The Advisor Advises

I'm pretty sure A uttered her first words tonight, but my lovely wife argues that it sounded nothing like "Boba Fett". We'll see...

Z's newest game while we're driving in the car:
"I spy with my little eye something that is blue." He says.
"Is it the sky?" I say.
"No." He says.
"Is it the car in front of us?" I say.
"No." He says.
"Is it that sign?" I say.
"No." He says.
"What is it? I ask.
"The sky." He says.

I was mentally preparing to tear open the garbage bag in the backyard when she read my mind. Her glare communicated the tardy message, "don't even think about it."
"They still have some life-", I started, but I knew she'd disagree..."I should really save them in my Memory Box," I fabricated.
Her simple "No" was clear evidence that we both knew there was no memory box.
"I'll just take them out to take a picture and then I'll put them back," I begged.
Her reply to that was the eyeroll, her trademark. It was nearly audible. At this point I knew that to follow through would require a physical effort - she was willing to fight for this one...

I was the sole owner of that pair of sandals for 2,667 days and nights. I bought them on our honeymoon at the Payless Shoe Source in Orlando Florida somewhere between a day at the Magic Kingdom and MGM Studios. I got blisters from pounding the Mickey Mouse branded pavement for 3 long days in those brand new sandals . They are the only summer footwear that I've EVER worn as a married man. They accompanied me on eight summer vacations, they had been in the Pacific Ocean and Lake Superior, which is way too cold, by the way. I wore them with a tux to two weddings, and I wore them to the hospital after our first child was born. They even had paint spots on them from our first house.
However, it is kind of hard to see past the smooth soles where a textured tread had once been - and the fact that the right one would fall off if I ran, or walked fast, or moved a little.
But I guess I did get my money's worth out of those two. If you consider that I didn't wear them for half of the time that I owned them, and that I paid US dollars for them when the exchange rate was atrocious - they still only put me out about 1.3 cents per day.

Here we are in Wisconsin last year:

Here we are on Father's Day 2005:

Here we are near Nanaimo in 2004:


Yet this story is all that remains - after garbage pick-up tomorrow morning, that is.

 

I recently left my job of five years. The ladies in the office gave me a fitting gift - one that showed me how much they got to know me over that enjoyable 1/2 decade - a Darth Tater. As you can see from this scan of the box, he is a strange addition to the fine Mr. Potato Head line, complete with helmet, cape, black arms (with lightsaber), face plate and big red nose (?) As soon as I brought this home, Z wanted to play with it - of course he has 6 other, as they say in France, Monsieur Patates in his collection - and he new exactly how this newest version would work. I didn't hesitate to hand it over. After several minutes, he approaches me with the Darth Tater light saber (which happens to be permanently attached to the Darth Tater right arm) and hands me the television remote control (which happens to be the closest thing to a second light saber in the vicinity).
"I'm Darth Maul. You be Darth Vader."
I try to explain the continuity problem this poses for the Star Wars Universe - he interrupts. "OK. You be Qui-Gonn."
Well, we know how that ends - and no three year old with a Mr. Potato Head accessory is getting the best of me today.
So I say, "I'm Darth Vader. You're Darth Maul."
We duelled until bedtime.
There was no clear victor.