The Leap onto Facebook

I finally set up a Facebook account yesterday after years of avoiding it.


I had a list of reasons not to make the leap, which includes, but is not limited to, the following:

• I tend to compulsively do certain things, like checking my e-mail.  I don't want to become a compulsive Facebook checker.
• While I would like to apply the above guideline, I don't want to come across as someone who ignores other Facebook people.  So I will have to check my Facebook account at least occasionally to avoid such an offense.
• This may lead to the compulsive behavior in item one above.
• I have heard that Facebook may have the tendency to lead you to interact with many people on a causal level, but take away time from interaction with the people who are really close to you.  By nature, I tend to interact intensely with a few people.  So Facebook may cause my head to blow up or something.
• I enjoy more in-depth written communication, with pictures and many words, which is why I blog.  But nobody has any time or interest in lengthy blog entries, especially mine.  People apparently prefer short bursts of communication like the ones you see on Facebook.  So to conform to this current social phenomenon, I have elected to join the masses.

There is a list to make the leap, which includes, but is not limited to, the following:

• I intend to trick Facebook users into going to my blog, which is my real passion, by updating with links to my blog.  I'm not sure if this is a Facebook no-no or not.
• I was once sarcastically accused of "Being too cool to be on Facebook."  Perhaps I deserved that sarcasm, and intend to remedy the situation. 
• Maybe I need to get out more.
• According to Mr. Rogers, we are all just a little different and special.  So I intend to apply my own take to Facebook, because I'm different, and special too.

"And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown."

Today we celebrate the receiving of two very special gifts - one which changed our lives forever, and one which changes the way we look at snowmen forever.

Thanks to Keith Lankford from The Red Barn Country Store in Georgetown, DE for the special surprise in my stocking.

Classic Texting Misunderstanding

I set out for work.  It wasn't all that cold, but I was uncomfortable nevertheless.  I received a text from a friend, referring to a conversation we had the previous day about this friend getting back into running. 

Friend:  "I have decided that I would rather have the accomplishment of running without all the work and discipline beforehand."

It was apparent the discussion about my friend's future career in running was finished, so I took the conversation in a different direction, and threw in a reference to the fact we both enjoy soup on chilly, overcast days.

Brent:  "I have decided I need some body fat for the winter, or a lot of soup."

Long pause.

Friend:  "Why the fat person?"

What?  That response made no sense whatsoever.  This happens to me more than I care to admit.  I go off in a direction in a conversation, and fail to give the other person adequate clues as to where I'm going.  I guessed it had happened again. So I made an effort to clarify.

Brent:  "I'm cold, and I didn't say fat person."

Friend:  "Oh! :) I read that as somebody fat... you shouldn't have done all that running."

Hmmm.  So ...  I had communicated that I need somebody fat for the winter.  I really need to work on my communication skills.

Lack of Interest

He ran a marathon at the age of 24, at the age of 42, and is about to at the age of 51.

He has four children (2.14 more than the average American family), all with the same wife. 

He writes a monthly article in a local Christian magazine, appearing in the back of it, because his ideas are so ...  different.

He blogs because the other 150,000,000 bloggers haven't said what needs to be said.

He does household repairs that would make a lesser man cringe, sometimes gets paid to do it, and actually enjoys it.

He once worked as an undercover security guard at Strawbridge and Clothier.

He built model rockets and potato canons with his kids.

He dabbles with the djembe, and mixes the sound for his local church, sometimes both a the same time.

Despite all this...  he is ... The Least Interesting Man in the World.


Note:  Apparently there are other "Least Interesting Men in the World" and we are like a club. 

Farmer's Rorschach Test

Snow Happens

Tina took the decorations off the tree today.  I noticed this one, and was disappointed to learn that it belonged to our Sarah, and not me, so it will be leaving our home one day.  I get a lot of pleasure out of little things in life, like an ornament with a clever reference to a naughty phrase.  Coal for me next year.

Birthday Card

Happy Birthday, Butt-head.

Received this card in the mail today.  It came from a family member - a person who loves and respects me.

It's hard to feel respected under these circumstances.



Hope you caught that.... under these circumstances.

My First Senior Coffee

My favorite mug, by Brooke Gehman

It must have been the distance between the drive-through speaker and the young employee in the restaurant that caused the mistake. After placing my order, it came up on the “Check your order for accuracy” screen.  It was then that the horrible realization of what had happened was staring me in the face.  As I read the words, I realized I had just purchased my first senior coffee for 50 cents.

My first thought was “How old do you have to be to get a senior coffee anyway?”  Then the moral dilemma began to set in.  Do I inform the young attendant that I am pretty sure I don’t qualify as a “senior” under anyone’s definition, or do I let it ride and save the 50 cents?

While I am normally the first one to return incorrect change, this particular moral dilemma did not seem all that critical to solve, so I abandoned that thought, as a more serious issue was at hand.  How had I been labeled a senior?  Was it the poor line of vision between the attendant and the location of the speaker in the drive-through line?  Perhaps a poor quality video system was the culprit. 

As I pulled up to the window, I realized there were two young employees working the drive through.  The one who took the order was not the same one who handed it to me.  She too was young, and was giving me a look that seemed to be saying “How did you manage to get a senior coffee.”  Or perhaps the look meant “Now I know you’re not a senior… what are you trying to do, rip us off?”  Or maybe the reality of the situation had occurred to her and she was thinking “Oops, we made a mistake...We have surely insulted you, and now neither of us knows how to remedy the situation.”

I took my coffee, trying to look senior-ish, which was challenging, since this was my first time.  As I pulled away, I wondered what lesson could possibly be gleaned from this maiden voyage into Senior Citizenship.  Even now, months later, I can find no redeeming value, spiritual or otherwise, in being called old before one’s time.  

Note:  I wrote this story 3 years ago.  The fact I have not been offered a senior coffee since then has provided a small amount of satisfaction.

Who ARE these people?

According to the tracking information that Blogger provides me, since I started this blog, there were 19 page views from Russia, 10 page views from Germany, and 14 page views from Romania.

Apparently, B.A.Timmons has become a world-wide internet sensation. 

How will I ever remain humble under these circumstances?

Scrapple Diplomacy

In a discussion about the appropriate conduct in a questionable situation, I accused a friend of being a legalist.  It was in jest, of course.  But nevertheless, the friend claimed to be insulted.  A few days later, I sent a text to the friend.  "What do I have to do to be forgiven for calling you a legalist?

Rapa Scrapple

"How about a scrapple sandwich" the friend replied.

"Done".  Well, that was easy enough.  A short time later, the friend texted back "when can I expect payment?"

I posted a potential date on a shared Google calendar for our families to have breakfast together.  I followed up later with the text "The fact that scrapple made the Google calendar speaks of its great importance in life.  It has become a tool of diplomacy."

"I think its diplomacy would only be effective for a select group of discerning palates" was the response I received.

Later, a brilliant idea struck.  I wondered if Sussex County was ready for a Scrapple cart.  We would sell one thing... scrapple sandwiches and coffee.  O.K.... two things.  I needed a new venture into which I could pour my heart.

A few days later, I asked another friend what they wanted for their birthday.  "More time, and world peace" was the request.

I informed the friend of my new and evolving theory that if you were to serve scrapple sandwiches in the United Nations, I'm pretty sure the entire group would be put in a frame of mind in which world peace would follow.  But sorry,  I can't do much about the issue of time.

Being Nice

I have a friend who likes to rant and rave with me (in a civil sort of way) about various problems we see in our world.  We were exchanging texts, and began to dabble in a familiar topic which annoys us.  I sent the text "We are going to be nice today" in an attempt to re-direct our conversation.

There was a hesitation.  The friend texted back "Tomorrow, can I be myself again?"

Classic.

Earthquake

The day we get an earthquake in Delaware I'm going to quit my job and ....WHAT???!!!... Oh, wait....

Never EVER do THIS.

I was using a staple gun to fasten down underlayment for some flooring I am installing.  Ran out of staples, so first thing this morning I made a trip to Lowes.  The box included instructions for the use of the staples, along with this picture.

Apparently, there must have been some occurrences of contractors holding nail guns to the heads of co-workers, otherwise this warning would be unnecessary.

Such people give contractors a bad name.

Hippies

We were sitting at the dinner table tonight discussing the book "To Kill a Mockingbird", which my daughter and I were reading together.  She wasn't that impressed with the story, and brought up another more interesting book she was reading.  In this book, the mother and father were hippies, and had changed their names to Ed and Dreamy.  Our oldest boy says emphatically "Hippies don't get married and they live alone."  We all looked at each other..."What?!"  Turns out, he was thinking of "hermits."