Happy Birthday, Mom!

Just a photo montage of the weekend. No rhyme, nor reason to the pictures.

Dad Falling Asleep at 8 PM and Email

I have to preface this story with a bit of information about school email addresses in California.  Most teachers, at least the ones I know, have a school email address that is their first initial, last name, @, name of the town or school they teach at, ., k12, ., ca, ., us.  So it looks something like jsmith@jamestown.k12.ca.us.  Those of you that know me can figure out mine easily.  Thus began a most strange journey in the Garver household.

A few nights ago, after 8 PM, Maureen and Sam were in the front bedroom playing with the kittens.  Dad was reading Newsweek in the living room, and Annie was in the dining room "doing" homework.  If you know our house, you know that really means we were all virtually in the same room.  Annie belts out, "Dad, I need to email you some work that I need printed.  What is your email address?"

Dad responded, "sgarver@escondido."  

Maureen and Sam immediately perked their ears.

Annie then asked, "How do you spell Escondido?"

Dad dutifully responded, "E-S-C-O-. . ."

Maureen and Sam looked at each other and said, "Do you mean Exeter?"

Thus ended another rousing night at Casa Garver.  I'm sure that revisionest variations of this story will be told, but it reminds me that after 8, I'm already gone as the Eagles sang.

It Must be Baseball Season

One of the older "events" in the Garver family is the shaving of Dad's beard for the beginning of baseball season. Usually I keep head and face closely cropped, though one year I didn't shave for over half the year. I guess that is when the boys started calling me Old Man River. The pictures above show a progression of hirsute to clean shaven that takes days or weeks to fully complete. I dislike shaving; but for the good of the cause, I shave during baseball. It seems hypocritical to require it of the athletes, even when all they can muster is a bit of peach fuzz on their chin, and show up as their coach with facial hair.

The origins of the slow procession of shaving really has roots with brother-in-law Ken. One evening when the Kelloggs were living on Andrea Court Ken, being the dutiful husband he is, puts the kids to bed. He then shaved off his beard. The next morning he was off to work before sun-up to bring home the bacon. That evening when he tried to enter the house found the door locked. David, manning the door, refused to let Ken enter. He was being obedient to the "Don't talk to Strangers" rule, let alone let them into your house. Try as he might, Ken could not convince David that he was indeed David's father and that he'd better open the door. Eventually reason, wisdom or Stephanie interceded, and Ken was allowed to enter.

This morphed into the Garver tradition of plopping a young Garver on a stool next to the sink as Dad shaved part of his beard off. This repeated over a period of time resulted in Steve with no facial hair and no Garver child refusing entry to the Pater familias.

Thus a tradition was born.

P.S. Certain Exeter raconteurs, upon seeing me grow my beard back, will comment on how bad the Exeter baseball season must have been if I was trying to go incognito by growing a beard.