The end of a year and a decade...

Is it just me, or does it seem like it was just months ago we were getting all bent out of shape, or at least some of us doomsdayers were, about the impending devastation of Y2K? How can it already be a decade since that letdown occurred?

With that I say a fond farewell to the year that almost was (I wrote this early Dec. 31)...2009. I must say right off the bat it will always be somewhat memorable for me because it was the year I finally launched myself into the BlogO'Sphere and from a creative standpoint it's been a godsend. Without it my mind would be brimming with useless thoughts and ideas, so instead it's all out here in the open for you to revel in its uselessness.

But as I look back, nothing too exciting happened to cause any alarm.

I don't know what it is about odd number years, but they always seem to be kind of ... blah. Give me a nice round number and I'm fine. I was born in an even-numbered year (1966), graduated from high school in a year evenly divisible by two (1984), got married in one as well (1996) and had my first (1998) and second (2000) children were on the level numbered years. The only thing keeping me from completing the Even Numbered Pick Six was my little guy Shea coming into this world in the year that was 2003. Might explain why he's seems a little bit odd...that's just a joke, relax.

Anyway, 2009 was kind of a year where the Hildebrandt household held steady. We didn't move, didn't gain or lose any immediate family members, didn't buy a new vehicle, again didn't buy a new computer for what seems like an eternity, and so on. I was able to maintain a weekly meeting (vacation time withstanding) schedule with my coffee peeps, which kicks ass and takes names. We also took a memorable family trip to Florida, so that's something to hang our sun hats on.

Besides this blog, one thing I'll also remember is it will always be the year of trying to reclaim my youth, or at least my early-to-mid-30s. I began an exercise kick in August and for the most part kept at it through the end of the year or until Snowzilla hurled mounds of white stuff as far as the eyes could see blocking my walking path. Teresa and I countered with a purchase of a treadmill for Christmas, 'cause it's the gift that keeps on giving ... provided you're willing to work at it.

What I'll also remember is that I really didn't enter the year with any high hopes or expectations because 2009 kind of snuck on me. In all, I'd probably give 2009 as a whole a C+ grade and with perhaps a little extra credit between now and when the clock strikes midnight in less than 23 hours it could move up to a B-.

Anyway, so long 2009. It feels like I hardly got to know you. Here's hoping the new year brings along much enjoyment and prosperity and may this blog continue to provide me with a outlet so as not to clog up the creative pipes and cause it to rupture somewhere along the way and spill out all over the place.

See you in 2010.

Car wash and wear...

Washing your vehicle seems to me like a bit of an oddity this time of year living in the land of 10,000 really big frozen chunks of ice, but given the amount of sand and salt put down to keep people in motion it's a necessity if you don't want your car to end up looking like the face of that guy John Travolta's character "races for pinks" in the movie "Grease".

While I know washing my vehicle is a necessity, I rarely wash mine as often as I should partly because I'm lazy and also because my propensity to procrastinate is heightened when the temps dip below freezing.

And I don't have to tell you how much of a self-esteem Debbie downer a trip to the car wash always makes me feel, especially these new brushless ones who bark commands at you like some out-of-control school marm with an itchy ruler finger.

"Put your money here. Okay, push this button...Are you sure you don't want to put in another dollar to make your car even prettier? Okay, drive in but slowly...slowly...slowly now STOP!!! Aww, dangit. Back the heck up you dumb ass. STOP!!! Now move back forward slow. STOP!!! Do I have to drive it in myself? Okay, now was that so hard? Whoa, whoa, whoa. We're not done yet. Are all mirrors and bug deflectors in? Okay, now shut those windows good and tight. Got it? You sure? Well, don't blame me if your water comes streaming through because I told you so. Okay if that's the way you're going to be, we'll just proceed. No skin off my nozzles."

As you curl up in a ball for a few minutes while the powerful jets purge the road demons from the side of the vehicle, you think about how close to failure you really were. Just about the time you are finally getting over from the tongue lashing you got from Car Wash heckler and your vehicle no longer looks the color of a powdered sugar and cinnamon-coated donut the orders start up again.

"Please exit slowly, but be sure not to back up into dryer. Okay now, will you hurry your ass up you only have 30 seconds left of drying time and there are at least four other vehicles waiting in line! You don't need all 30 seconds, it's just for show anyway. Scram! beat it!"

The ride home always cause more time for personal reflection and maybe recalling a few affirmations or perhaps even dialing dear old mom to try to boost your spirits cause in the end while the vehicle may look all shiny and new, your personal interior often feels like crap.

Vikings Vaudeville, Vol. I

As a way to help cope with the annual Vikings collapse, I've decided to embrace the culture of losing that is a Minnesota sports fan's birthright (two World Series titles withstanding) and put things in a more humorous perspective.

I've just come to the conclusion it's easier to make fun of than be made fun of so I put my Helga-Horn thinking cap on and came up with the following:

• Startling news out of Winter Park ... Tupperware announced Antoine Winfield is losing his endorsement deal with Tupperware given the fact he can't cover a thing.

• What do the Vikings and a corporate jet have in common? No coach!

• What do Carl Gerbschmidt and Brad Childress have in common? Both are recovering Brett Favre jock sniffers!

• Adrian Peterson inked a new deal to start doing PSA's for Minnesota fire departments emphasizing the importance of "Stop, DROP & Roll"

• Apparently one of the Vikings' player's moms gave the pre-game pep talk before the Bears game and the last thing she told them before taking the field was "Don’t play on the road!"

• This just in, several Viking defenders were treated at a Chicago area hospital early Tuesday morning for severe cases of frostbite after the bus they were riding on to the airport broke down and they couldn't “stop” anyone to help.

• How are the Vikings like a meth dealer? Both like to lure you in with just a little taste of something good before all hell breaks loose.

Feel free to send me more suggestions as I envision this being a fluid list or perhaps having multiple volumes, 'cause God knows we as Viking fans could use an outlet like this.

Holi'dazed and confused...

After scoring a convincing win over Ol' Man Winter (OMW for short) in the first round of my battle with the StormO'Century (vol. XXXIV....) and basically pulling out an even draw over the next couple of rounds, OMW went medieval on my arse and brought out the heavy artillery (i.e. heavy wet snow flakes) to pull out the late win.

If this snow storm were the Super Bowl then consider me the Minnesota Vikings or Buffalo Bills because after a strong showing leading up to the main (or was it mean) event, I went belly up when push (from a shovel perspective) came to pull (as in starting my snowblower).

By the end of my maniacal pace to try and keep up with the three-day snowfall free-for-all , I said the H-E-double toothpicks with it and just waited until "I darn well felt like it" when removing the residual fallout from Hurricane Driftina on Sunday. To make myself feel better I put together our new treadmill before even casting a wandering eye outdoors to see what awaited me on the concrete surfaces which are instrumental in keeping the Hildebrandt family in motion during this nasty time of year.

While I give my snowblower all the credit in the world for trying to keep up, after awhile it looked like it was throwing up oatmeal with the mix of slushy crud that was spewing out of it at times. I even got nauseous at one point, but even though I knew I had been defeated I certainly wasn't going to let OMW know it.

Anyway, I've cleared the white stuff as far down as I can and now I have on my driveway what resembles the surface the Minnesota Wild play on at the "X" on game days. Hopefully what driveway salt I've put down will keep the Hildebrandt family from any class action lawsuit in the coming week or two.

While I am admitting defeat, I am only admitting OMW has won this battle but the Winter 2009-10 war is far from over and I now have a competitive edge -- a new treadmill to hopefully walk me into the winner's circle!

Round One goes to this guy...

I'm certainly hoping that all this talk about Ol' Man Winter making my snow removal ass his bee-otch this holiday weekend comes to fruition. After some meaningless "dress rehearsals" earlier this month, I'm up for a good ol' fashioned snow-down, throw-down.

These couple of inches of snow tease that got thrown our way surely must be a precursor to much loftier piles of the white stuff in the days ahead or I'll be as disappointed as the next woman to whom Tiger Woods says, "you're the only girl for me."

While I'm come to embrace the fact we're about to get hit by about the 100th storm dubbed as Blizzard of the Century in the last 10 years, something new has arisen as my little guy has become concerned that despite all the reassurances he's heard about Rudolph with his nose so bright, that maybe it won't be enough this year. I've tried to tell him that Santa could fly that sleigh with one arm tied behind his back, but he remains skeptical. I thought about telling him that everything is GPS these days and that the sleigh practically flies itself, but I'll save that for next year.

Anyway, we're bracing for the storm, remaining fluid in our plans to host my side of the family this weekend and hoping for the best. Stay tuned.

SoDak, here we come...

The Hildebrandt family is less than 24 hours away from our tires crossing the border into South Dakota for a weekend of card games, catching up, gift exchange games and of course ... tons of food.

My favorite line I like to use shortly after New Year's is to throw on a pair of jeans, turn my backside toward my wife and ask, "Does my butt make these jeans look big?"

It's amazing to think that this Christmas will be the 15th one I've shared with Teresa and her family and I remember all too vividly sweating bullets on the SUV ride out there for the inaugural Healy Family Christmas to which I was invited. Not knowing how it would go made me more nervous than anything I had experienced in my life. Watching three children being pulled from their mother via a pseudo kangaroo pouch (they were all delivered C-section) was not nearly as stomach turning compared to my first drive out to my then-future in-laws.

What I remember most is my then-toddler niece Jordan giving me the evil eye all weekend long, perhaps expressing her disgust that I had somehow driven a wedge between her and her auntie Teresa or perhaps tyring to convey to me, "watch your back mister, 'cause I got my eyes on you!". I also remember it seemed like we ate eight square meals a day that weekend and over the next few holidays after that.

It was breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, lunch, snack, supper, lunch, snack with the possibility of another snack or two crammed in there somehow. You could try to reject one of the meals, but Teresa's mom was sneaky that way in she'd somehow coax you into "just one bite" which would lead to many more and the eventual belt loosening and then the eventual belt removal.

I really miss my mother-in-law, because she always seemed at her best during the holidays. The gleam in her eyes and the smile in her face would light up the house all weekend long as she hustled about. I only wish my kids could have experienced more holidays with her.

Nonetheless, I think about Teresa's parents often when her side of the family gets together, but especially her mother who went out of her way, despite the toddler Jordan's attempts to intimidate, to welcome me into the family.

The holidays are fast approaching...

and I always greet them with some sort of cautious optimism with all sorts of precedents in the history books to validate my careful approach.

Thankfully I'm long past the days when my net worth would double or even triple after raking in the Christmas booty (trust me, my net worth wasn't worth much back then), and I've lowered my expectations considerably on the ol' Christmas spread sheet as now the payables are always much larger than the receiveables which is a great place to be in life.

Getting a gift or two under the tree from either side of the family to me is a blessing. When I became a father giving became much more enjoyable than receiving because, let's face it, I'm a winner in that case especially as the kids get older and the games are no longer recommended for ages 0-4 and now are 5 & up! That means I get to play, too!

Family gatherings can be difficult to arrange and you almost need an event planner to organize because there are so many variables when you mix five siblings and their spouses and try to secure a date and time for said holiday gathering.

Eventually it all gets worked out, and a good time is usually had by all. Oh sure, there are always the little "conflicts" that seem to arise (like the time one of my young nephews thought it would be funny to call 911 and the Hartford, S.D. police arrived or, when my dad was still alive, the annual father/son/son card games would get a little out of hand due to the over-competitive nature of some of the participants...myself included) but no one got seriously hurt, mentally or physically. There is much deeper rooted mental scar tissue that acts as a buffer zone as I've gotten older.

Then there is the annual ritual of one of my sisters, who don't have children, making the wise crack either my way or towards my brother about, "just when I think I really want kids, I come down here, visit you guys and am happy with my life!"

This year I'm ready for them. If I hear either of them offer the aforementioned commentary, I'll offer "just when I think I really wish I didn't have kids, you come down here, visit with us and realize how happy I am with my life!" which would be followed up with a RickyBobby-inspired "Wow! That just happened!" I know, cruel, but as my coffee group friends would say, "that's good writing!"

As stressful as the whole holiday process can be, it really is an enjoyable time because as I've found out lately after losing some acquaintances who were relatively close in age, life is too short to worry about the stuff you can't control. And remember, this year's ugly sweater you got from under the tree on one side of the family can always be next year's white elephant gift on the other side!

There's rude...

One of the many useless conclusions I've developed recently is the fact there is rude ... and then there's Redbox rude.

Redbox rude is when you're renting or returning a movie to your neighborhood Redbox machine (for lack of a better term) and a person comes up behind you in a rush and does at least one of the following:

* Sighs heavily at least once every 10 seconds trying to get your attention.
* Sees you standing in the Redbox position (which is kind of like the missionary position without the personal space invasion) and gives one of those "clicky/smacky" sounds with their tongue on the roof of their mouth like you're inconveniencing them.
* Tries peering over your shoulder either to get a look at the screen or perhaps to sneer at your movie choices.
* Stands there tapping their toes as if their time is much more precious than yours.

When either the first or second occurs, I slow my selection process or return process way down. I might look at more movie descriptions on the screen or perhaps scroll back and forth knowing full well I don't care to see any of those on the screen but hope just maybe the impatient one will say something, anything so I can make a scene.

If it's the third (peering over my shoulder) I revert back 25-plus years to my high school basketball days and my coach's constant reminder to "Box Out!" under the boards. Even more amusing is getting your feet shoulder width apart, not Larry Craig wide, but far enough apart so you can shuffle back and forth to counter any moves your 'opponent' may attempt to get a clear look at the rebound or in this case, the Redbox screen.

If it's the latter (toes a tapping), a slow head turn and blank stare right at them usually does the trick. This philosophy also works for public restrooms when you're at the urinal and the guy next to you is trying to do a junk check. Nothing dries up a stream faster than eye contact.

Anyway, Redbox has created a whole new realm of rudeness and if you're not aware of it take notes the next time you rent or return a movie at one of those red bandits.

There's an art to a successful blow...

...Snowblowing that is. For many young males in Minnesota and other states where precipitation this time of year comes in the crystalized form instead of liquid, there is a rite of passage when you become chief of snow removal of your domicile.

I've worn that hat for approximately 14 years now and in my younger years a shovel was all I needed given I had the energy and back strength to keep pace with whatever Mother Nature (or was it Old Man Winter) threw my way. As the years went on, I greeted each snowfall with the anticipation of a dog whose owner was about to carry through Bob Barker's mandate shortly after the Showcase Showdown.

But about 9 years ago, my late father-in-law found a sweet deal on a snowblower at a garage sale somewhere out in the Sioux Falls, SoDak, area. After some TLC from Teresa's dad, who was a mechanic at the time, that bargain blower cut through snow like a hot knife through a tub of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

Over the next four years or so, that snowblower helped me enter a brave new world -- the Royal Order of Snow Blower...Guys (ROSBG).

Just prior to when Teresa and I made the move to St. Peter and we knew we were going to be living in a townhome for awhile, I gave up the snowblower with the understanding that once we moved into a house again that I wouldn't go back to the old-fashioned shovel. Once we were free from making someone elses house payments and making our own, and free from our landlords reign of snow removal terror, I demanded we get a new snowblower and we did, albeit a much smaller version of the Snowminator I used to possess.

This thing only has about a foot of reach upwards so I don't necessarily blow the snow off my driveway and sidewalks so much as I do skim it off until I reach the hard surface below. Any snowfall 4 inches or less and I'm gold, barring hurricane force-driven snow drifts. Anything over that and I'm peeling the snow off like layers of an onion.

Nonetheless it's still much more enjoyable and less taxing than that hand-held manual alternative.

Each winter, the first significant snowfall of the season is kind of special for the membership of the ROSBG as you shake the summer dust off the ol' blower and take it out for it's maiden voyage. It's much like riding a bike, in that once you get the hang of it you never forget how to manipulate the wind angles to minimize "snow-i-cuss-come-back-at-your-face-i-cuss" and the subsequent "freezeth-thy-ass-off-i-cuss".

My little snowblower does have one distinct advantage over the much larger and more powerful machines some of my neighbors possess in that I can whip through the 4-and-under snows much faster than they can and operate it, provided the auger blades can keep up, at my own pace.

Anyway, I'm happy to report the first blow of Winter 2009-10 was a successful one, although I must admit my neighbor Mark came through in the clutch with a big time assist using his much larger machine to take out the end of my driveway after the city crews came through with their plows. Usually I get done clearing my snow when those guys come through, but our timing was impeccable this time and it ensured a memorable occasion.

So it snowed in Minnesota...

Big deal, right? I mean that's bound to happen when you live on the part of the globe that is tilting away from the sun at this time of year and various weather systems collide and such. It's inevitable and (paraphrasing Bobby Knight) I should sit back and enjoy it.

After 43 years of being tipped back away from the flaming sphere in the sky (Florida may be called the "Sunshine State" but come winter we're the "Sun Shun State") for anywhere from 3 to 9 months one would think a person would get used to it.

However, each first snowfall I experience is like a punch in the gut which kicks off a long, drawn out battle with old man winter all the while helplessly watching as my golf clubs become dust receptacles.

We didn't exactly have the blizzard of the century today, but waking up to the ground covered in white and temps that nip your nose and bite your toes (or is that the other way around...) was a bit distressing considering I know people who are probably wearing shorts today where they're living.

If I snowmobiled, skiied, ice fished, snowshoed, ice skated or at least was able to tolerate any of the other activities Minnesotans do to prove their hardiness I might have a differing perspective, but I like my ice cubed or crushed, in a glass, surrounded by some fruity liquor concoction with perhaps some salt lightly coating around the rim. Hell, throw a spear with some fruit in it, I don't care. As long as I'm not in danger of my butt cheeks making a sudden impact on top of it with one simple misstep, I'm fine.

For me ice is meant to chill beverages that can be enjoyed in much warmer weather under the beading hot sun.

But, like I do every winter, I'll piss and moan for a week or so all the while letting Old Man Winter make me his bee-otch. In due time I'll eventually adjust and get on to doing what I do that gets me through these next few months eagerly anticipating that first blade of green grass or bud on a branch forcing its way outward or uttering that first curse word as I shank another errant tee shot off the #1 tee box or miss a 10 footer for double bogey.

Who knows, maybe Brett Favre may even do something even more extraordinary then he already has and make this winter actually somewhat enjoyable. It'd be nice to actually have a Super Bowl party where I'm more excited about the game then I am the commercials or halftime show.