Man Versus Plumbing (A Leak of Their Own)

After much procrastination, last year I finally decided to remodel the downstairs bathroom.  It had been 15 years since we had originally installed a second bath and had sort of done it on the cheap so it was in need of more than just a little TLC.  I sort of like remodeling and am halfway good at it, but to be honest with you, plumbing is my downfall. 
 

So I penciled in Wednesday as the prime plumbing day during remodel week (remodel week actually turned into remodel 26 weeks). 

I asked a bunch of friends to fast and pray for me for that day.

 
I bought all of the PEX pipe (I’ll explain that in a minute) and all the little PEX fittings and took out a loan and rented the PEX crimping tool. 

I knew exactly where I wanted to tie the new PEX line into the old cast iron line – all I had to do was remove two innocent looking PVC fittings I had installed fifteen years earlier.  Shouldn’t be much of a problem at all.

I turned off the water and drained the lines.  I then very gingerly placed the wrench on the PVC fitting and proceeded with the utmost care and gentlest of force to begin to turn the fitting.  

 

Suddenly (and without any warning) I heard a sickening “snap.”

My knees buckled and my face turned pale as I beheld half of the fitting in the wrench and the threaded part still in the old cast iron pipe.

I then did what any self respecting man’s man would do…

 
I curled up into the fetal position and called my plumber.

BILL!!!!!   ITS DAN!!!!  HELP!!!!!

Miraculously, Bill the plumber was there within an hour.  (I know this is so incredible to believe but its TRUE!)

He then paused and looked at me and said, “Are you crying?”

I immediately tried to turn away. “No I am not crying.”

Again, he sternly looked at me and asked more forcefully, “Are you crying?”

“No!” I insisted, “I am not crying!”

He got right in my space and hollered in drill sergeant fashion, “There’s no crying in Plumbing!” 

It was then that I remembered that classic Tom Hanks movie, “A Leak of Their Own.”   

With a little torch Bill removed the broken fitting in a jiffy.  That little piece of now-melted-plastic cost me $120.00. 

He then gave me a “Knute Rockne Win-One-for-the-Plumber” PEX pep talk. I pulled myself together, wiped away the tears and began to feel a whole lot better.

My aversion (and horror) to plumbing began several years earlier when we remodeled our kitchen.  At one point I had to replace just a teeny tiny fitting on an old cast iron water pipe.  The full story is out here somewhere on this blog.

Suffice it to say that by that evening I had one broken water line and gallons of brown icky water shooting up to the kitchen ceiling and flowing back down into the basement.

So ever since then, when someone asks me, “Hey are you good at Plumbing?” I begin to twitch and stammer and I walk away mumbling, “Plumbing…me no good at it….shooting water….lots of pain…Plumbing…me no good at it...shooting water…lots of pain.”

But PEX is cool stuff – its like it was made with me in mind!   It’s a type of very bendable plastic piping that doesn’t require the use of any soldering or torches or glue or atomic explosions or shooting water or crying. 

PEX is an acronym for Polyunsaturated Esoteric Xylophones – I think I have that right anyway.

The piping itself isn’t too expensive – you can buy it in giant rolls.  And it involves crimping little crimp rings onto the end of the pipe once you put the fitting in. 

But because its so easy for the do-it-yourselfer to use and the material isn’t that pricey, plumbers have conspired together to sell or rent the crimping tool at exorbitant prices!  

This actual conversation was overheard at a recent plumber’s convention:

“Hey Fred our plumbing business has fallen off dramatically since the advent of PEX so lets buy up all the crimping tools in the whole world and rent them for $500.00 per hour!” 

“Hey Norm, that’s a great idea!”

(You can use your wife’s 1980’s Daryl-Hannah-Splash hair crimper but I’ve found that you can only use it once because the sledge hammer that's used to "assist" renders the hair crimper like totally wasted.)

Anyway, I bought a 1000 foot roll of the stuff, 600 crimp rings, 413 brass T joints, 289 straight couplers, 127 shut off valves and a bunch of other stuff.

The actual plumbing run was only about 25 feet, but I wanted to be prepared for any event that anyone could possibly even conjure up in their wildest nightmare scenarios. 

I tied the PEX into the existing line that was fixed by plumber Bill, and then at every 5 foot interval, I put in a shutoff valve. I wasn’t taking any chances!  My basement looks like the boiler room on the Titanic.     

Anyway, the basic remodel job was done in about 6 months.  During that time (and because it took so long to turn back on all of those shut off valves) we used this for our temporary facilities :>)

 
“May your crimps never leak and may your PEX never break” (Confucius, 347 BC)

 

 

 

Twas The Night Before the Big Border Battle

(Author’s Note: We are probably gonna get slaughtered but my football psychotherapist says that writing out my feelings helps me to deal with the pain of being a lifelong Viking fan J)

Twas the night before the Border Battle, when all through the land

The Packerz were trembling and were fearful to stand
Their stockings were hung from their lockers with care
In hopes they’d be stuffed with some of Clay Matthews hair

The Cheeseheads were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Jared Allen frightened their heads
With McCarthy in his kerchief and Rodgers in his cap
They were just getting ready for yet another sack

When out on the field there arose such a clatter

The fans outloud wondered “Now WHAT is the matter?!?”
Away to the TV they flew like a flash
Again and again their teeth they did gnash

The lights from Lambeau on the grid-iron below

Gave that green team the look of Elmo
When what to their watering eyes there appeared,
A quarterback named Rodgers…without his cool beard!

With his tiny little linemen who are not quite so quick

He knew in a moment he’d be feelin’ right sick
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came
(That line’s from the original poem -- I have no clue what it means but it just sounds so cool!)
And he whistled and shouted and screamed out some names

Hey Jordy! Hey Woodsen! Hey Prancer and Vixen!

The Vikings are coming!  Just look at them blitzing!
To the top of the huddle, to the top of the wall!
I was gonna do a Lambeau Leap, but Kevin Williams has my football!

Their playbook before the wild hurricane flies

They met with an obstacle of ginormous size!
So like a big smurf AJ Hawk  turned to blue
While their book full of plays seemed just like cuckoo!

And then in a twinkling I heard this big POOF!

Mason Crosby’s big kick had gone up on the roof!
As I looked at the band and was turning around
Their kicker was crying, he just sat their spellbound!

The Pack dressed in fur from their head to their foot

Even their stockings had heating input
While on the sidelines old Stone Face was stalwart
You see, Bud Grant wore only a short sleeve T-shirt

Their cheerleaders dressed in what looked like so scary

Their cheeks were like roses, yet their noses so hairy!
Their troll little mouths all drawn up like bows
Their faces had suffered what looked like deathblows!

While McCarthy was gritting his pearly white teeth

And smoke out his ears circled his head like a wreath
He had a grim face, his once vaunted army
Now shook like a leaf or a bowl full of jelly!

All chubby and plump their players like elves

And I laughed when I saw them, I saw all themselves
(Not much rhymes with elves, if you can think of something better, well hey, then write your own poem J)
With a wondering eye and a thought in my head
I suddenly realized I had nothing to dread!

Rodgers spoke not a word but went straight to his work
He passed but he fell, then he turned with a jerk
He suddenly realized his team was all frozen
I guess we can’t handle this Viking bulldozin'!

So He began to crochet, told his team to eat bagels

As he pondered the Ponder, “Wow their QB has muscles!”
But I heard ARodg exclaim as he pulled off his earrings,
“What a miserable day, I hate playing the Vikings!”

.........................................................NOT

Copyright 2012 Dan Vander Ark, the NFL, Elmo, Prancer and Vixen, the Smurfs, ARodg's non-existent beard and Clay Matthews' hair 

All rights reserved blah blah blah J

 

 

The Original “Night Before Christmas”

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

 

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

 

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

 

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

 

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
 

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

 

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"
(And Jesus is the Reason for the Season!)

 

The Thanksgiving Runt Buns

My wife cried out in desperation, “Why are they not rising?!?”

“Why are what not rising?” I asked as I looked at the obviously deformed buns in the bun pan. I was trying to quell my wife’s consternation over the “Now what are we gonna do about the bread for the Thanksgiving meal” problem.

Bread is an important part of most of our meals. Not having bread is like…well it’s like not having snow at Christmas or not having Hank Williams, Jr. sing “Are You Ready For Some Football?” on Monday nights.

We were heading to my daughter’s for Thanksgiving and my wife’s assignment was to bring a couple pies and THE BREAD.

So the other day she hollered down to me, “Will fifteen buns be enough?”

“Yep,” said I, “Ten for me, three for you, and two for Amber oughta do it.”

So she plopped 15 little frozen premade bun dough hockey pucks into the bun pan and put it into the fridge so that they could thaw and rise in unison.

But alas, when she pulled them out of the fridge, the nine toward the fridge door were bigger than the six toward the back of the fridge. After some scientific investigation, we could only surmise that it was like 20 degrees colder at the back end of the 18” pan than it was at the front. Maybe global warming was creeping into the fridge.

So she put them on the stove to see if that would snap the runt buns out of the doldrums.

But regrettably, when we got home from work, they were still smaller!

The nine toward the front of normal size (heretofore known simply as “The Nine”) were noticeably bigger than the abnormal six (heretofore known simply as “The Six”). We were both peering into the pan like bug scientists gazing at a new species.

I asked her if this had ever happened before. With a furrowed brow and a look of “Thanksgiving is ruint!” she said simply, “THIS has NEVER happened before!”

I asked her if she could just mix the runtbuns in with the normalbuns and perhaps that would inspire them to say, “Hey, I can rise to higher heights, look at that guy!”

But she wasn’t listening. And for the life of me I honestly couldn’t see the problem. Like Big Hairy Deal if the smaller buns are somewhat smaller than the others. It’s not like we are baking bread for Sean Connery or Tom Cruise or something. I would still eat them. Consider the six runts as part of my allotted ten. Good gravey! And besides, we’ll save on butter.

She grabbed another baking pan and dropped in some frozen premade dough nuggets. (I sorta remember an episode of "Little House on the Prairie" where Pa worked hard all day in the field harvesting dough balls and then gave them to Ma where she in turn froze them so that they could have bread in the winter.)

I didn’t ask, but I just assumed that my wife was going to somehow get 15 buns of proportional size so that her daughter wouldn’t think she was a total failure.

I thought about just getting up real early Thanksgiving Day and replacing the six dough balls in the new pan with six miniature marshmallows.

On the other hand, I wanted to be able to see the football game out of both eyes.

Hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving :>)
Dan Vander Ark
Copyright 2011
All Rights Reserved

A Ninny In An Audi, A Big Tall Flappy Monster, And Other Totally Unrelated Random Thoughts

A few months ago my wife went to check the mail. As she rummaged through the bills she suddenly started laughing uncontrollably. I mean “milk-coming-out-your-nose” type of laughter. She hollered down the stairs to me, “Honey, you’re officially old!” At first I couldn’t understand what she was saying because she was laughing so hard. “You got a letter from “The Scooter Store!” Well that’s just swell…now I don’t have to call in sick anymore, I can just call in “old.”

On our way home from work each day we pass through some pretty busy intersections. At the corner of Michigan Street and 27th Avenue, a guy in an Audi cut right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it! What Audiacity! Kay fired a verbal barb out the windshield, “What a Ninny!” Then I fired my verbal laser beam, “Yeah, he’s a Ninny in an Audi!” We both laughed.

Often on our way to work we see the guy in the Duluth Police Parking Enforcement Vehicle. Its sort of a modified three-wheeler with an enclosure so the Enforcer won’t get cold or rained on. And it says “Interceptor” on the bumper (I am not making that up). I wonder if he’s ever been on any high speed chases? Maybe when a toddler is trying to escape on his Big Wheels.

A while back when I went to fill up our car with almost $4.00 per gallon gas, about a cup full spilled onto the ground when I put the nozzle in. I almost threw my sweatshirt on the ground to try to soak it up so I could squeeze it into the tank. When the travel center attendant gave me my credit card receipt, I thanked him for my copy of the loan. He didn’t laugh.

And when did they stop calling them gas stations and start calling them travel plazas?

When I was watching the Daytona 500 this past February I noticed the peculiar way those guys were drafting off from each other. The announcers marveled at the way the drivers could pair up at speeds of up to 200 mph – front bumper actually touching the rear bumper – and push/pull each other around the track. I thought to myself, “Hey that’s not so special – that looks like my daughter Amber driving down Highway 2!”

When we went to the Big Box Department store, as we were checking out they asked me to input my zip code. I keyed in 90210.

My grandson and I went to Best Buy a while back to look at really cool stuff (we could spend all day in there). When I got out of my truck I pointed out to him a pretty impressive looking Ford F150. His dad is a Ford guy, so I figured he was gonna be a Ford guy. So I asked him, “I suppose when you get old enough to drive you’re gonna be a Ford guy, huh?”
His reply? Noah, age 9, replied with a grin, “I’m gonna be a What-I-can-afFord” guy.

You know those really tall, skinny inflatable things that you see in front of car dealers and other businesses? They flap up and down like a rag doll attempting to find a backbone as they try to stay inflated. I wonder how much business they really bring in? Or how many kids have nightmares from those things and are permanently scarred for life. “No no no Daddy!!! I don’t want to go to that place with the tall creepy flappy monster!”

When our daughters stayed at my mom and dad’s place, we always had to take the two dolls (with faces made from dried apples) off the dresser and put them in the closet so that they could sleep at night. I guess the heads did look pretty creepy – blackened dried apples molded into the shape of faces. They looked like some Amazon shrunken heads.

I wonder what’s more damaging for kids….creepy dried apple face people or creepy tall flappy monsters?

Kay has a lot of her cosmetics in a very colorful plastic box that looks an awful lot like a tackle box. I am not sure why I typed that, I guess I just thought you should know. One of these days I’m gonna a put a Rapala in it. Or a Power Worm.

I want to drive around town sometime dressed in a gorilla suit with the window down. And when someone pulls up along side of me at the stop light, I’ll just look over and give them a “Yo, whazzup?” That would be funny.

I got a John Deere letter the other day from my tractor. Seems its leaving me for a bigger farm.

A few months ago I bought a magazine at Barnes and Noble. The lady at the checkout asked if I wanted a bag. I was only halfway paying attention to her question because I was trying to figure out if I had enough cash of if I should use my credit card or if I should ask my wife to pay for it. I was looking at my billfold and said to her, “Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” When I looked up she was sort of grinning and giving me a “this isn’t that hard of question” look. When we got in the car, Kay said I should have asked her to repeat the question.

At my wife’s place of employment someone brought in several bouquets of lilacs to sit around the office area. They looked beautiful (she brought one home) and smelled wonderful. But they were aggravating someone’s allergies so they had to put all the lilacs in the men’s room (don’t ask me why the men’s room). A couple days later as we headed to work I commented to my wife on how great her perfume smelled.
“It’s lilacs!” she replied.
I asked with great concern in my voice, “They’re not going to make you sit in the men’s room all day are they?”

Dan Vander Ark
Copyright 2011
All Rights Reserved

Death By Frisbee

Our daughter Courtney volunteered to host a Wednesday night “Grill and Chill” for our church at the Burnett ball field, so after work we hustled home, changed and headed out. We got to the picnic, visited for a little bit and then ate. I was hungry so I had two plates full of fried chicken, potato salad and other really good stuff.


Then Pastor Mike asked if anyone wanted to play Ultimate Frisbee. I loved tossing the Frisbee and had heard about Frisbee Golf, but had never heard about the “Ultimate” part.

A few years ago at work three of us tossed the Frisbee around during break. And when the weather was bad we went into the warehouse -- we got halfway good at tossing it around this pole or through that shelf. We even tried hitting the back wall of the warehouse from the mezzanine. Mine always fell short of that mark, but it was a lot of fun.

So at the Burnett ball field, all the guys gathered in the outfield to pick teams. There were I guess 14-16 of us ranging from the young (my grandson) to the not so young (me and a couple other guys). The captains started choosing sides and when it was down to about 6 of us and I hadn’t been drafted yet, I began to have flashbacks of the drafts at grade school kickball when I wasn’t taken till about the 49th round. Fortunately they just split us up so we wouldn’t have any self-esteem issues: “Ok, you three leftovers go to this side and you three go to that side.”

So the sides were chosen. The problem was though that in the melee you couldn’t really remember who was on your side. It’s just a good thing they didn’t call for skins and shirts. Me and six pack abs……………NOT!

But just to be helpful (and as a kind gesture), in the midst of the scramble when the guys on the other team hollered, “Who’s on my side?” I raised my hand. Just to be helpful.

Ultimate Frisbee is fashioned after soccer – you have to pass the Frisbee to someone on your side and are only permitted to take three steps once you catch it, then you have to attempt to pass it to another teammate as you work your way toward the football-like end zone (not a goal as in soccer). If the guy on your team doesn’t catch it or you throw just your normal horrible pass or the enemy knocks it down or intercepts it – then the other team gets the plastic saucer and back you go the other way.

(The day after Death-By-Frisbee I Googled “Ultimate Frisbee” on the internet just to see what I could find out about the sport. I soon learned that Ultimate Frisbee is used to winnow the really tough Navy Seals trainees from the not quite really tough Navy Seal trainees. One trainee wrote, “I didn’t mind holding that 200 pound log over my head all morning, but Ultimate Frisbee…now THAT was hard!)


So back and forth we went.

And I soon discovered – I could go back ok, but I had trouble going forth. I had been doing a fair amount of walking so I didn’t think I was in too bad of shape. But I thought wrong. And those two helpings of potato salad? A couple of times I thought I was going to have to eat them again.

And have you ever seen that original Star Trek series episode where Captain Kirk and Spock and others on the bridge of the Enterprise hear what sounds like just a really loud mosquito – but they never see anything? Then (if I remember correctly) they slow down the ship’s video log to super super slo mo and lo and behold they discover that there are aliens on their ship that move at incredible speeds compared to the molasses-like speed of the humanoids.

Well, I was the humanoid and Pastor Mike and several others and Gene “The Difference Maker” were the aliens. I compare my speed to that of a turtle being shot out of marshmallow shooter – incredibly fast for about 12 inches and then incredibly slow. I swear one time I had a good 20 yards of clean air to throw the Frisbee to a team mate. But suddenly one of the aliens (Teenage Mutant Ninja Non-Turtle Jacob) intercepted it! Where did he come from?

I was sweating and panting so bad after the first 20 minutes I was just longing for half-time. SURELY there would be a church-lady marching band halftime show so we could get a break and get some Gatorade and IV’s or SOMETHING!

But they just kept playing.

After what seemed like eons, Pastor Mike mercifully announced, “OK, whoever scores the next two points wins.”

Can I get an “Amen!?”

Within 13 seconds the other team scored twice and we walked off the field.


It was really a lot of fun, but I was really winded. I sat down for a little bit, visited for a while with the sweat rolling off from me. I was so hot from running and it was so humid that my glasses kept fogging up. I wondered, “Did I wander into a sauna or is it just like really really foggy out here?”

When I got home it took a lot longer than normal to walk up the stairs. My thigh muscles had had enough and just decided (WITHOUT my permission) to disconnect from me!

“Wow! How come my legs ain’t working?!?! My brain is commanding my legs to move, but they aren't following orders!!!"

I begged and cajoled and threatened my thigh muscles but they just didn’t want to have anything to do with the rest of my body for the rest of the night.

And my calf muscles were seriously thinking of joining their rebellion.

For a while I thought that I might not be able to go to work the next day. But how would I explain it to my boss?

“Hey Boss, I won’t be in today.”
“Hey Dan, what’s the matter? Are you calling in sick? And why are you mumbling stuff about death and Frisbee and thigh muscle rebellion?”
“No boss, I’m not sick……………………………I’m just calling in ‘old’”

Why Minnesota Is Better Than Arizona

About a month ago my brother emailed me a picture of his thermometer at his house. He and his wife live in Chandler, Arizona (next to Phoenix). The outdoor temperature read 121.9 degrees.

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE POINT NINE DEGREES!

At least it wasn’t 122!

In Minnesota that’s what ovens are preheated to when lutefisk is cooked. (Lutefisk was originally invented by the Norwegians to glue their boats together and was never meant to be eaten. But tradition has it that Sven and Ole were out fishing in one of the fjords one day and when they got really hungry, Ole said to Sven, “Hey Sven, this glue doesn’t taste too bad!” Whereupon Sven answered, “Well den maybe you should have Lena cook you up a batch for breakfast!”)

When I saw that picture of my brother’s thermometer I began to think about the ways that Minnesota is better than Arizona. Here are the top twenty:

1. Your state’s name comes from the Spanish “Arid Zona,” meaning “But Bob, it’s a dry heat!” Our state name means “Land of Sky-Tinted Water.” Doesn’t that just sound calming and soothing?

2. We have spiders that look like puppies and eat flies and mosquitoes so we can sit outside in the evening.

You have giant spiders that eat people! This big one was hiding under my brother’s pillow and was intending to embalm him that very night!

3. You have maybe 200 lakes; we have 10,000 plus. And some of your lakes are classified as “intermittent.” Do you know what that means? Simply that sometimes they don’t look any different than the desert around them! (“Hey honey, it’s so hot, let’s take the kids out to the lake.” “Well ok, but call first to see if there’s water in it.”).Plus our lakes were made by Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox. Moreover, we can drive on our lakes in winter – bet you can’t do that! And we have………… (drum roll please)……………..Lake Superior!

4. Your big city of Phoenix has at least 100 days of 100 degrees above zero every year whereas our little town of Tower had just one day of 60 degrees below zero one time. And just because in winter we can freeze a banana so hard we can use it to hammer a nail into a board or just because we can create a little snowstorm by throwing a cup of boiling water into the air doesn’t mean we can’t live here.

(With the oven preheated to 300 degrees)
Bullhead City, AZ resident wife: Honey why is your head in the oven?
Bullhead City, AZ resident husband: Don’t bother me! I’m trying to cool off!

5. You have to wear asbestos oven mitts and asbestos shorts when you go to start your car in the summer lest you become a victim of spontaneous combustion. (“Oh hi Harriet, whose ashes are those in the urn?” “Oh hi Sally, those are Bob’s, he tried to start the car without wearing his asbestos underwear.”) We on the other hand can run out to the garage in our PJ’s even when its 20 below, start the car, and run back in and not be on fire!

6. In baseball, you have the Diamondbacks and we have the Minnesota Twins. Now doesn’t “Twins” just sound so much nicer? Don’t believe me? Well just listen to these two sentences:
“Oh honey, did you hear that the Andersons had TWINS! Isn’t that WONDERFUL?”
or
“Oh honey, did you hear that the Andersons had SNAKES ON THEIR PLANE! Isn’t that horrible?”

7. And speaking of snakes, you have poisonous ones; we just have little green garter snakes. But maybe we do have a couple of venomous snakes, I’m not sure. There might be some Water Moccasins in Little Cormorant Lake where my mom lives. I think one was chasing me one time when I was waterskiing as a kid. And you guys even have a website dedicated to snakes called www.snakesofarizona.com (whereas we don’t have one dedicated to lutefisk).

8. You speak a funny language called English; everyone in Minnesota has a strong Norwegian brogue and punctuates every sentence with “Uff Dah!” (According to Wikipedia “Uff Dah” is an all-purpose expression and is often used as a term for sensory overload. For example you often hear this expression when you are walking down the street in Ulen or Hitterdahl, “Uff Dah! Luftputefartøyet mitt er fullt av ål! (which means, “I have sensory overload because my hovercraft is full of eels!”)

9. We have grass…you have sand. And we mow our grass…you paint yours.

10. You have scorpions that hide in your shoes and wait to bite you; we used to have Scorpion Snowmobiles.


This is a picture of my brother fighting a scorpion in his backyard this past June before they could have a barbecue.


11. You have dust storms, we have snowstorms. (Newsflash – snow melts, dirt doesn’t!)





12. We can build a snowman in the winter (which is like September through June); you can build what? A sandcastle on the beach of one your “intermittent lakes?”

13. You have cactus…we have trees. You can’t build houses out of cacti...or is it cactusseses?

14. We have iron ore – lots of it; you just have gold and silver and copper and cactus. Ok, I’ll give you that one.

15. We have icy roads in the winter, you have….non-icy roads in the winter. Ok, so that one goes to you also. But you haven’t really lived until you’ve had the opportunity to slide down the highway backwards so that you can see where you’ve been.

16. You have lots of swimming pools that you have to chlorinate and clean, we have lots of swimming holes that God keeps clean for us.

17. You have snowbirds that live in little metal containers lined up in neat little rows; we have robins and blue birds and geese and ducks and eagles and blackbirds and pelicans and herons ….need I say more?

18. You have Superstition Mountain, we have….well ok let’s skip this one. Although in Duluth we have Spirit Mountain and Spirit Valley! But it’s really more like Spirit Bump and Spirit Dip, but don’t tell anyone.

19. We have “Minnesota Nice.” You have “Gila MONSTERS!!!” (That just gives me the heebeegeebees.)


20. And finally, we have HOTDISH ON A STICK! (It’s held together with Lutefisk Super Glue.) You don’t have ANYTHING that even compares to that, not even tacos and burritos. (Although I might rethink that one)


Ok Arizona, here’s your chance to reply to this. Just email me or post to this blog and I’ll put your replies on here. Unless of course you come up with good reasons why Arizona is better than Minnesota, then I’ll just ignore them :>)

(By the way Arizona…you really do have a wonderful state with beautiful desert scenery)

Dan Vander Ark
Copyright 2011
All Rights Reserved

Honey, Do You Think We Should Bolt the Pig Down?

A few months ago during my normal rush-to-get-ready-for-work routine, my wife asked (as we headed out the door), “Honey, do you think we should bolt the pig down?”

The question stopped me dead in my tracks. I really didn’t know how to answer that.

As a husband/father/halfway-mature adult I’ve pondered some weighty matters in life.

Questions like:
“Daddy, are we there yet?”
“Why am I bowlegged?”
“If a chicken and a half can lay an egg and a half in a day and a half, how many eggs will 24 chickens lay in 24 days?”
“Grampa, where did your hair go?”

From childhood to adulthood we find it difficult trying to answer these and other perplexities.

And now I was baffled once again. Not quite as puzzled as on the “1.5 Chicken” question, but perplexed nonetheless.

We had bolted down Gunslinger Frog a couple years ago, and so it just seemed reasonable to Kay that we should bolt the pig down.

My wife was of course referring to the small metal sculptured flying pig that we have sitting on the backyard steps.

Of course.


Why bolt the frog and pig down? The answer is simple: wind and thieves – we don’t want them blowing around and we don’t want them going home with strangers. A couple of years ago I argued forcibly to have Gunslinger mounted on the deck in the front of the house so he could be readily visible to all of the people on our busy residential street. I so much wanted them to be able to enjoy the redneck flea market artwork also.

But I lost the argument. “The Frog,” Kay said with a fervor rarely seen in a Norwegian, “Stays in the back!”

And speaking of high-brow art (if I may digress for a moment). At my daughter and son-in-law’s place in the country they just remodeled their bathroom. And for a while they had the old toilet sitting between the house and hot tub room, waiting to be hauled to the landfill. A friend of our 8 year old grandson (Noah) came over to their place to play one day. As our daughter and Noah and his friend Ricky drove into their driveway and parked not too far from the toilet, Noah deadpanned, “Hey Ricky, we’re remodeling the bathroom so you have to go out here.” His friend replied with a look of horror, “NO WAY!”

I mentioned to my wife that we could put that toilet in our front yard for a planter, but she declined. I thought that geraniums would look real nice in it. I then suggested to our son-in-law that he put it in their little pond where the sump pump shoots out like Old Faithful every few minutes. They could place the toilet directly over the protruding sump pump line. And every few minutes – the seat would fly up and water would come gushing out of the bowl like a geyser.

I ask you, what’s cooler than that? Who WOULDN’T want one of those in their yard?

Back to the pig and frog.

So each evening when I come home from work, I greet the frog. “Yo Gunslinger, whazzup?”

And the pig…well the pig never did get bolted down. He hasn’t gone home with strangers yet – apparently there’s not much of a call among thieves in our area for flying pigs. And as for flying? Well he sits lower to the ground than the frog and thus is more stable than Gunslinger, so he’s less likely to get airborne in the wind. Although he does have little wings.

HOLD IT! Come to think of it, I hope I DO see him flying! Why? Because it would be an answer to one of the most disconcerting and baffling questions I’ve faced in my entire life.

Whether I ask friends or family or coworkers or acquaintances or neighbors, the answer I inevitably get to my life-long question is simply, “When pigs fly!”

And the question?

“Will the Minnesota Vikings ever win the Super Bowl?”

The Nightmare Scenario (A Doctoral Dissertation On The Meaning Of Life During The 2010 Minnesota Vikings Season)

I came up the stairs from the basement family room into the kitchen. My face was just drained of color.
“Honey! What’s wrong? Why is your face so ashen?”
“It’s the nightmare scenario,” I mumbled.
“What?!?! Something horrible happened?!?!” Why are you so incoherent? Your words are all garbled!”
She knows I watch the news all of the time so she figured some world tragedy had just taken place.
“It’s the sum of all fears!” I muttered.
“What? What happened? Did California fall into the ocean???”
I grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eyes.
“No, its worse than that! It’s just horrible!”
“DAN, WHAT HAPPENED?” she demanded.
“The Packers…” It was so painful to get the words out. I struggled to continue, “The Packers…(gulp)…are going to the Super Bowl!”
She stared at me for a moment, then rolled her eyes and walked away. I heard her mumbling something about men and football and “I’m going shopping.”

I breed pulple.
Hold it, I typed that wrong. I’m still a little distraught.
Let me try that again.
I…bleed…purple.

I am a Minnesota Viking fan – I’ve been a Viking fan since kindergarten. I was actually born in Reedsburg, Wisconsin and lived in Beloit but we only stayed a few months. Sometime during our stay in Beloit my dad had a vision in the middle of the night that forever changed our lives.
A ghostly apparition appeared at the end of my mom and dad’s bed at 1:03AM.
“VAN!” the apparition hollered through the bullhorn.
My dad awoke with a fright, “Wh…wh…whoo are you?”
“Are you Van of the Vander Ark Tribe?”
“Y-y-y-yessss I am,” my dad said with his eyes bugging out, “Who are y-y-y-you?”
“I am the Angel of Bud Grant!”
“Old Stone Face Himself? Wow, this is so cool!!!” My dad woke up my mom, “Hey honey, ITS BUD GRANT! RIGHT HERE IN OUR BEDROOM!!!”
“Van, I am not Bud Grant per se; I am the angel of Bud Grant, I just look like him; now pay attention!”
“Yes Sir.”
“Van, you and your young wife Dorothy and your son Jan must arise immediately and take your Valiant Purple Warrior Son Dan to the land of Sky-Blue-Water!”
My dad looked puzzled, “Are you sure you have the right house? Danny has red hair?”
“Yes I have the right house!!!” the angel bellowed through the bull horn.
“Oh, ok, that’s it? Just take the kid to Minnesota? And we just go west on highway 10, right?”
“Yup, that’s right….just settle in the Village of Sauk Rapids for the time being.”
“Ok Bud-Angel….ummmm before you go can I ask you a couple of questions?"
“Yes but hurry, I must go.”
“First, why the purple tutu? In the future aren’t we always gonna see old Stone Face pacing the sidelines at Met Stadium with -20 degree temps dressed in just a shortsleeve shirt?”
“The tutu is just for this story, OK? And this NEVER gets out, got that?”
“Ok, got it….and I know nobody’s even thought about it yet, but will the Vikings ever win the Super Bowl?”
Bud-Angel turned a little sullen. He then gathered up his tutu, sat next to my father on the edge of the bed and put his hand on my dad’s shoulder.
“Van, I gotta level with you. This century doesn’t look to good for you and the Vikes.”
Even though the Vikings didn’t exist yet, my dad’s shoulders slumped.
My dad asked with a twinkle of hope in his eyes, “How about the 21st century???”
“Welllllll, all I’m gonna say is...the first decade is kinda down the tubes…..sorry.”

When our two little girls were born I was determined to bring them up right. So when I tucked them into bed at night I would read to them from Grimm’s Fairy Tales about a Wonderful Land called Minnesota with thousands of taxes….excuse me…I mean thousands of lakes. It’s a Beautiful Land where all of the potholes are filled with gold. It’s a land of valiant Viking Warriors called Purple People Eaters like Alan the Page and Carl the Eller that would protect them from all harm.

And the fairy tale went on…”But there is a Dark Land, a land west of the Lake called Michigan. And there is a Town called The Bay of Green where the sun never shines. It is a land made out of limburger cheese, a land where the evil Packerites live. It is the Foreboding Land of Lambeau and their evil king Lombardi the Vince.”

“Daddy?”
“Yes honey, what is it?”
“Daddy, Timmy at preschool said that the Great Treasure at the end of the football rainbow is called the Lombardi Trophy. Why is it named after such an evil king, Daddy?”
“Well honey, let me just finish the story, ok? We’ll talk about that when you’re older.”
I continued, “And the evil Packerites have one big yellow eye in the middle of their foreheads and they have (I paused just a moment for theatrical effect)…….GREEN TEETH!!!” In the dark I shined the flashlight under my chin toward my face to project a scene of horror.
“Daddy?”
“Yes honey?”
“Mommy said green tea is good for you.”
“Not green tea, honey, GREEN TEETH. Now pay attention, ok? And just remember, if you and your three year old sister want to go out and play, both of you first have to write a 1,000 word essay on the benefits of the 3-4 defense versus the 4-3.”
I continued, “And they have……”
“Daddy, what is that really big game called – the one with the really cool commercials?”
“Well, honey, it’s a wonderful game called…THE SUPER BOWL!” Both of my daughter’s eyes filled with wonder as I explained to them about that great game called…THE SUPER BOWL!
“Wow daddy, and I bet those great Viking Warriors have won a bunch of those Lombardi trophies, huh daddy, right????”
“Well, ummm…..lets just continue with the story about those evil Packerites, ok? You can ask questions later.”
“OK daddy…and I bet those evil Packerites haven’t won any of those Lumbar trophies, have they daddy?.............Right Daddy?”
“Daddy, why are you starting to turn purple? Is that how the Purple People Eaters looked?”
“Ok, that’s enough of that story tonight; lights out…time to go to sleep.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Daddy, can I have a glass of lime Kool-Aid in my yellow sippy cup?”
“NO!”
“But Daddy I’m thirsty!”
“GO TO SLEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I walked into the living room. “Kay, how many times do I have to tell you we only allow grape Kool-Aid in this house!”

But alas, the Fairy Tale Indoctrination Program failed. One of my daughters has become a Green Bay Packer fan.
I haven’t spoken to her since the third grade.

I emailed a Packer friend after Green Bay lost to Detroit on December 12th, “Hey, it looks all of us in the NFC North stink!”
But guess what? They became stink free whilst we withered away into total stinkdom.

Even though we had a remarkable season during 2009 with Brett Farve, to be honest with you, I was never quite in favor of having the Bertmeister come to the Vikings. Don't get me wrong -- I think he's a fantastic quarterback and exciting to watch. But I just figured we’d have a good quarterback (make that "Great" quarterback) for two years at most, but then we'd be back to square one.

Thanks for the memories Brett...I guess you've submitted your official retirement papers with the NFL.

(Hold everything! Maybe things ain't gonna be so bad in 2011 -- I just heard on ESPN that James Cameron has created an Avatar for Brett!)

My mom grew up during the Great Depression and was a welder on the Liberty ships in California during WWII and has a lot of wisdom and grit. She used to tell us kids when we were growing up that (when we go through trials) whatever doesn’t kill us would make us stronger. But my mom was never a Viking fan.

People that know me probably won’t believe this but I actually cheered for the Packers back in the 90’s when they played the Patriots in the Super Bowl. And when I pastored the church out at Hawthorne, Wisconsin, more often than not I wanted the Packers to win for the sake of the kids (I never told the grownups that) – I just hated seeing the pain on their faces when their team lost.

I tell ya the last couple of years have just been Susan Boyle/ Les Misérables: “I Dreamed A Dream”…..but Tracy Porter of the Aints intercepted it.

This year in Vikingdom the season has culminated in the nightmare scenario. Our stadium collapsed on December 12th and the game had to be cancelled due to snow in Minnesota in December.

What?

Which resulted in playing a home game in Detroit.

What?

And then we played a Monday night game versus Chicago at the Gophers stadium.

Vikings and Gophers and Bears, oh my!!!

(Gophers…now that’s one team mascot name that sure strikes fear into the opposing teams. I know when I see a gopher out in the wild I make a run for it! That’s why I wear those little bells when I go hiking.)

Well, at least we aren’t Detroit…nobody ever finishes behind Detroit.

Hold it…I just looked at the standings…we are behind Detroit! How did that happen???

I gotta admit, the Packers have been on quite a run – winning their last five must-win games and it all started in late December versus the Giants:

Ok, so maybe they slaughtered the Giants, but they’re probably gonna lose to the Bears.
Ok, so maybe they beat the Bears, but they’re probably gonna lose to the Eagles.
Ok, so the Packers were kryptonite to SuperVick and they beat the Eagles, but for sure they’re gonna lose to top-ranked Atlanta and “Matty Ice.”
Ok, so maybe Matt Ryan frosted up, but they’re probably gonna lose to the Bears and their really durable quarterback Jay Cutler.
Ok, so maybe Cutler aint as durable as Favre and they beat the Bears, but they’re probably gonna lose to.....hold it! They’re in the _____ ____! (I can’t even write those words.)

I came to work Monday following the victory of the Packers over da Bears. My eyesight isn’t the greatest and at first I thought I was seeing a giant ad for General Mills Cereal & Cheerios (Remember? “Big G, little o…”). But it wasn’t. It was an 80 X 120 foot Packer banner at the end of the corridor next to Darth Nancy’s cubicle. Even though she’s just on the other side of the cubicle wall, I didn’t say good morning or anything to her. My cube was a bit of a mess so I decided take out some of my frustrations and turn my keyboard over and bang it on the desk to try to knock loose some of the fungus (or is it funguy?) and trees that were starting to grow on the QWERTY row. That’s when Darth Nancy spoke, “Now Dan, you don’t have to beat your head on your desk, its not that bad.”

Oh yes it is, Darth!

Just a few moments later Darth Annie of the Lake Nebagamon Sith sent me an email. It had the picture of the 4+4+4 (Favre jerseys) = 12 (Rodgers jersey) with this comment, “Who would have thought we would be going to the Super Bowl? You really should have moved to this side of the border. It’s just better over here. Of course, some Minnesota people have come to their senses and thrown their lot in with the Packers. Are you ready for a conversion?”

My reply? “This is what I feared…the nightmare scenario.” I later emailed something like, “Got any more of these? You might as well just get them all out now, or is it gonna be drip drip drip over the next two weeks?”

It was drip, drip, drip…

The next day she sent me the email/picture of the Bears new quarterback….Brett Favre!
Then an email about all those teams that have championship rings with diamonds…and a picture of onion rings with a caption, “Viking’s rings.” It was around noon time and I was hungry and they actually looked kind of good. I could almost smell those Vikings Rings.
Then she forwarded an email from some Green Bay organization asking if I wanted to help the Packers get as many people to the Big Game as possible.
I guess she sent 7,498 emails the past few days to try to cheer me up, but most didn’t make it through our company’s spam filter.

I have hated the Steelers ever since Super Bowl IX, but now I’m kinda liking those guys. With Troy P_________ (I have no clue how to spell his last name - and I sure like his hair – but then I like anybody’s hair) and Ben Ruthlessburger – who knows what might happen. My good friend Adnaw lives in Packer land but she’s a big Steeler fan (I spelled her name backwards to protect her identity). I left a message for her the other night, “Wanda….excuse me…Adnaw, I am praying for you that you will have strength to stand against those evil Packer hordes!”

Well, I gotta go. I have an appointment with my psychiatrist – he’s the same guy that’s on that Geico commercial. You know, the former drill sergeant turned psychiatrist. And I kinda think the patient in that commercial probably wasn't a Packer fan because he says something like, “That’s why the colors yellow and green make me sad…” But he obviously wasn't a Viking fan, he's too wimpy for that. With everything we've gone through, you have to be super tough to be root for the Norsemen. I just read that on the first mission to Mars NASA will be recruiting Vikings fans...we know how to endure hardship. So here's to the toughest (and BEST!) fans in the NFL...Vi skal slå dag og vinne Super Bowl!!!

Oh, just a note to my boss. If by the slimmest of chances the Packers lose, I’ll be in Monday at my regular time of 5:30 to lend moral support to you and the others in the office. (Turns out my boss is a Packer fan. My mouth just dropped open when I learned that. I mentioned to my boss’s boss, “I thought Human Resources was going to filter out those applicants?”)

But if they win (I guess I should say “when they win”), I put in a PTO request…so I’ll be in on Tuesday………………………………..July 5th.

Finally, I have just one other thing to say to you Packer fans… (This section is for Packer fans only!).
(Scroll down)














Just a little more….














Just a little more…















Hey you Viking Fans! Scroll up NOW!..........(Packer fans keep going).













Just a little more…











Congratulations to the Packers on a wonderful season and good luck in the Super Bowl.
(But you DIDN’T hear that from me!)
Life is good……………:>)



Dan Vander Ark
Copyright 2011
All Rights Reserved

Adventures In Dishwashing (Ode To The Dishwasher)

Our new dishwasher is now almost 2 years old. Its birthday is December 9th. It’s been used twice. Three times tops.

For a bunch of years we actually had three dishwashers, but two of them graduated from high school and moved out. And the third one came with the house when we moved in back in 1994. No, no, no, it wasn’t a leftover teenager from the previous owner or anything like that. The third one was the mechanical kind. 

But it didn’t work, so we just used it to store air for 14 years. Therefore since 1994 the dishes were always washed by hand; and for about the last decade it’s been just my wife and I (although I guess the dog helped some, but don’t tell that to our friends or family). 

To tell you the truth, I feel that washing the dishes together gives us a time to talk and catch up on the news of the day. And it has definitely helped to cement our relationship together. Here is a sample of one of our more intimate conversations: 

Me: “How was your day?” 

Kay: “Fine.” Kay: “And how was your day?” 

Me: “Fine.” 

Those deep exchanges of emotion over a sink full of dishes have helped us both to face the trials of life. But sometimes the conversations aren’t quite that intimate; on occasion we just stare out the window and watch the squirrels fight over the sunflower seeds. Or occasionally I guess we do talk about some pretty serious stuff. You know, like “Was Yogi Berra the catcher for the New York Yankees or the cartoon bear that lived in Jellystone National Park?” Or, “Hey Honey, the neighbors aren’t burning furniture in their backyard again are they?” 

Even though most of the time the dishwashing-conversations are about problem solving global issues, every now and then we get to laughing so hard that Joy soap bubbles come out our nose. And occasionally I guess we just goof around. 

Like the other night – I washed the big pizza pan, she dried it and then held it up to her face like a shield and was peaking at me through the millions of little holes to see if I still looked the same. 

And I’ve been known to put the spaghetti strainer on my head and pretend to be contacting Mars or Iowa. And Kay does a pretty good job of imitating the sound that the garbage disposal makes. If we are washing the dishes between 5-7 on Saturday evenings, we try to listen to Garrison Keillor’s “A Prairie Home Companion.” When we told that to my nephew David and his wife-to-be Katie (would that be your niece-in-law?), they thought it was just so romantic. I always wash, and Kay always dries. And it always goes from right to left – that whole process never changes. But if I time it right (and pretend to be busy) she will actually start washing the dishes. Then I will suddenly race into the kitchen, and while trying to catch my breath, say something like, “Oh Honey, I am sooooo sooorrrryy!!! Here let me help! I got distracted watching Ice Road Truckers on TV.” I then commence to washing the remaining dishes while she has to dry all of them. And she often reminds me that I put in too much soap. Every night its, “Dan, its CONCENTRATED! You don’t need that much soap!” My reply? “What did you say? Sorry, I was concentrating.” I then, in a Moses-at-the-Red-Sea fashion, part the enormous mountain of soap so that I can see the dishes. As Kay was putting the dishes into the cupboard one evening after she dried them, it was only natural that during one of our dishwashing conversations we pondered just why the cupboard is called the “cupboard.” We figured it must have originated from medieval days when the cups were simply placed on a rough hewn oak board to dry. After supper the wife would say to the husband, “Put the cups up on that rough hewn oak board.” But when Monday Night Football rolled around a few years later (I think Howard Cosell started in like 1869), the husband was suddenly in a big hurry so the wife would simply say, “Put the dishes on the cupboard before you even THINK about sitting down in front of the TV!” And later on, hickory doors and pewter door pulls were added so that’s how come we now say, “Put the dishes IN the cupboard.” Anyway, back to the dishwasher. We run the dishwasher through a wash cycle about every other month just so it doesn’t get rusty or full of cobwebs. And every once in a great while we even put dishes into it so that it doesn’t lose its sense of dish-esteem. Maybe I would be more in favor of actually using the dishwasher more often if in fact it put the dishes away. To be perfectly honest with you, I was more than a little aghast when I opened the dishwasher door after the first time we washed the dishes and found that they were STILL IN THE DISHWASHER! I guess maybe we need to buy the companion Kenmore Dishputterawayer. Or maybe we could raise a couple more dishwashers in our old age. And the boy would be named Ken More Vander Ark. And the girl would be called May Tag Vander Ark. Ode To The Dishwasher: Oh dishwasher Oh dishwasher O Giant piece of Kenmore plastic (That’s all I have – it’s a work in progress) Or I guess it could be a limerick: There once was a dishwasher named Kenmore It didn’t know why it was here for It never got used It felt so abused It just fills up the space on the floor (Please submit your favorite dishwashing limerick to me [email dan.lee.vanderark@gmail.com]. The best one will be put on the blog and you will receive a signed picture of me with a spaghetti strainer on my head)

========================================================== From my friend Ron... Hi Dan, I loved the dishwasher column. - I think anyone who was married in the 60s has their own dishwashing machine stories...including the flooded floors - HA! I have one for you in honor of T-Bone...by the way it was great to see him on your blog! - Here it is... We used to wash dishes alone, But then along came our T-Bone He never came late... He licked every plate 'til the last scrap of food was all gone! Have a great day, Ron Jer. 10:23 NIV