This past week, my wife and our 12-year-old son Jacob were out of town at a baseball tournament.  As a result, the house was strangely out-of-sorts.  Our routines slightly thrown off.  The quality of our mealtime dropped off significantly.  The volume was down a few notches.  Some things were just a little cockeyed.

Most of the things were off because of Charlene and Jacob’s absence.  A few things were off, because I saw an opportunity.  One of my opportunistic grabs was the opportunity to shine light into Jacob’s bedroom.  A typical 12-year-old type thing to do, make your room cave-like.  I suspect that this preference will take place until he someday finds a life partner.  Until that time, I just imagine him returning home to a preferred bear-like setting.  Opportunity, noted.  Raise up the blinds.  Open the door.  Let the sun shine in.  Ah, light.  Sadly, however, a sign that one of my boys was gone.

Well, today our family was reunited.  A beautiful sunny day for their return.  We had a nice dinner.  The boys all got along.  My wife was ravishing, as always.  Things were good.  One thing however was still a little off.  Jacob’s room was far too bright.

Washing some clothes, I brought some items up to Jacob’s room.  Opening the door, I smiled.  Darkness had returned.  Everything was as it should be.  My boy was home.  To borrow a quote from “Field of Dreams,” “There comes a time when all the cosmic tumblers have clicked into place…”  Things were right again.  The room was dark.  My Jacob was back home, one of my steady sources of joy and light.

Financial issues are a personal thing.  Circumstances can vary from one individual to the next.  Numbers can create different stresses for different people.  For our little family, two numbers painted the picture of the Great Recession…

53 months – we owned two houses, in two states, and all of the joys and pressures that two homes and two mortgage payments bring.

5 months – we owned three houses, spanning 734 miles, and the backbreaking pain of three mortgages, three sets of utility payments, three sets of insurance, three sets of worry.

In April, the sun started to rise on our corner of the world and one house sold.  Today, the Great Recession finally ended for our family.  Our last home sold.  Keys delivered.  Moving truck pulled up to the front door.  New starts made.

We loved our last house.  We loved its character.  We loved its history.  We loved our friends that surrounded our beloved home and filled us with strength for so many challenging years.  Today, we said goodbye.  Memories to cherish.  Memories that will forever remain.

For those of you still mired in daily struggle and looking for a sign of hope, I can report that there is another side.  A wonderful, beautiful other side.  A side where a spring will return to your step.  A side where sunshine will spill into your heart.  A side filled with the promise of a bright future.  A future that started for us today.  For us, the Great Recession finally ended.  Time to start again.  What a wonderful feeling…  almost worth the wait.

People of Earth, gaze in wonder.  I present to you (drum roll, please)…  An Invisible Tree!

It was a brief early morning meeting.  We were going over a report’s outline.  The sun streamed into my coworker’s cubicle, as we developed a strategy.  Suddenly, a soft “whack!”

Given the muffled sound I thought it was the sound of two distant cars in a fender bender, but judging from my friend’s face, it was something different.  He stood and looked out the window.

Turning, I realized what had caused him pause.  A small bird had flown into the window outside our 2nd floor office.  The bird rested on the ledge.  The bird was alive and looking around, but his wings looked a bit crooked.

Sadly, we knew there was nothing that could be done.  There was no way to access the bird from the office.  We watched helplessly, as the bird continued to look out at the distant blue sky.

A few brief minutes passed.  I was slowly becoming resigned to the fact that the poor bird might well die less than a foot away, while resting in the bright morning sun.  What otherwise was a beautiful morning was framed by something disturbing.  Something so sad.  All parties rendered helpless.

Then with a sudden bolt, the bird flew off!  No warning.  No hint of recovery.  The bird just seemed inspired.  As if a jolt of life had took hold and instructed him to go about his day.

Life can be full of troubles.  Unexpected twists that smack into us.  The wind is often knocked out of us.  We are brought to our knees.  Fortunately, that little bird outside our office showed the right response.  Take a deep breath, look at the beauty that surrounds you, gather your thoughts, and take flight.  Bright and sunny days are waiting for you.  Time to spread your wings and fly.

An empty ledge.  A beautiful site.  A sign of life.  A sign of hope.

Every now and then, I get to work at an offsite location.  Usually, this involves me wandering into what looks like a free cubicle, sitting down, and pretending like I belong.  Self confidence, pass it on.

Yesterday, I had set up shop in my “visiting” cube, which is located among several environmental interns who were chatting about counting turtles (I kid you not).  Having returned from a meeting, I suddenly had an urge for a beverage.  One of those, “Boy is my mouth dry.  I could really use a drink” feeling.  Leaving my laptop among the interns, I headed downstairs to the vending machine.

Back at my usual office, the vending machines have a cool feature.  Put in a large bill and get gold dollars in exchange.  Makes you feel like a real moneybags.  “Hey, look at me, I have a big handful of gold coins.”  Any who, I headed to the vending machines at the offsite location and was intrigued by the vending machine coffee selection.  By the way, vending machine products have a very strong pull on my hankerings at about 3:30PM, so I was particularly vulnerable.  I really needed some poor quality coffee and I needed it bad.  I looked in my wallet and a $20 bill sat alone.  No problem, lots of gold coins and a delicious vending machine coffee on its way.

I fed the $20 bill into the machine.  The bill was slowly pulled in.  The gears of acceptance turned.  Then the expected clanking of coins below.  I glanced down and oh my, the tally was abundant, but something was wrong.  The coins kept coming.  That’s when I noticed it was spitting out quarters and not dollar coins.  Four-to-one ratio.  The coins kept coming.  And coming.  And coming.  I felt like a self conscience casino player.  Except with windows in the room.  A clock on the wall.  And no drinks, with the exception of the vending machine coffee that patiently waited.

After a good minute or two, the machine stopped.  There in the tray sat eighty quarters.  Yes, eighty quarters!  I glanced at the coffee vending machine.  Ah, there was a lovely selection, a “French Vanilla” coffee.  75 cents.

I plugged three quarters into the coffee machine.  The remaining 77 quarters, I shoved in my pockets.

I suddenly looked like I had pockets full of rocks.  I headed back to the intern cubicle farm with my coffee in hand and the sound of many a jangle in my pockets.  I looked like I was concealing two rolls of quarters, which I nearly was, and I sounded like a mobile scrap metal site.

I walked slow.  I did not want to spill my coffee.  I did not want to tip over from the gliding abundance of coins that slowly shifted around in my pockets.

Sitting down, I tried to be as subtle as possible.  I had successfully made it back to the desk without my pants falling down and I was especially thankful for my high quality leather belt.  I tried to casually sip my French Vanilla coffee and not shift around too much.  The slightest move and a small island nation’s GDP would spill out onto the industrial weave carpet.

Somehow, I always imagined that having a fresh coffee and pockets full of cash would produce a better feeling.  Instead, I lived in fear of embarrassment.  In fear of actually coming undone.  Sometimes friends, getting all that you want in life is not all you imagine.  Embrace the now.  Don’t dwell on the future.  Don’t yearn for something else.  Also, make sure to carry small bills.  That’s the way you want to live.

How do you solve a problem like Kirby the Beagle?

How do you take a jumping dog and pin him down?

Try building a 7-foot-tall fence around the area of the yard that he is digging up.  Then you pray, you pray like a former nun who is being hunted down in Austria by a boy named Rolfe who has just turned to the Dark Side.  That’s what you do.

“Mendards is alive with the sound of my debit card.”

Our Maginot Line replica.  Just not in France, but probably in the end just as ineffective.

Kirby contemplating his next attack.

Ah, rules.  They separate us from the beasts of the jungle and add order to our lives.  Shall we take a look at the newest set of rules in the Paulsen house?  We shall, indeed.

In response to an obvious breach of sibling personal space, 7-year-old Ben posted the following rules on his bedroom door.

Rule 1 – Don’t come in without permission.

(Seems reasonable.)

Rule 2 – Don’t play with my stuff.

(A little selfish, but understandable.)

Rule 3 – Don’t break Brian Dozier.

(Fine, we promise not to “break” Minnesota Twins All-Star Second Baseman Brian Dozier.  Wait!  What?  Ben is housing a tenant in his room?!?  Time to shake him down for a portion of the proceeds.  I don’t see that forbidden in the rules.)

The Rest of the Rules…  who cares?  My son has a Major League Baseball player as a roommate.  Time to ask for some box seats.

Strange, but you would think Mr. Dozier would look more relaxed at home.  I guess pros are always at work perfecting their craft.

I pride myself on observational humor.  See something odd, yammer on about it , refine the story a tad, and bang (!), there you have it.  Daily blog post packaged and ready to go.

Earlier today, I was not sure what I would write about.  Perhaps my disdain for the Macy’s television models (nah, they may be too perky and beautiful, but they are people, too, at least I think so).  Perhaps, how I masterfully mowed the lawn with exactly one tank of gas (nah, isn’t exactly riveting, more like boring, don’t I have toe nail trimming or something else more exciting to write about).  I didn’t have much to work with (just like my lawn mower’s gas tank).

That’s when I was greeted with a glimpse of the future that made me so proud.  Entering Target, my boys headed for the “Dollar Aisle.”  In quick order, my 12-year-old son Jacob eagerly called me over, “Dad, you’ve got to see this.” With glee, he held up a plastic see through bag labeled, “Private.” Then with a playful smile on his face, young Jacob drove the joke home, “Who would use a clear bag for something private?” Exactly!  Perfect, son.  Absolutely perfect.  My boy was just like me.

One dollar.  I guess you need to pay extra for the “deluxe” privacy bag.

I got reader feedback!  Incredible awesome reader feedback about my recent desires for an unattainable powdered jelly doughnut that was in the office (http://cookiesbydave.com/doughnut-love-lost/).  Well, even though we are still in negotiations with Dakota Johnson to play the role of the jelly doughnut in the big screen adaptation, I thought an epilogue would be appropriate, so here it goes.  Enjoy (maybe best done after you put the kids to bed, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more)…

DOUGHNUT LOVE LOST – THE EPILOGUE

It has been two days, since we last saw each other.  I knew we had to part, but that doesn’t ease the pain.  It does little to satisfy my hunger.  A hunger that burns so deep.

I look for her online, but she is nowhere to be found.  In crowded bakeries, I glance at the display cases hoping to see her powder white flesh, but she is never there.  All I find are pale imitations of the one for which I still crave.  I miss her gentle curve.  I yearn for her soft fried dough in my mouth.  I have not found another.  I fear I never will.

My friends tell me that I’m better off.  They tell me that she would not have been good for my heart.  Still I miss everything about her.

I’ve tried other snacks, but the taste of her powdered sugar on lips is the only sensation that will satisfy me.

I burn with jealousy at the thought of another savoring her silky jelly.  She was meant to be mine, but it was never meant to be.

Perhaps, the best images are not on film.  They aren’t stored on a computer or the cloud.  The best visions dwell in your mind, where you can embrace love lost and fully taste sweet doughnuts that are long gone.

My 7-year-old son Ben’s Little League baseball team sat in last with a record of 1-6.  I had managed them to six straight defeats.   Last place.  Last place by plenty.  We try not to emphasize winning, but the losing was becoming painful.

At lunch, I contemplated our evening’s game.  For some reason, I had a good feeling.  A feeling like we had a chance to win.

I arrived at the game upbeat and the unlikely happened.  We held a lead for much of the game.  Into the bottom of the sixth (the final inning) we marched and we actually clung to a two run lead.  I called the team into the dugout and encouraged them to make just three more outs.  We could do it, I knew we could.

Then I made the controversial move of the night and shifted a new player to first.  A defensive replacement.  An unpopular move with the kids, but victory was so close.  We could do it.

Then the wheels started to come off.  An infield hit there.  An error there.  Before long, the bases were loaded with two outs.  The winning run was on first.  It would be close.

The pitch.  An infield dribbler.  The first baseman defensive replacement raced for the ball.  He scooped it up.  The runner sprinted down the line.  The first baseman ran toward first.  Out by a step!  We had won.  Finally.  The defensive move had paid off.  Victory at long last.

The team packed up and left.  Smiles all around.  I walked around the empty field one last time with my son.  We scanned the ground for any lost equipment, as our shoes crunched on the infield dirt.

I don’t know how much longer I have in life, but I do know that I had been given a moment to treasure.  A moment to savor.  That’s when one final blessing was bestowed.  The Universe’s way of smiling.  The sound of an ice cream truck headed our way.  Perfection on a summer night.  The way life was meant to be.

Ben and his ice cream treat.  The perfect match and a perfect ending.  The Universe smiled.