Driver’s Ed in the Man Cave

Drivers educationSo, I’m sitting in the little red Honda that I’ve owned since my boys were babies and their child safety seats were firmly strapped into the back seats, but this time my oldest son is sitting in the front seat and NOT on the passenger’s side!

Oh no.

He’s in the DRIVER’S seat. His lankly legs tucked under the steering wheel and his tall back pushed up against the back of the seat. Ready to learn how to drive!

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Attack of the Sock Monkeys!

sock-monkeyWhile visiting my mother and sister, recently, they insisted we go to a particular restaurant that tends to give me the hee-bee-jee-bees. So as not to offend or violate copy right rules, let’s just call it “Snacker Bucket.”

To get to a table at Snacker Bucket, one has to walk through a barrage of tchotchkes, knickknacks, packaged snacks, quilts, towels, and home-made lace covered items that scream you are NO LONGER IN THE MAN CAVE.

Seriously, it’s as if the Midwest-women’s knitting circle EXPLODED in there.

This restaurant and its appendage-shop have single handedly answered the question, and YES — Yes, you CAN have too many sock monkeys in one place. Continue reading

Man Cave to the rescue!

hotel food (c) Heather Bosch MediaWorking out of town one night, after a VERY long day, I popped into the pub adjacent to the hotel I was staying in for a quick bite to eat. That’s when a man in his late 30’s, early 40’s, losing his hair, but clearly gaining some weight, asked if he could sit at the bar next to me.

”Fine,” I say.

He talked, mostly. I ordered food (you’ll recall this had been a long work day). Funny how that gut instinct kicks-in quickly. I think to myself, hmmm. This guy is, well, someone I do NOT want to talk to. Anymore. Or every again. Continue reading

A D-Day lesson on being a man

Ensley Maxwell LlewllynMy sons, here in the Man Cave, have an amazing example of what it means to be a Man, in their father. They’re blessed, also to have wonderful grandparents and uncles. I’ve also told them the story of another man. One who was at the beach in Normandy, France, 70-years-ago. General Llewellyn. Everyone in my neighborhood said his name as: “GENERAL Llewellyn.” Not Ensley, Mr. Llewellyn or grandpa (as he was an older man, at that time). But “General Llewellyn.”

It was when I – a child in grade school – was assigned a class on WWII, that I ‘interviewed’ him.

I learned he was one of the first to land on the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. He was on the first jeep that rode into San Michelle, France, to crowds of newly liberated Frenchmen. He served in both the European theater and the South Pacific. BUT what I remember the most? He talked so proudly about starting the Stars and Stripes War Orphan Fund. Continue reading