The Mall Diva went out of town overnight with some friends last Sunday, leaving her car parked on a St. Paul street outside the house they all had left from. Sunday evening St. Paul declared a snow emergency, and the owner of the home notified the Diva that her car could get towed if it wasn’t moved.

No problem. She called home and asked if someone could get her second key and drive over to her car and move it. Well, one problem: neither she or anyone here knew where that second key was. A messy search of all likely and unlikely places was fruitless (and keyless). Hmmm, what to do?

Just leave it and let the city tow it? No, the towing fee and the ensuing impound fees (since she wouldn’t be back until Tuesday morning) made the expense prohibitive (not to mention incredibly inconvenient).

The car has a keypad door lock; perhaps I could get a couple of people, we could go to the car, open the door, put it in neutral and push it into the driveway? No, the car couldn’t be shifted without a key in the ignition.

Wait a minute, we have family coverage from Triple-A for our cars! I called the company and inquired about getting a tow on a snowy night when there had to be lots of cars in ditches. Sure, they said, they could get a truck over there in three, maybe five, hours but they’d either have to tow the car to a garage or back to our house; they couldn’t tow it 25 feet into a private driveway.

So be it. Now we just had to hope that the AAA driver got to the car before the city driver did. As it was already about 10 p.m. we’d have to go to bed and wait until morning to see who won.

Waking up Monday morning, it was with Christmas-like anticipation that I went downstairs to see if there was something in the driveway. Hallelujah! Peace on Earth! Good will toward men! The Diva’s car was nestled in the driveway, in front of the garage door, leaving just enough room for me to back my car out and get around hers! Better yet, not even a parking ticket! Best of all, the towing was free under our AAA plan!

Others weren’t as fortunate.

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…No, this isn’t a Beatles/Sergeant Pepper reference (though I have to admit it’s getting better all the time)…

…And I’m not jealous of Mitch Berg’s ongoing saga (though he might have reason to be)…

…And I’m not going to say “Score!” because some people, you know, just wouldn’t take it in the right way…

…So I’ll just say, “Happy Anniversary, Mrs. Stewart!”

Let’s see, it was a pretty small bridal party. One Maid of Honor (pregnant with the future Miss Inver Grove Heights), and my Best Man, aka Heathen Brother. He was on a special training cycle at the time and didn’t think the Air Force would let him out for the weekend, but Someone higher up intervened and there he was in his dress blues.

Some last minute words of advice from my dad. Sorry, can’t remember a thing…

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“Missions trip” has a certain connotation in religious circles, denoting a special status for what really should be viewed as an every day outlook on life. (Our pastor has said, “God will send you across the world, but He also wants to send you across the street.”) I suppose you could say Jesus went on the ultimate “missions trip” when He was sent to us. At one point during this mission He said, “I must be about my Father’s business.”

Later this week Tiger Lilly and the Reverend Mother will therefore be leaving on their own business trip to Romania, with a stop in Texas for some training and orientation on the way. It’s a trip that was researched and instigated about a year ago by Tiger Lilly through Global Expeditions. Some time after she had committed to go her mother was also led to join the group. TL was ready and willing to go it on her own with the Global Expeditions team, but is glad to have her favorite mom along. Despite being “just” 13, this is her second overseas trip, having gone with her mother to China for three weeks the summer before last. (Details here, here and here).

I hope Tiger Lilly will have time before they leave to put up a post on how and why she chose this trip and how she was able to raise enough money not only for this trip but to also set some aside for the next one, whenever or wherever that may be. She and the Reverend Mother are taking a wireless laptop along and the digital camera and should have relatively good access for posting as the trip goes on. Stay tuned.

Last Sunday our church prayed for our latest missionaries.

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The Sunday before the 4th the Mall Diva joined her cousin’s family up at their cabin near Crosby, MN. The plan was to spend a couple of days on ATVs, dirt bikes and paddle boats and then come back on the 4th so MD could be at work on the 5th. Her cousin drove.

Late Wednesday afternoon I got a message that the Diva and cousin were going to stay up in Crosby to watch the fireworks and then drive home — a 3-hour drive. Well, they missed a very fine fireworks display right in my living room when I got that word. Even without all the teenage drivers slaughtering themselves or being slaughtered by others on the roads at night lately, the thought of these youths driving home after midnight following a day of fun in the sun — and sharing the road with a bunch of other yahoos who had been enjoying fun in the sun and drinking — seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, especially with Al Gore’s kid on the loose.

Fortunately I had the numbers for just about every cell-phone up at that cabin and I left messages on a couple before I got through to the cousin, who just so happened to be right next to my daughter. My message was direct and well-received by MD; unfortunately she wasn’t the one with the car. No matter: “I will come and get you if you don’t have a ride,” I said, figuring I had enough time to get up there and back before midnight and I was well rested. A few minutes later she called back, letting me know they’d be heading home shortly. As it turned out, she was home by 11:00 without incident, though her cousin wasn’t especially pleased that my parental grappling hooks had so much reach. Believe me, I can live with it. I’m not afraid to be the bad guy for a good cause.

As much as MD and her cousin may have rolled their eyes at me, however, it cannot compare to how much I rolled my eyes at those clamoring for Minnesota to pass more laws restricting teen drivers, even though doing so put me – for probably the first and last time – on the same side as Minnesota legislator Tom Rukavina, though probably not for the same reasons. While the article I just linked to strongly suggests a correlation between Minnesota’s “scofflaw” (compared to other states) approach to driver restrictions and the amount of teenage carnage on our roads, I reject the knee-jerk reaction that three or four more laws are the best way to “do something.” That is precisely the type of useless do-goodism and deep-as-a-dogdish thinking that lets people feel good about themselves without addressing the underlying issues of personal and parental responsibility while at the same time promoting the all-caring, ever-expanding nanny state mentality.

That’s not to say that I don’t think teen drivers don’t need guidance and restrictions. Teens are not inherently bad drivers; they are, inescapably, less-experienced drivers. I agree, something must be done — and my wife and I did it. When the Mall Diva first started driving we placed our own “laws” on hours and passengers which were gradually reduced over the past two and a half years. Other expectations have also been communicated and she has demonstrated that she is a responsible and effective driver. And, as indicated above, we continue to take an active and involved interest in her driving (and riding) career, even if it’s wildly inconvenient. (We also put her in 3,000-pounds of sheet metal and we pray a lot). I know MD totally believed me when I said I would come and get her, and not out of reproach but from commitment.

I recognize that that isn’t always enough to keep our children safe, and my heart goes out the the parents who have suffered these wracking losses this year. More laws, however, aren’t a guarantee either. One of the legislators in favor of more laws framed it in terms of “giving parents better tools.” Well, thank you very much, but my tools work just fine, especially when I use them. (I wonder how many of those legislators that want to “help parents” by restricting teens who want to drive are just as adamant about there not being any parental involvement or restrictions on teens that want abortions.) I suppose some parents might feel their position is strengthened if they can cite the law as if the matter was out of their hands. If your children aren’t going to listen to you (who they have to face every day), however, I don’t know if they’ll adhere to a law.

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Huzzah! I’ve hired a new minion at the office which means the deluge of work I’ve been dealing with will eventually diminish back down to, say, what bursts out of a fire hydrant. So what is it about this happy event that sparks a headline like the one above? It’s a simple explanation, really, and one that may also “explain” why our family is the way it is.

With the new person about to come on board I’ve had to refamiliarize myself with some of the benefit options that are available from my company. This, in turn, reminded me of when I started a job with another company several years ago. At the dinner table I was discussing what benefits I had signed up for with my wife and mentioned that part of the life insurance package included a $10,000 benefit on the kids.

The Mall Diva, who was about five at the time, piped up, saying something like, “What’s that all about?”

“Well,” I said, matter-of-factly, “it just means that if you die, Mom and I get some money.”

“No fair. I should get the money.”

“No, you’ll be dead and Mom and I will get the money in case we want to buy a puppy or something because we’re lonely.”

The little Diva thought about this for a couple of moments.

“Well, what if you die?”

“Then you and Mom get a lot of money.”

“So, how will we know?”

“How will you know what?”

“If you’re dead.”

“Oh, well you’ll just come in some time and I’ll be laying on the floor with my hands and feet curled up in the air like a dead cockroach.”

As it turned out, mother and daughter went out that evening to run some errands while I flopped on the couch in the living room to read. Later, when I heard them coming back in through the kitchen, I quickly rolled off the couch and assumed the position described above before MD could skip into the room.

“Da-DEEE!” said the Diva in her “not funny!” tone.

My wife, still in the kitchen, simply said, “I’m not even going to look.”

Several months later I became sick enough at work to have to come home. Coincidentally, the little Diva also got sick and had to come home and join me. We were lolling around on my bed in medicated apathy when we heard my wife coming in through the back door.

“Daddy – let’s do cockroaches!”

We quickly drew ourselves up into position, side by side, waiting for my wife to come down the hall to check on us (this is a very difficult position to hold when you’ve been throwing up, by the way, even more so when a little girl is shaking next to you trying to control her snickering).

My wife finally came to the bedroom door and locked in on us: “OH NO!” she gasped. “My family is dead!”

I can’t remember if she said anything about getting a puppy.

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I joined the family (both immediate and MOB) at Keegan’s tonight for trivia night and the added attraction of the quarterly drawing for the trip for two to Boston. My team had won or finished in the money a few times in the last three months so I had a few entries in the beanpot. Since you have to be present to win I wanted to be sure to be on hand.

Tiger Lilly and the Reverend Mother were somewhat interested in the outcome, but the drawing time was past their bedtimes so they went home and left the Mall Diva and I to collect whatever winnings were to be had.

Finally the big moment came. After a bit of folderol from Marty as he drug out the suspense, the winning name was drawn: my friend, Dr. Jonz. Half-hearted cheers and groans filled the patio where most of the bloggers were gathered. In the hub-bub I suddenly heard my name called over the P.A. as well. “Hey, you won something!” someone said, so I went into the bar to see what second or third place might be worth. I saw Terry Keegan standing at the bar near where Dr. Jonz was collecting his loot so I went up to the proprietor and said, “I heard I won a trip to Duluth.”

“Not quite,” he said. “You won a trip to Fargo.”

“Oh.”

“Actually, you won two weeks in Fargo.”

“You have to be present to win, right?”

“Yes.”

“Tell them you didn’t see me.”

As it turned out, my prize was a handsome necktie advertising Sam Adams Light that will be perfect for wearing to church, which is about the only place I wear a tie anymore. I went back out to the table where the Mall Diva and the rest of the group were waiting to see my prize. MD took it from me so she could inspect it more closely. After a few minutes she handed it back to me.

“Happy Father’s Day, Poppi!”

Eat your hearts out.

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They’re up to something, I just know it. But what?

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The new bird, Chiquita, is starting to adapt to her new environs. She’s sharing a cage with the other bird and chirping and whistling. The one thing she hasn’t quite accepted is that I’m not going to eat her. I walk past the cage and she immediately flits to the farthest corner away from me in a panic.

So I said to her, “What’s the matter, bird — ya yellow?

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For my wife’s last birthday someone gave her a large coffee-mug printed with a collection of insults from Shakespeare — barbs from the bard, if you will. These colorful jibes are epically epithetical. Some examples:

• beetle-headed, flap-ear’d knave
• quintessence of dust
• canker-blossom
• poisonous bunch-back’d toad
• a fusty nut with no kernel
• clod of wayward marl
• roast-meat for worms
• infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker
• anointed sovereign of sighs and groans
• foot-licker
• lump of foul deformity
• highly fed and lowly taught
• all eyes and no sight
• all the infections the sun sucks up
• elvish-mark’d abortive, rooting hog
• veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth
• mountain of mad flesh
• light of brain
• bolting-hutch of beastliness
• not so much brain as ear-wax
• long-tongu’d babbling gossip
• thou are a boil, a plague sore
• I do desire that we may be better strangers

As I said, the mug was given to her. Yet she serves me my coffee in it. Methinks she’s trying to tell me something.

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