I called my long time best friend last fall and ran the idea of just the two of us getting away for a vacation. We were turning fifty and had been best friends for over three decades so why not get away? Our wives were for it, I turned the planning over to Dave and BAM!! We had a seven day Caribbean cruise booked for early April. We were both pumped about the idea and couldn’t wait for it to get here. We departed Iowa on a unseasonably cold April Friday amongst snow showers, flying to sunny and warm Fort Lauderdale Florida. Man…what a trip. Our flights went smoothly. Time flies (no pun intended) when you’re 30,000 feet in the air, drinking beer and swapping lies and memories with your best friend.
We touched down in Fort Lauderdale at eleven at night, picked up our luggage and made our way to the hotel shuttle…with a warm and balmy breeze slowly thawing our middle-aged frozen Midwest bones. Life is good. God is great.
I’ve never taken a cruise before. We were on Royal Caribbean’s goliath ship Oasis of the Sea’s…weighing in at 255,000 tons and longer than the U.S.S. Ronald Reagan aircraft carrier (but half as lethal…). It. Is. Massive.
Oasis of the Sea’s (on the left) compared to another cruise ship.
It has a machine that makes 4000 rolls an hour (I couldn’t keep up with it but I tried!!). The pool for its diving show is 17.9′ deep…making it the deepest pool on any cruise ship. It takes five million gallons of water to fill its multiple pools. It manufacturers 110,000 pounds of ice…A DAY (that’s a lot of daiquiris and pina colada’s). There’s 3,300 miles of electrical cable throughout the ship. There are 186 bartenders, many of whom I grew very fond of. There’s Dean, Jose, Ariel, Nikoletta, Dean II, Sampson, Mister Blurry, Misses Blurry & “That GUY!!”…all wonderful, hardworking, patient and professional.
We boarded and quickly started taking photos and enjoying the ship, even while in port.
Leaving Fort Lauderdale port on 4/9/2016
The locals caught wind of me being in town that day and decided to commemorate my appearance (if even on a passing cruise ship…) by getting hitched (some people!!)
I don’t know who was happier…the newly weds or me?
Even the mayor of Fort Lauderdale turned out to see me off….
Your Honor….
Our state room
Saturday and Sunday were spent cruising towards our first stop, Labadee Haiti. The morning dawned just as a storm was moving out, making it the best sunrise of the cruise.
Just off the coast of Haiti. Stunningly beautiful.
Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Warm and balmy, no allergies, no jackets. Blessed
Once docked we meandered towards the shuttle that would take us to a Royal Caribbean owned, stocked and staffed beach.
The wagon loads of food and drink that is brought to the beaches for us.
Ribs, BBQ chicken, salad, fresh fruit & desserts….we ate like Kings…very fat Kings.
The beach was clean. The water…warm and salty. The sky…blue. Bugs? Nonexistent. The only issue…they had computer issues at the beverage hut so they couldn’t sell or serve alcohol for around 45 minutes. Apparently even Paradise has IT issues from time to time.
Suns out Guns out.
Realism is just around the corner. This high wall topped with razor wire was a stark reminder of what lies behind it…kept from our view.
I was never adventurous enough to leave our pleasant confines and wander through unprotected areas.
The cruise was an international affair. I rode a shuttle with some Israeli kids, just about died in a Jeep with an Alabaman driving like a bat out of hell, ate supper with a couple of ladies from Thailand (who thought Dave looked like John Travolta…and they weren’t drinking….), soaked up some rays with some Jordanians and broke bread with Jorge and Fariba from Miami. I love listening to their stories. Like the room attendant who’s saving up his money to buy property in his country then build an apartment building and become a landlord, or our room attendant who’s been working for the cruise line for ten years. Those folks working on the ship work eight months (seven days a week) then get two months off. It’s hard work, they earn their keep and they’re doing a wonderful job of it.
Here I am assisting a lady at the pool with proper form….or so it would seem.
Sight gag #2
One little thing bothered Dave and I on the cruise…and that was perhaps the perception that we were a “couple” and not a couple of married men with wives and kids at home or in college. About the only time it surfaced was when the cruise photographers (they’re everywhere) would ask us to pose together. I get it. They want to sell photo’s of couples who are celebrating an anniversary, or honeymoon or special evening, and its something that if we had, had our wives with us we would have taken advantage of as they’re good photos. One evening, as Dave and I made our way to the main dining room in our Sunday best, one photographer wouldn’t take “no” as our answer to a posed photo. After three forced poses of “back to back” now “face me with your hands in your pockets” with Dave and I grimacing for each one….I announced “…and now one in our action crime fighting pose!!” Dave, not missing a beat, followed suit. The photographer looked at us…paused, shrugged his shoulders and took the below photo. Consequently…we were never asked to pose again the rest of the week.
KICKIN CRIMES ASS SINCE 1984
….but this is how we really are…laid back besties.
The Tequila Kid and The Ripper
Until next time…God bless and thanks for coming along!
The time frame for this, the fourth of six chapters of my life as I enter the tender age of 50 (in less than two weeks if you’re mailing your gift to me…), begins around the beginning of 1989. Connie and I had been married for almost a year when she brought it to my attention that we should start trying in earnest to get pregnant. If I remember it correctly we didn’t discuss how much the baby would cost us in terms of money, time, patience, formula, medicine, insurance, sickness, loss of sleep, worry or anything else….we were 23 years old and it was time. Connie, being a right-brained analytical type, purchased a Basal thermometer and started charting her ovulation cycle on graph paper which was compared to a calendar on her nightstand. After a couple of months of this she informed me that “this next week I’ll need you on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights around nine PM” to which I wholeheartedly agreed that, this whole baby-making scheme of hers sounded “just grand” to me (HAR HAR). What I came to quickly realize was that being called upon to sire a bloodline is TOTALLY different from frisky and fun spontaneous sex. My bride was all business…with no time for foolishness nor foreplay. She was all “GET ‘ER DONE” before the phrase was coined. The following video closely illustrates our exchanges at that time. The movie She’s Having a Baby was the movie that we went to see on our first date. Funny stuff…hits close to home.
We got pregnant quickly though it didn’t last…two times in a row. We were heartbroken, with one even going into the second trimester. Geez…did we really want this hurt to continue? We cautiously approached this whole “parenthood” thing again and came through it with our first-born daughter Jordan. She was perfect. Eight pounds and a head full of hair. As I laid down to sleep that night, with Connie and Jordan still at the hospital I thought to myself “I can finally relax…she’s born…she’s here…” before a stark realization pierced my conscience with “DEAR GOD…IT’S JUST BEGUN!!”
Connie and Jordan early on
After Jordan was born Eastman Kodak probably posted record earnings. We took photos of her endlessly. Repeat…endlessly. She was unique. She was so smart. She was in the 100% percentile of her age group!! She also pooped a great deal, spit up almost constantly, tried to eat our cat and was the apple of our eye. Why our child was destined to be someone wonderful!!
Never mind that Jordan’s gouging my eye out…she’s happy and I can buy a glass eye for myself
First born children shoulder the burden of breaking in new parents. Who would teach new parents that they should ALWAYS bring at least one set of clean clothes for the baby to even the most routine trip…? The first-born. Who would teach new parents that they shouldn’t leave the diaper bag (with diapers, wipes, Tylenol, pacifier and burp clothes in it) on top of their car then drive twenty miles before realizing that its now somewhere along a rural county blacktop…probably being ripped apart by cars driving over it? The first-born. (true story…we realized it at eight o’clock at night…as we were getting ready to put Jordan down for the night). Someone found it and turned it into the sheriffs office where we picked it up the next day.
Fast forward three years and BAM!! Daughter number two shows up and she’s TOTALLY different from her sister in attitude, temperament and intestinal regularities (funny how when a kid doesn’t poop as often how your WHOLE being is centered on that until the issue is relieved…no pun intended). We were in a new town, a nice apartment, new careers and adjusting to being a family of four.
Karalee was more of a Momma’s girl in those first few years…
At a wedding reception that had a teeter-totter close by that caught a little girls eye
Not much money in those early years so we went camping. The flies were so bad that we ate inside the tent. I remember this trip real well because I woke up from a nap with chewing gum stuck to my bare back. Sunburned, sweaty and sticky…it was fun.
And fast forward again…
Have you ever seen a very pregnant woman give a “come hither you sexy stud” look? Me neither…
BAM!! Mason Sue was born…all TEN POUNDS OF HER. Our girls topped the charts in weight by coming into this world weighing at least eight pounds each.
Grandpa Kenny and Macy Sue
Just because you had a ten pound baby doesn’t mean that you stop being a Momma to the others.
By the time Macy arrived we were old hands at raising little girls. We had bought a little house and Connie was real adept at finding garage sale clothes that a growing family needed and bought our girls winter coats the previous spring during seasonal closeouts. Our kids didn’t mind and frankly…our family of five’s budget was lean. All through this time there were always plenty of books, a sandbox, a swing set, bunk beds and their imagination.
Fast forward…
Karalee, Jordan and Macy at a amusement park in 2001. Short trips and overnight stays were our vacations in 2001
DON’T LOSE THE BABY!! Connie with a death-grip on Macy on a log ride 2001
We continued to learn life lessons…like if our toddler ate half a bag of cheese popcorn at the babysitters said toddler of ours would throw up an orange mess onto our beige carpet that wouldn’t come out. Or…if one child gets sick the parent who slept on the floor of their bedroom to comfort them would eventually catch what the kid had (it didn’t kill me….)
It was around this time that I taught the girls how to ride their bikes. True story. They were having trouble learning how to ride, so I loaded up their bikes, dressed them in jeans and drove them to a park with a steep grassy hill. They put on their helmets, knee and elbow pads then I had them take their bikes to the top of the hill. They weren’t too sure of this method and expressed their doubts constantly to me. They got on their bikes and I pushed them off, yelling “PEDAL!! DON’T STOP PEDALLING!!” They’d make it a little ways, crash then really expressed their doubts about my methods with “DOES MOM KNOW ABOUT YOUR TRYING TO KILL US?!?!” Within minutes they were riding their bikes down the hill and onto the blacktop playground at the base of that hill. Happy and confident, but not without a bump or two. The girls were little, and whenever Connie left town for a conference and I had to be Mister Mom for several days I ran our girls hard….and they loved it. If it were summer I’d let them get up around 8 and mill around the house until ten or so. I’d load up the van with bikes, a cooler of food and drinks then head off to a park where they’d play until lunch time. We’d picnic, then change into our swimsuits and go to the pool. After a couple of hours at the pool we’d head to Dairy Queen for ice cream. After getting home I’d send them outside to play some more. Supper. Showers. A little TV and reading then send them off to bed at 7:30 where they’d crash. It was a great plan…sadly I was almost as wore out as they were.
Without Connie around I usually relaxed the house rules. On one occasion I encouraged belching at the dinner table with a follow up exclamation “GOOD FOR YOU!!” shouted by everyone and hitting the table with both hands (this was done by one adult, me, and three little girls under the age of 11 for approximately one week). It went over BIG!! The girls loved it and practiced it as often as they could…with silverware clattering with each pounding and a lot of laughing….then Connie got home. I didn’t think to tell the girls to stop our little routine, why would I? At our first meal with Connie back Macy let out an ear-splitting belch that would make a sailor proud then hit the table with both hands and yelled “GOOD FOR ME!!!!” with a big smile on her face. Connie’s jaw hit the floor. Jordan and Karalee looked on in astonishment like Macy was about to die. I chuckled and told Connie what we had been doing. It ended right….there.
Fast forward…we wanted a larger house and bought one. Everyone was excited. Each girl had their own bedroom and got to decorate it accordingly. Friday afternoons I’d pick them up from school then race home to clean the house, shower, order pizza then crash on the couch and watch Nickelodeon’s Friday night line up of Dexter’s Laboratory, SpongeBob, Jimmy Neutron, Rugrats and Ed, Edd and Eddy.
Good times…
They grew…
First day of school
School days…roughly 7,000 of them…not to mention their time in college. Our girls got good grades, a direct reflection of their mother’s influence.
Family reunion 2006
Lots of Halloweens…
Thug life. Don’t ask me why..
Connie was/is always in charge of Christmas. Since I work retail I’m usually not in any good mood to do anything other than drink and watch others enjoy the festivities. We both grew up with generous, loving and thoughtful parents. I’d like to think that we carried those traits onto our family.
Me, Brian, Dan and Dad. Christmas 2007
Lot’s of birthdays. We’ve hosted many, many birthday parties for our daughters. When they got older and had friends over…we got wiser and ended “sleep overs”. I suddenly started feeling my age when I started telling kids “its 4 AM dammit…get into your sleeping bags and go to sleep!!” One hundred and thirteen birthday cakes later…we’re still ready for more.
My bride didn’t have a “9” for my 39th birthday so she improvised with “38” and “1”
My 40th birthday with my girl. We’re both grayer now…go figure
Our girls showing a little of their moxie while exploring some timber and railroad tracks close to Grandpas house. (it was muddy and Macy didn’t bring her old shoes so we went old school with grocery bags and rubber bands over her school shoes)
Vacations. We finally started taking good vacations. Destination spots. Disney. Washington DC. Colorado. It’d take a couple of years to save up for them. I think that Connie and I were just as excited as our girls were.
Nebraska 2007. Here I am trying to stuff Macy into a trash can at a rest stop. She wouldn’t fit. (I call this my “white socks with denim shorts phase)
On top of Pike’s Peak Colorado June 2007. At 28 degrees and windy we were Ripley-sickles in this photo
Photos!! We took a lot of photos!! There’s around 15 large photo albums of the past 27 years, with roughly 20 smaller photo albums of our vacations. Connie is to credit for all of these, that and we took photos of everyday life and special occasions.
High school and middle school days
Did I mention birthday parties…?
Macy and friends…Diet Dew and cake
Jordan…with Karalee photobombing
Birthday cake has been usurped by gourmet cupcakes
Long a tradition in our home…birthday dinners out. We had to make a rule early on that their restaurant of choice couldn’t include a place with Happy Meals.
Prom 2014 Connie and Macy
Graduations…four of them. Three high school. One college.
Macy’s high school graduation 2014
As a tradition that our girls started…whenever we have a holiday or event that one of them can’t attend, the absent ones face is printed out and taped to the face of a stuffed snowman…so she can be there in spirit. What started out as a joke is now kind of a deal for them.
With Karalee in Japan, Macy and Jordan “bring” Karalee to Macy’s graduation party
Empty-nesters. Nuff said.
Macy moving into her dorm room August 2014. What will we do now…?
Flying the nest…literally…
Jordan graduating from Flight Attendant Training fall 2014 and moving far away.
Traditions. We have them. Won’t go too far into them. One is cookie baking for the holidays. Here Karalee photobombs with the batter. I think she’s practicing to take my spot as the family ham…but I’m still firmly on my throne.
COOKIE TIME!!
More Christmas…
Who doesn’t like a good head-hug from their kid?
Uhhh…what happened to my little girls…? Has anyone seen them lately? Furry Barney slippers? Beauty and the Beast pajamas? Wiggling into a spot on the couch with me…? Anyone…?
As I looked back through our family photos I became a little melancholy. Where did the time go? I always knew that we were very blessed, but to see it again and again….and again…all of the love, the fun and good times…it makes me feel overly blessed. Connie’s done a WONDERFUL job as a wife, and mother of our daughters…I couldn’t ask God for a better person to spend my life with. I couldn’t ask for better parents or in-laws. They’re the kind of folks that taught us about love, affection, laughter, honor, God, home, a work ethic, family, solidarity, responsibility, honesty and how to be a good parent, spouse and brother/sister. They taught us without saying anything most days….we just didn’t know it.
Whenever I overhear a young couple say that they don’t have enough money saved up to have a child I tell them “don’t wait, you’ll never have enough money and you’re missing out on the ride of a lifetime.” Parenthood isn’t for everyone….but it was for me.
Once in a great while…we get all three of our daughters home. It doesn’t happen very often. When we do…this is how they act…
Goofy women in my truck
…but this is how I still see them…
Good times
Parenthood has made me a better person. Nuff said.
The third in a series of six epic tales…sure to warm the hearts and souls of those in the upper Midwest…and maybe other places too…but for now…just the upper Midwest.
So 1988 began much like the previous year left off….quietly. Not. Much. Going. On. I was just a lonely single dude….lookin’ for love and not having much luck. Truth be told, I wasn’t much of a Don Juan character. My total number of dates in the previous five years could be counted on one hand….so yeah….I was PRIMED for SUCCESS!!
A mutual friend got Connie, my future wife, to stop by the store where I was working and meet me. Needless to say, the vixen that she was/is, went all out that initial introduction and wore baggy gray sweatpants and huge winter parka….HOT STUFF BABY!! Long story short….we went out on a date, then another (the next night) and by the end of the night…we were discussing the possibility of marriage…to each other. Thirteen days later…we were engaged.
Back then when you became engaged folks threw you a wedding shower. In our case….we had shower, after shower, after shower. Even folks from our workplaces threw us showers.
Sexy undies for me…Connie’s quite pumped about them.
These “elephant undies” were a hit at our wedding shower…what with its “trunk space” and all….
And…another shower. This one at the Methodist church in historic Joy Illinois.
I blame my expressions on my brother, Brian, who was egging me on….true story.
A place setting of our wedding dinner ware. I’m pretty pumped…about the cake.
August 6th 1988. I remembered my lines!!
After our wedding we did the usual sexy young couple stuff….we sat in front of International posters and looked suave…
We actually look like we know what we’re doing! Incredible!!
She left me funny and sexy notes. For the sake of my younger viewership I’ve chosen not include those sexy notes…they’re too “hubba hubba”
Skiing with another couple. Ah…the joys of being “kid-less”.
…and the “mustache experiment”. I rocked it. TOTALLY ROCKED. IT!!!
We went to concerts…Lee Greenwood! Randy Travis!! Kenny Rogers!! We met important people!
I told you we met celebrities!!
In the mean time we had started on…well, starting a family. We got close a couplea times…but this last one…we went the distance. On December 18th 1990 on a cold winter morning we became parents for the first time. We were green. Amateurs. Rookies in the first degree. I could have gone on for a while…you know…just practicing to get pregnant (HAR HAR) but my bride was born to be a mommy. She relished and cherished the idea of being a mommy. Me? Well ladies and gentlemen…the following photo pretty much sums up my idea of parenting in the early stages….
Dear God….what time is it? This little squawk-box wants food AGAIN.
Parenthood…what was THAT all about?! I was clueless, but being clueless is something that I seem to specialize in. Until the next episode…stay warm and classy…like me.
Alas…this is the time of year when I would normally write something about holidays past, complete with melancholy and misty-eyed remembrances of Christmas’ of my childhood. This year…I don’t have anything. In fact this past month has kinda been a bust for me. I don’t have big worrisome problems like those of many….just the needling of doubts, ideas expressed in the workplace squashed (or worse yet…taken further without even an “atta boy”), kicking a call in a game and realizing that I’ve got a lot more of this in store if I wish to be who I want to be in this life in family, friends, career and leisure. Trying new things leads to failure occasionally, and failure for me leads to joyless days and sleepless nights. Thank God its been nothing fatal…but damned troubling nonetheless.
On another note…I wrote over a year ago that I was joining Big Brothers/Big Sisters in the hopes of becoming someone’s Big Brother and making a positive difference in their life. My little brother and I were matched up over a year ago. He just turned 13, growing like a weed, complete with a changing voice and size thirteen shoes. I thought that it’d be a little different than what its turned out to be, as he’s kept me at arms length. His father isn’t in the picture. His mother works a lot. They rent, don’t have TV or internet and there’s usually a fair amount of kids running around the place when I pick him up. In fact the first time that I went to pick him up they had moved without telling anyone. He’s quiet and when I asked him about his dad he replied “we don’t talk about him….”. Its the polar opposite of the way that I was brought up. I had many good role models to choose from in my family and from my friends families. This kid…no one.
The way that our time is usually spent is me picking him up. Us going out to eat, he loves steak and I let him order it whenever he wants, or he gets chicken strips and ketchup, and us talking about miscellaneous things. We can’t talk about sports or movies since they don’t have cable or the internet….but we’ve found some common ground. Then we’ll head to the movies or select another activity like a car show if its warm enough. His case worker and I speak regularly, her often asking questions that I really don’t have answers for since he doesn’t exactly open up about school and family (does any teenage boy…?). Long story short….she told me that he’s waiting to see if I’ll stick it out and continue to be a part of his life. Truth be told…I wonder if its worth it. It seems like he’d rather stay home and play video games or play with his cousins. There’s been a couple of times when he’s needed new shoes and I’ve almost bought him some so that his feet wouldn’t stick out…but not wanting to offend his mothers modest means…I don’t. I don’t have any issues continuing on with this…I only wonder if I’m wasting his time. What good is our four hours together a month doing for him? This…is what’s on my mind this holiday season.
Thank you for reading. May God bless you and yours this Christmas season,
Dear Baby Alff…your story begins long before your arrival next month, it began almost fifteen years ago when I met a family at church, the Alff family. It was the usual “church-type” family. One father. One mother. Three kids, spaced out a couple of years apart. The oldest kid, a boy, was about five feet ten inches tall…and only eight years old (I tease…he was closer to six feet tall). He had two sisters….Jenna and Jessie…both nice girls but sassy as all get out (is it any wonder that the boy was so quiet?). When the young man turned sixteen years old I hired him at our store where he would work with us for five or six years, becoming an assistant manager and also fixing a lot of stuff in our store. This nice young man has a gift of fixing broken things. This young mans name is Jacob (he’s your father).
Meanwhile, down in historic Osceola Iowa, a young lady was working at the same company that Jacob and I worked for….feeding the good folks of Clark county fried chicken, potato salad and baked beans. This same young lady called me one day telling me that she was going to attend a local college in our area and wanted to transfer to our store. I told her that we didn’t HAVE a kitchen area in our store and while I would love to have her transfer in I wanted to be upfront with her. She stated that she wished to work in a small store, get her education in becoming a bakery chef then open her own bakery. That was in July of 2013, she transferred in the next month. This young ladies name is Lacey (she’s your mother).
Well….long story short, your mother did an outstanding job for us. Whatever we gave her to do she absolutely knocked the ball out of the park. She was very quiet at first, but soon her sassy attitude started bubbling up to the surface and letting us know that she wasn’t so shy after all. Lacey did so well that we decided to make her an assistant manager as well, and who better to train her than Jacob? Somewhere, somehow, sometime a romance sprang forth from that “training”….which is kind of weird since I never ever told either one of them “go fall in love with Jacob…he’s a terrific guy with a respectable bowling average” or “do yourself a favor and wear some Old Spice tonight then give Lacey the ol’ ‘come hither’ look when showing her the Dairy cooler”. It just happened. Before long I heard whispers of “Jacob and Lacey are dating…”to which I replied “who cares? Get back to the Dairy cooler, no one filled the 2% last night!” It just happened and continued on.
Sadly Jacob left our store for another company where he’s moved up the ladder and become a big-shot (I credit his quick ascension to the remarkable training that he received from yours truly). Nonetheless the romance continued between your father and mother….so much in fact that last spring your mother announced your impending arrival this fall (how exciting!!).
Now let me say this…your mother is rather ornery, not in a bad way….just a little stubborn. I’ve gone out on the limb and have predicted to her that you (Baby Alff #1) will probably be the same way (some call it Karma….but I think that God’s got a wonderful sense of humor so that’s what I’m going with). You’re coming into a wonderful, loving, Christian family. Your Grandma Alff (Jackie) is a wonderful person and I cannot say enough good things about her. Your Aunts, Jenna and Jessie, both work with me at the store (I hired them both….the Alff family has supplied three employees to me which sets the record for MOST EMPLOYEES SUPPLIED BY ONE COUPLE). Between Jenna and Jessie you’ve already got two boy cousins to torture you, so I’m sorry about that. I feel a little responsible for your Aunt Jessie and Uncle Luke meeting and procreating a cousin for you but they went to high school together and worked at the same time at my store and since I hired them both….I’ll take partial credit. Maybe Jessie was watching Luke fill the cottage cheese one night and the cooler lights hit him just right and she thought to herself “hubba hubba!! I’d like to get to know that kid a little better if you know what I mean!!”and since they’re an old married couple now I can say that….just know that your cousin Stephen isn’t fond of me yet so don’t believe him if he starts talking trash about me. Jaxson, though, Jenna’s boy…that kid loves me. I’m not lying. Jaxson adores the Ripman.
So….Baby Alff #1 (and any Baby Alff’s that follow, which chances are will be…) welcome to planet Earth. I’ll keep my distance until you’re cool with me. Also….you’ll turn 16 in November 2031. Have your drivers license and social security card ready. Apply for a job on-line, I’ll give you a cursory interview before hiring you. Oh…and by the way…you’ve got big shoes to fill plus I expect fresh baked and frosted bakery goods from your mothers bakery on the first and third Mondays of the month. Welcome aboard.
The consumer affairs hotline here at RIPLEY INDUSTRIEShas been a lightning rod for the past 28 days…since its been 29 DAYS since my last post. Sorry minions….not much going on upstairs if you know what I mean. Here’s what I’ve scraped together for this week.
This past Saturday night I got into a head-butting match with my nightstand. It was a draw, but it drew blood and made a tidy little gouge just below my hairline (I don’t even have bangs to cover it with). I can’t even make up a story like me and the wife were in the throes of passion and I bounced off the bedand hit it then. It was just me bending over to plug in my charger cord for my phone and WHACK!! Stars. I saw plenty of…..stars.
My co-worker is in charge of posting stuff about our company on Facebook and she’s busier than a one legged man in a butt-kicking contest (that’s busy!!). I’ve offered to help and now have the credentials to post events and such on behalf of our company. My first (and to this point…only) post was about…wait for it….PUMPKINS!! TWENTY-SIX THOUSAND POUNDS OF PUMPKINS!! Which I unloaded myself. With the idea of promoting that fact I took photos and wrote a little joke about pumpkins and VIOLA!! Posted! The day after I posted I was handed the guidelines for our social media posting. Turns out I broke three rules. No ALL CAPS (but I LOVE ALL CAPS). No excessive punctuation (BUT I MAKE POINTS WITH EXCESSIVE EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!) And last but not least….post no “irony”. People do not like irony. Let me be clear….I COMMUNICATE IN IRONY!!! I MAJORED IN IRONY!! So yeah…I didn’t get my creditials yanked…yet….but I’ll need to follow the rules set in place for the good of all. BTW…our customers will be able to vote for our employees who are dressed up for our Halloween Contest via Facebook. Let me just say….this year…I’m IN IT TO WIN IT. Just sayin’ that I’ll rock the whole costume contest in 2015. Take note. Mark your calendars.
We’re into Year Two of being empty-nesters and we still have Blues Clues and Pocahontas kids dinner plates in our cabinet. We’re keeping them out for daily use….why?
I’m cautiously approaching a task this morning that will involve tools. I wish that I could say “yeah…I’m gonna pop the hood on my ’73 Chevelle SS and change out the headers on it…blah blah blah then I’m planning on blah blah blah…”all the while sounding capable and mechanically inclined…but that’s just not me. I’m changing out the tonneau cover on my truck. It’ll involve pliers, and a smallish wrench…which I’ll still find a way to gouge myself with somehow…someway. I remember when I was 16 or 17, using a table saw in woodshop class at good old Bennett Community High School…where they let farm kids and the like use dangerous equipment….and I came very close to becoming known as “Lefty” Ripley. Lesson learned….I’m still anxious around “cutty things” rotating at a high speed. BTW…I was working on constructing a nightstand that fateful day in woodshop that I had drawn up using one inch thick walnut. It weighs around seventy pounds (did I mention that its three and a half feet tall?)and I still use it for storage in our garage. If I had banged my head on that on Saturday night I might not be with you today….so count your blessings….cause I know how much that I matter to you all.
Life’s kinda boring sometimes, ain’t it? You can thank God Himself for that. I see all of those refugee’s flooding Europe from their war-torn homes and I think to myself “God help them”. I see parents carrying their little ones. Folks desperate for answers. Desperate for shelter. Desperate for food, warmth and justice. It makes me worry….worry for them, worry for us….that we’ve grown jaded and perhaps callous to the plight of those across the ocean from us…and even in our own communities. While I work in an environment where I see folks casually manipulate our food stamp programs to fit their needs I see others fall through the cracks and go without. Its troubling for someone who has Matthew 25 verse 35-40 engrained into my heart. What I’ve chosen to do is buy items not normally covered by food stamps and to donate those items to places like the women’s and children’s shelter in my town, or to a mission that operates in a poor neighborhood. Items like toilet paper, shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes, feminine hygiene and laundry detergent. Or sometimes I’ll donate food and clothes….those places are just happy to get the help. I walk away wondering if I could do more. I bet that I could.
Have you ever had one of those moments when everything around you is familiar? The sounds? The sights? The people? The smells…even though its a completely new to you experience? How does that happen? It seems like it happens to me several times a year. Earlier this summer I was at a basketball clinic attending a meeting between my games. I sat in the back of the room, probably twenty feet away from the speakers, with one of my officiating partners directly in front of me. An odd feeling came over me and I started looking around the room because I had a feeling that I’d been in that room before listening to the same things being said with the same people being present and so forth. I shrugged it off since I’ve attended several of these kinds of clinics before and its not like I knew what the speaker was going to say next so I sat there listening. The speaker was making a point about “even if you’re a really good official you can’t always get the best games….sometimes you’ll get Clarksville.” A ripple of laughter went through the room as that particular school had struggled in basketball recently. I leaned forward and tapped my friend in front of me and whispered “hey…don’t laugh. I HAD Clarksville at Mesquaki this past season.” The speaker followed up with this “…sometimes you get a Mesquaki Clarksville game.” Holy cow…that’s the game that I had back in January six months ago. Was this just coincidence? Was it fate? How does this kind of stuff happen? Iowa doesn’t lack for small schools that struggle in sports (or large schools for that matter) and for the speaker to have used those two schools in particular was really odd for me since they’re not even close to each other (75 miles separate them), they’re not rivals and with the aforementioned feeling of familiarity with the situation left me shaking my head and thinking of how in the past this has happened to me before in other situations.
Probably one of the most concrete “familiar feelings” that I’ve had is the following. It was the fall of 1987. As a family we had gathered together and were sorting out a few of our Grandma Wagner’s items. She had passed away and these were what my Mom had for us, her three sons, to go through and pick out what they wanted from Grandma’s possessions. Since I was single at the time I let my brothers and their wives choose the china and nicer items. I was living in a single wide trailer and twenty-one years old….not exactly the stuff “The Bachelor” is made of. What I choose was an souvenir ashtray. It’s small for an ashtray and honestly….kind of gaudy….but then again…so am I. I didn’t read the inscription on the inside of the ashtray, I just took it back to my place in Mason City and put it on a shelf. End of story…right? Wrong. Three months later I started dating a young lady who, after just thirteen days, became my fiancée. Five months later she became my wife. She’s from Estherville Iowa, a small town in northwest Iowa. I’d never been there before meeting her. In the weeks that led up to our marriage she was going through my stuff and came across the ashtray that I’d gotten from my grandmothers estate. She asked me about it and I told her the story of how I came to it. She asked “have you read the inscription?” I told her that I had but had forgotten it. The inscription reads “Souvenir of Estherville Iowa”. It didn’t dawn on me until recently that maybe this wasn’t such a random thing. For instance:
How does someone five and a half hours away from Estherville even arrive in Estherville when they live in Illinois? What were they doing in northwest Iowa…there’s no relatives up there?
How does a small town like Estherville even have souvenirs back in the 1950-60’s? It’s not like it was a tourist destination.
How does someone from Joy Illinois even think to buy a souvenir from Estherville? It’s not exactly the crown jewel of Iowa.
How does a little porcelain ashtray survive all of the moves from Estherville to Joy Illinois to Aledo Illinois to Mason City Iowa, in the house of a smoker and doesn’t even have a chip or burn on it?
It just seems like I was meant to have this gift, like it was purchased for me specifically even though I wasn’t even born yet and even when I did possess it that it’s message wasn’t meant to be understood until I was old enough to, kind of, understand it. Its randomness is too specific for me to ignore. I don’t get it. Whether you believe that God’s hand is guiding us along the way and that if we slow down enough, look and listen that we’ll see Him at work, or guardian angels or loved ones that have gone on ahead of us…or a combination of things way above our own human conscientious…what is it and what does it mean?
I still have that ashtray.
Souvenir of Estherville Iowa
I married that bride 27 years ago on August 6th 1988 in Estherville Iowa.
Two goofy kids on a hot, humid and utterly fantastic day.
I still love that bride of mine.
Still goofy after 27 years….and I wouldn’t want her any other way.
Take care my friends. May God bless you and keep you in His way.
I know. I know. Its been a month since my last blog so just calm down, grab a refreshing drink of your choice and hunker down for these five tidbits. Odds and ends from this end of Iowa.
It’s springtime here at the Palatial Estates and Worldwide Headquarters of Ripley Industries and I have a couplea days off. I’m cooking this evening which means that Ol’ Sparky (our grill) is going to be fired up, thick juicy hamburgers will be charbroiled, topped with cheddar cheese and strips of bacon. That alone is reason to celebrate but I’ve kicked it up a notch with potato salad and baked beans as quality side dishes. A funny story about my baked beans goes something like this: I’d volunteer to make some baked beans for reunions, parties etc. and literally everyone would tell me how great they were (this is a true story). I was known in my family as “the guy who makes the BEST baked beans.” My wife, the honorable and trustworthy Mrs. Richard Ripley, would make baked beans for us following the same recipe in the cook book but they weren’t as good. She’d ask me if I did anything differently from the recipe and, in response, I’d cock my eyebrows, turn my head at an angle and reply “…like what?” This went on for several years until one night she got all sexy-upped (more than usual is all I’m sayin’) lipstick, perfume…plying me with alcohol and her womanly ways and purred into my ear…”…are you sure that there’s nothing else that you put into your baked beans honey-bunny?” Now normally I’m like a mountain…devoid of any emotions and cannot be swayed to betray secrets to even the prettiest girl but as Mrs. Ripley ran her fingers through my hair and told me how much she liked all of my jokes (even the knock-knock ones) and said that she was thinking pretty strongly of baking a cake later in the night (chocolate with lots of chocolate frosting) I casually replied “well….you know, about that baked bean recipe…I’ll usually use twice the amount of brown sugar in it than the recipe says to use…but I don’t really add anything to it and about that cake…when do you think it’ll be? ““YOU USE THREE CUPS OF BROWN SUGAR IN ONE CASSEROLE DISH OF BAKED BEANS?!?!” Mrs. Ripley belted out at the top of her lungs. “Yep…been doin’ it for years…so about the cake…” Mrs. Ripley suddenly remembered that her favorite TV show was about to start, shot me the stink-eye and left the room. I’m still waiting for that cake to show up and coincidently….her baked beans are now the equal to mine. Just wait until she finds out what I’ve been adding to her wine!
I used to work a part time job at a home for adult men who were mentally handicapped. As part of my job I’d cook for them, help them with their laundry and for the guys who needed more help…give them baths. At first…it was extremely awkward to do some of the things that I did as part of that job (imagine giving a person your own age a shower…washing them) The guys, eight of them, had different levels of independence and communication skills. A couplea of the guys couldn’t talk at all but they could do basic things. I came to love those guys for who they were, not for who they weren’t, their love for people and excitement for life was uninhibited. If they liked you, they loved you. This past weekend I worked the Special Olympics as a basketball referee and had a blast. Two particular moments pretty much sums up the whole day for me. I was working one game of adult men. It was a pretty up tempo game when I called a foul on one of the players. He jogged over to me and I thought that he was going to argue the call but instead said “Yep…it was me!! As soon as I heard your whistle I thought to myself ‘I’ll bet that’s on me!” My number is 58. Sorry about that!!”and then jogged away. I’ve worked in the neighborhood of 400+ games in the past three years and can honestly say that no player has ever said that to me!! Priceless. Earlier on, two different teams, one from a hearing impaired school and another from a community of kids who would commonly be referred to as “special-ed”, without physical handicaps, played each other. It was hard, if only because the deaf team didn’t understand the game nor its rules. We didn’t call any violations on them…they were simply that bad at the game. We didn’t call anything on the other team either since it wouldn’t have been fair. The deaf team was being beaten soundly, at the end of the first quarter it was 16-0. The winning teams coach then had her team do something that I’ve never seen before….when her team got the ball they walked it up the floor and then waited for the deaf team’s players to catch up, take their defensive positions and then they would start their offense. The better team let the deaf team shoot the ball unguarded, over and over again, getting rebound after rebound. With just a few seconds left the deaf teams point guard, who for the previous three-quarters had just dribbled and dribbled and dribbled without ever making any attempt to dribble it towards the basket took her dribble from the half court line, to the far sideline to the baseline into the lane and tossed up a shot as time expired. The ball kissed the backboard and swished through the net as the horn ended the game. I hammered down the “count the basket” signal and both benches erupted, jumping up and down, high-fiving each other and congratulating one another. It. Was. BEAUTIFUL. The final score was something like 34-6, though my officiating partner for the day summed it up best. “I always finish my year working this tournament. I’m worn out. The season is long. The coaches, fans and players and all of their complaining and stupid stuff makes me want to quit….but then I come here and see these kids and adults having so much fun, playing, sharing and laughing….it rejuvenates me.” Well said brother. Well said.I hope that they ask me back next year.
If you’re old enough you remember the days that if you liked a particular song your choices were: buy the album, buy the 45 OR hope that you could record it off of the radio onto a cassette (which I had the rare and unique ability to do though the stupid DJ would still be giving you the weather report right up to and sometimes over the first few words of the song). It kinda sucked. You might only like a song or two off of a particular album but you’d have to buy the WHOLE album to get the two or three songs that you liked. That’s why I liked K-Tel records so much, you’d get five or six really good songs mixed in with a few less crappy songs. I owned several K-Tel albums as a kid and that’s probably the reason I’m a HUGE fan of ITunes. This afternoon I downloaded around a dozen songs from the likes of Donna Summer, Neil Young, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin and Cosby Stills and Nash for about the same amount of money that an album would’ve cost me.
As avid readers of Rich Ripley already know….I’ve helped out at a Christian Men’s retreat entitled “A Walk to Emmaus” on several occasions. The good folks who oversee this area of our state either lost their minds or lost a bet and decided to ask me if I’d be the Lay Director on this fall’s retreat. I’ve accepted and am excited to see how this all works out. I’m in charge of lining up a team of around thirty guys to help other guys over the course of a three day retreat. Its a huge responsibility (God’s involved…you know…so I’ll have to behave as much as I can…which isn’t long) so my spiritual juices are flowing. I’ve never made any secret about the fact that I’m probably the least holy person in the room, though I’ve been blessed with the ability to speak in front of groups…usually with a fair amount of humor involved….about my faith walk. (keep us all in your prayers is all I’m sayin’)
Baseball season is just around the corner. I’ve been reading the rule book and reviewing what I think that I’ll need to know. Meetings and clinics are planned. I’ve got varsity games already booked and my equipment bag opened up and gone through. Probably the neatest thing going right now is that my umpire mask is being used by an eight year old for a play that he’s in at school. I should’ve warned the little whipper-snapper that us umpires are regular “babe-magnets” and those third grader girls will be chasing him endlessly during recess. Poor little fella….I hope that he gets caught just as soon as he wants to be…which may be ten or fifteen years too early for his mother. (Melanie…tell Gabe to wipe all of that lipstick off of my mask before returning it….Mrs. Ripley insists.)
Have a great week and God Bless!! Your humble and capable leader….R
The longest day that I’m referring to isn’t the 1962 movie about the WWII Normandy landings nor the first day of the summer solstice, I’m referring to….Christmas Eve day. It’s when, as a kid in the 1970’s and early 80’s, I’d get up with no school to attend and try in vain to make the daylight hours of December 24th pass as quickly as possible. In 1970’s rural Iowa there just weren’t a lot of “entertainment options”, and it usually didn’t snow until the week after Christmas (usually a blizzard) so there wasn’t any snow to play in. Four TV channels, a few miscellaneous chores and, God-willing, a couplea board games with my brother, would pass a few hours from the clock into the past….but time crawled soooo slowly. The Christmas tree, a real one that we had to water, lit up with multi-colored hot-to-the-touch lights zigzagging back and forth across the tree….stood in the corner of our living room….mocking mewith a few presents under it.
Now…as a child still believing in Santa the day would be spent surveying our rooftop for an adequate amount of snow for Santa to land upon and if I decided that, like most years, there wasn’t any snow to land on Santa would just deploy his specially equipped landing gear on his sled that he would typically use in southern states and tropical islands (I had a pretty good imagination back then too). The real gifts didn’t come out until I was long in bed, fitfully sleeping until Christmas morn….but until then….it was Christmas Eve day.
I recently helped out with my wife’s second grade class. I had a few moments with them where I didn’t have anything planned so I casually asked them “who’s ready for Christmas?” Each kid had at least one arm instantly into the air (like it was a contest of if you were the last kid with their arm up you wouldn’t get any presents). So with a captive audience I followed up with “…okay…who’s still on the naughty list?” and every arm went down just as fast as it had gone up. One kid chimed “you gotta be careful cause Santa has elves out with facial recognition computers that can tell who’s naughty so you just gotta be good all of the time…” I’m not making this up…the kid said that….priceless!! (I didn’t deny it either cause maybe Santa’s upped his game since 1973 is all I’m sayin’…) There are NO ATHEISTS when it comes to second graders and Santa Claus. Your feet are either firmly entrenched in the “I BELIEVE IN SANTA” camp or you’re a third grade thug.
Dad would be off of work from his city job and he and I would drive over to a little grocery store in Big Rock. The store was so small that they still candled eggs in their stock room. I’d get the choice assignment of picking out the “flavored” pop for the Christmas holiday. Normally we’d only get to drink Pepsi or Teem soda, and maybe one bottle of that a week…but on Christmas Eve we got the flavors!! Glass bottles of orange, grape, root beer and cream soda…WHO KNEW THESE FLAVORS EVEN EXISTED AFTER DECEMBER 24TH?! Why…we even got our old beagle George canned dog food for Christmas Eve!!
Christmas was thee day in our house. Mom cooked and baked, dear Lord the house smelled good….but those treats couldn’t be had until Christmas Eve when my brothers arrived back onto the farm from college or the city that they lived in. Sometimes they wouldn’t make it home until after dark…then their headlights would run across the garage and hog house and Dad would announce “Brian’s here!! or “Dan just pulled in!!” I’ll tell you something…that meant that the fun was just beginning. Mom would put out a buffet spread like no other….a feast fit for kings. It only happened on Christmas Eve night and New Year’s Eve night. When we got up on Christmas morn we’d open gifts then get into the family car and drive to Illinois to celebrate Christmas with our aunts, uncles, grandparents and most of all….those fun-loving cousins of ours. After spending the morning with one side of the family we’d drive to the other side of the family to repeat the process. It was Christmas X 3 that all happened in approximately fourteen hours on Christmas Day. While Christmas Day was wall to wall fun and excitement….Christmas Eve Day was….the longest day of the year with not much going on….except that you knew that TOMORROW WAS GONNA BE AWESOME!!!
Laughter. Love. Light. Warmth. It was a wonder-filled and wonderful childhood…that I remember lovingly and longingly. The angel atop our tree symbolizing the angels announcing the birth of mankind’s Savior to the shepherds in the field. The manger scene positioned on top of our buffet cabinet and even the Burl Ives and Ray Coniff Christmas albums all reminding us of the reason that we assembled on the 24th of December, was for the remembrance of Christ coming to this world as God’s gift to us….to save us.
May your Christmas Eve be the right amount of time for you to enjoy, and remember the Love that came into this world for you.
My buddy Rich (I’m not speaking in third person, honestly) was umping a sub-state baseball game the other night. The stakes were pretty high for the two teams involved, win and your season continues onto the State Tournament. Lose and your season ends, you go home. I wanted to see Rich work and maybe pick up a few tips along the way (they pick the best umpires to work the tournament games). I chose a spot in the bleachers behind home plate next to an elderly woman. She asked who I was rooting for, I replied…”I’m here to watch my friend umpire along first base.” She gave me a blank stare, turned to her husband and said “Fred…this man’s an umpire. Ask him about that weird play the other night when you were watching the Cubs.” Dead serious. Fred told me about the play, it was a weird scenario to be sure. My short answer is that it sounds like the umpires in that game got it right, but without seeing it…who knows. (Fred…by the way, is the kind of grandfatherly, potbellied-man who wears his suspenders UNDER the tee-shirt of his favorite team) I told Fred that the first problem with his story is that he was watching the Cubs try to play ball. He laughed and the rest of the night went well, though the little old lady that I chose to sit next to would introduce me to anyone who sat close to us as “…watch what you say tonight…this guys an umpire…” It was all in jest. She asked me early on “how can you take all of the things that people yell at you?” I replied “I’m paid to be impartial, and honestly…I don’t hear nearly as much as you might think…I’m focused on the game and players. Understand that we’re not perfect.”
One thing that I’ve found out over the past year is that all of these officials (baseball, basketball, softball, football, volleyball, soccer, etc.) have their favorite sport to officiate. For Rich, its baseball…that’s his passion. Rich works at least five nights a week during the baseball season. That’s leaving work early, driving at least an hour to the game, dressing in slacks (and half the time with hot protective equipment on) in hot and humid Iowa weather, then driving home at least an hour, getting home around 11, going to bed then getting up six hours later and starting all over again. That’s passion. He LOVES BASEBALL. For that dedication, hard work and being an exceptional umpire he’s been awarded games to work at the State Tournament, a well-deserved honor.
Before Rich’s sub-state game. Rich is far right, Jeff is at the center. Sharing a light moment before the game.
Most officials will tell you that they’re either officiating the sport that they love, or waiting until that season begins. Until then they’re officiating another sport to kill time and make a little money. That’s the case with me. I love basketball. I like baseball. I’m trying volleyball this fall. The rules book just arrived, a bookworm I’m not. The exam is less than a month away. I know very little about the sport. Wish me luck.
Here are the last of this past seasons “amusing” stories from the baseball games and basketball games that I officiated.
Little League game between two 11-year-old teams that played each other regularly. As the batter stepped into the batters box he looked at the catcher and asked “Did you get a new chest protector?” The catcher replied “Yeah…I lost my old one so mom got me a new one.” The batter, still looking at the catchers chest protector “I like it…IT’S SHINEY.”
While I worked as base umpire during a sophomore game the shortstop ran to the outfield and made a remarkable diving catch, lying flat-out to catch it…he slide several feet on his belly after hitting the ground hard. I called the batter out on the catch, as the kid just laid there. His coach came out of the dugout, concerned that his player was injured. I looked at the kid, and his teammates around him. His teammates were laughing, the player curled up into the fetal position and I turned to his coach, who was requesting permission to come onto the field, and replied “where he’s hurt coach, you can’t help him” to which the coach stopped and said “oh…he got hurt there…oh…”. (His protective cup “bit” into the area that its intended to protect) The game resumed after a few moments.
During the 3 on 3 basketball league that I worked this summer, between two eight year old squads. These players are just getting onto the court for the first time to play competitive ball. They’re skinny little whips racing around the half-court. The games are usually half wrestling match, half track meet. Final scores are usually 6-4…that’s five made baskets in eighteen minutes. Its a mess to officiate but amusing to watch as these little ones try out the moves that they’ve been practicing at home in the driveway. One little guy got the ball (mind you he was about twenty-five feet from the basket, so he wasn’t a scoring threat…no one is at that level) and he proceeded to dribble the ball between his legs in a figure-eight as his hands and arms flailed about in dizzying fashion ala Harlem Globetrotters style. His defender could have reached in at any time and knocked the ball away but didn’t because he was either too mesmerized by this display of dribbling or just respectful of a “guy doing something cool” and didn’t want to interrupt it.
At the same summer league one parent, whom I know well, was teasing me before the game telling the players “Hey…watch out for this ref…he’s blind as Mister Magoo!!” The kid stopped and looked at us and asked “Who’s Mister Magoo?” I aged a little right then.
One of the last nights that I worked the 3 on 3 league I was assigned the “old gym”. Old gyms just have a smell to them. Musty thick air boxed in by bleachers that put the fans right on top of you. As I changed into my game shoes I spied a little girls game warming up, maybe nine-year olds. They were lined up at the free-throw line, taking turns shooting as someone’s little sister (decked out in a black and white stripped outfit and pink tutu) pranced and twirled around them in a circle, obvious that this was a basketball court and not a stage. A mother walked by carrying a cake for after the game, someone had a birthday that night. The kids chattered excitedly. I don’t know if they were more excited about the game, or the cake…either way…it was a good night to be on their team.
And lastly…the varsity crew that had asked me to join them this upcoming season has….elected to use the guy that had moved away. Instead of me working 21+ varsity dates with them…I’ll get half of that. Games that I looked forward to working are now his. Games that I told folks that I couldn’t work since I was now with this crew are….gone to other officials. I told folks that I was now on a varsity crew of three. Turns out they’re loyal to the guy that moved away and wish to keep him “in the fold” even though he’s moved away. Now I feel like a horse’s rear-end. Like the kid who gets picked last for the team. I don’t blame them for being loyal to him, good officials are hard to find. I blame myself for not being more thorough in asking questions of the crew chief and in what I should expect in the way of games prior to accepting. There are now gaps in my season where no games are assigned to me. I’ll get games, eventually, probably as a fill-in for someone who is sick, injured or has a work commitment come up, but this is what I wanted to avoid…and I failed at that. God’s always got a plan, if even for something as trivial as officiating games. It’ll work out. I’ll dazzle the crews that I’m subbing on and, God-willing, I’ll get asked to join a crew fulltime next summer. My goal of getting post-season games is still on the table…with or without that crew.
God’s got a plan, even in my failure, to lift me up to bigger and better things. I can’t wait to see what it is…
RICH RIPLEY 