It's Saturday - Wal Mart needs us

It all started with our first baby.

We did the new-parent thing and attended classes to learn how to breathe properly and plump a pillow. Two nurses from the ob-gyn office led the training, and they were as different as night and day.

In their examples of being prepared for the onset of labor while out and about, one always placed the location at Westlake’s and the other placed the location at Wal Mart.

This was back in the dark ages when there were no Super Wal Marts in our part of the country, and Westlake’s was the upscale store in town. Not wanting to take sides, my wife and I split our time between the two businesses.

One day we went out to Westlake’s to pick up a can of spray paint. Westlake’s makes it easy to get whatever you want, laying out the store with excellent signage and a wide variety of products. We found so many things that we had just put off picking up, that when we checked out our bill came to just over $100.

Now we were newlyweds. We had never, ever spent $100 in one place in our lives as a couple. We really needed that trash can, though. And that clock was essential to fill that blank spot in the kitchen. All necessary, all required to maintain our frugal existence. So we took a deep gulp and paid for it all.

I mention this because that $100 has become a magic number in our household. Ironically, it is now associated not with Westlake’s, but with Wal Mart.

As we had our children and continued to build a home, rooms and cupboards and refrigerators had to be filled again and again. Wal Mart became our destination of choice as it was conveniently located and the prices were low. We couldn’t help but notice that nearly every time we went to Wal Mart, the total ended up being at least $100. That astronomical sum that shocked us at Westlake’s was now the norm. It became a standing joke that if we didn’t break $100, it didn’t seem like we had really been to Wal Mart.

Last weekend my wife and I prepared for our weekly pilgrimage to the Super Wal Mart so that the hungry residents in our house wouldn’t starve over the next seven days. My youngest daughter, now twenty-four, looked up from the computer and asked “Where are you guys going?”

I looked at her without breaking a smile and replied, “It’s Saturday. Wal Mart needs us.”

She understood. She’s family.

I like airplanes

I like airplanes. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not in my blood, inherited from my family as it infected my wife, who practically grew up on Eastern Airlines and was bitten by the travel bug at a tender age. It’s not the allure of the plane thing or the culture of flight or anything like that.

My wife and I visited the Florida Air Museum in Lakeland, Florida. It houses mainly civilian aircraft and a few military examples. The smaller plane sizes allow more exhibits to be squeezed into the limited display space. I spent most of my time snapping photos of the classic aircraft, looking for the most interesting compositions. As I struggled to get all six propeller blades of the Lockheed XPV-1 into the picture while checking carefully behind me so I wouldn’t back into the wing gun of the P-63, I realized what it was I like about airplanes.

Airplanes look cool.

You’re right, that is oversimplifying. Yet that is the point – airplanes look cool because of what makes them fly in the first place.

The most efficient wing design when seen as a cross-section resembles a curved teardrop, with a rounded leading surface that arcs to a tapered trailing edge. Let’s just say that it disturbs the air moving around it in a way that it generates lift so the plane can do what it was designed to do.

All of this means that the plane as a whole has a lot of smooth, rounded surfaces to reduce drag wherever possible to make forward and vertical motion as efficient as possible. It’s beautiful. The lines are simple and basic. It just looks good.

Perhaps it is in my genes: the joy in simple, uncluttered presentation. I hope you are familiar with Strunk’s Elements of Style. After 90 years of testing, William Strunk’s rules of composition still provide a strong voice for simplicity in writing the English language. I enjoy writing that is simple and uncluttered, just as I relish the smooth lines of an airplane.

Yes, I also cringe when I encounter writing that drifts or presumes too much or has a protagonist act in a way that is totally out of character. I treasure consistency while prizing mystery. Mysteries, after all, will ultimately be unraveled to show a logical sequence. Something that is, after all, simple and uncluttered. It’s great to have a clear standard.

Now all I have to do is figure out why I think the F-117A looks cool.

Teal Green Arches

Sedona, Arizona is a picturesque town founded on the twin principles of aesthetic beauty and unbridled commerce. Two major roads lead into the area; one from the north that snakes through the hairpin turns of Oak Creek Canyon, and one from the south that favors the flatter terrain of the desert. When we visited Sedona several years ago, we decided to enter using the southern route as we didn’t want to risk the unfamiliar turns of the canyon in the approaching darkness.

We couldn’t miss the sign as we neared the outskirts. “The Only Teal Green Arches in the World!” The Sedona McDonalds has teal green arches? What an advertising coup! We had to check this out come the morning.

The next day, sure enough, there was the McDonalds restaurant, clad in adobe and sporting very fashionable arches in a gorgeous green teal. It looked like it belonged in this community where everything seemed to be color-coordinated to fit a southwestern theme.

While talking with the locals a different story emerged. It seems that McDonalds, that corporate giant of fast food, swept into Sedona several years back to plant their world-renowned image in this tourist Mecca. They planned to stand out from the competition with their trademark red-and-gold color scheme attracting the attention of children and their obliging parents. The opposition came as a complete surprise.

Sedona, it turns out, has a very strict zoning ordinance. Those mellow combinations of tans and yellows and teals that you see everywhere? It’s a mandate, not a happy accident. Everyone must conform to the approved color scheme. Even a swaggering juggernaut like McDonalds.

McDonalds didn’t knuckle under without a fight. They battled the requirement in court, seeking relief from this ridiculous burden on their business. And lost. If a McDonalds restaurant was going to grace the streets of Sedona, the famous arches were not going to be gold.

Ultimately someone realized that instead of being defeated, McDonalds was teetering on the edge of a great opportunity. If they couldn’t be like all of the other thousands of McDonalds, they would be unique! How many McDonalds restaurant arches do you take pictures of while you are on vacation?

So was born the marketing campaign to advertise the world’s only teal green arches – as if McDonalds had thought up the idea themselves in the first place.

There’s a wonderful lesson lurking here. How often do we encounter adversity in our lives, something that at first glance seems to block our progress in life and makes our existence miserable?

Why can’t we embrace the situation and look for ways to turn it into an opportunity? Many of the world’s great inventions were products born of looking for ways to solve a problem. It was the noted Greek philosopher Plato who said “Necessity is the mother of invention.”

The next time you run up against the unexpected and the unwanted, take time to figure out how to make that boulder into a stepping-stone. It’s your happiness at stake. Look for the teal green arches in your life.

Making your obituary creative

I belong to a writer's group in Blue Springs. One of the staples of any writing group are regular creative writing challenges. This helps keep you sharp and pushes you in new directions.

This week the challenge was to write your own obituary.

I didn't really want to be pushed in that direction, but I'm usually up for any challenge. This is not really a prediction as much as it is an attempt to push back!

Obituary: Duane Porter

Duane Lynn Porter passed away on March 30, 2038 at the age of 82. He is survived by his daughters, Karen Marie Rose and Susan Gayle Craig, their husbands, four grandchildren, two great-grandchildren, and the beloved family robot, Rosie. He was preceded in death by his wife of 51 years, Cathleen Gayle, who got tired of waiting for him to go first.

Services will be held at the Speaks Memorial Chapel in Independence on Sunday, April 4^th. The family has requested there be no visitation because Rosie went berserk and wouldn’t let anyone near the casket for 24 hours. A Speaks Chapel spokesman said they were confident that Rosie’s batteries will run down in time for the funeral.

Mr. Porter was a successful author, starting with children’s books and never really getting out of that rut. He has dozens of adoring fans throughout the greater Blue Springs area. Some of his better known works are the Molly O’Malley trilogy, the Stanley the Little White Dragon series of picture books illustrated by his daughter, Karen, and of course the very popular Robotics Handbook for Children: Help When Your Parents Say No.

The family requests donations to be made to the local library in lieu of flowers. Rosie is allergic.

Alex in the Big Easy

I accompanied my wife to New Orleans recently while she worked at a convention event. I secured my laptop in the hotel room using an old combination cable lock. When I tried to remove the lock later, it would not come out. A quick internet search revealed that this type of lock was prone to resetting itself and was generally a lock to stay away from.

There’re not too many things worse than a writer having their laptop permanently attached to a hotel room in a distant city. The front desk was very polite, and sent a maintenance man up to help.

Alex brought some light-duty wire cutters and a pair of needle nose pliers. While he went back to look for heavier cutters, I managed to twist the lock’s cable wires off with the pliers, and covered the sharp remaining stubs with electrical tape.

You never know who you will meet on a given day. I was short on cash for a tip, and offered to give Alex a copy of Molly O’Malley and the Leprechaun. He eagerly accepted, and we started to talk about where he was from.

Alex hailed from Estonia, one of the former Baltic Republics. Estonia, along with Latvia and Lithuania, has been ruled for centuries by Russia. The three states achieved independence briefly in 1917 with the simultaneous collapse of the Russian and German empires at the end of World War I. They were re-annexed by the Soviet Union in 1939-1940 as Stalin prepared to fight the Nazi war machine.

Not until 1991 did the Baltic States regain a measure of independence. They have but a short history and tradition of existing outside the Russian sphere of influence.

Alex was more than willing to speak of his native land in his thick Russian accent. He told me that when Estonia declared independence from Russia the Russians cut the flow of natural gas into the country. The Russians said in effect, “You want to be independent? We will show you what it is like to be independent from Russia!” It was very cold, and the Estonian people suffered greatly. Alex had a portable radiator he used to keep warm. The Germans, Finns and Swedes sent old tires to burn for fuel in the power plants.

Even before independence while Estonia was still part of Russia, the economy was caught in the throes of sweeping changes. When Russia moved to a private economy, all of the state-owned assets were given as certificates, or shares to the people. The average person knew nothing about finance, however, as the state had planned everything for them their entire lives. Some of the people who understood finance went around the country and bought these certificates in exchange for a bottle of vodka or a carton of cigarettes. In this way they accumulated control over the Russian industry, and the Russian people got basically nothing.

Alex was something of a dissident in his country. Now he is in America, free to speak his mind. Life has not been easy for him, but freedom is precious to him.

As a writer I look for opportunities to find meaning in the things I experience. I did not expect to find an Estonian maintenance man in New Orleans, any more than I expected to have my laptop accidentally locked to my hotel room.

It’s a wonderful feeling to hear Alex’s story of Estonian independence, even as I regained independence for my laptop. I am happy for both of us.

Duane Porter, March 16, 2008 – New Orleans

Groundhog Day

It was 7:25 in the morning. Phil was not a happy groundhog.

“I tell you, Gladys, these humans are crazy! Trusting a groundhog to plan their lives. It’s not like I have any special powers!”

“Phil, if it bothers you that much, just come back to bed.” Gladys pulled the blanket up under her chin.

“Don’t think I wouldn’t like to. But do I have a choice? Nooo, at 7:29 every 2nd of February, that big hand in the white glove comes in and grabs me. Then I’m shoved up above ground, a thousand reporters blind me with their camera flashes, and I’m lucky to make it back into the hole before some kid beans me with a stale bagel. Don’t tempt me, Gladys, don’t tempt me!”

“Well, try going with the flow instead of fighting it this time. That might make a difference.”

“Go with the flow? Oh, that’s brilliant, Gladys, just brilliant. It doesn’t make any difference what I do anyway. If I see my shadow, we’re in for six more weeks of winter. If I don’t see my shadow, spring will be here within a month and a half.”

Gladys yawned and blinked sleepily. “If it doesn’t make any difference what you do, just do whatever makes you happy.”

“Makes me happy? Do you know what would make me happy, Gladys? It would make me happy if this whole Groundhog Day business just went away! Do you know how this started, Gladys? There was a holiday called Candlemas they celebrated in the old country. The animal they watched on Candlemas to see if he saw his shadow was a hedgehog. A hedgehog, Gladys! Only there weren’t any hedgehogs around when they came over to the new world, so they decided to watch groundhogs. I’m a second-rate substitute for a hedgehog, Gladys! I’m the first runner-up in the beauty contest for hibernating weather predictors!”

“Well, Phil, at least you’re not in the running for Miss Congeniality. Why don’t you just show them that you are unique this year? Do something different?”

Phil scratched his nose impatiently. “That might be just the thing to do, Gladys, you might be on to something there.” The tiny grandfather clock in the hall tunnel chimed 7:29. Phil groaned. “Well, here we go!”

A huge white-gloved hand appeared in the tunnel and gently grasped Phil by the scruff of his neck. He was dragged to his front door, and the hand began to push him up from behind.

“Hey, hey, hey, watch where you’re pushing, there!” Phil barked. Then he was outside.

Multitudes of people began cheering as cameras flashed from every direction. Phil closed his eyes to dull the pain. In a moment, his vision cleared and he looked around to see his shadow on the ground behind him. “Hey, what do we have here?”

He lifted his right foot, and the shadow lifted with it. “Hmmm… what else can we do with this?” He lifted his foot higher, and raised his paws higher above his head. “Haiii-yah!” he screamed.

“Look!” someone shouted. “Punxsutawney Phil is in the crane position!”

A man in formal attire and wearing white gloves stepped between the crowd and the kung-fu groundhog. An airborne stale bagel bounced off of his striped vest. “Phil is fine, folks, he’s just a little upset like the rest of us that we’re going to have six more weeks of winter!” Twisting his neck around, he hissed to his assistant, “Get that groundhog back into the tunnel!”

Phil was unceremoniously hurried back into his warm home. He saw the shadow of the front door close above him. He stared up, listening to the jabbering of the crowd outside.

“Phil, honey, are you finished already?”

Phil smiled to himself. “It seems so, Gladys.”

“Then come to bed. It’s six weeks until spring.”

Back to Business

Our family was down with serial flu over the holidays, so it's good to be functional again. I hope your holidays were blessed!

During this time our shipment of the first edition of Molly O'Malley and the Leprechaun came in, so I'm very excited to get copies out to all of my fans who were waiting for their book! Plenty of copies still available, and I'm extending the initial discount for a little while longer.

I'm going to start creating podcasts of Charlie and the Chess Set and posting them here on the blog.

For today, here is a short story about resolutions - marginally, at least, but I was looking for something a little bit January.

Mission: Resolution

Agent Jason Stone approached the front door warily. He checked behind him; no sign that he was followed here. The street was quiet, with streetlights casting halos that clung to the road, leaving the yard and entryway cloaked in the late-night darkness.

Pressing a small button on his keychain, a dim LED illuminated the lock. He selected a key and carefully slid it into the cylinder. Soundlessly he opened the deadbolt, swung the door open and stepped into the foyer.

The first floor was clear, but what he was looking for was on the second floor. Jason tested the steps. No squeak, he was in luck. At the top of the stairs he took the hallway to his right, second door on the left. He turned the knob and peered in.

Clare was asleep, as he had anticipated. He watched her from the door for a moment, drinking in her beauty as she breathed softly.

Next he moved back down the hallway to the door he had passed by. He rested his hand on the knob and paused. He wondered if he was too late. Slowly he pushed the door open to find Michael’s eyes fixed upon him. “Come in, Agent Stone.”

Jason stepped into the room and casually draped his jacket over the chair. “Good evening, 006. Is everything in order?”

Michael smiled. “You’re the one coming back in from a mission. How did it go?”

Agent Stone smiled in return. “Well enough, I suppose. I made it back in one piece. You’re up late.”

“I worry about you when you’re out. Anyway, ‘M’ is waiting for you.”

Jason nodded and picked his jacket up. “Well, I’d best report in, then. See you in the morning.”

Proceeding past the staircase, Jason approached the final door at the other end of the hallway. He opened the door slightly. The lights were out, but he could tell that ‘M’ was there.

He hung his jacket in the closet and changed into his PJs. Slipping under the sheets, he wrapped his arms around Maggie and kissed her passionately. She touched his lips with her finger. “Are you still playing that silly ‘Secret Agent’ game with Michael?”

“Who? You mean 006? That is his age. It’s hard to believe that Clare is almost nine now. I’m glad I resolved to take the late flight home after the conference instead of waiting until tomorrow. I miss you guys something awful. Family comes first this year.”

Maggie smiled. “I resolve to love you even more,” she whispered. “It’s a new year, Agent Jason Stone, and your new mission is to be the perfect family man.”

Jason grinned. “Now some resolutions you just want to keep!”