The 'Big Red Spaceship Car' that caused a time rift

Over the past week, I feel like I've aged 10 years. When my wife and I went out looking for a new car, I was thinking of the sporty Subaru WRX, or maybe the bold Toyota FJ Cruiser.

We came home with a Dodge Caravan: 17 inch wheels, inferno red, nine speakers, I was ready to roll.

And what was our first road trip? Turtleback Zoo!

As we cruised down the road I wondered why my office mates gave me such a hard time when I tried to show it off.

"I remember those days," one groaned.

"I just got free myself," said another. "I couldn't wait to get out of that thing."

"But it's got the sports suspension," I countered.

That gave everyone a good laugh.

Luckily, my wife and I suffer from the same delusion and we were totally happy with our purchase.

"Put on Dan Zanes," said my son.

Dan Zanes, good idea, I thought to myself as I hit play and started the folk music sing-along.

How could anyone not think this minivan was cool?

"Comfy back there?" I asked as the minivan that my son named "Big Red Spaceship Car" floated along. This was certainly a new phase in my life.

The time shift caused by purchasing a minivan was not unlike the effect caused in the movie "It's a Wonderful Life" when the scene jumps from young boy George Bailey to a fully grown Bailey in a fedora.

Viewers first meet him as an adult holding a suitcase. This scene perfectly illustrates why I love my minivan.

Just like the jumbo suitcase that wide-eyed George Bailey intended to buy, the minivan represents possibilities.

Family trips to Colorado to see Owen's grandparents, Florida to see my cousin...the same cousin I teased for buying a minivan not so long ago!

My mind switched to thinking of him. We always had fun camping together as kids.

I should take the family camping with the minivan I thought as I took off my fedora and put it on the passenger seat.

Yes, I was wearing a fedora, and yes, I was driving in the right lane.

I do feel older in my new minivan, but maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Listing 10 things that make me happy

Last week, I wrote about the thrill of negotiating and how much I was looking forward to car shopping. Of course that was followed by a week of car shopping. While showrooms are like toy stores to me and cars are the ultimate toys, there is also the dark side.

Writing last week's column through rose-colored glasses, I must admit that I forgot about the stare-downs, the deadlines, the ambiguity of option packages.

Memorial Day weekend car shopping got tense.

To regroup I tried a trick found in Barbara Ann Kipfer's book, "Field Guide to Happiness," which features many quick fixes for whenever your happy meter is running low.

The first exercise suggested in the book is listing 10 things that make you happy. A simple idea, and after a weekend of finagling, simple's exactly what I needed.

1) A job in journalism that seems pretty secure: Everyone knows that many papers are sinking fast. Luckily, the paper where I am the features editor -- Suburban Trends -- is in the black. So, I get to continue to do what I love while a lot of my colleagues are having a much harder time.

2) Time alone with my 2-year-old son Owen: Mommy had to work on Saturday last weekend. That meant that Daddy (me) and Owen had an entire day of guy fun, which included playing with cars, playing piano (we have a red plastic toddler piano next to our Yamaha) and mopping. (I am a bit of a neat-freak and I'm happy to report that so is my boy!)

3) Barbeque at my parents to start the summer: I love going to my parents' house. It always feels like a holiday to me. Dad at the grill means summertime.

4) Test driving cars--is there a guy out there who doesn't think test driving cars is fun?

5) Seeing Owen at his neighbor Thunder's house: Thunder is the dog next-door. Owen is eternally curious about the gray terrier he hears through his bedroom window. If he doesn't hear Thunder barking, he runs over to his window and stands on his tippy-toes, "Thunder sleeping? Thunder eating? Maybe Thunder inside?" he'll ask with a shrug. Up close, Thunder's a little scary to Owen. But being perched between Mommy and Daddy at a picnic table at "Thunder's house" was an adventure.

6) Sitting at a neighbor's for yet another barbeque: you can never have too many barbecues on Memorial Day weekend.

7) The opening of the near-by lake

8) The mysterious flowers my wife planted that deer pass up and have neighbors scratching their heads: there are many, many deer in my town and my wife has managed to plant these tall purple flowers that remain in tact while other gardens get chewed down.

9) The three day weekend

10) Hearing Owen suffer a kiss attack from my wife in his room as I type in my office: If Owen stands in "the kissing corner" in his room, it means one thing -- a "kiss attack." I know it sounds corny, but oh how it makes him cackle!

Kipfer suggests making your list soothing and paying attention to moments of awareness -- things that are a little deeper than finding money on the sidewalk.

Throughout much of Memorial Day weekend, what really made me smile was how much my son loves me. While car shopping he wore a slouch hat because I wear slouch hats.

Sometimes, he gives my wife and my mom a hard time making them squirm as he picks at his food when they want nothing more than to see him fill his belly with a substantial meal.

But if I make a turkey and cheese sandwich for myself and make an extra one and put it on a plate next to mine and sit him in a "big boy chair" -- he'll eat the whole thing. No muss, no fuss.

I'm not sure who enjoys that more, him or me...

The guilty pleasure of morbid curiosity

The Moai are a collection of statues that cover the beaches of Easter Island — big stone faces scattered across barren land.

Researchers posit that around 9000 B.C., Polynesian mariners discovered the
isolated island and settled it.

They made their homes under its palm trees. At first there were only a few dozen settlers. They thrived in an island paradise where the palm trees reached 60 feet into the air.

The settlers used wood from the giant trees to construct homes and boats. They successfully fished in the island’s waters, and society boomed.

To thank their gods for their prosperity they made large idols, the Moai. The largest statues weighed 86 tons and were 33 feet tall, according to Wikipedia.

They fashioned ropes and ramps from the palm trees that allowed them to handle the large offerings, which archeologists think were carved to resemble ancestors who were revered as gods.

The population was advanced for its time, and with each generation, its numbers grew. By the year 1500 B.C., there were 15,000 islanders. But the island couldn’t support a population that size. Resources were depleting, so they splintered into factions and fought for what was left.

Then the story got even spookier. From the clues left behind, historians surmise that even in the face of a catastrophe, the natives weren’t able to change their ways.

They raced to the end of their days, speeding their own extinction. The more resources dwindled, the more they fought.

Each tribe built more and more monoliths to stand guard over them as they fought. When they ran out of tree bark to make ramps to carry the statues, they let them stand in the quarries where they were carved.

According to Time magazine, there are 877 statues on the island today in various states of completion. But the islanders’ pleas to the heavens went unheard. Deforestation wreaked havoc on their soil. They ran out of wood to build fires and boats.

By the time the island was rediscovered by the Dutch in 1772, there were about 2,000 people left. They were cannibals living in caves with no memory of the great civilization responsible for the statues around them.

There are some fantastic theories on what happened to the people of Easter Island, like their technical skills were so advanced, they must have been an alien race who abandoned the island to go back to their home world.

But the exotic story of Easter Island doesn’t need sci-fi embellishments. The reality paints a heart-stopping picture that grabs our attention. And people learn best when emotion is involved.

Picturing the island’s exotic stone faces against the night sky sets our neurons on rapid fire, and the car crash of a once prosperous civilization is laid out so we can learn vicariously.

Morbid curiosity may seem like a guilty pleasure, but that’s how we learn what happens when we don’t play by the rules. Rubbernecking allows us to see the results when mistakes are made.

Do people ask for miracles these days?

"When was the last time you asked for a miracle?" I asked friends and family a couple of weeks ago.

I was curious how they'd respond.

Putting religious interpretations of miracles aside as well as scientific, historical or cultural vantage points, I was more curious about people's expectations.

What does modern man, scratch that, post-post-modern man expect from his world? Past the age of reason, past the enlightenment, have we become disenchanted thanks to our focus on facts?

In general, I think the answer is yes. To me, it seems that beyond the half-hearted attempt of Santa Claus, we have painted ourselves into a corner.

What corner? The idea that anything could happen to me in this great big, mysterious world is what excited me as a child.

That excitement translated into dreams and those dreams nourished a desire to be the first one out the door everyday. Every plane that hung from the sky, every car that whizzed by populated my world with possibilities.

Outside of the realm of religion, the purpose of miracles has a lot to do with our expectations. Does it sound over the top if I say that I expect my life to be miraculous?

Out of the dozen or so people that I surveyed, only three had given any thought to asking for a miracle as an adult. What do we lose in our rational preference for proof?

If you don't ask, you don't get, as the saying goes.

Years ago, in my previous career, a co-worker who was more successful at what he did than I was, walked me through an intriguing exercise. It went something like this:

"Picture yourself down the road, years from now," he said. "Let's say you're 30. How much money do you want to be making by then?"

I replied, "$30,000."

"OK, now that you have that in your head," he said, "you'll figure it out."

I thought it was an absurdly brief and arbitrary exercise. I picked that number to be my future salary because it sounded like a lot of money at the time. As it turned out, the goal wasn't a hard one to achieve.

My friend's method worked. It sounded like a shot in the dark to me at the time. How would I go from making $24,000 to $30,000 in just a few years, especially since I found my way into that company as a temp?

The path forward was unknown to me. Without the aid of facts, it was a leap. But it was a leap that I believed was possible. And what if I chose to be a realist?

The odds that a temp, who knew nothing about the field in which he landed, would be able to almost double his salary in such a short time seemed low. (I actually overshot my goal by a lot!)

A realest might have assessed himself at the bottom of the totem-pole and thought lower expectations would be prudent.

"If it is something you can receive by asking is it a miracle?" my mother-in-law, Ann asked.

That is the key point here. Many times, what you believe determines the outcome.

"Are hoping and asking the same?" Ann continued. "Is a miracle bigger than a hope?"

Are people's hopes big enough these days?

My dad once offered advice that would fit well here.

"There are many reasons why you can't do things in life, but if you can think of one reason why you can, go for it," he said.

Shooting down the possibility of miracles in your life takes away that reason. This is the corner we should avoid painting ourselves into.

When was the last time you asked for a miracle? Is there one that you wish were possible?

For more of The Joy of Life, visit genemyers.com.

The joy of playing the blues

Harmonica player Charlie Musselwhite was born in Mississippi, went to high school in Memphis and started his blues career in Chicago. He’s played with Little Walter, John Lee Hooker and Sonny Boy Williamson – to name a few.

If it has to do with the blues, Musselwhite has been there and done it with the people who started it.

At 65, he is going strong. He still loves to play and finds inspiration everywhere he goes.

Gene: What got you interested in playing harmonica?

Charlie: They were always around. Harmonicas are kind of a common toy for kids. I liked the sound. It sounds so real. It sounds like a voice. Playing the blues on harmonica is like singing without words.

Gene: What is the hardest part of playing harmonica?

Charlie: There are things about the harmonica that are very different than other instruments. It's the only instrument that you can't see what you are doing. You also can't see what anybody else is doing on it either. It's also the only instrument that you breathe in and out of. Since you can't see what you are doing, you have to have a mental image of what you are playing. You can't watch your fingers.

Gene: Did you have a teacher?

Charlie: Since you can't really see anything it's hard to have a teacher. You can talk about it with somebody. And you can listen, be influenced, and soak it up by osmosis. In that sense I had many teachers, especially in Memphis. I knew Will Shade in Memphis. He was a harmonica player. I learned some stuff from him.

Gene: I've tried to play harmonica. I can play single notes and I understand how the instrument's structured, but I can't bend notes. Any tips?

Charlie: One way to think about it is this: When you are talking, you use your tongue to form vowels. With the harmonica, if you think of pronouncing "OY," like in bOY, if you are drawing on a note [sucking in] and you act like you are pronouncing OY with your tongue at the same time, you will notice that the sound changes. That is the beginning of bending. Just keep concentrating on that and you will learn how to bend [notes].

Gene: Do you play a $20 Marine Band [harmonica] now?

Charlie: What I like is the Seydel. That is the oldest harmonica company that there is. It's older than Hohner. Out of the box, it's the best harmonica that you can buy. It's handmade in Germany. All of the Hohners are mass-produced in China now. [Hohner harmonicas used to be handmade in Germany as well.] These are still made the old-fashioned way.

Gene: What advantages do harmonica players have over other musicians?

Charlie: You can carry it in your pocket!

Gene: Do you have any favorite harmonica solos?

Charlie: I like the solo that Big Walter played on "Walking by Myself" by Jimmy Rogers. I like the solo that Will Shade played on "Kansas City Blues.”

Gene: Are you still learning new tricks on the harmonica?

Charlie: It's endless. I'm still learning. The more I learn the more I see there is to learn. The smarter I get, the dumber I feel (laughs).

Gene: What inspires you?

Charlie: Life (laughs). Blues is about life. There is a lot of inspiration all around if you are tuned into it. Let it speak to you.

Gene: How do you let it speak to you?

Charlie: By staying alive. Keep your mind open and stay active.

Gene: You've played with a lot of great musicians over the years, from Gus Cannon to Tom Waits, are there moments in your career that stand out as favorites for you?

Charlie: There are so many: Sitting in with Muddy Waters or playing Radio City Music Hall with Tom Waits and playing the Harp Battle with Mark Hummel and Kim Wilson, that's a lot of fun!