Ethel, what are those deer doing in our yard?

An 11:00 PM knock on your front door by the local police is generally a bad sign. But that is what happened the week before Christmas. As we sat watching a movie, the door bell rang. I answered the door to find Officer John Jackson of the Nephi Police Department standing on the front porch. I invited him in and we exchanged the normal pleasantries. Now John is an acquaintance. Our sons are friends and play football together. So it doesn’t seem to be anything serious. At least he hasn’t reached for the cuffs.

Officer Jackson finally got to the point and it went something like this.

“So Jameson, why don’t you tell your Dad what you have been doing tonight?”

Now this is generally not what a father wants to hear and Jameson's eye grew wide as he raises from the couch. He looks bewildered with that kind on innocent look on his face that only a teenager can achieve.

“Well, nothing really. I was just driving around with some friends”

“Uh huh, and what were you guys doing?” Officer Jackson says.

“Well, we did do a little doorbell ditching”

“No, that’s not it. I didn’t get any call on that tonight.”

Jameson’s look of concern and innocents deepens. “Well, we did knock over a snowman”

“Interesting but I never got a call on that either” Officer Jackson continues.

By now you can see from the look on Jameson’s face that there is no way out. “Well, we also stacked a few deer”.

“Yep, that’s the one.”

Now I'm the one with the confused look on my face. I had never heard of “stacking deer”. Stacee had previously gone upstairs to get ready for bed. She had been listening from the stairs and now peeked her head around the corner. She thought he had said “stacking beer”. For a moment we thought Jameson had found a part-time job at the grocery store.

Officer Jackson went on to explain. It seems that the local boys had found a new way of passing time that was beginning to annoy the neighbors. During the Christmas season, several people around town like to decorate with white lighted deer in their front yards. These scenes can bring peace and happiness to all that pass by as the deer seemly graze in illuminated beauty. But the boys had taken it upon themselves to position the deer in such a way that it appears the deer are, um, how can I say this politely?, mating. Now the real problem is that some of this deer have motors in them to make the deer's head move, which I think probably adds to the total effect of mating. But unfortunately one of the deer have been damaged during the ordeal and the owner was upset.

Officer Jackson had spent several hours that night tracking down the vandals. It seems that ours was the last of the purported gang. About this time a giggle is developing deep in me and it takes concerted effort to keep a look of concern on my face. Officer Jackson goes on the explain the seriousness of the situation. This particular man had been vandalized several times. It seems he was getting very tired of opening the window shades in the morning to the view of copulating deer.

The lecture continued for 20 minutes and Jameson assured Officer Jackson that he would personally spread the word to any of the other boys who hadn't already gotten the message, that this "artificial insemination" would have to end. We let him know that we make sure the boys all helped to pay for any damages.

As Officer Jackson left, I have to believe that he is giggling all the way to his car and once the door is shut Stacee and I both burst out laughing. See it wasn't that long ago that Stacee cruised the streets of Cheyenne, stealing "road closed barricades" and placing them in the yard of her Bishop. I on the other hand, was arresting for toilet papering the seminary teachers house. Seems that it would be a good idea to know that a deputy sheriff lives across the street from your intended victim before you start.

So it seems that we all tend to do a few stupid things as we grow up. Some you can share with your kids and other you can't but the important thing is that we all learn a few things along the way. I'm sure Jameson learned something and if you're ever in Nephi around Christmas time, close your blinds at night, you never know what the deer may be doing on your front yard.

How to blog during a boring meeting

I can't think of many things that can cause semi consciousness as quickly as a boring business meeting. I'm sure this has been going on since the beginning of time. Where do you think all those cave drawings came from?

"Thor, what do you think about the upcoming acquisition of the Quark's Mammoths?"

"Oh, I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention but look at this nice picture of a pterodactyl."

I’m sure that those pictures of men lying at the base of a cliff were not images of some human sacrifice, but rather a depiction of the results of one more project management meeting.

The Internet has changed everything. Now with an Internet connection and blatant disregard for what is happening in the room, one can escape to the realms of bloggerism. Before the result of a meeting was a notebook full of doodles, now we can grace the world with mostly unintelligible ramblings.

Take now as an example. I’m sitting in Monroe, Louisiana on a Saturday morning in a meeting where the other three participates are having a heated discussion at the whiteboard. At least this is entertaining, I enjoy the background noise and they produced some fine cave drawings. At some point I’m sure they will ask my opinion and I will have to say, “Uh, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention but look at this nice blog I created.”

We actually have a person in our company that can fall completely asleep within ten minutes of the start of any meeting. The funny thing is that he can wake up, say something intelligent and make everyone believe that he was awake the whole time.

“You know I was just thinking that the answer to this situation is best achieved by combining what you just said with what we talked about last week.”

“Me? I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

I give up. Now I have to feel guilty for not understating the ramblings of the other semiconscious people in the room.

It didn't take long

Something has become painfully obvious to me and it only took a few minutes to realize; I can't spell. Now I have known this for a long time. But as I try to express my thoughts, I find myself frustrated by this @#!%" computer that seems to think that nearly every word I type is wrong. My teachers had the same opinion.

In elementary school, Friday was the day for the spelling bee. All the students would stand at the front of the class in a line and the teacher would ask each student to spell a word. If you spelled it right, you stayed. If you spelled it wrong, you sat down.

There was generally a fight between those of us who were "lexiconically challenged" to see who would get the last spot in the line. At least this way we were saved the embarrassment of being the very first to sit down. Twenty-two sets of eyeballs staring at you while you sit alone in your seat can be very hard on your self-image.

I was generally safe during the first round. "Cat", "Dog" and "Spot" had been drilled into my head. But as each round became progressively harder, the rules of grammar came into play. I could never remember, is it "i before e except after c" or "Dick after Jane"? My little mind reeled from the confusion. How can anyone expect so much from a six year old?

Fortunately for me, even in those days, I had a "spell-checker". Her name was Margie. She and I shared the same interests, me. If I could just stand next to her, I was guaranteed at least the third round. She was better looking than anything Bill Gate has invented and I definitely enjoyed pushing her buttons. But inevitably a word would come and I would take my seat. I know that Mrs. Gardener had it out for me. She hated to see anyone happy, especially those of us who had a “spell-checker”.

Eventually Margie and I parted ways. The smart ones always seem to run in herds. So she and her herd moved on and left me to years of embarrassing first round defeats. Since that time Margie has been replaced by my computer. Its buttons will never be as nice as hers and it will never hold my hand as we walk to the bus, but it can spell “verbigerative”.