Washed Clean

My back problems started out when I was a lad in driver’s education. A guy named Karl pulled a chair out from behind me as I sat down. He got points for pulling off a classic joke but I consider that the start of my back problems. I also remember an incident in high school when I went skiing with Jeff and Sandy somewhere in Colorado.

Neither Jeff nor Sandy are qualified as ski instructors but they both took it upon themselves to teach the newbie how to ski. They employed the speed method. With this method, you take your unskilled friend to the top of a mountain in an area where the only trails down are black diamonds. It’s not so much learning to ski as it is trying to stay alive. Well, the method met with some success because by the end of the week, I was able to keep up with the pros, although I looked like a dufus. It was on the very last run before we went home that I hit a ramp and wiped out and injured my back. But the details of this trip I will save for another story because they were really mean to me and you might enjoy hearing about that.

Once of the worst incidents I had was at Lake Beauty. The theme for the week was “Peanuts.” I was to be Pig Pen that week and Kippy thought it would be a great idea if I covered myself in mud from head to toe and presented myself at the lunchtime gathering around the flagpole. There I would be hosed-off to make me clean. The trouble began when I was instructed to get muddy too early. It was a rare cool July day so being covered in cool mud made my back a little tight. Then I had to wait for about 30 minutes before the campers actually showed up. After a little friendly banter in character as Pig Pen, I was blasted with a hose.

Here in California, the water out of the hose is somewhat warm. But the hose water in Minnesota is quite chilly. This makes for good drinking water but bad for being blasted. After a few layers of mud were blasted off, it was time for me to get completely cleaned up. By now I was freezing. The campers went in for lunch and I decided to head down to the lake for a preliminary bath. I didn’t want to mess up our dorm shower with all that mud.

As I ran barefoot down to the lake, my back started to spaz-up. By the time I reached the lake, I could barely walk. I got myself into the lake and there I stayed, enjoying the buoyancy. I knew I would not be able to walk back to the staff dorm so I stayed there until someone came looking for me. I can’t remember who it was or how long it took but someone helped me back to the dorm where I laid down for what would be about 10 days.

Family Camp was about to begin in a couple of days. The camp director knew a chiropractor would be bringing his family to camp shortly. In the mean time, the camp nurse got me a prescription for some kind of pain killer/muscle relaxant. Basically, she drugged me until help arrived. A few times a day a nice staff person would help me into the bathroom and then help me back into bed.

Now here comes the funny part. One day, as I am in a drugged stupor, Connie the nurse made one of her regular visits to dope me up a little more. On this particular afternoon, the shades were all pulled so the room was rather dark. I was face down in my bed as Connie gave me a therapeutic massage to help relieve the continuous muscle spasm. As she was quietly sitting on the side of my bed one of my roommates named Gordon* walked in.

Gordon was soft-spoken and very shy. He was also quite modest and he never did the group shower thing with the rest of the gang. Now that I put it that way, maybe I shouldn’t have either. Anyway, Gordon goes over to his bunk and proceeds to strip down naked. Seeing that Gordon had no idea he was stripping in front of Connie, I started to giggle. Normally I would have kept quiet but the drugs made me feel silly. My chuckle caused Gordon to turn around affording us both a full Monty. It was a moment we both could have done without. In a state of utter shock, Gordon saw Connie, quietly turned around and put on his swim trunks. He put his beach towel over his shoulder and walked out without saying a word. He never spoke of it again. And I’m certain he’d be mortified that I just blogged about it. But time heals all embarrassment. And as my kids often say, “It’s O.K. if it’s funny.” And that it was. Amen.

*Gordon's name was changed to protect him from answering awkward questions when they learn to Google LBBC looking for embarassing stories about their dad when he turns 50.

Minnesota State Trooper

It was the best of drives. It was the worst of drives. It was the best because school was over and I was headed home. It was the worst because of what was about to happen. I am the oldest of five kids. There is a twelve-year difference between my little sister and me. Since I was the oldest, I was assigned to drive us all home. We lived out on a farm and we hated to take the bus so driving to school was the transportation mode of choice.

It was a warm spring day so we had the windows down and were doing the flying hand thing out the window. I was following a string of cars doing 55 mph down highway 25. A Minnesota State Trooper passed us going the other direction but I never gave it a second thought since I was clearly not doing anything wrong. But I looked in my rear view mirror anyway.

I watched him quickly come to a stop, spin around and turn on his lights. Wow. One of the cars I was following must have been a criminal driving a stolen car or something. As he approached from behind, I pulled over to the side and stopped to let him by. But he slowed as I slowed. Then he came to a stop directly behind me. What did I do? How could I be speeding when I was following six slow farmers looking at how fast the corn was growing? Was I tailgating? Nope. I was innocent.

The trooper got out of his car and I could see him touch his gun. Maybe he thought I was someone else. Or maybe he was going to tell me I was a great driver and give me some kind of award for safe driving. Maybe it would be a Dairy Queen Safe Driver Buster Bar certificate. Then I got a good look at him. He was the trooper that taught half of my driver’s education class. Surely he’d recognize me and know I was a model citizen.

As he came to my window he looked surprised to see my younger siblings in the back seat. I guess he couldn’t see their heads from his prowler. My brother, Tim, was seated in the passenger seat. I think he thought it was just the two of us. “Can I see your license?” he said very sternly. “What’s the problem officer?” I asked. My question went unanswered. He walked around the car as if he were looking for some contraband. He asked me to open the trunk which I couldn’t do because I didn’t have the key. This only further upset the trooper.

Then he looked into the back seat where my frightened younger brothers and sister were. “What’s in that bag?” he shouted, scaring my little sister. “What bag?” I answered. The trooper’s senses seem to be telling him I was transporting drugs or alcohol. “Let me see that bag!” he gruffly said. “Why did you stop me?” I asked again. Now the trooper was really mad. “Give me that bag!” Now my little sister was getting very upset because it was her bag. The trooper knew I was hiding something. Perhaps he was thinking, “If I make an arrest today I’ll get the Dairy Queen Super Trooper Buster Bar certificate.”

My brother Andy compliantly handed the angry trooper the bag. He quickly snatched it away, opened it up and reached inside. He pulled out one of my sister’s Strawberry Shortcake dolls she had brought for show-and-tell. He dug around the bottom of the bottom of the bag but found nothing. The aroma of the dolls now filled the car. “Is there something wrong with the dolls, sir?” I asked. Joe and Andy started to laugh. Upset, he tossed the bag back into the car, turned around and left without saying another word. I guess we were free to go. There would be no arrest today. And there would be no Diary Queen Super Trooper Buster Bar.

Just to make the nice trooper even more upset, I drove the rest of the way home about 7 miles an hour under the speed limit as he followed me. I have no idea what he was looking for or what I had done to deserve such interesting attention. Perhaps in Minnesota State Trooper School they were taught how to look for teenagers smuggling illegal Strawberry Shortcake dolls using their little sisters as cover. Or perhaps he was just some creepy trooper who got his kicks using his prowler to pull over teenage drivers and give them a hard time. But I knew for the next ten minutes as he followed me, his hands smelled of Strawberry Shortcake. I guess that’s what defeat smells like to a Minnesota State Trooper.

Animal Heaven

It’s another busy week with little time to write. So I’ll tell you a couple of highlights from my day. It all started out normal. I had to run an errand and on my way back to work I ran over a black cat that darted out onto the freeway. The van in front of me swerved and almost lost control of his vehicle. I, on the other hand, became very Darwinian. It was survival of the animal driving the largest vehicle. God rest its soul.

I also found myself driving a forklift today. As I hopped on I noticed a mouse had chewed up the foam from some padding surrounding the standing area. As I inspected it, the mouse ran away. I tried pounding it to send it off to mouse heaven but it got away. After I was done with the forklift, I noticed more movement. I carefully lifted the pad and about a half dozen baby mice scampered around the innards of the forklift. I spent the next hour trying to rid the forklift of baby mice. Long story short, I used a shop-vac. I sucked those little mice right out of the forklift and into mice heaven.

So today I killed a cat and several mice. Perhaps they will play together today in animal heaven. And, by the way, I am only responsible for the black cat behind the gate on the left side of the picture. All the other cats were freed from this world by someone else. There are no mice in this picture because the cats ate them.

Coprophagia

I thought we’d learn a new word today, kids. The word is “coprophagia.” It means to eat dung. Many animals do this on a daily basis, on purpose. I frequently watch Nature on public T.V. I remember a show about baby elephants. It seems they get some needed bacteria from their parent’s dookie so they just gobble up the stuff like kettle corn. They do it rather ferociously so it must taste really good.

Our dearly departed basset hound, Humphrey, used to love eating cat poop in the backyard. We always knew a cat had befouled our territory when Humphrey would scurry out into the woodchips. I remember once that I offered him the giblets from a turkey I was making. He blatantly refused to eat those. But he sure did love the cat poop. It probably tasted like chicken.

My first experience with coprophagia was with my good friends Sandy, Barb, Jeff, and Mike at the Minnesota State fair. We decided to take a look at the giant Clydesdale horses. If you’ve never seen one in person, they are absolutely frightening. The tops of their bums are about seven feet high. We never did see their fronts because of the way they were all feeding. Just as we were about to leave, one Clydesdale lifted its tail and pushed out a giant windy. Someone screamed just before the air biscuit left the horse causing me to turn into the fart. The wind was so forceful that our hair moved. The fart also contained nasty chunks of Clydesdale doo-doo. Several chunks of it hit me on the side and one tiny bit of it ended up in my mouth.

My second experience with coprophagia came on a long car trip from Minnesota to Michigan. We were traveling to spend a week with Sheri’s folks in Detroit. As a courtesy, we stopped about 3 hours away and decided to call them to let them know where we were. That was in the days before cell phones so I used something called a pay-telephone. It was a bit noisy from the nearby traffic but I made the call. Something my mother-in-law said made me laugh. So in typical laughing fashion, I chortled and threw my head back. At that very moment, a seagull perched on top of the post holding the aforementioned pay-telephone lifted its tail feathers and dropped a juicy one straight at me.

I never saw it coming. Most of it landed in my gaping mouth. The rest landed on my face and shirt. I immediately dropped the phone and began to spit and heave the contents of my stomach, which were mostly red licorice and dry roasted peanuts, into the nearby weeds. I would imagine that most poop tastes horrible. But seagull leavings are incredibly rancid, thus the puking. Trust me on this one.

I’ve been pooped on several times from passing birds. One hit me while I was walking to the chapel at Lake Beauty. It landed right on my Mickey Mouse watch. The second time was also at Lake Beauty. I was lying on the raft out on the lake. I was face down and a monster bird dropped its load all over my back.

My latest experience with coprophagia happened just last year. I was playing a lawn game called Kubb (Google it) at the home of some good friends, the Nalywaiko’s. Victor created a groomed, regulation Kubb (pronounced koob) court in his backyard. He did a great job. They had just acquired a new puppy. It was a very tiny Bichon Frise. A couple of times the tiny dog hopped across the court. But soon, he was held in the arms of spectators while we continued Kubb game. Kubb involves throwing sticks at sticks. I picked up one of the sticks and did not notice the substance sticking to the end of it. However, I did notice it the moment it was transferred from my hand to my mouth as I itched my lip. I instantly tried spitting out the poop but the taste of Bichon Frise was stuck in my mouth. Katherine immediately came to the rescue with a gallon of Scope from Costco. I must have rinsed my mouth out a dozen times before I was certain the Bichon Frise was no longer a threat to my health.

So, there you have it folks. Three stories of times I ate poop. The word is coprophagia. That’s one from a Clydesdale (the best tasting), one from a seagull (the worst tasting one) and one from a Bichon Frise. Have a great day!

Teddy Bear Hamsters

When you travel a lot you get plenty of good stories. They just seem to happen. Sometimes they’re bad ones like the man next to me who rubbed his scaly bare feet on the plane at 6 AM then offered me his cheese fries. Sometimes they are frustrating like the time I spent 4 hours on the tarmac at O’Hare waiting for a thunderstorm to pass. But the one I have today, kids, is a cute little one involving little fuzzy animals.

It was another trip to Knoxville, Tennessee. I have to leave on the earliest United flight to get to Knoxville before dark. It’s nasty getting up at 2:30 AM to get to SFO in time but it is nice to beat the morning airport rush. Watching the sunrise above the Sierra Nevada mountains is amazing while climbing to 31,000 feet. I quickly nodded off and soon we were on the ground at O’Hare. Nothing remarkable happened. I then caught my puddle-jumper flight to Knoxville without any problems or stories. I knew I’d be in the clear.

After we landed all 35 of us got off the tiny plane and we headed downstairs to claim our luggage. Mine was actually one of the first ones off. That never happens. Well, almost never. I did have one flight to Chicago when one of my two bags was the first off the plane. Amazing! But then I waited for the second bag forever. Eventually the carousel stopped, leaving me empty-handed. I went to the lost baggage claim and they eventually found it for me on another carousel. So much for being first!

And just to throw in another quick story. Down in the United baggage claim area there is a restroom I often use. It is a little-used restroom because most of the people getting off their flights pee in the restrooms in the concourse. They are always too crowded so I learned to hold my water until in the baggage claim area restroom. I was in there once making wee when the man next to me took a step back and purposely peed on my shoes. He then took off running. I found a police officer and told him my strange story. He said I was not the first victim and that a man posing as a traveler had been doing this Pee & Flee for a couple of weeks. I was just another innocent victim with soiled shoes.

Now, where was I? OK, so I’ve got my luggage in Knoxville and I head to the Hertz rental counter to get my car. I’m standing in line behind a very short, fat man with a British accent. As I look at the back of his bald head I notice something strange about his ears. His hair was styled in a fashion where the hair was sticking out around his ears. Then I noticed that it wasn’t a hair style at all. It was a huge ball of hair growing out of both ears. It was so nasty. It looked as if he had two teddy bear hamsters nesting in his ear canal.

I couldn’t stop staring at them. As he talked, the two hamsters seemed to be trying to get deeper inside his ears. I swear the hair was at least ¾ of an inch long. He was fascinating to look at. I looked for a wedding band because surely any good wife would have put up a fuss so I figured he must be single. Nope. He was married. Then I thought, his wife must be blind. Then I thought perhaps his wife hates him and lets those hamsters stay right where they’re growing just to spite him. There were so many things to think about in line at the Hertz counter.

We’re headed to the United Kingdom this summer for a long vacation. We’re doing a house swap with a couple in Wales. I know the British are teased for their lack of tooth care. On this trip I will see if this attitude also applies to their ear grooming as well. I have a zoom lens on my camera so if I see any ear hamsters, you’ll see them here on my blog.

Men in Tights

One of my favorite things about working at camp was the costume room. Lake Beauty had an enormous costume room filled with an amazing collection of props and clothing. The place could pretty much accommodate any skit or event, and in bulk. If you wanted to outfit a cabin of 15 boys to be an army, we could do it.

One of our favorite things to do was to dress up in something strange and head into Little Falls or Long Prairie. The camp had quite the reputation in those towns. We kept their heads turning all summer with the strange costumes we’d concoct.

One of my favorite stories did not involve me. And I’m not certain about who did what but I believe it was Jeremy Sohlstrom and Ruel Johnson. They both decided to drive seven miles into town on highway 27 riding the little red golf cart in a Santa suit and Easter Bunny suit. I cannot remember exactly what happened but it had something to do with making a movie sitting on the town Sherman tank. Someone thought that was very disrespectful and called the sheriff. I believe they got a police escort out of town.

My first costume room incident happened during the summer of 1979. A group of us decided to go into Little Falls, home of Charles Lindberg, and watch a movie in the one-room movie theater. But just to make it more fun, we all decided to dress up as old ladies. We all had long, flowing dresses and carried odd objects like trombones, tennis rackets and toilet seats. My odd object was a motorcycle helmet.

We all purchased our tickets and frightened a few of the locals. Into the theater we went awaiting the start of the movie. As I waited I decided to join a small group that went back in to the lobby for treats. I was the last in line. My fellow staff members got their goodies and went back into the theater leaving me alone in the lobby. In came a group of rough looking bikers. I was completely oblivious to the fact I was a guy wearing a long, flowing dress, a wig and a motorcycle helmet. But I soon figured it out since they started to taunt me. All I wanted was popcorn and JuJu Bees.

I remember they followed me into the theater figuring they would beat me up inside. I quickly found my seat in the middle of the Lake Beauty group. Once the group of bikers saw they were outnumbered by a group of rowdy old ladies all in wigs and long dresses, they just left. Score one for the old ladies. The camp has been in the area for over 40 years and has gained an interesting reputation as you can imagine.

One of the best costume related incidents happened during a week where the theme was “Heaven.” That week we met all the campers at the front entrance of the camp dressed in white sheets, halos and cardboard harps. We decorated a gate with big white paper circles that were supposed to be giant pearls. Get it? The Pearly Gates? Well, we thought it was clever.

But it wasn’t only campers that drove past our gates that day. Several locals drove by and got a real eyeful. The next day, the whole town of Long Prairie was talking about the new cult that took over the camp. Even the local authorities became concerned. This only heightened the odd reputation of the camp.

I have no funny way to end this story. I can only leave you with this discovery. It’s much funnier when guys dress up as old ladies than when women dress up as old ladies. That’s all for tonight.

Stuck in Traffic

After a long day at work I’m sitting in horrible Santa Rosa traffic. Just a few days earlier it took Sheri and I fifty-two minutes to get home. We only had to go 1.7 miles. Traffic wasn’t as bad today but I wasn’t getting anywhere quickly. I’ve learned to enjoy the ride home. I take time to mentally unwind and marvel at how bad and self-centered California drivers are.

I’m sitting at a long series of lights trying to cross a busy double-lane highway. A late model Chevrolet van with faded blue paint creeps past me in the next lane. The van stops so I can see the driver’s face perfectly in the jumbo-sized side mirrors. Immediately after stopping the man started picking his nose. He was going in real deep. He dug and he dug until he found his prize. He stared at it a bit then began to slowly roll it around between his fingers. He stopped and stared at it some more. By now the light had turned green but he was too busy marveling at his shiny new booger to notice.

The car behind him became impatient waiting for him to move so the guy honked. Had he known a new booger had just been born I’m certain he would have shown more sympathy and understanding. The loud honk startled the man in the van. He quickly looked up and realized the light was green just like the object on his finger. So he did what any self-respecting man would do. He popped that booger into his mouth then drove away.

As I made my way north on Fulton Avenue I wondered what kind of a day that man had had. What caused him to spend so much time examining his booger? And why take the time to roll it up? Then I thought to myself “That’s a lot like life, isn’t it?” Then I thought, “No it isn’t. That’s just freakin’ gross. I’m stuck in traffic and the only entertainment I have is watching some guy pick his nose, roll it about, then pop it in his mouth.”

I’m staying home tomorrow and working on the stump in my front yard. Maybe I’ll take a nap.

Just another day...

Just another day…

I have had a very busy two weeks and the week is going to get even busier. So I send my apologies for the lack of new stories to brighten your day. I thought I’d let you let you know what happened today. It’s just another day at RCC.

It started off with a good friend resigning his position, which was quite sad. Then a local toy store donated a 10 foot by 10 foot Thomas the Train table / adventure center. As we moved toward lunch I was appointed to purchase pizza for 30 staff people. I am a pro at this as evidenced by the fact there were only 8 pieces left. I’m that good. Then about 100 mice were discovered living in a large palate of food inside the church. We made them flee and even sent a few of them to rodent heaven. That’s funny because I think they all felt like they were already living in rodent heaven chewing on instant potatoes and pudding cups. Then I received a call from some folks in Chicago wanting me to fly in next week for a one-day meeting. Then a brushfire started 100 yards away from the church. Three fire engines and the California Department of Forestry all showed up to put out the flames on an extremely windy day. Then I spent the evening working with two guys taking an engine out of a Honda so that we can turn it into a giant puppet. They dropped the engine onto the ground, literally. Then I used a forklift to raise the Honda into the air away from the engine and set it back down.

My day started at 8:00 AM and ended at 9:30 PM. It’s just another day in the life of a kid’s pastor. How was your day?