Aaron Blaylock's Blog, page 6

Bromeo and Dueliet

“I dost not see why thou art so upset,” Bob spoke in melodic fashion.

“Are you kidding me?” Woodruff replied.

“This wast on thy list.”

“Not exactly.”

“Ay, tis exactly what thou wrote,” Bob argued.  He walked over to a wooden crate, beneath rack of knobs with several rope pulleys tied to them.  Bob beckoned Woodruff to him as he pulled up his floor-length gown and removed a rolled up rabbits pelt from the side pocket of his cargo shorts.

“Take me not at my word,” Bob said as he unfurled the rabbits pelt and pointed to the first line that had not yet been marked off.  “Thou didst desire to partake in a Shakespearean production.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But’ist what?” Bob interrupted.  “Did not Shakespeare pen Romeo and Juliet?”

“Bob, listen…”

“And ist this not a production,” Bob blew the wispy hairs of his wig from his face and turned with a grand gesture to the stage and curtains to his right.

“Granted, this is a Shakespearean production, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Woodruff said.

“Come on, Woodruff,” Bob said as he pulled off his wig.  “You need to get in character.  We go on in, like, two minutes.”

“About that,” Woodruff said.  “I don’t think I can do it.”

“What?” Bob exclaimed.  “This is an exclusive theatre troupe.”

“A little too exclusive.”

“This audition is a big deal,” Bob said.  “There is only one orthodox Shakespearean company in the country.”

“Maybe we should have gone with an unorthodox company,” Woodruff said tugging at the high frilly neck of his costume.

“Woodruff and Bob,” a portly man in a cravat shouted back stage.  “You’re on.”

“Bob I don’t want to do this,” Woodruff whisper-yelled after Bob, who quickly fixed his wig, hiked up his gown and hurried to center stage.  The curtains rolled open and a spotlight fell on Bob.  He laid down dramatically on the stage floor.

“Wilt thou be gone?” Bob projected out at the three men in the front row of a nearly empty theater.  “It is not yet near day.  It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear.  Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree.  Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.”

Woodruff reluctantly shuffled onto the stage and knelt down next to Bob.

“It was the lark, the herald of the morn…Bob I can’t do this.”

He stood up and began to exit stage left.  Bob scrambled and caught him by the leg.

“Yon light is not day-light, I know it,” Bob shouted as he clung to Woodruff’s pant leg.  “Therefore stay yet, thou need’st not to be gone.”

“Let go, Bob,” Woodruff said.  He fought to free himself from Bob’s grip.

Bob released Woodruff and stood up, gracefully straightening his dress.

“The lark sings so out of tune,” Bob said with a bashful chuckle to the unamused judges in the front row.

Woodruff hurried off the stage and Bob followed sheepishly after him.

“Some say the lark makes sweet division,” he said before he passed behind the curtain.  As soon as he was out of view of the judges, he pushed aside the hair from his wig that had fallen in front of his face and found Woodruff taking off his costume.  “You are embarrassing me.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Woodruff said, pulling his frilly shirt over his head.

“Is this because I’m a dude?”

“Yes!”

“They’re all dudes.”

“I know, that’s my problem.”

“In Shakespeare’s day all the actors were men,” Bob argued.  “These guys are old school.  This is legit Shakespeare.”

“It’s a little too legit.”

“This is all because you don’t want kiss me, isn’t it?”

“I so don’t.”

“Is it because I didn’t shave?”

“No!” Woodruff shouted.  “I mean, that didn’t help but I just don’t want to do a romantic play with a bunch of men.”

“That’s sexist.”

“It’s really not.”

“Fine,” Bob said.  “So no Romeo and Juliet.”

Bob sulked over to the corner and sat on a stool with his arms folded.  Woodruff took a deep breath and joined him in the backstage nook.  He leaned against the wall and sighed.  Bob sighed louder and Woodruff forced another sigh in return.  Bob looked up at him and sighed again.  Woodruff took another deep breath and sighed aggressively.  Bob stood up from the stool to face his friend and sighed back at him.  The two of them stood almost nose to nose and traded earnest sighs.

“Hey!” the man in the cravat shouted.  “Take it outside!”

Woodruff pushed open the metal door beneath the red exit sign and they both scurried outside.  Bob looked up the alley to the busy street in front of the theater.  A large raccoon crawled out from behind a dumpster and stood up on its hind legs.  It hissed threateningly at Bob, and Woodruff quickly jumped in between them.

“Back!” Woodruff yelled as he spread his arms to shield Bob.  “Back, foul creature!”

The raccoon hissed again and swiped at the air menacingly.

“Wilt thou provoke me?” Woodruff said.  He picked up a trash can lid and lunged at the raccoon.  “Have at thee!”

“O Lord, they fight,” Bob said.  “I will go call the watch.”

On one knee Woodruff fended off the attacking raccoon while Bob crouched behind him.

“Lunge, parry,” Bob coached Woodruff from a safe distance.  “Strike.”

Woodruff threw the lid at the raccoon and missed badly, hitting the dumpster.  The loud bang from the impact sent the frightened raccoon fleeing down the alley.

“Go,” Bob yelled at the raccoon.  “Get thee hence.”

Woodruff and Bob turned and smiled at each other, quite satisfied with their victory.

“You hungry?” Woodruff asked.

“I could eat,” Bob said.

“I saw a pottage stand around the corner.”

“Can I wear the dress?”

“Ay, if thou wilt forsake the wig.”

“Never!”

“Then wilt thou walk a measure behind me?”

“Forsooth, and onward to pottage,” Bob declared.

Woodruff led the way out of the alley with Bob sauntering beside him, trying to keep his blue silky skirt from draping in the gutter.

“What do raccoons have against you?” Woodruff asked.

“It’s an old grudge from back in my dumpster driving days,” Bob said.

“You mean dumpster diving,” Woodruff corrected as they left the alley and started up the street.

“Nope, dumpster driving,” Bob clarified.

Bacon Rhubarb Meringue Pie

Every storyteller knows that a great story is one-part truth and two-parts lie.  But I once knew an unlikely pair that needed no such recipe.  Their adventures and antics were far from believable and, therefore, would’ve made for terrible fiction.  However, a study of their tales and troubles as a work of non-fiction would’ve also proved unfruitful as rhyme and reason rarely came to play.  So I’m left with no choice but to lay their deeds before you with no expectation of meaning or moral, only the promise of a great story.

Woodruff and Bob met in a way that would’ve been considered by most to be very out of the ordinary, but for them it was just Friday.

Bob dangled his feet out of the open boxcar door and let the crisp mountain air blow in his face.

“How long are you going to hide back there?” Bob asked the shadows behind him, with his eyes out on the horizon.

Woodruff stepped out from a fortress of crates and steadied himself against the rickety wooden wall.

“I’m not hiding,” Woodruff said, as he straightened his shirt.  “The center of the car offers the smoothest ride.  Everybody knows that.”

“Not much of a view behind those boxes though,” Bob replied, looking down at his tennis shoes and watching his feet float around on the breeze.

“Maybe I didn’t come for the view,” Woodruff said.

“Your loss.” He twisted around and held out his hand.  “Name’s Bob.”

Woodruff stepped out of the shadows, extended his long arm and shook Bob’s hand.  Bob scooted over and patted the dusty floor next to him.  Without a decent excuse to refuse, Woodruff accepted the invitation and sat down next to his new traveling companion.

“And you are?”

“My name is Woodruff.”

“So where’re ya headed, Woodruff?”

“Santa Fe.”

“Me too!”

They both smiled at the happy coincidence that two men, on a train bound for Santa Fe, shared an intended destination.  In their day, Woodruff and Bob had been accused of many things, stealing the free samples at Panera Bread, illegally impersonating an Ostrich wrangler, gambling on elevator races, and at least one incident of public plumbery and scribblement, but one thing they’d rarely been accused of was overthinking.

“What’s your business in Santa Fe?” Woodruff asked.

“Pie.”

“Shut up.”

“I will not.”

“I’m going to Santa Fe for pie!”

Bob lifted one leg back into the boxcar and turned around to face Woodruff more fully.

“On the count of three, say what kind of pie,” Bob said.  “One, two…”

“Wait!” Woodruff interrupted.  “Say it on three or three and then say it?”

“Three and then say it,” Bob clarified.  “One.  Two.  Three.”

“Bacon Rhubarb Meringue,” they shouted in unison.

“Outstanding,” Bob said.

“Are you going to Raul’s Bakeshop?” Woodruff asked.

“I am!  How do you know about Raul’s?”

“I met a hobo in Flagstaff.”

“Kenny?” Bob asked.

“You know him?”

“Sure do,” Bob said.  “Kenny and I go way back.  He once saved me from a raccoon stampede.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“It was.”

“So, are you a hobo?” Woodruff asked.

“They prefer Vagabond American,” Bob said.  “But no, we just seem interested in the same things.”

“Makes sense.”

Woodruff gripped the rusty iron door frame as the boxcar rocked hard from side to side.  Bob pushed up with his hands and lifted his read end off the floor as he swayed with the motion of the train.

“There are two types of people in this world, Woodruff,” Bob began.  “Those who cling tighter when life gets bumpy, most times getting the pudding knocked out of them, and those who just close their eyes and groove with what life’s putting down.”

“People like that are why we have to have warning labels on everything,” Woodruff argued.

“I’m starting to understand this whole business casual look you’ve got going on.”

Bob gestured with circular hand motions from Woodruff’s long sleeve bottom up shirt, to his slacks, and brown Doc Martens.

“Grown-ups wear pants.”

“Not this grown-up.  Too restricting,” Bob said.  “Plus, I have fifty percent more pockets that you.  So who’s more sophisticated now?”

He pulled at the side pockets of his khaki cargo shorts, with a synchronized eyebrow raise.

“Classy,” Woodruff said with a pronounced eye roll.

“Thanks.”

Woodruff shook his head at the oblivious satisfied look on Bob’s face.  They road in silence, except for Bob’s occasional humming of the Growing Pains theme song, for the next hundred miles or so.  Woodruff twice stood up to throw himself from the train but didn’t want to chance landing on an innocent prairie dog or an orphaned coyote, so he sat back down and counted potential chupacabra dens in the high desert landscape.

“So why are you riding the rails anyway?” Bob finally asked.  “Don’t you have a car or a high horse to ride on?”

“I have a Karmann Ghia, for your information,” Woodruff said indignantly.  “But Kenny could only give directions from the rail yard.  They were fairly specific and involved an inordinate amount of detail about rat burrows and the number of decapitated doll heads you’d pass before making a left turn.”

“Classic Kenny.”

“Plus, now I can cross ‘hopping a train’ off my bucket list.”

“You have a bucket list?” Bob laughed.  “How old are you?”

“You don’t have to be old to have a bucket list,” Woodruff said.  “You don’t have anything you want to do before you go?”

“Everything.”

“What?”

“I want to do everything.”

“That’s your list?” Woodruff asked.  “Everything?”

“Yep.”

“Well you’d better get after it then.”

“Oh I intend to, right after a try a slice of Raul’s Bacon Rhubarb Meringue Pie.”

Bob winked at his lanky boxcar mate as the train lurched forward and began to slow.  Woodruff jumped up and headed back behind the crates as they rolled into the rail yard.

“I knew you were hiding!”

“No,” Woodruff shouted from behind the boxes.  “I’m just getting Sylvia.”

He emerged from behind the crates holding several small wooden tubes bound together with a brass strip.  They were all different sizes and lined up from tallest to shortest.  Bob swung his legs into the boxcar, stood up and walked over to Woodruff.

“Is that a pan flute?”

“Sure is,” Woodruff said.  “I never go anywhere without her.”

“You mean we could have been making sweet music this whole time?”

“Do you play?”

“No, but I’ve been told I sing like a goose,” Bob said proudly.

Woodruff furrowed his brow and his mouth fell open as the train came to a stop.  Bob hopped down into the gravelly rail yard and led the way over the tracks.  They passed a giant rat burrow, ducked through the opening in the chain link fence and headed between the red brick buildings with the first decapitated doll head in the alley.

“Like a goose?” Woodruff asked.

“Oh yeah,” Bob nodded vigorously.

“But…”

“The second doll head!” Bob said excitedly.  “We’re almost there.”

Across the street and through another alley they found the third doll head with brown curly hair, just as Kenny had described.  Directly to their left they saw a sign that read Raul’s Brake Shop.

“I thought he said Bakeshop, not Brake Shop,” Woodruff said.

“Does it matter?” asked Bob.

“Doesn’t it?” Woodruff replied with widened eyes.

Bob shrugged his shoulders and pulled on the grimy handle of the glass front door.  Inside was a dirty little lobby with two worn chairs, and a small end table littered with magazines.  Behind the counter stood a dark haired man with a scraggly beard and a collared shirt, with Raul stitched just above the pocket.

“Raul, we’ve come for two pieces of your Bacon Rhubarb Meringue Pie,” Bob declared.

Raul looked back and forth between Woodruff and Bob as he wiped his greasy hands on an old rag.

“Bob, I don’t think…”

“Coming right up,” Raul mumbled, unenthusiastically, as he disappeared around the corner.

Bob turned around to Woodruff, leaned on the counter and winked.  In moments, Raul returned with two large pieces of heaping meringue-topped pie.  Bob handed the first plate to Woodruff and pulled a banana money clip from the side pocket of his cargo shorts.

“I got this,” Bob said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You can get the next one.”

“Thanks,” Woodruff said.  “Oh, wait.  I have a coupon.”

Woodruff pulled an old chewing gum wrapper from his shirt pocket.  He unfolded it and showed it to Bob.  In crayon the words BOGO Raul’s Pie were scribbled above an illegible signature.  Bob gave an approving nod and Woodruff handed it to the burly man behind the counter.

“Kenny said you’d honor this,” Woodruff declared hopefully.

Raul barely examined the wrapper and placed it under the register.

“All right, two dollars,” Raul said.

“Sweet!” Bob exclaimed.

They sat on the tattered old chairs in the lobby and consumed their pie.

“Mmmm,” Woodruff hummed.

“So good,” Bob agreed.

“Worth every mile.”  Woodruff stood up, took Bob’s empty plate from him and stacked both their plates on the counter.  “Raul, my good man, my compliments to your baker.”

“Thanks,” Raul said, as he removed the plates from the counter.  “You get a 10% discount on brake pads with every piece you purchase.”

“I’ll remember that,” Woodruff said.  “For next time.”

“Later days, Raul,” Bob said with a double finger point and a twirl as he backed out the front door.

A right turn at the decapitated doll head and they were headed back to the rail yard.

“So what’s next?” Bob asked.

“Next?”

“On your ‘before I kick the bucket’ list,” Bob clarified.

“I don’t know,” Woodruff said.  “There’s lots of stuff.”

“Well if I’m going to do everything, we might as well start with your stuff,” Bob said.  “So whatcha got?”

Woodruff ducked through the opening in the chain link fence and stepped carefully around the giant rat burrow.  Bob skipped over the rails and tracks toward the waiting trains.

“I’ve always wanted to go flamingo dancing,” Woodruff said.

“You mean flamenco dancing?”

“Nope,” Woodruff said as he hopped up into the boxcar.  He reached back down to Bob and extended his hand with a wry smile.  “I mean FLAMINGO dancing.”

“Outstanding!” Bob grinned and grabbed Woodruff’s hand as he stepped up onto the train.

And so began the many adventures of Woodruff and Bob.

Ready, Set, Romance

Listen as I venture bravely into romance and help Janette Rallison with her novella anthology.

Episode 27
Janette Needs Help
Episode 28
Titles
Episode 29
Fan Questions
Episode 30
More Plotting for Janette

 

Subscribe to Ready, Set, Write Podcast on iTunes for more amazingness

Summer Book Trek 2017

Join the Summer Book Trek to read, review and win books!  Review The Unsaid to get started!

Summer Book Trek Prize Page

Fyrecon

I’m thrilled to be a part of Fyrecon June 8-10 at Weber State University – Davis Campus in Layton, Utah.  I’ll be teaching two classes and sitting on four panels.

https://www.fyrecon.com/schedule/

To kick off the event Thursday I’ll be teaching a class at 1:30pm Bringing Your Story to Life where I’ll help writer take their stories from beginning to the end.

Friday fun day is loaded with another class and two panels.  The first panel starts at 11:30am where we talk about books that have influenced us.  Then at 2:30pm I’ll be teaching a class on flipping your story upside down to find clarity where I relate my experience as a freelance sports reporter and what I learned that helped my write novels.  Right after that I’ll sit on the panel talking about the dos and don’ts of manipulating your audience.

Saturday evening I’ll be moderating the panel on reboots and remakes for television and film which I’m really excited about.  Then I’ll be sitting on a panel with my good friend Alyson Peterson on writing humor.

I can’t wait!

A Dream Among The Stars

I had a thought that grew into a dream.  That dream went with me everywhere.  It was with me at work.  With me while I ate.  I laughed with my dream and it smile back.  My dream greeted me each morning and bid me goodnight as I lay down to sleep.  My dream was even with me while I showered.

More and more of my energy went toward my dream as it grew and grew.  One day, quite miraculously, my dream turned into a star.  It lived in my head, as real as real could be, until I could no longer contain it.  I was not ready for the world to see my little star so I kept it in my pocket.  Day after day it took shape and grew bigger and brighter.

One day I felt it was time to share my little star with others.  I gave a peek to those closest to me and they looked on my little star with awe and wonder.  Some hailed it and proclaimed that it belonged in the heavens while others questioned if it were big or bright enough.  Truth be told, I wondered the same thing myself.

We were faced with two choices, my dream and I.  Either my little star would remain tucked safely away in my pocket, where only I would know of its beauty and brightness, or we would endeavor to follow brave men and women into the celestial sky to place it among the stars.  My fondest desire was to share my little star with all who might enjoy it, so the choice was easy.  The journey, however, was not.

With a deep breath and a prayer in my heart, I set off for the top of the mountain.  I climbed the nearest peak and when I reached the summit I took my little star from my pocket and held it high, toward the heavens.  We waited, my dream and I, for what seemed like an eternity.  I gave serious thought to constructing a vessel of my own for the trip when at last a tiny sail boat floated through the sky as if in answer to my silent prayer.

Grateful for the passage I gave no thought to its size or worthiness but leapt in before it could depart without us.  We sailed up into the great unknown toward a future of glorious possibilities.  The journey was long but my little star and I reveled in the fact that we had been accepted into the vast galaxy above.  With wide-eyed wonder we took in the passing cosmos on our way to our long sought destination.

At last we arrived and I took my little star, gave it one last adoring look, and placed it with the other beautiful spheres of light.  The joy I felt nearly caused my heart to burst.  I returned to earth, full of excitement, to call for all of my friends and family so they might see the heights we had reached, my dream and I.  They rejoiced with me and we celebrated together for a time.  I spread the word far and wide that my dream had become a star and my star was in the sky for all to behold.

Many came and looked upon my star.  There were those who delighted in its splendor and whimsy.  And others who did not find it as grand or brilliant as other stars they had seen.  When I stepped back and took in the breathtaking tapestry of the universe, my little star seemed so insignificant and the prospect of anyone finding it on their own seemed so remote that my joy began to slip away.

It was then I remembered where we began our journey and just how far my dream had come to take its place among the stars.  It did not matter to me that it was dwarfed in size and brilliance by its glorious companions or that it might be lost to some among the infinite expanse of space.  To me the only thing that mattered was how far we had come and what my dream had become.  I do not know how long or how bright my little star will burn or how many will enjoy its light.  But I now know what a dream can be and before I am through I plan on placing a few more stars in the sky.

An hour with Aaron

Enjoy four fun conversations about the wonderful world of authorship. Episode 12 is my favorite. Also be sure to subscribe to the Ready, Set, Write podcast on iTunes.

Episode 9

Guest Adrienne Quintana

Episode 10

Traditional vs Indie Publishing

Episode 11

Contract Pitfalls

Episode 12

How Writing Changed Our Lives

 

Amazon Giveaway: The Land of Look Behind

Start the New Year off right with literacy and games of chance.  Enter for your chance to win a free ebook of the exciting debut mystery novel The Land of Look Behind. Your friends will be so jealous. Plus you get to follow an author on Amazon. #winning

See this #AmazonGiveaway for a chance to win: The Land of Look Behind (Kindle Edition). https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/d7316ffac42594b2 NO PURCHASE NECESSARY. Ends the earlier of Feb 3, 2017 11:59 PM PST, or when all prizes are claimed. See Official Rules http://amzn.to/GArules.

Review: Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them

I’m not a movie critic I’m a storyteller and I love a good story well told.  Yesterday I gained a new appreciation for a storyteller I have long admired.  J.K Rowling returned to the world she created and brought us back into the secret society of witches and wizards with Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

A couple of things struck me about this story.  First, it was immediately familiar and welcomed you right in like we’d never been gone.  And second, this story was set so far apart from the Harry Potter story where someone with no context to her original series could enjoy this world for all its wonder and not feel completely lost.

Rowling set her latest story seventy years and an ocean apart from 4 Privet Drive and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and yet from the opening scene you knew you were right back in the magical world of wands and sorcery.  In the medium of film, a writer is not alone in the task of telling their story and in many ways relies on the director to bring the story to life.  David Yates is well acquainted with the Harry Potter universe having directed the final four films and he did not miss a beat bringing us to 1920’s New York where magical society facing its own set of challenges with the No-Maj population.

This was just one small way in which Rowling beautifully distinguished both the time period and cultures from one another.  Wizards and witches in the United States in the 20th century called non-magical folks No-Maj as opposed to Muggles.  This was introduced and explained early on in the story as Newt Scamander stepped off the boat from England and signaled to the audience that things weren’t going to be what they were used to.  Certainly we were treated to familiar spells and names, like Albus Dumbledore, but much of the setting and tone was different from what we experienced in our first introduction to the magical world through the eyes of the boy who lived.

Although New Scamander was an established Wizard he was more than a little out of place in the society and culture of New York.  This was a perfect way for Rowling to expand her universe as we could travel with Scamander and leave a world we knew for a different place and time, both we and Scamander could share a frame of reference and experience the new world together.

For those who had never before visited Rowling’s magical universe, presumably due to them either being too cool for what they deemed to be a children’s story or having been in a coma for the past twenty years, they also had a character who journeyed with them in the No-Maj aspiring baker Jacob Kowalski.  This is where Rowling gave us something we never had before, an uninitiated character with no magical connection.  Jacob’s reaction to this stunning revelation of the existence of magic was highly entertaining and although he took most of them in stride we were able to get a different perspective that was refreshing and new.

Speaking of different perspectives, this story was centered around adult characters with adult problems and concerns, which set an entirely different tone from Harry Potter.  Not only did we have Scamander and Kowalski trying to navigate a foreign environment but we were introduced to the recently demoted Auror Tina Goldstein who had her own set of problems seeking to redeem herself with the Magical Congress.  This was a far cry from children playing Quidditch, sneaking to Hogsmeade, and preparing for exams.

Finally, there was no prophetic child or You Know Who but we did have reference to a dark wizard, Gellert Grindelwald, who we learned about in the Deathly Hallows and a nice Easter Egg to that story along the way, yet another example of the something familiar yet new in this fantastic story [pun intended].

In closing I would like to give one last tip of my hat to Rowling and Yates not only as collective storytellers but for their individual accomplishments within the film.  First, Rowling introduced a mystery right from the beginning of a powerful unseen force and those that pursued it.  This mystery was slowly unfolded throughout the story in a masterful way and the ramifications were far more complicated and tragic than the physical destruction it wreaked.  Second, Yates got top notch performances out of a tremendous cast led by the Academy Award winning Eddie Redmayne.  I felt like the character portrayals and interactions were pitch perfect which was highlighted by the final interaction between Scamander and Goldstein.  This punctuated the story beautifully and sent my anticipation for what is to come through the theater roof.

Whether you are a fan of the Harry Potter series or just waking up from your decade’s long coma, you should treat yourself to this new adventure and a story well told.

5 Things You Should Be More Grateful For

It’s that time of year again where we turn our collective thoughts to the things we are grateful for.  That got me thinking about the things we should be more thankful for.  We live in a miraculous world full of crazy cool things and it’s easy to overlook just how fortunate we are.  With that said I submit, for your consideration and in no particular order, 5 things we should be more grateful for.

Aglets

You may have never given consideration to the aglet or you might not even know what it is, but I promise you that you would be filled with a profound appreciation and gratitude for the unsung hero of your high-tops if it were not a thing.  I’ll give you a moment to Google “aglet” … [Jeopardy theme music] … [check my watch] … [remember that I don’t wear a watch] …and your back.  See?!  The AGLET!  Imagine trying to lace up a new pair of sneakers with a limp nylon string.  It would be maddening.   Now every day you tie your shoes be sure to give thanks for this tiny plastic hero.

Running Water

Here’s another topic you may not have given proper consideration.  Go ahead and stroll on over to the sink and turn the nozzle or lift the lever.

Did you do it?  Why not?  Is it because you already know that clear, cool, life giving water will immediately come pouring out at a pressure you can regulate at will?  Yeah, now think about that for a second.  Where does it come from, how does it get there, who makes sure it’s clean and what would you do if it all stopped?  Are you frightened yet?  Well then you should probably throw up a prayer or two of thanks to whatever God you worship for the invisible forces that afford you such an essential luxury; you know the one that allows you to clean, wash, cook, drink and LIVE!

I won’t even get into hot water which is a beautiful flower of goodness itself.  I took cold showers for two years as a missionary in Jamaica and felt a bit like John Rambo in the shower stalls of the Hope Washington Police Station most mornings, but at least the water flowed and I didn’t have to worry about diphtheria.

Cell Phones

I’m not even talking about smart phones.  I’m talking straight up about the ability to take a device out of your pocket and speak to somebody through a device in their pocket or a phone in their home.

Some of you may be too young to remember when you had to make plans with someone before you left your house, at which point you were entirely beholden to those plans and at the mercy of the dependability, punctuality and/or commitment of said someone.  It was a ball of anxiety wrapped in uncertainty.  Are your friends still going to meet up for dinner?  Is your mom going to pick you up from the mall?  Has the world come to an end and no one is coming to your Jean-Claude Van Damme movie marathon?  You don’t know!  You just have to sit there and wait like a pathetic loser.  It was a nightmare.

Clothes

Certainly there’s a life sustaining value to clothing, in some cases, and although I’m not a fashion expert there can be applications that allow for an expression of either unity or individuality.  However, on a day to day basis, are we thankful enough that clothes are covering up a whole lot of nakedness?  While there are certainly cases where humanity would not raise a cry of objection or call for a public covering, by and large (and I mean LARGE) the majority of bodies, including my own, ought to be shrouded in as much cotton/poly mystery as possible.  There are some sights that can’t be unseen and while beauty may only be skin deep, my love handles need a t-shirt.

Chairs

Try and go a week without sitting in a chair, try it for a day.  And it’s cheating to just stay in bed or lay on the sofa.  I mean go and live your life and look at how many chairs you encounter and how much better your life is for it.  Sit down for dinner.  Chair.  Wait in a doctor’s office.  Chair.  Go to school.  Chair.  Work on the computer.  Chair.

Have you ever been camping and not brought a chair?  The first thing you do right after building a shelter and prepping a fire pit is try and fashion a makeshift chair from a rock, a stump, or your least favorite child; anything but sitting on the ground like an animal.  Even worse when you show up to your child’s soccer game without a chair and have to shamefully sit/squat in the damp grass or steal the corner of some strange toddler’s blanket while he eyeballs you.  It’s called sharing Evan, it won’t kill you!  Just go back to playing with your T-rex and Hot Wheels car, like that even makes sense.  You’re not better than me.

Where was I?  Oh right.  Chairs.

There are few things as sweet as resting your weary bones on a good old fashion chair with a back.  Much is made of how the wheel accelerated the human race out of a primal age, but I’ll bet you fifty bucks that long before Neanderthals turned their robust craniums to the wheel they had already invented the chair.

So when you pause to express thanks for the many blessings in your life take a look around and you might be surprised with just how many reasons you have to be grateful.