Had an old friend call my home the other day. He left a message on our machine saying he was just calling to say hello and catch up on how my life is going. This guy was one of my best friends in high school, and I’d love to chat and catch up with things in our lives. But I’ve learned his pattern.

About 10 years ago, this old friend called me for the first time since our high school days. We talked probably an hour, and it was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed the conversation. We said we’d try to get together some time and talk more.

Then a week later, he called back to sell me on Amway. I said, “No, thanks,” and he didn’t push it. But that was the last I heard from him for a long time. Admittedly, I didn’t call him either, but after the sales pitch, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet with him face to face.

Around 5 years ago, this old friend called me again. We had another great conversation about our lives and the old days. Again, I thoroughly enjoyed the phone call. But I mentioned to Cowgrit, “I wonder if he’ll call back about Amway.”

Then a week later, he called back to sell me on Amway. I said, “No, thanks,” and he didn’t push it. But his pattern left a bad feeling with me. Was he just calling me to sell me?

A few months later, in my old hometown, I bumped into another old friend from high school. During our brief conversation, I asked if he knew what was going on with any of our other old friends. I mentioned that I had talked with X on the phone a couple of times.

“Did he try to sell you on Amway?” this guy asked.

Turns out my old best friend had called many of our old schoolmates with the same pattern – call to catch up, then follow up with a call to sell Amway.

Now this guy has called me to catch up a third time. I guess he’s got me on the 5 year rotation. I won’t bother to call him back. I’m still not interested in Amway.

Bullgrit

Cowgrit has been wanting the kitchen repainted for a year or so. “When are you going to paint the kitchen?” she’d ask. “When am I going to get the time?” I’d respond.

The last time I painted the interior of our house (five years ago), she took the, then one and only, Calfgrit and went to see her brother for a week. I had five days with no interruptions. Painting is not something I can do quickly or easily, and I can’t have young kids running about underfoot. So this past weekend, Cowgrit gave me the time. I wouldn’t need five days to paint just the kitchen, but I’d need a weekend.

I don’t like painting. When our exterior needed painting last year, we hired professionals. I don’t like painting.

Saturday morning, she went to the store and picked out and bought the paint, and I prepped the work area. I moved the kitchen table, took down the blinds (five windows in that room!), removed the outlet and light switch panels, applied tape, moved the stand-alone extra cupboard, and gathered up the tools necessary for the operation.

The paint I applied last time was a faint yellowish – you could only tell it was yellow by comparing it to the original white I was painting over. We no longer have the paint can or color number, so Cowgrit had to guesstimate in picking the new color. When she showed me the swatch, it looked nice. Even looking at the paint in the can suggested it would look nice – just a little more yellow than the current color.

I set about applying it to the walls. I got about 20% of the total wall area covered in a first coat, and . . . it was yellow. Not a subtle daisy tint, but full on yellow. I also thought it had a slight green tinge to it. Cowgrit was starting to be concerned about it, but keeping the boys out of the kitchen kept her too distracted to really think much about it.

When I got about 40% of the area covered in a first coat, we were both surprised. Yellow. I said it was like a “happy sun” yellow (I just wanted to finish). She thought it was “oh my god” yellow. She wanted me to just stop painting.

We thought about it and talked it out for a few minutes. This color was not at all what she or I wanted or expected from looking at the swatch or seeing the paint in the can. But I explained that I could just finish the walls that I’ve started – the two main walls; the other two walls were mostly covered with cabinets. And leaving the main walls only partially coated with this yellow might make the next color look two-toned between being over this yellow and over the lighter original color. So we agreed I should finish the main walls I’d already started.

I finished the first coat and then went back and put on a second coat to make sure it was all even across the walls. A difficult thing about painting over a long day or two means that the lighting on the walls changes a lot. What might look well painted in evening can look thin and missed come the morning sun.

Fortunately, with the second coat, the color looked better. The old color showing through the first coat gave that greenish tint, but the second coat fixed that – made it solid bright yellow. Yellow.

I finished the walls and put everything back into place – blinds, furniture, fixtures. We both stood there looking at the room. It’s yellow. Not subtle, or a hint of color, but yellow. After a few minutes of looking at, having gotten more used to it, it’s actually not bad. I think once we were getting over the surprise of the drastic difference, we started to think of the yellow as friendly, like a “happy sun.”

We’ve even had a neighbor over for a few minutes, and she said it was nice and not at all as bad as we think. It is a pleasant shade of yellow. Cowgrit has said it might be starting to grow on her.

We’ve had 24 hours to live with it, now, and we’ve cracked jokes about it. “We don’t need to turn on the lights, now.” We don’t know yet if we’ll repaint, but if we do, the first opportunity won’t be for another two weeks. Maybe we’ll be over the shock by then.

Bullgrit

I need to explain my comment in the discussion at that end of this post. I was around 20-21 years old when I got my second speeding ticket in my hometown. (I’ve only had two tickets ever, anywhere.) When the officer gave me the paper, I put it in the center compartment of my car, between the front seats.

Some time later, I think a couple of months, my dad asked me about it. “Have you taken care of that speeding ticket?”

“Oh crap!” I answered. I had completely forgot about it. We both went out to my car and pulled out the ticket. The court date was passed.

My dad got his coat and said, “Let’s go deal with this, now.”

He drove me downtown to the courthouse. At the time, my dad knew nearly every sole in my hometown. (This was a result of him having lived in that town for most of his life, and of his being a salesman for the in-town radio station.) We went into the office and he talked to the man he knew behind the counter. He explained what we were there for, and asked what we needed to do about it.

Turns out, there had been a warrant issued for my arrest that very morning. Note: don’t miss a court date — judges take that stuff very serious. No officer had picked up the warrant yet, but if we had waited a day, or maybe just a few hours, I could have had a police cruiser pull into our driveway. I could have been arrested.

I still think it’s kind of absurd that missing a court date for a speeding ticket can get one arrested — how badly could that screw up one’s life?

But, anyway, my dad and I went through all the channels and red tape. We went to the assistant DA’s office and “turned myself in” as she told the judge later. We went to court with the DA, I stood before the judge, and in the end, the warrant was dismissed. I had to pay court costs, but that was it. Even the original speeding ticket (55 mph in a 45 limit zone) was reduced to something minimal. (I don’t remember what exactly it was reduced to, but it meant no points on my license.) This all took around three or four hours.

Now, if you think this came about because my dad/family is wealthy or has “connections” (other than simple friendships), you’d be mistaken. My family was no more than middle-class, and being a salesman for a radio station doesn’t give you any kind of leverage or lubricant for changing law-folks’ minds.

My dad and I were just straight up and honest about everything. My dad’s knowing people just meant that they took him at his word, and they figured his son couldn’t be too bad a boy. Other than one previous speeding ticket, (in a different town — a friggin’ speed trap, that), I had no record or reputation for being trouble.

The DA and judge took a liking to me, through my dad, because I owned up to “being stupid” for forgetting the ticket. I didn’t try to weasel out of anything. We just asked, “What do we need to do?”

I like to think that I’ve lived up to their good will for me. But that situation does give me a little bit of “bad boy” cred. When someone accuses me of being a white bread goody two shoes, I can throw this in their face and say, “Ha! I’ve had a warrant out for my arrest. I was once a criminal. Sort of. Almost.”

Bullgrit

Cowgrit took Calfgrit4 out for a few hours Saturday so Calfgrit7 and I could watch Star Wars (A New Hope). Friday night, I told CG7 that we’d do this. He was hesitant. “I might not want to watch it,” he said. “Is it scary?” he asked.

I told him it might have some scary parts, but nothing really scary. And he didn’t have to watch it if he didn’t want to.

When the time came, I told him I was going to watch it and he could watch it with me, or he could go to his room and play with his toys. I didn’t want to stress him. But he seemed excited, and he sat down on the couch with me. He held a clone trooper action figure in one hand and an Anakin Skywalker lego mini figure in his other hand as the movie started.

I read the scrolling introduction text aloud because, although he can read, I wasn’t sure he could read it fast enough and understand what it was explaining. Then Tantive IV rushed through space, followed by the massive star destroyer. Calfgrit7 was immediately engrossed.

All during the movie, he asked many questions. When the story introduced Luke Skywalker, he asked about the order of the films. “This is the fourth part of the story,” I explained, “but it was the first movie made.”

Sadly, he already knows that Anakin Skywalker, Luke’s father, becomes Darth Vader. In fact, when Ben Kenobi told Luke that Vader “betrayed and murdered” his father, CG7 spoke up to say, “No, he’s still alive.”

This was the problem I was fearing. He knows so much about the Star Wars story already, but he’s never seen any of the movies. He knows who Yoda is, so he won’t be surprised when he reveals himself to Luke in the next movie. He won’t be stunned by Vader’s pronouncement that he is Luke’s father. He won’t be shocked when Luke tells Leia they are brother and sister. Etc.

But fortunately, there were many things, non-plot things, that CG7 didn’t know. He liked how the Force worked — “These are the not droids you’re looking for.” He had never seen a lightsaber in action. He didn’t know Han was going to shoot Greedo at the table. He had never seen the real inside of the Millennium Falcon. He didn’t realize how big Chewbecca was. He didn’t know how big the Death Star was. He had never seen the starfighters in action. He had never heard what blasters sound like.

He had never even heard what R2-D2 sounds like. When he and Calfgrit4 played with Artoo, they had him talk like everyone else. The beeping fascinated him. He’s now explained it to CG4.

So although the overall story was known and spoiled, it was the minor details that really got his attention. He’s already stated his interest to see the next two movies. But since I’ve seen that the story surprises are already lost, we won’t be in a rush to see them all this weekend. We’ll space them out a bit over the next couple of weeks. Maybe we’ll watch them over Thanksgiving weekend.

Bullgrit