Grand Slam

Quick update--I blew everyone away with my Multi-media presentation.

I had butterflies, but I managed to get them flying in formation...

Thanks for the advice and support from all of my "fans".

Mike

Reprieve

I was supposed to speak to a group of people today, but I got pushed back til Friday. Yeah! I've been working on a freaking Power Point all night, inserting graphics and images, graphs and similar items which should impress and astound. I've been told that no one wants to hear me talking, they just want to read the cliff notes projected behind my head.

I think I'm figuring out that the trick to being a popular public speaker is just to finish early and give a handout. People are used to getting their own information by reading it. Oddly enough, that's kind of the point of my speech.

You see, I figured out that my company's customers listen to about 1/10 of the shit I'm supposed to tell them, but they read almost everything I give them. So, I started writing up this very comprehensive (what the heck does that word mean anyway?--Detailed?) summary that goes with our price quotation. Then, I did something even trickier. I would take pictures of their workplace and specific samples and incorporate the photos into my summary, indicating that I've taken their specific case into consideration in the preparation of their price quote. Well, someone in corporate saw this and thought it was a good idea. So, basically, I'm doing a presentation on how to present stuff to customers. I feel like Kramer in Seinfeld doing a coffee table book about coffee tables. I know, it's kind of lame.

My team won a bowling contest tonight--the prize was a bowling pin. The trick is: I don't really bowl--it was just a contest concocted by my company, which was fun, but on the cheesy side. I don't envy whoever has to entertain 50 people from all over the country...so in light of that it was okay. So I have this bowling pin that seems like it would be a good thing, but then feels a little pathetic to hang onto--I mean, it's just representative that I beat 40 other doughy white dudes who were half-wacked on gin and tonics. Maybe someday Ryan will want to cut it open with a circular saw to see what's inside..or test its resistance to fireworks--I wish my dad had thought like that when I was growing up...

I love this Far Side

How Are We Feeling Today?

After 1 good night of rest this week, here's what I'm thinking:

If you aren't digging my blog, please stop reading. I'm retooling my brain for some more entries, but today I have to give a speech.

At first it was 15 people; today it ends up being, like, 50 people, and I usually hate public speaking.

One time, I was in this group of guys and someone suggested we take turns addressing the group each week. There were 20 guys and 12 weeks or so. My mental calculator told me I still had a chance of getting out of it, so I got up, left, and didn't come back until I was comfortable that all the weeks were filled. Why? I guess I don't know--I didn't want the scrutiny tha comes with presenting a topic publically to a group of people that I like, but don't really know THAT well.

I've had to give best man speeches at weddings. I did okay, but I hated them. I felt like a lounge act trying to entertain an emboldened room of drunks. Do you prepare everything ahead of time? I'm damn sure not reading anything from a paper. Do you just respond to the group? Be funny? Edgy? Witty? A little naughty? A lot?

Anyway, I did a very nice outline and presentation for today, but kinda wish I had done a Power Point of everything. The bad thing is that there are a couple of Power Point Maniacs in our group that somehow have a 3D alien coming out of the screen or something, with custom animations of the Cirque du Soliel flipping across the screen revealing their topic points. I find myself mesmerized and clapping, child-like, at the pretty colors. How do you top that?

So, Yoda-Nicole thought she would challenge me by asking if I felt differently about my blogging in the AM after yesterday's sleepless tirade. Insert Yoda voice here: "Um, perhaps you change mind when you piss everyone off, eh?" Or maybe that's one of the Canadian guys from "Strange Brew"?

I know some of my friends read and enjoy it. I haven't had too much negative stuff said. Don refuses to comment anymore because he thinks I made fun of him when he did. Most people just send me Emails telling me they enjoyed one thing or another...

Let me summarize: I'm trying to be real. If you want to know the real me, read on, baby. If you are shocked when it's not what you expected, call me out or stop reading. I would prefer it you just stop reading, because I don't want to be defensive about my writing. It's an outlet, and I keep feeling myself hold back what I really want to say because I fear the reader's reaction. Weird, huh? Maybe that says something bad about me, like my personality is so based on empathy that I self-destruct without having someone's emotions to react to?

Whatever it is, I'm trying to free myself of that and move on...

Church Chat

Here's something interesting I heard from a preacher about 6 months ago. Since I can still remember it, it must have some kind of meaning to me.

He told a story about a couple who had been married 60 years, and at their anniversary, someone asked them what their secret was. The man answered, "It's really easy to love somebody when they're doing everything that you want them to. Loving somebody means that you still love them when they're hard to be around."

Listen up, Fran--you know, I may NEVER learn to pick my clothes up off the floor...

Here's another one:

Two preacher's wives were sitting next to each other mending their husbands' clothes.

The first one tells the other, "My husband can't believe the good things that are happening--attendance is up, we're putting in a new building, we were able to send extra money to an orphanage that we are sponsoring, and people seem to be happier."

The other one says, "Really? My husband has been so depressed. Attendance is low, he's having problems with the church board, and he's thinking about quitting."

The first woman was patching the knees of a pair of pants. The second was mending the seat.

So...that story stuck with me for several years. Yesterday, I was looking at a pile of clothes for Fran to sew for me--I had popped open the seam of the crotch on 3 pairs of pants.

What exactly does this say about me?

Things Emotional

I've been reading this book on Emotional Intelligence, which, ironically, is very clinically written, perhaps to justify it's own existence to the academic psychology community (Here's a great quote: "Today, emotions are a Pleistocine response to a Postmodern event").

I thought I would keep a journal of emotions, even if they were just brief flashes, as I sat around reading, occasionally interrupted by little traumas. I went inside, before losing the inspiration, and grabbed a paper plate, folding it in half in case somebody came over--I could hide what I was doing--I felt a little silly and self-absorbed. I went outside and read while the kids played in front of me. So here is an hour's worth, in the order they occurred:

1) Relief. We've had visitors from out of town for a week--the visit went well and they left this morning.

2) Dread. A little overwhelmed at the household chaos that I will need to tame today to start the week.

3) Guilty. For not going to church this morning. I've had an allergy attack this week, and lost my voice for 2 days--today I'm trying to recover.

4) Happy. Life feels good today

5) Satisfied.

6) Envious

7) Embarrassed. I just realized there is a hole in the crotch of my shorts (no, I'm not going commando or anything), and there is a nice-looking woman sitting in the yard across from me--I wonder if she noticed? I went inside and changed.

8) Intrigued. This book is pretty interesting. Trying to focus on it.

9) Anxiety. Just remembered a project I need to work on this week--I am giving a speech on Thursday to a large group of colleagues. (Ironically, it is also a group of large colleagues)

10) Protective. Ryan is playing with a group of girls--I really want to call him home so they won't exclude him and make him feel bad.

11) Annoyed. One of my neighbors just fired up his lawnmower, disturbing the peace at 9:30 AM.

12) Romantic. Just thought about Fran.

13) Melancholy. This book just refered to a melancholy song and one came to mind immediately. Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound". For some reason, when it comes on and I'm driving in my car, it makes me zone out a little and listen to the words.

14) Hopeful. I'm working on a lot of personal projects, and it feels good.

15) Intellectual.

16) Worried. Why is Ryan riding his scooter without a helmet?

17) Pissed. Our neighbor's dog just jumped on me with muddy paws. Why don't they keep it on a leash or something?

18) Proud.

19) Relaxed. I put aside my cares momentarily and just live in the moment.

20) Peaceful.

21) Happy.

22) Nostalgic.

23) Judgemental. Ryan just fell down off his scooter and I think he's playing up his injury for attention. He's hopping on one leg back. Should I help him or let him walk it off?

24) Self-Righteous.

25) Blissful. Had to quietly sneak into my bedroom to get a band-aid for Ryan's skinned knee. Saw the baby sleeping peacfully.

What struck me was how disconnected these seem to be. I guess I have a short attention span. Also, sometimes I wish I had a better word to more accurately describe the emotion (like: blissful?). I found myself wanting one of those magnetic charts that reads "How do I feel today?" and has a bunch of different faces on it and a magnetic box that you can move to where it best describes your mood (sometimes I see those and think "Are these all the choices?"). I guess I would need one that could be adjusted by an atomic clock.

I managed to get 40 pages read in an hour. And, I guess, at least 25 different emotions recorded. Whew! Guess I'll take a nap now!

Scene from yesterday

It was a beautiful day. An unusual day. Remarkable, in fact.

I played hooky from work to take my son, Ryan, and my grandfather (whom Ryan calls "Bopie") to Dinosaur Valley State Park here in Texas, where some dinosaur footprints are fossilized.



Bopie is visiting from out of state, and I thought this would be a neat activity to get us out and about. Plus, Ryan craves all things dinosauria so I knew he would be up for it.

Driving into the park, Ryan pointed to the long prairie grass blowing in the wind and cried out "look at the waves!" It was one of those odd sights that you can't capture with anything other than your synapses. Okay, don't be so damn dramatic-maybe a video camera would do it, but we didn't have one on us, so just trust me that it looked like waves of the ocean.



Strangely, although they are already dying out in most of north Texas, the bluebonnets were still blooming here, along with black-eyed susans and indian paintbrushes. It was Bopie's idea to shoot a picture looking like the dinosaur was chasing Ryan, but I could mostly just get a look like he was being tickled to death rather than fleeing for his life. This was the best one.

The thing that was unusual happened when we went for a "hike" in the woods for a few miles.

Being an idiot, I put hiking boots on Ryan that barely fit over his big toe. Onto his bare feet, since he had already drenched his socks in the Paluxy River copying a family of morons who took their shoes off and trudged like elephants through the water, thoroughly soaking themselves. I had gone up to the car to get my backpack so I could cross with my hands free and take my (very expensive) camera--the last thing I said to Bopie is "Please keep an eye on Ryan." I had in mind, but didn't verbalize "please don't let him die in this dingy green river"--I guess I should have said it, because Bopie was high and dry on land and Ryan was halfway across the river by the time I got back, which completely freaked me out--luckily, Ryan didn't fall in--he got across just fine.



So Ryan's wet feet went into the hiking boots (a no-no) with no socks (also a no-no), and the shoes didn't fit well to begin with (and yes, I am an Eagle Scout with tons of hiking experience). We got a little ways down the trail and had to re-cross the river--this time we pretty much all got a little wet. After hearing Ryan complain as we hiked up the hill and down the trail about a mile and a half, we stopped for a quick snack and drink.



Funny interlude: After crossing the river the first time, Ryan flushed out a lizard, which scurried away quickly. I told Ryan "Think about it, you look like a giant to that lizard--kind of like a dinosaur looks like to you." He farted loudly and asked "Does that make me a stinky dinosaur?"

Finally, I told Ryan that he could call out when we stop and turn around and go back. About 200 yards down the trail, he did.

While we were hiking back, we were all kind of quiet. Then, I heard my grandfather singing a very old song ("It's a long way to Tipperary...") After a couple of minutes, he told me "You know, I bet (my great-grandfather) is here with us on the trail--that song just came into my head, and it's one of the few songs that he knew--he was in World War I and that was a popular song. Plus, he loved the outdoors--I'm just sure he's out here with us."

That creeped me out, big-time. You see, I kind of believe in that stuff, but I just don't want to know about it. Like the first time I went to the movie "Aliens" and I just couldn't watch that tense scene when the alien is chasing them at the end--I just don't want to see it.

Then we go a little way further down the trail and Ryan tells us, "You know, I think God sent me to you, daddy, because he knew that I would be special for you. And he sent Bopie to us because He knew Bopie would love me." This sent a shiver down my spine.

About 100 feet further down the trail, I found an indian arrowhead, crudely hewn, chipped on one side only. It had been previously told to me that my father, whom I've never met, had an uncanny ability to find arrowheads out in the woods. This was my first time to find one.

As we walked down the hill and through the swaying fields, it occurred to me that five generations of my family met for the first time and walked with each other quietly in the woods on this beautiful day.

It felt remarkably good.

Insomno-mania

12:56 AM

Three cups of Turkish coffee tasted soooo good, but maybe that wasn't such a good idea at 9:00 at night. That was so nice of my Turkish friends to give me the special pan and finely powdered, intensely strong coffee. Maybe I should just get up and Email them about how much I loved it. I bet I have 20 Emails to answer, too. And those forms I need to fill out. And there are 7 pages loaded on the fax machine--I bet that number isn't busy anymore.

There's so much I could be doing. How can I just lie here?

12:57 AM

My head is whirring. I can't stop thinking these random thoughts. My synapses are firing full blast, but my arms and legs feel weighted down with lead--my body is exhausted. The thought of moving just makes me want to groan--what in the heck is that baseball player's name? The one who had his head frozen? It's not Lou Gehrig...Damn! Can't remember. Kinda like the movie "Vanilla Sky", where the guy gets the Lucid Dream. Oh, that's Tom Cruise. I need to add that to my list of "favorite movies". Well, I can't add every movie I've ever seen, can I? Who was that baseball player? Oh, add "The Natural" too. I only watch it when baseball season starts, to put me in the mood--to sit through a season of endless games. I wonder what the ratio of boring time/interesting time is in baseball? Does that add to the appreciation of the cool things that do happen?

12:59 AM

...Did the Rangers play today?

1:00 AM

Gotta tell Fran that I don't want the Lucid Dream thing--just bury me in a pine box. Well, I kind of like mahogany--walnut is really nice. I think walnut.

1:02 AM

Dear God, please let me keep my tax return in savings as long as possible this year. It seems that something always comes up--air conditioner goes out, something--and it seems to be the same dollar amount as my tax refund. This year, please, let us hang onto it. I need the peace of mind.

1:12 AM

Is it going to be just too much for Don to come over and work while my grandparents are here? Fran's already overwhelmed. They're going to be here. Where else could he go and work? I guess the guys are going to play golf without me this time. Maybe next year I'll get good again. Did I leave my Ipod out in the car overnight? That's just crazy-tempting fate. If it got stolen, what would the thief think of my stupid taste in music?

1:15 AM

How did I get $7 in library fines? I thought I was just a day late with that last book. Swine librarian mafiosos. They think they're above all of us with their stupid little stamper-thingie.

1:17 AM

Would it be so bad to just trash my novel and start over? Why does Mike D. mock me with the bit about "are you writing the Great American Novel?" Can't I just be average? Does being average scare me too much? The average person is average, aren't they? I think my writing is getting stronger and better and less desperate. It's really hard to keep the writing fresh and interesting over a long space.

1:21 AM

You really gotta stop asking people if they liked your blog entries. Just throw them out there and don't worry about it. You sound pathetic asking for feedback.

1:24 AM

I really ought to get up. But I have such a long day tomorrow. It's kind of chilly. Maybe I should adjust the thermostat. It might be a funny blog to make fun of how I'm addicted to looking things up in the dictionary now...all of a sudden. Well, I kinda already did that--plus, it's a dumb idea.

1:37 AM

I wonder if it's distracting me that I have this clock that projects the time in red numbers on the wall. The "Mr. Magoo" clock as Fran calls it. Every time I open my eyes, I see what time it is and my mind keeps doing the math...I figure if I'm still here after an hour or so I'm just going to get up.

1:39 AM

Ryan and I haven't been fishing since last year. It's not that big a deal--why couldn't we just break away and go? The last thing I used my fly rod for was to knock a frisbee off the roof...that's pitiful.

1:44 AM

I have three books going right now. Who am I kidding? I'm never going to read Anna Karenina. Hey, if Oprah can read it for her book club, I can read it. Oh, I just don't want to. But you love Russian literature. They're so sarcastic and funny. Like you. Maybe keeping that book beside your desk for a year is depressing if you aren't going to read it. I'll bring it on an airplane sometime--like when I go to Maine. Then I can accidentally drop it in the ocean if I can't bring myself to read it.

1:48 AM


You are a chinashop, and
I am a bull
You are really good food
...and I am full

1:52 AM

How many times can I stretch my foot before Fran smothers me with a pillow? This mattress didn't used to translate movement so much. If I get up and move around too much, I'm going to wake up the baby, and then it's really going to hit the fan! I've probably already woken her up. I could just roll over one more time...then I'll be comfortable.

6:45 AM

Wow! I can't believe I got a whole night's sleep--time to wake up and get Ryan going. Get him dressed, feed him breakfast--yesterday I showed off and made French toast. Today, I'll go easy and give him cereal or something. I can just give him $2 for lunch. I remember when I paid 40 cents. He loves buying lunch. Isn't it cute that Kaitlyn calls him "La la"? Could I work that into a blog somehow? I think people don't really care to read about my kids...Well, time to get up; maybe if I just close my eyes...

Oh, I have so much to do today. Thirty people to see. My body is protesting, telling me I won't make it through the day...I could easily justify working in the office at least half the day if I wanted to, but some people have been waiting for 2 days to see me.

5:24 AM

Hey! How did THAT happen? That's not supposed to work that way--Man, it's freezing in here. Was I dreaming that I was waking up? Was that a nightmare?

6:24 AM

Okay, I'm really getting up now--gotta run upstairs-got to jot down an idea on my computer quickly. No more Turkish coffee before bedtime. Starbucks sounds good right about now, though...

Kurt and the Caveman Close

Kurt woke up one morning and knew he was now middle-aged. His 2 sons were in college and his daughter was married and gone with her own kids now. He got in his truck and drove to his job which, somehow, he had now had for 22 years.

In the small town in central Oklahoma where he grew up and lived, Kurt felt time slip by, and he was discontent. He picked up a newspaper and scanned it for possible jobs, thinking to himself “What could I possibly do other than sell heavy machinery?” In the town where he lived, everyone knew everyone else. He worked for his wife’s cousin. Bought his car from his brother-in-law. Got his hair cut by his sister. Lived next door to his parents. It was simple, but on this day, Kurt, now 45 years old, was ready for a change. He had done a brief stint as a medic in the army back in the ‘70’s, so he thought he would try to take on the field of biomedical sales.

He got a job for the sole purpose of getting out of that small town and moved to “the city”, as everyone referred to Oklahoma City, to work for my company, and that’s how it came about that we had our first meeting.

I liked him immediately—he was disarming, honest, and he really liked to laugh. He was patient while I showed him around and taught him some of the tedious technical information that was critical to sell our equipment to our biotech customers and hospitals, and he would repeat things back to me as though he knew them.

Training with our company usually consists of a couple of weeks of filling out paperwork, getting demonstration equipment together, and riding around with a few of us that have the same job, just to get a perspective of the sales process in our specialized field. Then you’re on your own. It can be a little intimidating at first to walk into a laboratory where the customer has relatively complete control of the situation and knowledge of your machinery that you don’t even have, and then try to convince them to buy it from you. To top things off, our company’s equipment is priced at a premium, so we are always faced with the fact that it costs more than our competitor’s—this requires some persuasive skills to justify the price difference, and technical knowledge to point out the subtle differences in quality.

For people who are unfamiliar with sales, a "close" or "closing technique" is the method that a salesperson uses to take the customer through the buying process with the logical conclusion of buying the product from you. It usually ends with a closing statement similar to a lawyer's summation--it incorporates the facts and puts the story together with a directed statement that motivates them to place an order. Zig Ziglar's "Secret's of Closing the Sale" is a great reference which lists very common closing techniques that are helpful.

When I think of the method that I usually use to close this type of sale, I consider it to be my own creation that perfectly fits technical sales:“Closing with Competence”—I demonstrate that the equipment works well, then I justify it by giving a little bit of technical data about the design to help the customer appreciate the difference. I am very professional, almost formal, in my presentation--I don’t talk about personal stuff at all, don’t joke around, and I follow up promptly in writing and with either a follow-up visit or call. It worked very well for me: In my first year, I outsold most of the veteran sales staff. In my second year, I outsold everyone.

I’m not sure why Kurt decided to get creative with the process, but I suspect he couldn’t remember the terminology very well—I noticed that the terms didn’t’ seem to hold much meaning for him, and he was more interested in the operation of the equipment than learning how it worked. When I first observed this, I thought “Fair enough” and thought that the terminology would come with time…but never seemed to get there.

Kurt started out on his own and took a while to get going. He wasn’t making many sales at all, and the manager asked me to ride along. He had his equipment set up and running perfectly, but when it came time to speak to the customer he stumbled through the presentation pretty badly. I could tell he was struggling, so I helped him out when he really got stuck—we ended up making the sale, but I don't think Kurt was too proud that it was necessary for me to help out.

In hour-long car ride to the next appointment, I mentioned to Kurt that the customers were probably picking up on the fact that he wasn’t comfortable with the equipment, and maybe it was coming across as forced or insincere. “It just takes a while to get it down,” I told him, but I could tell he was a little worried and frustrated.

When we got to the next appointment, Kurt stumbled again through the first few minutes of the presentation, then looked up at me like a horse with a broken leg waiting to be shot. I didn’t say anything. Then I saw him take a deep breath and his whole body went limp. And he delivered the most enigmatic speech I’ve heard in sales:

You know, I’m just a country boy from Oklahoma. I worked with the old version of these machines 25 years ago when I was in the army, but I’m really not technically minded. Hell, two months ago I had to sew up a momma cow’s uterus with a roll of baling wire! And here I am selling this equipment now…

(he motions to me) These college boys are brilliant. They can tell you how all these things work in words I can’t even understand, and if you want to know more about it, I can have him tell you. I don’t think I’ll ever know exactly all the science that makes this thing go, but I can tell you what I do know—this is a damn nice piece of equipment, and if I can make it work great like this, I know you can, too! It may cost a little more, but from what I’ve seen, there ain’t nothing like it anywhere else!

Inside, I was completely freaking out. Outside, however, I tried to remain calm and see what was going to happen. We were in Kurt’s turf, and I just trusted his instincts—in fact, it felt like the most sincere thing I had heard him say to a customer, so while it was a little shocking, it had actually sounded pretty good.

Luckily, the customer broke out in a big smile and agreed with Kurt—he had a sale!

I have to admit, I heard that part about the cow’s uterus a few too many times over the next year…and he would vary the pitch a little, but the theme stayed the same. In fact, he didn’t really ever get the terminology down.

A few months later, I was watching Saturday Night Live and I saw the following skit:

One hundred thousand years ago, a caveman was out hunting on the frozen wastes when he slipped and fell into a crevasse. In 1988, he was discovered by some scientists and thawed out. He then went to law school and became.. Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer.

When Phil Hartman delivers the closing statement to the jury, I realize that Kurt had (perhaps unwittingly) plagiarized this for his presentation:

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I'm just a caveman. I fell on some ice and later got thawed out by some of your scientists. Your world frightens and confuses me! Sometimes the honking horns of your traffic make me want to get out of my BMW.. and run off into the hills, or wherever.. Sometimes when I get a message on my fax machine, I wonder: "Did little demons get inside and type it?" I don't know! My primitive mind can't grasp these concepts. But there is one thing I do know - when a man like my client slips and falls on a sidewalk in front of a public library, then he is entitled to no less than two million in compensatory damages, and two million in punitive damages. Thank you.

When I was describing this to a colleague, I laughingly told him that Kurt had taken my technique of “Closing with Competence” and turned it into the “Caveman Close”—it really only worked because he could work the equipment perfectly, and then act like it was no big deal. The “good ol’ boy” customer related to Kurt on a personal level, while the highly competent customer didn’t seem to get irritated with his admitted lack of competence and was impressed that the equipment was so easy to operate…. In fact, it really seemed to fit the Oklahoma demographic of understatement, hard work, unassuming demeanor, and not taking the technical things too seriously. I thought it was a great move for Kurt to adjust his sales technique to his own style, even though it was a dramatic departure from what most people did. This "Appeal to Simplicity" technique was sometimes part of what we used in our presentation, but for Kurt it was the focus of his presentation. I asked Kurt if that’s the same way he used to sell heavy machinery, and he told me “Heck no—I knew how every little switch and sensor worked on that stuff. I just can’t get the hang of all these levers and buttons on these things.”

I took this information and sometimes I even use it myself. In a couple of situations, usually with highly technical and analytical customers, I have noticed that, if you represent yourself as overly competent, they become challenged with discrediting you. Now, when I sense this, I incorporate a little of the Caveman Close and let them know “I may not be able to explain all the technical ins and outs of this procedure, but what I can tell you is that it’s the number one piece of equipment in the field.” This sometimes causes the prospect to settle down a little and focus more on the equipment and less on me.

As for Kurt—amazingly, after a year of selling, he had produced more in his territory than anyone had done before or has since he left. Our company had gotten him out of the small town and he moved on in a different career happier for the experience and opportunity.

It seems he was destined to leave his legacy in the form of the Caveman Close.

Quid pro Quo aka The Stink Bomb

Oh, no. Now I’ve done it…

I had to run out and do some errands today, and when I came back home, the baby was awake in her crib and Fran was just around the corner brushing her teeth. I guess she didn’t hear me come in—at least that’s what I was banking on when I decided to mess with her head…

I took the baby (I guess she’s a toddler now :( ) out of the crib and set her down right in view of Fran, who still didn’t realize I was home and turned around to gaze, open-mouthed, at the child who, in her mind, had just descended four feet from the top of her crib and was standing there smiling up at her with all 10 teeth.

There was quite a long pause, almost a minute.

“Mike?!”

Since I didn’t know EXACTLY where she kept the stun gun (or the glock), I decided to let her know I was there…but for a moment there was some high anxiety that our child could self-levitate..

In my mind, this gets her back for “stink bombing” my car—every time she’s in it…

Unfortunately, when it comes to car settings, I just like it set up the same way all the time—I like the AC on (even in January), and the air recirculating. That way, I don’t have to be on guard in case there is a dead skunk, or stinky bum, or rotting coyote, or whatever there could be in the road ahead of me…

When Fran drives my car, she puts on settings that even the car designers didn’t even realize were available. I can’t decipher the settings (There’s like a guy playing tennis, and someone’s foot on fire, and…is that a mongoose?) , so I have to punch buttons wildly to get it back to the way I, the primary driver of the vehicle, like it. And she likes the outside air, which takes us to the stink bomb.

East of our house is the mall. West of our house is the dump—a nice, active, ripe, stinky dump blowing it’s dumpiness all over the road. Guess who goes east and who goes west? So everytime I drive it after her button-pushing mania, I get about halfway past the dump (which, unfortunately, is the way to the highway, the way to the office, the way to my customers’ offices, and pretty much everything else I need to do) when I realize what’s happened. Well, halfway through is too freakin’ late! You either have to “ride it out” and let the dump permeate the car and wash out over the next…2 days, or close off the outside air and open it again when you get far enough away from the dump, if your air supply doesn’t run out by then. In the meantime, dump-air is unleashed inside your car, bouncing off the windows and dumpifying everything in its putrid wake.

I’m really afraid that after continued exposure to this malodorous air, the inside of my car will turn “dump color”, which is that grayish, greenish, orange-ish brown color that is the same color that the bottom of the trash can looks on beef goulash day in elementary school…

No matter what I’ve asked her to do (like, “hey, don’t mess with my settings”), I always seem to get stink bombed.

So, I’ve been ordered not to report any stories about Fran in my blog, but here’s a bootleg:

If you’ve read much of my blog, I have reported (truthfully, I promise), that during my life I’ve had very vivid dreams, usually when a very difficult decision is coming up (new jobs, also back in college about meeting with a teacher who turned out to be my mentor, about buying an engagement ring, other stuff, too). It’s probably happened about 4 or 5 times in my life, but when it happens, the directions are as clear as if someone wrote them down for me, and I’ve always done what was told to me with excellent results.

Of course, Fran knows about it and, although it hasn’t really happened to her, she seemed impressed of the power of following your inner voice.

So the other morning over coffee, Fran casually told me that she got a message early in the morning, “just as clear as I am talking to you” to get up every morning at a certain time and run for an hour to get into better shape. “It was overwhelming,” she told me.

“Wow! So what do you think?”

“I told the voice ‘Shut up!’”, rolled over, and went back to sleep…

Oh, no. Now I’ve done it…