Nicole VanPutten

Awkward and clumsy is a kind description of myself. I have no natural human ability to balance and my reflexes are nonexistent. I have been known to topple over while attempting to outmanuever the bed in the center of our room. In my fantasies I have cat like skills that take me soaring over large mud puddles without getting wet and ninja like reflexes to catch silverware before it hits the ground. I like fantasies.

I was not attempting to perfect my cat like ninja skills when I tried Sheep Dash this morning, but I am now. I realize that my ability to click my mouse before the sheep cross the pasture will not make my dogs less nervous when I walk by their beds in the middle of the floor, but it could come in handy if I ever own a sheep farm.

To play Sheep Dash click on the link above and use your lightening fast mouse reflexes to tranquilize the sheep before they run to the opposite side of the glen. After 14 tries, I’m a Bobbing Bobcat. Beat that ninjas.

At the supermarket today I had myself convinced the coiffed woman who stepped out of a Gap Ad to grab some eggs was laughing at me and my winter hat and mittens. Usually I’d accept the look as jealousy because I know her stylish navel length cotton jacket and knee high leather boots that covered her nearly transparent trousers did not keep her as warm as my fleece, but today I felt sure she was looking down on me. I had an instant case of the uglies. My own dirty brown  tresses (the color of course, not the level of cleanliness) were whipped up into a frenzied ponytail, my sneakers were tied in double knots to insure the fraying lace ends wouldn’t completely unravel and my face had not been kissed by the sun in months. In short, I looked like, well, me.

As I passed by Ms. Gap Ad I actually looked down! I started searching through my tote like I was not worthy to share the air in the dairy isle with her. As the click of her $400 boots faded I quietly dug myself out of my handmade bag attempting to piece together the loose fragments of my self worth while secretly wishing I too had legs almost as lean as my arms. The graceful thump of a gallon of skim milk landing in my cart startled me back into reality and I was horrified that I’d essentially erased myself in a shallow daydream. My usually over confident ego had disappeared and I sadly found myself comparing my pink t-shirt with the six year old in front of me. I had envy and, as a good non-practicing Catholic, I knew I was in trouble.

I gave myself a good, albeit pretend, smack to the head and started on my internal feel better speech in an unpretentious attempt to boost my plummeted self confidence. As I began my mental pick me up a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind catching me in the middle of a silent debate weighing the merits of being nice or being funny and I stopped short. Those arms, Michael’s arms, were my ticket back to normalcy. You see, Ms. Gap Ad may have perfectly coordinated jewelry, but I have me. I have my spirit, my husband’s arms, my uniquely imperfect body, my brothers and grandparents, and my sense of humor. I was blessed with parents, unconditional love, and two crazy dogs. Suddenly I was the Queen of the Dairy Aisle and I had the matching hat and mittens to prove it.

In my imagination, the Detroit Tigers already won the World Series. They played such amazingly flawless baseball, Cardinals hotshot, Alberto Pujols suggested conceding the last game and hinted at his secret desire to wear his own blue script “D” someday. I’ve actually had so much pretend success charting the Tigers’ wins, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know they’re taking the series again next year. Yes, in my imagination there is such a thing as flawless baseball. In reality, however there are errors, strikes, missed catches, and worst of all, there are humans.

The Tigers actually just lost game three of the World Series to the Cardinals leaving the game count at one and two respectively. Needless to say, the Tigers were not playing their finest ball last night as their post season 10 game home run streak came to a crashing halt, their pitching staff literally lined up for a chance on the mound and Zumaya’s wild throw to Inge alone gave the Cardinals two runs. The Tigers did screw up, they played an irritating nine innings, but amidst our feelings of disappointment and frustration we need to acknowledge the most important fact, they tried.

I’ve never turned on my radio to discover the Tigers decided not to show up, that they weren’t so sure about the game, they’ve had a hard day and there’s a possibility they might lose. The Tigers keep trying. They keep making errors, missing catches and striking out, but most importantly they remain human. They wave to their kids in the stands, they skip around the bases after a particularly good homerun, and they show no reserve when celebrating big victories. So, even though my imaginary Tigers may be flawless winners, the real Detroit Tigers will always rank higher, World Series win or not.

Go Tigers Go!

YouTube has been an integral part of bringing together two of my favorite things, dogs and web videos. When I discovered Dash In The Box I was left feeling an odd combination of sympathy for the confused Dash and humor at the curious Dash. The humor won out in the end and I succumbed to the email devil and forwarded the video to everyone in my address book. I just hope that my final lack of sympathy has no part in any assessment of my true character. Poor Dash.

I clearly remember a contest in elementary school where I submitted an entry to design a new bookmark for the Parchment Public Library. My gorgeous crayon sketched image of a sun drenched rainbow floating over an open story book with pristine multicolored cursive letters proclaiming “Read! It’s A Brighter Day When You Read!” was a winner the instant the image hit the paper and I was proud. Up to that particular year, my skills as a graphic designer and copy writer were not in high demand so I was pleasantly surprised when my design was picked.

While my fame as the bookmark designer spread through the neighborhood, the number of hours I was logging in as a library patron were dictated by the amount of time I could wrangle out of my parents and grandparents to drive me over. My individual visits happened bi-weekly and each sojourn sent me home with the maximum number of books I was allowed to borrow from the tall stacks in the children’s section. Eventually, to my delight, and probably that of my parents, Parchment built a new library practically in my backyard and it was soon common knowledge that if I was missing, I was at the library.

The book addiction I developed at such a young age was fed initially by Dick and Jane, Nancy Drew and Shel Silverstein and has since evolved into what Mr. VanPutten calls a compulsive obsession. Personally, I like to think of it as an enthusiastic appreciation for the written word, but no matter what it’s called, books have always fueled my life. The comfort I find between the pages of a book, whether Nancy Drew is solving the mystery of the old clock or President George Washington is explaining the mystery of the dead cherry tree, I like to think that it really is a brighter day when you read.

My logic problem solving skills are not as refined as I might like. As a possible future attorney it recently dawned on me that sharpening my logical thinking talents may come in handy later on in my life, possibly even assist me in passing the logic portion of the Bar exam. I quickly discovered that not only was my logical deftness unrefined, it was appalling. I started my first problem, “Get Everyone Across the River”, this morning and with my pre-law determination, everyone will, eventually, get across the river.

Can you get everyone across? To play, click on the link above then click on the large blue circle in the lower right hand corner to start, but be careful to follow these important rules:

1. The father cannot be left alone with any daughter (without the mother present).
2. The mother cannot be left alone with any son (without the father present).
3. The thief cannot be left alone with any family member (without the cop present).
4. Only the father, mother, and cop can operate the boat.

Hammocks are the quintessential resting place for the tired outdoorsy types. They require nothing more than some strong braided rope and two moderately big trees. The simplicity of this serene Sunday afternoon napping device could only remain a human luxury for so long and I was not surprised to find that a bear, the emperor of long naps, was the first in the animal kingdom to discover it. We should give credit to this comfort savvy bear from New Jersey for unwrapping the human hammock secret because as far as tired outdoorsy types go, a bear does have a hand up on us humans.

Did you collect your mail yet today? If you live in Brookline, Massachusetts you may be surprised to hear that you might be missing some credit card applications and supermarket fliers from the past 16 years. According to CBS4 of Boston, the death of a local mailman turned up piles of old mail yesterday. The 54 year old mail carrier was found at home by his supervisor after he didn’t return from his typical mail delivering duties. The mailman had been hoarding mail which will now be rightfully delivered to its proper owners. Let’s just hope all the coupons had generous expiration dates.

As I was contemplating the merits of spreading newspaper across my kitchen floor and pulling out the large spoons, sharp knives and garbage bags, my brain thankfully, was multitasking. It’s not that I didn’t want to carve my pumpkins, but my strong dislike for slimy pumpkin guts and my daily enjoyment of all ten fingers gave me pause. There had to be a better way to enjoy the Halloween Jack-O-Lantern tradition without wrestling with an over-sized orange fruit. Just as the top was about to come off good ole’ Jack I had an epiphany – maybe Al Gore can help! Now, my national political connections end with my annual White House Christmas ornament, but Mr. Gore’s kind contribution of the World Wide Web could eliminate even, well, the pumpkin.

I moved to the sofa, turned on my laptop and Googled “pumpkin carving” with results that were nothing short of a miracle – virtual pumpkin carving. Before I allowed my touch-pad to slide over the link, I made a silent promise to myself that my seed scraping, pulp pulling, and circle cutting days had finally come to an end and then I left clicked. I was instantly taken to a level of excitement that I remembered following an entire evening of candy collecting as a child and the high was immediately addictive. I skillfully carved triangle noses, toothy grins and mismatched square eyes. I absentmindedly cut round gaping holes that, instead of collapsing my beautiful orange fruit, were erased with a click of the undo button. I was in Jack-O-Lantern heaven and I had the e-cards to prove it.

Nearly thirty minutes and 17 pumpkins later I was thrown back into reality by a roaring school bus turning our corner. In my haste to find the easy way out of a typically formidable task I had eliminated a vital component of this odd Halloween tradition, kids. Jack-O-Lanterns are for kids. Kids pick the shape of the eyes, the size of the nose and the scariness of the mouth. Kids put the candle in the bottom and kids remind the adults to light it every night. Kids are the reason why we haul out the newspaper, the big spoons and the garbage bags. I forgot the kids. Don’t forget the kids. Borrow one if you have to. Print templates, order pizza and buy extra candles. Jack-O-Lantern heaven was a temporary fix to an adult apathy and regardless of the number of seeds you find lodged under your cupboard a week later, don’t forget the kids.