A work, we operate in a bit of an “Earbud Nation.” Each of us operating at peak efficiency, while listening to our personal audio selection.  Well, my co-workers, they’re efficient.  I do my best to keep up.

For me, my audio stream is the Minnesota Public Radio (MPR) triple play…  MPR News, The Current (adult contemporary rock), and Classical MPR.  No matter the mood, the right playlist.

Formulating how to tackle a project and make the world a better place?  MPR News.

Rocking a little spreadsheet action?  The Current.

Concentrating, while reading or writing?  Classical MPR.

Today, I was prepping for a meeting.  Writing down a few last minute notes.  I wrapped up, grabbed my laptop, and headed off.  Just one thing, I forgot to mute the MPR stream.

Suddenly, a blast of violin concerto greeted my office mates.  Stunned, my neighbor noted, “Dave is classy.”

And that, my friends, is the first time I have ever been called “Classy.” Thank you, Minnesota Public Radio for raising me to new office heights.

As a dutiful Lutheran, I know the drill.  At the start of the service, there’s a script read by the Pastor, then everyone silently confesses their sins, then another script is read, and I’m forgiven to start the week fresh.  Bing, Bang, Boom!

Today, the script was read and here were my actual thoughts, “Sorry for all of my sins. (Pause) There sure are a lot of them.” Then more text began to be read.  Whew!  Didn’t want to go down the whole list.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, there was another pause.  Shoot, I had confessed too early.  Well, I guess I had better start on my list.

“Sorry, I yelled at my family (Bonus Content – We were all a little testy this morning and I got a lotta snippy).”

Longer pause.  I had better continue.

“I am also sorry for unpure thoughts. (Reader Reminder – Don’t judge me.  You have those ‘Hot Thoughts,’ too.  Let’s all be honest here.)

Still longer pause, this was getting painful.

“Sorry that what I say is sometimes hurtful.”

Thankfully, the pause ended and no further detail was required.  Whew!  Finally, I was on the other side of “Confession Time,”

Any who, long story short, I’m forgiven now.  Lord knows, I didn’t earn it, but I’ll sure take it anyway.

Saturday morning, Charlene was headed out the door for a run and a yoga class.  In passing, she mentioned how it would be nice to have a clean house this weekend.  Mental Note – “Wife desires clean house.” Check.

The boys, as Saturday morning tradition dictates, buried their noses in their tablets.  I knew what I had to do.  Be patient.  Wait.  Go about my business.  Timing was the key.

[Insert soft “buzz”] Text Received from Wife – “Headed home.” Got it.  Execute plan.  Timing was the key.

Throwing a load of laundry in the washer, I gathered the boys, and quickly distributed their assignments.

All – get your lazy butts dressed.

Ben – start your homework.

Sam – vacuum.

Jacob – dust.

Timing was the key.

According to plan, my svelte wife soon walked through the door and found a house full of productive activity.  Clean house?  No problem, see it’s all well underway.

See boys, happy wife.  Timing was the key.

Walking through the door, my dear wife suggested something.  Something that raised red flags.  Something that indicated a disaster.  A disaster I would soon confront.

“You might want to have a beer with dinner.” Dear God!  Who died?

Well, it’s a sickness.  We don’t know how bad.  Just that it beeps.  Desperately beeps.  Ready to give up the ghost.  Its days may well be numbered.

Yes, as I type this post, our dear aged PC beeps in pain.  Beeps in pain as I desperately backup files.

Hang in there dear friend.  Just a little longer.  I will get you help, I promise.  Now, hold on for just a second…

“Honey, will you please bring me another beer?” It may be a long night, as I stand watch.  Stand watch and backup.  Backup and pray.  Pray and drink beer.

Really?  Really?  Was the mat not large enough for the wet boot’s landing?

The following is a Public Service Announcement about the under publicized dangers associated with office potluck timing.

Man with head in his hands, “Back in October, I thought this would be a good idea.”

Looking up, sad and sleepy eyed, “Plan an office potluck for mid-January.”

Shrugging, “Should be a little Winter pick me up.  Right?”

Shaking his finger, “Wrong!”

Looking as if he desperately wants to help, “Problem was it’s too close to Christmas for another dose of potluck food.  Way too close.”

Almost crying, “Now, look at me, a sleepy shambles.  After a round of yummy taco dip, meatballs, and toffee, I could barely stay awake past 3PM.  Believe me, that warm afternoon sunbeam coming through the office window almost did me in.  Another tortilla chip and cheese dip would have sent me on a one-way road to ER for ‘Sleepy Employee’ counseling.”

Desperate to help and pleading to the camera, “So don’t be like me, do yourself a favor and save the potluck for later.”

So there are a few chivalric things that I do.  Okay, just one.  I hold the door open for women.  Well, that and I am respectful and not a jerk.  Does that count, too?  Nope?  Okay, let’s just stick with the door thing.

So any who, this morning at the gym (shameless self promotion of my January exercise), I held the door open for a woman who was exiting.  She was closely followed by three other women.  I continued to hold the door open.  Why?  Well, see above.  I am a tad chivalric, a lot respectful, and not a jerk.  Nuff said?  Perhaps.

As the last woman exited the building, she turned to me and said, “Well, aren’t you a sweetheart?”

Thank you, Ma’am.  Plus, as a chivalric man, I must add one simple observation about the times we live in.  More sweethearts and less jerks, that’s what we seem to be in need of nowadays.   I bid you adieu.

Six games.  Six losses.  My son’s basketball team had lost their first six games.

Visualizing a win had become difficult.  Baskets were a rarity.  Games were becoming a dread.

Then came a new day.  An improbable day.  A day with a win.

Yes, they played a team of equal caliber.  A team they matched basket for basket.  As the game clock drifted away, my son even scored.

Glancing over at the team bench, I saw my son.  I also saw something new, a smile.  A smile that would sustain him through the next two losses, later that day.

Yes, they were now 1-8, but there’s something to be said about that 1.  The power of that 1.  The hope within that 1.  The promise of brighter days ahead, all within that 1.

As the snow falls down,

sure the Target run could wait,

certainly the snow could be cleared in the morning,

positive that we have just enough firewood to get by,

but why wait?

I was made for this.  I was born of the Midwest.  Raised on cold and ice.

Why wait?  Safety?  Ease?  Reason?  Pshaw.

Stand aside.  Hand me a shovel.  Let me live my destiny.

8:10AM.  In order to get to work on time, I need to leave by 8:10AM.

The morning was chugging along quickly.  Too quickly.  Breakfast.  Chores.  The minutiae that fills life.  I glanced at the clock.  8:10 was fast approaching.

I had a critical decision to make.  Shave or not to shave?  That was the question.  Be a little late and look fine or go with the scruff and be on-time?

Grabbing the can of Barbasol, I had made my choice.  Being on-time is temporary, but looking fine lasts all day.