Yes on the brain

I went through one of my Yes phases a few weeks ago.

It all started when I grabbed a cassette to listen to on the way to work (my car still has a tape player, thank you). The album -- "Drama" by Yes.

Well, it's not really by Yes. There's no Jon Anderson on vocals, but it's still the band. The singer is Trevor Horn and I think the release date is 1980 or so.

This was one of the first Yes albums I bought, and I recall that my friend Dug and I joked about the song "I am a Camera." We sang it, "I am a Cameroon," as in the African country. We were studying the continent in school and used the song as a way to remember that nation.

Anyway, listening to album now, I find the music out of place. I think Anderson's unique (some call it wimpy) voice would have suited this album well. Horn's voice sems too New Wave here. The guitar is heavier than the other Yes releases -- this album could have been heavy metal with another power chord or two.

It seems "Drama" is a release of almosts.

It did, though, send me a two-week Yes binge. "Fragile" is a great work no matter how you slice it. "Going for the One" is commercial, but the song "Awaken" is one of my favorite. "Tormato" is pretty much a flop. "Yes" is so young, though "I See You" is amusing in a late-1960s way, "Harold Land" is folksy and the version of "Every Little Thing" pales next to The Beatles' recording. "The Yes Album" is strong with "I've Seen All Good People" and "A Venture."

And the best of all -- "Close to the Edge." It has my favorite, "And You and I," one of the longest love songs ever recorded. I still haven't figured out the album, but I believe it's about choices that all of us make. As with most Yes material, the lyrics are secondary to the aura created by the sound. So the choices aren't black and white and you never know when you've gone too far until you're there.

I had gone pretty far on my Yes listening, but I've come back to The Beatles. It's not a distant leap, really.

Thought: Even Siberia goes through the motion.

The Day After

We're all still recovering from a great Christmas Day. The kids really had a blast, as the picture above should show.

The day started at about 6 a.m. for the kids, though I told them we weren't going downstairs to open presents until 8 a.m. So, about 7 a.m., I got up and stayed with the girls until 8. Then, we let them loose. ...

I think the highlights of their gifts were the Gameboy units, especially for Elspeth, and the My Little Pony castle for Alyssa.

Throughout the day, Jayne and I alternated naps. Jayne's mom wasn't feeling well early on, but did make it out to open some more gifts later in the day.

For me, the gifts are secondary (you can tell I'm not a kid). I just liked being home with the family and seeing the kids content.

I could have done without gashing my finger with scissors as I tried to open the Littlest Pet Shop box.

A diversion

I must share my Christmas Eve event.

I had to work and, I'll say, the shift was a challenge because my co-workers were, well, a challenge. Yes, that's what I'll say for the sake of decorum. Let's just say the holiday spirit was about the only thing keeping me from freaking out, bit I digress.

The event happened earlier in the day.

I was on my way in about 9:30 a.m. (early deadline) Sunday and crested the I-196 overpass before the airport tunnel. I saw the police officer, but felt I was safe because I was in the process of slowing down and was the middle car of three going into the tunnel.

Well, the officer pulled me over for speeding (and yes, I was), but let the other two vehicles go. We werer all going the same speed! It didn't take me long to figure out why.

The car in front of me was a newer, shiny black model with a middle-aged looking white woman driving. The car behind me was a newer gold-colored Cadillac with an old, white-haired white woman driving. Then there was me: A scuffy, long-haired male with a ripped up Carhart jacket and a Bills cap driving a decade-old rusting Corsica. Also, I was singing at the top of my lungs one of teh tracks from the album "Help!"

I bet that officer thought he was going to make a drug bust or an arrest for OUIL.

You see, call me paranoid, but I'm the one whose car gets pulled over and searched at the Canadian border. I'm also the one who gets pulled out of lines at airports and searched. I got so good at the latter that I already had my shoes off before I was pulled over to be X-rayed even more.

Anyway, I got away with a warning. I had to go up to Holland today and have them run my driving record. I passed.

Thought: I better not be on the road on New Year's.

A visit to St. Nick

I took the girls to visit Santa earlier this week. The photo is above. We went to Tree House Books on Eighth Street in Holland.

The kids had been talking about this visit for days. They made their lists, prepared their speeches and even practiced them while we waited in line:

Santa, how are you? I want a Pokemon ...

Of course, when they got to the jolly old elf himself, they clammed up. I had to give them prompts from the sideline, whispering things like, "You want nothing over $10" and "No, I don't want a video game. I want a sweater."

Afterwards, we spent 45 minutes or so browsing the book store. The kids like this store because it has a play area with a cool wooden castle and some live animals -- a rabbit, birds and a sleepy chinchilla.

I'm just happy they're still young enough to enjoy this simple pleasure.

What the Dickens

One of my co-workers told his young children right off the bat that there is no Santa Claus. No whimsy from the start. This approach reminds me of Thomas Gradgrind in "Hard Times" by Dickens. Gradgrind's mantra stated in the first lines of the book:

"Now, what I want is Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. ..."

"Hard Times" is a short novel and brutally concise. It lacks the whimsy of the other novels -- on purpose. It's a hard-hitting smack on British industrialism.

Speaking of Dickens: Another one of my co-workers brings her knitting into the office. Not a good sign when a reporter has time to knit. Lots of problems with this. But, those aside, I made the reference to some of the other folks in the office that she was really recording all our transgressions for later reprisals, like Madame Defarge.

Silence.

You know, I prodded, Madame Defarge. Best of times, worst of times. French Revolution. A far better thing I do than I've ever done. Needs of the many ...

"Oh," one of my co-workers said. "That's from 'Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan.' Great film. ..."

And I wonder about the fate of Western civilization?

Thought: Kids need to believe in magic. They have the rest of their lives to be beaten down by reality.

A modest proposal

WARNING: This entry contains description that may be offensive to some people. If you are squeamish about fleshy body parts, please stop reading.

Working nights these last 15 years or so has afforded me the chance to see and hear many human interactions that daylight often doesn't uncover. I've been witness to, for example, total strangers vomiting on sidewalks, urinating on buildings and jumping out of moving vehicles. But last week, I was witness to the true motivation of human action.

I was leaving work about 1 a.m. To get to my car, I have to walk across three lanes of traffic to a parking lot. No biggie at that hour. The most dangerous thing on the road then is drunken college students staggering home to their apartments.

This particular night, I saw two people I assumed to be students heading home from one of the local bars. It was pretty warm for a December night and all the street lights make this stretch of road almost like day.

I crossed Ninth Street and heard part of the besotted conversation between the male and female. This is toned down a bit, leaving out some more of the graphic elements.

Female: I'm too tired. I don't wanna cross the street.

Male: Ah, well. ...

Female: You wanna touch my boobies, don't you?

Male: (Silence)

Female: You wanna touch them, don't you?

Male: Huh?

Female: Carry me across the street and I'll let you touch my titties.

Male: (Sound of shuffling shoes) Umph.

I turned around as I unlocked my car to make sure no one was falling into traffic. In the artificial light, I saw a broadly smiling guy struggling to tote his elequent dear to the other side.

Female: (After being set down safely on the pavement). Oh! Now you can touch my boobies.

Male: (Still silent but smiling under the street lights).

I started my car and left the two love birds alone.

Thought: That's what makes the world go around.

Snow daze and wedding bells

I've been wanting to write a few things the last week or so, but the road to Hell being paved with ice and blowing snow, I've had to wait.

Lake effect

We got dumped on last Thursday with about 16-18 inches of lake effect snow. It all came in about a 12-hour period. I went out about 7 a.m. to shovel the 6-8 inches off the driveway and get Jayne's car ready for her to head to work and get the kids to school (yes, they still had class!).

After the initial clearing, I went inside to thaw, eat and shower. When I went out again about 12:30 p.m., we had another 6-8 inches of snow, and it was still pouring down.

Driveway blues

The hardest part of the shoveling is the end of the driveway. We live on a state road. The Michigan Department of Transportation works under a "bare pavement" policy, that is, the plows want to get the roads completely clean. (Allegan County, to compare, just has a "passable" policy, meaning the county roads will still have ice and snow on them as long as people can struggle through the mess). So, boiled down, the end of my driveway had a foot-and-a-half of packed snow and ice and I had rubber bands for arms.

I couldn't clear it all out, but figured that, like Allegan County, it was passable if you gunned the engine and hit it fast. Jayne helped and cleared some that night again so I could get in the driveway after my night shift. Good thing the Corsica was fixed up to handle this.

It all also meant I spent a chunk of Sunday time clearing the melting slush away. Though the temperatures topped 40 degrees Sunday, and will be above freezing for days, I still had to scrape the driveway of dangerous clumps of snow and ice. I finally got the front walk to a safe state.

Much of my extra time and energy was put into snow removal and ice chipping.

Happy event

Among all the snow drifts and ice patches, Jayne and I attended a friends' wedding Friday night in Saugatuck.

Krista and Alan met at The Sentinel and decided to get married at All Saints Episcopal Church in Saugatuck. The church is perfect for a holiday time wedding. It was built in the 1870s with high arcing wood ceilings and cozy pews.

I always cry during weddings (when don't I cry, right?), but this a special kind of tears. I was touched by the love and emotion of the ceremony. I figure that I see these people in some of the most stressful work environments possible -- deadline on a daily paper. In the daily stress of typos, spelling errors, grammar screwups, photo problems and computer glitches, we sometimes forget what's important in life. The wedding was a great reminder that there are many things bigger than our daily grind.

After the ceremony, we attended the reception at the AlpenRose in Holland. Great vegetarian meal and good conversation with friends.

I'm grateful I was asked to share in the special event. It was one of those rare life-affirming times among the destructive world we live in.

Thought: Thanks Alan and Krista for sharing.

Baby I can't drive my car. ...

First, thanks to The Gunky for the suspender comments. I may not wear long johns and cutoffs (seriously: a moment of silence for our deceased friend, Pat, aka Psycho, who did don such attire in college), but you ought to see me in Spandex.

Now for something completely different.

I headed off to work the other day and my "Service Engine Soon or Die" light came on in my Corsica. The engine was sputtering and the whole car shaking, so I turned around and parked it in the driveway. I borrowed my mother-in-law's van and went to work.

Next day, I called John's Auto in Fennville to see if they could take a a look at it. They'd love to, said the owner, but their machanic is in the hospital and not sure when he will be discharged.

Not good. So I asked if they could tow my car up to Holland for work. He said no problem and would be there in a few minutes (John's is about 2 blocks away).

He showed up with the flatbed wrecker! I was floored. This is the kind of vehicle that carts away twisted wreckage from car vs. tractor-trailer crashes, not a sputtering Chevy. Anyway, he chained up the car and slowly pulled out of the driveway. It was like a scene from a World War I film -- my best buddy being hauled away on a stretcher out of the trenches to an unknown fate.

I think I heard the guys at the Chevy dealer laughing when my little red Corsica was dropped off: Fix a rusting old heap with a million miles on it and a rubber fish in the backseat? Just shoot it and put it out of our misery!

Oh, how they don't understand that's not how you treat an old friend -- especially one that's paid off and just got a new exhaust system installed for $300 a few weeks before.

It took Bill the Mechanic (who, by the way, is in a cast because he broke his foot. War is hell) a few days, but he patched up my buddy, changed the serpentine belt and talked me into new front brakes (so that's what metal-on-metal sounds like!) and a realignment of the rear brakes.

The Corsica still has some leaks, and it still knocks, pings, dings, rattles, hums, shakes and shimmies, but it's home for about $450. As I would for any friend, I put it snug in the garage out of the snow and cold winds and kissed it good night.

I hope it starts in the morning.

Thought: Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Yeah.