Don't lick the car

About nine years ago, I, along with my family, Melissa, Lena, Alison, and Edwin(Booga), lived in Kokomo. I had a good job, low paying, but good. Melissa was working at the local Wal-Mart. And, it was a different time...

It was pre- 9-11. The economy was buzzing, people were working, We discovered We Care park (sidenote...If you can make it to We care park in Kokomo this year, do so!) and the nearby cafe that sold coke in a bottle out of a vintage coke machine for only 50 cents! And, we were a very close knit family.

That winter was especially harsh in Kokomo, as we got about 10 inches of snow...not all at once, but over the course of the entire season. Snow doesn't really fall in Kokomo, it hovers then moves north. (sidenote number 2...Kokomo was founded by a convicted felon. I am not making that up!)

Anyhow, car assidents spiked in our semi white Christmas when the snow flew, and the salt trucks were on the job!

Now, for anyone who knows my kids, you all know this to be true: they ain't right. I love my kids. My kids are great kids. But, my house resembles a scene from "To Kill a Mockingbird".

The strangest of all my kids was, and arguably still is, Alison. At the time we lived in Kokomo, Ali was a tiny girl. She ate like crazy, but never gained weight. And she was as sweet as could be. But, she was a weirdo.

Now, my wife and I had started to notice that we were saying weird sentences. Sentences that do not usually come up in everyday civilized life. Things like, "Omigod! That's poop, not candy." or "Don't ride the cat!" or, as I used to tell my dog, "get out of the cat litter. It's not a toy!!!"

But, that fateful day in the winter of '00 would prove to be pinnacle of our prosaic prowess. Allow me to paint you a picture:

There is a light layer of snow on the ground. The parking lot is full of empty cars whose owners were inside the stores, shopping for the holidays. It was cold, the kind of cold that bites your nose and penetrates your bones. We pulled into the parking lot and parked our red astrovan with working heat, but no working heater fan. We began to unload the kids. The cars were covers with snow, dirt, and most of all, salt. I unloaded Ali, and as Melissa was wlking up to take her hand, she heard me yell,"ALI! Stop licking the Car!!!"

"What?" Melissa said.

"I just caught Alison licking the car next to us. I told her to stop licking the car"

We still look back on that with fondness. Not because of the obvious inappropriate behavior of a 3 year old, but because we still find ourselves saying those weird sentences. "Yes, we know what causes it" "No, they are all ours." "Yes, we call ourselves Living Stoners"

Ok, I gotta go. Melody is pointing at her diaper. The only word she can muster is "eewww". Guess we aren't the only wordsmiths!

New Beginnings

About five years ago, we lived in Burr Oak, Indiana, just outside of Culver. We had several cats and dogs, and fed several outdoor cats. Melissa took a real liking to one of the outdoor cats, and in turn he took a liking to her...however, human contact was not one of his fortes.

One day, we noticed he was not around anywhere, and he was always around. Later in the day, we saw laying on the porch, and upon further investigation, we could tell he was very ill. we took him to an old time vet in Winamac.

When the vet looked him over, Melissa asked,"Well, what can we do?"

He looked straight at my wife and without missing a beat said,"Go home, and dig a hole."

Isn't it funny the things you remember? I can't remember over half of my teacher's names, nor can I remember what I had for dinner last Wednesday. But, I remember that. And so does Melissa.

We have seven kids, four cats, and a house. Our story, which I will go into later, is one of hope, heartache, despair, and ultimately, redemption. Redemption through Christ! BUt, at our lowest times, we always remembered Doc Brockett's advice...dig a hole.

We all dig holes for ourselves...we put our foot in our mouth, we pay a bill late and get late fees, we let relationships go to the point of no return. The problem with these holes is that, more times than not, we don't know we are digging it until we can't see out the top. Only when we can see the tiny light at the top of our pit do we say, what have I dug myself into?

For us, it was the love of God and an AWESOME church. For different people, it is different things. I always suggest the love of the Lord, but honestly, it is different for different people.

Prologue...Yin, the porch cat, died the next day. And we buried him next to the garage. But, his contribution to our lives, as small and unintentional as it was, remains solid.

Dig A Hole is a way of life, an "anti-motto" if you will. RIP Yin.