Unfay ithway artsfay

It’s a weakness of mine.  Not the act, but an appreciation of the act. I giggle at the noise. And judging from my family’s reaction, that’s kind of a guy thing.

I won’t even name it here, because some folks find the very word offensive. 

So let’s play Charades:

“A four-letter word …” (tug on your ear) “… sounds like …” (take a comb and part your hair ….)

“Part? Uh, tart?  Cart?!”

Or Jeopardy:

Alex Trebek: “Bodily Functions for $500 … this gastrointestinal response occurs when digested food releases hydrogen, methane and carbon dioxide.” 

DING! 

Contestant: “Uh, what is f---?”

One last clue, provided by a very clever youngster who I overheard many years ago as she proudly proclaimed to her mother:

“Mommy, I made my hiney sing!”

“Good for you, dear.”

Linus ... he faults us.

It’s not like all of us don’t encounter this natural act daily, by humans and animals alike. Dogs are well known for it, especially if you mishandle their diets.  Small-dog Linus is an occasional offender, usually when he spies White Cat out front and jumps to the windowsill. Often during our breakfast.

What surprises me is how surprised he is when it happens.  He looks back at us, thinking we caused his rear-end ruckus.

And Nellie … well, 100-pound Nellie is a year and a half old right now, and except for that time as a 50-pound pup – at the beginning of the long ride home from the Minnesota breeder, when she let loose and almost killed us all – we’ve not heard or smelled a peep out of her. 

I don’t think that will last, and I’m sure we’ll know when it happens.

I mention all this because I was scolded recently for sharing too much of a good … er bad …  thing.  And no, not that kind of sharing.  I watch my diet, and some things I’m careful about not sharing.

You can share the limelight with these guys!

No, you see, it was Eric’s birthday.   Eric is my son in law, and we wanted to send him a JibJab card.  If you don’t know JibJab, it’s an absolutely funny online site full of political satire and modern-day humor.  Its hallmark is planting real mug shots of famous people atop cartoony bodies and making them do and say funny things.

Well, JibJab found it could make a lot of money by also offering electronic cards … for birthdays, weddings, all sorts of occasions.  The beauty of it is that you can plant your own mug shots … or those of family or friends … into the scenes to really personalize them.

So when Cindy suggested I construct a JibJab for Eric, I was on it.  I hurried to see what new card options awaited me.

We settled on one that featured Eric on roller skates.  I liked it and thought it turned out well.  Eric doing a Travolta number, basically. 

But I also spotted one called “Office Birthday Song” that featured six office mates using their hineys to sing “Happy Birthday to You.”  With orchestral accompaniment, of course.  

So after I emailed Eric his card, I told Cindy I was going to do this other … you know, just for fun, to see how it turned out.  Cindy was reading in bed, so I decided to do the work in the living room.

And so I labored into the night.  I picked the mug shots carefully.  I wanted my mug in there, of course.  Oh, and I thought it’d be clever to put Nellie’s big white head in there too.  Son Zach was added, because I knew he'd appreciate joining in.  And there was a spot for one woman among the six – the rest, of course, men (see?! guy thing!) – so I added Cindy’s mug.  Then I grabbed good friend Steve’s, figuring Eric would appreciate that.  (Steve led the service at Meghan and Eric’s wedding.  Sorry, Steve. You mainly appear in the elevator scene.) 

Finally, I put Eric’s mug in there.  There’s the last scene where his face appears at the base of the giant birthday cake.  But you have to look carefully.

And it was done!  A masterpiece.  I charged back into the bedroom to show Cindy my creation. But she was half asleep and hardly impressed.  “Ummphf,” she said, which means “not now” in half-sleep English.

Come morning, though, she agreed it was pretty funny. But I was hesitant … wasn’t sure I wanted to send it.

That day, Eric texted us a thank you for the skate card.  So that night I decided “what the heck.”  I sent him the second card.

So here things maybe got a bit tense.

You see, Meghan and Eric were at the airport early that next morning … taking a flight from Houston to Bellingham, Wash.  

I’m not sure what actually transpired on their end, but at 7:32 a.m. I received this cryptic text message from Eric.

“I love fart noises.”

“Ha!” I thought through the early-morning fog.  “Eric got the card!”

I knocked out a quick response.

“Me, too!  Blazing Saddles forever!”

A Mel Brooks masterpiece.

And then I made the mistake of texting him the YouTube link to the Mel Brooks campfire classic, where a circle of cowboys consume plates of beans and let free a symphony.

A mistake … because as I was quickly using Google to find other famous, flatulence movie scenes, so I could text Eric new links, my phone abruptly sounded.

“Ding! Ding!

It was Meghan this time.

“Stop sending Eric fart videos while we’re waiting to board.”

“Huh?” I thought. 

“Ding! Ding!”

Another one.

“It’s embarrassing,” she added.

Busted.  It seems Eric was viewing these videos while either seated or standing among fellow passengers.

I suspect his phone was sending out enough honks, squeaks and pffffts to cause everyone nearby to worry about Eric and Meghan's digestive state, and perhaps even the overall quality of the airport’s food service.

Eric again texted me, apparently after hearing from Meghan:

“I should probably wait to watch this in a more private setting.”

I concurred, although I suggested he might show the Blazing Saddles excerpt to the pilot. 

“It’ll make his day!” I suggested.

"You might want to hold your nose, Joey."

Not sure he did that.  Probably not, given that a pilot's cockpit checklist doesn’t allow for YouTube time. (Although Peter Graves’ flatulence joke on the movie Airplane is considered one of the industry’s classics.)

Regardless, I’ve learned my lesson.  Such noises should be shared sparingly.  And when they are shared, it's ideal to text an advance warning:

“Best enjoyed while wearing headphones.”

**** 

To see Eric’s skating video, click here.

To see the Office Birthday Song, click here.

To see the Blazing Saddles campfire scene, click here.

Sorry ... couldn't find the Airplane scene on video. But if you’ve clicked through all three videos, I know you, too, have “unfay ithway artsfay.”

Hilltop

TRAVERSE CITY, Mich. – It sits atop a wind-buffeted hill, nestled between tall pines to the north and a handsome horse farm to the south.  On its west, more pines.  And to the east, a split-rail fence that skirts the top of a grassy bluff.   Down below: Five Mile Road.

Hilltop ... and its north-facing deck.

It’s 2525 Five Mile Road, to be Google-Earth perfect.  But I’ve come to call the place Hilltop.  I’ve never named our houses before, but this time I feel the need. 

I think of my grandparents’ farm in Missouri, grandly called Hill Haven.  It was a fitting description; it was a haven – heaven – atop a hill.

I think of the Michigan cottage, lovingly christened WindSong … a simple structure blessed with the complex mix of wind and waves, musical chimes hanging on strings, the hum of hummingbirds, the soft quacks and honks of distant fowl.

The woods and fire pit to the north.

And this place … well, Hilltop fits.  Because the house does sit high.  The hill is not giant.  The gravel drive seems of modest angle, although our realtor warned us twice that its height will turn mountainous come the snows.

But to be on its front porch, you feel high up. Because from there you can experience the clear essence of this northwest corner of Michigan: feel breezes off the bay, smell the thick tree scent, see the cool shadows below and the stark, azure skies above.

Assuming all goes as planned, we will soon own Hilltop …well, as much as anyone with a mortgage can own a house.

And certainly it’s a modest house compared to our Kansas home.  About half the size.  A living room, kitchen and dining nook downstairs. Three bedrooms and a sitting room upstairs.  That’s it.

Our garage ... and horses behind.

Oh, there’s a free-standing garage, which is modern and large.  The back fourth could be used for storage. But the house has no basement or attic.

So we’ll be shedding possessions as we make the move north.

But Hilltop is a welcoming place.  Sturdily built, its two sets of double doors beckon you inside from the north deck.  And the thick stand of pines and steady winds beckon you back out. 

Cooling shadows in summer.

The house is just minutes from downtown Traverse and the Michigan bay of the same name.  And yet it seems in the country.  The pines help, as do the horses behind the house.

We speculate on how Nellie and Linus will react to the beasts.  We think Nel will remain calm, since that’s her disposition.  I picture her sitting in the back yard, eyeing the horses intently as their muscled necks bend to munch grass. If she’s a true Pyr, she’ll soon claim responsibility for the herd, her alert eyes turning to the landscape in search of predators.

It’s a long and complicated story of how and why Cindy and I decided to pull up our Kansas roots   For starters, I’m blessed with a company that’s allowing me to keep my same job, and all of its responsibilities, but manage things from afar.

Five Mile Road is below.

We’ve also made no secret of our love for this northern region.  Indeed, it didn’t strike me as to how much we’d let this love invade our Kansas lives until I looked as a buyer would at our current home’s interior. 

Walk through the rooms and hallways … a Michigan map adorns the wall here, an artist’s depiction of beachcombing brightens a room there, an antique letter rack from the old Glen Arbor, Mich., post office anchors the living room’s east end.  Above our bed: daughter Meghan’s rendering of the narrows of Glen Lake.  By the front door, on one side, miniature quilts by a Suttons Bay artist depicting a northern woods’ four seasons; on the other side, framed artwork of a cherry orchard.

If a psychologist could ramble through the house’s halls, he’d ask the obvious question, pointing at the map: “Why in God’s name are you living in Kansas and not there?”

Why indeed.

And so, soon, we won’t be.  We’ll leave behind many amazing friends and a house that we’ve dearly loved. (We’re inviting those friends to come visit, and we promise to return to visit as well.)

Meghan, meanwhile, has started her new job in Houston; she and husband Eric will soon move into their new home.  And son Zach has landed a job with K-State in Manhattan after graduation. 

So to the degree that twenty-somethings can settle, they’ve settled.

Soon they will be Nellie's to watch.

Meanwhile, we feel an urgency.  Time moves ever faster, it seems, and to take full advantage of the aesthetic and recreational pursuits of a place like Traverse City, we must act now … before the twinges of age take their inevitable toll.

Already we’re talking about buying new bikes, paddling kayaks down Boardman River, hiking sun-speckled, sandy trails. Heck, there’s even serious talk of joining Weight Watchers to lighten our load.

But the first step was to find a house … a home.

We think we’ve done that.  Now we await the move

Oh ... and Hilltop is but a way-station.  Our goal in two years is to buy or build a lake place. We’ll  take the first year or so to scout out locations. And that will keep the adventure going. 

For while it’s wonderful to be high up to catch the bay breezes, our ultimate haven – heaven – is to be by water’s edge. There the waves will sing their hearty hellos.  And we will join in.