Heavily Salted Lake & Lightly Salted Peanuts

Come on. Gather 'round and I'll tell you a story. A story full of intrigue, excitement,  full body searches, and lightly salted peanuts.

A long, long time ago, my buddy, the author and illustrator Dave Biedrzycki (pronounced "Smith"), sent me a top secret email that contained email addresses for some of his favorite author visit contacts. As instructed, I read the list, committed it to memory, and ate it -  which was more difficult than you might think and resulted in me having to buy a brand new computer, thank you very much, Dave.

After I got the new computer up and running, I sent out emails to those people on the list, detailing the many wonderful reasons they should have me come to their school and talk to their students about how to be an author. Just a few days later, I got an email from Donita Hughes at Grace Lutheran School in Sandy, Utah asking me to come visit.

Thanks, Dave!

Donita told me about their annual Author Festival and said that they'd fly me out there to talk to the students at the school.

I thought, "How cool is that? I can get one of those full body searches from the TSA that everyone seems so keen on these days. And probably some peanuts on the plane! I'm IN!"

I made my arrangements, packed my bags, and headed off to the airport. Then I remembered that I still had several months to go before the visit so I went home again.

Last Sunday, all my months of eager waiting were finally over. I headed off to the airport all atwitter with anticipation. And a small measure of dread. I haven't flown in a LONG time and I'll admit that I was a bit concerned by all the horror stories I'd heard about TSA screening. I didn't want to go through the full body scanner (Public Service Announcement: The scanners are OPTIONAL. Anyone can opt out. You don't need extra radiation in your body, people.)  and I had heard that the TSA folks made the opt-out process unpleasant.  I'm happy to report that all I did was ask to opt out, they took me around, gave me a quick, polite pat down and sent me on my way. No problem.

Once in the airport, I was free to wander around aimlessly until my flight was ready for boarding. My quick flight to Detroit was made even more delightful by two packets of complimentary "Lightly Salted Peanuts - Warning: Contains Nuts".

Detroit Airport, for those who have never had the pleasure, is a garden of earthly delights for the weary traveler. I began my adventure by traveling through the eerily green, throbbing Tunnel of Love.

Many fellow travelers did not appreciate the disco party I tried to organize.

I'm not certain that the airport officials actually refer to it as the Tunnel of Love, but I enjoyed it so much that I can think of it in no other terms. The lights along the tunnel changed color in time to the music thumping through the speakers. If not for my dedication to my job, I may have skipped Utah entirely and spent 3 days sitting in the tunnel, lost in its transcendent beauty.

But I had a duty to uphold and a school to visit, so I forged onward to the next terminal so I could find my gate. Rising from the tunnel, I beheld...

A mall.

At least, I assumed it was a mall. It had all the mall requirements: fast food, stores full of overpriced stuff, and hoards of people wandering aimlessly, staring at their phones. I was distressed by this until I saw a flash of red zip past over head. See it in the picture? Look closely. That's right. A little train zips endlessly back and forth, back and forth, back and forth high above the heads of the ordinary peasants forced to labor on their own two legs.

With several hours until my flight, guess who spent quite some time riding back and forth on the train?

Zoom!

Woosh!

Oh yeah, baby. Reaching a dizzying top speed of maybe 9 miles per hour, I felt like a superhero racing to and fro in the airport, searching for bad guys.

I didn't find any, however. Probably because the TSA guys were busy patting them all down.

Delta also has a help center that graciously provides temporary housing for people who have missed connecting flights.

I napped here for a few minutes.

In my wanderings, I also discovered that Detroit is nothing if not generous with its water supply.

After a half hour or so of flushing, I tired of standing around in the stall and wandered off to my gate where I was whisked away to Utah on another flight featuring even more lightly salted peanuts.

Utah–for those of you, like me, who have only been over or around it before–is really, stunningly lovely.

Here's the sunrise view out my hotel room window.

Have you ever seen prettier lights on a Wendy's restaurant?

No, but seriously. Look.

 My delightful hostess, Donita  picked me up and took me to Grace Lutheran School where I was greeted by even more amazing views.

Has your school got a view like this from the parking lot? If so, hire me so I can come to your school to verify your claim.

And here I am with Donita. Please note that she is much more photogenic than I.

A brilliant picture of up my nose and the lovely Donita.

Everyone in the school was wearing tattoos of Twelve Terrible Things in a brilliant, but slightly flawed attempt to win my "Free Books For Life" Contest.

It was hilarious, but I had to disqualify them because the winning tattoos cannot actually peel off.  I'm a stickler like that.
Donita said that she suspected there might be some upset parents if they tattooed all the kids without permission.
I say you can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs.
We have agreed to disagree on the matter.

They had also created a wonderful bulletin board.

I seem to have hit a nerve with my dislike of Wal-Mart and cell phones. Sorry, guys. I'm not sure why they object to my barnyard pets, however. Probably because I didn't buy them at Wal-Mart and supply them with cell phones.

I particularly enjoyed this child, stranded in this locker in his undies.

And this brilliant rendering of a scene from Fame, Fortune, and the Bran Muffins of Doom.

My new friend Lilly also had me sign her cast.

Maybe someday she can hock this on eBay.

The kids and teachers were a lot of fun and I had an awesome time, but all good things must come to an end - though I've never been sure why that is.

The day wound to a close and I staggered back to the hotel (and by "staggered" I mean that Donita drove me) and I suffered through a few grueling minutes in the hot tub. Nobody said that being an author is easy.

Donita picked me up for dinner and reported that I had managed to displease at least one student because I had yet to post anything on my blog about their school. It had, after all, been nearly an hour.

But now it's written. Here it is. So, you happy now, kid? Huh? Huh?

I dragged Donita, possibly against her better judgement, to a great Indian restaurant where we enjoyed a toe-curlingly delicious meal. She then gave me a brief tour of Salt Lake City where I saw, along with the mind-bogglingly huge headquarters of the LDS church, the most amazing spectacle I have witnessed in my entire life:

A single street corner with 3 separate taco carts on it. THREE!!!

I could be wrong, but it appears that Salt Lake City may be the new taco headquarters of the universe.

There was also a Himalayan Restaurant that I'm dragging Donita to if I ever go back to Utah. At least, I'll go there if lightly salted peanuts go well with yak milk.

I saved some from the flight home. Just in case.

Pass the Soap, Please.

So, what I need to know is: What is the proper greeting when you are outside behind your house naked and showering off with the hose and the electric meter reader lady walks around the side of the house to read the electrical meter?*

It was a very hot day. Should I have offered to hose her off? Should I have nodded my head casually  continued indiscreetly soaping myself?

Was shrieking and running away a socially appropriate response? For both of us?

I ask because I am in the middle of what I like to refer to as A Twenty Minute Job.

A few weeks ago, a peculiar odor began wafting through the bathroom.

I fully understand that you will need to interject many, many thoughtful and hilarious comments at this point so here is plenty of space for you to do just that: (      )

The problem is that the smell was not one of a scatological origin. It was a musty, funky sort of odor. And it was coming from under the tub.

Our tub is, if the truth is to be known, the only reason that Kerri wanted to buy our house at all. The bathroom was the only room in the house that had been updated since the mid-seventies and it looked wonderful in comparison to the faux-wood paneling that covered every surface in every other room of the house . The bathroom had a big, tiled whirlpool tub, a shiny tile floor, and was the one room in the entire house that actually had a closet. Kerri was delighted.

It was unfortunate that the whirlpool tub sounded like a submerged lawnmower when you turned it on, depriving the bather of the quiet, relaxing experience she may have been seeking in the tub. It was also unfortunate that the shiny floor tiles were terrifyingly slick and slippery when they got wet. And the closet door doesn't ever stay closed.

And now there was this smell.

Some of the tiles covering the outside of the tub had come loose and I suspected that water had found its way in and began a vigorous campaign of populating the bathroom with mold. My solution was A Twenty Minute Job.

"I will pull the tiles off, replace the wood underneath them with cement board, and re-tile the front of the tub."

To be fair to myself, I would like to point out that I only counted pulling off the tiles as A Twenty Minute Job. I knew the rest of it might take a few hours. Maybe a day. But I had the tiles already. All I needed was cement board, grout, and tile adhesive. So the whole job was going to cost about $40.  And take a day.

And now, faced with this, I wonder if the electric meter reader lady and I might be able to come to some sort of understanding.

There was a bit of mold there. And the wooden supports around the tub were soaked. And when I was prying the tiles on the front of the tub off, all the nice shiny, slippery tiles on the floor started popping off. A bit of homeowner wisdom for you all, courtesy of me: Don't attach bathroom tiles to regular wallboard or plywood. The person who buys your house will hate you. Even if it's your mother who buys your house. She will hate you. Tiles don't go on wallboard or plywood. Remember that. Always.
The one good point here was that the previous owners' incredibly incompetent installation job made removal much easier than it should have been. But I still hate them.

So now, my $40 one day job has turned into a complete removal of the tub, the floor, the tiles and sheetrock walls in the tub surround and, because Kerri is my wife and must be obeyed, new light fixtures.

This week I've been busy with the destruction of the bathroom. Next week a kind gentleman will arrive to install our new, acrylic, tile-free, humongous shower stall. We will no longer have a tub. But, the shower will be big enough to accommodate us and nearly all of our friends at the same time. I'm not inviting you over for a group shower, mind you, I'm just making the point that it's a freakin' huge shower.

All I'll have to do after the nice man comes is paint the bathroom, change the light fixtures, install the new subfloor, put down the vinyl flooring, paint and reinstall the baseboards, and convince that meter reading lady to announce herself a bit more loudly before she comes into the back yard next time.

All that should take me about twenty minutes.







* Yes, I was naked in the yard because the shower was dismantled. Also, because really, why NOT be naked in your back yard? 
Your back yard. 
Please do not come over here to be naked in my back yard.
The meter lady would probably think that was weird.

On the Road Again

This is the scenic view from out our hotel window in Littleton, NH.

April 28.

10 inches of snow and falling.

I was scheduled to visit Lakeway Elementary today and tomorrow. After some panicky last minute phone calls yesterday, it was decided that we should reschedule for Thursday and Friday in case the weather should be bad.
Like, you know, in case we get a freak end-of-the-season snowstorm or something.

So now we have an extra day here in Littleton with little to do but lounge about by the pool and relax in the hot tub. We had to drag ourselves out for tasty Mexican food last night, too. Tonight might be Thai.

Will my suffering never end?