“Almost a Romantic Adventure” By Chad Robert Parker

Picnic

One of my favorite Spring/Summer activities is to ride the ski lift and picnic atop a mountain meadow trail. I would list it as my favorite date activity. It certainly sets the stage for a romantic adventure. I have done it at least as many times as I have been skiing or snowboarding, though that is only to say a handful.

On one trip, my date and I had no sooner gotten off the ski lift ride when an old lady approached us hysterically. She screamed out for help as though someone was on the verge of death. We ran to her. People should remember how nature is not to be taken for granted. Without snow and skis the man from England could not get back to the lift when he was done exploring.

He was stranded on top of the next peak. We wondered how he had gotten there, though it proved not as easy to come back down the slippery dirt and rocks as it was to go up. My date insisted on coming with me although she was only wearing flip flops, not tennis shoes. I was stuck between worrying about how dire the emergency need ahead was or waiting to help my date’s wants, while leading her into a possible unknown predicament to come. I didn’t bother to tell her she couldn’t assist me, so we went at her pace. She resisted any extensions of my hand to assist her up steep points.

As it turned out the wife had exaggerated the situation with her urges for us to hurry to her husband’s aid. We scaled the peak to find the man sitting calmly, resting, in no immediate need. I gave him a bottle of water as a precaution. He was happy to let me offer him a hand down the slope.

My date and I proceeded to our picnic. We had a great time, but it was apparent we didn’t get past the physical touch barrier like I had with the old man. She made sure our outing was solely for the fun of it.

“Have I Lost the Ability to Talk in My Sleep?” By Chad Robert Parker

Sleep Talking

The other night I woke up from a half sleep with a start. I tried to scream out but all I could muster was a loud letter M. It was like..mmmmmmMMMMMehhhh…or something like that. My wife started laughing and I opened my eyes looking a little disturbed. She asked if I was okay. I smiled.

She was so amused that I think she was kind of hoping to get further response from my asleep state. I was awake, however, but oddly I could not remember what my dream was about. When she asked I opened my mouth to say, but as quickly as I did I could not remember. All I know is I was vaguely conscious of being in and out of sleep and I was thinking someone was going to grab me but that I had limited function to move, and/or to apparently shout out.

My wife was telling me that there was another time I had a conversation with her while she was quite sure I was actually sleeping, but she can’t recall what I was saying.

How about you? Do you talk in your sleep? Share your story. 🙂

“Racing the Recurring Night” By Chad Robert Parker

Nightmares

I used to have a recurring nightmare. A childhood monster chased me through my dreams. It would start out normal, a nonsensical but pleasant imagination, and then would enter the demon. I thought the only way to end the dream was to outrace the beast. Each time I would get a little farther into the dream racing from setting to setting. Why was I having these dreams?

If I were to interpret the dreams, it probably does reflect a couple of identifiers at the time as the fastest kid around (maybe a sort of Flash complex) and my need to win.

The last time I faced the monster I realized that comparing my best to an unbeatable foe would not win me this battle.

“Run, Chad, run,” my oldest brother yelled out (like a Forest Gump moment). My opponent rose out of nowhere and gave chase. I ran as fast as ever, but he kept pace. Finally, I could actually run at full-speed, not the half-speed version that often woke me from my unaware slumber. As far as I could tell the race was for real.

I ran across the yard, along the street, through the park, and onto the beach. The sand slowed me. I started to become aware something was out of place. We lived in California, but not so close to the beach. A hand as big as the Hulk swiped at me. I ducked it back into the moment. I crossed a bridge. It gave way piece by piece (similar to Indiana Jones), but the monster now flew. Farther than ever before I knew more about this tormentor and pressed on. All land fell out from under me. I fell right through several levels of lands, screaming. Finally I fell into a football stadium and crashed into the ground. Players piled on and in one helmet I saw the scariest face of a monster you can imagine.

As a twelve year old I literally bolted out of my dream, free of my bed, and up the stairs to my parents, ahead of any fear behind me.

“High Winds Warning” By Chad Robert Parker

High Winds, , ,

We could see the storm on the horizon. We would have to be quick to finish the billboard before it hit us. Typically a board took us 30 minutes. We figured the high winds reported on the radio in the neighboring county were still 20-25 minutes away. One last board and we would go home like always during high wind conditions. We could make it!

The storm was on us in 12 minutes. Wind gusts up to 60 miles per hour were powerful enough to blow over semi-trucks. We also knew we were sitting atop the worst billboards for exposure to wind, at Utah’s Point of the Mountain, where hang-gliders can catch a great up-draft. Wind bursts funneled around the canyons.

The sky turned dark grey. The rain pelted harder. I had just finished throwing in the second sidebar. The wind whipped the billboard flex upward, puffing it up like a sail. It pulled my grip out and scraped my forearm along the outer corner, gashing me. I held on tighter and pulled it in and wedged it back around the board. My partner worked his way to the last angle iron and attempted to catch the other end of my pole flapping wickedly against wood, metal, and anything else that dared to get in the path. He yelled, asking if I had a good hold of it. We could barely hear each other. Finally he managed to grab hold of his part. Then I set my hook and ratcheted it in place. We pulled off the clamps and racketed the top and bottom. By then the full force of the winds were pushing on us from every different direction. It’s wrath nearly paralyzed us. We cautiously traversed the ladder down to safety and gave each other a high five for a job well done.

“Close Shave, Smooth Transition” By Chad Robert Parker

Bad Hair Day, ,

As a student of BYU I respected the honor code. I agreed with a clean cut look that best represented me, after all. One morning, however, I woke up with a couple days growth and completely forgot to shave before going to our first intramural soccer playoff game.

The referee held me to the standard. I raced home hoping I could make it back by half. My goalie brother was upset. By the time I returned the other team had already scored a lucky goal on a bad bounce from a routine cleared ball he misjudged. We were down 1-0 and the other team had already gone into full defensive mode. We got eliminated, but my brother was sure if their coach and captain had started we would have won.

Fast forward, and I have been working for the BYU Harold B. Lee Library for almost 9 years. The same rules apply. It’s easy enough to keep from having a bad hair day, even in a pinch, as my spiky dew only requires a little water, but my 5 o’clock shadow can’t go more than a day; it looks a little scruffy the next morning. I sat in my office wondering if I could slip away at lunch without anyone noticing my sloppy look.

Of course my snarky boss showed up around 9:30am and didn’t miss the chance to make a wisecrack. It didn’t end there. He came back with a worn out razor. “I want you to shave. You need to present your rush process at our 10am meeting.” I thanked him for the offer and took the blade, but there was no way I was going to use it. I had completely forgotten about the meeting. It was a goal-setting meeting, a key priority meeting for the direction of our organization that next year, and this was the first I was told that I would be the go-to guy to lead out. Nonetheless, I was prepared. Ever since the soccer instance I have a hygiene kit in my car. I came in looking good and pulled off a smooth presentation.

“Deer Miss” By Chad Robert Parker

Deer Hunt, , , , ,

My older brother is cool. He often included me in his interests. Whether it was my thing or not he made it exciting. Early in the morning and early in the season he had his bow calibrated and he was ready to go deer hunting.

Being two city kids transferred into the country, I’m not sure we knew how to bag a deer. We found an area that seemed clear of “no trespassing” signs. We didn’t see anyone in the tree stands on our way in. We tried to walk quietly. All you could hear was our cold breath forming a fog in front of us. My brother had scouted the spot out and had a particular place in mind. We climbed into our post. It was calm for the first hour. Nothing moved.

At the edge of the forest was a cornfield, perfect for deer to bed down or hide. My brother asked if I would go around the field and try to flush anything out. I trusted him, but I didn’t want any accidents. He assured me that all I had to do was rattle some corn leaves at the far end of the field, leave my scent away from our hangout, if possible, and then wait until he whistled the all clear. Sure enough, I roused a deer, but it was a little guy. It ran off unharmed. We waited and then tried again. Nothing.

Several attempts later I chased two different deer out at different times. He zipped an arrow right over the first and again over the second. The same thing happened the next week we went out and the week after that. He was sure he had sighted his bow correctly, but then he learned that it needed to be sighted differently to shoot from a stand. He was missing by the same distance each time, only a foot or so. The season ended without seeing more deer. We did see a scary coyote, however, scurrying about aimlessly underneath us, which made me wonder why I had been wandering around on the ground.

“Wisdom Crackers” By Chad Robert Parker

Wisdom Teeth, , ,

Why do they call them wisdom teeth if we don’t need them? Mine were being removed my freshman year of college. The doctor told me how it would go, started me counting, and was partway into the procedure–which did disturb me a little bit–before I suddenly realized I was waking up from surgery. I was done.

I was a little disoriented, but the same cute nurse I remembered when I went in was there cleaning up. She mumbled a question. Actually, she probably spoke clearly, but I couldn’t tell. I was coherent enough to figure out that she asked me if I knew where I was. I tried to respond but my mouth was impeded with gauze. For a moment she explained about medicine and getting rest. Then she said she would go get my brother and tell him everything.

My older brother did well getting medicine, taking me home, and helping me get comfortable and rest for a few hours. When my other roommates got home they forgot for a moment that I had just gotten my wisdom teeth pulled earlier. They thought I was looking good, all things considered. I told them I felt great, but that I was hungry. They knew I could probably only eat soup but they invited me to join them and the neighbor girls for lunch. So I went with them to the Art City Trolley in Springville. I was changing out gauze between every tenth spoonful. As good as I was feeling I thought it wise that I didn’t bother getting any crackers with my soup. The girls thought we were nuts. It was the first time most of us had been there. Great service! Good food! Nice ambience! I highly recommend it.

“Fighting Like Brothers” By Chad Robert Parker

Pet Quirks, Sense of Belonging

If you thought it was bad trying to find acceptance in the new middle school, have I got a bully story for you. Try being a stray cat. Jazz-man had to fit in with a long established family cat: a cat that acted like sole owner, nay ruler, of the house and occupants the stray had been taken into. Kibbles immediately asserted dominance.

He would hiss and claw at Jazz-man at every opportunity. We often found Jazz-man hiding in the bookshelves wedged where only one animal could fit. He would be shaking and heaving, hadn’t touched his food or drink all day: a complete basket case of nerves. Besides that, Jazz-man was healing, replenishing fur and skin, from some obvious difficulties on the streets. It took a couple weeks but Kibbles threats started to wear off. Jazz-man had gained enough street smarts to sense it.

Jazz-man began testing Kibbles resolve and standing his ground. He was sizing Kibbles up for real. They got in a couple good scrape ups before they suddenly respected each other. I’m not sure we saw the full transformation. For a while we would come home and catch Kibbles letting Jazz-man clean his fur, which he would obviously stop allowing once he was spotted. Then we noticed their skirmishes seemed more like play. If one got hurt the other let up and then they were back at it shortly thereafter sneaking up and pouncing on each other, once again.

I still remember the days of Jazz-man’s eyes flitting in between bookshelves, testing whether it was safe to come out or not. But, I remember more the many years that followed where Jazz-man basically became the playmate in place of the brother that Kibbles had lost as a kitten. They were best friends forever.

“Snow In Love” By Chad Robert Parker

My Valentine, Snowy Days, , ,

My Valentine’s Days have usually been single awareness days. It’s a day for those with relationships. And yet, I still like Valentine’s Day.

As a single male, and with no girlfriend at that time each year, it was the one day I could justifiably take a day off from weekend dating without feeling any regret, whatsoever. Then I saw the day from the single girl’s perspective.

One year a leader of single adults in my church was asking me what I was doing for Valentine’s Day. I told him my philosophy and that I would enjoy taking it easy that day. He lamented that their were several girls that day who would feel sad and not feel loved.

It wouldn’t be genuine for me to take them on a date and pretend like we were in love. Thankfully, I did have a few successful attempts at showing interest in innocent, bashful kinds of ways on Valentine’s Days through the years, but that mostly in grade school. Most of the time since I didn’t even have a prospect with whom I wanted to hint at that I would like to be her not-so-secret admirer. I thought of how women probably are not that excited to receive Valentine’s Day recognition as a sympathy gesture, especially if it came from the urging of married leadership.

Still, something would have to be better than nothing. That year, on the night before Valentine’s Day, was the worst snow storm I remember experiencing in Utah. It stranded me, and all my neighbors coming home from work, on Main Street in Lehi, UT for five hours. I had enough gas but I was getting hungry. I couldn’t eat the Valentine’s Day candy. I checked my trunk and found some dried out crackers. Yuck! Then I opened the back door to look for any other morsels stashed away. The balloons all started flying out. I lost half of them to the blowing wind. The person behind me was laughing at that. I did manage to attach one balloon per candy bag and delivered them at 2AM.

 

“Hot Iron” By Chad Robert Parker

Burns, , , , ,

Little kids learn early not to touch hot things. Of course, when they are told not to touch they are naturally curious and usually get burned anyway. If they have experience getting hurt they are more likely to listen to the danger of future possible injury. At any rate, they learn to trust their parents good judgement. Some take longer to learn these lessons than others.

In college, I had to iron my own clothes. I didn’t listen to my mother about how to do it. I had this bad habit of ironing my shirt after I was already wearing it. One day it bit me. I mean burned me. Well, to be exact, it slipped past my top button just for a moment and seared my skin right below my Adam’s apple. It hurt like crazy for a split second. And it left a mark, to boot, that looked a lot like a hickey. It was rather funny explaining that one for the next week or two.