During my mid-twenties I lived and worked in a men’s residence hall at a small Baptist university in rural West Texas. I was the resident hall director there, and I grew to relish living in community with those young men and witnessing the continuous, and overly animated nuttiness of college freshmen. It was a great experience that I remember fondly. 

Being a Baptist school, most of the students there came from Baptist families, and to some extent that meant they were inordinately concerned with hell fire and damnation, and eternal salvation. This was paired with a college freshman’s fascination with all things taboo, and testing the boundaries of their parent’s morality. For some, the only approved way to explore this realm of the taboo without sinning overtly was in a spiritual way. I think a perhaps overly strong interest in battling demons in the heavenly realms made some of them predisposed to perceive demonic experiences.  

There were two men’s dormitories and three dorm directors. My dorm was large enough to warrant two directors, and the third dorm was smaller and had one director. All three of us were young, just a few years older than the residents themselves, but slightly more mature and responsible.

One Friday night, relatively late, I got a call from the director of the smaller men’s dorm. He said that he had just gotten a call from a couple of his residents who were out driving around, cruising dirt roads (because really, what more was there to do on a Friday night in west Texas?). They said they had been out creeping around a graveyard that was rumored to be haunted with ghost lights that would appear in response to the right incantation and a few flashes of your high beams. They were out there, scaring each other and themselves, and getting themselves all worked up. Apparently, while dabbling in this enticing corner of the occult, one of them got a little too close and a demon just jumped right inside of him. Those pesky demons.

Anyway, the buddy (and the buddy’s new demon) started acting all crazy, throwing himself (themselves?) down on the ground and growling all manner of tortured and vile foolishness. His buddies were naturally concerned for his welfare and began to lay hands on him and make every attempt to cast out this demon. But he was a tenacious little bugger, and would not be cast out just then.

So they loaded him up in their Ford Bronco and headed back to campus. They called their dorm director (it’s amazing the kinds of problems and requests freshman will bring to their moms, er… dorm directors), and told him they were coming in, and they were bringin’ a demon.

So their dorm director wasn’t entirely sure what to do at this point. He had a Bronco full of freshmen guys flying towards him like so many bats from the netherworld, so he called me (because I had so much experience with this kind of thing).

I made the short walk across campus to meet him, and a small crowd had already gathered there on the lawn. It was one of those really great, warm, dark Texas nights with crickets and stillness that make you want to lay down on the warm ground and stay awake all night. The other director and I stood there waiting. After just a few moments, the Bronco came careening around the corner, headlights flashing like a panicked animal, engine gunning down that last straight until it came to an abrupt stop on the street right in front of the dorm.

All four occupants sprang, terrified, from the vehicle, two of them doing their best to restrain their demon possessed buddy. They flung him to the grass and held him down while he thrashed and hurled guttural insults. We had not idea what to expect until we actually saw what we were dealing with, and now that the situation was before us, we had little more in the ideas department.

After a moment or two of watching demon boy thrash, there seemed like only one thing to do. Demon or no demon, I recognized the potential risk to a student’s health and safety. So I knelt down right next to demon boy’s ear while his buddy’s continued to hold him. In a pause between curses, I told him the following: “I don’t know if you’re demon possessed or not, or if you’re drunk, or on drugs, or crazy. But you’re not in control of yourself, so here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna call 911. When they get here, they’re gonna put you in restraints and take you to the hospital. Once that happens, even if you admit you’re kidding, they’re gonna keep you overnight for observation. So if you’re screwing around, now’s the time to knock it off.”

An amazing thing happened. After another moment or two, he got quiet. His body relaxed. He looked around, dazed, a little puzzled, seeing his buddies as if for the first time in a few hours. He gathered himself together, and with the support of his buddies, he walked his disheveled self inside the building. It was a miracle.

The other dorm director and I stood a while longer, nervously joking and laughing. I checked in on demon boy a time or two later than evening, and the last time I saw him that night he was sleeping peacefully, like a child.

On another occasion, a similar situation with a resident presented itself. Sticking with what worked, I tried the same tactic, but the result was sadly far different. That story will have to wait until tomorrow.  

Last week before church, Stephanie asked me to dress Sarah in an outfit she had picked. I was glad to, but then I was dismayed when I saw how many pieces were involved: First was the diaper, but over that she had some white tights. Why does a one-year-old need faux panty hose? And then a onesie over that, then a frilly shirt, a dress with a full skirt, and dress shoes. All this? 

I mention dress shoes because she already has so many different kinds of pairs of shoes. The boys have sneakers and that’s it. The boys are so simple: They both wear blue jeans and either a t-shirt or a nicer shirt. They wear underwear, socks, and one pair of shoes to choose from. What more do children need? Much more, apparently, if those children are girls.

 Sarah’s hair is longer now than either of the boys have ever been. It looks cute and curly down, but it’s also just long enough for Stephanie to pull up into two pigtails. And it’s cute. But poor thing, she cries and fusses and squirms when Stephanie goes through the process of holding her still, brushing her hair, gathering it into a pigtail, and wrapping a tiny rubber band around it to hold it in place. More often than not, Stephanie only gets as far as the pulling it back before she squirms away, and Stephanie has to start again.

And when the pigtails are in place and she goes though the day with her scalp pulled tight, the day ends with the rubber bands being pulled out and the pigtails let down. More holding, squirming and tears. And as I watch this, I think: she’s learning early the universal truth all women must know: beauty hurts. This is just the beginning of a lifetime of pulling, plucking, primping, straightening, curling, dying, bleaching, compressing, etc.

It makes me wonder about how women are required to look and live in our culture. Part of me wishes Sarah didn’t have to endure all of this. I wish that she, like the boys, could tackle every new day in jeans, a t-shirt, and one pair of sneakers. But I also recognize that no one goes to the prom in jeans and a t-shirt; no one gets married in a sweatshirt and no makeup. I do want her to be beautiful, elegant, and glamorous[1] when occasion calls. And I want her to feel completely comfortable and confident in whatever setting she may inhabit. I hope she can strike a healthy balance between not shying away from getting her hands dirty and being a debutante from time to time too.

[1] But not sexy. Certainly not sexy. 

We’ve only begun to tap the potential of the internet. This is something I have been saying for almost a decade. In that time I’ve only come to believe it more strongly, and it’s pretty damn exciting.

We’ve heard a little about smart electric grids that monitor and adjust usage and household environmental systems that monitor and adjust according to current conditions. I can easily imagine (easily, because I’m pretty sure the technology already exists for this) a household computer system with a web interface that is always on the internet, that would allow a homeowner to log on to a website and both see and control all of the major household systems. Whether you are sitting on the couch watching a movie and want to adjust the thermostat slightly, or if you’re on Lufthansa at 30,000 feet and want to check to see if you closed the garage door before you left, you will be able to log on to a web site and do all of this though the internet. Incoming message: your coffee is ready.

I have been impatiently awaiting a slick and inexpensive solution to the TV/media center most of us have (and though we’ve just switched to HD broadcasting channels, I think TV will be delivered exclusively over the internet someday). I want my TV set to be connected to the internet so that I can stream video directly to it. I want my TV to have a hard drive to which I can save kids videos, our movies, any games, Tivo-ed programming, etc. And I want all of this to also be available on all my other mobile devices.

Out with all the crappy, bulky VHS taps (yes, we still have them), and out with all the scratched up, skipping, messy kids DVDs. I long for the day when they are all on a hard drive, backed up safely on server farms, and accessible on the TV and/or on any computer in our network. I did recently read about a device available now (the Slingbox- thanks, Julius) that can take any programming from your home (i.e. TV broadcasts, Tivo, even a DVD in the tray), and allow you to watch it over the internet while you are travelling. We’re getting pieces of it, it just isn’t all being integrated yet.

Mobile devices are the other front in an internet connected life. Many of us already have these amazing and powerful hand held computers. iPhones, Blackberries, and Palm Treos have become indispensible tools that allow users a dizzying level of connectedness. But I think that devices such as these are still in their infancy, and I’m looking for a more grown up, crossover device.

This morning I got a message from my sister-in-law about a touch screen Recipe Reader for the kitchen that comes loaded with 250 recipes and allows a user to store as many as 2500 more. It can be synced to the Key Ingredient website with a USB cord to a PC. And aye, there’s the rub. One of two actually.  

First, in the age of the internet and ubiquitous wireless access, this Recipe Reader should (and will in the near future, I am certain) be internet enabled. A user will be able to search the internet right there between your KitchenAid and your Viking stove. Maybe you’ll be able to scan in your grocery store receipt (scan a paper receipt? Maybe you’ll just wirelessly sync your mobile device to the store’s checkout counter and no paper receipt will be printed) and your Recipe Reader will automatically generate a list of dishes that are in keeping with the kinds of dishes you typically cook and the ingredients you have in the pantry. Wow.

And second, why do we need a redundant electronic internet device? We already have internet connected computers. Of course, you don’t want your laptop to get dusted with flour and spilled with oil[1], I understand that, but there still has to be a middle way.

This is the same argument I have against the new e-readers like the Kindle and the Nook. I really want one of these, but I’m holding out because I just don’t think they are ready yet. Though these e-readers are internet connected at all times, I just think my laptop computer (or my smart phone) should be able to do everything an e-reader does. And so I’m waiting.

I haven’t submitted to the siren song of a smart phone yet either. I know that when I do, it will be a constant companion like my keys or my wallet. I’ll never leave home without it. I know it will be powerful and useful and change the way I do things, but I already have a very portable and very powerful (though somewhat bulky) laptop that I carry much of the time.

My brother (and father-in-law, sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and other brother-in-law) has an iPhone, and I am sufficiently impressed and completely jealous. One of the factors that has kept me from acquiring one of my own has been the fact that I already have a laptop, and I don’t want to carry both it and a smart phone. It is an inconvenient and expensive redundancy. I want a device that is the integration of both the laptop and the smartphone. One device, a constant companion, that would allow the user to do everything that can be done on either device. I wonder if Apple is getting there, but more on that in a second.

In the (near) future, the PC style computer tower will be considered a dinosaur, relics of an embarrassingly rudimentary era of computers like those early machines that took up an entire room. They will be replaced by mobile devices that will be our phone, our computer, our GPS, our camera, our notebook, our e-reader, our everything.

Imagine a 10” iPhone that has all of the capacity and ability of the most robust laptop, that also doubles as an e-reader and (among other things) a Recipe Reader. It would be the ultimate smart phone with movies, music, TV, your user generate content like pictures and home movies, all documents, checkbook, internet browser, email, organizer, and the list goes on. It would be the ultimate couch surfer[2]. This is what I am hoping the new Apple tablet will be. Whether or not the new Apple tablet is all of these things in it's first draft, it is certain to be so freakin' cool. You gotta check this thing out.

At home and at the office, perhaps you will have a large screen or a projector and a keyboard where you can dock your mobile device, but your mobile device will be as large or larger (in the hard drive department) and as or more powerful than any desktop computer we currently enjoy.

Come on, future.

[1] I had a dream recently that Sarah somehow spilled a copious amount of cooking oil on my new laptop computer. I immediately grabbed it and turned it upside down to let all of the oil drain from the keyboard, but as I held it there, upside down, and watched the viscous oil drain slowly and run down the length of the keyboard, I knew my efforts were futile and this computer was toast. And then I began the inner debate: can I really afford another new computer? Can I really resolve to just be without one, go computer-less after coming to depend on one to completely and continuously? It was a real nightmare.

[2] Do you do this? The majority of my and Stephanie’s idle evening TV watching time is accompanied by the internet. We can look up everything from the name of an actress and what other movies she’s been in to the layout and photos of the West Wing residence. We can Google anything, it’s the ultimate information finder, and argument resolver, and I don’t know what we’d do without it. Now if we could only get it to turn the heat up a little bit. 

I’m a list maker. I like to have ideas written down so that I can see them and hold them and move them around to look at them from different angles. Stephanie and I are different, and we approach things differently. I’ve told her that if it were ever my responsibility to prepare meals for the family, I would approach it in a very organized, concrete, list facilitated way. I would write out a monthly schedule of dinners, sketch out their main ingredients, and grocery shop accordingly. If something came up to interrupt this plan, I’d be flexible, but by and large I’d be able to look at the calendar and know what to make, certain that we had the fixen’s.

To this end, I once had the idea that I could make a list of all of the meals we enjoy and know how to cook. I started this but didn’t get very far. Recently it occurred to me that the easiest way to compile a list of what we like and know how to cook would be to keep a record of what we actually have for dinner every night. After a period of time, we could then begin to look back over this record and get a sense of our favorite meals.

 I’ve been doing this for almost a month now, and it’s gone pretty well so far. It suits my interest in data collection for self reflection. It suits my meticulous, list-making nature, and it’s just interesting to see what we’ve eaten.

Funny thing though (and I actually thought about this after the first week of recording our meals), the act of keeping track of what Stephanie is cooking for dinner every night is influencing what Stephanie is cooking every night. I’m not saying it’s for better or worse, but the fact is, this is the second week in a row that Stephanie has but some thought into “what we’re having for dinner this week,” and made a short list of dinners. I asked her yesterday if she always did this, and she said no, not typically, but since I was keeping track, she said something about not wanting to repeat herself. I think it’s because now it’s as if every dinner is becoming part of the Permanent Record. 

I’ve recorded twenty seven dinners so far. Of those, we’ve eaten out two times (remember, these are dinners only. I’m not counting lunches, where we’ve eaten out a few more times), and six times we either had leftovers, or a big lunch and no dinner, or just mac’ and cheese for the boys and nothing for us, and once we had a repeat. That leaves eighteen unique dinners. Four of these were salmon based dishes, six of them were centered on chicken, seven were based on ground beef (moose, actually, but you can’t taste the difference), and one was a tuna casserole.

I’m not sure what this says about us. Frankly, I think we’re probably fairly ordinary,  but it’s interesting, and I think I’ll keep keeping track. I know this probably sounds more than a little eccentric, but if a person could find a way to keep track of all kinds of things, and then be able to draw from this pool of data quickly and easily, so many other kinds of decisions could be made regarding the most efficient and cost effective way to do things. This is what data driven decision making is such an important part of organizational management, and it makes sense to adopt these same kinds of strategies in our daily lives. And I’m gonna just stop right here before I fall any further down into the pit of dorkdom. 

It’s Saturday! Saturday! Saturday! And you have to say it three times in a sing-songy kind of way like a European police siren. All of last year and this year as well, I’ve been prepping Jacob and Toby on Friday nights when I tuck them in to bed that the next day is going to be Saturday (Saturday! Saturday! Saturday!). I tell them that I don’t have to work tomorrow, and that we can have the whole day to spend together and play. We talk about what we’re gonna have for breakfast and where we’re gonna go and what we’re gonna do. I tell them all of this is going to happen because it’s gonna be Saturday (Saturday! Saturday! Saturday!), and I don’t have to go to work. But first they have to go to sleep and sleep through the night or, like Santa Claus, Saturday will never come.

On Saturday’s, I’ve always enjoyed starting the day by listening to Weekend Edition and drinking coffee.[1] The boys prefer their steady diet of Super Why, Dinosaur Train, and Thomas and Friends, so am forced to fall back on a Sony Walkman FM radio.[2] I feel so old fashioned. All that to say, my morning starts with coffee and NPR, and the kids haven’t really changed that.

Stephanie has declared Saturday as her day to sleep in. I have mixed feelings about that, but mostly I’m fine with it. I’m glad she can get to sleep in, I’m gonna be up anyway (because Weekend Edition is 6-9, and I don’t want to lose half a day of the best day of the week sleeping), and I love hanging out with the boys first thing in the morning. The only thing is that I miss Stephanie hanging out with us too.

Saturday is a special breakfast day too. Sometimes I’ll make pancakes, sometimes waffles, and though you may not think this is too special, the boys almost love it most when I make oatmeal. Both boys love it, and I’m always surprised by how much they eat.

By nine o’clock, breakfast is (usually) made, Weekend Edition is over, the coffee is consumed, and PBS switches from kids programming to the New Yankee Workshop, and the kids just aren’t in to watching middle ages white guys build elaborate book shelves and end tables with a table saw, and so it’s time to wake up Mom.

Whenever Stephanie is awake, she is the de facto care giver, no matter what either of us do. The kids shift to her, and I start thinking about what’s next in our day. There are the usual chores like taking the trash to the transfer station. Then there are other things we try to do special for the boys.

Yesterday, the boys and I headed out. It’s also a treat for the boys to ride in Dad’s truck, something they rarely get to do. I put the booster seats in the backseat, and they jabber the whole way, pointing out everything they see. We went to the transfer station to drop the week’s garbage. While we were there we watched the big garbage truck hoist the dumpsters over head and empty them into its back. We watch all the people come and go, leaving their own debris, or picking through the leavings of others. It’s an active place.

From there we went to feed the ducks on the Chena river. Down river from the power station here in Fairbanks, the unnaturally warmed water never freezes, and a population of ducks remains over winter. They were glad to see the handout of week-old break, but they were rightfully wary of two little boys. Jacob got a toy duck caller as a party favor this week, and he couldn’t wait to get there and use his duck caller to call all of the duck to him. The ducks gathered around us because they knew we had bread, but Jacob was blowing his duck call continuously, and with abandon. I am sure he believed all these ducks were waddling around him for that reason alone.

Jacob had asked on Friday night if we could go mountain climbing for our special Saturday outing. I told him yes, of course we could, but I wasn’t exactly sure how we’d do that. He’s four, so I knew we weren’t literally headed for Denali. Instead, I figured I’d take him up to the UAF campus where there are some good hills and opportunities for sledding. I brought two sleds along in anticipation of this.

The main sledding hill at UAF is a real monster. There were college guys blasting down it. I got the boys there on the edge of the hill, about halfway up. The three of us piled on to one sled and rode down a short distance in a sedate way. We walked up again and Jacob wanted to go it alone. I gave him a shove and watched him ride his own way down. I was so proud. At the bottom he got sideways and got a face full of snow. He cried.

After going down there and dusting him off, his only request was to go up the big hill. I said no, that hill was too tall. But he said he really wanted to, so what’s a dad to do? I was scared. I was watching college kids ride halfway down and tumble out of their sleds. I was a little anxious about riding down with two little boys and a camera, imagining making it halfway down, tumbling out and having to deal with all of the bumps, bruises and tears.

But we all did fine. In fact it was great. We rode down two or three times, faster and further each time. They boys loved it. They would have clamored for more if I hadn’t promised them hot chocolate at home.

On the way back home we saw smoke in the sky and heard the sound of fire engines. I know this show a distinct lack of class, but I thought the boys would like seeing firefighters to the rescue! So we cruised by the scene of the fire and saw the big engines. We couldn’t get close enough to see much, so we headed for home.

We spent the evening after dinner watching a movie and eating popcorn all together on the couch. They got to stay up a little later than usual, but no one was ready for Saturday to be over yet.

As I tucked both boys into bed, we talked again about the fun things we had done that day, and what they enjoyed most. I know they had fun, but they can’t begin to know the deep joy that came for me on this favorite day of the week. At least until next week, because you know what day it’ll be then, right? Saturday, Saturday, Saturday.

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[1] We’ve ditched the drip coffee maker in favor of the French press. Though we’ve used the French press for years, it has always been relegated to special occasions, but hell, isn’t every day a special occasion? And ever since Stephanie’s Folgers revolt, we’ve been grinding fresh African beans roasted right here at our local coffee shop. Might as well do it up right. And so we do the French press method every morning. It’s no more work to set up or clean than the Mr. Coffee is. And it’s so good.

[2] I remember the first Sony Walkman I ever had of my own. It didn’t even have a tape player; this one was just an AM/FM radio. It came along at the time in my life that I was riding my bike all over my home town every evening. With the addition of the Walkman playing some sappy love ballad I was in my own little world of sound being all goofy romantic and feeling sorry for myself. Good times.