See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda.

~ George W. Bush

Dear Mom & Dad,

We are writing this letter to ask you a very important thing. We know that you have said no to this many times before, but we are hoping that you will change your mind after reading this letter. We want to get one of the free kittens they are giving away up at W——–. We have come up with a few ideas of why you should let us do this.

The first reason is that we will make sure that it has all its vaccinations and gets them if it doesn’t have them. We will also make sure that it is a boy kitten.

The second reason is that we will care for it and keep it company until it gets used to the family. We will also pay for its collar, tags, and maybe a litter box. We will also take turns cleaning out its litter box.

The third reason is that if you let us get the kitten we will keep our room clean so the kitten will have a safe environment to live in.

As we said before, we know you have said no many times before, but we still hope that this letter will change your mind. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Aryn and Zoe

Dear Aryn and Zoe,

We have received your written request for a kitten. We wish to commend you both for choosing this form of request over your previous method of nagging, whining and puppy-dog-eyed pleading. Clearly you’ve taken the time to give this some thought and, as a result, have crafted a well-worded solicitation – a pleasingly preferable method toward achieving your goals.

The success of your recent lemonade stand venture, in spite of our nation’s current recessional tendencies, has proven that you are budding entrepreneurs treading the rocky path toward economic viability. Your lean business practices have netted you a sizeable profit which, properly invested, will go a long way toward underwriting both the startup and overhead expenditures which are part and parcel of kitten ownership.

We have also noticed the recent upturn with regard to the safety and efficiency of your living quarters. There is a noticeable decline in trip hazards, and the myriad storage spaces are organized and largely free of clutter. The willful and consistent attention to these duties, with minimal upper-management prompting, has shown that your department is accruing, to its benefit, a modicum of initiative lacking in previous months.

Most importantly, we have taken note of the increased level of care shown toward our organization’s current pet population. Seldom do they pine for fresh water or food, and they are also reporting an increase in belly rubs and neighborhood walks. Customer satisfaction is our top priority, and this positive feedback indicates an upward trend with regard to the quality of service you are providing.

Kitten ownership is a responsibility not to be taken lightly. Yet your recent activity has shown that your department is clearly ready to undertake such a task. We hereby submit your request, along with our evaluations and sentiments, to The Cheek of God Tweaker Committee for their considerations and comments. Upon receiving their input, we’ll further consider your request and present you with our response.

Until that time, we encourage you both to continue demonstrating proper departmental practices. Documented and consistent success in future days will be taken into consideration and no doubt influence our decision.

Respectfully,

Mom & Dad

[photo credit]

Simplicity, clarity, singleness: these are the attributes that give our lives power and vividness and joy.

~ Richard Halloway

First impressions can be slippery bastards at times. We want to cling to them, allow them to set the tone for subsequent relational maneuvering. But more often than not, they are but an awkward glimpse. One small facet of the whole.

It was my first visit to my then-girlfriend’s rural home in central Minnesota. No light pollution overpowering the stars. No neighbors within shouting distance. A pine-scented breeze caressing the fields, carrying upon its back a chance of showers by morning. And a car with the windows rolled down. So he piled forth to roll them up, just in case. We met at the kitchen sink where I stood reluctantly nursing a glass of sulfur-smelling well water, waiting between sips for the cloudiness to evaporate, to just maybe start resembling the processed city water I’d grown up gulping. For half a second we contemplated each other’s presence, me in my grungiest sleeping shorts with my ample gut hanging over the waistband, him in his birthday suit.

“Don’t look, Ethel!”

Too late. Strains of Ray Stevens’ “The Streak” were the second thing that floated through my mind during that early-morning encounter with my father-in-law. A slightly more calculated and predictable response than my initial reaction:

“Egad! Who are these people!?”

It’s safe to say I don’t remember much about him prior to that moment. I’m sure we’d met out in the yard after Garsy and I arrived, maybe we shook hands, perhaps we chatted a bit over dinner and possibly he’d said goodnight before he turned in. My pre-streak recollections are foggy, lost in the haze of cautious acclimation. But as he disappeared out the front door and I quickly finished my glass of water, a third thought: a boundary had just been demolished.

Denuded, if you please.

And the cool thing is that now, twenty years later, I know he would have no problem with me sharing that story. He’ll probably break into that big grin of his, hunch his shoulders and laugh, and then proceed to put his own spin on it. I can’t wait for this summer’s reunion . . .

Gary is my kind of country. Fishin’-in-the-dark, counting-all-the-stars, just-a-swingin’, she-thinks-my-tractor’s-sexy country. He loves his mama, his kids, and a cold beer. He was in town this past week, a week from hell for me on several fronts, and yet he took time to take us swimming. Never one to favor the sidelines, he jumped in and propelled the grandkids . . .

. . . and giggled with them when they surfaced, spewing water and smiles.

For two-score-and-one years, he’s worked the line manufacturing fishing boats for Lund. If you’re a serious fisherman, odds are good that you’ve spent at least one quiet morning casting a line or two from inside a boat he built. He got his walking papers recently, a sad sign of the times. And yet, there he is, still smiling. Making time for things that matter most.

We spent an evening this past weekend sitting in my garage watching the neighbors shoot their Independence Day wad. We talked, as we always do, about simple things. Around him, I don’t have to put on airs or pretend I have all the answers. Sometimes we just sit and enjoy the silence. To spend time with him is to brush up against honesty.

Integrity.

He trusts me to do well by his daughter. He’s never said that in so many words, but I see it in his eyes. I wrote a letter to him once, out of a sense of duty, an obligation to let him know how much I loved her and, much like the suitors of old, I asked his permission to marry her. The only reply I ever received came in the form of a slightly firmer handshake and a trusting glance.

The same sort of glance he gave me as he tossed me the keys to his new convertible . . .

“You want me to drive?”

“Sure.”

So we hopped in, just us and the womenfolk, and headed to town. I punched the gas like Jimmie Johnson coming around turn four with the checkered flag in sight and relished the powerful link between man and machine under the open sky. I must have looked like an idiot smiling so big.

My father-in-law understands the simple things. He awakens my senses, granting me the freedom to emerge from my despondent, navel-gazing slumber into timeless, never-for-nothing moments, and for his trust, his gentle prodding, and his heart of gold, I will be forever grateful . . .

[top photo credit]

Someday I’m a be peaceful again / Till then keep speech to a min

Something about this song moves me.

Deeply . . .

I pick a lotta locks, rock a lotta shows
Build with the moms, hang with the broken crow
Been hurting the same heart since I was like two
I use sarcasm freely, bark at the greedy
Bite what feeds, shy from the seedy
I’m bold in approach, so rely on my hope
That the average emcees can’t fuck with the sound like me
I never been down with the king
It’s never something I wanted to be
Never better than the work than the toil and the reap
But the work for the wants, not the suffer for the needs
Nothing’s tougher than the… dreams and good sleep
Trying to teach my son to reach, damn right
Cause it gets a little darker every night
And the rent goes up, they gon’ cut out the…

Dead ends to chase, feelings to fake
New hearts to break, amends to make, they all so
Afraid and safe, in need of space
But hugging that crowd, only shake with the quake
And uh, times like this are up
We break their stride cause we break our mirrors
They hugging that pride like it’s all there is
We make our own and if they don’t feel it
Then we are not for them (and that’s cool)

Yo, I made this beat for Alegra Oxborough
She showed me how to do the thing with the cups
I wrote the verse on a triple double Tuesday
Riding in the van in the back lot
I never made it in, never really can tell the friends these days
Telephone don’t sleep some days
Someday I’m a be peaceful again
Till then keep speech to a min
Shed a little skin, I’m a bet it all and win
I’m a set it off and run, I’m a kill it till it’s dead
I’m a do it till it ain’t fun and words don’t come
Then I’m gonna find another hobby
Probably find love, probably find trust
Eighty-one young with a little bit of rust
Clean interior, Minnesota plates
Money in the bank with a lot of you to thank
Relate to the…

Dead ends to chase, feelings to fake
New hearts to break, amends to make, they all so
Afraid and safe, in need of space
But hugging that crowd, only shake with the quake
And uh, times like this are up
(Up for whatever, how are you?)
We break their stride cause we break our mirrors
They hugging that pride like it’s all there is
We make our own and if they don’t feel it
Then we are not for them, we come wild

Dead ends to chase, feelings to fake
New hearts to break, amends to make, they all so
Afraid and safe, in need of space
But hugging that crowd, only shake with the quake
And uh, dead ends to chase, feelings to fake
New hearts to break, amends to make, they all so
Afraid and safe, in need of space
But hugging that crowd, only shake, that’s it

There is one thing more exasperating than a wife who can cook and won’t, and that’s a wife who can’t cook and will.

~ Robert Frost

Settle down there, Bob. My wife reads my blog. She’s going to read what you said and agree with you, for she has this notion that she can’t cook.

Hogwash.

I assure you, Dear Tweaker, no one residing within the friendly confines of The Cheeky Mansion is starving.

Sure her meals sometimes lack creativity; when you’re catering to the likes of four busy and opinionated kids and a husband who simply can’t eat like he used to, the same tired standbys are sometimes about the best she can manage to muster.

I said “sometimes” above because, truth be told, my wife is incredibly creative: she’s a scrapbooker; her flower beds blossom vividly and her vegetable gardens spring forth an annual harvest of awesomely good goodness; she crafts meaningful, poignant cards and attractive yet practical gifts for teachers, neighbors, relatives and friends. She’s busier than a one-armed paper hanger.

The total mama package.

And occasionally, when time permits and the cupboards abound, she serves up a truly inspiring meal. So, for your dining pleasure, I give you last night’s entrée:

Friendly Fish Filets

Ingredients

¾ pound white fish (grouper or cod)
¾ cup all-purpose flour
½ cup buttermilk
¾ cup crumbs (she used Wheat Thins) ground in a food processor or a rolling pin
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon pepper
½ teaspoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh parsley
1 ½ tablespoons canola oil
Can of canola oil cooking spray

Preparation

1. Cut fish fillets into four even pieces (about 3 ½ x 3 ½ inches each). Rinse and dry well.

2. Place the flour in a small bowl and the buttermilk in another small bowl. In a medium shallow bowl, stir together cracker crumbs, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and fresh parsley to blend.

3. Dip each fish square first into the flour, then the buttermilk, then the cracker crumb mixture.

4. Place a medium, nonstick frying pan over medium-high heat. Spread canola oil on the bottom and add the fillets. Use canola cooking spray to generously coat the tops of the fillets. Fry until the bottoms are golden brown, about 3 minutes, then carefully flip with a spatula and brown the other side – about 2 minutes more.

If your family is large, like mine, feel free to double the recipe. Also, my wife claims that tinkering with the seasoning mix might yield something altogether different, yet equally deee-lish. We had our filets on buns with lettuce leaves, slices of cheese (pick one you like) and tartar sauce . . .

By the way!

Dear Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. Kroger Supermarket Product Packaging Designer Person,

You, sir, or ma’am, are an imbecile!

Please take a moment to read the ingredients label for your brand of tartar sauce, whereupon you’ll notice the word “Relish.” Relish which, also according to your list, contains chunks of stuff like cucumbers and red bell peppers.

Chunks!

Which are not easily squirted through this masterpiece of a lid . . .

Do all us paying customers, who are weary from fighting and squeezing and pounding, a favor and redesign the damn thing!

Please?!

Respectfully,

The Cheek

[photo credit]

The greatest danger, that of losing one’s own self, may pass off quietly as if it were nothing; every other loss, that of an arm, a leg, five dollars, a wife, etc., is sure to be noticed.

~ Soren Kierkegaard

Come with me back in time a decade or two where I am swimming in one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes. I’ve had my fill of barbequed meat with all the trimmings. Washed it down with some generic beer from a can. Chatted with all the people I can tolerate. So I’m chilling, way out past the dock, away from the din of myriad related-by-marriage offspring. At over 300 pounds I float effortlessly, my toes tickled by gentle waves. All I have to do is lean back and I’m a pontoon uncapsizeable. I made that word up, according to my spell checker. I don’t care. It’s my blog. I am one with the lake. The water my headphones, a Zen soundtrack playing in my head.

I fall asleep.

Fast forward to this past Saturday. Over seven years since my weight loss surgery. I’m 185 pounds of where-the-hell-did-all-that-weight-go; not lean, yet no longer a whale. I’m with the kids at a pool just south of town. Between sno cones and popcorn, we’re working on floating. For the first time, Zoe gets it. She and the other two have floating contests. Four minutes – give or take, since I got tired of counting around two-hundred-ten-one-thousand – is the new record. “Come on Dad, float with us!” I’m game, so I lean back . . . and damn near drown. I try again, thrusting at the waist, trying to penetrate the surface. Did that sound raunchy? Sorry. No luck. My feet hit rock bottom.

What the hell?

I pose the question to Chris, a scientist, über-smart, a friend and fellow blogger. Here’s the deal:

As I understand it, it is all about cell density. Fat cells are big and loosely spaced, so fat tissue is not so dense. Muscle cells are all wound up on each other – kind of like a rope – so muscle tissue is much denser than fat. The denser something is, the more likely it is to sink in water. Fat tissue is generally less dense than water, so it floats. Muscle tissue is denser than water so it sinks.

How’s that?

How’s that?! You mean if I find myself in water over my head again, I might have to actually move something to stay afloat? Doggy paddle? Or, worse yet, I might have to resort to some hunter-orange-ugly Personal Floatation Device?

Me?

The Unsinkable One?!

Shit . . .

[photo credit]