I went to the Dentist yesterday. Frankly, I hate going to the dentist. My dentist looks at my mouth like a mechanic looks at a beat up 1998 Ford Tempo. The mechanic thinks about funding his retiremement off of that car. My dentist is a super guy, very nice but my mouth is a gold mine (silver mine) for him. His staff puts me in the seat. I know what my dog feels like as she runs her latex gloved finger around my teeth in Veterinarian fashion. A transformation takes place. I am no longer a rational human being but an uncomfortable whirling dirvish of fear and anxiety. What really freaks me out is that I am completely obsessed with the idea that I have failed to maintain my nose hairs or nostril cavities correctly and this lady is going to be walking away disgusted by my teeth, my nose and my person. Assessing the situation while tasting a bit of blood, hopefully mine, I realize how much maintenance human beings have to do to be acceptable to society. Here is a list but I am sure not an exhaustive list because I won’t venture into the female maintenance requirements out of fear and ignorance. Women have more maintenace than the shuttle launch checklists.
We must, wait let me declare that I am in favor of grooming. Some men could use a trimmer or two to cut the weeds coming out of their ears and nose but I am struck by the sheer volume of of maintainance. A short list for your review: the hair on our head, the hair on our backs (ha ha), the hair in our ears, the hair in our nose, the hair on our face, our finger nails, our toe nails, our skin, and our teeth. This is a list of external requirements but if you add in the digestive track and the numerous colon cleansing commercials that tell us we need to clean our colon like a chimney sweep in the winter the tasks are overwhelming. Can you imagine if the whole world stopped maintaining itself? We would all speak french and be rude to foreigners.
AH

Creative problem solving skills are crucial. My daughters had a dispute over the amount of water on their bathroom floor. We could have installed  marina in that bathroom with the amount of water on the floor. I don’t know the drying off procedures for 12 and 10 year old girls and I don’t want to know. From the water, I can assume it involves standing on the vinyl dripping onto the floor until all the excess water pools around the toilet. The unsuspecting person could die from the slip and fall scenario created. After my inquiry about responsibility for the lake, no one would accept the blame nor the chore of cleaning it up. Opportunity. I declared a trial with my 10 year old as plaintiff and my 12 year old as defendant. We set up a small court room in my office. I was judge (naturally my profession qualified me for this position), my wife acted as expert witness. My daugthers were the attorneys. This is happening by the way at 9:30pm at night. Each lawyer needed to present and argue the case on why they were not responsible for the lake. Two hours later they settled. Witnesesses were called, evidence submitted, objections were made and motions were sustained. AH 

THE FOLLOWING IS A STORY THAT I THOUGHT I WOULD SHARE WITH EVERYONE.

CONFUSED & IN THE WRONG CAMP!! Dear Albert,You ask for me to put this in words so here it is.   Too much coffee and running late always make for disastrous consequences.  This was exactly the scenario that presented itself the 1^st Sunday that I visited First Baptist Church of Norfolk.     We were running late (my wife and I) and by the way it is always her fault when we run late. So, while walking in my bladder announced to me, “You’ll never make it to the end of service”.  I understood completely and opted for a quick pit stop.  I knew that my bladder was giving me a good word. So, I hurried to the bathroom as to attempt to not be any later than we already were.  Now not only was I hurrying but I was oblivious.  I was in that place that we all go (Disney Land, the ball park, that mound of paperwork on your desk you have been trying to get to for a month, ect……..).  I was in control of autonomic functions but had mentally checked out and nobody was home. I entered the restroom and hurried to a stall not seeing any urinals.  I didn’t think too much about this because at South Norfolk Baptist Church we never had urinals for years until the bathroom upgrades.  Also, remember, I am in another place in my mind at this point, not the real world.   So, suddenly and without warning I have a realization.  I am surrounded by pink and ………..no urinals!!  Not good.  I certainly could not be this stupid, could I?  My concern / anxiety meter was starting to redline.  At this moment I hear the door open and click itty clack, click itty clack across the floor.  Definitely, not good now!!  Anxiety Meter was peaking in the red and fear was starting to set in.  The cold hard realization had set upon me that I was in the wrong place.  Indeed, I was in the wrong Camp!!   I remember thinking to myself, “These women are going to kill me!!  I am a moron!! Now the rational mind returns and I start to think.  I tell myself, “Alright now, be calm, cool heads prevail”.  Not working, I don’t need a cool head, I need grace!!  Lord help me now!! Immediately my sanity returned and realized, I’ve got to get out of here quickly.  Like, right now.  But what if a lady is not dressed or in a compromising way.  That would be very awkward and would not help my situation.  Should I wait till I hear nothing and then make a break for it?  No, no, no, that will make the situation worse and undermine my basic instinct of, “I gotta get out of here NOW!!”  No, I must and I will make an announcement that I am coming out to make sure everyone is decent.  I will gravel and beg if necessary.  Then I will bolt all the while making a thousand apologies for being such an idiot.  It will work, it has to.   So, I make the announcement, “Ladies, I have come into the wrong bathroom and need to leave.  If the coast is clear I would like to depart at this time.”  Permission was given by one lady and I did not hesitate.  The Lynyrd Skynyrd Song “Gimmy Three Steps” came to mind.  I made apologies as I left and the lady who gave me permission told me that I would be forgiven this one time as she snickered.  (A Mulligan was granted) Free at last!  Free at last!  Halleluiah!  Free at last! I quickly return to the arms of my loving wife who, also being in Disney Land had allowed me to make this blunder.  There she sat within feet of the restroom reading a periodical and had not realized that I had ended up in the wrong camp.  I said to her, “You are not gonna believe this”. Best regards from, Dazed and “Confused In The Wrong Camp!”   In Christ, JHM Revised: August 18, 2008

 As a parent, I believe that creative parenting skills are more fun than traditional methods of discipline. The following is a true story. My wife and mother in law can attest. Frankly, I am proud of the results achieved from my quick thinking. You can be appalled if you would like and I am sure the gestapo child protective services would not approve however I publish this for struggling parents everywhere. My daughters are great kids but last year they were struggling with getting along with one another. Team sports are not my daughter’s interest so building team skills and cooperation is a challenge. Last year my oldest was 11 and my youngest was 9. Who knows why they were not getting along. It could have been spending too much time together, it could be typical sister stuff I don’t know but it was becoming chronic. At dinner, they began to needle and pick at each other. Clearly giving each other a hard time and fussing about who would do what and what the other should do that the other did not want to do etc. For a complete month my wife and I had employed techniques to teach them the value of working together and helping each other for the greater good. All techniques had failed. Talking and negotiating failed. Punishing with chores or restriction failed. This in-fighting had reached an apex at dinner and  I had had enough. While they were fussing and my wife and mother in law were eating, I stopped eating, got up without speaking and left the table. This manuever obtained the attention of everyone because dinner time is important in the house. I walked out of the house and returned with a 50 foot rope (very soft rope). Standing in front of the table with my mother in law’s mouth agape and my wife shaking her head in disbelief, I tied two large loops in the separate ends of the rope. No one was eating at this point. Obviously my daughters are aware that I am unreasonable in most of my life’s actions and view points. Anyone who knows me realizes that I could care less about what you think of me and this includes my wife and daughters. I am about results.  I ask my daughters to get up and stand in front of me. A quiet protest occurred from the table but one look clearly indicating my seriousness and statement of resolve squelched the protest. Tying one end of the rope around the waist of my eldest and the other end around the waist of my youngest, I declare that they are a team now. I inform them that they will have to wear the rope in our house until they are working as a team. Looking at each other clearly appalled by the act, they begin to measure the gravity of the change in circumstances. They say, “how can we use the bathroom? How can we do chores” and finally with “this is crazy.” Concurring, I say, “I agree it is crazy that God gave you guys to each other to share a great life together and you guys can’t work together and treat each other with respect and civility. Therefore, craziness needs to be dealt with the same level of craziness to reverse the tide.” I demonstrate for them that the rope has significant length to allow one sister to use the restroom while the other waits patiently. They will need to cooperate. Another round of questions by my daugthers was met with, “you guys work it out.” My mother in law was so appalled that she left dinner and retired to her apartment upset. My wife looking completely afraid that social services will arrive at the house any minute started cleaning the dishes. I sat down and started eating while both of my daughters stared at me. Instantly they began to discuss the immediate problem that one of them wanted to go upstairs and the other one wanted to stay downstairs. Thus, my great unreasonable experiment began. They began to give and take, negotiate preferences and obtain agreement that allowed them to function for the night. They slept with the rope tied around their waists connected to one another across the hall by this beautiful red rope.  I left for work and the next day they attempted to employ their mother’s advocacy against my “crazy punishment.” She politely said you will have to speak to your father about that. They wore that rope all day working on chores, playing in the house, getting snacks, going to the bathroom while their “twin” sat outside the bathroom in the hallway reading a book. When I arrived home they told me that they learned their lesson. I asked my wife and she said that a rocky morning gave way to a smooth afternoon culminating in a smooth transition to my daughters functioning like conjoined twins. Mission accomplished. As adults, I am sure that this incident will be the subject of many of their therapy sessions. You as reader might feel that this is abuse but this is not true. They were not hurt but their pride and selfishness was checked. My goal was for the girls to understand that working with each other and loving each other is a choice they have to make.  I can say that they have worked very well together since maybe that is out of fear for the rope but I think that they realized that they are tied to each other even when the rope is not there. Make sure the rope is 50 feet long shorter lengths make it difficult to navigate bathroom necessities. AH 

IPODs are the great Sony walkman of the 21st century. Contents of an IPOD reflect the personality of the owner. My IPOD is an electronic expose’ of being a turbo dork. Here is a list of what is on my IPOD: Aly and AJ - my daughters loaded this, Bon Jovi, Hannah Montana - my daughters loaded this, Frank Sinatra, Bruce Hornsby, Tracy Chapman, Norah Jones, Chris Tomlin, Paul Baloche, Michael Buble, John Prine, John Mayer, Amos Lee, Jersey Boys Soundtrack, Wicked Soundtrack, Gordon Lightfoot, David Gray, David Wilcox, Counting Crows, Hootie and the Blowfish, Green Day, Josh Groban, Tony Bennett, Les Miserable Soundtrack, Van Morrison, Neil Young, Neil Diamond, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Wilco, PODCASTS - Bob Edwards Weekend, This American Life, Truth for Life, Selected Shorts. Schizophrenic is a good description of my IPOD contents. The information is disjointed and reminds me of a man without a country. I draw the line at country music. You will not find country music on my IPOD but scrolling through you might question my identity on a variety of fronts. Over 2232 songs on my IPOD and the cross section above is multiplied 10 fold on the device. The contents lack theme or connectivity. Disclosing the private contents of my IPOD expose something about me that I am afraid to type. Good thing that I am married because if I had to date and my IPOD was in my car I can imagine picking my date up for dinner. As I open the car door for her and she sits down I walk around the car. Unfortunately for me I leave my IPOD on the seat and she scrolls through. I open the door and sit down while putting the key in the ignition I state that we are going to go to a … Empty passenger seat as my date walks up the sidewalk leaving me with an empty car but a full IPOD. I don’t think my wife has ever scrolled through my IPOD. My secret life of soundtrack singing and dorky podcast enjoyment should remain forever private. Don’t let anyone ever scroll through your IPOD it could kill your relationship.AH  

When I am driving to Greenbrier Parkway from my house, I look over the water at the Great Bridge Bridge and think about ways to die. Soldiers lost their lives at that bridge via bullets. At the top of my list of ways not to die is thirst. I have been thirsty and the animal urge to drink from the toilet just to quench the thirst is real. Dying of thirst would have to be the worst. Your tongue swelling until you no longer can breath from your mouth and then your kidneys failing seems an undesired form of agony if agonies can be chosen. Lately, I have been dying of spiritual thirst. My soul seems flaky and dusty from lack of absorption. Almost as if the water that I feed it runs off my emaciated soul like water off glass. You can see the water sitting on the glass. The glass is wet for a time but nothing ever penetrates it. Keith Green wrote an apt description  ”My eyes are dry, my heart is cold.” No plants would grow out of the soil in my heart nor would weeds. Desolation exists. In hopes of seeking better irrigation, I need to take out a pik ax and start slinging down into my soul trying to form slim cracks in my cynicism and hopelessness so refreshing water will seep in. AH 

Evil thoughts always lurk in my mind. At the place we were vacationing, there was a community pool that families would gather around and enjoy the beautiful North Carolina sun. Most of the guys represented a cross section of male figures. There was the group of guys who should never ever be shirtless or in speedo but were. There were the middle aged guys who were at one time in shape but the years of hard work and late nights comforted by long meals and quick desserts (This was my tribe I hope) rendered them round.  Then there were the guys who were either Navy Seals or former professional athletes. Buff and tan. Now I usually don’t hate the “playa” just the game but this one guy broke a rule. He was a show off. The diving board was the focus of much attention and fun. Most of the middle aged guys that went off the board were having fun. The usual cannon balls or can opener with the sufficient splash of a middle aged man. This one dude gets up on the board and has his wife take pictures of him. I hated him right there. Never have your wife take pictures of you. Worse than that, he had great blond hair and was athletically trim and tan. Another reason to hate this guy. Worse than that he approaches the diving board with an air of Greg Luganis. What did he think he was doing trying out for the Bejing Games in Nags Head North Carolina - Hey buddy there is a code of conduct when you are in the presence of middle aged fat people.  Testing the board he gathers the drama and  I think to myself I might doggie paddle over to him when he enters and get on his back so that he sinks to the bottom of the pool never to be seen again. He dives,  he performs a perfect twisting gainer without the required fat man splash caused by the other guys. Some people actually clapped. That was it. I took off swimming ferociously to try and piggy back him to death when I looked up and he was gone. He swam past me with the speed of a shark. I caught some of his wake and lonely bobbed in the water. Catching the shaking of some of the spectators heads at my feeble attempts of retribution, humiliated, I went back to my tribe of unpopulars  where judgment did not exist. Maybe next year I will accidentally cannonball into him and teach him a lesson. His wife can get a picture of that for her vacation memory.AH

One word -  vacation. Now for the real story. My oldest daughter received a digital camera as a present. She is an evil photographer. She is a juvenile paparrazzi. Her photos of her mother sleeping or me getting out of a pool looking extreme but not in a good way are just wrong. She is a sweet child but I believe that she is tantalizing a very evil side of her personality when she snaps a photo of me bending over to pick up a towel or of her mother instructing a child on how to dive. These photos on their own would not be wrong but you know when you run out of the house to get something at the store thinking no one will be there and you run into the 50 member group from church. Well, that would sum up these photos. For me I have always been amish about my photos my soul will be stolen if the photo is taken. At a Christmas party someone refused to stop taking my picture and I stole the camera, processed the photos and removed mine. I gave the camera back to the person (at church) and said “I told you to stop taking photos of me.”  My wife and I have one photo of us in our home. One! We like the photo of us eventhough visitors ask us who that is in the wedding photo when they visit the house. My daughter is not helping my self esteem or for that matter the digital photography world. I believe she disguises herself as she quietly approaches the prey until the most embarassing position presents itself and then SNAP!. Paris, Lindsey, Brittany I know your pain.

AH