Home Sweet Home

MAKING A HOUSE A HOME; even if it's a tiny one on wheels. Our little trailer came from the factory with a lovely bedspread and “accent” pillows. We hadn’t even more gotten her home when she was stripped of those generic, factory goodies and replaced with just the right touches by the Amazing-Missus.

“We shape our dwellings, and afterwards our dwellings shape us.”

— Winston Churchill

On one of our first adventures we were staying at site #51 in Red Rock Canyon State Park, Hinton, Oklahoma. Returning from a walk I noticed the paper tag on her backside. I thought to myself, “I wonder what license plate number the great state of Oklahoma will give us in exchange for a hefty tax bill?”

Wait a minute! Why settle for some state issued identity? Our little tin hut deserves her own personalized name tag. I mentioned the idea of a personalized tag to someone and they said, “Oh, you mean a vanity tag.” This has nothing to do with vanity. This is about… Well, I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s going to happen anyway.

So we secured the application from the tax commission. You’re supposed to choose six options, in priority order, I guess that's in case one or two or five are already taken or deemed unacceptable or inappropriate by some authority somewhere.

BTW: Remember when the quite contrary daughter of governor Mary had her RV parked in the backyard of the governor’s mansion? I wonder if she had a personalized/vanity tag for her trailer? If not, I would love to help her choose at least six names if she wants me to.

from thelostogle.com

You can read the fun version of the story here.

---

Okay, I’m back on track now. We would love to have your help. We’ve come up with at least six possibilities for our tag. Want to tell us your favorite, or better yet, offer another possibility. Keep in mind you only have seven spaces to work with and you can’t use words that might be offensive.

Feel free to comment here or on Facebook or Twitter. Here are our choices so far:

Love Stories

WARNING: This is going to get pretty sappy. But, Love Stories can be like that. I’m not really an expert on love or stories, but I thoroughly enjoy both. Speaking as a layperson, so to speak, I’m guessing that the Love Story is the oldest and most enduring of any storyline. Let’s hope it stays that way, or as The Beatles sang: sometimes, “All you need is love.”

LOVE STORY No. 1.

Ours began in June 1972. Well that’s not really true. It started before that. That’s just when we formalized it all with public vows, rings, flowers, cake, punch, etc.

Back in the day when our romance was emerging, there was a little slice of pop culture that in some ways became a part of the 70s courting lifestyle. It was a cartoon series called “Love Is…”. Here’s an example:

Love Is… is the name of a comic strip created by New Zealand cartoonist Kim Casali in the 1960s. The cartoons were published in booklets in the late 1960s before appearing in strip form in a newspaper in 1970, under the pen name “Kim”. They were syndicated soon after and the strip is syndicated worldwide today by Tribune Media Services. One of her most famous drawings, “Love Is…being able to say you are sorry”, published on February 9, 1972, was marketed internationally for many years in print, on cards and on souvenirs. The beginning of the strip coincided closely with the 1970 film Love Story. The film’s signature line is “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” --Wikipedia

By the way, as it turns out, the movie was wrong; the cartoon was right. Love does from time to time include being sorry. (I’ve learned something in 44 years.)

Even though we will be celebrating 44 years of the marriage part of our Love Story in a few weeks, we’re really just getting started, relatively speaking.

LOVE STORY No. 2.

Tomorrow we will celebrate Anniversary Number 70 with my Mom and Dad. That’s a lot of togetherness. Not only can they finish one another’s sentences, they can actually start one another’s sentences. I am grateful for the wonderful way they prove the beauty of marriage, still.

Their story began in Okmulgee, Oklahoma. Mom grew up there. Dad was in town as a part of an assignment as a young soldier during WW II. They both happened to be at the local skating rink one night. He asked her to skate, and as my Dad likes to quip, “We’ve been going around together ever since.”

What do you buy the happy couple for their 70th according to those anniversary charts? Google, google, google. The lists seem to skip from 65 to 75, like 70’s not significant. As I was searching the lists though, I peeked at the anniversary category for #44, hoping it isn’t “Hearing Aids”. 

“Groceries”. “Groceries”??? What the what? So, I guess on June 16, you’ll find us at Whole Foods. We’ll splurge; it’s our anniversary.

Even though we’ve been married almost 44 years, we’re partying like it’s #10. The 10th year is the “Aluminum” anniversary. And since we now adventure in our tiny, aluminum love shack on wheels, it’s like we’re young and broke again.

LOVE STORY No. 3.
Our oldest son and his beautiful wife Kara, just celebrated anniversary #11. Corey posted this on the Facebook:

He must have thought this was the “Groceries” anniversary. How do I know that 11 years later their story is a Love Story? You can see it in the kids.

They have three happy, confident, tender-hearted, wonder-full little girls. That kind of stuff sprouts and grows in the fertile soil of loving relationships.

LOVE STORY No. 4.

In a few weeks, we’ll celebrate the formal start of another amazing Love Story. This is one that I never would have seen coming. It’s one of those that if you had any doubt about Providence, you wouldn’t now. Our youngest son, Kyle is engaged to Brooke. If you know these two, you have a glimpse of how special this is. If I lived in one of those country’s where the male of the family still got to pretend like he’s the All-Knowing Patriarch, in a country where the marriages are all arranged, this is the way I would have arranged it.

Turns out they didn’t need my arranging anything. It’s like they have discovered something that was there all along. Maybe that’s what Love Stories are really all about.

And they all lived happily ever after.

For [Pentecost] Sunday, May 15, 2016

“And in the last days,” God says, “I will pour out my spirit upon every sort of flesh, and your sons and your daughters will prophesy and your young men will see visions and your old men will dream dreams.” Acts 2:17

As an old man, my dream this Pentecost Sunday is for honest, humble, fearless, fearful, awe-full voices to speak clearly.

The Descent Of The Spirit by Gustave Dore

School's Out

ONE OF THE THINGS I MISS MOST about being a schoolboy is getting out of school for the summer.

dragging main somewhere

To quote Mr. Alice Cooper (“Is he still alive?” you might be asking. Yes, yes he is. In fact you can catch him in concert August 19 in Oklahoma City.):

No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks

Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not go back at all

School’s out forever
School’s out for summer
School’s out with fever
School’s out completely

The summer of 1969 was a long time ago, but still I remember the end of my senior year. I remember prom, baccalaureate, graduation and the summer. I remember feeling like the king of the world in a Donald Trump sort of arrogant way. I remember getting out of high school as having a certain finality to it, even though I would be starting college classes in the fall.

I’m a firm believer in the idea of the rhythms of life. Maybe it comes from marching miles and miles of parade routes playing in a drumline. The drumline plays what is called a cadence. It serves as the clock that keeps the band marching with order and as a unit. Without a cadence there would be chaos.

So it’s been a few decades now since I last walked out of a classroom for the summer. But still I seem to hear a distant drum signaling a change in the air. Just to restore the rhythm, maybe I’ll take a vacation day next Monday and sleep in. I won’t worry about homework or grades. I won’t diagram any sentences or dissect any frogs. I certainly won’t be wearing shoes or tucking in my shirttail. And I’ll chew gum anywhere and any time I want to.

In a few days, me and my Amazing-Missus will be going to a Beach Boys concert. Maybe they’ll do their happy little school’s out song, Dance Dance Dance:

After six hours of school I’ve had enough for the day
I hit the radio dial and turn it up all the way

I gotta dance (dance dance dance now the beat’s really hot) right on the spot
(Dance dance dance right there on the spot)
The beat’s really hot

When I feel put down I try to shake it off quick
With my chick by my side the radio does the trick

I gotta dance (dance dance dance now the beat’s really hot)

No question, if there is a soundtrack for summer fun it would be written by the Beach Boys. Maybe after the concert we’ll go out for a milkshake, maybe we’ll drag a Main street somewhere, maybe we’ll even go parking, and maybe we’ll stay out past midnight—probably not, but we could if we wanted to; because school’s out for summer.