Smooth Sailing….NOT!

I sit here and ponder as I have completely my first week back in college. So far, I am ahead on my homework assignments and I am feeling rather confident about the whole thing. Mind you, I am sure at some point I will have my head spinning over an assignment and things will be normalized somewhat. After all, life without somewhat tension would just be downright boring. In the meantime I will just have to tolerate the boredom the best I can.

According to the Chinese calendar, the year 2010 is the Year of the Tiger. However, in my home, 2010 seems to be the year of educational pursuit. Allow me to bring you up to speed on things. My younger son, Caleb, is entering his senior year of high school. My older daughter, Shayna, has begun her final year in college as a psychology major. So, at the end of the year, I will have one child graduating high school and another graduating college. Needless to say, the cost of disposable tissues will skyrocket. That's fine; I know my wife will be there with a steady supply and a reassuring hand. In addition to this, both my older son, Tom, and my younger daughter, Brianna, are in the process of continuing their college education after working hard to overcome some personal setbacks. What can I say? I have never been a prouder father of my four kids. They all show great promise for their lives in the forthcoming year.

All of this wonderful change in my family can easily make my head spin. That's OK. I can always look to my darling wife and find some sense of calm in this great ocean of change. I had no idea that the tide had not quite come in yet. I was expecting my wife to help me hoist a sail. She didn't tell me I had to stand watch in the crow's nest. I guess I should just dispense with the ocean analogy and just get to the point. After all, I do not wish to bore you (and a pox on those who say "TOO LATE!")

After doing all of the administrative legwork for the kids and me, my wife decided that it was time for her to make a change in her own life. In some of the heaviest news since "Shane, I'm pregnant", my wife tells me that she intends to continue her own pursuit of higher education. My wife has decided to pursue a degree in Social Work so that she may counsel families with special needs children. This is an area very close to our hearts and I have no doubt that she will excel in her pursuit.

Still, it's kind of weird. All of my studies are online. I can't exactly carry her books for her. I won't have a pledge pin to offer her. I won't even have a letter jacket for her to wear (they don't offer varsity letters for blogging. I already checked). So, I figured I would try to find some other way to offer some support. She told me that for one college she would have to submit a 300 word essay. She asked me if I could help her with a 300 word essay. Clearly, she had forgotten about my prom night piece.

So to all of my family and friends, please allow me to apologize in advance for my lack of availability. For the duration, I will most likely be doing my homework assignment, finding out about my next homework assignment, or helping someone with their homework assignment. Someone please tell me the location of the tranquility Christopher Cross promised us all.

Shane Finally Goes to College (Again)

Well, the day has finally arrived. You have heard me go on ad nauseam about admissions letter, class registration, and financial aid. True to the spirit of my writing you have read my random ramblings and mindless minutiae about my wife's unending support (and undying patience) and my daughter's many mantras. Actually, I think if she could, my daughter, Brianna, would press charges for the murder of her patience. I would like to reassure my wife and all four of my kids that such things are all behind us now. I'd LIKE to do that but I consider myself an honest man.

Today marks the first day of classes for my bachelor's program in Health Information Management. This is the start of a new adventure for me. I have set out to further my education and my career. I start this venture at the (relatively) young age of 44. It is my goal to finish this program before I am retired, dead, or too old to remember what I studying in the first place. In my mind, I envisioned the inspirational music playing in the background as I spoke about this. Alas, all I can hear now is the churning of my window air conditioning unit. I guess that will have to do since John Phillip Sousa is unavailable.

I am starting out slowly with two classes this semester so as not to get overconfident and overload myself with school, work, and watching the Atlanta Braves inch closer and closer to the playoffs (everything in its proper place).I am taking my classes over the Internet because my college is about 3 hours from where I live. The commute would be a bit rough on my van. I have all of my textbooks on the shelf and I can study at my own pace (within the confines of assignment deadlines). I can access my classes from anywhere I have Internet access. There is no dress code (provide that my webcam is not required). I don't have to raise my hand to use the restroom (the professors quickly tire of such phone calls). I can play music during my class. I might even whip out my harmonica during some classes and no one would know but yours truly (and my neighbors). The coolest part of all is that I can even chew gum and not have to supply it for the entire class. That's right, Mrs. Douglas in Life Science class in Room 80 at Quail Hollow Junior High School in Charlotte, North Carolina. I will NEVER risk having to write 500 sentences stating that I will not chew gum in class. HAH, I say. HAH!

I have started reading some of the course materials and have even completed some of the homework. One of the homework assignments was posting a discussion thread introducing myself to the class. I even restrained myself from my kneejerk reaction to tell my fellow students that I like long walks on the beach and men who aren't afraid to cry. Instead, I just stuck to the facts. Don't get me wrong. I don't personally have anything against long walks on the beach and men who aren't afraid to cry. They just aren't on my list of favorite things.

So there you have it folks. A lot of you are probably thinking that since all this college stuff I have been anticipating has come to pass, I probably move on to other subjects for my writing. To paraphrase Michael Corleone: "Who's being naïve?"

The Wait Vol. III: A Nice Credit Report

      I had finally received the admissions letter. Now, I just had to find out what credits had transferred from when I went to college for my two-year degree. I was trying my best at this point to take my daughter's advice and just "CHILLAX!" I wasn't QUITE sure exactly what that word meant so I thought, alternatively, I should just try to take it easy and wait patiently. By waiting patiently, this meant that I would ask my wife (on an almost daily basis) to please call the college on my behalf to follow up in my credit transfer issue as well as financial aid status, registration instructions, and anything else I might need to know to proceed further in the pursuit of my higher education. This proved difficult for my wife because she often had trouble reaching the college. This was due to the fact that the college was observing "summer hours". This basically meant that, during the summertime, the college had more limited hours of availability. In addition, apparently some of the staff that had the information I was seeking were on vacation. I mean, REALLY? Who takes vacation from a college during the summertime? This didn't matter however. My lovely wife has the tenacity of a bloodhound (she married me cause I am a smooth talker).


    Several days later, I finally got a letter showing the credits that transferred from my two-year degree. I was kind of dreading this as I figured there might be some classes I would have to repeat. After all, while I did make the dean's list several times, I was not always a shining star in every class. I perused the list of classes that transferred to my four-year program. Some examples include:

• College Composition – THAT was a cool class that I really enjoyed. The professor told me I was one of the strongest writers he had taught. You can blame him for being subjected to my essays.
• Technical Writing – This one was a bit more challenging as I had to write in a more sterile field than I had been accustomed. As I recall, I drafted a memo to my wife that the class was over. She displayed it upon the refrigerator.
  
• Astronomy – This was a class that really fascinated me (and still does). However, I discovered quickly that it is easier for me to look at the sky in awe than to know how many astronomical units it is from the Earth to the Andromeda Galaxy. I hoped to be a shining star in this class. I proved to be more of a neutron star (extremely dense).
  
• Statistics – I can't begin to tell you how glad I was to know that I do not have to take this class again. This class occasionally had me in the corner reaching for my blankey. The teacher told me I was an average student but he was just being mean (Did you REALLY think I'd let that one go?)
  
• All said and done, there were a total of 50 credit hours that transferred. I won't list them all as I don't wish to put you to sleep (and a pox on those of you that said "TOO LATE!")
  

    So now, I pretty much have my financial aid in order. I have registered for two online classes for the fall semester. I will be ordering my books on the day after this writing. Now, I just have to enjoy the coming week as much as possible. In eight days from this writing, I will begin my online classes. At this point, I just need to enjoy my leisure time while I still have it. I think I will take my daughter's advice and CHILLAX! I think I'll just prop up my feet and listen to the radio. OH, MAN! It's THAT song AGAIN! Billy, in the name of all that is good; why not just break it off with the girl BEFORE the band comes down Main Street. GIVE US ALL A BREAK!

I Rocked Too Hard

Some extended family of ours is in the process of moving. During that process, they weeded out and handed down some older belongings of theirs. Among these belongings were an older video game system, a collection of games compatible with said system, and some controllers. When my daughter, Brianna, was handed these items; her reaction is what many physicians and scholars have referred to as going gaga. She didn't actually make an audible gaga sound. Nonetheless, you could see the glazed look in her eyes and her unnaturally widened smile and know she had definitely been afflicted with gagas.

The next Sunday morning, Brianna had wasted no time in hooking the video game system to our television in the living room. It wasn't long before she and her brother, Caleb, were playing a game together. This wasn't just ANY kind of game. This game simulates playing guitar in a band before an audience. It even included a guitar shaped controller. I say because there are no strings and no pickups. There are several colored buttons on the neck as well as a toggle controller on the body where one would normally pick the strings. You choose from a selection of real classic songs. You then use the screen to cue you as to when to press which button on the neck. You must also simulate playing the notes by moving the toggle controller on the body. Anyone who knows me knows that the mere mention of the word guitar is enough to get my attention. So, I sat down and watched Caleb and Brianna do their thing.

I was watching Brianna choose songs from bands like Foghat, Mountain, and Pat Benetar among others. Many of these songs were songs I knew from when I was younger than any of my kids. This made it even more interesting to watch Caleb and Brianna try to tackle songs they had probably never heard previously. The song was cued up and Brianna started ripping through the song like a seasoned axe slinger. I figured some of this was due to the fact that Brianna can play a few chords on a real guitar. This theory was quickly proven wrong. Caleb's turn came up and he chose a Mountain song. Now this was a classic song but I had doubted Caleb had ever heard the song before. You'd have thought that I had Leslie West, himself, sitting on my couch the way Caleb was ripping through this. He wasn't familiar with the song and does not play guitar. That didn't matter because he had played this guitar game quite a few times previously. The kids were having a blast and I was having fun watching their virtual shredfest.

Brianna then held up the guitar shaped controller and said "You wanna give it a try?" Now, I not only had heard these songs many times over my lifetime. I actually knew the chords to a few of them. All the same, I chose the Pat Benetar song. It was a song I knew and I knew the chords. What happened next can only be described as a quick exercise in humility and humiliation. I didn't make it halfway through the song when I was told by the game that I failed and was booed by the virtual audience. Here I was thinking I could get Pat Benetar to fire her husband. Apparently, I wasn't even good enough to get an audition for Spinal Tap. I could actually see Nigel Tufnel shaking his head at me and saying I was "dreadfully, frightfully, bloody awful". I actually went upstairs and grabbed my red Squier Affinity Telecaster. I HAD to assure myself that I KNEW the chords to this song and the passage of time had not erased my memory of those cool power chords.

Caleb took the controller (once he and Brianna stopped laughing at me). He chose another song and started jamming. He was REALLY getting into it. He had his body hunched over and even had a cool grimace on his face. You'd have thought he was headlining a great summer outdoor concert. He suddenly shifted his body back. This motion tugged the controller cord connected to the video game system. Suddenly, the video game system slides off the bottom shelf of the entertainment center and onto the floor. The cool thing was that it landed face up and didn't cause a skip in the game. Caleb kept playing right through to the end. He then looked at the system on the floor and smiled. "I guess I rocked too hard". We all had a good giggle out of it. Caleb and Brianna kept playing the game. I remained content to just hold my red Tele. Pat Benetar still has her husband playing by her side and Spinal Tap STILL won't return my calls.

The Wait Vol. II: CHILLAX!

The days continued. With each day that passed the ritual remained the same. I would wait for the time when the mail was due to arrive. The now seemingly scripted dialogue soon followed: "Did the letter come today?" "Not today, honey." "Do you think it'll come tomorrow?" "I dunno, honey. We'll see." My wife and kids had been very patient with me. They accommodated the daily questions. They would occasionally would pat me on the shoulder and tell me it would be okay. They even let me be when I ultimately began rocking myself in a chair (sans rocking chair) and repeating "They said it would be two weeks but it's been more than two weeks. Two weeks is FOURTEEN DAYS." They DID become a LITTLE concerned when I began marking each passed day on the wall with a chalk mark.

Finally, as much as they love me, my wife and kids had endured as much as they could take. They had grown tired of the daily questions and the rocking. My wife insisted that I clean the chalk marks off the wall. We had begun to incur legal costs as the postman had sued and filed an order of protection against my wife for her "unprovoked attack during the performance of the postal carrier's duties". Some people can be REALLY touchy I guess. Finally, I got up one day to discover that my daughter had written a message on my bedroom mirror: "It will come when it comes so CHILLAX!" So I decided to pull myself together. After all, my wife keeps telling me "Good things come to those who wait." I'll try to remember that the next time I am in the doctor's office waiting to undergo a "routine diagnostic procedure".

Then, one fine summer Saturday, I stood outside basking in the sunshine. My wife and daughter were both out of the house. I watched the cars as they passed by my house. I was beginning to embrace the day as a long overdue return to normalcy. It was around this point that this feeling began to overcome me. It was a good feeling but, all the same, it felt unusual in light of the self-induced near catatonic state from which my wife and daughter had all but forcefully ejected me (though they use the words "gently nudged").

Out of the corner of my eye, I began to see a shade of blue. I had seen this shade before but couldn't place why it was so familiar. As I turned my gaze to finds the source of the color it became clearer. A nice man in a blue uniform toting a satchel on his shoulder approached me. He seemed REALLY nervous. "Your mail, Sir", he said. I thanked him as I accepted the delivery from his trembling hands. This guy was shaking like Don Knotts in a deep freezer. "Your wife's not here, is she?" I told him she was out and he went his way. For the life of me, I don't know what it was about my wife that apparently made him so nervous.

I took the mail inside and began to sort out the bills and the mail that goes directly to the recycle bin (addressed to "Current Occupant". Suddenly, as I looked at the last piece of mail, the good feeling that came over me turned to ecstasy. IT CAME! IT FINALLY CAME! The letter read: "Congratulations, you have been accepted….into our BS in Heath Information Management program for the Fall 2010 semester….A transfer credit evaluation including the number of credits accepted will be sent under different cover." I'M IN! I'M IN! I'M IN! I whipped out my handy dandy cell phone and took a picture of the envelope. I then sent to picture to my wife's cell phone. She called me right away and proudly congratulated me.

Alas, the next few days passed by and I began to wonder: "Hmmm, what about that transfer of credit letter?" Then, it began again. "Did the letter come today?" "Not today, honey." "Do you think it'll come tomorrow?" "I dunno, honey. We'll see." My wife was kind enough to call the college and inquire today. They said the transfer of credit letter had been signed off by the director. I should receive the package in about a week or so. I have decided to NOT panic over this (thanks to the advice of Douglas Adams). After all, the postal carrier was kind enough to drop the suit. I think I'll relax and listen to the radio. OH, MAN! The radio station is playing Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods AGAIN! UGH!

The Wait Vol. I: Wait A Minute, Mr. (or Miss) Mail Carrier

    I have found myself at the figurative crossroad recently. I have a hard time speaking about a crossroad without hearing Eric Clapton playing an A chord riff; but let's stick to the subject. I spent two years serving as a Hospital Corpsman in the United States Navy. When I got out in 1986, I worked in several hospitals over the next ten years as a phlebotomist (the guy in the lab coat that draws your blood for testing). In 1998, I was no longer in that field and, with the encouragement of my wife and a few loved ones, decided to go back to college.


   I completed my degree program in 2001. I spent most of the next eight years working in software/hardware quality testing. I now currently work in technical support. There have been some bumps in the road along the way (i.e. layoffs). Overall, I would definitely have to say that it has definitely been worth the investment of my time (and my family's time) to pursue that degree. Nearly ten years later, I find myself in my mid-forties at the aforementioned metaphorical crossroad. I know that it is MY crossroad because I can look up and see a pair of sneakers hanging over the power line. I could continue to maintain my current career in Information Technology (while picking up new skills along the way via experience). Alternatively, I could begin to move things in a different direction in the interest of acquiring new skills and becoming a better-rounded individual (and feed people a straight line about my physique). The one option I knew I did not have was to just stand at the corner and watch life pass by. I had to follow the wisdom of Yogi Berra: "If you come to a fork in the road, take it."


   My family has been telling me for years that I needed to find a way to mesh my hospital experience with my information technology experience. I finally found a degree program that appeared to do just that. Further research (with the assistance of my wife, Renee) showed that I could even pursue this degree entirely over the Internet (with the exception of internships). In the space of less than two days; my wife had called the college, we had filled out financial aid forms, and I had applied for admission to pursue a Bachelor's degree in Health Information Management. The college told my wife that they were waiting for my transcripts from my two year college. They told her that in approximately two weeks, I would receive a packet that would confirm my admission and tell me how many credits transferred from my two year college.


   I patiently waited a few days before I decided to get antsy. Mind you, my wife would probably suggest that I am apparently working on a different solar cycle (with much shorter days). I became the kid in the back of the station wagon destined for the family vacation spot. Every day I went by I would ask my wife if the acceptance letter had arrived. Very day she would patiently respond with "Not today, honey". Another day would arrive and the process would start again. "Did the letter come today?" "Not today, honey." "Do you think it'll come tomorrow?" "I dunno, honey. We'll see." If my wife was not available, I'd ask my daughter. Some days, Brianna would anticipate the question and just say "No, Dad. It didn't come today" You could almost FEEL Brianna rolling her eyes when I asked her.


   This waiting game is only exacerbated by the fact that I am beginning to notice there are a lot of artists singing songs about sending or receiving a letter. These artists include (but are not limited to): REO Speedwagon, The Box Tops, The Marvelettes, Brad Paisley, Pat Boone, John Prine and Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods. Bo Donaldson and the Heywoods have prompted me to get something off my chest here. So, please forgive me while I go down a brief bunny trail. Billy, I don't know who you are. What I DO know is that your young and lovely fiancée does not wish for you to be a hero. Can you please just tell the little lady that you WILL be a hero and to go on with her life? Otherwise, she is just going to get a letter and throw it away and we will still be hearing about it 35 years later. Therefore, I ask you, Billy. PLEASE cut us a break.

So, the days pass (as well as two weeks) and still no letter. The daily call-and-response continues between my wife and me. I know that any day now, I am going to ask my wife about the letter. My wife is going to turn to me with those gentle eyes and say: "NO! NO, YOU DID NOT GET YOUR STINKIN' LETTER! AS A MATTER OF FACT, WHEN THE POSTMAN CAME TODAY, I PUNCHED HIM IN THE MOUTH FOR NOT PROVIDED THE ONE THING THAT WOULD GET YOU TO SHUT UP!" When this happens, I will just have to lovingly look at my wife and ask: "Do you think it'll come tomorrow?"


    I did follow up with the college. They confirmed they DID (finally) receive my transcript and should receive something "any day now". I guess they work on a different solar cycle too. I think they have shorter days in the Arctic North. I guess I will just try and relax for now and maybe listen to some music. OH, MAN! They are playing that song AGAIN. Come ON, Billy. I can't take much more of this.

Georgia Trip 2010 Vol. II: Home of the Braves

I had settled in my sister's house quite nicely. My sister and her husband have a very nice finished basement which includes a TV with two recliners, a separate room with a nice pool table, and another separate room that has couple of dressers, a few knick-knacks, and a bed. The bed rests on a bed frame that has been in the family since around 1973. I can still vaguely remember when my parents bought it. Over the years, it was handed down to my sister who has had it ever since. The wood is painted dark black. It seemed gigantic when my parents first got it. That may have been because I was 7 years old and a runty kid. The bed frame looks nearly the same as when my parents bought it. I say nearly the same because there is one difference. The frame came with a post in each corner that is about 7 feet from the floor at its tip. About two years ago, my Dad was putting some things away in that room. Dad lost his balance and grabbed at one of the bedpost to break his fall. He not only broke his fall; he broke the bedpost. In the end, my father was unharmed and the bed became asymmetric. I still envision my parents putting it together whenever I look at it.

I spent the next day with my brother from another mother — Stephan aka "Happy". Happy and I hugged when I got to his place. We hugged again when I left. We spent pretty much every other second between those two points reminiscing about old times, bragging about our kids (whom are bound to collectively save the world), and point out how much the other has begun to age. After all, only a loving brother would point out that some apple juice, hair treatment, and some iron supplement would be worth some consideration.

The following day was just as eventful. My sister has scored some tickets to see the Atlanta Braves play against the Pittsburgh Pirates. We left to go to the game. I couldn't help but notice that my brother-in-law, Larry, was driving in the opposite direction of Turner Field. They eventually pulled into the parking lot of a hotel. My sister, Marlene, got out and entered the lobby. I patiently waited and chatted with Larry in the car. I saw Marlene coming out accompanied by a young lady. She opened the door and said: "Jenny, this is my brother —Shane." Jenny graciously shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Shane." Suddenly, in the backseat next to me sat a man who looked me in the eye and "SURPRISE!" It was one of my closest friends from high school — Bill. Bill and I had not seen each other face to face in 25 years. Jenny, it turns out, is Bill's lovely wife. My sister had planned to surprise me by having Bill and Jenny come to Savannah and visit with me. I say she planned because I already knew about it. For starters, Bill had inadvertently let it slip when we chatted over the Internet the previous week. Also, I had recognized Jenny from pictures Bill had sent. I just wasn't about to tell somebody's wife that I recognized her from the pictures I saw on the Internet. Bill and I kept mum until we were about half way to Turner Field. After all, I didn't want to ruin the surprise for Marlene.

Now, I had looked forward to this game since I bought my plane tickets 3 months prior. Reuniting with Bill was icing on the cake. We even took a picture together with the bust of Hank Aaron. I mean, c'mon. When you have three Georgia legends side by side, you MUST get a picture. It was shortly after this that things changed. A few drops began to fall. Suddenly, it was pouring. We ran to the gift shop and Bill scored us all some rain ponchos. 81 minutes later, we all headed to our seats. A talented chorus of kids from Dacula Middle School sang "The Star Spangled Banner". The Braves lineup was introduced. The stadium was full of fans waiting with bated breath for the game to start. Then, it happened again: drip, drip, drip. The grounds crew began covering the field with tarp again.

The game resumed a short time later. Chipper Jones, Martin Prado, Yunel Escobar, and the rest of the Braves were in top form. We were riding the wave of this great game. Perhaps I should have not let the image of a wave enter my mind. It was the top of the 9^th inning. The Braves were ahead 7-3 and had already given the Pirates one out. Then, it started again. Rain came down fiercely and suddenly. The raindrops were as big as your thumb. People got up in droves and made a mass exodus to leave their seats. We tried to hold out and keep hope alive. I was very thankful for the poncho Bill provided. A couple sitting in front of me whipped out umbrellas. Had it not been for the ponchos, the runoff from the umbrellas would have soaked my pants. We finally relented and began to make our way out. An announcement came over the PA system: "ONLY TIME HAS BEEN CALLED. WE STILL INTEND TO RESUME THE GAME. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE."

About halfway to the hotel where Bill and Jenny were staying, we found the game on the radio. It was clear the commentators were getting quite tired as they kept fumbling their words. Finally, at 12:32 AM, the Braves finished the inning and finalized the score of 7-3. As of this writing, the Atlanta Braves are at the top of the National League East. I knew there was something special that night when Bill and I took that picture with that bust of Hank Aaron. When you get three Georgia legends in the same place, you KNOW it's going be fun.