For some crazy reason, I never just get through airport security.
I ALWAYS get patted down.
Maybe it’s the weird beard.
Maybe it’s the cargo shorts that give the appearance that I’m smuggling snacks.
Maybe it’s because they AIN’T never seen anyone like me.
Maybe, it’s because I’m just so darn pattable?
It’s a humbling experience…
First there’s the cold, hard humiliation of partially stripping down in front of hundreds of suddenly intimate strangers…take off your shoes, belt, jacket, etc. etc.
I’ve turned it into kind of a burly burlesque dance that no one really seems to appreciate.
Then I get frisked which is awkward on so many levels. For starters I’m pretty ticklish so I can’t help but giggle like a 3 year old.
That might create a little suspicion.
Also, my friskable parts are freakishly low to the ground and it’s always a man who is at least 2 feet taller than me who is patting me down. A few guys have hurt their backs trying to pat me down. I feel guilty about that! I’m willing to stand on top of their table so they can do their job.
Sometimes I get the bonus fun of an angry lady shouting “BAG CHECK!” and some poor soul gets to dig through my fruit of the looms.
This is undoubtably easier when I’m leaving then when I’m coming home.
Finally after what seems like at least an hour I get through. By this time none of the TSA agents will make eye contact with me and I just feel dirty.
As I write this I’m sitting at my gate. I’m thankful to survive security. I can’t help but notice that the ticket agent is giving me odd looks, so I’m trying to look less suspicious, and I’m ready to get my head in the clouds.
From deep in the Hidden Valley came the cowboy.
Sam Salad was his name.
He rode into town on a trusty steed named crouton. Like most cowhands, He was wearing ranch dressing.
He was looking for his arch nemesis, Twinkie the Kid. Years of fighting had driven a wedge between him and the Kid. He found him, sponging around near the saloon. Sam spit in the street and said in a voice as thick as blue cheese, “lettuce settle this once and for all!” The Kid giggled and said “I’m gonna toss you Salad!” He grabbed his pearl handled Salad shooter, But suddenly, the Kid slipped on some oil and vinegar in the middle of the street. He hit the dirt so hard that he artichoked. He left a trail of cream filling in amongst the dust and tumbleweeds. It wasn’t a sweet sight.
Sam’s work was done so he tipped his hat to the Romaine sisters, threw his bacon bits into the saddle and he rode off into the sunset towards his garden on the thousand island.
Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls…It’s Taco Tuesday.
And we have a brand new Mexican restaurant
The old place was much closer to our house, it was much more convenient and their tacos are delicious.
We have been going there for a while.
But, we have defected. We have moved on to a new promised land flowing with tamales and guacamole.
The old place was super fast and tasty, it was a little dark and they usually only serve tacos on flimsy paper plates. But, here’s the real deal breaker: it always seems like the staff really doesn’t like people. Maybe, it was something about the resentful way they threw down the chips in front of us. There was no smiling served with the salsa. Maybe, it was the way they clumped together in the corner and seemed to be talking about us. Maybe, it’s because it seemed they were always trying to rush us?
When we are rushed, we get restless, and so one night we stumbled into a new place, it was brightly colored and there was live music! AND, The staff was super friendly. They smile and act like they are actually glad you are there! They call me amigo as they place a big bowl of warm tortilla chips in front of my face.
So we defected.
That’s a big deal for us!! It didn’t just happen.
It took us meeting some friendly people who are working hard to be people friendly.
And THAT made all the difference.
It makes me wonder…
what if we were simply friendly people who worked hard to be people friendly?
What if we approached our work, our faith, our relationships and life in general with this real simple goal?
Be a friend and create an environment that invites friends.
It doesn’t seem super complicated!
You know what else isn’t complicated?
Tacos!
I have a candid canine confession to make…
Lately, there has been something foul at our house.
Something fragrantly funky is afoot at our casa.
Our sweet little rescue beagle, Maggie the Wonder Hound, has had atrociously atrocious, horribly horrible butt breath (sorry, there is just no other way to describe it).
That is a problem because Maggie loves hard. Maggie loves up close, as close as she can physically get. She likes to get in your face.
She is an aggressive snuggler.
And lately she gets right up in our faces and snuggles with her butt breath in full effect.
We’ve tried to ignore it.
We’ve tried to deny it.
But, here’s the deal: Maggie is more than a pet, she is our friend, she is family.
When she was rescued, she was a few days from being put down. She had lived outside and fended for herself. She was (and is) a scrapper.
She wasn’t used to domestic life.
She learned quick!!
She figured out really quick that she had a home.
And now, our house is ACTUALLY her house.
She graciously shares HER furniture with us.
Including…HER…bed.
Yup, Maggie sleeps with us.
Don’t judge us!
She is more than a pet, she is family.
She stubbornly sleeps sideways and manages to squeeze both Diana and me out of bed. She steals blankets. She snores like a constipated linebacker. She gets grumpy if you try to move her. AND, She gets up in our faces with her butt breath. It’s pretty bad. We have been woken up by the fragrant funk.
In the past, I’ve got to confess that I’ve never been a big believer in doggy dental care.
My reasoning has been pretty simple, dogs eat some really crazy stuff: rocks, dead animals (squirrels, birds, unidentifiable lumps of gritty hair), and poop (their own and others!)
Why spend money cleaning their teeth when they are just going to consume more crap?!
But, Maggie the Wonder Hound changed my mind.
After all, she is more than a pet, she is family.
And so, today we took her in to get her teeth cleaned.
It turns out that She also had to have four teeth pulled. I’m really hoping that doesn’t affect her bark, I don’t want her hound dog howl to go from “BYE-OOOOOO” to “bye-oosshhh!”
There’s something downright redneck about having a toothless hound.
Speaking of redneck, I asked the Veterinarian if I could have Maggie’s extracted teeth to make some cool jewelry, instead of a shark tooth necklace I could wear a beagle tooth necklace. But, they had already gotten rid of them.
We paid more for Maggie’s dental work than I paid for my first car! But, I’m sure that if she had a job and opposable thumbs, she would do the same for us.
It wasn’t pleasant for her, she is not a big fan of the vet in the first place. They annoy her with all their poking and prodding. Today they found new ways to annoy her. As I write this, she is laying on the carpet between Diana and myself. She is groggy and acts a little hungover. She is alternating between grunts whines and whiny grunts.
We are hoping that this makes the Wonder Hound healthier, happier and free of the dreaded butt breath.
It has hurt her and us to try to make her better.
Sometimes love hurts before it helps, but you are willing to do whatever it takes for friends and family.
Our reasoning is pretty simple: we love her.
She is our friend.
She is family.
Our home is ACTUALLY her home.
She graciously shares it with us.
Don’t judge us, I will sic my toothless hound on you!
Did you ever hear about the guy who always got everything he wanted?
If not at first than after he threw a fit, pouted, argued, and taunted.
He would set his sights on something and ask for it again and again.
Then asks became demands as he crossed his arms and jutted out his chin.
He wore down resistance to get the countless things that he desired.
He was never quite satisfied with the stuff that he had acquired.
He got what he wanted, but never really got what was needed.
Some of the most important lessons were left ignored and unheeded.
He ended up with a personality that was not quite two inches deep.
It turns out waiting and failing can teach life lessons we should keep.
Not getting everything all the time is meant to build strong character.
But, this poor dude never learned that, it never seemed to register.
You see, getting everything you want can leave you like old cottage cheese: spoiled and sour.
Rather than full, it makes you empty and it can make your little life undeniably dour.
So, be thankful for all the gifts that you will never ever be seeing.
It is all meant to craft you into a properly constructed human being.
We each wear many hats every day.
Some are thrust on our heads by others. Some hats we choose to wear.
There are real life sorting hats that we let define our days. They tell us where we belong. They tell us who we are.
And we listen.
We all wear different hats every day.
We wear the ugly stocking hat of shame. It is a filthy hat that drops thoughts of unworthiness like dandruff on our soul. It tells that we will never be anything more than our past failures.
We loudly wear the big shiny hat of arrogance and pride, we accessorize it with feathers and beads. Then we boast about how big and shiny and feathery it is.
Or, we put on the big sloppy hat of insecurity. It slips right over ears And whispers that we will never be enough. We don’t have what it takes. We are too ugly or too stupid.
We look in the mirror and adjust the scratchy red beret of performance. This hat whispers in a phony French accent that we must perform to be loved. Acceptance is based on accomplishment.
We sport the sweat stained baseball cap of selfishness. But, we strike out when we think our life is all about us.
We pull down the ill fitting cap of comparison. We can’t help but look at the beautiful, skinny, rich hats that other people wear. It makes our greasy trucker hat look like road kill.
Some folks put on religion like a hard hat. Rules and a sense of rightness make their brain impenetrable to the opinions and feelings of others.
Very often we clothe our brain with all the wrong things.
We listen to the sorting hat.
It tells us where we belong.
But, it lies.
And sadly, we make agreements with the lies.
It’s time to put on some different headgear.
It’s time to put on truth like a top hat.
The truth brings freedom.
You are liberated when you believe the truth about who you are, who you aren’t, and the truth about whose you are.
You are loved by a ridiculous, relentless love.
You are valuable and significant simply because of that great love.
You were chosen and crafted to be the one and only, completely original YOU!
You are no worse or better than anybody else on this planet…just different.
The One who loves you, chose you, and crafted you longs for you to know the truth.
You belong in his family.
Try that on for size.
Get rid of the wrong lids!
Put on the top hat of truth.
Once…
When Darkness fell across the land,
And the midnight hour was close at hand…
We would gather around a big bowl of microwave popcorn and bask in the hazy glow of a black and white TV. We only got three network stations, a PBS channel, and an occasional UHF station, but inevitably this time of year, one of those was showing a monster movie!
Sometimes it was a late night show that served as a celebration of campy cinema. In Tulsa, it was The Uncanny Film Festival and Camp Meeting with Dr. Mazeppa Pompazoidi (who was actually Gailard Sartain in a pointy wizard’s cap). These shows showcased low budget scary movies that had been made 30 years earlier. The makeup was mostly mediocre, the special effects were pretty lame, but the story drew us in. Once upon a time monsters were fun. These were movie monsters that scared you in ways that made you feel alive more than anxious.
We met some amazing monsters…
Dracula, He was immaculately dressed and he had an interesting speech impediment. He was my favorite.
Frankenstein’s monster and his lovely bride, a match made in a laboratory taught us about unrequited love.
The Wolf man, my brother’s favorite, he is a tragic figure desperately in need of a full body waxing.
The Creature from the Black Lagoon was a fish stick with an attitude.
The Invisible Man was the result of a science experiment gone horribly wrong.
These were decent, hard working monsters. There were no creepy clowns or possessed dolls. Nobody wore hockey masks or razor clawed gloves. Dracula never had to start a chainsaw. The Bride of Frankenstein never crawled out of a TV.
Our monsters were familiar and recognizable by their fangs, out of control body hair, or the bolts in their necks. It’s easier to deal with your monsters when you see them coming.
Our monsters knew their place, and it wasn’t a summer camp!! It was usually an insane Doctor’s laboratory or a faraway land like Transylvania. As long as the monsters stayed in the swamp, they couldn’t touch us.
Instead of serial killers, our childhood monsters were cereal characters. Count Chocula and Franken Berry were delicious. It’s easier to deal with your monsters when you eat them for breakfast.
Sometimes there was a pathos to our monsters. They seemed to be victims themselves. They were misunderstood. They weren’t psychopaths, they were just people thrust onto the wrong path.
Honestly…
I really do miss fright delivered in black and white.
So now, I occasionally grab a big bowl of microwave popcorn and I bask in the glow of 354 channels and I search for Bela Lugosi.
He is nowhere to be found.
When I think about our modern movie monsters, I want my mummy.
It’s highly likely that from a very early age you have been taught that life is best lived in camouflage.
It has nothing to do with fun and functional redneck fashion.
It’s has everything to do with blending into your surroundings. It has everything to do with disguising yourself to get acceptance.
We are cultivated to be camo.
Blend in.
Don’t stand out!
Talk less, smile more. Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for.
Be camouflage.
We live in a cockeyed camo culture where the ultimate goal is just fitting-in.
You learn pretty quick…
Get in line.
Don’t be different.
Don’t ask questions.
Conform.
Don’t cause a scene.
So we spend our lives hiding our true colors with hues of mediocrity and uniformity. We cover our authentic selves with the subtle shades of settling.
But, Wait a minute! That’s simply not you!!
You are far too interesting to be invisible.
You were positively, absolutely, unequivocally not born to be camo!
In fact…
You were born to be tie dye!
Counter culture in the most breathtaking ways.
A myriad of colors on display.
Life isn’t designed to hide or fade your colors.
You weren’t designed to fade out or blend in.
The beauty of tie dye is that the colors are released through twisting and crumpling and folding.
It creates something that can’t be duplicated.
Life can twist you.
Don’t let that cause you to go camo.
Don’t disguise the design!
When life twists you, let it bring out bright, colorful, one of a kind beauty.
Live tie dyed!!
carbonated joy 