Catharsis of the Bogue

Oddities, Profundities, Profanities and Dad Stuff

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SAHD Friday- A Lack of Naked Barbies….

March 6, 2015 / / 0 Comments

Hello all.  So I am back to writing my Friday posts all about being a Stay at Home Dad.

Last night I had a strange thought.  I was getting in the shower and there were no naked barbies in the tub.  Let me tell you, there is a creepiness that Mattel never intended with a Barbie doll that is your daughter playing with them in the bath, and subsequently leaving them there.  Without clothes.  Why? “Well Daddy, she can’t bath with her clothes on.”  was the logic from my oldest daughter, though she would probably deny that now.

 

Playing with the barbies in the bath would not be so bad, it is when I would go to take a shower and there were 10 of the things naked in the tub.  Made me feel quite creepy to tell the truth.  But last night there were no naked barbies.  Sure I had to clean up some hot wheels cars and a boat, but no barbies.  I had almost a nostalgic twang before the elation crept in.

 

My kids are growing up.  My youngest daughter is almost 9, and she rarely plays in the bath anymore, and when she does, she cleans up the toys.  The older kids just shower.  It is only my 4 year old son who has the bulk of the bath toys, and his are not barbie.

 

Mainly, I start thinking about how my kids are growing up, and the things that we are losing, or more correctly, just done with.  We start cleaning out things to send to charity, and many of the toys that we have accumulated over the years are not relevant or just not being played with anymore.  We don’t want to hang on to these, we don’t want to move them again.  We have thought about saving some for grandkids to play with in the future, but, looking at it, why bother?  By the time we have grandkids and unpack these wonderful (?) toys that we have saved, the plastic will be brittle, pieces will be lost, and there will be so many other new toys out there that it doesn’t make sense to save anything.

 

Some other things have gone away as well.  My favorite thing to get rid of was the diaper genie.  Now, the diaper pail is a great invention, and the diaper genie is great because it holds in some of the smell, but I’ll tell you, the day we thew that thing in the garbage 2 years ago I danced a jig.  We have finally now got rid of all diapers and pull ups.  Some days I am not sure if that is a good thing or not, it is easier to toss a pull up than wash out tiny underwear, but….I have a whole other post about potty training coming up.

 

In the end, there are some pangs of nostalgia for the things that we had to have when the kids were babies and now don’t need anymore.  There are strange feelings when you realize your daughter, your little girl, the one you held most of the first night when she was born the day before yesterday (now 14 years) now needs deoderant, or a bra….don’t get me started.  Or when your son starts to leak body odor like an Exxon tanker, and it is time for his deoderant.  Or when it is finally time to stop helping your kids bathe because they are just too old and it is not appropriate.

 

Yes there will be new things.  in about a year and a half, there will be a drivers license for my oldest, some pretty significant church stuff for my son, and school starting for the youngest.  Holy cow, I am getting old.  But I wouldn’t trade this for the world.

 

Until later,

 

-Justin

 

 

 

Lessons Learned in the Desert. Part 2.

January 16, 2015 / / 9 Comments

head on back Here and read Part 1 of this story from yesterday if you haven’t already.

This weekend I taught my daughter 9 and my son who will be 7 in a week how to shoot.  They kind of knew about guns but had never handled one.  They mainly knew what they had seen on TV or in movies.  That of course is not necessarily  safe or correct.  **disclaimer here- Safety is my #1 priority when it comes to guns.  I once got knocked on my butt by my grandpa for turning around with my rifle (cradled and unloaded mind you, we just got out of the truck) and the muzzle passing within a foot of him.  Never forgot that.  Never lost track of a muzzle again either.**

Now, I needed to teach them safety but I didn’t want to be a Nazi about it.  Until I realized that I had to be a Nazi about it.  There was no getting around these rules.  There was no give to these rules.  That is why they were taught to me like that.  And you know, they seem to have taken just fine.  My son took them to heart and I only had to remind him a couple of times.  But I could not relax on the rules.

We went through the rest of the afternoon without a problem.  My son almost had it figured out.  He was almost hitting the targets at the end, but he was so tired he couldn’t hold the rifle anymore.  So of course I pulled out one of the big pistols and helped him shoot that.  I am not sure he could have smiled bigger without some sort of injury and the giggle that came from him was priceless.

I can only hope that I have done “it” right.  This is the first of many trips I am sure but I think this first one is one of the most important.  I’ll never forget the lessons I learned my first trip, and I hope he doesn’t forget his.

I also tried to teach my 9 year old daughter how to shoot.  She took a couple of shots and decided that it wasn’t for her.  I am fine with that.  Not because of some stupid notion that girls shouldn’t shoot, My aunt could shoot well, my Grandma was fantastic.  My sister could prune branches from a tree with a .357 Magnum when she was about 14.  My wife is pretty good as well, so that is not an issue.

My  daughter decided that it wasn’t something that she wanted to do.  She didn’t like the danger of it or what could happen.  Again, goal accomplished.  She may not be a shooter, but she knows how to handle a gun and she will be safe around them.  She told my wife and I later that she was afraid of the power that guns can have.

If you have read very many posts here you will remember that my wife is a trauma nurse in the ER.  She has all sorts of horror stories about people shooting each other.  Those have stuck with my daughter.  I respect that.  I won’t push her into something that she does not want a part of.  But, at any point, if she wants to learn more and shoot again, I am not going to be hesitant about it.

This was a great trip overall.  There is nothing quite as satisfying as sharing your passions with your kids.  Friends are one thing, but your kids are awesome.  I will never forget my son trying like hell to hit that bottle so it would explode.  I willnever forget his giggle at the boom and kick of the big gun.  I will never forget my daughter saying she was done and she was going to go hiking.

I will also never forget the nostalgia that I felt as I placed targets up on the trees.  There was a time I was walking back to our shooting “station” and I could almost feel my Dad and Grandpa there.  I would like to believe that my Grandpa, Great-Grandpa and my uncles who liked to shoot but have passed were there with us watching and smiling at me passing the traditions on to my son.

It was exciting but at the same time disheartening to take over my dad’s place as instructor.  Here I am, almost 36 years old and I am still growing up.  I am sure that there will be other episodes where I feel like that.  I just hope that I will do the right things when the time comes.

Until Next Time,

-Justin

Videotape and Memories, Some Things Best Left to Still Pictures

January 16, 2015 / / 0 Comments

I was watching a video with my 3 year old yesterday. It was the raw footage of our vacation to Disneyland last fall. I realized a few things while watching this. First I really need to edit the thing, I seem to have a lens cap problem and recording the inside of said lens cap. Second, although these are “precious memories”, are they really necessary? The video that is not the memories. Those are what is important.

I have always liked the idea of video cameras and the wonders of home movies. But many times I watch them and wonder if a slide show of still pics would be better. There is something that I like about looking at the split second captured in a picture. I like to remember what it felt like and what I was thinking when it was taken.

I know that you can still get all of that with video, but video is laced with noise and stupid comments that take some of the “remembering” out of the equation. It is kind of like reading the book vs. watching the movie, not as much imagination needed. Maybe they had it right before with 8mm movies. Sure they were people waving like mad at the camera but there was no sound and much more “remembering”.

Video isn’t bad. The kids especially love to see themselves having fun and sometimes it is great to sit back and be shown your memories. I just happen to like my still pictures. I like to be able to take some pictures with me and show them off. I can’t do that with video and don’t start emailing me with how ipods and iphones can have video on them as well as pictures, I don’t care about that. I don’t have the right setup to get the video off of my camera to the computer. Sometimes paper pictures are the best thing to have with you.

Not that digital photos are not the best thing that has happened since kodachrome film, I love digital pics.  I don’t want to get along without them.  I just get prints made at Costco.

Plan a weekend to go capture some memories, on video or in still pictures.

Justin

Fiction Saturday 2! Jackson Malone part 1

January 16, 2015 / / 4 Comments

Well friends I am back with Fiction Saturday volume 2!!!  This is a noir style piece that I did a while ago.  Looks like 6 episodes of this one!  Thanks for reading!

Most people call me Jack.  Jackson is just too long, unless it’s Jackson Malone.  That rolls off the tongue quite nicely.  That’s me.  Jackson Malone.  Private Eye.  And I am on a case.  The case is simple.  Murder.

The brother of the victim had come to me for justice.  The police wouldn’t help much.  Their case was open and shut.  One homeless derelict beats another to death over a blanket or some other trinket.  Happens all the time in the city.  Case closed.  Until Rob Moran came into my ramshackle office that Thursday.

“Mr. Moran.  It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jackson Malone.  How can I help you today?” I asked this to a short man in a cheap suit as he entered my office for his appointment.  “Fine.  Fine.” He nervously replied.  “I need to, well, kind of, hire a, um, well, a, um, detective.”   “Well you’ve come to the right place.” I assured him.  “Would you like some coffee or something?”  “Than, than, thanks.” He stammered.  “But do you have anything stronger?”

“Sure, “I said “But it’s only 10 in the morning.”  “That’s ok.” He blurted out.  “I just need it.”  I got the bottle of whiskey from my desk drawer, a glass from the shelf behind me, and poured a couple of ounces into it.  He drank greedily.  I tilted the bottle to offer more but he shook his head.  “Thanks.  I needed that.”  “Well Mr. Moran,” I started again, “What can I do for you?”   “Well, I need help.” He said.  “I want you to find out who killed my brother, Nelson Moran.”

“Woah.” I said,  “This case has been all over the news.  The police have already closed it.  I may not find anything.”   “That is alright.” He replied.  “I just want you to look and try.  I need to know what happened.”   “Fine.” I said, “I will do what I can.”  “Great.  I appreciate it.”  He said as he pushed a retainer check for $500 across the battered wood surface of my desk.  That was more money than I had seen for a good 2 or 3 months.  I took the case.

“I’ll start tomorrow.  Where did he live?”  “That’s the thing,” he started.  “He was kind of homeless.  I do know that he had talked about shacking up in a warehouse on 1st and 32nd but I heard that place burned down about a week ago.  I can’t be much more specific than that.  He wouldn’t come live with me.”  “Alright.”  I said.  “Tomorrow, I will go down there and see what I can dig up.”  “Please do I really want to find out what happened.  My psychiatrist says it is “Closure”  I hope it will help.”  “I hope so too.” I said.  We stood, shook hands, and he left me to my thoughts and the $500 retainer on my desk

The next day was almost dismal, the weather trying to decide if it was sunny or going to rain.  I was in good spirits though.  I had some cash and a job to do.  I actually got up early to begin.

Rob had told me that his brother was homeless, which didn’t help hardly at all, but I decided to check out the warehouse down on 32nd street.  I walked the dozen blocks to the place and stood in front, just looking for anything that may be helpful.

The warehouse had been condemned and boarded up after the fire but it looked like a good place to find homeless people who may know something in exchange for five bucks or so.  I threw my half -burned cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with my shoe, preparing myself for anything.  I walked towards the alley that ran beside the building, hoping that a side door had been jimmied open and allowed ingress to the building.  There was.

The smell of smoke and burned paper were still strong as I approached the warehouse even though the fire had been out for over 3 months according to Alan Rich, my editor friend at the Times.  He had told me that the warehouse was a storage facility for sensitive documents that the police were holding.  The theory was that the fire was a cover up.  Of course nothing could be proven so here sat the empty warehouse.

As I got to the entrance to the alleyway and ducked the yellow crime scene tape, the scents of feces and urine joined the smoke.  Rotting garbage made its appearance, further assaulting my nose as I entered.  The sun was high over head, if filtered by high clouds, and it was easy to see the stained concrete and the graffiti on the walls; as well as the door to the warehouse, jimmied open.  It was on my right about thirty yards ahead of me.

Join us next week for part 2 of Fiction Saturday!  Jackson Malone.

Thanks for reading!

-Justin

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