The Things We Do for Family

A few years ago, Wifey and I were asked to sing at one of her cousin's wedding. Let's call him Cactus Face. We were able to pick our own song, and found out that they were looking for something kind of light and fun for the family luncheon after the wedding in the morning. We re-did the words to "A Whole New World" to turn it into "A Whole New Hill," as Cactus Face was an avid mountain biker who had roped his fiancee into coming along multiple times (even though it scared her to death to go because she saw her beau get injured so much. One time at Moab, he was thrown from his bike, landing face-first in a cactus—hence the nickname). We got super crazy and put actions to the whole thing, including wearing helmets and acting like we were pedaling on bikes the whole time.

Our performance was well received. Many of the family didn't know me all that well at that point, but they enjoyed the fact that I would go out on a limb and do something so crazy to make the day memorable for the bride and groom. We were glad to do it for them, even though we were pretty nervous on how it would be received.

Well, it turns out that our impression was a bit too good. A few years later, Cactus Face's sister is getting married. A few years later, as in today, a few years later. Cactus Face's sister has found a great guy, complete with family, to whom she is getting married. I got a call at work a couple of weeks ago from Wifey, voluntelling me to sing at the wedding with her.

Tangent one: A definition
Voluntell: (v) When someone volunteers you for something, and then tells you later that you are doing it. I was voluntold that I was to sing at the wedding, even though it was the first I had learned of it.

Back to the story...
My first thought was to start thinking up stuff that Cactus Face's sister liked to do, and how I might be able incorporate riding horses and western themes into a song. Wifey informed me that they already had a song picked out for us, so I stopped my creative brain and started listening.

The selected number was "Now that I've Found You." The song is an older one, and it tickled the back of my brain as being familiar. Wifey told me that it was a country song, and I quickly realized that I was cornered.

Tangent two: A story on why I hate country music
When I was in high school, my older brother got into a phase his junior and/or senior year where he started listening to country music and occasionally wearing wranglers to select events (like rodeos). He was on the basketball team, and because he wanted to participate in a few electives, he decided to take a zero-hour course. He would get up a bit before me and hop in the shower. To help himself wake up, he would crank on country music as he was in the bathroom.

This was all fine and dandy, except for the fact that my bedroom was right next to the bathroom. I often awoke to the twang of George Strait and others, complete with the steel guitar's inebriated tones backing them up. To this day, I can no longer listen to country music without a bit of a shudder. Often times, I am much more vocal about disliking it, and have been known to make up alternative lyrics to ruin a song for the individual listening to such vile music. I might have been conditioned to hate, but in this case, my prejudice is justified.

Back to the story, part II...
Wifey didn't know the song yet, so she bought it off iTunes. As she started listening to it, she sent me an email with some of the lyrics. I threw up a little in my mouth, but wanting to keep on good terms with my cubicle mate, I swallowed it down.

I know there are some of you out there saying, "Now, it can't be that bad." So, for those of you with this attitude, consider standing up in front of people who know you very well, people who don't know you as well, and complete stranger who have come for a VERY important event of someone they care deeply for. As the stranger, you see a gangly fellow and his wife hand off their adorable little girl to someone sitting close by. They get up and start to sing a song. Some of the lyrics are as follows:

I do believe we're meant to be. Our chemistry will last forever.

Or, how about this one?

You hold me like a prayer. You touch me everywhere.

If those lyrics don't seem awkward to you, then I must have a filter that you don't have. Wifey and I both find it a bit uncomfortable saying, "You touch me everywhere" as part of a public celebration in front of family and friends. In fact, as Wifey and I were practicing tonight, she turned away from me and started laughing. I asked her why she started cracking up, and she informed me that she was just trying to picture herself saying this line in front of her family.

Should be an interesting experience—one that has tainted the idea of country music for me a little bit more. But if it makes the bride and groom happy, then I guess it is worth it.

Atypical Atmosphere

11:11 - Today was a variation from the norm, and it ended up being very good for me. I woke up earlier than I usually do, traveled more than I care to, and am up later than I should be.

The day began with my alarm going off at 5:30 AM. This is the time when I hope that the the gray of pre-dawn has not started creeping into the window so that I can sleep for a few more hours. Today I was excited though, so I got up and promptly called my parents. I needed a hat.

My parents showed up on my doorstep at about 6:30, and we were loaded and on the road by 6:45--a bit later than we were hoping, but still quite respectable, considering my alarm would have just gone off on any other normal day, and I would have quickly silenced it.

We drove to Fallon, Nevada today, and I was very pleased that Munchkin did so well, and that Wifey's back didn't bother her (two of our own personal miracles in one day). The drive was relatively unexciting, but what can you expect as you drive through the deserts of western Idaho, eastern Oregon, and Nevada? I do have to say that I saw more green than I expected today, so that was good.

After arriving at our hotel, we found out that they weren't expecting us for another day. After some carefully-worded concerns were expressed by my brother, we were able to find a room for us and four other families who would be coming for our reunion. We were a bit scattered, but no worse for the wear.

We had a great day catching up with family that I haven't seen--some that I haven't seen in two years. We were only missing one of my nephews, but he is involved with something that we all whole-heartedly support him in, so we can excuse him for the time being. After this wonderful time, I came back to our hotel room.

Now I have not stayed in a lot of hotels in my life. I am grateful for that. I like my creature comforts of home. My thoughts about a hotel room can be summed up by an arm chair that sits in the corner of this room. It is relatively comfortable, and I am currently sitting in it with my feet up on the matching ottoman. The chair is quite pleasing to look at, and I wouldn't mind having a similar boldly-upholstered armchair in my home, but if you look at a large button in the middle of the chair, there is a button that is askew.

Hotel rooms have a barren sense of comfort for me. When you walk in, the furnishings are generally tactful and the bed is larger than ours at home. There are mirrors placed strategically through the room to make it seem bigger. Everything appears perfect--until you start living in it.

As I lay in bed tonight, I realized that the bed was too hard, the pillows were too soft, the light switch was lit, the air conditioner kept the blinds open just enough to let the light of the casino through, the soaps are strangely perfumed, and the furnishings were not quite right. While it appears to be nice, it isn't what I'm used to, and while that isn't always a bad thing, in this case it is.

My first clue was actually the tub. I have always found refuge in the bathroom. Ever since I was young, I knew that I could go into a bathroom and people wouldn't come in to find me. It was guaranteed private space. Even to this day, I like to take books into the bathtub with me to wind down at the end of the day. A bit crazy, I know, but it relaxes me.

As I was performing my nightly ritual tonight, I put my book down on the floor to start washing myself. I went to slide down in the tub to get wet, and found that I couldn't sink into the inviting warm water like I wanted to. I understand that some people need non-slip surfaces on the floors of their tubs, but not I! A slippery bottom on a tub is a MUST for me.

After I got out of the tub, I climbed in bed and realized that the mirrors that make the room look larger in the day make it seem cavernous at night.

What I am trying to say is that I'm not home, and I'm feeling it. Good thing I have plenty of family around to make it seem more like home, even though they generally aren't around.

I will now resign myself to try to get comfy on the bed and attempt to drift off to sleep until the morning (or Munchkin) wakes me up.

Wish me luck...