Spring break has come and gone. Now it's back to the not-so-real world of public education. I could provide a breakdown of almost all that my family and I did over spring break. It would include these things:

• stay the night with my mom
• attend my cousin's wedding
• camp out for one night
• fishing
• hiking
• reading
• resting
• writing
• date in Lawrence
• hair cut
• soccer practice
• writers' group
• yard clean up

That's the abbreviated version. For those of you who only want the "quick and pointed", there it is and you may now feel free to skip on out of here without reading any more. Don't feel guilty, I'll wait on you to leave . . .



 Still here? I can only conclude then that you are either a glutton for the form of punishment that is reading these horrid diary entries; or, you have found that you must "clean your plate" literarily speaking, and finish reading each and every word to the bitter end, once you have started, for good or bad. The last scenario is not plausible enough to entertain, and just barely made the final cut of possibilities, and that is this: you actually like to read my writing. However much I'd love to consider this as a viable option concerning my writing, I find it difficult to believe. I just can't imagine anyone reading this willingly who had no relationship with me. However, this is the blog about my family, which my readers realize when they get into it from the get go. So here goes.

My "little" cousin was married to a wonderful gal on Saturday March 17. I'm happy for the both of them. I don't know her real well, but she's made a positive first (and succeeding) impression upon me. He, the groom, is just a great guy who's learned some lessons the hard way and I can't say enough good things about him and her and her two daughters. They make a great family and I'm excited to see them go through life together. They are somewhat like Mare and I in that they just keep things real and are not into posturing for others' benefit. Whatever that means.

I was wonderfully privileged to be asked to perform some songs on my guitar during the seating portion before the wedding, and to play the opening melody of Nothing Else Matters by Metallica for her walk down the aisle. Learning that song was a challenge, and in the end I did not perform it perfectly, but well enough for a group of people I mostly knew who paid no attention to it anyway because they were all focused upon the bride to be walking down the aisle. They treated us to a great barbecue dinner after the wedding, so that was an added bonus heaped upon the other good things about the union.

Because the wedding rehearsal was on Friday night, I buzzed down to Humboldt with the two oldest boys in tow and we all three stayed the night with my mom. She was alone for the evening as dad was away. Mom and her two grandsons had fun walking to the golf course pond and all the ensuing hi jinx that goes along with it. My sister arrived late, late, that night from Oklahoma. We rose early on Saturday for breakfast together, and I drove myself and the oldest boy back to O-town for his soccer practice for an hour. He helped wash the car and Mare got her hair trimmed and we loaded up all of us to go back to Humboldt for the wedding. Sis left back for Oklahoma about an hour after the wedding and we drove back to O-town not long after.

Sunday I spent the morning finding and packing things to take the two oldest camping. We finally arrived around 1:00 at our usual haunt for camping in Kansas: Woodridge Campground at Clinton Lake. We immediately hiked down the trail about a mile or more to the lake shore where we tried fishing. Daddy couldn't secure any bait for the fish, so we were forced to try Whales crackers, the knockoff brand of Goldfish crackers. It's all I had and besides it was so oppressively windy, the fish didn't bite (the wind? the bait?) and we only tried it for about 40 minutes. They thought it was cool nonetheless.

We hiked back and the boys played while I set up the tent and scoured the empty campground (Sunday night, remember?) for firewood left behind at other camp spots. I gathered a bunch after a bunch of trips, and lit it just before sundown. Up until then I had kept the boys out of the tent, but since they'd eaten all they wished to eat at the picnic table, I let them in to change into jammies and to read bed time stories. I lit and hung the candle lantern in the tent and got back out to sit by the fire and do some writing. I kept my ear on the weather radio as it was kind of windy up in the campground among the trees, too, and the sun had not shown its face yet and rain was in the air, but unexpected until Monday afternoon.  We had the campground to ourselves, though there were some vehicles parked there and their occupants loaded up backpacks to hike down the trail a ways to camp in the woods.

I packed up as soon as we got around in the morning to have everything in the car in case it rained. We were able to enjoy another big fire in the morning with the leftover fire wood from the night before. So, we sat around it for awhile until it did start to sprinkle and rain. At that point we donned our rain gear and set off for our second hike. We started down the opposite trailhead. We walked a long way and then made our way back after a couple hours of hiking. We dove in the car and made our way home where it was warm and dry.

Stay tuned for the next installment of Life in la-la land, or, Spring Break 2012!

Happy Birthday to you Allison Clarice!

Today is March 5, 2012. I'd like to wish my big sister Clarie a happy birthday, and I'll show my respect for her by omitting any revelation concerning age. What is age anyway? If I were to judge by her wisdom, she's about 120. If I were to judge her age by the love in her heart and her zest for life, she'd be less than 10 years old.

She's helped me out my entire life, even back when I didn't want her to as a child. For example, she's the one who taught me in my first ever high school dance as a freshman not to dance with my tongue hanging out. That was valuable advice I've implemented ever since. That same dance she taught me that the senior girls think it's cute when the freshman boys dance instead of stand at the sidelines. Again, advice I put to use immediately and applied to other dances since leaving behind the title of freshman.

I'm sure she could teach me how to fish if I so desired. No one else could. She could teach me how to slalom ski behind a boat, if I were a good pupil. She could teach me how to have fun in any situation and how to find the positive in all things. She could teach me accounting and management and child rearing. She could teach me to train for a 5k run. She could teach me to look glamorous at any given moment. She could probably teach me to be a good son, if I'd listen.

I can't imagine being a part of one of those families where the siblings are estranged. A situation that does, in fact, occur within my grandparents' generation of sibling relationships. There were times I'm sure it would have been much easier to be like Peter and deny me. But, unlike Peter, she always claimed me. I'm not sure I turned out the way she'd hoped or predicted, but she's turned out exactly as I knew she would. She's a caring, loving mother; devoted wife; successful business owner; a charitable and empathetic Christian; a good daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, etc.

Clarie, I love you. You've been a better sister to me than I've been a brother to you. Happy birthday, sis.

Second chances

Our high school schedule today ended with a "motivational speaker" named Joe White. Joe is 25 or so now, but when he was 14 he jumped from a moving vehicle under the influence of alcohol. As a result of hitting his head on a concrete curb at 35 mph, Joe is partially paralyzed and has difficulties with speech. His message to the teens in the room, and really to everyone, was to make smart decisions and make the best of the life you've been given and the second chances we all are given.

I appreciate Joe's message and I hope some of the yahoos in our school will remember to make some smart decisions also. It's estimated 70% or so of high school students drink alcohol. It doesn't take but one mistake, or one bone headed decision for something to end badly.

Look up Joe White on Facebook. His is a sad, but rewarding story. We can all learn from Joe's mistakes. Not all of the bad decisions we make involve alcohol. Some involve relationships and interactions with other humans. Take a moment to breathe and calm yourself and make a good decision.

Wear yer' gloves!

I cut the meaty left part of my palm below the thumb on my left hand on Saturday. More accurately, I gouged it with a putty knife. I had sharpened it on a flat metal file to use. I made the mistake of removing my work gloves temporarily, then neglected to put them on again. Sure enough, I was scraping away and it slipped and gouged into my hand. I remained calm and cupped my hand to catch all the blood. I didn't wish to alarm anyone in the house, namely the boys, so I went directly to the kitchen sink to wash the wound. Marian cleaned it up a bit and dressed it with some kind of goop from a tube and applied a big band aid to it and a couple strips of fabric tape to help keep it more secure than the bandage's adhesive alone. The bandage came off at some point later in the day and was never replaced.

It's really not that bad of a cut. It's really only about a half inch long and not at all deep. It could have been much worse. The cut itself is a pretty clean cut, the flesh was cut rather than torn, although it bled more like a puncture.

In retrospect I have identified a few places this could have been avoided. For one thing, I let the nasty grease build-up on the range top grow to such an extent that I was forced to take the drastic measure of taking a sharpened scraper to it. Although we both are good at wiping down the range top surface after use, we seldom take the time to genuinely try to to remove it and keep it removed by using chemical cleaners. We are in the habit of simply wiping it down with the wrung-out dishrag. Unfortunately the grease builds up imperceptibly  until it is a complete eyesore and no chemical will touch it.

Secondly, I should have kept my gloves on. I'm in the habit of wearing my work thick leather work gloves for completing tasks like this one and others that are similar, (thank you dad and grandpa!) Ask my wife, (or don't) I have them stuffed everywhere: in the car, in the pickup, in the closet, by the door, in the workshop, in the pantry cabinet, in my underwear drawer, in my wife's underwear drawer...etc. You get the picture. I should have just kept them on while I performed my task, as is my habit, but for some reason, I forget now exactly why, I took them off for one thing, then didn't put them on. Probably, I was in a hurry to get in there and continue scraping off that grease.

I love wearing gloves. In a way, it makes a person superhuman. With work gloves on, I can scoop up live coals that have fallen from the campfire into my hand to chuck back in among the flames. I can handle hot metal and grasp thorny branches; I can work the handle of a shovel without blisters. I can gouge my left hand with a sharpened putty knife and withstand injury.

Simple pliers do much the same thing. Pliers turn ordinary hands into superhuman tools. They grip and hold safely when something is far too hot or cold to handle.They grip like, well...pliers. They're so handy I just feel invincible with my work gloves on my hands and my pliers snug away in my carpenter pants (another great invention, so practical and full of pockets for stuff!) and I'm ready to... to... go sit in the chair and read a book!

Learn from my experience. Gloves are cheap (at least you can pay what you want for them); so are pliers. And they're both readily available for purchase at the town and country store or auto parts store you like to shop. Get some and keep them nearby. Save your hands for your baby!

Well, there's good news to be told. One of my cousins will be married next month. My other cousin will be having a baby and get married, both in September. Now, I don't care who you are, that's good news! If you want a gritty realistic worldview that provides no room for good news and happy endings then go watch the evening news on one of the big three networks and leave us alone!

People might could use a little good news these days. Do you really want to hear more belly-aching about the economy or who is going to be the President next, or what's the matter with today's youth, and why can't things be like they used to be? Well, let me tell you something Johnny, these days are the best days. We here in the United States enjoy a level of prosperity and comfort never, ever known before in the entire history of the world. We've got it easy! I have it easy! You have it easy, too! So celebrate some people being in love and get over it!

That's probably the most gratuitous use of exclamation marks this blog has seen. Oh, what the heck. Let's add one more!

My kids are healthy. My family is healthy. I've got a good house and a couple reliable vehicles. I live in the United States in the great state of Kansas in a county named for one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence (Ben Franklin). I've got Netflix and wireless internet, what more do I need?

In the words of Navin R. Johnson, the Jerk, played by Steve Martin:

Navin R. Johnson: Well I'm gonna to go then! And I don't need any of this. I don't need this stuff, and I don't need *you*. I don't need anything. Except this.
[picks up an ashtray]
Navin R. Johnson: And that's the only thing I need is *this*. I don't need this or this. Just this ashtray... And this paddle game. - The ashtray and the paddle game and that's all I need... And this remote control. - The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote control, and that's all I need... And these matches. - The ashtray, and these matches, and the remote control, and the paddle ball... And this lamp. - The ashtray, this paddle game, and the remote control, and the lamp, and that's all *I* need. And that's *all* I need too. I don't need one other thing, not one... I need this. - The paddle game and the chair, and the remote control, and the matches for sure. Well what are you looking at? What do you think I'm some kind of a jerk or something! - And this. That's all I need.
[walking outside]
Navin R. Johnson: The ashtray, the remote control, the paddle game, and this magazine, and the chair.
Navin R. Johnson: [outside now] And I don't need one other thing, except my dog.
[Shithead growls at him]
Navin R. Johnson: I don't need my dog.

Really?

No comments? Really!?

I spend literally minutes of my time on a sporadic and unreliable schedule approximately once a month to write valuable content for my loyal readers, all eleven of them. I turn on my computer (that is, I switch on the power to the computer, I don't speak softly to it and turn down the lights and play saxophone music on the stereo) and access the internet thingy expecting to see some kind of reaction from you people and all I can read is the drivel I've written, which I already know and the "0 comments" statistic insulting me like an empty answering machine disappoints an expectant lover!

That last entry that served a lot like my obituary and what I hope to be known for when I die didn't elicit a single comment neither in support nor disdain?!

Not one single person commented, "Grow up Clayton! You live in Kansas, not Los Angeles or New York!" or, you shouldn't quit your day job, Clayton, because if you were going to be some kind of famous writer or actor it would have happened by now!"

No! Not one single supportive person wrote that they'd like to see my name on the cover of a book in every school across America, or on an Oscar winning movie now available on Netflix or three nights of the week on TBS!

What do I have to do to get some comments?!

Here's my plan. I'm going to run naked through the Sonic drive-thru yelling "Free the chili-cheese coney dogs!"

Now, would anyone like to comment?

That makes 37 folks!

Thirty seven years ago the snow and cold set in and the water pipes in the upstairs bathroom of a house on Sycamore street burst, just as the water in a pregnant young mother burst in a hospital room of a nearby hospital.

Thus begins the narrative biography of Clayton Broyles on his 37th birthday, the famous prolific writer of the turn of the century. Born of humble beginnings in humble Humboldt, Kansas, he humbly toiled as a humble carpenter, then later as a humble teacher, in order to humbly pursue his true passion: writing.

Unbelievably, he became rich and famous for his major enduring works of fiction, poetry, plays and songs, rather than his long and distinguished resume' of roles he played in major Broadway plays, his extensive radio acting career, stirring roles in major motion pictures.

His works are considered modern day classics and have been anthologized many times over for the literature student in universities all over the world. Though his fiction by and large occurs in a fictionalized small southeast Kansas town, the insight he provides into relationships and human nature plumb the depths of truth for all people of all cultures.

Broyles' parents were devoted, working-class people,evangelicals who instilled in him faith, a strong work-ethic and their belief that he was the master of his own destiny, and that, quite literally, anything was possible. They worked long hours at the business they owned involving petroleum marketing equipment, in order to provide for Clayton the education and freedom he needed to pursue his art.

He met his wife Marian Daniels, while an English student of creative writing at Pittsburg State University. They were married and had three children. Broyles credited his wife with being the better, hidden part of his success.

Broyles and his wife Marian liked camping all over the National Parks, long distance bicycle camping, and canoeing the rivers of the United States.