I don't imagine we're beyond all of the summer heat just yet, but last evening and this morning provided some calm, cool air here in the sticky midwest.
Here's entry #36.
Thanks for reading.
One Hundred Twenty-Five: that strange
feeling
A couple of weeks ago I tucked a few edited pages into their
spot in the stack and had my first feeling of sadness regarding this project
coming to a close.
Such a funny thing this human experience.
Such a funny, amazing, ironic experience.
One Hundred Twenty-Four: being “regular”
Speaking of funny: It’s nice to be regular. It doesn’t happen
all the time, and what an odd piece to the sustenance cycle, but it sure is
nice.
One Hundred Twenty-Three: Abbrevs Plurals
I gave well-deserved credit to unnamed friend number 20 for
this, and I should note that it has -- for over 15 years -- made my sisters
laugh when I’ve used it.
Take the Chicago-weekend trip, for example, when I had a
not-so-regular moment.
By “not-so-regular” I mean I almost shit my pants in public.
After I escaped the Def-Con-III-level threat, I took the
liberty of recounting the instance, and used the phrase “trembs fings” to
describe that moment when your brain tells your bowels that you’ve “made it” to
the lavatory, but, really, you haven’t made
it until you’ve unfastened your garments and sat. On this particular occasion
of loveliness, I wore shorts with a drawstring and a belt.
As things will go in moments of haste, the simple bow in which
I’d fastened my drawstring became a sudden web that resembled the knotted mess
of a toddler’s shoestrings. My fingers, unable to find the free, release ends
of the drawstring bow, developed an immediate palsy, making those precious
remaining seconds, well, precious-er.
Close call.
So close in fact that all of my lifelines and phone-a-friends
would’ve been exhausted on one play had I not made it. This might’ve made for a
better story than the one I recounted while back with the group, but not so
much for me. I’m glad I returned with shorts unsoiled and I’m glad -- as always
-- to get a laugh courtesy of good, ol’ Abbrevs Plurals.
One Hundred Twenty-Two: my children’s
newfound love of swimming
I’ve learned that phases in child-rearing come and go. I’ve
learned to celebrate when the bad ones pass, to embrace the good ones, to know
that the bad ones have good lessons in them, and to love the mix as a whole.
While I’ve probably already forgotten a few, I’m grateful for the complete
package, the experiences that make them into who they are and who they will be.
The swimming thing is pretty cool. Pure joy for them, and for us, too.
One Hundred Twenty-One: my son’s love
for food
You know what they say about pictures…
 |
| (Who said happiness was a warm gun?) |
One Hundred Twenty: my
brother-in-law’s duck tales
It’s a silly thing, really, but it matters.
Our sibling weekend in Chicago wouldn’t be complete without
including my sister’s husband. He was a trooper, a treat, and a treasure, and
he started it off perfect by insinuating that I “was probably just splashing
around like a duck down there” when I claimed that the basement shower leaked.
It set the perfect tone for the weekend and made for a fantastic time. He has
since, it would appear, showered in the basement for the sole purpose of investigation,
and, being somewhat anti-social-media, he posted this in jest.
One Hundred Nineteen: life-size Jenga
Speaking of my brother-in-law, he went to the hardware store
the morning of our arrival and procured a handful of two-by-fours, which he
sawed into equal segments, then sanded. It made for quite the fun final WindyCity evening.
One Hundred Eighteen: happiness in
Chicago
My sister and her husband have endured college, a stint in
Chicago, some time in D.C., and their quasi-recent return to Illinois, and they
are happy there.
If the rest of us Johnsons had our way, we’d have them here in
Kansas City, but they wouldn’t be as happy. They’re happy where they are, and
I’m happy for them.
One Hundred Seventeen: our shopping-outing find
I bought a small painting at a little store. It makes me happy
that I found it, that I found it in Chicago, that I found it in Chicago while
out shopping with my sisters, and that my wife liked it, too. It makes a nice
addition to our collection.
One Hundred Sixteen: that the
shopping outing only lasted about 20 minutes
I may have perished had the trip lasted 25. I can’t bear to do
the thing unless I’m procuring books and music and have an endless budget in
which to do so.
One Hundred Fifteen: my youngest
sister’s home endeavor
The baby of our family seems serious in purchasing a home. I
think this is super cool. I think she’s super rad, and I hope she finds the
perfect spot.
One Hundred Fourteen: my oldest
younger sister’s gig
Not too long ago, a work scenario arose for my sister. She
almost panicked. Instead she showed some confidence and some moxie and she went
after the thing. It turned out to be a great decision and I’m proud of her for
doing it.
One Hundred Thirteen: my youngest
sister’s gig
Not long after the aforementioned, my youngest sister found
herself in a situation. She made a choice to make a move, and for a minute, I
think she regretted it. For a few I thought she might pull the ripcord, but she
showed some grit and hung in there. I think it’s not perfect, but I think it’s
better than it was. I think it will wind up paying off for her in several ways,
and I’m proud of her for the courage that she showed in flipping the switch,
and the strength she displayed in hanging in there. Way cool stuff.
One Hundred Twelve: my wife’s gig
The form of employment held by my spouse weighs in heavy, will
never be easy, and -- if I may -- brings home a fair amount of the bacon.
Although I once ran on a track that could’ve led me in a similar career
direction, I could never see myself doing what my wife does. She endures a ton
of heavy-duty shit, and I’m proud of her for not only sticking with it, but
excelling in the way that she has.
One Hundred Eleven: not waking up
hungover
Now that I’m old, one of the most important things centers on
how the day starts. I love waking up early, rested, and not feeling like hot
garbage. Grateful.
One Hundred Ten: doing things the
“right” way
Often I find myself in scenarios where the ol’ devil on the
shoulder suggests a shortcut or a dishonest way of doing something. Most of the
time I think I make the appropriate choice in the hope that karma will prevail.
Maybe it’s a faith-in-humanity thing, but it feels right and I’m thankful that
I’m wired to tend to make what feels like the right choice.
One Hundred Nine: my wife showing me how
to take responsibility
Anna illustrated to me the other morning that I can’t just have
a list of expectations and act a certain way if they don’t get met. Mostly this
pertains to our relationship and what my role looks like in terms of our happiness
together. She’s helping me realize the ways in which I’m difficult and I’m
thankful for that.
One Hundred Eight: the strength of my
mother-in-law
This lady always seems to have a lot on her plate. In recent
weeks she’s dealt with a significant injury to her second born, the declining
health of her mother (and what her siblings roles will or will not look like in
managing that), as well as the usual work, church, grandchildren, and spouse
support she provides in all of those arenas. I hope to be as strong as she is
in 20 years. Very thankful to have her in my circle.
One Hundred Seven: Independence Avenue
I’m thankful I don’t live near the Avenue. I’m thankful I only
have to drive on it once or twice a week. Too many insane drivers, too many
panhandlers, and too many shenanigans in general. I’m glad that it’s a part of
my city, but I’d go nuts if I had to navigate it every day.
One Hundred Six: mental health
Between my wife’s profession and a handful of the crazy people
I work with, I’m glad most of my marbles appear to be intact. There are a lot
of messed-up folks rolling around out there in the world, and I’m thankful
that, at the very least, my head appears to be on straight.
One Hundred Five: ska
This genre seems to have surfaced in waves over the years. I
hope it makes another surge because it can be a lot of fun. I’m glad I’ve had
the opportunity to dance to a bit of it.
One Hundred Four: Quentin Tarantino
Dude’s made some killer flicks.
One Hundred Three: professional wrestling
I write this the day after “Rowdy” Roddy Piper’s death
surprised the wrestling world, and as Deadspin
has illustrated, many of the former World Wrestling Federation icons have
fallen short of the average life expectancy. Professional wrestling today
resembles the sport I loved as a kid, but much of it has changed. The details
don’t matter, but the 1980s had an incredible array of athletes, figureheads,
and stars associated with the WWF. Hulk Hogan, Andre the Giant, Jake “The
Snake” Roberts, The British Bulldogs, Koko B. Ware, The Junkyard Dog, The Hart
Foundation, “King” Harley Race, George “The Animal” Steele, “Hacksaw” Jim
Duggan, The Road Warriors/Legion of Doom, Demolition, Jimmy “Superfly” Snuka,
“Ravishing” Rick Rude, Ted “The Million Dollar Man” DiBiase, The Honky Tonk
Man, Randy “Macho Man” Savage, Don “The Rock” Muraco, “The Natural” Butch Reed,
Akeem/The One Man Gang, Dino Bravo, The Iron Sheik, Superstar Billy Graham, Bam
Bam Bigelow, The Ultimate Warrior, Big Boss Man, just to name a few.
Then you had the crew: Vince McMahon, Jesse “The Body” Ventura,
“Mean” Gene Okerlund. The managers: Mr. Fuji, The Lovely Elizabeth, Captain Lou
Albano, Slick, Jimmy “Mouth of the South” Hart, Bobby “The Brain” Heenan.
What excitement. What drama. What a franchise.
One Hundred Two: Saturday Night Live
I suppose this show was pretty cool, too.
One Hundred One: Saturday-morning
cartoons
From Super Friends to
Dungeons and Dragons to The Bugs Bunny/Road Runner Hour to Jim Henson’s Muppet Babies. Hell, even The Smurfs. Saturday-morning cartoons
were what the week was all about. Waking up on Saturday to cereal and a
marathon in front of the screen meant everything. Very thankful for these fond
memories.
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