March 30: Gratitude Twenty-Six, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

I am grateful for my family today.

I live very close to my parents and sisters.  One of my older brothers lives only an hour away.  Another of my older brothers lives in town.  I see my siblings, mom, and dad frequently.  Every Sunday evening, we have dinner at my parents' house.  It's a loud affair, usually with the TV blaring in the background.  Sometimes there's arguing or glaring, like a bad SNL skit.  Other times, there's jokes and laughter and good-natured teasing.

I love my family.  Even when they drive me crazy, I know, when the chips are down, that I can always depend upon them.  That's a huge blessing.  When my wife suffered a pulmonary embolism the month after my son was born, I didn't worry about my kids.  I knew my sisters would watch them while I worked, taught, and arranged hospital things.

We may not agree all the time, but we love each other.  All the time.

And I am grateful for that.

I have a Classic Saint Marty for you guys this afternoon.  This particular episode originally aired exactly two years ago.  It's about my go-to saint.

March 30, 2012:  Go-to Guy, Saint Anthony, Lost and Found
 
I went shopping at Wal-Mart this afternoon.  Then I drove home, unpacked the groceries, and put my son down for his nap.  After he was asleep, I cleaned the house.  Finally, I sat down to rest a little bit, until I realized my hip pack, containing my wallet and checkbook, was missing.  It wasn't in my car.  It wasn't in the house.

I distinctly remembered putting my groceries in the back of my car at Wal-Mart.  I also distinctly remembered walking my shopping cart to a cart keeper a few parking spaces away, looking down, seeing my hip pack in the cart, and thinking, I better not forget to grab that.  After that, things got a little fuzzy.  Therefore, I made the assumption that I left my hip pack in the cart.

Well, when I lose something, I tend to drive myself a little crazy.  I tore the house apart.  I tore my car apart.  No hip pack.  So, after I picked up my daughter from school, I drove back to Wal-Mart.

I think I've written about Saint Anthony before.  He is the patron saint of lost things.  Basically, if you lose something, you pray to Saint Anthony, and he's supposed to help you find your lost property.  It's a Catholic thing.  Tony is my go-to guy.  He has never let me down.  All the way to Wal-Mart, I was saying prayers to him.  The prayers went sort of like this:  Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme, pleeeeeeease, Saint Anthony.

Well, I  went to the customer service desk when I got to Wal-Mart.  That's where the lost and found department is.  I know this fact because that's where I picked up my hip pack the last time I lost it.  (Yes, I have done this on a couple of occasions.)  My hip pack was sitting on the back counter, in plain view.  I breathed a huge sigh.

Tony is da man, I'm telling you.  He has always answered my prayers.   He's the kind of saint I want to be when I grow up.  Dependable.  All the time.

Saint Marty, on the other hand, would lose his halo if it weren't attached.

Have you seen my halo anywhere?

Confessions of Saint Marty

May 21: Tying Up Loose Ends

I'm going to tie up some loose ends with this post.

First, I did find my DVD remote last Friday night, shortly after I said my prayer to Saint Anthony, the patron saint of lost things.  In my fervor to straighten and clean, I had taken the remote and stored with with some of my son's toys.  In my defense, the remote was sitting in a pile of plastic hammers and saws and cars.

Second, the reading last night at Peter White Public Library went really well.  It wasn't my greatest moment ever as a reader, but I didn't suck, either.  Afterward, I went out for drinks with the other writers from the reading and ended up drinking one-too-many gin and tonics.  The world had a little glow to it on the way home.  (DISCLAIMER:  I do NOT endorse drinking and driving!)

Third, I'm still working on my nature essay for the writing contest.  I will share more details later about this subject.  I probably won't share the actual essay until after I learn if I win or lose.  My guess is I'm going to lose, and, when I do, I will publish the essay in total on this blog.

I think those are all the loose ends I have to report on.  If I think of any more, I'll have to write an addendum.

Meanwhile, Saint Marty has some sentences to write:

Saint Marty will not drink and drive.  Saint Marty will not drink and drive.  Saint Marty will not drink and drive.  Saint Marty will not drink and drive.  Saint Marty will not drink and drive.  Saint Marty will not drink and drive...

Those damn loose ends...They go better with gin and tonics...

August 9: Lost Keys

This afternoon has kind of sucked.  Actually, it's more than kind of sucked.  It has really sucked.

I lost my keys this afternoon.  These are the keys to every place I work, my house, my parents' house.  I have been tearing out what little hair I have left looking for these keys.  I've turned my house upside down.  I've torn through both of our cars.  I've rewalked the route I walked this morning with my family.  I called the hotel where we went swimming this afternoon.  It has been three or four hours from hell.

I have gotten down on my knees and prayed several times.  If you know me, you know that I am going to drive myself insane until those keys surface.  I can't think of anything else.  Now, if I were a true and trusting Christian, I'd sit back, relax, and tell myself that God will help take care of things.  I haven't quite reached that point yet.

I have prayed to Saint Anthony, the patron saint of lost things.  Saint Anthony has never let me down.  I mean never.  I pray, and Saint Anthony delivers.

Saint Marty needs help tonight.  A lot of help.

C'mon, Saint Anthony.  I need some help tonight.

March 30: Go-to Guy, Saint Anthony, Lost and Found

I went shopping at Wal-Mart this afternoon.  Then I drove home, unpacked the groceries, and put my son down for his nap.  After he was asleep, I cleaned the house.  Finally, I sat down to rest a little bit, until I realized my hip pack, containing my wallet and checkbook, was missing.  It wasn't in my car.  It wasn't in the house.

I distinctly remembered putting my groceries in the back of my car at Wal-Mart.  I also distinctly remembered walking my shopping cart to a cart keeper a few parking spaces away, looking down, seeing my hip pack in the cart, and thinking, I better not forget to grab that.  After that, things got a little fuzzy.  Therefore, I made the assumption that I left my hip pack in the cart.

Well, when I lose something, I tend to drive myself a little crazy.  I tore the house apart.  I tore my car apart.  No hip pack.  So, after I picked up my daughter from school, I drove back to Wal-Mart.

I think I've written about Saint Anthony before.  He is the patron saint of lost things.  Basically, if you lose something, you pray to Saint Anthony, and he's supposed to help you find your lost property.  It's a Catholic thing.  Tony is my go-to guy.  He has never let me down.  All the way to Wal-Mart, I was saying prayers to him.  The prayers went sort of like this:  Helpmehelpmehelpmehelpmehelpme, pleeeeeeease, Saint Anthony.

Well, I  went to the customer service desk when I got to Wal-Mart.  That's where the lost and found department is.  I know this fact because that's where I picked up my hip pack the last time I lost it.  (Yes, I have done this on a couple of occasions.)  My hip pack was sitting on the back counter, in plain view.  I breathed a huge sigh.

Tony is da man, I'm telling you.  He has always answered my prayers.   He's the kind of saint I want to be when I grow up.  Dependable.  All the time.

Saint Marty, on the other hand, would lose his halo if it weren't attached.

Have you seen my halo anywhere?

October 31: Happy All Hallows Eve, Changing the Seasons

All Hallows Eve in upon us. 

Last night, when I got home, my daughter realized she didn't have the tights or shoes for her Little Red Riding Hood costume.  Thus ensued an hour of frenzied searching.  Tears (my daughter's).  Sobs (my daughter's again).  A desperation trip to the local Shopko to purchase a new pair of shoes (my sister made this Hail Mary pass).  Shopko wasn't open.  By this time, my daughter was in the shower, muttering to herself about how her life was ruined.  My wife was planning a trip to Shopko this morning to pick up some footwear that was appropriate and wouldn't induce blisters when the phone rang.

"I found them," my sister said, sounding sheepish.

"Where?" I yelled over my daughter's weeping in the bathroom.

"In my bedroom, where I was keeping the costume," my sister said.  "Sorry, I should have looked closer."

I said a silent prayer of thanks to Saint Anthony, patron saint of lost things.  I'd just shot him a quick plea a few minutes before, something along the lines of Please save me from spending another thirty bucks on shoes, Tony.  "Great," I said to my sister.  "Thanks for calling."  I hung up and went to give the news to my daughter, who was washing her hair and planning to change her name and move to Zaire so she wouldn't have to wear tennis shoes to her Halloween party at school.

This morning, when I got to work, I took down the Halloween decorations and put up the Thanksgiving decorations.  Bye bye, jack-o-lanterns.  Hello, turkeys.  This changing of the seasons may seem premature to some of you.  It won't be the first time I've done something prematurely.  (Yes, that was intended to be a rather inappropirate double entendre.)  However, I like being ahead of the game.  I feel like I've just accomplished the first task of the holiday season.  Last night, I got the name of the person from my family for whom I'm supposed to get a Christmas present.

The holly and ivy are on the way!

Marty, patron saint of prematurity.

Speaking of being premature...

October 18: I Don't Care, Busy Morning, Lost Keys

I woke up this morning.  That's the best thing that's happened so far.  I woke up.  I give thanks to God for that.  After taking my shower (cut the crap out of my face shaving) and getting dressed (need to lose weight for the pants I'm wearing), I put on my coat and got ready to leave.  Remember, this is all before 5 a.m.  That's when I realized my car keys were missing.  I went berserk.

Let me back up a little bit.  We got home around 8 p.m. last night from the Wisconsin Dells.  Between bathing children, unpacking the car and suitcases, and shuttling young ones off to bed, I somehow misplaced the keys to my automobile.  No real big surprise.  It was insanely hectic.  Remember how I said I had the best daughter in the world yesterday?  I still do, but she can get really whiny after eight or so hours in a car.  And my three-year-old son's tolerance for car travel lasts about as long as an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants.

Well, I went on an all-out key safari for about ten minutes.  I didn't find them.  Then I said a little prayer to Saint Anthony.  For those of my disciples who aren't Catholic, Saint Anthony is the patron saint of lost things.  Basically, if you lose something, you're supposed to say a little prayer to Tony, and he's supposed to help you find it.  He's my "go-to" homeboy, if you get my meaning.  He's never let me down.  After saying the prayer, I checked the pockets of my coat again.  Nothing.  Then I felt something odd inside my coat, right next to my chest.  I reached into the lining of my jacket and pulled out my keys.  Like I said, Tony's my homeboy.

I haven't stopped since I found those keys.  I had to drop by Walmart on the way to work to purchase something for today's potluck.  Then, when I got to work after being away for two days, I had to play a little catch-up.  Print out forms and schedules.  Arrange charts.  Figure out what the hell's going on.  Between the time I left on Thursday afternoon and this morning, someone moved the time clock.  Therefore, I had to go on a time clock safari.  I found it on the opposite side of the wall on which it used to hang.

To make a long story even longer, I have this intuition that I'm going to be a little behind all day long.  That's the way it is after a vacation, whether it's two days or two weeks.  And you know what?  I don't care.  I just don't care what happens today.  I'm tired, annoyed, and more than a little grouchy.  It feels like a Monday.

Saint Marty needs to get a new attitude, or somebody's going to end up on the wrong side of a bad limerick.


Repeat after me:  "There was a young saint named Marty..."