Infancy:

From the moment of her birth this strange new breed of offspring captivated us, starting with her sweet smelling newborn breath. It’s an intoxicating scent this researcher still remembers, even now. No one had ever prepared me for that specific slice of Heaven on Earth. It was just the first of many ways in which the little creature surreptitiously captured our hearts. Despite frequent shrill wailing noises, the subject quickly endeared herself to those around her, as evidenced by cutesy nicknames applied by the researchers such as Maia Papaya and Monkey Maia, later morphed into the more common scientific nomenclature, Papaya Monkey.

Personal Hygiene:

Despite the maternal researcher’s early infatuation with the Papaya Monkey’s breath, over the years it has—how shall I delicately put this—not remained quite so sweet. She’s a pre-teen, and, um, she smells like one. It may be a form of reverse evolution, but we’re hopeful that this aversion to hygiene is only a temporary developmental phase. In a strange contradiction, we have noted in our field observations that when the Papaya Monkey does choose to bathe, she seems to enjoy the experience—at least judging by the extended length of time she is willing to subject herself to the flow of water from above. It is too early to draw a firm conclusion, but this behavior suggests the possibility that the subject believes length of  hygiene efforts can compensate for their infrequency. Her awareness that freedom from dirt and odor is directly correlated with daily cleansing may not yet be fully developed.

Personal Habitat:

The Papaya Monkey’s personal living space suffers considerably from the subject’s lack of attention. All available evidence points to a pervasive disregard for closets, drawers, shelves, and clothing hampers, with her bedroom floor being the location of choice to store all her personal belongings. We therefore regretfully conclude that tidiness may not be one of the Papaya Monkey’s dominant characteristics.

Family Bonding:

The Papaya Monkey is a loving creature who freely dispenses hugs to her family members. She is particularly well bonded with the paternal researcher, who is nearly always willing to act as the subject’s playmate. The maternal researcher, when not assuming the role of disciplinarian, also enjoys close bonding time with the subject. Though the Papaya Monkey has historically had a close and protective relationship with her younger male sibling, she  currently exists in a state of occasional antagonism toward him, as well. The researchers believe this to be a symptom of adolescence and that she will eventually outgrow this undesirable behavior.

Peer Socialization:

The Papaya Monkey displays curious social habits when among peers. In a recently observed rare overnight gathering with other females similar in age—intended to celebrate the addition of another year to the Papaya Monkey’s life—researchers noted an excessive amount of giggling and generally high volume communication. The creatures also appeared to enjoy grooming each other by applying colored enamel to the nails on each others’ fingers and toes. All of which was extremely foreign to the Papaya Monkey’s younger male sibling, who complained frequently of the noise.

Adult Socialization:

In positive findings, our extensive research shows that so far the Papaya Monkey appears to have been properly domesticated with respect to adult interactions. The researchers frequently get glowing reports about her attitude and behavior from teachers, church staff and volunteers, and other parents. She is nearly always described as respectful, helpful, caring, and easygoing. Close observation reveals that the subject is also extroverted, confident, and a bit on the theatrical side. She is something of a ham, and not at all afraid to hold a conversation with adults.

Intelligence:

As the only specimen of the breed, we are still evaluating the Papaya Monkey’s full intelligence potential, but the data so far is encouraging. Reports from school are overwhelmingly positive, and she is particularly fond of social studies. The Papaya Monkey makes a “dream student” (according to the latest field information from her educational instructors) and appears to be particularly well informed in the history of explorers and conquistadors. She brings home straight A’s on her report cards, which suggests that she is more than adequately prepared for the academic rigors she faces. She has also demonstrated a consistent talent for winning a million dollars on the Nintendo DS version of “Are Your Smarter Than a 5th Grader.” She’s pretty smart, for a monkey. And for a 5th grader.

Conclusion:

All things considered, I think we’ll keep the Papaya Monkey. She’s a highly entertaining specimen to study, and she is evolving into a lovely young monkey, I mean lady. The researchers agree that she shows tremendous potential for a happy and productive (if cluttered) future. What more could a Papaya Monkey breeder ask for?

Technically, I created and named Inheritance Press when I self-published my blog book earlier this year. But in recent months I’ve been branching out. I’ve formalized Inheritance Press as a business entity, sought public input on my logo design, created a website, and signed my first author—none other than fellow blogger Paul Nichols of Writing From the Hip. We’ve been working on formatting his book, Growing Up in the 1950s…Just Seven Blocks from the Mexican Border: A Southern Arizona Memoir, scheduled for release on September 5. Stay tuned for an official announcement of availability!

For those curious about the meaning behind the Inheritance Press name, it’s twofold. First, it represents that the first book published under this brand was my own legacy to my children. I hope it’s an inheritance they will treasure forever. Second, it represents my personal faith and the promise that we will inherit eternal life.

The logo is dear to me because it captures both of these meanings. It is a family tree, with the two doves representing my two children. It is also the tree of life, with the doves adding just the right note of Christian symbolism.

As a print-on-demand publisher (albeit a very small, very independent, and very part-time one), I hope to be producing books on topics of personal interest to me. For now, that includes the disparate genres of personal memoirs, workplace learning, and Christian living/spiritual growth. If you know any aspiring authors writing in these genres who are looking for more personal assistance than self-publishing alone provides, feel free to put them in touch with me or direct them to the Inheritance Press website. I’d love to talk with them.

And to stay up to date on new releases, become a fan of Inheritance Press on Facebook!

Want to know how deep my obsession runs? Last week on my way home from work, the gas light blinked on in my car, signaling the need for fuel. But my brain immediately buzzed in Pavlovian anticipation of a different type of fuel. “Yay, it’s time for more Smartfood!”

This instinctual response is the result of frequent associative conditioning, as any clerk at my friendly neighborhood Mobil station can attest. Case in point: a few weeks ago I was making my regular Smartfood purchase while gassing up the car. When the clerk asked the customary “Will that be all?”, the associate at the next register over answered for me. “That’s all she ever gets.”

Ha. I beg to differ. Sometimes I vary the size bag I buy.

Well, who could blame me? Smartfood is nothing less than manna from Heaven. It may claim to be a simple snack in a homely black bag, but inside that bag is magical fluffy popcorn dressed in a heavy layer of white cheddar cheese goodness. The kind that demands licking every last scrumptious, delectable, cheesy, heavenly, perfect morsel from your deliciously cheese-plastered fingers.

Not that, um, I would ever exhibit such a gauche display of bad manners. At least not in public. Provided, of course, that we agree to exclude actual public places from the definition of “in public.”

Okay, okay, I confess. I have abandoned all pretense of sophisitication and social grace, proudly licking my Smartfood coated fingers in front of all the world. I stand no chance against the siren lure of this savory snack. Resistance is futile.

Sometimes, however, resistance is forced on me through competition to get my hands on the stuff. Where I live, Smartfood is a hot commodity whose demand occasionally exceeds supply. I plead the fifth on whether or not 80% of that demand comes from a single, unnamed citizen. But as a result, I am sometimes stymied in my attempts to acquire a fix. And I wonder if it’s wrong to feel ire at the greedy people in my town who keep buying up all the Smartfood and depriving me of my fair 80% share. So if you ever catch me cleaning out the inventory in the grocery store, I’m merely stockpiling my personal stash to get me through the dry spells.

A final word of advice to those around me: I guard my Smartfood ferociously. Don’t ask me to share. The answer is NO. Get your own bag! But please, oh please, do not buy it at my gas station or my grocery store. Or at my backup dealers, for that matter. You’ll force me into withdrawal, and I’ll have to retaliate by disowning you as my friend.

Moments later, I really smelled smoke.

What happened next was over and done in mere seconds, but the series of events is indelibly etched in my brain. It happened like this:

• I turned around to seek the source of the acrid odor, and at that instant, the mountain (it seemed) of packing paper which had been sitting on the stove ignited into flames. I wondered, bewildered, how the paper was on fire.
• Then I noticed that the knob for one of the stove burners was boldly set on Hi. For what seemed like eternity, but could have only been a split second, I puzzled over how that could possibly have happened when I was alone in the kitchen and hadn’t touched the stove.
• It felt like impossibly slow, muddled thinking as I finally understood that a flap on the box I had slid out of the way a few minutes earlier must have caught on the burner control. It was a simple act of inattentive carelessness. It was my fault.
• As panic battled with the unfolding confusion for attention in my brain, I picked up a stack of the burning paper and tried to blow out the flames, which was a little like trying to blow out a Duraflame log. It wasn’t happening. Even if it had worked, there was still more paper incinerating itself below.
• Adrenaline pumping, I yelled in full panic mode, “Fire! Fire!” as I dashed back and forth to the sink three or four times to throw every shred of the flaming paper under water.
• Just when I thought I was done, I noticed that a lone sheet had dropped to the floor, still ablaze, and threatened to engulf the dish rag hanging on the front of the stove. I dove to capture the stray offender and save the imperiled dish rag, along with anything else flammable in the vicinity.
• At some point Kent and our friends arrived on the scene, but I already had things under control. Kent patted me on the back saying “good job, Niquey, good thinking.” He told me later that he didn’t think I even knew he was there, so focused was I on dousing the burning paper. But my senses were hyper-aware. I took in everything in more detail than seems possible, just like in the movies when things happen in slow motion. Slow motion is exactly what it felt like.
• Finally, realizing I was shaking, I sank to the step stool I had been standing on when it all began, burying my face in my hands out of sheer relief that I had not actually set my friends’ home on fire, while they consoled, “It’s okay, Mo. It’s okay.”
• As I surveyed the charred paper that littered the floor, I felt simultaneously thankful that no damage had been done (except to my psyche), grateful for incredibly understanding friends, and guilty that the extra time I would now have to spend cleaning up the mess meant that much less I’d get done in the rest of the house. So much for “helping.”

I always knew I was a menace in the kitchen. I just always thought it only pertained to actually cooking. So if I ever offer to help anyone move, you might want to insist that I bring along my own personal fire extinguisher. Just in case.

Oh, and I can now say from personal experience that if fire is going to set my heart racing, I much prefer for it to be this kind of fire.

But a few nights ago, something happened which taught me that sometimes, being noticed has powerful benefits.

For the past three and a half years, I’ve been meeting regularly with my sister-in-law, Angie, for a weekly (now biweekly) Bible study. The vast majority of those meetings have taken place at a Chipotle restaurant we selected for no other reason than we both love Mexican food, and it happens to be more or less equidistant from where we both live. For at least half that time, there has been one particular employee who has been there nearly every Sunday night. We chat with him regularly as we pay for our food, and he knows us by name. He notices when we miss a week. He’s been known to comp our sodas. Somehow, despite my best efforts at anonymity, I’ve become a regular. One might even go so far as to say that Angie and I are the Cliff and Norm of this fast casual dining joint. And it’s unfamiliarly reassuring to be on a first name basis with the guy who takes our money week after week.

What we didn’t know until this past Sunday was that he’s been paying attention to the purpose for these weekly visits. Our friendly host isn’t necessarily the kind of person you’d expect a pair of minivan-driving moms immersed in Bible study to have an impact on. With stretched earlobes, multiple facial piercings, and spiked beard, his alternative look might be more likely to inspire one to cross to the other side of the street than to strike up a conversation about God. But it would be a mistake to judge this book by his cover, because tucked into his unique brand of self expression is a sweet guy, a little quiet, with a steady work ethic. I’d be willing to bet that this unlikely face of our Chipotle experience is very loyal to the people in his life.

So we were pleasantly surprised the other night when our Chipotle friend approached first Angie, and then both of us, with a prayer request about some personal issues affecting his girlfriend. He said he hasn’t always been someone who prayed, but he is trying to pray for her and wanted to know if we would pray for her, and for him, too. Apparently he has been working up the courage to bring this up with us. For me, that’s a strange role reversal. Usually I’m the one standing in those shoes, wondering how to introduce a potentially awkward topic of conversation. I’d find humor in the irony, except that I recognize it as a universal feeling for anyone straying outside their comfort zone. I know exactly how he felt.

Angie guesses it must be the subtle pink streaks she recently added to her hair that finally made us seem approachable. She just may be right. I also think it’s no coincidence that this prayer request came on the very night we were studying from the book of Ephesians on the topic of—you guessed it—prayer. But whatever the reason that inspired our favorite cashier to open up, this small yet gigantic step has started a conversation we can now continue to have with him as we gently encourage him in the power of prayer.

It’s a teaching moment for me, too. Looking back, I feel shame that when Angie and I first began our meetings, I was self conscious about studying the Bible in public. I am so thankful now that we persevered anyway, that I have not been invisible at Chipotle after all, and that our new friend there knows our names. I will honor his prayer request, and I will add to his petition the prayer that through our example, maybe, just maybe, he will come to truly know the most important name of all.

Noah then looked at me and said in all seriousness, “So you’re older than Daddy?”

Anyone wanna buy a kid cheap?

I interrupt regularly scheduled vacation blogging to bring you this critical news flash.

Some of my regular blog readers know that I have had plans for quite some time (first documented here) to self publish my blog writings in the form of a book, for my children to read and share with their own children someday. Well, I am ecstatic to announce that the book is a reality and is officially available on Amazon! Click here, or on the book cover image below, to see for yourself.

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Thanks so much to all of you who read my blog, whether regularly or just occasionally. Though I don’t blog as often as I did when I started, your continued kind comments and positive feedback have encouraged me to keep going. My children will thank you some day for giving me the support I needed to keep writing for them. And keep going I will. This is only Volume 1 of what I hope will eventually be many.

And by the way, this is in no way a sales pitch. Especially since my regular visitors have read most of it already. It’s just an expression of my ecstatic joy at seeing my name on Amazon. It was a pipe dream. I never really thought it would happen.

1. It was a beautiful day to be outside. So glad we postponed the 2nd day of our Colonial Williamsburg visit to avoid trudging through rain, lightning, and mud.
2. We started today with the Capitol and the jail. Trials were held 4 times per year, so accused criminals could be incarcerated for months before their rights to a “speedy trial” were exercised.
3. Dined in a historic Williamsburg tavern for lunch. Fun!
4. Today we learned about the following trades: wigmaker, apothecary, silversmith, milliner, weaver, and wheelwright. We missed the basket maker and some re-enactments, but otherwise successfully covered everything we set out to see.
5. The kids roamed the hedge maze behind the Governor’s Palace before we called it a day. They boys won, with many accusations on both sides of cheating.
6. Noah: “I come in peace, yo.” I have no idea what it means, but he’s been singing it over and over tonight. Silly boy.

1. Cherry blossoms swirling in the wind look like snow. Beautiful!
2. Noah: “If you’re going to throw up, throw up in the bag in front of you.” Said as the kids recreated their own version of Mission Space while we waited to get into the U.S. Capitol Visitor’s Center. Well, it’s true that Mission Space is the only ride at Disney with barf bags…
3. At the Capitol they made us throw away every bit of food we had before we could enter, even factory sealed packages. That makes this one of the least family friendly places I’ve ever visited. Wish we could charge them for the kids’ snacks we later had to buy to replace the ones they made us throw away.
4. Most eventful occurrence of the trip so far: We got evacuated from the Capitol just as we were learning about Senate history. Apparently it was a fire alarm, but it’s hard not to think of 9/11 when being evacuated from a federal building. Or maybe someone got caught sneaking in dangerous contraband food.
5. The infrared camera in the spectroscopy exhibit at the National Air and Space Museum confirms what I’ve always known: I’m freezing. My family’s hands were glowing all sorts of warm shades of yellow, orange, and red. Not a spec of a cool color in sight. My hands? Solid, deep blue!
6. I really still wish my family would quit rushing me. There just isn’t enough time to see everything, especially for someone like me who wants to read every sign.
7. At the Jefferson Memorial, I was pleased with the inscriptions that reinforce the faith of our founding fathers.
8. Overheard at the Vietnam Memorial: “It’s just a bunch of names of people who died.” I’m speechless. Tell that to the families of those named on the wall. I was moved to tears by the flowers and personal notes left there, and especially moved by an elderly couple who appeared to be honoring one specific name. A son, perhaps?
9. Other sites we visited: Lincoln Memorial, WWII Memorial, and the Washington Monument.
10. Yay for empty trolleys!

1. 5:45 am is much too early to be awake on vacation. This should be illegal.
2. Conversation in our car as we enter DC:
   Maia: “There’s the Jefferson Memorial!”
   Me: “You’ve never been here before. How did you know what the Jefferson Memorial looks like?”
   Maia (smugly): “Cause I know some stuff.”
3. It is windy and COLD!
4. First stop, White House. Yup, looks just like the pictures.
5. “Ooh, look, there are businessmen!” says Maia as we pass a trio of men in business suits pulling their suitcases. Hilarious that she thinks that’s a tourist attraction.
6. Constant refrain that the kids (and my sister, who started them on it) will not stop repeating in drawn out voices as we enter every crosswalk: “Does everybody have their exit buddy?” Bonus points if you can name the movie reference.
7. Next stop: Smithsonian. We made it to both the Museum of American History and Museum of Natural History today. Both are more crowded than Disney. Ugh.
8. I’m a little unsettled that the exhibits at the Museum of Natural History give no credit to God.
9. I totally wish my family would quit rushing me. They’re complaining that I’m (gasp!) actually reading the displays, but I’m here to learn stuff.
10. My feet hurt (again). I have no stamina. Tomorrow, I vote for the trolley tour.