What Would You Attempt To Do If You Knew You Could Not Fail?

It's a fair question.

My answer? Launch a freelance writing career. Yup, that would be ideal. The ability to write on any subject, where I want (my front porch) and when I want (night owl). What stops me? The fear of failure, I suppose. Isn't that a shame?

How about you? What's your answer and what's stopping you?

A Conversation With Betts

I guess I should have taken a few minutes to explain my April 13 "Rainy Day" post. A few days ago, I had this conversation with my mother over the phone:

Betts: "By the way, what's the deal with your latest blog entry?"

Me: "What do you mean 'what's the deal' with it?"

Betts: "Well, I didn't watch it all the way through, but does it get funny?"

Me: "No, it doesn't get funny! It's not supposed to be funny. It's just a song I like with a cool video."

Betts: "Oh. I thought it was going to be funny."

Me: "I thought the headline made sense and was pretty clear. It's upbeat, so it's good for my rainy day mood."

Betts: "Yeah. Well, post something funny."

Does this count, Betts? Call me!

Things That Go Bump In The Night

It started a few weeks ago on a Saturday night. P and I had been out playing cards and arrived back home late, about 1:30 a.m. We went through the motions of letting the dog out, getting prepared for bed and locking up. Soon we were tucked in under the covers, ready for sleep. Just as I was about to doze off, I heard the light rumbling of an engine outside. It kept getting closer, starting and stopping. Soon it was outside of our house, just idling. I nudged P.

"Hey," I said. "Do you hear that?"

"What?" he asked sleepily.

"There's a car outside just sitting there."

"So?"

"Well, what if they're casing the joint?"

He laughed. "I'm sure it's nothing."

The car started moving, and eventually faded away. A few minutes later though it was back, creeping along the street behind us. I jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtain. It was just enough time to see a white van moving slowly down the street with the headlights turned off.

"The lights are off!" I said, jumping back into bed. "You've got to do something!"

P said nothing, sighed and got out of bed. I, of course, stayed in bed with my cell phone flipped open, ready for the "Call 911!" command.

P went to the sliding glass doors and watched the van. "They're doing something, but I can't tell what it is. I'd say dumpster diving, but it's the wrong day."

"Well, don't you think we should do something? Call someone?" I asked.

"No. If they come back through again, I'll call the sheriff."

With that, we went to bed. But the very next Saturday, the van was back. Same time, same creepiness. I was amped.

"I bet they're taking notes, trying to see who works 3rd shift, who might be on vacation, who lives alone."

P wasn't so sure. Even though I was practically begging him to call the cops, he resisted. "What are we going to tell them? There's a weird van driving around?"

"Exactly!" I said. "We're concerned citizens!"

He shook his head no and again told me that if they came around again, he'd call the sheriff.

As you can probably guess, I'm on high-alert at all times. I have hiding places around the house already picked out, and have an escape route (inside and outside) mapped out pending a burglary. I'm suspicious of almost all strangers. Is this guy really a vacuum cleaner salesman or is he just here to see if we have nice stuff? (So far, we've either been visited by legitimate salespeople or our stuff isn't that nice.)

I'm even suspicious of kids selling stuff door-to-door. A few weeks ago, we had a young kid, probably 11 or 12, knock on our door to sell us the Sunday newspaper. Something about selling enough subscriptions to win a day trip to Cedar Point. He'd told us he'd never been there before. Or Kings Island or any other amusement park, for that matter. I might not be a fan, but that broke my heart a little, so I wrote out a check even though he didn't have an official badge or anything. Felt pretty good about myself, too.

But the following Sunday? No paper. I checked my online banking account everyday, waiting for the check to clear. I was sure he was part of some dirty scam operated by shady adults. Finally, this past Thursday, it cleared for the correct amount. I was relieved, but still wondering if I would actually get a Sunday paper.

I'm telling you, scam artists are everywhere. Just waiting for you to let your guard down. But not me, I'm ready. Like last night, for example. Another Saturday night, except this night, I was waiting. And I was not disappointed.

The van was back.

Same time, starting and stopping all the way down the street until it came to a rest just outside our house. We were still; everything was quiet except for the hum of the engine. And then, a loud SMACK!

The sound? The Sunday paper, of course.

Perfect For My Rainy Day Mood

Mr. Howie Long, I Apologize

You win. Everybody loves your flat top. So continue to rock it with confidence.

Another win? According to my super-scientific poll, nobody confuses you with Howie Mandel.