredo, chicken, green salad, pasta salad, bread, lemonade, bean soup, a sausage sandwich, fried rice balls and the capper--a three pieces of moist lemon cake with a generous proportion of frosting to the cake itself.

Amidst this most grand celebration of untraditionalism, I also received birthday cards from family members. Mom also told me that she was giving me Grandpa Vern's dog tags, Bronze Stars and other World War II medals as well as (I assume) the American flag that was draped over his casket at his funeral. Wow! So surprising! I've always loved my Grandpa and was heartbroken when I lost his guns in our house fire last year. This goes a long way to filling a charred void. So amazing! So honored!

After trying to digest such a meal and receiving a happy birthday video call from a couple of my grandkids, we went downstairs and continued to go through Mom and Dad's things. It will take quite sometime to sort through decades of belongings.

Was it an untraditional day? Yes. Was I more than a thousand miles away from my own home in Montana? Yes. Was it a wonderful day? Yes! Thank you Lori. And thanks to Mom and Amy and my family and friends all across the nation. I am truly blessed, even it's in an untraditional kind of way.

I Don't Like to Jog

Let me preface this by saying I am not a jogger. I don't like to jog.

My parents' house

I am spending a month or so back home in Wichita with my parents to look after them, especially my ailing father who has lived a good, long life. Doing so 24/7 is rewarding in many ways. It is also quite tiring for all of us. After helping Dad to the bathroom, eat breakfast and get dressed and into bed, I decided to get some fresh air by going on a jog. Have I said I'm not a jogger?

My body was beat down after spending most of the last four months helping to build our home, but outside of that I've not done much physical--no basketball, no weightlifting, nothing. I did go hunting a few times in the mountains which always cleanses my soul. So I decided to go jogging this morning. Not only did my body appreciate it but I found myself jogging down memory lane. Did I mention I don't like to jog?

The weather was perfect with a slight breeze and temperatures in the low 50's. I ran along the big ditch in front of my parents' house. That's a place where we played, build rafts, caught fish and other critters and even (though we're not supposed to), dug and covered 3-foot-deep holes for other neighborhood kids to fall in and went swimming. My goal was to run over to our first house where we lived in Wichita--827 Murray Avenue.

827 Murray Avenue

We lived there when I was in grades 2-4 before we moved to Canada. I immediately recognized it, and yes it looks different. I really wanted to peer inside the garage and see if the old basketball hoop we put up still hung there. I'm sure it doesn't.

Then I headed to what used to be the site of the West Urban Little League baseball fields. My brothers and I played on teams during the season. Much better than that, it's a place where all the neighborhood kids gathered on almost a daily basis to play pick-up baseball during the summer. Did I mention I don't like to jog?

No more Westlink Pool

No more baseball fields

I jogged past my best friend's house, Brian Williams. I ran across the bridge over the ditch where we used to catch crawdads, play in the water and play kick the can. Then I went over to the site of the old Westlink pool, where I learned to swim. Now, it's a parking lot and a grassy park. It sits right next to a gas station where I made my easiest and fastest buck as a kid. A film crew was shooting a commercial for Nancy Landon-Kassebaum, U.S. senator from 1978-1997 and daughter of former presidential candidate Alf Landon. As I watched, one of the crew members said something like "Hey kid, can you move that stack of tires for me?" I did so and he gave me $20.

Thank$ Senator Kassebaum

Newspaper drop here

I jogged past the corner where they used to drop my newspaper bundles every morning back in the day. I'd hop on my Stingray one-speed bike, load up the front and back pouches of my bag and deliver papers both morning and afternoon along the route. I ran past where I had my "dog encounter." A barking, snarling dog chased me one early morning. I kicked out my right foot and just nipped its nose. It was so angry that it chased me 3 to four 4 blocks or so. You know, a young kid slender kid can generate a lot of speed when he's got fear-based adrenaline that surges his peddles forward. I also remembered one morning when I was sick, Dad stepped in as a substitute paper boy and did so with a hammer strapped to his belt in case the dog returned. That's how you get 'er done.

I circled through the neighborhood and around the church house our family attended from grades 2-4 and 8-12, and where my parents still attend. I mowed the lawn as long as I could remember. When I turned 14 I started to get paid a whopping $3.25 and hour. That was big money back them. Just after graduation, I took my first full-time job there as a custodian. It was one of my all-time favorite jobs. Just think, a 17-year-old kid who sets his own hours and only has to walk across the parking lot from his house next door to work every day. I discovered, repaired and fixed up the old underground sprinkler system, gave the old flower bed out front new life and painted every room inside the church except the chapel and gymnasium. I cleaned the bathrooms, buffed the hallways and replaced the lights some 15-20 feet above the chapel pews below. One time while doing so, my feet went through the ceiling but my arms shot out and saved me from falling to the hard floor below. That could've been a pretty gruesome discovery for somebody.

I finished up my workout (did I mention I don't like jogging?) with a 5-minute cool-down of a walk around the church parking lot.

Turns out my 30-minute outing covered 2.3 miles. I only stopped long enough to take photos along the way. The cool breeze felt great. My legs and lungs felt rejuvenated. Maybe this jogging thing isn't so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe I'll give it another go tomorrow.