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Deb Sprague must’ve sent it this way – this morning we woke up to snow!

Halo the collie sees snow for the first time in her life at Raindance Farms

If you’re out there somewhere and you can read this…I still miss you so much. I love you.

Dad

… “At halftime of our game with Hermantown on Saturday the players, coaches and friends of Jordan will dedicate and retire the number 23 jersey that Jordan wore,” explained CEC coach Archie Clark. “Jordan was our goalkeeper and was All-Conference and had a great all-around senior year, but we will remember him for his great wit, friendship and his enjoyment of sports and all who participated.”…

Article on the ceremony

(a blast from the past)

First of all, thanks for checking up on me. I didn’t realize so many people actually checked my site to see if I’d written any new blogs. I actually thought my blogs and the thoughts they contained would have the opposite effect – all the liberal foliage consumers would flame me for believing society has turned men into absolute wussies and what’s wrong with a society of submissive sycophants?
But I digress.

Two months ago I told my 12 year old daughter I would agree to take her and her friend to their dance competition in the Twin Cities. I can only imagine that my thought process was very similar to the thought process that the owners and builder of Titanic must have had as they stood on the boat deck and uttered “Naw, we don’t need all those unsightly lifeboats on the deck, let’s leave them out of the design, what could go wrong?…” – they probably thought they weren’t being stupid either.
The sheep (that would be me) was led to the slaughter last weekend. In case you’re wondering what a sheep looks like going to slaughter, apparently they drive a duramax diesel and have two pre-teen girls in the back of the cab. The first warning sign I had that I was being led to hell was my daughter’s friend came packed for a long, sustained voyage with roller suitcase and enough electronics to make a third world nation jealous. DVD players, iPods, cell phones, palm pilots, I seriously thought about telling her not to fire it all up in the cab of my truck so that I didn’t develop a tumor. Her mother told her several times to be good for me or I had her permission to wallop her. That was warning sign number two which I blindly ignored. Actually, reality was this child had never felt the much-needed corrective hand at high velocity on her little spoiled behind but needed it. I came to realize that the geographical center of the universe was now riding in the back of my cab, I have always wondered where the center might be. For those that are wondering, the center is named Melissa and stands about 5’5″ and isn’t as old as you probably thought as she’s only 12. I always thought the center of the universe would be like 50 or so.

The drive down went fine. Melissa’s creator had packed enough junk food for her to prevent scurvy during our long 2 hour voyage to the big city.Thus she began crunching almost immediately. In my pasture we call it grazing. She of course wasn’t disturbed by her open-mouthed broadcasting of her culinary experience because she and my daughter had headphones on because to be without a movie for even part of the trip would be to lower their standard of living apparently.

I had been instructed to wake her up before everyone else because she was “a little slower than everyone else to get ready.” It took primadonna 2 hours to get ready in front of that mirror. She started at 5am. My daughter took 30 minutes. I took the 4 1/2 minutes it usually takes me to shower, brush, put on deoderant and pull on my jeans and t-shirt.

We drive the 30 minutes to their dance competition, I find the dressing rooms where it is expressly posted NO MEN everywhere – fine with this dad, no way I wanted to go back into estrogen hell….and Melissa runs out to tell me that she wants me to go back to the hotel to get her purse because she forgot it despite my thrice repeated litany “do you have everything? Check again”…”do you have everything? Check again…” well you get the picture. I tell the little primadonna “no.” And then realize I’m standing in the midst of competitive dance moms, all of whom are now living vicariously through their protege’s and I stand no chance of surviving this. So decide to drive back to the hotel and get their purses because it provides the opportunity to light up a cigar, drive my truck and not be there.

Get back, get their purses back to them, to find out Melissa has determined she doesn’t want to stay in the Twin Cities at the expensive hotel I am now stuck paying for for two nights. She didn’t know we were staying two nights. Her mom wants her home today. Forget it, we’ll figure that out later….

I watch my daughter dance, she’s of course wonderful, all of the other children are mere distractions and nobody could hope to top my flesh and kins performance. She rocks. She’s great. She’s adorable. Enough said? Obviously she gets her talent from her father.

Daughter helps father lighten his wallet by $55 buying pictures of her on stage from the racket that sells over-priced pictures of daughters on stage. Dad is hero for about 11 minutes.

Melissa tries to help her friend’s father lighten wallet by more money to buy her pictures as well. Melissa is not successful because her friend’s father by now despises her and instead vows to write a book on parental discipline and how you’re not doing children a favor by giving in to their every whim and you’re not their buddy. They have buddies. Many of whom are apparently more mature than the parents. But I digress.

My favorite quote from the dictator moms herding captive classes of costume-clad children was “You’ll smile whether you like it or not!!!” I tried to blend with the brickwork of the wall as much as I could. I was the only dad for much of the time and when there were other dads, they were rabid dance dads, much like hockey parents if you’ve ever had the misfortune of knowing any who push their children like all civilization rests on them accomplishing what the parents never did. I dated a hockey parent – never again, they need meds. Dance dads are meeker versions of dance moms. They take their orders from dance moms. Dance moms are older versions of the dancers only they don’t have fun and they want their daughters to do what they didn’t. Win. To their credit, the young dancers have adapted to this maniacal world and still seem to be having fun. My daughter said the trick is to ignore the dictator parents, only pretending to listen when their screaming has reached a fever pitch. So much like her dad, did I mention she was the best dancer ever?

Back at the hotel, Melissa’s web of intrigue has grown. We have to go, her mom expects her home. My daughter is saying nothing. I have them pack, we get to the truck, I finally ask my daughter why she wants to go – she doesn’t, this is Melissa’s idea. Melissa had begged to stay two nights and has apparently deigned that she doesn’t like being away from home, which she calls on her cell phone about every 11 minutes or so and if her mother doesn’t answer immediately, greets her with such warm comments as “what took you so long, I had to wait…”

I stop them in the lobby of the hotel, about to load the truck and ask why we’re leaving, Melissa tells me the story of having to go. I suggest we may be staying – she bursts into tears, a panic-stricken look in her eyes that she may actually have to honor her commitment to stay, that somebody may challenge her normal ability to rule us subjects through manipulation. I agree to put her bags in the truck to stop the spectacle in the lobby, she gets in and immediately calls her mom on the cell phone. My daughter is down because she doesn’t want to leave but doesn’t know what to do. I call my ex-wife who tells me “oh yeah, I forgot to mention she’s a spoiled little brat who always gets her way and her mom always backs down – go ahead and keep her there.” I point out the flaw in the plan being I’m now holding a child I don’t know against her will, the law seems to frown on things like that. She says she’ll have the brat’s mom call me. She of course can’t because Melissa is on pleading her case. We stand out there 30 minutes, a mini form of detente witnessed by hotel guests and desk staff who wonder what torture I’m inflicting upon the poor little girl who sits crying in the big mean diesel demon. I call my ex-wife back, ask if she’s talked to the kids mom, she says the mom will support whatever I want to do and not to worry. In today’s society I wonder if I’ll get time off for good behavior…
I finally decide to make her stay. We unload their bags from the back of the truck, she makes more panic-stricken calls to mom as she’s pulled from the cab. I close the doors tell my daughter I’m going to go park the truck, good luck. I debate continuing driving away. Far, far away…and park the truck, realizing I kind of like my daughter.
We go back to the hotel room, they go swimming. Her mom finally calls, apologizes, admits Melissa “has her way a lot.” Thanks for putting up with all this, good luck.
They come back from swimming, my daughter pulls me aside to announce that Melissa is having her first time. Being a guy, the train of thought doesn’t stop at the little gate to be checked before it leaves my mouth and I stupidly ask “first time what? staying at a hotel?” “No dad, her FIRST time….you know….” Awareness hit me like the iceberg met Titanic. I was in hell and I’d been elected mayor. Panicked, I called my ex-wife. This was a crisis men are not suited for. We fix things. We can’t fix this. “Send your daughter down to the gift shop, this is her first time so it won’t be a big deal.” Not having had to experience this with my girls, I later found out this IS A BIG DEAL. Even bigger when the hotel DOESN’T HAVE A GIFT SHOP. I ask the front desk staff where the closest convenience store is – they ask loudly what we’re looking for. My daughter and her friend are dying. The friend’s not talking directly to me anymore, particularly not about this. My daughter serves as interpreter and I’m learning a new language. “Dad, we need to find a store soon.” Hurry and find a store, got that. “Ummm, we need to get some snacks and ummm, supplies, you know…” “What kind of supplies?” (AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH) “Oh you know, just misc. supplies…” They finally cough up the location of the nearest shop like it’s an atomic secret. “Dad, we really need to hurry…” HURRY and find a store, got that.

We survived the trip, I had an unusual interest in frozen foods while they frantically shopped and then purchased their ‘supplies’. We raced back to the hotel. My orders were to ensure the lobby was clean and in order while they went back to the suite. I happily obliged those orders. I told the front desk staff what we were REALLY looking for and shared an embarrassed laugh at how cryptic our conversation had been.
I got the all clear to return to the suite – I ordered so many pizzas and other junk food items that for the first time ever I had to use a credit card to pay for the order. I was taking no chances. Peace would come through pizza.

By the grace of God and another DVD for the ride back…I made it home. I am one of the lucky ones. Others I’m sure have fallen before me, and unfortunately, I doubt I will be the last to have this fate befall them. Let’s all take a moment of silence for the unwitting fathers who, like a deer in the headlights, make a rash decision to take their pre-teen daughter and friend to a dance competition and may not be as lucky as I am to return home in one piece.

How come if we live in a land that values free speech so much we have phone bills?

Dearest Redneck Son,

I’m writing this slow because I know you can’t read fast. We don’t live in Ohio where we did when you left home. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles of your home, so we moved. I won’t be able to send you the address because the last Buckeye family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so they wouldn’t have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I’m not sure about it. I put a load of clothes in and pulled the chain. We haven’t seen them since.

The weather isn’t bad here. It only rained twice last week; the first time for three days and the second time for four days.

About that coat you wanted me to send; your Uncle Billy Bob said it would be too heavy to send in the mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.

Bubba locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really worried because it took him two hours to get me and your father out.

Your sister had a baby this morning, but I haven’t found out what it is yet so I don’t know if you are an aunt or uncle.

Uncle Bobbie Ray fell into a whiskey vat last week. Some men tried to pull him out but he fought them off and drowned. We had him cremated, he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pickup truck. Butch was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to safety. Your other two friends were in the back. They drowned because they couldn’t get the tailgate down!

There isn’t much more news at this time. Nothing much out of the normal has happened.

Your Favorite Aunt,

Mom

Cash for Clunkers

A vehicle at 15 mpg and 12,000 miles per year uses 800 gallons a year of gasoline.

A vehicle at 25 mpg and 12,000 miles per year uses 480 gallons a year.

So, the average clunker transaction will reduce US gasoline consumption by 320 gallons per year.

They claim 700,000 vehicles so that’s 224 million gallons / year.

That equates to a bit over 5 million barrels of oil. 5 million barrels of oil is about ¼
of one day’s US consumption.

And, 5 million barrels of oil costs about $350 million dollars at $75/bbl.

So, we all contributed to spending $3 billion to save $350 million.

How good a deal was that ???

They’ll probably do a great job with health care though!!

(at least they’re giving money to our own citizens rather than handing it out all over the planet to places that hate us and don’t appreciate your generosity)

We have a little less than one week and counting to get the word out all across this great land and into every community in the United States of America.

If you forward this email to least 11 people and each of those people do the same … you get the idea.

THE PROGRAM:

On Friday, September 11th, 2009, an American flag should be displayed outside every home, apartment, office, and store in the United States. Every individual should make it their duty to display an American flag on this eighth anniversary of one of our country’s worst tragedies. We do this to honor those who lost their lives on 9/11, their families, friends and loved ones who continue to endure the pain, and those who today are fighting at
home and abroad to preserve our cherished freedoms.

In the days, weeks and months following 9/11, our country was bathed in American flags as citizens mourned the incredible losses and stood shoulder-to-shoulder against terrorism. Sadly, those flags have all but disappeared. Our patriotism pulled us through some tough times and it shouldn’t take another attack to galvanize us in solidarity. Our American flag is the fabric of our country and together we can prevail over terrorism of all kinds

So, here’s what we need you to do .

(1) Forward this email to everyone you know (at least 11 people). Please don’t be the one to break this chain. Take a moment to think back to how you felt on 9/11 and let those sentiments guide you.

(2) Fly an American flag of any size on 9/11. Honestly, Americans should fly the flag year-round, but if you don’t, then at least make it a priority on this day.

Thank you for your participation. God Bless You and God Bless America!

This is difficult for me to admit but, admit it I have to: my liberal friends were right.

They told me if I voted for McCain, the nation’s Hope would deteriorate, and sure enough there has been a 27 point drop in the Consumer Confidence Index since the election, reaching a lower point than any time during the Bush administration.

They told me if I voted for McCain, the US would become more deeply embroiled in the Middle East, and sure enough, 25,000 additional troops are scheduled to be deployed into Afghanistan.

They told me if I voted for McCain, that the economy would get worse, and sure enough unemployment is approaching 10% and the new stimulus packages recently sent the stock market lower than at any time since 9-11.

They told me if I voted for McCain, we would see more “crooks” in high ranking positions in Federal government and sure enough, several recent cabinet nominees and Senate appointments revealed resumes of scandal, bribery and tax fraud.

They told me if I voted for McCain, we would see more “Pork at the trough” in Federal government and sure enough, 17,500 “PorkBills” showed up in Congress in just three weeks.

They told me if I voted for McCain, we would see more deficit spending in D..C. and sure enough, Obama spent more in just 30 days than all other Presidents together in the history of the good ‘ole USA. A 3.8 trillion dollar budget, with a 900 million dollar per day interest on this current debt.

Well I ignored my Democrat friends in November and voted for McCain.

… And they were right. All of their predictions have come true.

(author unknown)

I found this while accidentally stumbling across some other videos…