Well, what to your wandering eyes should appear but a Blog post on Ed’s website with no reference to Lost there.
Yes, it’s true, I have a life outside of the boob tube. Hey, to be fair, there’s a limited number of television shows that I watch (I can count ’em all on one hand) so while the critics may blast me for the wall-to-wall Lost coverage, I humbly submit that the only difference between you and me is I take the time to transcribe my thoughts on that show while the rest of you bound down the dial to discover just WHO will BE the next Pussycat Doll. (My money’s on Sanjaya.)
The good news for those who come here seeking some insight into the life Humphries is in scribing this return to form, I feel good. It’s a little too easy to look at Blogging as work and when that happens, the inspiration well runs dry. When you decide to toss aside all preconceived notions, loosen the restraints and just jaw free-form on whatever topic comes to mind (which really is how a Blog should run – leave the well-designed thesis to Stephen Hawkins) – anyway, this can be a lot of fun.
The point being, with this post, I feel a ground surge of future posts meaning you should check back often. Bear in mind, there are still 5 episodes of Lost left so you’ll bound to pop in from time-to-time and catch another Lost retread but the odds are decidely in your favor for some home-brew material as well.
With all that out of the way, as I write this, I look back sadly at a vacation week that has run its course. In what is becoming an annual tradition, I burned a week of vacation in April with the sole intent of cleansing the brain pan and performing some odd jobs around the house. Of course, this year with several staining jobs on the docket, Mother Nature conspired to dump 500,000 gallons of H2O on my homestead keeping me indoors most of the week, so… well, you know what they say about best laid plans.
Despite the fact that I had to jam all of my outdoor work into two brief weekend days, I think I made out better than last year. My genius plan in the Spring of ’06 was to use the week to fight back the encroaching wildlife that threatened to recapture their land. OK, that’s just fancy talk for ‘clear some brush’. Anyway, I spent that week last April engaging a Shock and Awe campaign against the various weeds and brush that were beginning to join forces for a final assault on my property. When the week had ended, I stood victorious and we had a nice view from our front porch to the road in front – a view which would normally be darkened with the first signs of foliage. Then it happened. Nature found a way. And within a matter of weeks, the weeks and brush were back and this time they brought friends.
Their secret weapon. Ivy.
All week long I had been pulling at these strange tree-like vines that spun their sickly tendrils from tree to tree. Hacking away with wild abandon, I had killed the vicious hydra. Sure, I took my share of licks and had a map of slices and cuts spiderwebbing across my skin to advertise the battle (my war wounds) but in the end, most of the long slender strands of foliage had been liberated from the trees. As the week wore on, my next door neighbor’s son would skate by on his Heely’s and stare at me with a mixture of puzzled amusement. On the final day he dropped this on me.
“You know… that’s poison oak.”
Now he tells me.
Of course, I made it through unscathed. I had poison oak touching every inch of my body’s surface (don’t ask – it’s a guy thing) and somehow never broke out with even a hint of a rash. Somehow I contracted a cocktail of Lyme Disease, Bird Flu and Yellow Fever all in the course of one week but I remained free and clear of that dreaded Poison Oak affliction. What strange mutant power did I now possess?
Anyway, back to the present, no such encounters happened this year. Things were nice and quiet and uneventful.
The pics above and below come from a visit we had this week from my niece and nephew, Haley and Jake. The two journeyed to Dudley to be Colin’s inaugural sleepover pals. The highlight was when Haley thought she’d one-up me with her swingset gymnastics so I swung my 34 year-old frame up on that swing-set and made like a monkey. I’m one spry sonuvabitch, that’s for sure.
The sleepover was fairly uneventful although this little exchange struck me as funny.
After we got the kids in bed (and braced ourselves for the inevitable 5 houw jaw session that would transpire) Jake exited the bed and came to the foot of the stairs calling for Andi. He claimed he heard a monster under his bed.
Now, let me set the situation.
Jake was sleeping in the same room as Colin and Haley. They were illuminated by a nightlight so bright it were as if Icarus had succeeded in pulling the Sun from the heavens and planted on Colin’s nightstand. The bed he was sleeping in was Colin’s old toddler bed, which stands about 5 inches above the floor and has approximately 1/8″ space between the mattress and the floor. The only monster squeezing itself under that bed is the Dastardly Dustmite. Yet somehow, he was convinced, that Beteljuice or Lindsay Lohan or some damned thing had crawled under there and made its home.
Conjuring up that courage I found last April, I fired up the Dustbuster and headed off to save the day.
But… that’s a tale for another day.