Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I pick your Aunt Crystal up from the airport today at 2:30. It will be so nice to have her home again. She's been gone since Saturday afternoon and that's too long. I don't feel quite myself when she's not here. I plan on saying 'hi' and then throwing three kids at her and then go take a nap. Not really. We're probably going straight from the airport to test drive a van. Today I may become a 'Van Achiever' - a great honor in parenthood. Is there really such a thing as Van Achiever? No. I just need to make my life more exciting than it really is.
Yesterday we had small group come over to our home. We had a really good time. We're discussing the book The Harbinger by Jonathan Cahn. It's a good one. I wish you dad was here for last night's discussion. We are on some chapters that have a lot to do about numbers in how they deal with time and the Hebrew calender vs. our own. It would have been good to have your grandpa here to help sort that out. I'm sure he could explain it better than the book does.
That's kind of the key to a lot of things - having the right person there who can explain things the right way so that they can be easily understood. That's why it's good to know a lot of different people. I know how social you are, so I dont' think you'll have a problem with that. Me? I'm very social. I just prefer to socialize with myself. I find myself to be very good company and I tend to agree with my own opinions.
I seem to be rambling today, but I'm very tired. So just deal with it young lady. When I was a kid I had to listen to adults when they rambled, so now it's my turn. It will be good to have Crystal back. I don't know how single parents can do this non-stop. God bless them. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
10/29/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I'm happy to be seeing you over Thanksgiving. It should be a good time. I'm going to be making a big meal. There is a great spice shop on main street and there is a maple brown sugar rub that will make that turkey taste very nice indeed. I love turkey, but nobody else in my family does. It's the only time of year I feel okay buying an eighteen pound bird that I'm going to eat myself. Not all at once, mind you. That would be piggish.
If my memory serves, you are a fan of turkey yourself. If you want some you better sit close to me. Your grandpa can put away a sizable amount of fowl himself. Here's the plan. We keep the bird close to us and have him sit at the other end of the table. We then make sure there are a bunch of starch-heavy, belly-busting side dishes that he will have to eat through to get to the meat. It will be a battle, but we shall overcome.
I took Elijah bowling while the boys were on their visit with their biological family on Sunday. It was a good time. I forgot what a cheap form of entertainment it was too. I found that I bowl how I handle most things in life. I whip the ball as hard as I can right down the line. I don't do that little crescent spin I see most avid bowlers doing. What happens is that I usually hit an easy strike or veer sharply left or right and knock down a single pin. I do everything with rampant gusto. It may look like I'm laid back, but that's just how I rampant gusto.
Elijah had a good time. Maybe we could go bowling when you're here. Maybe you hate bowling. Maybe that's the worst idea ever. Let me know.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I'm happy to be seeing you over Thanksgiving. It should be a good time. I'm going to be making a big meal. There is a great spice shop on main street and there is a maple brown sugar rub that will make that turkey taste very nice indeed. I love turkey, but nobody else in my family does. It's the only time of year I feel okay buying an eighteen pound bird that I'm going to eat myself. Not all at once, mind you. That would be piggish.
If my memory serves, you are a fan of turkey yourself. If you want some you better sit close to me. Your grandpa can put away a sizable amount of fowl himself. Here's the plan. We keep the bird close to us and have him sit at the other end of the table. We then make sure there are a bunch of starch-heavy, belly-busting side dishes that he will have to eat through to get to the meat. It will be a battle, but we shall overcome.
I took Elijah bowling while the boys were on their visit with their biological family on Sunday. It was a good time. I forgot what a cheap form of entertainment it was too. I found that I bowl how I handle most things in life. I whip the ball as hard as I can right down the line. I don't do that little crescent spin I see most avid bowlers doing. What happens is that I usually hit an easy strike or veer sharply left or right and knock down a single pin. I do everything with rampant gusto. It may look like I'm laid back, but that's just how I rampant gusto.
Elijah had a good time. Maybe we could go bowling when you're here. Maybe you hate bowling. Maybe that's the worst idea ever. Let me know.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Sunday, October 28, 2012
10/28/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Dropped the boys off for their visit with their biological mom this morning. I pick them up at five. Elijah and I went to church. I would have probably skipped it but he was insistent, so we went. He's such a good boy. He also didn't have to wake up several thousand times last night. I don't know what was up with our dog Delilah. She barked a lot last night. Normally she doesn't say anything. She's getting old and I'm sure when I'm old I'll do a lot of barking at nothing too - so I guess it's par for the course.
My grandmom - What a terrible bridge to this conversation. I talk about my old dog barking at shadows and that leads to talk about my deceased grandmother? Yes I am. She was a wonderful woman, but neural synapses are going to fire how they do and I am powerless to stop them. Anyway, my grandmom who has since passed on, was in a nursing home for a long time. She lived independently in an apartment for a long time, and as long as possible. She once told me that when she planned on living only a few months when she moved into the nursing home. She was wrong and the years wore on for her. She used to tell me when I was in town visiting that she didn't know why she was still alive.
"Why don't I just go ahead and die?" She said.
"I don't know," I said.
"I can't see anymore. I'm in a lot of pain and I can't do anything for anybody," she said.
"You're making me happy just seeing you," I said.
"That's a bunch of phooey," she said and she was right.
My grandmother wanted to die a lot earlier than she did. Time is a funny thing in that it is a singular difference in something we are bound by and God is not. He created us and he created time and he created us to live in time. He doesn't have too, obviously, and sometimes this can create a lot of strain on us humans because of this. A million years is as a day to God, but a million years is a million freaking years to us. My grandmother entered the nursing home and then went blind, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but sit or lie down and talk and even talking hurt. What's worse is that you get put on all these drugs for the pain that make you say and do things you normally wouldn't. What's worser than worse is that you can live long enough in that state and people start remembering you like that instead of the vibrant person you used to be. My dad once told me that everything vital to life works in her, but everything extra is gone.
What's the point of living like that? She buried her husband and three of her children. Who wants to live longer then their children? Me, that's who. Just kidding.
So when my grandmother asked me on a few occasions why she was alive, I didn't know why and couldn't tell her. Sometimes I would tell her that God new why, but I think we both thought that answer was a little weak. I think we both thought that God kind of forgot about her.
But then it happened.
My father died suddenly several years ago and things were a mess. We went to go see her and let her know what the arrangements were for the funeral. My mom was a mess. My sisters were a mess. I was a mess. There was my grandmother. She was sad, but, I don't know, solid. She sat in her wheelchair, blind and in pain, and seemed strong and even enough to hold up everyone herself. She didn't blubber. She didn't whine or complain. She just started talking, practical and in charge.
"Well we just need to cut back," she said. "I don't have to have my hair cut every week..." she just went on listing things she could do to help right the ship that had just took on a lot of water.
"Darn Straight Grandma," I thought, but I thought something else too. I was thinking about our conversations as to why she was kept alive and so many years in pain. Maybe it was for that moment in time where her strength was needed for our family. Maybe God hadn't forgotten about her after all. She was paying the bill in spades for our blessing, but sometimes blessings come from pain.
Then the door shoved inward and I heard the nurses shouting "Maynerd! Don't go in there Maynerd! Maynerd!" This dude was shoving his wheelchair backwards into people's room doors trying to get in. He had a look of incredible intensiveness on his face. I tried to meet his eyes but he didn't look at me. He didn't want anything but to get in the room. His face said, "Booyah, I'm in!" while the nurses scrambled to get him out. I'll never forget that guy. All those ladies yelling "Maynerd!" ha ha ha.
If I ever end up in a nursing home, which I will, I want to be like Maynerd. I don't want to just sit there without purpose. I want to wake up and get in my wheelchair and create enough havoc that they will put a little extra juice in my IV drip to knock me out.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Dropped the boys off for their visit with their biological mom this morning. I pick them up at five. Elijah and I went to church. I would have probably skipped it but he was insistent, so we went. He's such a good boy. He also didn't have to wake up several thousand times last night. I don't know what was up with our dog Delilah. She barked a lot last night. Normally she doesn't say anything. She's getting old and I'm sure when I'm old I'll do a lot of barking at nothing too - so I guess it's par for the course.
My grandmom - What a terrible bridge to this conversation. I talk about my old dog barking at shadows and that leads to talk about my deceased grandmother? Yes I am. She was a wonderful woman, but neural synapses are going to fire how they do and I am powerless to stop them. Anyway, my grandmom who has since passed on, was in a nursing home for a long time. She lived independently in an apartment for a long time, and as long as possible. She once told me that when she planned on living only a few months when she moved into the nursing home. She was wrong and the years wore on for her. She used to tell me when I was in town visiting that she didn't know why she was still alive.
"Why don't I just go ahead and die?" She said.
"I don't know," I said.
"I can't see anymore. I'm in a lot of pain and I can't do anything for anybody," she said.
"You're making me happy just seeing you," I said.
"That's a bunch of phooey," she said and she was right.
My grandmother wanted to die a lot earlier than she did. Time is a funny thing in that it is a singular difference in something we are bound by and God is not. He created us and he created time and he created us to live in time. He doesn't have too, obviously, and sometimes this can create a lot of strain on us humans because of this. A million years is as a day to God, but a million years is a million freaking years to us. My grandmother entered the nursing home and then went blind, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but sit or lie down and talk and even talking hurt. What's worse is that you get put on all these drugs for the pain that make you say and do things you normally wouldn't. What's worser than worse is that you can live long enough in that state and people start remembering you like that instead of the vibrant person you used to be. My dad once told me that everything vital to life works in her, but everything extra is gone.
What's the point of living like that? She buried her husband and three of her children. Who wants to live longer then their children? Me, that's who. Just kidding.
So when my grandmother asked me on a few occasions why she was alive, I didn't know why and couldn't tell her. Sometimes I would tell her that God new why, but I think we both thought that answer was a little weak. I think we both thought that God kind of forgot about her.
But then it happened.
My father died suddenly several years ago and things were a mess. We went to go see her and let her know what the arrangements were for the funeral. My mom was a mess. My sisters were a mess. I was a mess. There was my grandmother. She was sad, but, I don't know, solid. She sat in her wheelchair, blind and in pain, and seemed strong and even enough to hold up everyone herself. She didn't blubber. She didn't whine or complain. She just started talking, practical and in charge.
"Well we just need to cut back," she said. "I don't have to have my hair cut every week..." she just went on listing things she could do to help right the ship that had just took on a lot of water.
"Darn Straight Grandma," I thought, but I thought something else too. I was thinking about our conversations as to why she was kept alive and so many years in pain. Maybe it was for that moment in time where her strength was needed for our family. Maybe God hadn't forgotten about her after all. She was paying the bill in spades for our blessing, but sometimes blessings come from pain.
Then the door shoved inward and I heard the nurses shouting "Maynerd! Don't go in there Maynerd! Maynerd!" This dude was shoving his wheelchair backwards into people's room doors trying to get in. He had a look of incredible intensiveness on his face. I tried to meet his eyes but he didn't look at me. He didn't want anything but to get in the room. His face said, "Booyah, I'm in!" while the nurses scrambled to get him out. I'll never forget that guy. All those ladies yelling "Maynerd!" ha ha ha.
If I ever end up in a nursing home, which I will, I want to be like Maynerd. I don't want to just sit there without purpose. I want to wake up and get in my wheelchair and create enough havoc that they will put a little extra juice in my IV drip to knock me out.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Friday, October 26, 2012
10/26/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I am not a proud man today Temple. I have given up. It's time I let you in on a little secret that I've kept since middle school. I tried this week to go back on what my heart has told me over and over for so long, but it is not meant to be.
I, Justin Hunter, hate James Fenimore Cooper's novel The Last of the Mohicans. I hated this book every time I've attempted to like it, and there have been several.
I should really like this book. I am well-read. I love the classics and what is more famous or classic than this work by Cooper? Not much. I love the movie and the book is always better than the movie, isn't it?
I finished Gore Vidal's Lincoln and found myself staring at my built-in bookshelves looking for my next read. I saw the book and thought to give it another chance. You see, Temple, this book makes me feel stupid. Why don't I like it? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not learned enough to find joy in such a weighty tome?
I went in search of the answer at the library. I know I didn't have to go to the library. I have a beautifully bound copy at home. But I've tried to get into the book so much that I was bringing out the big guns, audio book style. Whenever I've had trouble getting into a book, my last resort is listening to it on CD. I can put it on when I'm on the treadmill, working on the car, doing the dishes or whatever. I've 'read' a lot of books this way I wouldn't have otherwise.
So this week I came home with all sixteen CD's of The Last of the Mohican's unabridged (that means they don't cut out anything).
I listened to the first three CD's and hate the book now more than ever. BUT NOW I KNOW WHY. I'm older now Temple and that makes me wiser. I knew I hated this book when I was a kid, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Now I can. The pacing is terrible. Cooper flowers his words more than an old lady splashes on rose water. His inability to use words less than three syllables make the pace of the reading seem as slow and jumbled as driving over a ten mile stretch of speed bumps. If this didn't hurt the reader enough, he's added footnotes and sequences of French which is akin to learning how to drive a manual car. You just get the thing going and it dies suddenly, like the book, it's hard to pick up again.
Things happen so slowly it makes the reader want to die. Cooper gives advance notice to any and all action, then has lengthy conversations and illustrious paragraphs about character's turning their heads, that you are sick on the action before it even happens. You cousin Elijah said it best, I had it on while we were doing homeschool.
"What are they doing in the story?" He said.
"They got out of the river and are talking," I said.
"They've been doing that a long time," He said.
"I know."
"They are talking about the same stuff. They aren't doing anything. Aren't they in trouble?" He said.
"They are supposed to be," I said.
"This is the worst book ever."
I agree.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I am not a proud man today Temple. I have given up. It's time I let you in on a little secret that I've kept since middle school. I tried this week to go back on what my heart has told me over and over for so long, but it is not meant to be.
I, Justin Hunter, hate James Fenimore Cooper's novel The Last of the Mohicans. I hated this book every time I've attempted to like it, and there have been several.
I should really like this book. I am well-read. I love the classics and what is more famous or classic than this work by Cooper? Not much. I love the movie and the book is always better than the movie, isn't it?
I finished Gore Vidal's Lincoln and found myself staring at my built-in bookshelves looking for my next read. I saw the book and thought to give it another chance. You see, Temple, this book makes me feel stupid. Why don't I like it? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not learned enough to find joy in such a weighty tome?
I went in search of the answer at the library. I know I didn't have to go to the library. I have a beautifully bound copy at home. But I've tried to get into the book so much that I was bringing out the big guns, audio book style. Whenever I've had trouble getting into a book, my last resort is listening to it on CD. I can put it on when I'm on the treadmill, working on the car, doing the dishes or whatever. I've 'read' a lot of books this way I wouldn't have otherwise.
So this week I came home with all sixteen CD's of The Last of the Mohican's unabridged (that means they don't cut out anything).
I listened to the first three CD's and hate the book now more than ever. BUT NOW I KNOW WHY. I'm older now Temple and that makes me wiser. I knew I hated this book when I was a kid, but I couldn't put my finger on why. Now I can. The pacing is terrible. Cooper flowers his words more than an old lady splashes on rose water. His inability to use words less than three syllables make the pace of the reading seem as slow and jumbled as driving over a ten mile stretch of speed bumps. If this didn't hurt the reader enough, he's added footnotes and sequences of French which is akin to learning how to drive a manual car. You just get the thing going and it dies suddenly, like the book, it's hard to pick up again.
Things happen so slowly it makes the reader want to die. Cooper gives advance notice to any and all action, then has lengthy conversations and illustrious paragraphs about character's turning their heads, that you are sick on the action before it even happens. You cousin Elijah said it best, I had it on while we were doing homeschool.
"What are they doing in the story?" He said.
"They got out of the river and are talking," I said.
"They've been doing that a long time," He said.
"I know."
"They are talking about the same stuff. They aren't doing anything. Aren't they in trouble?" He said.
"They are supposed to be," I said.
"This is the worst book ever."
I agree.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Thursday, October 25, 2012
10/25/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's about 5:45 in the morning. I've been up for awhile and off and on all night. The baby it teething. The little sharp bones lacerating through his gums makes him uncomfortable. He's awake and he makes sure we are too.
Your Aunt Crystal and I get to meet our new son on the 3rd. Elijah is coming with us. The little ones will be on a visit with their biological family. It should be a good time. He could be with us permanently as soon as Thanksgiving. That would be nice.
Having four kids will keep us very busy. You can ask your grandma about that - but we will survive. We are made out of the sternest mold. Sternest mold? I know I'm mixing up my phrases, but I don't care. You get the idea.
Yesterday I actually sat down and wrote 400 words on my newest novel. I haven't worked on it in awhile. When I get any sort of break I'm just too tired to really invest in something like writing. That's kind of depressing so I'll talk about something else.
Tuesday started roughly. The baby kept us up all night with his teething issues. He only slept when it was time for us to get up, which makes you want to strangle the little buggers. The toddler was calling to get up so I got him. Two things happened to him during the night that don't usually happen. His diaper slipped and he had a bowel movement. His pajamas showed no leakage from the outside, but unzipping them showed a foulness that cannot be described without vomiting on my laptop, so I won't...yes I will - It was like he was wearing a Hazmat suit backwards - all the nasty kept inside.
I gagged all the way through giving him a shower and gagged while cleaning the shower after. Then Elijah and the baby woke up. They got baths/showers and breakfast and we went right into a pretty intensive homeschool session with Elijah.
We had to accomplish homeschool quickly since I had a meeting in Saint Louis to go over our adoptive son's file. It was also laundry day so I was washing and folding mountains of clothes. I used the stove timer to keep on track. This was a very busy morning.
Now usually I don't get my shower in until 10:00. I can shower earlier if we're going somewhere, but that entails putting the little ones in a bouncer and pack-in-play in the bathroom so I can watch them while I get clean. They hate this and let me know about it. I don't like showering amidst the screams of young children, so I was planning on waiting.
Things were in full swing when we heard a knock on the door at nine. I ignored it at first. I thought it was either one of Elijah's friends or a neighbor who needed to borrow something. It's not the nicest thing to ignore a knock, but I did. The person wouldn't leave and continued knocking so I answered the door.
There was the children's foster social worker. We had a meeting that morning and I had forgotten about it.
Usually when she comes for her monthly visit our house looks like the set on Masterpiece Theatre. Everything is spotless. The toddler walks in wearing his cummerbund. I pretend this is how things always are. We talk for awhile and she leaves.
On Tuesday she walked in and the sofa was full of folded laundry with a pile on the side that needed folding. Laundry that doesn't get put in the dryer was hung on the built-in bookshelves. Toys were everywhere. I was putting most of my concentration on getting Elijah's schooling done rather than cleaning up after the toy dumping duo.
The worst part was me. Now the boys were clean, fed, wearing clean clothes and happy. I was a mess. I hadn't showered. I needed a shave. To top it all off, I answered the door wearing nothing but jeans. My greeting went like this.
"Hi," I said, "I'm going to go put on a shirt." She didn't beg me not too, so I know I should hit the treadmill a little bit more. I'm kidding.
I was very embarrassed. Now the house was messy with toys and clean laundry, but it wasn't dirty. I wasn't showered and dressed, but the boys were. It was kind of a normal day here, it's just not the picture I strive to portray to the social workers that pass regularly through our home. I explained my appearance and apologized for forgetting our meeting, and the worker said it was okay.
"It's not the first time I've had someone answer the door that way," she said.
"That makes me feel better," I said.
"Never in a foster home," she said, "But it's not the first time."
"That's nice," I said.
Darn it Temple - When you start to take yourself seriously, God gives you plenty of reason for humbleness.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's about 5:45 in the morning. I've been up for awhile and off and on all night. The baby it teething. The little sharp bones lacerating through his gums makes him uncomfortable. He's awake and he makes sure we are too.
Your Aunt Crystal and I get to meet our new son on the 3rd. Elijah is coming with us. The little ones will be on a visit with their biological family. It should be a good time. He could be with us permanently as soon as Thanksgiving. That would be nice.
Having four kids will keep us very busy. You can ask your grandma about that - but we will survive. We are made out of the sternest mold. Sternest mold? I know I'm mixing up my phrases, but I don't care. You get the idea.
Yesterday I actually sat down and wrote 400 words on my newest novel. I haven't worked on it in awhile. When I get any sort of break I'm just too tired to really invest in something like writing. That's kind of depressing so I'll talk about something else.
Tuesday started roughly. The baby kept us up all night with his teething issues. He only slept when it was time for us to get up, which makes you want to strangle the little buggers. The toddler was calling to get up so I got him. Two things happened to him during the night that don't usually happen. His diaper slipped and he had a bowel movement. His pajamas showed no leakage from the outside, but unzipping them showed a foulness that cannot be described without vomiting on my laptop, so I won't...yes I will - It was like he was wearing a Hazmat suit backwards - all the nasty kept inside.
I gagged all the way through giving him a shower and gagged while cleaning the shower after. Then Elijah and the baby woke up. They got baths/showers and breakfast and we went right into a pretty intensive homeschool session with Elijah.
We had to accomplish homeschool quickly since I had a meeting in Saint Louis to go over our adoptive son's file. It was also laundry day so I was washing and folding mountains of clothes. I used the stove timer to keep on track. This was a very busy morning.
Now usually I don't get my shower in until 10:00. I can shower earlier if we're going somewhere, but that entails putting the little ones in a bouncer and pack-in-play in the bathroom so I can watch them while I get clean. They hate this and let me know about it. I don't like showering amidst the screams of young children, so I was planning on waiting.
Things were in full swing when we heard a knock on the door at nine. I ignored it at first. I thought it was either one of Elijah's friends or a neighbor who needed to borrow something. It's not the nicest thing to ignore a knock, but I did. The person wouldn't leave and continued knocking so I answered the door.
There was the children's foster social worker. We had a meeting that morning and I had forgotten about it.
Usually when she comes for her monthly visit our house looks like the set on Masterpiece Theatre. Everything is spotless. The toddler walks in wearing his cummerbund. I pretend this is how things always are. We talk for awhile and she leaves.
On Tuesday she walked in and the sofa was full of folded laundry with a pile on the side that needed folding. Laundry that doesn't get put in the dryer was hung on the built-in bookshelves. Toys were everywhere. I was putting most of my concentration on getting Elijah's schooling done rather than cleaning up after the toy dumping duo.
The worst part was me. Now the boys were clean, fed, wearing clean clothes and happy. I was a mess. I hadn't showered. I needed a shave. To top it all off, I answered the door wearing nothing but jeans. My greeting went like this.
"Hi," I said, "I'm going to go put on a shirt." She didn't beg me not too, so I know I should hit the treadmill a little bit more. I'm kidding.
I was very embarrassed. Now the house was messy with toys and clean laundry, but it wasn't dirty. I wasn't showered and dressed, but the boys were. It was kind of a normal day here, it's just not the picture I strive to portray to the social workers that pass regularly through our home. I explained my appearance and apologized for forgetting our meeting, and the worker said it was okay.
"It's not the first time I've had someone answer the door that way," she said.
"That makes me feel better," I said.
"Never in a foster home," she said, "But it's not the first time."
"That's nice," I said.
Darn it Temple - When you start to take yourself seriously, God gives you plenty of reason for humbleness.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
10/23/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Early morning note for you. The boys have been keeping me very busy and I'm tired of flaking out on making sure I get to talk to you. So you get an early morning note - Your uncle has risen to the new dawn (actually I wish the boys would let me sleep until dawn. I'm going to have to rephrase.) Your uncle has risen to the waning night. That's better. I'm going with it. Night can wane in these notes. I don't care.
Our toddler is a little nuts in the morning. He wakes up as early as possible so as not to miss your aunt Crystal going to work. He is very insistent. He's also a light sleeper. I think this morning he woke up to the automatic coffee pot turning on. So I'm sitting here thinking about how I need coffee because I'm tired, but the coffee is what's making me tired since it woke my kid up. It's kind of like the snake solacing his hunger by devouring his own tail.
I'm not really sure what I want to eat for breakfast. Maybe I just won't. When I grew up I would eat leftovers for breakfast usually, so I've had some pretty nice spreads when I've broken fast. Right now I could go for some Chinese food, as odd as that sounds. I don't have any leftover Chinese food in the fridge and I'm feeling pretty particular - so I just may skip food until my taste buds wake up with the rest of my body.
I used to live in De Pere, Wisconsin. It's a nice place near Green Bay. I had a small studio apartment above a photography studio. It was cheap and served my needs. I have a nice house now, but I still sometimes miss the simplicity of living entirely in one room. Your Aunt doesn't agree with me on that. Anyway, There were small apartments above stores and one of the store, which I frequented, was Number 1 Chinese Restaurant. They made some really great food there. Being the Number 1 Chinese restaurant, I guess they should.
Where was I? The story I'm about to tell you isn't about breakfast. It's not about De Pere. It's not about very much at all except for Chinese food. This conversational bridge only supported by my minor food craving. I'm tired - just walk with me.
I knew the owner of the place back then. We got on well. Earlier that day I had watched a news program that spoke to how bad Chinese food was for you. After ordering I asked him about that.
"I heard Chinese food is bad for you," I said.
"It's not bad. It's good," He said. "I'll show you." He brought out two plates and set them on the counter.
"Ready?" He said.
"I can't wait," I said. He took a large scoop of rice and put it on the first plate.
"This is China," He said as he put a small scoop of Sesame Chicken on the bed of rice. "You understand?"
"I follow you," I said.
"This is America," He said as he put a small scoop of rice on the second plate then slathered it with a heaping dollop of Sesame Chicken. You couldn't see the rice under all that sweet brown goo.
"You understand?" He said.
I did.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. Early morning note for you. The boys have been keeping me very busy and I'm tired of flaking out on making sure I get to talk to you. So you get an early morning note - Your uncle has risen to the new dawn (actually I wish the boys would let me sleep until dawn. I'm going to have to rephrase.) Your uncle has risen to the waning night. That's better. I'm going with it. Night can wane in these notes. I don't care.
Our toddler is a little nuts in the morning. He wakes up as early as possible so as not to miss your aunt Crystal going to work. He is very insistent. He's also a light sleeper. I think this morning he woke up to the automatic coffee pot turning on. So I'm sitting here thinking about how I need coffee because I'm tired, but the coffee is what's making me tired since it woke my kid up. It's kind of like the snake solacing his hunger by devouring his own tail.
I'm not really sure what I want to eat for breakfast. Maybe I just won't. When I grew up I would eat leftovers for breakfast usually, so I've had some pretty nice spreads when I've broken fast. Right now I could go for some Chinese food, as odd as that sounds. I don't have any leftover Chinese food in the fridge and I'm feeling pretty particular - so I just may skip food until my taste buds wake up with the rest of my body.
I used to live in De Pere, Wisconsin. It's a nice place near Green Bay. I had a small studio apartment above a photography studio. It was cheap and served my needs. I have a nice house now, but I still sometimes miss the simplicity of living entirely in one room. Your Aunt doesn't agree with me on that. Anyway, There were small apartments above stores and one of the store, which I frequented, was Number 1 Chinese Restaurant. They made some really great food there. Being the Number 1 Chinese restaurant, I guess they should.
Where was I? The story I'm about to tell you isn't about breakfast. It's not about De Pere. It's not about very much at all except for Chinese food. This conversational bridge only supported by my minor food craving. I'm tired - just walk with me.
I knew the owner of the place back then. We got on well. Earlier that day I had watched a news program that spoke to how bad Chinese food was for you. After ordering I asked him about that.
"I heard Chinese food is bad for you," I said.
"It's not bad. It's good," He said. "I'll show you." He brought out two plates and set them on the counter.
"Ready?" He said.
"I can't wait," I said. He took a large scoop of rice and put it on the first plate.
"This is China," He said as he put a small scoop of Sesame Chicken on the bed of rice. "You understand?"
"I follow you," I said.
"This is America," He said as he put a small scoop of rice on the second plate then slathered it with a heaping dollop of Sesame Chicken. You couldn't see the rice under all that sweet brown goo.
"You understand?" He said.
I did.
I love you much and miss you always,
Uncle Justin
Sunday, October 21, 2012
10/21/12
Dear Temple,
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I had a great time this weekend. I got to forget stress and just enjoy time with family and friends. My brother-in-law Aaron drove down from Green Bay and took me to see the Rams/Packer game. I've lived here since 2003 and have never been to a Rams game. Season tickets are reasonable and we can use your Aunt Crystal's work parking space which is two blocks from the stadium. I may pick up a couple season tickets for next year. If you're down on a weekend when they're playing, I would like to take you.
I was a little worried about wearing a Packers jersey at Ram's Stadium, but the place was half full of Packers fans. It was almost like a home game. The fans of Green Bay really love their team to make the drive. Green Bay is truly a great place to be if you're a football fan. You've been alive when the Packers have been predominantly a winning team, but I've lived through some pretty awful seasons. There is a difference between St. Louis and Green Bay. Even during those years when the losses pile up - the stadium is full of fans and everyone loves their Packers team. The Rams just don't have that. They love their team when they win. When they lose - not so much.
I also got to enjoy a nice time with our friends Amy and Jeffrey who hung out with us last night. Crystal, Aaron, the Johnson's and I had a nice fire outside and talked well into the night. Good conversation with good people. I think you would have enjoyed it.
I'll write more tomorrow, I have some funny stories for you. I just have a lot to attend to tonight. Just want you to know that I miss you and love you very much,
Uncle Justin
I hope this note finds you well and happy. I had a great time this weekend. I got to forget stress and just enjoy time with family and friends. My brother-in-law Aaron drove down from Green Bay and took me to see the Rams/Packer game. I've lived here since 2003 and have never been to a Rams game. Season tickets are reasonable and we can use your Aunt Crystal's work parking space which is two blocks from the stadium. I may pick up a couple season tickets for next year. If you're down on a weekend when they're playing, I would like to take you.
I was a little worried about wearing a Packers jersey at Ram's Stadium, but the place was half full of Packers fans. It was almost like a home game. The fans of Green Bay really love their team to make the drive. Green Bay is truly a great place to be if you're a football fan. You've been alive when the Packers have been predominantly a winning team, but I've lived through some pretty awful seasons. There is a difference between St. Louis and Green Bay. Even during those years when the losses pile up - the stadium is full of fans and everyone loves their Packers team. The Rams just don't have that. They love their team when they win. When they lose - not so much.
I also got to enjoy a nice time with our friends Amy and Jeffrey who hung out with us last night. Crystal, Aaron, the Johnson's and I had a nice fire outside and talked well into the night. Good conversation with good people. I think you would have enjoyed it.
I'll write more tomorrow, I have some funny stories for you. I just have a lot to attend to tonight. Just want you to know that I miss you and love you very much,
Uncle Justin
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