Simple

@andrewburchfield.com

Simple

I've been pondering that word, its meaning and its ramifications, quite a bit of late. It's not as if the world in which I live is highly complex and fraught with significant difficulty. It really isn't but there are times when I like to think that it is. I don't think I'm alone in that notion. I think we can all pinpoint times in our lives when we have made things more challenging for ourselves than they need to be. For example:

Losing sleep over whether or not my upgrade on my London flight will clear.
Getting increasingly bothered about this being my 50th year of life.
Letting excuses (laziness, people, laziness) prevent me from doing right by my middle-aged body.
Being highly irritated by the fact that Matt LeBlanc will be one of the new hosts of "Top Gear"
The specter of a Trump presidency literally has my stomach in convulsive knots #NeverTrump

My list is not exhaustive and may be a little trivial (except for that horrifying Trump bit) but it typifies what I think we do to ourselves far too often. We've forgotten to keep things simple.

The great American philosopher Ronald Ulysses Swanson weighed in on this in his own inimitable way when he said:

"Live your life how you want,

but don't confuse drama with happiness."

Amen, Ron, amen.

Ch-ch-changes

Riding dirty in the 801, or maybe the 385

While the title of today's post would suggest this is a long overdue homage to the late musical genius David Bowie, alas, it is not. It references the title of this week's letter from TMFKATB. In this week's all too brief letter, he updated us on changes in his world.

The biggest change came in the form of transfers, a ritual that occurs about every six weeks. It's a time when missionaries may be assigned to new areas, companionships changed, or there can be no changes at all. For TMFKATB, he lost a companion, was given a senior leadership role, and got a new companion. He seemed a bit surprised by it all. I get the impression he did not anticipate that he would be impacted by transfers this time. Well, buddy, as the late Mr Bowie said, 'Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.'

We had to toss a bit of a change grenade his way as we had to tell him about the 'decline' notice we got on his first choice of schools. He took it totally in stride, saying, 'I've got too much on my plate right now to be distracted by this.' He's resilient and it makes me proud.

I need to channel how he's taking the news. He's handling it a lot better than me, can I just tell you? I don't think I will ever understand the voodoo that is the college acceptance scheme. Grrr.....

A case of Febribus Saturday Noctis

When something is going awry in your body, it reacts accordingly. Sweating. Shivering. General weakness. Confusion. Hallucinations. These are all symptoms of a fever, a tell-tale indicator something may be amiss. Coincidentally, these are all things one can experience during Saturday Night Fever The Musical.

How did we wind up in Connecticutistan's most charm-free city, Waterbury, to witness this event? A few months ago, one of my friends pulled me aside and in hushed tones, told me he'd all but been forced to buy tickets (anyone else who's done time in a corporation knows of what I speak - the annual 'voluntary' support drive) to (what we will now call) SNF. Always ready to help a friend, I told him we'd support him and his wife and go with them.

So fast forward to last night. Since Waterbury's restaurant scene seems to mostly double for needle exchange joints, we ruled out dining there. We ate closer to home and made our way to the Palace Theater. The police presence, in numbers reflective of imposed martial law, around the venue was, um, interesting. I didn't know if we should have felt comforted or terrified (see that, a tell-tale sign of fever-confusion-was already setting in). We settled into our seats, which were quite good, and before we knew it, we were in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, being reminded of the awesome terrible that was the Disco Era. To sum it up, there was a lot of jive talkin', a few bad cases of night fever, some geniuses trying to ascertain just how deep is love, and a lot of tragedy. See what I just did there?

As we left the theater at the end of the night, one patron, upon seeing the cadre of police (again, should this have been a point of concern?), loudly summed up his feelings:

It's a good thing the cops are here so

they can arrest that cast.

Best. Line. Ever. 

We roared with laughter and I spun around and shook the guy's hand. He continued railing against the production as we walked back to our cars. Apparently, back in the day, he either really liked the original movie or lived the Bay Ridge disco days experience. He was, in a word, displeased.

Was the cast worthy of arrest? No.
Was it better than a high school production? Yes.
Was it better than a Mormon Roadshow. Yes.
Was it a train wreck? Yes, a thousand times yes.
Was it a Tony winner? No, no and no.
Was it fun to be out with some really good friends? Yes.

Now I've got to go figure out the answer to the dilemma of what to do "If I Can't Have You."

26

26

Is not the name of the next Adele album.

A rhombicuboctahedron has 26 sides (please, nerds, can someone tell me what that rhombi thing even is?)

The atomic number of iron is 26.

God gave the Torah in the 26th generation since Creation. Who knew?

The 26th letter in the English alphabet? Z.

The age at which males can no longer be drafted in the United States is 26.

But most importantly, 26 is the birthday being celebrated today by Our Lady of Awesome, our eldest child and first-born daughter. For 26 years, I have been in awe of her (as I am all my children). She somehow managed to survive me as a very young, brand-new dad. As a newborn, she had to listen to countless versions of my senior thesis on the role of grace in Southern short fiction (try writing the paper of your life for the only Catholic English professor at BYU). She had to listen to They Might Be Giants' album Flood from the minute she came home from the hospital as I was completely obsessed with it. She did it all without complaint. She's always had a way of looking at me too, even from the time I held her that first week she spent in the NICU. She's had a look that tells me, 'Dad, I know what you're up to.' Suffice to say, she's not one of suffer fools gladly.

She's made a good life for herself. Watching she and Awesome parent their two children is a joy. They are good partners, good to one another, and good to our grandchildren. She'll celebrate this birthday surrounded by the things she loves most, family and sunshine (given that there is sunshine you'll know immediately they're not here in Connecticutistan). She deserves it.

Happy birthday, Princess, and thanks again for these two: