You never know who you might run into

It was not the first brush with fame I have ever had, but it certainly was the most unexpected.
Up until this point, pretty much every celebrity or athlete I have met was through my job in the newspaper industry.
Many years ago I met and had my picture taken with Bill Cosby, one of the funniest men alive.
The Cos was touring and I wrangled a press pass to take some pictures of the legendary comic.
Each performer has their own rules for taking pictures, so I asked one of his managers to clarify what I was allowed to do.
I was standing in a hallway of a hockey arena when another man comes out of a dressing room and asks, “Are you the photographer?”
"Yes, I am.”
"Bill would like to meet you.”
My first thought was, Bill who? Was the manager's name Bill? Was the head of security named Bill?
They might of been, but the Bill who wanted to meet me was 'The' Bill. The Cos himself had graciously invited me into his dressing room for a a brief chat and a picture.
Now I know what a deer in the headlights feels like. I was stunned. Usually you can't get within 100 feet of the celebs before they go on stage and here was one of the biggest of all time inviting me into his room.
I entered and there he was, sitting on a couch, huge cigar in hand watching a boxing match.
I walked in, sat down and looked over and could not utter a single word. I mean, what can you say to someone of that stature.
His manager took our picture, I shook his hand and wondered off amazed at what had just happened.
It was a very surreal moment and one that did not fully register immediately.
I also walked straight into The Great One Wayne Gretzky a few years back when the men's Olympic hockey team was holding their tryouts.
Wayne was in front of his hotel signing autographs, posing for pictures and basically hanging out for a few minutes when he could have just walked past everyone and hid in his room.
After all, he is the greatest hockey player of all time and not some minor leaguer trying to work his way to the top. But there he was, glad-handing and chatting it up with a very enthralled group of people.
A class act through and through.
While those encounters were somewhat possible because I knew the celebs were in town, the one that happened in Vancouver recently was a total surprise.
His name is Norman Reedus and he plays a character named Daryl Dixon on the very popular and quite grotesque The Walking Dead.
It is a show about survivors of a zombie apocalypse and Reedus' character is the most popular on the show.
I was walking through a mall in Granville Island when this guy passed us who looks exactly like Norman.
My first thought was, “Naaa, couldn't be.”
But then I overheard someone say “signing autographs” and “Daryl Dixon” so I did a 180 and went hoofing after the man who was by himself wearing a backpack vest and baseball cap.
I caught up to him and said, “Um, excuse me, are you Norman Reedus from The Walking Dead.”
"Yes, I am.”
I could not think of a single thing to say after that. He shook my hand and I mumbled how cool it was to meet him, loved the show etc.
He too was quite gracious an posed for a picture with my son and I before shaking our hands again and going about his day.
Thanks Norman, that was very cool.

Longing for the good ol' days. Never saw that coming.

Wait a minute. What's going on here? This can't be right.
What is happening to my brain?
Since my children were born, I have always known the goal is to raise them as best I can and then kick them out, er, I mean, set them free to live their own lives.
I never looked back, never longed for days gone by. And I never had any concerns about the possibility of suffering from empty nest syndrome.
That is why the thought that assaulted my brain like Mike Tyson battling a blind, one-armed dwarf surprised me so much.
It happened during an innocent lunch-break walk. It was a path I had taken dozens of times through a local park complete with lake and sandy beach.
Other than dodging a few cylists and the occasional doggy landmine, the walks were generally uneventful.
That is why the assault on my happy little brain was so unexpected. There were not even that many people at the park, but a lady and her young daughter caught my attention and threw me for a loop.
The lady was laughing away as her daughter, who was around three years old, was throwing sand in the air, dumping it all over herself and in general having a grand old time.
I looked over and smiled, and then all of a sudden I desperately missed my own children being that young.
Whoa. Hang on. Stop it.
That goes against my never-look-back-longingly policy. But suddenly I remembered when my oldest was around two and we took him camping and he spent an afternoon pouring dirt all over his legs. He thought it was hilarious and the dust stuck to the suntan lotion and made a mess, but the Missus and I never even considered ending his fun.
After all, we were camping and part of camping involves communing with nature, even if that means dumping nature all over yourself.
My mind then went on a whirlwind historical revision of many past camping trips and vacations where the young ones did all sorts of silly things.
Then it happened, I longed, desired and, yes, even ached for them to be that age again.
What was happening to me? What about all the sleepless nights or the boogers pouring out of their infected sinuses like water over Niagra Falls. What about messy diapers, never having a moment to yourself, rarely eating a meal when it was actually warm and having to be constantly on the move to keep up to a little one who seems to have more energy than the Hoover Dam?
For a moment, those thoughts vanished. Poof, they were gone and replaced by a longing for the silly things children say and do, the innocence of youth, the way they discover new things in the world around them.
I must admit, those were some good days – boogers and all. So what does this mean? For the first time since having children I actually longed to turn the clock back and do it all over again.
That can't be right. I am a staunch pro-empty nester with no fear of the birds flying the coup.
But even I must admit the fun far outweighed the work of having children. At least that is how my brain is choosing to remember the past.
If I force myself, I can remember Junior leaving a trail like a giant snail had crawled through my living room because his nose was running faster than a gazel on steroids. I can recall poopy diapers, waking up far too early in the morning - every morning - and all sorts of child-induced forms of parental torture. But as the years go by, the fun memories come much quicker and much easier than the not-so-fun memories.
So does this mean in a decade or so I will miss the teen years. The raging hormones, the attitude, the rebellion?
OK, let's not get carried away.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh 

How not to get a bleeding nose

I was reading one of those doctor advice columns about a man who had lots of bleeding noses over the years.
The good doctor rattled off several possible causes (including picking), but the last one seemed so obvious I didn't expect it to be mentioned.
Dr. Columnist said bleeding noses can be caused by trauma to the nose.
You don't say.
Actually I already knew that and the closest I have come to attending medical school is watching Quincy and ER.
He offered lots of doctor speak on how to prevent bleeding noses, but he did not discuss the trauma situation.
The answer for that scenario is simple: stop getting hit in the nose.
Problem solved.
I have had a few bleeding noses over the years. One was caused by my face and a baseball attempting to occupy the same space at the same time.
Just so you know, in this scenario the ball always wins and the nose always bleeds.
The last bleeding nose I  had was about a year ago when my nose hit a guy's knee in my martial arts class. Much like the ball scenario, the knee wins, the nose loses.
I have had three bleeding noses since I started training at this particular club, and all three have come from the same person.
They were all accidents (or at least he claims they were) and are part of the game, but I must admit to being a little more cautious when I train with him.
It is amazing how much a nose can bleed actually, mind you there are two exits so the blood can flow and flow.
The first time one of my children had a bleeding nose was at my parent's house. Junior was around five years old and on the deck when suddenly I heard him wailing like a pack of wolves had grabbed him and were carting him off for a little wolf dinner party.
I ran onto the deck to see him bawling his eyes out with blood running down his face. I looked around and there was no one else on the deck so I had to wait until he calmed down before I could find out what happened.
It would seem Junior was running across the deck with his eyes closed and ran straight into the railing.
He learned running with your eyes closed are not a good idea and I learned how to stop a bleeding nose while not smirking too much at the antics of a kid.
Personally, I prefer blood to stay on the inside of my body – where God intended it to be.
It doesn't always work out that way of course and I do not know anyone who has not bled the red at some point in time.
Often it is a sudden accident that is over before you know it. One moment you are fine, the next you are bleeding.
Such is life I guess.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh  

That's a mighty big brain you have there

I call them The Big Brains.
They are the scholars, professors, doctors and some of the high-achieving students I met during a not-long-enough stint in the PR department of a prominent university.
These were some very smart people, hence the nickname.
I never said it directly to them because I was not sure if it might insult them and the only people I like to insult are politicians.
Sure there are a few politicians who do not deserve my barbs and laser beam shots of disgust, but they are definitely in the minority.
I must admit, there is one area politician I do have respect for. Sure he is part of the national gang known as The MPs, but he seems like a genuine guy, with a genuine interest in doing what is right.
I know, that sort of thing is even more rare than a Big Foot sighting, but I can confirm at least one of them exists (the decent politician, not the sasquatch.)
And don't even get me started on the Senate.
For the record, my daggers are meant for provincial and federal politicians. I find most of the local ones quite nice and seem to be in politics so they can actually do some good in their community.
Anyway, I was talking about people with large craniums crammed with all sorts of valuable knowledge.
I must admit, when I first started at the university I was somewhat intimidated by The Big Brains and oft felt akin to a multi-celled organism that just crawled out of the slimy pond of stupidness.
My wife tried to tell me it was not true, but I was too busy swinging from the trees in the courtyard and picking nits out of people's hair to notice.
I was definitely not running with my usual band of co-workers.
Not to say newspaper people are not smart. Some of them are quite bright and some of them are, um, er, my co-workers.
Moving on. For the most part, The Big Brains were pretty decent to work with. A few did think they they were God's gift to the world and needed one office to work in and another office for their ego, but some of the extremely smart ones were basically regular people (with really big brains.)
I guess when you are that good, you don't have to act like it. Those were the Big Brains I liked the most - regular people who just happened to be smarter than 22 of me put together, but they never made a big deal about it.
I did feel conspicuous my name did not have a whole bunch of letters after it like everyone else did.
I thought about adding a few just so I could be one of the gang and contemplated putting GSC at the end of  my moniker. But the letters for the Gold Skating Certificate I earned when I was 15 probably wouldn't impress anyone.
I do have a college education, so I have some functioning grey matter, just not as much as many other people.
I can string a few words together, add a comma when needed and I have a pretty good idea how to form a readable paragraph, but I highly doubt that will change the world like some of the people I met at the university are likely to do.
But we all have our role to play in this life. Could I have been nestled among the brethren of big brains had I tried harder in school?
I doubt it. I think a really big brain is something God gives you, like being tall, or having a sense of humour (hey, two out of three aint bad).
You can study all you want and yes it will help, but at the end of the day unless you have a big brain there is only so much room in there and eventually it will get filled up (some sooner than others).

I would argue my point, but what's the point

Arguing with your wife is like trying to outrun a dog: there is absolutely no point because there is absolutely no way you are going to win.

You are never going to out pace the hound and there is no way you are ever going to best the little woman in a battle of the minds.

Even a little dog can run pretty fast and even if you are a high-calibre athlete, odds are the little mutt will eventually catch you and tear you limb from limb.

I have learned size is not important when it comes to arguing with your wife.

I am 16 inches taller and more than 120 pounds heavier than my wife – big deal. Unless we are playing basketball, football or full-contact martial arts that size difference matters not.

I may be much larger in stature, but her brain, vocabulary and ability to express how she is feeling far outweigh my simple mind in the communications department.

Sure I use words for a living, but that is different. I am used to sitting at a computer and pushing down on these little square keys that makes words magically appear on the screen in front of me.

If I have to stop and think about something before pushing more keys, I can sit back and stare off into space until the next idea forces its way into my somewhat wobbly cranium.

I do not have that luxury when 'discussing' something with The Missus.

When it comes to arguing with my wife, I am like one of those old musket rifles used in the American Civil War. It takes a long time to load one shot and that shot is not very accurate.

On the other hand my wife, and women in general, are more like an mini-gun that can fire 6,000 rounds a minute.

Who do you think will win the war with that kind of fire power imbalance?

We will be having a 'discussion' and I feel I am making a strong case for my views and, on occasion, I even think I might actually be winning. Oh, you silly, silly man.

Gentlemen, if you feel like you are close to winning – beware you are in a very dangerous area.

If you think you can see victory on the horizon, you still have a lot to learn about arguing with women.

You see, while you are marching forward with the largest intellectual argument you can form, she is simply waiting with a force so much greater it is a wonder your ideas even left your brain before they were decimated like so many ants under a size 12 boot.

Is it because women are smarter than men?

In my case, you betcha. My wife is way smarter than I am and I have never denied that point. Her intellectual size over me is comparative to my physical stature over her. There is no way I am able to summon enough of an intelligent argument to come out victorious.

Speaking to many of my man friends, I know I am not alone. Brain discrepencies aside, it is also because women are just so much better at articulating thoughts than their hairy chested counterparts.

Throughout history, men would settle differences with fists, swords or other non-verbal methods of commincation, while the ladies had more of a tendancy to talk things out.

Ghenghis Khan never talked his way to a single victory while, say, Queen Elizabeth was much better at diplomacy.

So to my male brethren out there, do not feel bad when you lose an argument to your significant other. Welcome to the club. The wiring of the man brain versus the lady brain has been against us for millenia.

But I have learned six simple words that will end any verbal engagement with your spouse: Yes Dear, You're right, and the never-failing, go-to response, I'm sorry.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh 

If being married wasn't so great, it would be terrible

They fell in love and lived happily ever after.
Yeah, right.
More accurately: They fell in love, got married and discovered there was a wide range of differences, beliefs and ways of thinking that on occasion produced moments of heated discussions. There were times of great happiness, but also moments of great challenges. (Insert mother-in-law comment here)
Deep down, the married couple were still in love and still wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, but on the surface there was turbulence once in a while.
Love is kind of like a submarine: it floats around under the water where things are calm and peaceful, while the surface can occasionally be raging with a hurricane the size of Jupiter.
Anyone who thinks marriage is nothing but a blissful ride of merriment, sunshine and lollipops is someone who is more than likely still single.
Marriage can be terrific, but it can also be hard.
My wife has always said divorce is not an option, but there are times when I know she has looked at me and thought, “With a good lawyer I can be out in 10 years, 15 tops. And if I make it look like an accident...”
I am just kidding of course, at least that is what I keep telling myself.
Marriage is the melding of two minds. Two people must learn to think as one, to become one flesh as the bible says, and that is a task easier said than done because you still want and need to retain your own identity, but you also have to work together. A unified front is vital when children start arriving. It is important to be on the same page when it comes to discipline, religion and instilling a work ethic.
For the most part, our marriage is quite harmonious and generally we do enjoy wedded bliss, but even after 25 years it still has its challenging moments.
But we are both human with our own flaws, wants, needs and hang ups that occasionally produce a bump on the road of matrimonial merriment.
When some couples encounter a bump, and neither is willing to admit they were the one who put it there, that tiny, little bump grows into a volcano that threatens to consume the entire island of marriage.
The more volcanos you build, the more difficult it is to get around the marital island without getting hot lava splashed all over you.
Eventually the land becomes so full of spewing volcanos, the island of marriage is abandoned and both people move away and settle on new islands.
Marriage can be difficult at times, there is no doubt, but like anything worth having, it is worth working for.
During a marriage course the Missus and I took many year ago, the speaker said men wanted to be respected and women wanted to be loved.
My wife and I have tried to put that into practice, and it really does work.
Showing your wife love doesn't have to mean slaying a dragon (which is why there are no dragons left anymore.) It can be something as simple as getting her a bouquet of flowers, of which there are plenty.
The thrill of receiving a bunch of dying plants as an expression of love eludes my man mind, but the ladies dig it so who am I to argue.
They may look frilly, soft and tender, but flowers are powerful enough to quell a raging volcano.
On occasion I do complain about being married (who doesn't) but overall it is a blessing that I could not imagine living without.

Pets are God's way of making sure you can take care of a kid

I have seen it many times.
A young couple gets married, start a new life together but soon have a funny feeling something is missing.
Perhaps a new car will scratch the itch that is nagging in the back of their brain. Maybe a new house, or a move to a different city.
But that odd feeling persists. What they don't know yet is, it is their parental instinct kicking into gear.
They may not even realize it, but it is there – gnawing away at them night and day.
The need to care for some sort of living creature grows and grows.
They do not know it is the swirling waters of parenthood that beckons them to dive in, but they have to do something so they get a pet.
A cat or a dog are the most popular choices.
My wife and I did the same thing. A couple years after we wed, we ended up with two dogs to take care of.
And at the time, we thought the workload of looking after dogs was horrendous. (Yeesh, it is amazing how big of a wimp I was back then.)
Up until that point, we only had to look after ourselves. When we wanted to do something we did it. When we wanted to go out, we went and when we wanted to sleep, we slept.
But now we had these two little black, furry critters to take care of and we had to worry about when they were hungry, or wanted to go out, and good luck if we wanted to sleep and they didn't.
For the first little while, I will admit, it was rather daunting to have two more life forms to take care of. 
But, as time passed, we got into a groove and the loveable mutts were fully integrated into our lives and taking care of them became part of our routine.
We managed to raise them into adult dogs without any serious harm or injury coming to man or beast.
At the time, we did not know we were setting ourselves up for the impending arrival of children.
You get married, start with a house plant (which we forgot to water and it died, oops) then you get an animal (which thrived under our care) and that opens the door for a squeaky little human to make the scene.
It is kind of like a test: if the dogs survive you are ready to move on to bigger things,
So a few years after getting the hounds, Junior was born and suddenly the dogs were just dogs. Until the bundle of joy arrived, the dogs were our kids, but they immediately found themselves relegated to non-human status.
They were still loved members of the family, but our perspective had changed and they simply became dogs.
We quickly learned taking care of dogs was way easier than taking care of a baby. First of all, you can't just put the baby in the backyard and close the door when you want a little break from them.
House training a dog takes a few weeks, potty training a child usually does not even begin for more than a year. And if they doo-doo on the floor, you cannot rub their nose in it.
But like when the dogs invaded our home, it didn't take long for us to make Junior part of the daily routine of life, and after a while we forgot what life was like without him.
In fact, we did it two more times and each time went through an adjustment period as we integrated the latest family member into our lives.
It is a tried and true pattern. Many of our friends started out with a dog, then progressed to children, so when I see a young couple walking a puppy past my house I know what is in store for them, even of they don't.