#3 -- Visit a real Boulangerie

So, first I must apologize for probable mistakes in capitalization for the next few...well, for a long time more than likely. I do most of my blogging from my new laptop. Because it's new, all of my kids like to play with it; including my one year old. Unfortunately, the only thing that she really does with it is rip the keys off of the keyboard. Her little fingers fit just perfectly between the adjacent edges of each of the keys, and POP! off they come. Currently, her record for getting keys off of the board before her mother notices her doing it is five. Anyhow, as luck would have it her enjoyment has cost me my shift keys. Yes, both of them. None of the others have broken yet; just those two. Ah, the life of a parent.

Now, on to the goodies. Back in high school, I had a few teachers that really impacted me in a positive way. One of these few was Mrs. Boulanger. For all you non-frenchies out there that's "boo-lawn-zjay". She was my Sophomore English teacher, and was probably the best English teacher that I ever had. I remember that she used to use some of the most interesting ways of getting us to learn. Most of them included group acitivities and tended to not focus so much on individual reports and such. Our big project that year was to put on a play of Julius Caesar. Everyone in the class had lots of fun, and really learned a lot, I think, about the play itself as we did everything. My most memorable moment of the play was the truly horrifying moment when, while we were watching the recorded version of our play (post-processed and edited by one of the kids in the class), it came to the time of Caesar's death, and I--playing one of the death dealers--grabbed my cardboard sword and plunged it into Caesar while my tongue waggled from an open mouth. In fact, it was much worse than that, because as part of the editing, that classmate of mine ran a slow-motion triple-plus repetition of that tongue waggling event. But we all had a good laugh. Probably the thing I remember most about Mrs. Boulanger was her tact and simple encouragement for me when, after stuggling to write the first lines of a poem (as an assignment) I came up with a Haiku about zits. Despite the stupidity of the topic I had chosen, she helped me along and gently pointed me in the right direction. And despite this, the school board tried to fire her that year for not following cirriculum. Shame on them.

I've thought about her and the help she has given me a number of times since leaving her class. Most of them have come while I was writing something and having a dfficult go of it; not sure where to go or not confident in how things were coming out. So, when I finally decided to go into the new local Boulangerie, I couldn't help but think about her again. I've been wanting to for some time, had heard about it from a few friends of mine, and only today decided to make a visit. I had my two oldest with me, so it wasn't exactly what I'd call a relaxing visit, but I do have to say that I was incredibly impressed with it. Loaves and baguettes of bread lined one wall. Glass display cases were filled with croissants and pastries, cheesecake and other delicasies. I only ended up buying an "apple croissant" and a "pain du chocolate" (chocolate croissant-looking thing), that both tasted great. And the people behind the counters even looked/talked like they were French. It's legit. With the plethora of businesses that pop up and fizzle out in our city, I really hope that this one is able to keep its head above water and will stick around for a while. Not only will it allow me the chance to endulge in some fine French pastry every once in a while, but it'll also help me to remember more often that one English teacher of mine that made such a significant impact on me. Granted, I'll never forget her, but it sure is nice to be reminded occasionally that there are people like her out there ready to help, ready to teach, ready to share. I can only hope that when my kids get into high school, that they can have someone as good as Mrs. Boulanger be there to help them along the way.

#2 -- Learn to talk to birds

Now, please notice that I said talk to birds, but not necessarily understand what was being said. I had a memory come to mind this morning while I was still in my bed. My wife had given me our youngest to watch over whilst she drank her first bottle of the day. The memory was of another morning that I spent in Phoenix, which is where I grew up. On normal days during the school year, I would be up at o'dark-thirty to go to early-morning seminary before heading off to another day of high school. On this particular morning (like many others, I'm frequently ashamed to admit) I had slept in and missed my carpool ride to the church. After getting ready for the day I went out to the kitchen to see what had happened for breakfast, but found the kitchen empty. And so, without anything better to do, I stepped out into the backyard for who knows what reason. (What reasons do teenagers have for anything? None, it sometimes seems.) I sat down on the bench of our picnic table, and hadn't been there long before a small bird flew up and landed on the fence between our yard and the golf course. It seemed no different from many of the other birds that I had seen before and proceeded to start whistling, most likely trying to find company (a guess on my part). For some reason still not at all clear to me, I decided to whistle back at the bird, trying to duplicate it's chirps and trills as best I could. Time passed quickly while the two of us sat and "talked" to each other. Truly, I don't know what I said to that poor, lonely bird, but it seemed to enjoy the company and stayed on the fence clear up until the time I decided to go back into the house, nearly a half-hour later. (Recently, I have wondered if in fact that bird had been a wood-pecker and that I had unwittingly invited it to stay at my house for vacation. My father has been complaining as of late about a very tenacious variety of this brand of nuisance and is doing his best to get rid of it. If this is the case, I apologize father.)

I think that the reason this memory came to the forefront of my thoughts was because of the gurgling and gooing of my daughter after her bottle. We were laying there for something like 15 minutes while my wife was getting ready. I burbled and gaga'd right back at her the entire time. And even though I had no idea what I was saying, I hope that the important part got across: that I love her. As I love all three of my kids. Being a father is nothing like being a teenager. But, I like to think that taking the time to love your kids is something important that all fathers need to do. True, most times we don't know what we're really saying to them (or rather, what they're hearing) when we try our best to converse, but I really think that it's the time that matters, and not necessarily what we're saying. Its kind of like talking to the birds.

#1 -- Write a blog

Kind of an odd thing to say, I know, but it really is the truth. I've tried twice now to post things to a blog on a regular basis, and after just a few weeks (both times) everything just kind of fizzled. I had, therefore, come to the conclusion that blogging just might not be for me. Then, last night I woke up about 4am after having had an interesting dream and said to myself, "I need to have a blog." I even knew what I'd call it. And because I know you're all just dying to know what kind of stupidity must have been swirling through my mind at 4am on a Sunday morning--when any rational individual should be sawing logs instead of thinking about blogs--that would have influenced me to try this for a third time (third times a charm?), I'll include it here in its entirety for your enjoyment/torture/benefit.

A woman that I go to church with (in my waking life...) had just exited the building where she works as I was passing. It was dark and she was scared of getting mugged, so she asked if she might walk with me as I went home. I told her that would be fine. Here, she mentioned that she needed to visit a friend of hers and would that be okay with me if we were to stop there along the way. Certainly. Why not? For somre reason it did not occur to me that she was walking with me and not the either way around. Thus, I followed her to an apartment where I found that her "friend" happened to be a guy that used to work in my research department up at school. What a coincidence! She entered the apartment and he came out to talk to me (no idea what she was doing inside). Quite soon, a set of bright lights broke through the darkness of the night behind him. They belonged to a big tractor/trailer rig setup that came up right behind this past co-worker of mine, screeched to a halt, and then started rolling backwards down a hill. Suddenly, it was noon (lots of bright sunshine about) and the rig was heading towards what I knew was a large canal, full of water. My research compatriate and I, ran towards the truck and watched as the entire thing was pulled into the rushing waters within the concrete canal. (I'm grew up in Arizona, and the whole canal thing must have come from my time there. I'm not completely mad. Just partially so.) We swung to follow the truck as it was swept downstream. As I approached, I could tell that the truck had sunk far enough below the water to nearly cover the entire windshield, and I became worried that the person driving it might be drowning. At once I decided that I could be a hero and save this guy from a most certainly unfortunate watery grave. The air instantly became as thick as molasses. It felt as if I was running in slow motion. My mind, however, continued on at breakneck speed. Frustration built up in me at my pace. And then from nowhere, came the idea that I should write a blog! As is, no one else would know what I had done, being a hero and all. I decided that I could call it: 101 things that I never thought I'd do; and number one on the list could be: save a trucker from drowning inside his own cab. What a concept!

Unfortunately, I didn't get much further in this development before my body jerked awake. I came to with the unreasonable urge to start a blog; this one. In honor of my dream, I kept with the title, but decided against the topic of the first post. Yes, granted, I am a writer of fictional stories. Still, I think that I'd like to keep to truth in my posts on this blog, and steer clear of anything that isn't completely true to see just how interesting life can be.

So, that's where I'm starting. And we'll see where it all goes. Cheers.