Author: Mark Myers

I am a husband of one, father of four daughters, a dreamer, a builder, a believer, and most enjoyably a writer. In 2015, I became a reluctant Childhood Cancer Advocate as we lost our youngest daughter Kylie to the disease. Kylie taught me to steal joy from even the worst of circumstances and I will always be on the lookout for happiness among the thorns of life. Join me for a generous helping of laughter and tears.

My Dinner With Irma

.Reading time 4 minutes.

“Where should we eat?” I asked my family.

No reply. Not even a look up from their devices.

I stood empty and disappointed like Ferris Beuhler’s teacher… “Anyone? Anyone?”

“How about Chinese?”

This creates a sense of elation in one, deflates another, and I sense a form of tempered ambivalence in the one who just wants everyone to get along.

“Mexican?”

Groans all around.

“Hamburgers? Pizza? The sandwich joint?”

Nothing. But they’re all hungry. And I know they have ideas, tastes, and opinions. I just can’t pull them out when we decide to eat out. So I have to decide and bear the silent, smoldering wrath of whichever one doesn’t like my choice. This is my dilemma every time meal choices are in the offing.

Why can’t people just have an opinion and make up their mind?

Speaking of making up their mind, I had dinner with Irma Monday night. Understand that I live 300 miles from the east coast and 300 miles from the gulf coast. I have strategically and intentionally located myself to be close enough to readily enjoy the ocean without having to deal with those pesky hurricanes. Sure, we have weather issues here – ice and the occasional tornado. But ocean storms typically peter out long before they reach us and leave us only with wind and rain. This Irma though, she became a large, angry woman totally incapable of making a dinner decision – which makes her perfectly suited for my family (let me be clear – not the large, angry part, only in her indecisiveness).

We didn’t really prepare for our dinner date. I didn’t buy flashlights, batteries, bread, or milk. No, my crazy Atlanta neighbors tore the shelves down for those. I’m somewhat of a fatalist when it comes to that kind of thing. If it’s meant to be…

Sunday told us that she would still be a Cat 3 storm when she came knocking on Atlanta. She already had trouble deciding. She skipped the South Beach scene and decided Tampa was more to her liking. As she drove north and made her way across the state line, she turned on a dime and went west deciding Alabama was on the menu. Oh, she blew at us fiercely as she went past – dropped a bunch of trees and left millions without power. Spiteful hussy.

We didn’t lose power at my house. We live in the woods, yet surprisingly had no tree problems either. Two of my girls were home with us and one wayward daughter stayed at her school where they lost power and she had to eat cereal without milk for dinner – a choice made for her. We had fun hazing her by texting pictures of all of the power we were consuming at home. It wasn’t much fun after her phone battery died.

Then darkness fell and our stomachs rumbled.

“What do you want to eat?” I asked.

Absolute silence except the remnants of wind straining the treetops outside.

I wish someone in my life would make up their mind!

 

 

*Note: Although our brush with Irma was light, my thoughts and prayers are with all of those affected by her wrath.

 

 

 

My Time Capsule

.Reading time 4 minutes.

After being less than impressed by the solar eclipse, one of my co-workers mentioned that if she were still teaching, she could put her glasses into a time capsule. I’ve never made a time capsule.

I recall discussing the matter with my friend, Jeff when we were about ten years-old. At that point, we each had very limited offerings for a relevant time capsule: a favorite baseball card or two, a four-leaf clover (actually a three-leaf clover with the largest leaf split), some Mad Magazines and Spy vs. Spy comics, awesome fire-sided Hot Wheels, marbles, and a switchblade we bought at the local fair despite our parents’ warning us not to. We also had a healthy debate about how much food it would take to sustain Hobo, our bullfrog. We gave up on adding him because one could never know how long the time capsule would be buried.

Our naïve eyes could picture the awe and wonder with which future generations would behold our “valuables”. We just never actually got around to burying one.

So much has changed. I have more expensive things now – better junk. But the question remains – what would I put in a time capsule? What would you put in yours? What are those things that symbolize your experiences, likes, skills, and passions. Have you ever pondered the question?

Since it will be opened in the future, there are new considerations. Unlike when I last thought about it in the 70’s, technology has changed everything. No longer is on-hand knowledge limited to our shelf of World Book Encyclopedias or a bicycle ride to the library – we have everything at our fingertips. My assumption is that availability to knowledge will only increase in the future. Instead of having to look something up on a device, maybe everything will just pop into your head when you want to know it. So they will already know all about every piece of junk I could lock away.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I feel like my time capsule would be lame. I disappoint plenty of people right now, I don’t need to stretch that into future people.

Still, I came up with a few important things and I’d like to add some weird stuff just to keep them guessing.

  • A picture of my family
  • a saw blade with fake, dried blood to gross them out and make them wonder
  • tie-dye long johns
  • a Homer Simpson bank that you have to put coins in his butt
  • my grandfather’s World War II Bible
  • Russian nesting dolls with strange writing on them that looks like a code
  • a running shoe insole preserved in a baggie so they can smell my marathons
  • my favorite book, David Copperfield, in case libraries have been destroyed by aliens
  • a Hawaiian leis – just because it is soothing.
  • a Smiley for Kylie wristband.

I calculated the dimensions of this time capsule and the proper burial depth.

That seems like a lot of digging. It’s still pretty hot down here in Georgia and I’ve got a sprinkler system to avoid…

Then it dawned on me – I’ve got a septic tank that tells a story all its own. Forget the shovel, I’ll just let that be my time capsule. Pity the future fool who digs that up.