Unlikely Adventures

Thursday morning was unseasonably warm. So much so that I found myself wading in Lake Michigan, even though the signs along the shore said not to. The signs were right. Soon I found myself swimming in Lake Michigan. The undertow had swept me off my feet and dragged me into deep water. I wondered whether this were the end, or if the current might change direction around the next point, or at least weaken enough that I could swim back to shore. Just then the bow of a submarine lifted me from the water. The entire bow dome was painted in an improbable red and white pattern.  First I thought, "This had better be an American sub." but then, "If this is an American sub, shouldn't it be somewhere else?" At least it wasn't pink like the one in Operation Petticoat. A JG appeared, and began walking toward me along the slippery metal surface, pushing a life raft, and cussing me out as only a submariner can.

Just then, the light came on. It was 6:30, time to get up and drive Mama Bear to work, so I would have the car when it came time to drive GL to therapy. I had been up past midnight searching eBay for a portable DVD player with LCD screen to replace GL's. I did eventually find one with a "buy it now" price of $30, with free shipping. It was a scratch and dent model, but guaranteed to work. The seller has 55,848 feedback ratings, 99.2% positive. Mama Bear pinched the budget until it screamed, and I placed the order Saturday. We'll see how it works out. Meanwhile, we have the loan of a player, which helps GL's peace of mind, and thus the peace of the entire household. Thanks be to God.

Some people seem to find a message from the Lord in every dream. Even in the Bible, such dreams were usually reserved for patriarchs, prophets, or apostles, and might be separated by generations or even centuries. If the Supreme Being is trying to send me a communiqué, I think He needs to lay off the ganja.

And what better way to say "I love you." than with the gift of a... stapler?

Yes, I know, the correct answer is supposed to be spatula. And I sent Mama Bear a virtual spatula as a thank-you. I even gave her a spatula with the Spatula City label on our wedding day, and she carried it proudly in her bouquet.

But I've been envying Arby's stapler ever since he posted about it. So, when Mama Bear asked what I might like for Father's Day, I had to think for a moment. She suggested cash because she knows I am saving for a computer. She has an obsolete laptop that can check email, and that's about it. My computer is somewhat more powerful, but it's nine years old, and the boys are needing it more and more for school. And I really would like to have a laptop. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became that what I really wanted was a stapler like Arby's.

So I asked for one. She had to go to three stores to find it, but oh, was it worth it! I won't try to describe it, because Arby has already described it so eloquently. But it's red. And it's metal. And it opens out flat if you want to staple something to a bulletin board. And it doesn't care if I'm stapling two sheets or twenty, it expertly joins them with a satisfying "ka-chunk." Let's do that again slowly: "kut-a-chunk".

And she didn't even make me wait for Father's Day. She said this was just an "I love you" gift. As if that weren't enough, she managed to score us a free hotel night and get Grandma to take the boys. But guess which weekend? That's right, June 19-20.

She was bummed that it meant we'd miss celebrating Father's Day as a family. So we celebrated last Sunday. She asked what I'd like for dinner, but nothing sounded quite right. Then I thought of steaks on the grill. So we swung by the grocery store after church, and she selected some, and told me not to look at the price tags. Then she volunteered to cook them. That's the thing about grilling: I'm as big a pyro as the next guy, (No, let's be honest here. I'm a bigger pyro than the average male.) but I hate to cook as much as I love to eat. So I set up the grill, and she grilled the steaks. Sirloin and mashed potatoes—does it get any better than that?

Yes, it does. Mama and the boys set up a treasure hunt that afternoon. They broke the money for my gift into fives, hid them, and gave me clues. They gave me the first clue as a freebie. In each hiding place was a fiver and the next clue. The first clue read: "You're a great Dad. You are good at many things. We have hidden your gifts to test your finding skills. Your first gift is hiding in a musical spot."

Then I heard, "Yoo-hoo! I'm hiding!" (pause, followed by a giggle and then another pause,) "Boing-boing!" (pause) "I'm over here!" (more giggles)

On top of the piano, behind some CDs, I found that goofy talking Easter Egg. When I opened it, it said, "Surprise! You found me!" (more giggles)

Inside was the first fiver and the next clue: "Look for your next gift under the object that makes the 'ka-chunk' sound."

Found that one right away. The next clue read, "All of this finding is tiring. Maybe a strong drink would help. Your next gift is hidden where you would make yourself a strong drink."

Sure enough, it was in the basket of my four dollar Goodwill espresso machine. The next clue read, "Your next gift is inside the wordiest gift you have ever given me."

I ran straight to the shelf, pulled out the dictionary, and began riffling through the pages. I first realized she was something special when she asked for a dictionary for her birthday. She later told me that she had asked for one several times before, but no one else had ever believed that was really what she wanted.

So I get to celebrate Father's Day three weeks in a row. I got a stapler that would make Tim Taylor proud, a steak dinner, twenty bucks for my computer fund, and a free hotel night with my wife.

At this point, all the men are wondering, "Papa Bear, what did you do to deserve such a wonderful wife?"

And that's just the point. I don't.