The Coffee Break

Time for a coffee break

It's Sunday afternoon and time to sit down with a cup of what I call coffee. I've just finished cleaning out a garage filled with several years accumulation of bikes and toys and other items best described as, well, crap. With my mouth, nose, and hair full of dust, dirt, and cobwebs, a hot shower felt great. And now, a mug o' joe, sitting at the kitchen table.

This was almost a ritual with my dad, and often mom too, albeit on a Saturday afternoon: Yard work at a stopping point, supper 90 minutes in the future, it was time for a cup of coffee and, if luck would have it, a fresh slice of coffee cake or a cinnamon roll. (And, if luck wouldn't have it, a cookie or two from the green glass cookie jar that now rests on my kitchen counter.)

I thought of all this as I decided to take a break after finishing my chores and before making dinner. Looking out, there is not a bud, bloom, or leaf in sight. But, I can finally see more lawn than snow, even if it is still brown and dormant. And the river is moving again with a crowded pre-St. Patrick's Day parade of various sized chunks and slabs of ice and snow on their way to the Great Lakes. And the squirrels are busy chasing one another about the yard and park-- that can't be good: I fear more furry tailed rodents are just a few weeks away.

I'll be 58 tomorrow, probably about his age in the picture above, and I feel like I'm channeling my dad a bit, sitting at this table. And that's not a bad thing. My parents recognized the value in an afternoon coffee break; a moment to catch up; a moment to sit and watch the world go by, to see the neighborhood at work and play. Not a bad idea, stopping for 10 or 15 minutes. I never do this but I've probably been missing something.

I know what they missed: Advil. Time to take a couple and start dinner!

Making Do

A party perfect wrap

Mark Twain is credited with a comment that goes something like, "...heaven for climate, hell for company." I think I could paraphrase something to the effect, Mom for style, Dad for ingenuity.

I have Evan with me this weekend along with the instruction that he needs to get to a classmate's birthday party at 11:30 Sunday morning. Along with that, we needed to pick up a gift. Oh, and wrap it, too.

If any of you have ever received a wrapped package from me you already know where this is going. I love giving gifts and pride myself when it comes to wrapping all my own packages. I'm not that lame-ass manly guy hovering around the Girl Scout table in the Mall at Christmas time, waiting to have some board-certified-in-package-wrapping mom turn my gifts into Martha Stewart worthy works of wrapped, tied, and bowed genius. No. I'm your basic one pair of scissors, one roll of wrapping paper, one roll of tape kinda guy.

Finding the appropriate gift was easy enough: Every 8 year old needs an easy to assemble scale model of an American warplane, right? Check. And then around 9 o'clock last night I realized I had failed to pick-up some wrapping paper. And tape.

No problem for this daddy-o. I learned years ago there are certain tangible advantages to shopping at the better department stores. Just one of those advantages is getting those sturdy and attractive paper shopping bags over the holidays. And so it is that Evan will be showing up at the party today with the most special, and hardy, gift wrap of the bunch-- guaranteed. The formula was easy enough for an ingenious guy like me:

This (Mom taught me to never throw out those nice sturdy shopping bags): 

Plus this (who needs Scotch tape when you've got packing tape in the drawer?):

Equals this:

I know, thank you, genius! Right? You have to feel that baby to really appreciate its heft. Oh, and those Tootsie Rolls? Well, yeah, they've been here a bit, but Ev agreed, they make the perfect final touch.

If mom had been in charge, Evan's buddy would be receiving his gift in a gorgeous little ship-shape package-- well styled and reeking of happy-birthday-8-year-old-boy. But, as they say in truly critical situations, that just wasn't an option. Faced with a crisis, I made do. Hopefully, not do-do.