Month: November 2016

Okay, Thanksgiving is Over; Hello, Bing

Posted on by Nolan Slover (Note Worthy)

People will find me weird.

Some will think that I have no sense of timing or common sense.

But I’m one of those goobers that can listen to “Christmas” music basically any time of the year.  I can easily have a pining to watch The Polar Express on the hottest damn day of July, where I’m sitting with a fan blowing on me and still dripping sweat like I just stepped out of the shower, or came in from outside where it had been raining (similar to yesterday… that was fun.)

Needless to say, my musical selection has switched from Pony on my iPod and CCM on KTIS on the radio to my decent-sized collection of holiday/Christmas music.

I don’t have some of the classics.  I’ve got Bing Crosby’s Merry Christmas, which he recorded in 1961 and also introduced us to the quintessential standard White Christmas, but others like Nat King Cole, Andy Williams, The Carpenters and other recording artists of the era from which we–well, at least my generation–draw so heavily on to the memories that helped to be substantive in our childhood are not in my collection.

I still have one of my most cherished memories of Christmas over at my (at the time) Grandparents house.  This was back in the mid to late 80s–if memory serves me correctly–before my Grandma was struck with Alzheimer’s.  I don’t quite remember the exact time (I didn’t wear a watch back then–why do you need to know what time it is when you’re 9?) but I was upstairs in the living room away from the throng of grandchildren and adults (I often don’t care to be in places where there’s a lot of noise for too long) and I walked over to the window in the center of the room, standing right next to one of two trees that were in the house (the other one was downstairs and had all the presents around it–it also served as a way to close off the access to the outside that would have been covered in a bit of snow).  

I looked outside and… I’m trying to remember if the sound walls were up yet along the I-35-E corridor.  Part of me is thinking they weren’t.  Anyway, I took a moment and looked outside.

It was one of the most peaceful moments in my entire life.  Right in that few seconds, I had no concerns, no cares, no worries–I wanted to live in that moment, in that darkened room with the baby grand piano behind me, the unlit fireplace to my left, the tree to my right and this endless bastion of peace on that cold December day.

I haven’t been in that house for a little over eighteen months now.  The last time I was there, I was helping to move some furniture from that house to my sister’s apartment.  My aunt and her husband have owned the house for a while, and going back in it just isn’t the same.  There’s a presence, a spirit that was once there that is no longer about.  Now it’s just another house in a middle to upper-middle-class neighborhood.

I plan to not get soaked at work today.  Wonder what I’ll have to talk about tonight when I get home.  May also post more stuff, like videos and the like, because diversity is awesome.

Four Simple Numbers

Posted on by Nolan Slover (Note Worthy)

(In case you haven’t realized it, I’m taking a small break from the “story” and just writing everyday stuff.  Because, y’know, words.)

The morning post referred to some of the rain we had today.  Rain, that, yes on November 28th, was a thunderstorm with hail.  Because we live in Minnesota and the weather is apparently unable to make up its mind this year what season it’s supposed to be.  Last weekend, it was winter.  Today, the high was in the 60s.  Wut.

So, anyway, I got everything ready for my lunch and head out to work.  The rain has stopped and I opt to wear my fleece coat given that by Noon the rain will have moved out of the area and we’ll have a chance of sunshine with clouds.  Which has been the weather’s MO for the last two weeks or so: clouds–no meaningful precipitation of any sort–and we see the sun for about eight minutes at the sunrise and then at the sunset.  This does wonders for individuals who are among the unfortunate people who suffer from Seasonal Affect Disorder (SAD).

On the way there I encounter a band of rain which eventually tapers off.  Then the realization hits me.

I’m driving back into the storm that just went past my house less than an hour ago.

And boy did the rain come down.  Mixed with sleet and/or snow pellets, all dependent on who you ask (it was sleet; pea-sized, nothing that’ll damage a car thankfully).  So I’ve got my wipers going and make my way into the parking lot at work.  Calicos and Daschunds are still cascading from the sky with little icy balls of death akin to being bombarded by sand.

And… I have to get out of the car.

I did notice as I pulled into the parking lot that all of the spaces near the door were long since taken.  I figure I’ve got a fifteen, maybe twenty foot stroll to get to the entrance to the garage and start this rainy Monday on a good foot.

Life does not often provide me such kindness.

I grabbed all of my things and headed to the entryway with purpose.  An entryway that had been transformed into something similar to a waterfall from the roof.  Water was blasting out of the drainage pipe faster than it could take it, and the roof (flat) had far since reached its limit.

Now, the entryway to our garage has a keypad lock on the door to keep unauthorized persons from entering the facility–which is a good thing, given the cost of some of the merchandise that we bring in for deliveries and are sending out internationally.  I’m not joking here, people, I’ve seen invoices in the tens of thousands of dollars on a pretty consistent basis for items being sent.

And on any other day, getting to the keypad and punching in the code is a four to six-second ordeal which gains one entrance to the garage.

The problem was I was getting wet.  The rain was unrelenting, and I wanted in.  NOW.

So I enter the code and go to open the door.

… and the door won’t open.

I do it again.

Door still won’t open.

By the second time, I’m getting rather frantic and increasingly soaked.  I give it a third go with the same results.  Then the little indicator blinks at me like I’ve locked myself out; even if I entered the correct code, I wouldn’t be able to make the lock open.

So I step back to let the door cycle.

Right into the cascading deluge of water from the roof.

I get soaked.  My bag gets soaked.  My fleece jacket gets soaked.  My socks, pants, main shirt and undershirt are all wet.

I make my way–drippingly, and it’s still pouring–to the front entrance, normally reserved for customers to come and drop off packages.

I get inside, finally, and just drip on the floor for a second.  Two doors later with a different number code, I’m inside of the office part of our building.  I now finally feel how wet I am.

And that’s how my nine hour day started!  It took about seven hours for me to finally air-dry to a point where I wasn’t sitting down and feeling the remaining moisture being pressed out of my pants and into the seat of my work vehicle.

Everything–and I do mean everything, including the bag–went into the wash after I got home.  It’ll be interesting to see how the bag turns out because it’s canvas and clings onto water like it was going out of style.

Should go check on my dryer load.  See you in the morning!