Week Twenty: “It’s In Our Nature”

I don’t feel like being funny today.

I know.  Funny is in my nature.  My default response.

But not today.  Today I feel like crying.

Because my nature is Okie.  I spent 26 of my formative years in the state.  Oklahoma City is my home.  It’s where I learned to ride a bike, kiss a girl, and properly eat a lamb fry (don’t ask).  It’s also the place where I learned to look a man in the eye when shaking hands, to leave things better than you found them, and to offer help to strangers.

Don’t let the Okies fool you.  You might mistake the slow, easy drawl in their voices for a lack of intellect.  But remember, humility is a requirement for Oklahomans, so they develop their accents accordingly.   It’s there to mask the wisdom that lies beneath.  Anything else would be too preachy.

This week, I was scheduled to teach a workshop in The Power of Positive Influence to a group of safety professionals at OG&E, the electric utility based out of Oklahoma City.  I arrived on Sunday and was greeted by tornado sirens in the parking lot of my hotel.  But I wasn’t scared.  Growing up, the sirens in my neighborhood were tested every Wednesday at noon.  Like clockwork.   So, for me, the sound generates the same feelings of nostalgia that seagulls and crashing waves might bring to someone who grew up near the beach.

But the sirens weren’t a test.  On Monday morning, a couple of the workshop participants were no-shows.  They had been called to the town of Shawnee that had been hit by a tornado the night before.  Their job was to keep the community safe from downed power lines and restore service.

On Monday afternoon, the tornado sirens sounded again.  The remaining participants – all safety guys – made sure we knew where to go in the event we were directly in the storm’s path.  Luckily, we were over ten miles away.

By 3:30, they had all heard of the destruction in Moore, and requested an early stop to our class.  On the way out the door, they were thanking me for my time, and apologizing in advance.

“We might be up all night helping get the downed lines out of the way for rescue vehicles and such.  So, no offense if we look a little sleepy tomorrow, or come in late.  We promise it’s nothing personal.”

Guys like this already have a Master’s degree in positive influence.  We cancelled the rest of the week’s classes.

By now, you all know what happened.  The town of Moore, Oklahoma is devastated. The rest of us watch and weep.  We cry for the families who lost their homes.  We ache for the parents who lost children.  And we look for ways to help (here are some).  It would be criminal to do nothing.  Like sitting next to a guy having a heart attack at Applebee’s and asking him if he was going to eat the rest of his chicken fingers.

And I’m still here on the red dirt soil of Oklahoma for a few more hours, just a stone’s throw away.  But my hands are tied.  It appear that Oklahomans are too good at helping.  Local news stations are begging people to stay away from the area.  They have been inundated with volunteers.  So the volunteers bring supplies.  With lines stretching out on the highway past midnight.  Cars loaded with shovels and gloves.  Pickup trucks filled with diapers and stuffed animals.

This kind of generosity breeds strength and character.  Like my grade school buddy Trevor, now a state trooper for the Oklahoma Highway Patrol, who logged a 19-hour shift.  All he asks in return for his service is that the next time you see a cop or a firefighter, you give ‘em a hug.

Done.

And then there’s Jay, a high school classmate, who just last week posted a photo of his fun new landscape lighting project.

And now finds a whole new landscape.

* Jay’s house yesterday afternoon

Hard to believe.  The strength required to come back from this is more than I can imagine.  But I know he will.  He’s an Okie after all.  I only hope that when I bumped into Jay and Trevor walking through the halls of Yukon High School, that some of their strength rubbed off on me.  It’s one thing to go through a year and not buy any stuff.  It’s an altogether different thing to save a life or rebuild one.

Humility can humble you like that.

At times like these we think of the important things in life.  Friends.  Faith.  Family.  We tell people we love them.  We hold our wives a bit closer.  We hug our kids a little more often.  It’s good for the soul and it deepens relationship.

At the same time, it can be sad.  I blush at how many times I have used tragedies like a metaphorical Post-It note.  An outward reminder to focus on what’s important.  Part of a to-do list.  And the problem is this: that Post-It note is not a part of me.  It’s not my default response.  It’s something I keep on a shelf until the next tragedy comes along.

And it’s sad.

So today, my prayer is for Oklahoma.  May wounds be healed and hope restored.  May those who have been affected see God in the face of strangers and helpers.

And my prayer is also for all of us.  May we all look to make our lives a constant reminder of what’s important.  To sift through the rubble of the day-to-day and find that shining point of light that sustains us all.

Because, whether Okie or not…

It’s in our nature.

(image below courtesy of Nancy Dodd Poole whose niece and nephew assisted with yesterday’s clean up efforts.  It reads, “The most important things in life aren’t things.”)

Week Nineteen: “Traveling Light”

I got to spend a couple of days working with one of my favorite business partners in Dallas this week.  I was there to help him develop a short-term strategy for his training and consulting business.  For some people, a good business partner is one who sends a lot of clients their way, or shows loyalty through investment.  Me?  I can tell I have a good business partner when they send me an email like this:

Hey Scott,

Not sure when you are landing but we’re sorting canned goods at the local Food Pantry on Tuesday eve – 7:00-8:15.  You would be most welcome to join us.  -Mark

I had to take him up on the offer for two reasons.  First, I have a ton of respect for Mark and what he represents.  He is one of those guys who puts everyone else before himself.  His attitude is contagious.  Makes you want to return the favor.  Case in point: knowing that Mark was picking up the tab for my travel this week, I reciprocated by renting the cheapest car I could find.  “Jim’s Repo Depot” turned out to be a real value, especially when you consider they waive the deposit if you promise not to use their vehicle in a mob hit.

The second reason I took him up on the offer is that it’s good for the soul.  In doing a bit of research this year, I uncovered that one of the building blocks of happiness is serving others.  And here was Mark, my friend and colleague, making it easy.  Business can wait.  Hungry people need food for cryin’ out loud!

When I landed, I drove my recycled getaway car 45 minutes to the Plano Food Pantry where I met Mark and a team of youth that he mentors.  There, I managed to slice off the end of my toe in a can sorting accident.  Apparently, flip-flops are not the best choice of footwear when wandering around a crowded food pantry with metal table legs jutting about.  The good news is, Jim’s Repo Depot is used to blood stains on the floor boards, and I had stashed some extra Band-Aids in my lavender suitcase for just such an emergency. 

The service project set the tone for our time together.  In between business meetings over two days, Mark and I shared some personal stories.  I even got to go to dinner with him and his family.   By the end of the trip, I found myself wanting to stick around.  Wanting to help him more.  Buoyed by Mark’s generosity, honesty, and integrity and the way he lives his values.

I stayed as long as I could, but time got away from us.  I had to hustle to the airport.  Traffic was ridiculous.  By the time I got to the rental car facility, I had less than 30 minutes to catch my flight.  I quickly handed the keys to the rental agent, who popped the trunk to do her customary search for Italians wrapped in plastic.  She found nothing.

Nothing.

Not even a purple suitcase.

Uh oh.

Where is my lavender bag?  The humiliating rolling suitcase?  The one that carries shoes, clothing, toiletries, and my last vestige of masculinity?  Did it get stolen?  I wondered. 

Not a chance.  What the suitcase lacks in color, it makes up for in poor quality construction and inadequate size.  No traveler in their right mind would lay a hand on my bag.

That’s right!  It’s small.  I must have laid it in the back seat.

Nope.

Maybe between the seats?

Nope.

My search of the car turned up some duct tape, a rag, a shovel, a Sinatra CD, a half-eaten meatball sub and cement overshoes.

But no purple bag.

Panic set in.  The rental agent could tell something was amiss.

“Are you OK?”  She was looking at me as if I had forgotten to bury the body.

“No.  I think I may have left my suitcase at my hotel this morning.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly disappointed at my mundane response.  “Do you need to go back and get it?”

“I don’t have time.”

You might think I would be happy with this development.  I’ve been schlepping around this purple suitcase for the past three months. And our rules state that if I do not have a working replacement, I could buy a used suitcase.  Perhaps a nice black or gray.  I could be rid of the purple suitcase!

Instead, I felt a rush of worry.  How could I leave all of my stuff at the hotel?  Running shoes.  Business clothes.  Medications.  Toiletries. 

I called the hotel.

“Hi.  I was a guest at your hotel this week.  I checked out this morning, about ten hours ago.  I think I may have left my bag in your lobby.  Have you seen it?”

The man on the other end of the line spoke in a deep baritone.  “Is it a purple bag?”

“Yes.  That’s it.”

“Yeah.  Ain’t nobody touched your bag all day.  It’s still sittin’ right here.” 

I sensed disdain in his voice, sprinkled with a dash of pity.  But it didn’t matter.  I knew my bag was safe.  Relief.  Like finding your child after he’s been lost in the circular clothing racks of a department store. 

I immediately texted Mark.

“Hey Mark.  Funny thing.  I left my suitcase at the hotel.  Could you pick it up on the way in tomorrow?  I’ll pay you to mail it to me.”

He responded, “Sure.  Let them know I’ll pick it up.”

Then I reminded him that it was a purple bag, to which he replied,

“I’d better have Katherine go get it instead.”

Apparently, Mark’s charity only goes so far.

I continued on to my flight.  Barely made it.  It was a moment of stress in a wonderful week, but I was grateful. And then I realized that my anxiety was not about the possibility of losing my stuff.  It was just stuff, after all.  Devoid of meaning.

But it was all about the suitcase.   This purple bag has grown on me over the past few months.  The bag and what it holds.  Not the contents, but the meaning. 

Every time I drag that purple box behind me on a short business trip, I am reminded that life is not about stuff.  I am reminded that I don’t have to buy in to the myth that what I own defines who I am. I am reminded that truly knowing a person starts with peeling away all my perceptions created by their possessions and getting to the heart of what makes them tick. 

Because life is kinda’ like that purple bag.  We fill our days with stuff.  Actions and activities that may not seem like much.  But the spirit we devote to those tasks says a lot about who we are.  So, today, I can wrap my life with a spirit of worry and self-importance, creating meaning only for myself.  Or, I can choose to wrap my life in a spirit of giving, a heart for service, and a knowledge that my meaning is derived from passing on the grace I’ve been given. 

And that’s what I call traveling light.

Week Eighteen: “Haters Anonymous”

Hey there readers!  Looking for an inexpensive diversion this weekend?  Here’s a three-step process sure to make you feel as self-conscious as a bikini-clad supermodel who just polished off an entire brick of Velveeta cheese dip. 

Step 1: Record a video of your family trying to see if it’s possible to be happy without “stuff”

Step 2: Post the video to YouTube

Step 3:  Watch the comments roll in!

Earlier this week, we posted Lindsay Ferrier’s video interview with our family.  When Gabby and I first saw the video, I felt like I looked nervous due to some serious sweat beading on my upper lip.  Gabby thought she had “crazy eyes” and she was doing something weird with her neck.  She then asked me if I agreed her eyes looked crazy and her neck looked funky.  Little did I know, this question comes from the same kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, and species as “Am I turning into my mother?” and “Do these sleeves make my arms look like flabby old lady arms?”

“Gabby, I think I have to go pee.  Be right back.”

Once we got past all of our goofy superficial hang-ups, we agreed Lindsay’s interview captured the essence of what our Year Without A Purchase is all about. Would Lindsay’s blog readers agree? 

Our new friend Chrissie writes: 

We were really disappointed in her comment.  She didn’t even notice sweaty lips or crazy eyes.  Was she not paying attention? 

We scrolled down to hear a shout-out from our newest fan club member, momaof8?

She’s right.  The Great Mooch is really catchy!  Much better than the Year Without A Purchase.  What do you think, Melissa?

I agree, Melissa.  I, too, would be very impressed to see my wife butchering chickens and churning butter.  The truth is, we have been composting since last year, so we tried to reuse egg cartons and old pots to grow tomatoes and cantaloupes from seed.  It was a fun experiment that began 45 days ago.  We planted 12 plants.  Here are the results. 

Yes.  Two of the plants are weeds.  The rest are on life support.  We’re now looking up recipes for clover and dandelions.

As the comments continued, some said that we’re going about it all wrong because we’re not saving a ton of money.  Still more suggested we simply go a year without buying anything “new.”  But the most frequent comment was that what we were doing is no big deal. 

And I agree with them all.  Every.  Single.  One.

Could we buy more thrift store items?  Yes.  But we’re trying not to buy “stuff.”  And stuff from a thrift store is still “stuff.”

Could we save more money?  Yes.  Instead, we’re choosing to spend time with far-scattered friends and relatives we haven’t seen in a long time. Celebrating joys and sharing sorrows. 

Is this challenge a big deal?

No.  There are plenty of people who spend every waking moment trying to provide food and shelter for their own children.  Over 3 billion people, to be imprecise. 

Back in 2003, we quit our jobs, sold our house, moved to Guatemala and spent a year living with a beautiful, generous family just like this.  Our work paid us $260 per month.  We walked everywhere.  If we couldn’t walk, we rode a bus with people and livestock.  We ate loads of rice and beans.  We pooped in a hole in the ground.  Bathed in a bucket.  Washed clothes by hand a giant concrete sink.  And this experience showed us that we could be happy without having things that most Americans consider needs.   

And it was hard.  Really hard.

But coming home was much harder.  Because the advertising noise and consumer excess in the United States told a story in a voice much louder than the heart beating in my chest.  Everywhere we turned, we were being told that happiness and stuff are the same thing.  The message was inescapable.  It groped you at the grocery store.  It shouted at you from the car radio.  It exploded from billboards on the roadside.  Fulfillment is only a purchase away.

And we knew it was a huge lie.

But if you are told a lie long enough, you start to believe it.  After Guatemala, Gabby and I found ourselves slowly working our way back into society, and working ourselves out of the mindset that taught us to relish the simple beauty of a hot shower and a flushing toilet. 

So this challenge is not about saving money.  It’s not about living off the grid.  It’s all about bringing us back into balance.  Being “in” the world but not “of” it. It’s our way to remind ourselves that true fulfillment doesn’t come from a store. It comes from within – from the knowledge that no gadget in the world can change the fact that something larger is in control.  It also comes from the outside – from seeing God in the eyes of others as you move beyond a chat about the weather into a real conversation that’s alive and vulnerable.  

Because too many of us spend today lamenting about the things we don’t have, making a down payment on the stress of tomorrow.  We nurture that stress.  Invest in it.  Grow it into a monster.

And it’s eating us alive.

So today, this challenge is for us.  Me and my family. 

But it’s also for the guy who feels trapped in a job that brings him sheer misery.  A misery he shares with his family. With snapping, shouting, and emails until 2am.  A misery he endures so his family can maintain a standard of living that none of them have the time or energy to enjoy.

It’s for the mom that is burdened by guilt, desperately wanting her kids to fit in and get by.  Trying to save their beloved child some heartache with the right pair of jeans or the perfect cell phone.   A short-term fix with a long term penalty.  Perpetuating the lie that “you are what you own.”

It’s for all of us, myself included.  Those of us who can’t see that it’s not the object we desire, but the reaction we can get when people know we have it.  So we spend money we don’t have on things we don’t need to impress people who are too wrapped up in their own lives to care.

It’s about bringing value to life.  And we won’t be perfect. 

But I truly believe we’ll be better off for trying. 

Week Seventeen: “Video Blog”

Maybe it’s a cop-out, but this week’s blog is via video.  In week seventeen, the Dannemiller family was lucky enough to get a visit from Lindsay Ferrier.  Lindsay is a former morning show host who now writes loads of cool blogs and tells fun stories.

Lindsay and her family also attend our church.  When she heard about our Year Without A Purchase, she asked if she could bring her video crew in to do a short story, figuring it would speak to her target audience – moms.  It was a fun experience. Check it out here!

Initially, we were nervous about the cameras.  Especially when Lindsay told us she would be interviewing us separately.  You see, Gabby and I share one brain and can hardly form a single, coherent thought without the other one there to edit and shape it.  This anxiety is evidenced by the beads of sweat on my upper lip.

But who knows, there may be more!  Lindsay said we should turn this into a multi-year documentary where she would show up again in five years and our house would be falling apart.  In ten years, it would just be us bickering at each other huddled over a trash can fire in the middle of our living room.  A little glimpse into the future!  Enjoy the video, and feel free to share if you think it would spark some thoughts for others.  Peace!

Week Sixteen: “Fishing for Ice Cream”

Last week, I shared the story of Gabby’s girl’s weekend and my ridiculous attempt to keep everything in order without my wife around.  You may have noticed that the kids were scarcely mentioned in the post.  This was intentional, as I was afraid to share what I had done with them in the event that anyone at Child Protective Services reads the blog.

It was my job to keep the kids occupied so Gabby and her friends could enjoy as much uninterrupted time as possible.  My first thought was to build them a “fort” out of clothespins, blankets and a puppy crate and fill it full of fruit snacks and ring pops.  This way, I could (humanely) sequester them for a couple of days under the guise they were having fun.  Unfortunately, I could never get Jake to consistently pee on the newspaper, so this plan was a bust.

My second idea was to loan them out to the Nashville Police department.  They often need loud noise makers to flush out kidnappers and other ne’er-do-wells from their bunkers.  Jake and Audrey both did well in their first audition, but were ousted in the final round for asking too many irrelevant questions. 

I was quickly running out of options. Our Year Without A Purchase rules state that I could not buy any trinkets to keep my children entertained.  This means I would have to rely on my own ingenuity and items already in my possession to do the job.  

Our first trip away from the house was a disaster. I drove around aimlessly waiting for fun to smack us upside the head.  And, due to my horrible planning skills, I left any of our fun possessions back at the house.  I tried to improvise with what was on hand, but a five-year-old girl can only play with jumper cables and car jacks so many times before the novelty begins to wear off and whining begins.

We went to a couple of parks and had fun playing on the playgrounds, but two hours later, the whining started again.  I called the Nashville Police and put the kids on speakerphone, hoping they would reconsider.  They just hung up on me.  Then, a revelation.

Commence “Operation Frozen Treat”

Our rules do include a provision to purchase food, so I whipped the car into the Sonic drive-in and ordered a menagerie of frozen delights.  A slushee for Jake, a caramel sundae for Audrey, and a Butterfinger Blast for yours truly.  My research revealed that the frozen cream and sugar act as a mild sedative, transforming loud Banshee screams into a perfectly acceptable conversational tone.

* ice cream: the miracle drug

I know the parenting mantra.  Ice cream should be reserved for special times.  Important, momentous occasions.  So, I confess that we had ice cream four times in a 48-hour period.  I’m not proud of it, but it’s amazing the things I learned about my kids when they were chatting and stuffing their faces with crap-tacular goodness. Case in point:   I learned (upon visiting a Sonic that backs to a cemetery) that Audrey would like to be buried in a heart-shaped coffin with a headstone shaped like a horse.  And Jake only wants to be cremated if it doesn’t hurt.  Audrey assures him it’s painless, because when you die your skin falls off.  And skin is the part that feels hurt.  So they only burn your bones.  But when you go to heaven God gives you new bones and new skin, too, unless you want to use your old skin you brought from Earth.

My research also suggests ice cream may be a hallucinogen.

On Saturday evening, as my wife and her friends were enjoying a free hotel night purchased with my frequent traveler loyalty points, the kids and I shared ice cream sandwiches and played board games.   It was a delightful time.  They were enjoying each other’s company.  No one was crying.  Even if they lost.  There were patches of silence while the kids sucked on their fingertips trying to lick away the chocolate sandwich glue.

Finishing off her pinkie, Audrey cut through the silence and blurted out,  “Let’s go fishing, Daddy!”

“Honey, it’s 7:00pm.  It’s almost bedtime.”

“But fish don’t sleep.”

“Not fish bedtime.  Your bedtime.”

“Can we go tomorrow?”

I thought about this.  Fishing does sound more interesting than playing in the park.  But the last time I took the kids fishing, we all got sunburned, I got a hook stuck in my shoulder,  one pole ended up in the pond, and all of us were crying.  And this was just the first half-hour.  What’s more, we only have one tiny fishing pole in working condition.  The other has a rod that’s been snapped in half and a reel that needs some major re-engineering.  We call her “The Widow Maker.”

* the “Widow Maker” and Lightning McQueen

“Sure!”  I answered.  “Let’s go fishing!”

“But we only have one pole!” Jake can always kill a buzz.

“That’s OK.  I can work on the other one.”

“Awwwwww!  Can we buy a pole for me?” Audrey asked, remembering that hers was the one still soaking in the pond at Bowie Park. 

Obviously, she doesn’t read the blog.

“Not this time.  We’ll share.”

The next day after church, I packed up the kids, our two shoddy poles, and drove to the Little Harpeth River. Our good friend, Dwayne Smith, even gave us some left over night crawlers from his own recent expedition.  We looked for a spot to fish, walking past a group of teenage girls swimming in the frigid water.  We walked past a somewhat creepy guy standing watch over the swimming girls and playing fetch with his two rambunctious dogs.  Finally, we found an open spot.

The kids and I spent considerable time wading in the shallows of the river.  With all of the bugs and rocks to check out, Audrey quickly forgot she didn’t have a fishing pole.   We were all skipping rocks and enjoying a new experience.    I then moved on to fiddling with my broken reel and casting an occasional line.  I coaxed both kids to fish for the better part of an hour.  The current was moving pretty fast, so every cast made it look like the bobber was being dragged under by Jaws himself. We caught nothing, but the kids loved it. They reeled it in with gusto every time, excited at the possibility of landing Nemo.

Audrey  took a break from fishing and went back to skipping rocks.  In an attempt to find the perfect stone, she slipped, fell into the river up to her shoulders and came out shivering.  By this time, we were all soaked and chilled.

Standing next to me, Audrey politely asked, “Can we go back to the car and warm up, Daddy?”

Recalling our Bowie Park fishing expedition, I thought it best to quit while we were ahead.

“Sure.  Let’s go.”

I looked down river.  Our tackle box, clothes and bait were about twenty paces away over some jagged stones.  Jake was standing very near all of the gear.  The bank was steep, but there were some branches and rocks immediately to my right which looked easy for Audrey to climb.

“Here honey.  Let me help you up.”

I pushed Audrey’s tiny hiney up the eight foot incline.  She clawed her way to the top and looked down at me.

“Alright Audrey.  Stay right there.  I’m going to walk down and get Jake and we’ll meet you up top.”

“OK Daddy.”

I made my way to Jake and all of our gear.  Two minutes, tops.  He was surprisingly compliant.  He immediately reeled in his empty hook, and I gathered all of our things.  We meandered up the steep bank and came to the grassy clearing.

“OK Audrey, let’s go.”

Silence. 

I looked to my right, twenty paces, expecting to see Audrey.  She wasn’t there.

I looked up and saw a kid’s birthday party going full swing at the picnic pavilion roughly 100 yards away.  There were bouncy castles and balloons all over the place.  I scanned the crowd for a tiny, wet girl in a white flowered bathing suit.  

Nothing.

I looked all around me calling her name as loud as I could.  I expected to hear her call back, “Right here, Daddy!”

But her call never came.  Instead, my voice got louder and louder.  I paced along the path beside the river.  My tone more anxious.  I looked at Jake and it was obvious he was scared.  His smile had transformed into a look of pint-sized panic.

“Where is she, Daddy?”  I could see tears forming. 

Then I thought of the fast-moving current and the steep bank.  What if she fell down the bank after I turned my head?  What if she waded back into the water and slipped?  She doesn’t swim!

I ran to the river bank and looked down.  I saw no signs of her.  But what if she got trapped under the water?  Under a rock?  She wouldn’t be on the surface!  I ran along the bank yelling her name.  I looked for a pale object under the current.  Parents at the birthday party were looking up now, sensing something was terribly out of balance. 

Jake stood motionless.  Whimpering.

I was about to dive into the water when my thoughts drifted to the creepy guy with the cute dogs.  Audrey loves animals.  I thought of every stranger danger cliché in the book.  Is this how it ends?  Dear God, no.  If I dive into the water, I am wasting precious seconds when someone could be walking off with my child.  If I go in search of her, I am wasting precious seconds when my daughter could be trapped under water. 

Panic.

I started running toward the birthday party.  I was about to yell, “Has anyone seen a little girl in a white swimsuit?!  Did you see where she went?!” I looked to my left and saw a girl running down the path toward me.  One hundred fifty yards away.  Her awkward, distracted, beautiful gait telling me my fears were unwarranted.  I dropped to my knees, threw my head back, and covered my face.  Didn’t want Jake to see the tears of relief that were coming.  It was only thirty seconds.

But it felt like a lifetime.

When she finally reached me, I scolded her with a giant bear hug.

“Where did you go?  I was so worried we had lost you?  I told you to stay right here!”

“I wanted to go back and pet the puppies.”

“I’m sure you did, honey.  But you didn’t tell me where you were going.  I thought I had lost you.  Worse yet, I thought you might have fallen in the water and drowned.”

Her eyes got big.  She said nothing.  She just looked at me and saw the relief in my face and knew. 

We walked back to the car in silence.  Halfway there, she grabbed onto my leg with both arms.  I walked with a happy limp the rest of the way.  When all the gear had been packed into the trunk and everyone was strapped into their seats, I heard Jake call out from the back seat.

“Can we have some ice cream when we get home, Daddy?”

The mantra plays in my mind again.  Ice cream is reserved for special times.  Important, momentous occasions.

And none is as special as this.

Because, unlike my brief, panicked moments with Audrey that stretched into forever, in our day-to-day lives time passes us like a raging river.  We feel like we have a lifetime to spend with those we love, but soon it will feel like only thirty seconds.  Life is precious gift of God that I often waste on worthless worry and the pursuit of perfection.  . 

So here’s my prayer today.  Let there be many moments in life that sound the alarm.  A wake up call that stirs my soul.  Because I’m tired of sleepwalking through the simple pleasures that make life worth living. 

Like one more scoop of ice cream.

Week Fifteen: “Surprise!”

A few months ago, two of my wife’s best college girlfriends, Miranda and Chelle, approached me with a proposal.    They wanted to come into town and surprise Gabby for a special “girl’s weekend.”

For any uninitiated male readers out there, allow me define a girl’s weekend for you.  Think of it as a 72-hour book club meeting. Though I have never been formally invited, I have seen book club females in their natural habitat.  Their gatherings include the following: wine, lots of laughter, wine, indulgence in snacks that they normally forbid themselves to eat, simultaneous conversations, wine, more wine, discussions about crazy things their husbands do, whispers and eye rolls, surprised exclamations of “where did all the wine go!?”, and long goodbyes at the front door followed by someone saying,

“Oops!  We forgot to talk about the book!”

For the girl’s weekend, just add shopping.

I know this may sound like a nightmare to most of you fellas out there.  But trust me.  A girl’s weekend is the best thing you’ll ever do for your marriage.  We males simply do not have the capacity to absorb the number of words and complexity of emotion our wives have to offer.  It’s like trying to shove 50-pounds of raw bread dough into an empty beer can.  Try as you might, you’re still going to end up with a big, gooey mess.

But her girlfriends?  They take all that dough and knead it, nurture it, and bake it into the best rolls you ever tasted.  It’s sustenance to last your wife several months.

Her girlfriends wanted it to be a surprise.  “On the morning we arrive,” they said, “just tell her she has something to pick up at the airport, and we’ll be there!”   I was reluctant.  You see, Gabby loves to give surprises.  She loves the planning, preparation, and the ultimate “aha” moment when her plan comes together.  But receiving surprises is a different story.  I believe they all feel to her like winning an Academy Award, then realizing during the acceptance speech that you’re not wearing any pants. 

Against my better judgment, I agreed to the surprise.  My cover was that I was planning a special family weekend for us.  This announcement led to a Freaky Friday style body swap. Gabby took on the role of happy-go-lucky, carefree Scott.  I became the organized, planful Gabby.

This is not what God intended.

For me, planning involves lots of thinking, then walking to the refrigerator and opening the door, followed by expert procrastination.  In the three months leading up to the big weekend, I had consumed several pounds of leftovers, but not much else had been accomplished. 

A few days before their arrival, I had a Zen-like moment of clarity.  Since they couldn’t go shopping, I decided that my job would be to make sure everything at our house was taken care of so that once her friends arrived, Gabby wouldn’t have to think of a single thing besides enjoying their company. 

What followed was a frantic array of failure.  I tried to clean the house as Gabby might in preparation for a long-term guest.  I told her, “I’m handling everything for our family fun weekend.  But, assuming someone comes by to check on the plants while we’re gone, what would you want me to clean?”  She rattled off a list that started with vacuuming and ended with putting down wood floors in our linen closet.

I’m not kidding.

I only finished one-third of Gabby’s normal pre-trip cleaning checklist, and I felt like I had just birthed a walrus.  One hour after scouring the hall bath, I heard Audrey scream “Oh no!”.  I rounded the corner to see her watching a cascade of urine run down her legs, saturating the bathroom rugs I had just washed.  Jake added his own yellow design to the back of the toilet seat for good measure.

It was glorious.

I also committed to doing all of the errands Gabby had planned.  Shuttling kids around.  Dropping off paperwork.  Going to the bank, etc.  I think I ended up delivering our tax forms to the kid in our car pool, and trying to deposit a half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the canister at the drive-thru teller.

This is definitely not what God intended.

The night before Miranda and Chelle were to arrive, I surprised Gabby with a note on her pillow.  It said, “There is no family trip.  Instead, you are to go to the airport tomorrow morning and pick up a special friend.  Be there by 9:30.”

Surprise!

Her gaze met mine.  Her face wore a complicated expression of anger (how could the love of my life have lied to me?), excitement (I wonder who my special friend is?) and Gabby’s Look of Mild Disapproval^TM (Scott didn’t clean out the refrigerator!). 

The next morning, I took the kids to school while Gabby got ready to meet her special friend.  I watched her in the mirror as she put on her eye liner.  Seeing her in a whole new light.  But her mind was elsewhere.  She caught me ogling her and said. 

“What have you done, Dannemiller?”

“What do you mean?  Aren’t you excited?”

“I’m sort of excited.”

“Why not completely excited?”

“Because, had I known someone was coming to stay at our house, I would have dusted the shelves in the playroom.  They’re filthy!”

When Gabby left the house, I got to work.  I wiped down a few shelves in the refrigerator so they would pass inspection.

Meanwhile, at the airport, Gabby was relishing a teary-eyed reunion with some of her best friends.  I had left a second, intriguing envelope in the car.

Inside was a surprise letter for Gabby and her friends telling them they could cash in Gabby’s unused spa certificate I had given her three years ago as an anniversary gift.  Side note: After taking over Gabby’s duties for just one weekend, I now see how an entire Presidential Administration could go by without her finding the time to get a massage.

* The lovely ladies.  Chelle, Gabby and Miranda.

They called to relay their thanks to me, and tell me they were on their way home.  I estimated I might have just enough time to grab the knock-off-brand Pledge and a rag and attack the book shelves, but I would be cutting it close.  I started in on the first shelf when my phone buzzed.  It was a text from Miranda.

“Um.  We might be getting a ticket.  L It’s mine and Chelle’s fault.  We were distracting her.”

Two thoughts came to mind.  First, now I have plenty of time to dust.  Second, bail bonds are not on the approved purchase list this year.

I texted back, “FYI… In case you were wondering, the hunky young cop is not part of the surprise.  Do NOT put any dollars in his waistband.”

Apparently, Gabby relayed this information to the State Trooper thinking it might get her out of a ticket.

It didn’t.

As I dusted in the playroom, I wanted to do a good job.  Twenty-four book shelves in all.  Each filled with stuff.  Some were crammed full of great children’s stories like “Oh No, Gotta’ Go” and “Tickle Monsters.”  There was no dust on top of or behind the books, so I carefully wiped in front of each one.  As my rag passed each spine, I remembered how much fun it is to sit on our couch and hear the kids beg me to give a special voice to every character.  In “The Gruffalo”, the mouse sounds a bit like Elmo.  The fox is a dead ringer for Larry the Cable Guy.  The Owl is from Bangalore.  And the snake is an odd mix of Sean Connery and Jimmy Stewart. 

I also do children’s parties.

Then there were the pictures.  I picked up each one and dusted underneath.  Thanks to Patrolman Riley/”Not-So-Magic” Mike, I now had some extra time to really see the photos that go unnoticed day-to-day.  They all brought back memories.  Friends young and old were all preserved in a moment in time.  Family.  Pics of the kids from when they were babies.  Smiling.  All bringing back happy memories.

Finally there were the shelves covered with trinkets.  These left a very different impression.   I tried to simplify the job by simply dusting around them, but it didn’t work.  Each one had to be moved and set down again.  Every time I picked one up, each seemed to ask, “What purpose do I serve?”  “Why do you keep me?”

The answer was always the same.

“I don’t know.”

These things just got in the way. Old awards and plaques once held pride and ego.  But all of that leaked out long ago.  And the decorations?   The effort required to maintain and transport them far exceeded the benefit of having them.  They were now just items that we had to maneuver around.  Getting in the way.

I finished the dusting five minutes before the girls walked through the door.  I was greeted with hugs and smiles. They were so ready to take on the weekend.  They came to visit Nashville.  Music City.  It’s a place where people come to see the sights. Hear some music.  Buy souvenirs.

And surprise!  They failed. 

Sure, they went out on the town.  But for the most part, they buried themselves in the couches and chairs.  Nonstop conversation.  It was like that for the entire weekend.  Plans came and went, falling victim to the desire to relax and just enjoy the company of one another.  Storytelling.  Catching up.  Connecting. 

Never once mentioning the shelves. 

Just as God intended.

Week Fourteen: “Feeling Lucky”

Welcome to week fourteen.  I realize now that when we crafted our rules for the Year Without A Purchase, we failed to clarify one key element.  What do we do about luck? Because I win stuff.  Lots of stuff.

Feel free to punch me in the throat.

As long as I can remember, I have been winning random name drawings.  Not raffles where you get a ticket with a number.  No.  It has to be a raffle where you hastily write your actual name on a slip of paper.  And you must be present to win.

* If only lotto tickets made you write your name…

When I was a kid, I would get called out of the crowd to be the “special helper” on stage, even when I didn’t want to be.  I distinctly remember being called up to assist a clown at a grade school event.  It didn’t go well.  To this day I’m still scared of anyone wearing heavy face makeup.  Bozo.  Homey.  Tammy Faye Baker.  They all give me the heebies.

At my high school graduation, I won a $600 mall shopping spree.  In college, it was free pizza.  Last summer, it was a front row seat to see Book of Mormon on Broadway.  I declined the ticket because Gabby was with me, and I didn’t want to ditch her.

She doesn’t win stuff.

In the past few weeks, I have won two such drawings. The first was at a presentation on how to plan for your own funeral.  I figured that I have such a propensity for having my name called, I was covering all my bases in case the I win the Big Raffle In The Sky earlier than anticipated.

Instead, I won a gift certificate to the Cracker Barrel.

Just last week, I entered another contest.  There were tons of booths set up for Opening Day at Jake’s little league ballpark.  Gabby entered a drawing.  You had to be present to win.  They went through lots of raffle numbers for folks who weren’t there.  Number after number.  Faster and faster as they kept having no-shows.

Then they called Gabby’s number.  “Woo hoo!” she screamed with delight.  Only to see a little three-year-old slowly making her way to the pitcher’s mound to claim her prize.  They called the toddler’s number just before Gabby’s.

Remember, she doesn’t win stuff.

But the grand prize?   The Nashville Sounds (the local AAA professional baseball team) was raffling off the chance to have your entire little league team take the field during the National Anthem at a home game this summer.  You had to write your name on this ticket.

Scott Dannemiller will be escorting ten 7-year-olds to home plate.  Thank you very much.

In week twelve of our challenge, I mentioned that I was going to do an “Appreciation Audit” – taking time out each day to list five things I appreciate about my life. Things that make me feel lucky.  I wanted to see what the exercise would do for my general well-being.

Frankly, it was very easy to create the list.  I did it at the start of each day.  Five things.  They rattled off my fingertips and onto the screen.  On Monday, it included “I win stuff,” and “I get to do work I love and make money doing it.”  On Tuesday, I created my list as Gabby did some quick morning housework after a trip to the gym.  That list included “I have a wife who likes to vacuum.”  I know.  Strange.  Something about easily seeing progress by looking back at the pattern you left in the carpet.

But I appreciate it.

I wish I could say that every morning I was left with a warm sense of contentment that stayed with me throughout the day.  Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way.  The contentment was fleeting, quickly giving way to the hustle of life.  Things to do.  Problems to solve.  Kids to yell at.

But I learned a tremendous amount from the exercise.  At the end of the week, I looked back through my list, and two things came to mind.

First, creating each day’s list was meaningful, but reading all twenty-five at the end of the week brings about a flood of gratitude.  Like opening a box of ice cream sandwiches and knowing you can eat every single one.  It was an overwhelmingly beautiful sensation.  Drowning in thankfulness for the blessings of life.  I highly recommend it.

But the bigger learning came later.

I returned to Nashville around midnight after a long few days working out of town.  Instead of driving home, I took a taxi.  Our car was having trouble, so Gabby had taken it in for repairs, and I wasn’t about to have her revive the kids at midnight to drag them to the airport to pick me up.

My cab driver’s name was Alex.  He was from Somalia.  As he drove me toward my own home, we talked about where he had come from.  I asked him where he had lived.  How did he get here?  What was it like growing up in his country?

Alex told me that life was a mixed bag for him.  He has fond memories of growing up in a small village.  Playing soccer with friends.  Hanging out with family.

But then civil war erupted.

Simplicity gave way to danger.  Alex’s father wanted no part of it.  He took the family on a journey to safety.  They eventually made their way to a U.N. refugee camp in Kenya.  There, they spent a year living in a tent with a dirt floor. Temperatures frequently eclipsed 100 degrees.  They received food rations once per week.  There was very little to go around.  And there was no work.  Just living.

But he had hope.

Because Alex could read and write English, he got a job making $30 per month working for the Red Cross.  His job was to help people fill out forms at the hospital and translate their needs into English so the doctors could understand.

He smiled in the rear-view mirror as he said, “Like my dad says.  It was a S#*! life, but I knew there was something better.”

Slowly but surely the family moved out of the tent and into a room with four walls.  Then into a very small house.  And eventually they found a program through the Catholic church that allowed them to leave Kenya and come to the United States.

I asked Alex how he kept going.  He answered in his labored English.

“I had faith.  I still have faith.  I still go to the Catholic church.  They took my faith and made it real.”

I got home and looked back through my list.  Twenty-five things to be thankful for.  While some were “stuff” (my comfortable bed, warm water, a roof over my head), many were not.  My list included immeasurably important things like my health, happy kids, and a wife who loves me.  And that’s when I realized.

Even these things can be taken away.

I know it’s a morbid thought, but stick with me here.

We don’t know what the future holds for us.  We all know that “stuff” is fleeting.  It can vanish in an instant.  But so can those things that are most important to us.  I looked at my list and thought two things.

One:  Any of these things could be gone one day.  Not a single one of the twenty five was guaranteed.

Two:  What am I grateful for that can never be taken away?

And that’s when it hit me.  We all have a choice no matter the situation.  We can choose to be victims of circumstance.  We can choose to be passive.  We can choose a mentality of scarcity and fear, where we hoarde and worry and stress our lives away.  Here, we are choosing despair.

Or we can choose abundance.  We can choose gratitude.  We can choose hope.  Because faith and hope are possessions that can never be taken away.  Like the love of God.  Ever-present, no matter the circumstance.  We can choose to see the beauty in the mess.  Because the truth is that we may have entered five hundred drawings and won only five.  But focusing on those five gives us far more hope than focusing on the 495.

So choose hope.  Choose faith.

Because luck is realizing your name has already been drawn.