10 things I'm thankful for today (and everyday)

Thoughtful introspection is not a calling card of mine, but as today is Thanksgiving and as I sit here in BOB2.0 contemplating spending some hours playing computer games, I think it’s fair to say that as an individual I have plenty to be thankful for. As a nation, I think we do too, despite the best efforts of some groups that give us reason to give up hope altogether…but that’s why we vote.

So, in an effort not to be overburdening to you, I offer a quick list of the top 10 (non-political) things I’m thankful for this year:

1. I’m thankful the NFL got their stuff figured out and put on a season.

2. I’m thankful to be in a place where I don’t have to shop at Wal-Mart

3. I’m thankful that Shadow is a great cook who taught even me how to properly roast a chicken – or else I’d probably be starving to death, or weigh 400 pounds

4. I’m thankful I’m not French

5. I’m thankful I’m not a vegetarian or a vegan. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but meat=yummy and let’s face it, why go through life without bacon?)

6. I’m thankful that in both BOB and BOB2.0 I haven’t had any crazy neighbors – no screamers or fighters or people with stadium-quality stereo speakers

7. I’m thankful (still) that disco is dead

8. I’m thankful there are a few people in this big wide world who actually read this (truly, thanks, I appreciate it)

9. I’m thankful to be part of the 0.45% of Americans who have worn a uniform of our nation and thankful for the even smaller percentage (and their families) who have sacrificed what they have and continue to give meaning to holidays like today.

10. I’m thankful for the ceaseless patience of Shadow who for 16 months (and counting) has been mother, father, chauffer, provider, caregiver, disciplinarian, teacher, ATM, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, nurse and more – all by herself – while being cheerleader to me as I search for meaningful employment for next year. I hope our children grow up to appreciate what they have by way of a superstar mom.

Happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Another item on a list of good decisions

Amongst the better decisions I’ve made in my lifetime are the following:

1. Marry Shadow

2. Not doing the 55 mile option in yesterday’s Soldier Ride San Antonio

While the wind certainly had a hand in that decision it was really formalized for me when I arrived at the event and parked, got out of my car and came face to face with the guy who parked next to me – Dave.



Obviously toward the beginning of the ride - thanks to Dave
for the picture.



It’s a small world, let me tell you. Dave is a guy I met about 15 years ago while stationed in the Azores. I knew he was in San Antonio because I’d run into him back in March but the odds of us both being at this event and parking next to each other were prohibitively low. In reality, Dave was my lottery ticket yesterday for capable motor function today.

You see, about a year ago, Dave started riding a bicycle with some enthusiasm – enough so that this summer he biked across Iowa – for fun. So it was nice to not only know someone at this event but also to talk a little ‘shop’ as it were. This is what he said to me after we discussed what we’d been doing on bicycles for the last few months – namely him biking across large square-ish states and me getting my bike wedged between two trees.

“Don’t do the long ride.”

I took it as a sign from above and as I felt no real obligation toward the longer distance, I heeded his, what turned out to be, stellar advice.

The Soldier Ride isn’t actually ‘A’ ride, but a series of rides put on by the Wounded Warrior Project across the country to raise money for America’s wounded warriors – many of whom were in evidence at the ride, and some with special bikes that you’ve probably seen before, where they are hand-cranked instead of food pedaled.

The San Antonio version of the Ride was the last for the year and nearly 500 cyclists showed up for a ride that was relatively flat, but somehow it seemed the organizers were able to contrive a looped course that was against the wind the entire time. I don’t like riding against the wind, I really don’t and as I entered a long straightaway into the teeth of this wind I just thought, ‘this really sucks.’

Two minutes later at about the 15 mile point, one of the wounded warriors on a hand-crank bike passed me.

As I watched him go, I thought, the wind isn’t really so bad, you know.

So for the rest of the ride I forgot the wind. I enjoyed the sunshine, the mid-70s temperatures and yes, even the pain in my knees, feet and legs. Because at the end of the day, I still had all my original stock features when so many of my fellow Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen and Marines, do not.

On my short list of good choices, I should add participating in the Soldier Ride, even the little 25 mile version.

Special thanks again to those who helped the San Antonio ride raise more than $92,000. You should expect an email from me again next year.

Jon and Marie VanGuilder; Valerie & Timothy Trefts; Norman and Anne Bushey; Steven Bushey; Lynne & Steve Corry; Scott Beaulieu; Scott Wakefield; Marilyn Main; Ed Boucher; and Dave Smith.

Slutty Doctor...Paging Slutty Doctor...

I'm home with the Shadow and kids for a week and I think a little recap of Halloween is in order. Really, it is. Trust me. First, let's do a little run-down...

- Scream mask complete with a fake blood pump, check.

- Rotting corpse that lets you actually see the inside of a hacker-dissected body, check.

- Semi form-fitting skull mask with matching scythe-blade of death, check.

- Slutty doctor, uh… technically, I suppose, check.

To be fair, those few outfits were probably the worst of the lot and they wouldn’t have even done justice to a haunted house or any party with limited expectation of a good time. However, it's also worth mentioning these costumes were seen at an elementary school Halloween parade for kindergarten and first grade students.

Yes, 5 and 6 year olds dressed up in mass slaughter gear. I think anthropologists hundreds of years from now will scratch their heads and just constantly mouth the words, ‘what the fu…?” I’m not against Halloween or dressing up or any of the rest (I mean, free candy – what’s not to like?) but where in our society did we entirely lose sight of what it means to be appropriate? 

There were 5-year-olds who were visibly frightened by a 6-year-old with red blood-like substance cascading down a pale white mask. It’s hard to rally the princesses and fairies or even the witches or superheroes when they’re staring at costumes of death and mayhem that belong at the parties of much older people.  It’s like we’re witnessing the topic of the first three sessions of their future therapy.

And while it’s bad enough there were a few kids who obviously have deep-seated psychological issues of their own – slutty doctor presented a whole other world of inexplicable decision making.

How and in what universe does a grown woman wake up and say, “I’m going to wear the studded collar, thigh-high stockings that kind of look like black latex boots with red ribbons for ties; a tight red corset; the black fuck-me pumps; and, I guess, because this event will be at an elementary school, I’ll throw on a white lab coat for decency.”

Now, you may be saying, “Roe, you got an awfully good description of slutty doctor…” and you’d be right, because it was a train-wreck of phenomenal proportions. Shadow saw her and was cross and amused at the same time. Kind of like the pissed-off sympathy you have for people on reality singing shows who are obviously at the bottom of the cerebral food chain but who believe their 8 tone-deaf friends are the ultimate arbiters of vocal talent.

You see, Slutty Doctor is merely a description of the costume. The woman herself was afflicted by a deficiency of taste rivaled only by mega-rich teenagers who buy opulent California palaces only to let them be decorated by graffiti artists. Slutty doctor has also apparently lost the ability to distinguish the difference between how something looks on a package model (a svelte sports car, 20-ish) and how something will look on her (a meth-lab sofa, 50-ish).

While witnessing this act of ocular terrorism, Shadow shared with me one of those English-isms that I adore. She stared at this woman and just mumbled, “mutton dressed as lamb.”  For my money, that line was worth the entire spectacle and that is just going to have to suffice because I didn’t get any photos. It was just too scary.