Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

Hope comes, as it always does, in new life.

The other night I engaged in my nightly pre-bed ritual of quietly tiptoeing into the boys' rooms.  I walk over to their beds where, God willing, they're fast asleep.  I lay my hand on their heads, just for a second or two.  I don't really say or do anything, but I guess it's kind of a prayer of sorts.  A parental blessing to end the day.

When I went into our oldest son's room, who turned 9 this week, I lingered a bit.  Something was keeping me there.  And then I heard it - well, in my head I heard it.  A question from my past, dragged out of my subconscious:

Do we really want to bring a child into this mess?

It was my wife who posed it, many years before.  She was the braver one, to be honest - brave enough to voice the question that'd been rattling around in both our brains in recent weeks but had, up until that moment, remained unspoken.

Even before we got married, we knew we wanted kids.  Eventually.  A few years to ourselves would be wise; get used to each other and this lifelong dance known as marriage.  But over that summer, things had taken a turn.  Conversations about having kids had gone from strictly hypothetical to more imminent.  As much as we ever could be, we were ready.

And then 9-11 happened.

When severly misguided and sick men fly loaded commercial jets straight into skyscrapers and government buildings and a Pennsylvania field, it can't help but cause you to second-guess your convictions.  And one of those convictions, for us at least, was being parents.  It's hard enough bringing a child into the world and dealing with paying for college and feeding and clothing them, and that strong desire to shield them from anything that would do them harm.  There's a certain accepted level of uncertainty to life.  But after the morning of September 11th, uncertainty kind of burst through the floodgates and saturated us.

The question came a week or so after it happened.  It was a legitimate question.  Why would we want to subject anyone, much less our own flesh and blood, to the sick world outside our doors?  It was hard enough making heads or tails of all things post-9-11 as a grown adult.  How could we ever expect a kid to deal with it?

In the end we realized that, on the contrary, this was the perfect time to have a child.  It was our dream, our calling to be parents.  And to give up on that dream would mean letting the terrorists win.  Because the truth of the matter is that they never really were after buildings and a body count.  They wanted to strike at the very heart of our soul.  And we weren't going to let them do that.

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Fast forward a few months.  My wife talked me into going to see some new movie about a kid named Harry Potter.  Kind of strange, two grown adults at a kids movie; but it seemed important to her.  Afterwards we dined at the Schlotsky's Deli down the street - good stuff.  We got into the car in the deli parking lot and I asked if there was anywhere she wanted to go before we headed home.  How about Babies R Us?  she asked excitedly, with a noticeable sheepish grin on her face.  I was confused at first.  Why in the world would we ever need to go to..... 

Oh.....!

And that's how my wife told me she was pregnant with our first child.

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It was the morning of September 11, 2002. I was parked in front of TV, and every channel that morning carried the one-year memorial observance at Ground Zero.  Amazing how beautiful the day was, just like before.  It had been a busy year, a jam-packed year. And yet watching the television, the horror of that morning came flooding back to me as if it had happened yesterday.

There was something different this time around, though. I was holding our two-day old son in my arms.

We were at the hospital, and we were getting ready to go home.  My wife was in the room packing her bag.  Any minute now the nurse would come with the wheelchair, and our family - now three strong - would head to our car parked right outside the hospital front door, courtesy of some strange kindness called "valet service."  We were prepping to leave the comfort and security of the hospital, the nurses and doctors who knew far more about taking care of a newborn than we did.  We were going out into the world that, just a year ago, seemed like it was falling apart.

I held our firstborn son and couldn't stop staring at him, then I glanced up at the TV and the memorial service, then back at our son.  And then I understood:

The terrorists lost.

Hope comes, as it always does, in new life.

I am the proud father of a dancer.

I always dreamed of being a Dad. I grew up with a great one, so I wanted to be one, too.  I imagined myself celebrating Father's Day, not just as a son but as a father myself.  That's exactly what I did yesterday, as I've done for the past eight years.

But I'll be honest - I never imagined myself enjoying it at a dance recital.

When our 8-year old son asked us a year ago if he could take dance, my wife and I were happy to oblige.  Putting aside all the stereotypical assumptions of what boys are supposed to do - usually involving a sport with some kind of ball - we signed him up for hip-hop class.  Every Thursday night this school year he's been there, learning his moves.  If he was bothered by the fact that he was one of two boys in a class of fifteen or so, and one of three boys in an entire dance program of close to 150 kids, he never showed it.

For the past few weeks he's been brushing up on the dance at home, getting prepped for Sunday's recital.  I had heard for years about this event.  In the past, when a swath of young girls in our church took dance, this Sunday - almost always Father's Day - was the lowest-attended Sunday of the year.  That's because kids and parents have to be at the Stevens Center in Winston-Salem at 9am.  For a 6pm recital.  My wife took our son down yesterday morning for their marathon day, while his younger brother and I did the church thing.  Grandparents and an uncle joined us for the show. 

The recital is a bit of a test in endurance; but then again, if you don't have a kid, grandkid, niece/nephew or good friend in the show, you're probably not there anyway.  It was over two hours in length with a short intermission.  His dance was in the middle of the first act.  But, of course, there was the big finale at the end of the whole thing.  He was so proud of himself, and he did awesome.  They all did, really.

After the show we scooted across the street to the strategically-placed Mellow Mushroom Pizzeria, along with a bunch of other folks.  A number of people stopped by our booth and told our son what a great job he did.  He was beaming.  And so were we, to be honest.

What a tremendous way to spend Father's Day.

Late night/early morning musings

I typically don't do much blogging at 1:30 in the morning, and there's good reason for that.  I'm not much of a night person. Other than the occasional late night band gig (which amounts to a personal test of endurance), I pretty much flake out after The Daily Show.  I'm much more of a morning person, to be honest.

Ah, but tonight I'm having to defy my instincts.  There's a batch of pretty bad storms making their way through our area, bringing some tornadoes southwest of us.  So the wife and I made the decision to go into full storm-prep mode.  The outside dogs are in the downstairs bathroom, the boys are sleeping on the living room couch.  Right now my wife is joining them there, and I've taken the first watch.

If nothing else this little bit of self-imposed sleep-deprivation gives me the chance to reflect on a number of things this week - something that, frankly, I don't get to do all that much.  If I'm not running from point A to point B and trying to cram C, D, E and F in there somewhere, I'm probably sleeping.  But I can't do that right now.  So I'm reflecting.  And here's what I'm thinking:

• I'm enjoying my week off this week.  I always try to do the typical seven-day respite following the pastoral rat race known as Holy Week and Easter.  It's a nice change of pace.  Even if I keep myself busy doing stuff, at least it's stuff I want to do.  In fact, there's something actually restful in that, isn't there?


• I'm hopeful about the latest installment of our garden.  Cautiouslly hopeful.  This will be the third year that our family has attempted to grow some of our own produce.  And I use the word "attempt" very intentionally.  Our first year wasn't too bad; we had a couple of items that came from it.  We figured that would lay the foundation for better things to come.  No produce at all.  Nada.   This year I'm a little more hopeful because of two things: first, we added mulch to help keep moisture in the dirt.  We should've done that the other two years.  And second, I installed a small chicken wire fence to keep out any little creatures who might want to help themselves to any of the bounty in there.  If all goes well, at various points in the spring and summer we'll get to enjoy some home-grown tomatoes, green/yellow/red peppers, green beans, cilantro, basil, okra, canteloupe, lettuce and onions.  I'll keep you posted.


• Man, the wind is really picking up now.  Perhaps my idea of sitting out on the screened-in porch is not a wise one.


• Something's wrong with my iPhone, and this really bugs me.  Last night it wouldn't charge no matter what I plugged it into.  My good friend and Apple know-it-all here in town tells me this is a classic sign of water damage.  So the phone spent the entire day today fully submerged in a bowl of rice (a common method used to dry out electronic gadgets). I don't think it worked, although the phone seems to charge in my Bose sound dock (ironic, since it's not an Apple product, and you know how Mr. Jobs is about his stuff....)  The plan is to get it up and running for tomorrow (well, today now) and then take it to the Apple store in town, where hopefully any bad news will be diverted.


• There's nothing like having your car deep-cleaned and waxed.  Even if you're the one who had to do it.  It's the biggest pain the world (just ask the Karate Kid - the original one, not Will Smith's son), but the darn thing is paid for in full so we've got to keep it in the best condition we can.  I also vaccummed the interior and wiped the 1/2 inch dust layer that had accumulated on the dash.  Looks pretty darn cool now.


• I don't care what political persuasion you are - contrary to what Mr. Trump may feel, it's a sad day in our country when our president is forced to share his long-form birth certificate to satisfy a few nutjobs who refused to believe the truth that was shared a long time ago.  I have a lot more I could say but I'll just leave it at that.


• Tomorrow will be a music day.  I have a radio interview with our local NPR station in the morning (seven hours, in fact).  After that I'll head to Doug's studio to lay down some Hammond & piano for the Mediocre Bad Guys tunes we're working on.  Then I go pick up the promo CDs for the new album that should be arriving via UPS.  They were supposed to arrive earlier, but the company botched the order and it took a few days to set it straight.


• It's starting to rain/thunder/lightning now, so I think it's time to head inside.

Oh, how our kids surprise us...

If you happened to be at First Presbyterian's worship service this past Sunday, or if you got to listen to the service online, you will recall how my eight-year old inadvertently participated in the Sunday sermon.  In my sermon I was recounting a story about our family trip to Disney World last May and how the boys got to duel Darth Maul at the Jedi Training Academy in Hollywood Studios (not Universal Studios, as I erroneously said). I mentioned that we visited this particular attraction on Wednesday.  And during the ever-so-slight pause I took before my next sentence, my son instinctively blurted out, It was Tuesday.  It wasn't loud, but loud enough for the whole congregation to hear.  Everyone had a good laugh about it, preacher's kid interrupting his minister Dad and all.  Classic.  After worship, church members were eager to comment, with most falling in one of two camps: "Hey, at least he was listening," and "He is so your son."

(And for the record, it was later confirmed by the wife that the day we went to Jedi Training was in fact Wednesday ;-)

How appropriate that earlier today a friend sent me the following 30-second video clip that you'll definitely want to see.  This is the same Disney attraction our kids took part in (although the stage is a little different). You must check this out. Enjoy!

Speaking out for curbside recycling

This evening my family and I attended a public hearing held by our city commissioners.  The topic: curbside recycling.  Our wonderful little town of "Mayberry" doesn't have it, and after years of egging our community leaders on, they finally scheduled this forum.  Strange as it is to say, this has been a contentious issue in our community, as there are some who are vehemently opposed to the idea for a number of reasons.  Cost is one of them (and a reasonable one, I confess); but a significant group who view such an initiative as "government intrusion" and even those who see curbside recycling as a not-so-veiled form of socialism (as I highlighted in this previous blog post).

The forum lasted just under two hours.  Those who spoke were overwhelmingly in favor of curbside recycling.  I didn't keep track, but I would guess that for every one person opposed, four or five were in favor.  A lot of the vitriol that had surfaced over the past few weeks in the social media world over this topic was nonexistent.

Both my wife and 8-year old son spoke, as did I.  In my comments I approached things from both a pastoral/spiritual angle, as well as a city resident and taxpayer.  Below is what I said. 

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My friends – tonight I come in two capacities to express my support for curbside recycling – as a pastor and a resident of this wonderful town.  As pastor, I come not representing the church I serve, but representing many people of many faiths who understand that the call to take care of God’s earth comes first and foremost from this – the scriptures.  In the book of Genesis, which serves as the foundation for some 2.2 billion Christians and Jews worldwide, the scripture says this:

Then God said, ‘Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth, and over the earth itself.

Sadly, over the years that word “dominion” has been misconstrued to mean “do with the world as you wish.”  When in fact, the Hebrew here actually describes a scenario where a servant is entrusted with the care of their master’s possessions.  So the world does not belong to us – it belongs to God.  Like the Psalmist says in Psalm 24:1: The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it.

People of faith all over the world understand God’s mandate to care for creation – including many here in our community, represented in these signed petitions, stating that curbside recycling is not only a civic calling but a spiritual one as well.  I submit these to you for public record on their behalf.

The second capacity in which I come tonight is as a citizen of this town – a citizen who recognizes that waste disposal comes at a cost to the taxpayer, no matter how we go about doing it.  We can either continue purchasing additional land for the landfill – land which will eventually fill up and cause us to purchase more land – or we can enact a curbside recycling program that, in the long run, will cost the taxpayer less.  If we are going to talk about cost in this discussion, as some people are so eager to do, then let us be open and honest about all costs involved.

It’s become apparent that, if curbside recycling is going to happen in Mount Airy, it’s going to require some "forward-thinking" on behalf of you, our city commissioners.  Which is why I’m grateful that this is something you all have demonstrated in the past.  Five or six years ago, you will recall, Reeves Community Center was in danger of shutting its doors.  It would've been easy for you, our elected officials, to have said, "We can't afford to get involved." Instead, you wisely recognized that you couldn't afford NOT to.  So you chose to take over Reeves and keep that vital community resource intact.

And, you know, it strikes me that the city didn’t have to hold a public forum back then to discuss this, even though it came at an additional cost to the taxpayer.  So why is this issue so much more contentious?  The real reason, I would submit, is not about money.  The real reason is about doing something new and different; something we’ve never had before.  It’s about change.  And as creatures of habit, we humans are not very fond of change.  But sometimes doing the right thing, doing the smart and sensible thing, doing the economically viable thing, requires that we do something we’ve never done before.

On a personal note: I’ve had the honor of getting to know each of you on a number of levels.  I’ve served with you in Rotary and in ministry.  I’ve shared the stage with you for shows you were running sound for.  I’ve coached your children in swimming, taught them at the college, officiated your daughter’s weddings.  I know you love this town and want very much to do the right thing.  My friends, this is the right thing!  And, contrary to our local newspaper’s editorial yesterday, this is also very much the right time.  I implore you, as a fellow citizen and colleague and friend, to once again engage in “forward-thinking” and bring curbside recycling to Mount Airy.   Thank you!

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I welcome all comments and thoughts, both those who agree with me and those who don't.  Here's the deal - this is my blog, so I reserve the right to delete comments that do one of two things: 1) engage in namecalling, belittling, excessive vitriol or other such nonsense, and/or 2) do not contribute to the dialogue in a meaningful way. If you don't feel you can abide by either of these stipulations, you probably don't need to comment (or just don't get all bent out of shape when I delete it).  If you can abide by it, please, comment away.

Home is where the car is

A 1928 Graham Page Model 610, to be exact.  But really, it's about much more than the car.

I came across this story the other day - about a family of six who have been driving this Graham Paige around the world for eleven years.  Yep, you heard right - a family (the kids are 8, 5, 3, 1 and have each been born in a different country).  And yep, a trip around the world.  Two dozen countries and close to 150,000 miles, to be precise. They eat and sleep in the car.  Homeschool their kids and play games in the car.  It is their means of transportation, their living room and bedroom, their kitchen and classroom.  It is their home.

I must admit, I'm truly amazed by this, for a couple of reasons. My family and I can barely survive the five-hour trip to the beach every summer.  If it weren't for the car DVD player my wife and I invested in a few years ago, our collective sanity would be in jeopardy.  The fact that these six people have cohabitated like this for over a decade says something about their family or about mine, or maybe both.

Along with that, though, I find myself bemused at how they do this and keep semblance of a family life.  I come from a line of thinking that suggests a family's vitality and overall success depend on how "grounded" it is.  And for me, as I imagine for many, that "groundedness" is quite literal; having a central gathering place.  A place where, after our individual agendas each day - the boys with their school and activities, my wife and I with our jobs and errands - we can reunite and huddle up together until we do it all again the next day.  It's hard to divorce this kind of thinking from a physical center that is unchanging.

But then I realize - for the Zapp family, that unchanging center is the car.  Or more precisely, it's the family of six in the car.  They are their own center, and from that center they experience the world around them.  And they experience that world up close and personal, as the article brings to light.  Rather than stay in one place and learn about the world from a distance, they move around and experience everything up close and personal.  And they experience it together.

My wife and kids have nothing to worry about as far as me growing some wild hair and pulling a stunt like this.  But I do think we can learn something valuable from the Zapps about the construct of the American family.  Contrary to what our culture may tell us, we don't need a two-story with 2.5 baths and a well-manicured lawn to make it as a family. We don't even need more than one car.  All we really need is each other.

Although if we happen to do it with a 1928 Graham Page Model 610, that's gotta be considered a plus.

Recording with the fam

Cross one more thing off the bucket list.

I've always wanted to record with a large vocal group.  Back in '99 when I was working on While I'm Here, I toyed around with having a gospel choir sing with me on "Radiance."  It didn't happen, much to my chagrin.  So when I started working on this latest project, I wanted to make sure I had a group-sing number.  I just didn't know what the song would be.

The beauty of working on a song in the studio is watching the way it evolves.  Sometimes the tune doesn't change all that much from the original guitar/vocal demo you brought in, other than adding in some extra instruments.  Other times, though, the song goes in a totally different direction.  I originally wrote "The Dance" as a folky band tune.  Cute little guitar riff, upbeat tempo.  But I already had one of those on this six-song project and didn't want 1/3 of the album to fall in that niche.  So one day on a whim, I tried out the piano and more of a ballad version.  This naturally led to a group chorus at the end - more campire feel than choir, more organic "na-na-na" vocals than polished parts. Hey, The Beatles did it on "Hey Jude" and it worked for them, right?   

I leaned heavily on Doug to gather some singers together; folks who are part of the Winston-Salem music scene that he's so entrenched in.  I asked a few special people I knew as well - my Acoustic Blend partner Ken Davis, fellow Mediocre Bad Guys bandmates Doug and Les Slate (Jerry had a prior engagement).  I was thrilled to have the vocal prowess of Athenaeum's Mark Kano as well - I got to know Mark during the Vagabond Saints Society's Elton John show last fall.  But by far the guest singers I was most excited about were my wife and two boys.  Yep, the Lindsley Family Von Trapp! Or something like that.

We descended en masse on the Davis house Sunday afternoon.  Because these kind folks were doing this for free, I wanted to make it a bit of a party.  So we had food and beverages and brought some lounge chairs out on the driveway, right next to the studio.  The weather was a tad chilly, but other than that it was the perfect setup.  We split everyone into groups of five and took them into the studio one at a time; they would gather around a single condensor mic with headphones in tow, listen to the vocal part for a minute, and then let it rip.  Each group took no more than 10-15 minutes.  And the sound was exactly what Doug and I were looking for - laid-back singing, random harmonies cropping up here and there, very organic and pure.

The Lindsley clan were the last to take their turn in the studio.  The mic was about six feet off the floor, so our youngest stood in a chair and our oldest sat on a stool.  What I remember most were the smiles on the faces of all three of them when the track came through our headphones and we were getting ready to sing.  While I still get that surge of excitement every time I step into the mic booth and hear Doug say, "We're rolling," I'd forgotten how thrilling it was that very first time.  It was very cool to relive that moment through my wife and sons yesterday.  There were funny moments too - at one point I looked over and saw our Oldest cupping his hands around his mouth, practically yelling his part instead of singing it.  I quickly motioned for him to stop.  Later he would tell me, "I just wanted to make sure they heard me."  My boy.

Some folks grabbed a handful of crackers and a drink and left pretty much after they finished singing, but others hung around and enjoyed the fellowship.  Which is exactly what I wanted.  This wasn't just about getting an awesome-sounding recording (which Doug feels we did, incidentally).  This was about creating a community of music, even if just for a few short hours on a Sunday afternoon. It was also about including my family in something that is such a big part of my life - making music. We've got the pictures and memories to relive it. And, hopefully in the next few months, we'll have some songs as well.

So thanks to the following individuals for taking part! Lee Terry, Susan Terry, Leah Shaw, Beth Clinch, Audrey Muck, Ken Mohan, Kimberly Tillman, Ayana, Les Slate, Ken Davis, Lorie Lindsley, Connor Lindsley, Hunter Lindsley, Kresha Waldrop, Sal Burnette, Molly Davis, Doug Davis, Sophie Davis, Mark Kano.

And because I'd be remiss if I didn't take this opportunity to bring it up:

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5K glory

I ran a road race today for the first time since I was 14 years old.  I had a little stomach thing yesterday (note to self: if you don't know the expiration date of the yogurt in the back of your fridge, don't eat it) and it was a tad chilly this morning. But that's the idea: they don't call it the "Rosy Cheeks 5K" for nothing.  Our registration fee was an unwrapped toy that will be given this Christmas to a needy child in our community.  Tis the season, folks!

I got a little caught up in the emotional of it all at the very beginning - adrenaline pumping, cheerleaders cheering (yes, middle school cheerleaders!) and just the general excitement of my first race in such a while.  So I went out a little faster than planned.  That last mile was no fun, but I was determined to keep my pace.  Thankfully, the course had very little hills.  Finished at 25:00.  This being my first race in almost 30 years, I can live with that.

My wife was running her second race, and after basically not running for a month she added only a little over a minute to her time from her first race two months ago.  Not shabby at all.  In fact, I have her to thank for getting me back into the running thing after lo these many years.  I've lost some weight and I feel great.  Thanks, dear!

Now it's time to go sit for three hours with the family at the Nutcraker performance in the big city. I can only hope I'll be able to get out of my seat at the end of it.

Random retreat thoughts

I'm leading music for a middle school presbytery retreat this weekend.  I don't do this sort of thing a lot anymore, but I enjoy it when the opportunity comes along.  They are always frantic, fast-paced gatherings of a mass of kids (in this case, close to 250) and their adult advisors who gladly subject themselves to wild craziness and two night of minimal sleep.

As busy as the schedule is at these things, I've found this particular retreat to be strangely restful.  Last week was so busy I barely had time to think.  But now I've had time to catch my breath and do some of that thinking stuff.  Here's a few thoughts currently rolling around in my head:

Youth are not just the leaders of tomorrow, but of today too.  And this is no slight to the more “well-seasoned” folks in our midst.  You gotta have both in the church.  The keynote, or message, of the weekend is being led entirely by the senior high youth council.  In fact, other than me, you hardly see an adult up front.  Of course they're behind the scenes, hard at work.  But these senior highs are giving some wonderful, well-thought out messages.  And the thing is, the younger kids are listening intently.  I imagine a big part of that is because the people speaking to them are only a few years older.

Songleading and performing are two very different things, and you don't want to get them mixed up.  I do both in my musical ventures, and it's important to know which is which.  The greatest feeling as a songleader is that point when the group takes the song and makes it their own, giving it life beyond anything you could have given it on your own.  And that's when you know you're doing what you're supposed to do.

Retreats are always better in the mountains.  I'm showing my bias here, I know.  I grew up going to Montreat so I can't help it.  I've been to retreats at the beach and I love the beach.  But the mountains take it to a whole different level.  There's something about breathing that cool crisp air into your lungs in the morning, the meeting auditorium surrounded by twelve-foot high rhododendron bushes, the mountain hikes in the afternoon.  It seems to center you a little more.

I'm not able to sustain the same high energy level at these things that I used to.  Yep, I'm getting old.  This used to bother me a little, but it doesn't anymore.  I just go with the flow and have fun with it.  And I make sure I get good rest at night.  Earplugs help.

You never know what people are bringing to retreats when they get here.  And I'm not talking about the stuff they pack in their suitcases. I'm talking about the things going on in their life that travel with them here in the vans and buses.  It's so easy to put a mass of kids in a stereotypical category and make all kinds of generalizations.  But when you do that you fail to see the 6th grader who is bullied day in and day out and is near their breaking point, or the 7th grade girl whose parents told her Friday afternoon before she left that they were getting a divorce, or even the adult who found out this past week that his job is getting downsized. You don't actually "see" any of this – it's not like it's written out as a slogan on their t-shirt.  But they're there, and there's no telling how something they encounter over the weekend will impact them. Every interaction is an opportunity for some good to be done.

As bad as my college football team is doing these days, it's a blessing I'm somewhat out of touch with what's going on in the weekend football world.  This is when it's nice not to have easy access to a TV. Ignorance is indeed bliss.

As much as I love being part of these excursions, there are two things I always miss.  The first is my church.  It's the pastor's curse – or blessing – that this uncomfortable sensation comes over us when Sunday morning rolls around and we're not standing in the pulpit of our church.  It's a very odd feeling, like I've slept late and missed the school bus.  So I'm always glad when Monday morning arrives and I'm back in my familiar routine at the church office, or the following Sunday when I'm once again among the people God has called me to love.

Most of all, I miss the family.  I just got off the phone with them.  The boys are supposed to be cleaning up their rooms, my wife tells me, and their success in doing this will determine if they go over to a friend's house later.  They've been on so-so behavior, and my wife had to call them down a time or two.  It's the usual mundane stuff that happens in our household every single weekend.  And I hate I'm not there for it.

So does my wife.

All dressed up and many places to go

Halloween is a big deal around our house. My wife and I figure that as long as the boys want to do the dress- up thing, we should join in the fun too. When in Rome...

The other three obviously planned the Toy Story theme far in advance, leaving me to acquiesce. Glad to know even the Sids among us have a place they belong. We'll head downtown early afternoon for some trick-or-treating at the shops on Main Street - an awesome small-town experience. Then it'll be back home to hand out candy and grab some dinner before going out again for Round 2.

Happy Halloween folks!

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