XXIV: Valentine's Day

Yes, I know, these updates are happening too frequently. My sincere apologies. But sometimes, life presents events that must be shared. So, without further adieu, the update of events transpiring in the last 24 hours....

Valentine's Day. The sweet, romantic, Hallmark-mandated holiday that makes women's hearts flutter in anticipation, and men stand in line at Godiva chocolate for 45 minutes (so I've heard). What better way to spend this day than with my lovely wife over a nice, romantic dinner. The kids were asleep (translation: they were in their rooms, lights off...close enough), and it was time to settle down with a glass (or bottle as it were) of chardonnay, to dine over a freshly cooked meal. On the menu, delicious steaks cooked on a grill pan (attention reader, this is a key detail. Remember the grill pan), broccoli sprinkled with a browned butter flaked topping, and couscous, which is as fun to say as it is to eat. The full moon glistened on the snow-covered lawn (see update XXIII)...the evening was just perfect. Picturesque, if you will. Then we heard the sirens.

I may have omitted an important point. Sometime between the "putting of kids to bed" and the "sitting down to lovely meal" there was the small matter of the smoke from the aforementioned grill pan, which triggered our home fire/security alarm. The alarm went off, we opened windows, doors, etc., assured the children that all was well, and set about to eat the meal. One minor problem. Our alarm is not an out-of-the-box, First Alert, buy-it-at-Lowe's sort of alarm. No, those were not good enough. We had to get one capable of sensing motion and changes in the inhabitants' blood pressure, and which alerts the FBI, ATF, and Department of Homeland Security within nanoseconds of trouble. Well, the good folks at ADT called to see if the alarm was legitimate. Second minor problem: they were calling my cell phone, which I had silenced because I was tired of dealing with work-folk. The phone was nice enough to vibrate to indicate I had a voice mail, and while it was rude to check the voice mail, doing so allowed me to say to Reege, "Hey, it's ADT, they want to know if it's legit..." As my words trailed off, the only thing that could be heard in the background was the jaw-dropping sound of the approaching fire trucks.

We ran out outside to see the Randolph Fire Department and a police car pulling up to the house. They brought the big truck. No messing around. Nothing quite like seeing all those lights flashing in front of your house. Add to that visual, yours truly, glass of wine in hand, going out to meet the cop (maybe the same one who pulled over the guy in Update XXIII). I explained the situation...he looked skeptical. By this time, four firefighters were making their way in the house. It bears mentioning that while I still had my dress pants on from work, I was otherwise clad solely in a white t-shirt. Also, by this time, Jimmy (who you might imagine was ecstatic) and Regis (who you might imagine was not) were on the front step.

The firefighters came in, at my wife's gracious request, and investigated. Naturally, the head firefighter introduced himself as our neighbor from three doors down. Any chance we will live this down? No. One of the firefighters seemed to be checking to make sure the fire wasn't coming from the TV. I admired his diligence; he even used the remote to ensure that was not the smoke's source.

After Regis, ever the hostess, offered the men some steak, which they declined, the matter was over and they went back to the truck. I think the one watching TV waited until commercial to join them.

XXIII: The Blizzard of Aught Six

Welcome to the 23rd Olympiad of the Watson family update. This update comes as the result of a special request from my Cousin Jess, who on Friday wrote: "I'm actually putting in a request for a Special Edition update when the great Blizzard of '06 happens this weekend. Feel free to include this in your update as a disclaimer that way the groans can be directed at me -instead of you for once." This request was certainly prompted by the media's hyper-coverage of the storm that was knocking on the door of the northeast (coincidentally the American media center). Side-note: Isn't it fun to look at the gi-normous (that was for you too, Jess) map of the U.S. and see a dot of white over the area from NY to DC, while the rest of the country is mostly grey, and contrast that with the voices you hear spewing nonsense about the winter apocalypse sure to decimate our entire western civilization?

Those of you who know me know the contempt with which I hold weather people. They call themselves "meteorologists" in an effort to make them sound scientific. I will begin to refer to myself as an arthimaticologist because it sounds better than "accountant." Anyway, we know these crazies don't know what they are talking about, so when I got Jess's email at 8 Friday night, I was certain that there would be nothing to report. All of Baltimore (which is where I was most of Friday) was similarly obsessed with the snowy doom that was looming. I scoffed. I might even have jeered, I don't recall exactly. At noon, three, and 8 pm on Saturday, I spoke with my parents el telefono and relayed that I had nothing to report. I spent most of the time ranting about the incompetence-laiden drivel that was being spouted from the mouths of these "scientists" with their "Doppler." These fools, who had given a window of "1/2 to twelve inches of snow," were supposed to be heeded? Bah.

Of course you know how this story was going to end. Why do I do this? Why do I tempt the fates? I was a doubting Thomas destined for retribution - and at 11 pm Saturday night, when Jim Cantore arrived with his crew to broadcast from my lawn, I knew I was in trouble.
We awoke Sunday morning and could see nothing but retina burning white snow - a lot of it. Eighteen inches by conservative estimates, and it was still snowing. There was no leaving the sprawling Watson estate, especially since the road we live on is a 7% grade incline. At 1:00, it appeared that the snow was no longer falling, so we started shoveling. I say we because Jimmy helped and was, in all honesty, a huge help. Our drive way is about 30 yards long and has a large apron near the house. After about an hour and half, we had the apron done, with about 20 yards of driveway to go. We did take a few breaks for some fun. The snow was so deep (about 20-22 inches by this point), that if you tried to sled, you would sink down into it. So sledding was out. And, as you can tell from that, it wasn't packing snow, so forts and snowmen were hard to build (despite valiant efforts). One thing you could do was dive into the snow. Big deal right - well, let me see if I can describe this. The snow was so deep that you could run, dive into it as if you were diving into a swimming pool, tunnel under the snow, and then come up about four or five feet later out of the snow, leaving a perfect tunnel where you "swam" -- as if it was a pool of water. Very cool - having never done that before, we decided to do that a lot. Then we thought, hmm, what if we dive into a rock and break our necks? So we stopped. And this time by we, I mean me. And yes, I'm thirty years old.

So, it was back to shoveling. While shoveling, we noticed, at the bottom of our hill, some excitement on Quaker Church road. We live at the corner of Davis Avenue and Quaker Church, but Q.C. Road lies down the hill quite a ways from our house. It is a sprawling estate, after all. Anyway, some of Morris County's finest had pulled over a Jeep Cherokee for what we presumed was a minor traffic violation. We kept shoveling, only to hear Regis yell "he's doing the stupid human tricks" -- sure enough, the police were making the guy go through the works. A few minutes later, the driver was cuffed and into the squad car. An episode of Cops right there while we were shoveling snow - the only thing missing was the blurred out face, oh and the guy had his shirt on.

After we finished the driveway, the guy that we hire to plow the driveway showed up. He proceeded to "plow" the driveway. Read that again. Slowly. And imagine the look on my face because I had just finished shoveling about 2 minutes before he arrived. Read it one more time, it's fun isn't it?

I will never make fun of weather-persons again.

We'll return to fun stories about the kids next time, but one quick one before I go. Remember last time when Maggie talked about painting her room black? Well, we did want to paint her room, so we gave her a choice of colors. She said purple, and of course, like an idiot, I asked her sister. Annie said "pink." Nice work Einstein. So, attached is the handiwork of a soft dad who tried to make both of his girls happy (ignore the light fixture, it's coming out).

Let us know how you are doing.

XXII: MLK Day and other odds and ends

In 1982, just a few weeks after we moved into our new home on 70 Guinevere Court, my mom discovered a garter snake was in the house (my wife just went into convulsions after reading that, just so you know). I can still recall vividly that at one point during the chaos, it slithered out from behind the fridge, across the kitchen floor, and into another room. Of course, after a few hours of pandemonium, with my sisters sitting on barstools in the family room so as to stay off the floor, Mom bravely tracked down the reptile and flung it outside the front door with one of those free yardsticks you get from the lumber store. I'm sure Dad ran it over it many months later with the lawn mower. Anyway, I recall the first few weeks after, that I would refuse to look down at the fridge, afraid I would see that snake again.

Why do I tell you this story? I don't remember. I like stories. No, wait, it's because I bet you all had that feeling when you checked your email these past several weeks. The first couple of times, you looked with one shut, hoping that you wouldn't have a long-winded opus about the New Jersey Watson's. Then the inevitable sigh of relief when you realized I had spared you. Days passed, and you grew complacent, checking the email more frequently, growing all the more confident that your life was now free from the dreaded "Update." And just when you thought it was safe to log-in.....

We're back! Yes, after several weeks and way too much time spent on actual work while at work, I've come up for air ready to waste your time. I must say a lot has happened since we left off (remember, NY was in the midst of a "crippling" transit strike in our last episode), though none of it interesting. Has that stopped us before? Of course not. Today, I'm happy to add yet another reader, Mary Ellen Hunter, who was my administrative assistant while I worked in the Indianapolis office. Mary Ellen referred to herself as "Aunt Mary Ellen" to the kids and is the president and chief executive officer of the Mrs. Watson Fan Club (Mrs. Watson is Regis in this case). Greetings Mary Ellen, welcome to the nonsense.

We had a great time visiting friends and family in Indiana over the holidays, though it seemed like there wasn't enough time to see the people we wanted to, or spend the time we wished we could. Before we knew it, we were back here and back in the swing of things. Just a few weeks ago we celebrated Annie's 2nd birthday, and I will spare you the inevitable "Annie ate eleven pieces of cake" joke because it's too easy. Truthfully, the number was only 9 and she tried to put the candles out with her hands. And speaking of birthdays, Maggie offered her take on the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthday, which was observed three days after Annie's. She said, "Mommy...there was this guy...martin loofer...he wore a striped shirt...he had a dweam that all people be fwiends. It's gonna be his burfday."

Jimmy and I celebrated MLK day the way God intended, at a Pacers-Nets game. We were the beneficiaries of two 6th row seats at center-court, which our friend Dan won in a raffle. When you actually have the thought "I'm glad Ron Artest isn't playing in this game" you know you are close to the action. The good news is that the boy ate enough concessions so that economically I was in the same position as if I had purchased the tickets. The only bad thing about being that close is that you are very far from the restroom, if you know what I mean.

That same weekend we decided to paint our bathroom yellow, and shortly after Regis painted Jimmy's room red. We like primary colors. Maggie wants to paint her room black; which I think set off some alarm bells to the folks at social services who have wire-tapped our house. Morbid paint choices aside, Maggie continues to provide endless hours of entertainment. She started ballet and tap class last week ("Mom, I was just perfect") and her observations on life keep us smiling. She informed us that her big toe is her "thumb toe" and that the tights she wears are "panty toes." She also let us know, when Annie was wearing jeans and she was wearing a dress, that she is "a tomgirl..annie a tomboy."

One other Maggie story that I may have mentioned before, but Regis wanted me to include. I don't recall if this was at Thanksgiving at my sister Jill's, or perhaps back in Indiana over the holidays, but at one point Maggie referred to Jimmy as her "other brother." Of course, this triggered a raised eyebrow from her grandmother, who inquired, "then who is your other brother Maggie?" to which Maggie replied "Daddy is my other brother." Wow. Again, social services probably has us on 24-hour surveillance at this point.

Other than that (and me working way too much), we are plugging along. Before I go, I leave you with this completely unconnected thought: The people who invented high-definition TV did not anticipate that the Rolling Stones would still be performing live. Some things are best left in standard definition...like the vein above Mick Jagger's eye.

Let us know how you are all doing.