Wedding Prep and Peacocks

The following week was a rather busy one.

It started with doing a little wedding preparation. This involved me identifying an aspect of the wedding that was not already accounted for, and attempting to "get the ball rolling", so to speak. While the most obvious choice could have been to complete the guestbook (which I had so generously at the time volunteered to do, but failed to complete for the last two months), I focused on starting a new aspect. I began thinking about the wedding programs, both the practical literature content, as well as the presentation. Laura and I had decided that we would print our own trifold programs, and bound them with a blue and silver band that stated our names and the wedding date. My primary focus was to initiate the production of the bands. A considerable amount of thought had to go into such a task (or at least I made it considerable), as I needed to calculate how wide each band could be in order to maximize the printable space on a sheet of paper. Not easy, and also not without spoilage either. Regardless, I accomplished my task, and got them printed and all two-hundred strips of both silver and blue cut. While the strips still need to be glued together, my intent was merely to "get the ball rolling", remember?

Another interesting event this week was the arrival of an unexpected guest. While talking on the phone, I noticed my cat Pooka intently following something through the back door. Assuming that it was the usual neighorhood cat or squirel, I decided to check it out. Quite frankly surprised at what I saw, I quickly got Laura's attention and waived for her to come look. When she got to the window, I asked, "is that a... peacock?!?" She replied, "I think it is!" She quickly grabbed her camera and took pictures. While I was quickly corrected as to the identification of the bird as a peaHEN, it was nonetheless an interesting visitor.

The next morning, I woke up and the peahen was still meandering around the back yard. While having read about their potential for destruction of landscapes and vehicles, I concluded that I would attempt to "shoo her away". One must understand that as I continue, there were no other individuals around to take pictures, as I am sure that any such documentation would have surely provided a more comical depiction of the event that ensued.

Already dressed for work in my shirt and tie, this was probably not the best peahen shooing outfit, but I had anticipated a quick, victorious assault. I exited the house via the front door, and grabbed the broom. As I walked briskly to the back of the house, the creature was not overly startled by the sight of a human (bad sign). Determined, I quickly approached the bird like an elderly woman declaring, "shoo... SHOO!" This only caused the peahen to turn in the other direction toward the side yard. I quickly followed, broom in hand! When it got the the edge of the house, it made a left turn and headed for the front yard. Then, another left turn across the front yard. Realizing that I wanted to merely chase it into the woods behind my house, this was not my intention. Anyway, across the front yard it went and made yet another left and cut across the side of the house where the vehicles are located. Once past the vehicles, the pesty fowl made another left. For all who are counting, yes, that's four lefts. We are right back where we started. Perhaps I should have taken a different course of action, but riding purely on the adreneline of chasing the bird, it was impulse that drove me to follow her as she waddled around the house two more times. While the bird was not fast by any means, I never got too close for fear of it directly attacking me. Its foot (if that is indeed what they are called) size was rather large, accompanied by what appeared to be claws, was intimidating enough, but the shear size of the wing-span when it took flight a couple times (5-6 feet) was honestly frightening. I decided it was best to keep some distance.

After another eight or twelve left turns, the bird seemingly made a mistake and made a right after passing by the pickup truck. Now I was chasing it around the truck, until I stopped to take inventory of the situation. Looking over the cab of the truck, I located her. Extending its neck seemingly like a giraffe, it located me. While staring each other down (a la a bad western) I decided to change my direction! So did the peahen! Then we both stopped and we felt each other's plan of attack out. I moved to the left. She moved to the left. I went right. She went right! It was the proverbial cat and mouse game typically played between two children in movies, only here it was a grown man in shirt and tie, and a peahen! Making one last attempt, I jaunted in one direction. Arriving at the other side of the vehicle, the peahen was gone! It was nowhere to be seen, however, until it emerged from UNDER THE TRUCK on the other side! It quickly scurried to where the chase began in the back yard.

I knew that I had lost. Defeatedly, I returned the broom to the front porch and entered my vehicle. Sitting there, exhausted and unusually sweaty for work, I turned the ignition. As I put the car in reverse, I looked up to see the peahen slowly waddling into the back woods, pecking at the ground. As it slowly left my property, I thought...

VICTORY!

Farewell to LOST...

Last night marked the end of a period in my life that was complimented by of all things, a television show.

I know that it may sound trivial and absurd to identify a part of one’s life as supplanted by a television show, but LOST was most definitely a part of my life. One of my “constants”, if you will (and most LOST fans will understand the use of the term in this particular reference). Regardless of where you are at in life, or what altering event may occur, we all take refuge, or find solace in various forms. Sometimes it’s the obvious; a close friend; a parent or family member; religion; or a past experience. However, sometimes it is in the obscure, but nonetheless comforting aspects of life. A game… a blog... a bowl of ice cream… or maybe even a television show. Don’t get me wrong, it was not my whole life, and by no means would I ever correlate my existence or even my personality as a direct result of my viewing, but it was a weekly place of refuge. A weekly moment of solace.

Two years ago, during a difficult time in my life, my friends introduced me to the show by giving me their copies of the first three seasons to get me caught up to speed on the cult classic. I had resisted the urge to get into the show in the past (despite constant praise of the show’s greatness), but at the moment I had what seemed like nothing but time to kill. I would have taken any excuse to escape my life, and I could have found much worse ways to spend three or four hours every night than watching seasons past of a television show. I quickly realized why my friends had been drawn to the show. It’s writing and suspenseful nature always kept you of guard, and more importantly wanting more. Like a good book, I couldn’t put it down, or in this case resist putting in the next DVD despite the need to get sleep at one o’clock in the morning! Yes, it was THAT good!

Once I was caught up, I wanted more. I could not wait for every Tuesday night (which started out as Wednesday night) to come around! It gave me a reason to talk to friends, and even get to know some of them even better. One friend and I would get together every week to watch it, in what became a weekly ritual, and a great experience! It helped form an even better friendship.

Flash forward (as opposed to backward or sideways) two years, and I find myself a different person. I have made some new friendships, and maintained other great ones. Perhaps I no longer needed the security of a weekly television show, of all things. Perhaps I had other outlets now, and the show had run its course. Perhaps I myself was no longer “lost”, and it was time for the characters of my weekly addiction to let me go, just as a parent recognizes the maturity in their child and decides it is time to let them become the adult they were destined to become, and let go of their hand.

So, today I bid adieu to a part of my past two years. It has been a wild ride in both my weekly escape, and in the reality that encompassed the hours in between. Despite wanting more, I find myself content with its ending, and ready to move on. Thanks for the memories.

Voicemail...

In general, I like my job most days, and others it is certainly more than tolerable to go and take home a paycheck every other Friday. Also, in the current economic times I am not about to complain about having any job, period, let alone one that pays well and provides ample benefits. It is, however, human nature to focus on those aspects of life that are 'less than stellar'. I try to keep this in mind when I think about others, as I tend to find myself dwelling on their shortcomings, and not enough on what they do well, but I too revert to the pessimistic perspective from time to time.

Long story short, one of those aspects of my job that I am often times displeased with is the phone. I don't necessarily like talking on the phone (you can ask just about anyone that knows me). If it were professional to text all my peers at work, I would! Unfortunately for me, it is not, and I must at times verbally convey my message or answer a question. Secondly, the only thing worse than having to actually pick up the phone to talk to someone, is to see visually that someone wants me to call them. Here lies my dread of that little red light in the bottom corner of my phone console... the Voicemail light! Whenever I see this light on, my stomach sinks. Who could it be? What could they want? Inevitably, I always think that it is going to be some crazy question from someone who wants me to solve their problem for them (pessimistic perspective again! It's permanently linked to the Voicemail button). Regardless, it means I am going to have to pick up Alexander Graham Bell's masterpiece and talk to someone. This voicemail message was particularly upsetting, as it occurred as a direct result of my being on the phone in the first place, and missing the initial call! So here I was, on the phone in the middle of a 25 minute conversation with someone, who let's say I fail to recognize their 'positive contributions' on a regular basis, and the abhorrent light illuminates! Ugh! And why does it have to be red of all colors? Green might make me less apprehensive about the concept, but the creators of this particular unit wanted me to cringe at the sight. They succeeded!

So, as you can imagine, the pending phone conversation was going to be even worse than the current 25 minute one, right? I might as well clear the work schedule for the rest of the day, as this was going to take forever. Maybe we would have to resume it the next day! OK, all of this is perhaps a little over-dramatic, but you are surely expecting a wretched conversation ensuing. Well, nope. It was mild, really. It was merely a representative from the state calling me to let me know that he had worked on my issue regarding viewing a particular report, and to call me if I had any further trouble.

I guess that my fear was for nothing at all, and it was actually a result of a conversation I initiated. Oops... my bad.

Side-note #1: I did initiate the conversation via email, so why not continue that route?

Side-note #2: Yes, I did just ramble on what seemed like forever about a red light on my phone. This is exactly what my fiance gets from me on a daily basis, but for some reason it is one of her favorite aspects of my personality. I truly am a lucky man!

Security Guards...

At lunch time I decided that I would accomplish something that I had neglected to get done for a couple of weeks. I was going to get the marriage license for my impending marriage, of which I am ecstatically happy about and anxiously anticipating! Being 'pro-active'! Doing my part for the nuptials! That was my intent when I ventured out.

Having gathered all the information that I needed, I went to the bank to get some cash to pay for the license (the Clerk of Courts doesn't accept any other form of payments... are you serious?!? Having cash in my wallet is a luxury, and about as common as the infamous 'Jackalope'). Not a big deal though. I got the cash and headed over to the circuit court building. Entering the building, and knowing that some things had changed in the county with respect to what building each service was at, before emptying my pockets to go through the metal detectors I would ask whether or not I was in the right place. The response from the security guard,

"Whoa, are you sure you want to get married?"

I knew what was going on here. This was the "Son, do you know what you are getting into?" lecture that seemingly all tied-down men speak of to all grooms-to-be. I would be lying if I said I had not already heard it two or three times in the last couple of months. I'm game, so I'll play along.

"Uh... yeah... I'm sure"

At this point my involvement in the 'game' has ended. The security guard who was not much older than myself proceeds to ask the other 'guard' slouched over in the chair at the end of the table, "(Name), how long you been married?"

To which he mumbled, "almost 20 years..."

"and how much would you say is good and how much is bad?"

The slouching 'guard' shrugs to indicate the response "I don't know".

"Ninety percent good? eighty percent?"

Probably fed up with his co-worker's self indulgence, he replies, "Probably ninety percent good"

Now the truth comes out...

"See... now I have been married a month... actually a little more than a week. That's why I ask if you know what you are getting into."

It was all so clear now. This guy was so gung-ho about being able to finally use the line that he had heard so many times (inevitably) leading up to his own wedding! I get it now! I am happy to have provided him with the opportunity, I guess.

Side-note #1: This all could have been avoided had I gone to the correct building. After this transpired, I was told to go to the Courthouse on the other side of town.

Side-note #2: I didn't have all the information I needed, and still didn't get the license.

Personal thoughts: I hope that the first week of marriage for the gentleman didn't really feel like a month.

The Beginning of Blogging...

So, today is the day that I embark on my blogging experience. I had toyed with the idea in the past, but didn't really know how to get started, or by what means I would get my word out to the general blogging and web-surfing community. By claiming that I wanted to get my word out might imply some agenda on my part, but I assure you that my comments are void of any such persuasiveness. The comments that I will make on this forum will be to the outside observer empty of meaning, and most likely of little or no consequence to even my closest of friends. I like to ramble, and more specifically write, and this will be my outlet!

And so it came to be, "Cul-de-sacs to Cornfields" was created. After talking with my fiance weeks back about creating a blog, she asked (to paraphrase), "What's your topic? What would you blog about?" My response, in quintessential form, "I don't know." I didn't even know you had to have a topic to blog about. Do you? Perhaps you do, to which I say, this blog will probably offer no enjoyment or entertainment to you other than hearing about my daily (or weekly... monthly) encounters and thoughts. I assure you, they will not be all that exciting, but I will talk if you will listen (er. read).

However, just maybe there is a topic to my blog, and it's in the title. "Cul-de-sacs to Cornfields" is the story of my life, demographically. Born in the suburbs of our nation's capital, I lived in one of those communities that acted more like mazes to an outsider. Filled with dead-ends in the form of cul-de-sacs, it was a visual depiction of "Oops! Ran out of land to build on, time to turn around". I might speak of these communities with a tone of resentment, but that is not the case. For all of the developers' greedy self interest that went into constructing these communities... I loved it! The proximity of my closest friends was a luxury that I under appreciated at the time. They were days that I would not change. Not in a million years.

Which brings us to "Cornfields". After university studies, and a couple of 'winding roads' I find myself an eight-year resident of the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Part of the Delmarva peninsula, the region (at least Caroline County) is dominated, if not sustained by an agricultural economy. A far cry from the maze laden communities of the suburbs, the area where neighborly visits often requires motorized transportation offers a tranquil setting, where a ten mile commute to work actually takes just ten minutes. Not without its faults, I have come to call this place 'Home', and my fiance who bleeds 'John Deere Green' will forever remind me of its undeniable, and sometimes under appreciated intrinsic value.

Around here, people refer to individuals such as myself as "transplants" (sometimes with a negative connotation attached). And so my blogging begins...