Possum Kingdom and July 4th Weekend

Despite the inauspicious beginning of family vacation, it eventually smoothed out and we ended up having a very good time. Most notable of all was playing golf with my wife for the first time.

Below: What a cool chick. Eight months pregnant and can still tee it up.

From Dallas to Wimberley

: When I visit Wimberley, particularly during the summertime, I often find myself wishing that John Hill would have kept running from the law until he found more temperate climates. But then the Hill Country sun settles, a gentle breeze cools off everything that was scorched just a few hours prior, and I find myself remembering why this is the place that reminds me of the one I love deep in the heart of Texas.

: The toughest stretch of highway was from exits 321 to 295. That is the distance from the first advertisement of Robertson’s Hams to the restaurant’s front door; it’s become one of my favorite stops along the way. In addition to the sandwich I always pick up, I also got some summer sausage and pepper-jack cheese for snacks that night.

And, yes, perhaps I did subconsciously pick up the hiking staple knowing that the next trip will not occur for a long time. Which brings me to:

: IMAX’s Grand Canyon Adventure: River at Risk was definitely worth the few months wait to see it. It was odd seeing Havasu Falls in 3-D and remembering the hike through the red rock canyon it took to get there. But as I sat in the theatre, I was, for perhaps the first time in a year, able to reflect on what an accomplishment that trip really was.

There are few things I’ll never forget that the movie didn’t show: the complete disappointment of walking 8 miles thinking of nothing other than the faucet we saw on the way down and the cool, fresh water it would surely provide only to find it didn’t work; the sheer exhaustion of walking up each thirty yard switchback and having to rest for a few minutes until enough strength was reserved to conquer the next switchback – and doing that for a mile and a half.

On the other hand, I’ll also never forget the coolness and clarity of the turquoise waters.

Geez, that was such a fun trip. Trip report begins here.

: For the past several years, I have wanted to start a Ronald Donald telescope fund.

There aren’t too many activities I enjoy more than laying out on a clear night and identifying the various stars and constellations. However, I don’t think Jackson and Ethan were as impressed as I thought they should have been.

Anyway, I’ve finally decided, after three years, that a telescope should be a purchase for several more years down the road.

One of the many highlights of the weekend was pulling out the borrowed telescope and getting a close up of Polaris, Vega, and Antares. Though the juice was worth the squeeze, it did take several minutes to get each star within the viewer and in focus. Many times, I reverted to the binoculars to make sure I was close.

Sunday night when we got home, I came across an old copy of Sky & Telescope magazine from 2006; its main article focused itself on the best way for amateur astrologers (and some professionals) to pursue this hobby: binoculars. Those I already have.

I figured it was a sign that I should be content. For now.

: And the real reason for the visit: family. While it's always good to see my immediate family, I appreciate every minute I get to spend with my grandmother, nephews, nieces, cousins, aunts, and uncles.

The Hill Country, as much as I love it, is incomplete without family.

Melissa and Neil in Salado

All In The Family

The family is expanding.

And once Bocephus arrives, he'll have many names to learn quickly.

Even then, he'll have to differentiate two Uncle Eric's (actually, one is an Erik), two Uncle Brian's, and two Uncle Chris'.

Jenny has been married for eight months to Erik. Brooke is in a serious relationship with Brian that is headed that way. Even Chris has a Callie friend whose parents he has met, I understand, at a hockey game. Quite an auspicious beginning, based on my own history. Not to be left out, Nikki is on-and-off with the Foz and Hilary is playing the field.

I mention all of this because of a series of events from a few Sunday's ago. Larry, Brian, and I were in the kitchen cleaning. Brian, as he is quite capable of doing often, said something stupid that got him in trouble with Colleen. While Colleen tore into Brian, I couldn't help but chuckle and watch with delight. Larry asked me if I was amused and I responded that I felt like the old dog with a bunch of pups running around.

Before that incident, we were all talking about how several months ago when Erik got The Talk with Larry. He did something stupid, as he is quite capable of doing often, Jenny told Colleen, Colleen told Larry, and Larry and Erik had a little conversation. I feigned jealousy at never getting that talk, the one that occurs between disappointed father-in-law and chastised son-in-law.

Each Sunday evening, Melissa and I watch Brothers and Sisters. It's not great, but has some redeeming qualities. Mostly, I watch it because it reminds me of my in-laws. It's a show where somebody's cellphone is always ringing to update with the latest gossip and the men involved with a family member suddenly become invisible when drama shows up on the front door, which is always.

And I'm becoming one of them.

A few weeks ago, Jenny left what turned out be a completely innocuous voice message on Melissa's phone. What threw us off, however, was when she told Melissa to call her back immediately. Melissa off-handedly speculated that she was probably pregnant. Suddenly, my acquired propensity for family gossip kicked in. We called Brooke - nothing. We called Colleen - she was happy over the phone but nothing. Chris, nothing. Jenny didn't answer her phone and we didn't hear from her for the rest of the weekend. Obviously, the gossip ended up where it started - with nothing.

Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden

I needed a weekend of irresponsibility. While this weekend may not have been the best timing, it nonetheless occurred.

Friday night, I became a little agitated looking at the most recent copy of Backpacker Magazine and looking at all the places I will not visit any time soon. I must admit it left me in a rather sour mood and was not a good way to start off the weekend.

After a wonderful night's rest where I woke up confused about where I was or what day it was, my mood greatly improved. Melissa and I watched SportsCenter while we read the paper, ate breakfast, and talked about the day's plans. Melissa was planning to spend the morning with some friends before we drove to Waco; the only thing I had to do was attend the morning's yoga class.

We stopped talking as the anchors focused attention on the Mississippi State-Alabama game held during the SEC tournament. With a little more than two minutes left in overtime a tornado passed through downtown Atlanta and caused steel girders inside the arena to shake and a portion of the roof to rip open.

For a several minutes, players, coaches, and spectators shifted focus from the fleeting importance of the game to their own survival that evening. I commented to Melissa that it was one of the few times in life where sports seem trivial and silly. Almost all other times, however, sports are representative of every value and ideal I cherish; and Saturday proved no exception.

Late in the afternoon, our drive to Waco got canceled too late to go to Ethan's soccer game. Not wanting to waste the entire day, I decided to attend a college lacrosse game.

I had read in the morning's paper that Dallas was to host the Patriot Cup, two college matches between Navy and Holy Cross followed by Army and Rutgers. By coincidence or design, the games were held the same week that marks the fifth year anniversary of the war. It was the first time Dallas had ever hosted a lacrosse event of this nature and all proceeds are to go to the Wounded Warrior Project.

The Long Gray Line was in full force as the crowd of a couple thousand was pro-Army. Many of the older men in the stands are West Point alumni and came to support their school.

[On a side note, I have never attended a preppier event. I don't have much use for yuppies but I love preppies. And if you gotta ask what the difference is, you'll never understand. A hint? Yuppies are made; preppies are born.

I have never seen more pink clothing or collars turned toward the sky. I saw one young mother wearing madras shorts, a yellow cable-knit sweater, and green clogs. I was at home.]

The game was fun to watch and the aura awe-inspiring. When the team ran out of the locker-room carrying the American flag, it was impossible to not remember that these kids are not just student-athletes but officers-in-training. Even how they aligned themselves on the sidelines (from plebe to first class) showed order and discipline. At half-time, a wounded veteran came to mid-field and accepted a check on the organization's behalf.

The game was not without levity, however. When a Black Knight defensive player received a foul for slashing, a fan stood up and yelled to the ref, "Give the kid a break; he just got back from Iraq!" It was received with the spirit in which it was delivered and fans from both teams laughed.

Army won the game 12-11 on a last minute goal and I was able to leave the game happy and no longer feeling the immediate urgency of moving from one responsibility to another.

Sunday was a continuation of my no-responsibility weekend. As is often the case, I felt a bit guilty that I would have to leave Melissa at home to participate in my selfish activities; I don't think she felt too bad, as she was able to have her own weekend of irresponsibility.

That afternoon, I played golf with Larry, Chris, and Erik. We enjoyed a leisurely lunch, hit balls on the range, and enjoy a nice round with the temperature (obviously not the scores) in the mid-70's.

Last October, the last time we played the Fazio course, I had one of my worst rounds in several years. I don't even remember keeping score after nine holes. Yesterday, however, was a wonderful day and I ended up having my best score at Stonebriar.

I was able to go to bed Sunday night fully grateful for my life. While everything is not exactly as I may wish, everything in my life is wonderful to the point of near-perfection.

Not important to tell anywhere else but still pertinent to the weekend, I leave the following:

• I enjoy spending time with all my in-laws, but particularly my two youngest sisters-in-law. Both are hilarious in their own unique way and are always good sources of amusement. Saturday at dinner, Hilary surprised us both by her familiarity with Rilo Kiley. She was richly rewarded with a concert ticket Melissa never asked for or wanted in the first place. Likewise, Nicole and I joke around too much and that occasionally gets her in trouble. After Sunday supper, I told Nikki not to open up the oven door or the heat would be released and it'll take longer for the brownies to bake; to spite me, she opened up the oven door and gave me a dirty look. I had a handful of grapes and bounced one off her head; she wasn't expecting it and stomped on the grape as she walked away. Her dad wasn't too pleased with squashed fruit on his kitchen floor and I still feel guilty about getting her in trouble. On the other hand, I had nothing to do with the dead rabbit incident.

• After the kitchen had been cleaned up and Colleen was finishing wiping down the counters, Melissa found a chewed toothpick with a wad of gum balled up on one end. Often finding the same coffee-table litter at our house, Melissa started to yell at me for the disgusting habits I bring into other's houses. I had no idea what she was talking about and we both started to laugh when Larry yelled at Melissa to leave his gum alone. Once again, Melissa cursed herself for marrying someone just like her father and once again, Larry and I could only chalk it up to genius finding genius.

I'll Stay Close to Home for a While

On Christmas morning last December, Melissa surprised me with the most wonderful present I've ever received - affirmative news that she is pregnant with our first child. We told family and close friends but wanted to keep the news semi-private in case events turned for the worse.

When Melissa presented me with this news, I eventually began to wonder how it would affect my hiking trip. Selfish, I know, but then again, I guess that's why it took us six years until we starting talking about a family. Regardless, I thought about staying home to be with her but we both realized that we can't put our daily lives on hold just in case something bad happens.

I was able to leave for six days with a fairly clear conscience and optimism that nothing devastating would transpire in my absence. Before I left, I made sure Melissa understood that I would positively and in no way be able to make contact with her for four days. Once I talked to her on Monday afternoon, I would not make contact until sometime Friday late afternoon; in case of an emergency (on my end), I left our daily itinerary and the park dispatch number for her to call Saturday evening if she hadn't heard from me on the expected date.

New Years Eve, Melissa went to her dad's house to spend the night. Late that night, she felt she needed to be rushed to the emergency room. The doctors did little to calm her fears and I think she left even more scared than she was upon admission; a few days later, she went to her regular doctor and took the necessary tests to confirm viability. After that, all she could do is wait. For test results, for me.

In the meantime, I was enjoying rugged life outdoors oblivious to everything that was going on with my wife and my child. My main concerns were how much water I had in my pack and whether I could continue to put one foot in front of the other until it was time to stop. More about that later, however.

Despite Melissa's repeated assurances to her family concerning my incommunicado status, they found it ridiculous that the rangers could not contact me and relay an urgent message. After all, the park is only 1,200 square miles. My mother-in-law called park dispatch where she was reassured that I was well outside the range of communication and at best, would come back to contact with the world in a few days.

On the evening of the third day, I suddenly and without cause became worried about Melissa. While this wasn't my first trip where I couldn't regularly check in with her and normally would not have been concerned, I felt something wasn't quite right. For some reason, I couldn't keep my mind on the trail. I crawled up with my own inner thoughts and before I knew it, I had walked about half a mile ahead of the party. I told myself that I was going on ahead to scout a place to camp for the night before it got too dark but in reality, I just needed to be alone for a while.

Once it got too dark to safely travel alone, I rested in a wash and waited for everybody to catch up. We walked together the rest of the evening and I felt much better although I kept my worries to myself.

Suffice it to say, the hike ended successfully and without incident, as expected. Although I had hoped to call Melissa by noon of that Friday, we did not finish until 3:30.

Melissa and I do not have a land line; we each carry mobile phones. If Melissa doesn't recognize a number from her caller i.d., she is less likely to answer the call. Fortunately, she answered mine. We talked for a few minutes before she told me everything that had happened in the five previous days.

I felt helpless being stuck seven hours from my wife. Although I knew Chris would offer to go out of his way to get me back to Dallas earlier than planned, Melissa assured me she was okay and there was nothing that could be done until the test results came back that afternoon. I told her that since I was calling from a pay phone, I was still several more hours away from being in an area where I could get mobile-to-mobile service.

After I got off the phone with Melissa, Nate pointed out the message board outside the ranger's office that instructed me to call home as soon as possible. Fortunately, I did not see it before I called or it may have caused greater concern.

One of my favorite things about hiking is the first meal afterward. The cheeseburger, Coke, and cobbler were just okay instead of the greatness I had looked forward too. I was still quite worried but everybody assured me that was a natural part of prenatal fatherhood so I might as well get used to it.

By the time I was able to pick up mobile service in Alpine, Melissa received her test results back and to our relief, they confirmed a viable pregnancy. She was anxious, however, to have her husband safely back home; I was just as anxious to be home with her. Nevertheless, we drove back to San Marcos that night.

Fortunately, Larry and Colleen were traveling to Waco where I could meet and drive back with them. And although I was grateful my parents were able to share a meal with her parents, it only meant that I would be delayed in getting back to Dallas by a few more hours.

Once home, everything quickly returned to normal. She was able to get the rest she needed and I was able to take care of her like she needed. More importantly, she quickly resumed normal pregnancy benchmarks and we began the process of converting the extra bedroom to a nursery and choosing furniture.

My hiking clothes have been cleaned and my gear is back in the garage where it belongs. It'll remain there for quite some time, I've been assured.

The hiking trip re-provided a good lesson about belaying fears and assessing current situations.

We can, and should, do all in our power to prepare for a series of events. Once they begin to occur, however, all we can do is take care of the present. We can't do anything about the past and can't take control of the future. All we can do is put one foot in front of the other until we get to our destination.

Cent' anni

Through an elective process, I chose my spouse. It took me quite some time, however, to realize the full extent of the package deal.

The first several years of marriage, I felt like an outsider in-law. Their family dynamic is quite different than that of my immediate family. Birthdays are the equivalent of national holidays, national holidays are multiple-day celebrations, and every pseudo holiday is just another reason to buy a card and a present.

And each Sunday is another opportunity to hear the latest Chris story from the weekend.

When we first got married, Melissa's grandfather, Bob, started to sign his cards to me "Grandpa"; he'd leave the same moniker on voice mails.

My initial reaction was one of rebellion. My paternal grandfather died when I was 6; my maternal grandfather, when I was 25. I didn't want to disrespect my consanguine grandfathers by adding another; I felt it was subtraction by addition.

I quickly realized the absurdity of that and immediately felt an additional closeness to Melissa's family.

When he was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago, we realized that every family gathering would be prefixed with "the last" - the last birthday, the last Father's Day, etc.

Three weeks ago, Bob's final birthday party coincided with my family's reunion. It was understood from the beginning that Melissa would not join me but that I would hurry back as quickly as possible to participate. Apparently, it wasn't quick enough. Bob wouldn't start lunch until I got there.

When he became too sick and had to be hospitalized last Monday, it was a pleasure to spend evenings with him even though the moments of recognition became fewer. On Friday, he made it back home in time to see the picture of his dear wife before his body shut down.

Next Friday, Bob will be buried next to his wife in the Dallas-Fort Worth National Cemetery. He will receive full military honors and will be put to rest by Taps.

The next time a car needs to be fixed, a Mav is no-called by a cheatin' ref, or a Cowboy lineman is called for holding by a cheatin' ref, we'll think of Bob and miss him.

Well, it's been ten years and maybe more since I first set eyes on you.

Actually, it's only been nine years but never skip a chance to quote Zeppelin.

A little less than a full decade ago, I had been on my first post-collegiate job for about three weeks. I was the first-hire of a newly created four-person department.

Nine years ago today, my boss told me that the newest hire was going to come in and fill out some paperwork before she officially started the next week; her name was Melissa.

Melissa and I chatted for a little bit. She was cute but the last thing I wanted to do was date somebody I worked with.

Several months down the road, we started dating. Several months after that, we got engaged.

Through our employment, we worked side by side for several years.

Through a series of miracles and several acts of charity (few of them mine), we're still working side by side.

Her style is new but the face is the same as it was so long ago,
But from her eyes, a different smile like that of one who knows.

Easter or Christmas?

As usual, the story starts off with Melissa. She, Colleen, Jenny, and Nikki spent most of the day tasting wedding cakes; I had only planned on yard work and the Masters. After yard work, however, Larry called and asked if Chris and I wanted to drive down to Valley Mills and look at the bluebonnets; the rain from several weeks ago really brought out the bloom. Besides, everybody knows the Masters doesn't start until the back nine on Sunday, anyhow.

Several years ago, Larry and his brothers bought 160 acres out by Lake Whitney. It's primarily used for hunting and to get away from the women-folk. No better reason for a road trip.

It had been a cold day in Frisco with occasional flurries but once we got to Waxahachie the snow really started to fall. For about thirty seconds, we grew concerned at being iced in; since none of us had ever seen bluebonnets and snow at the same time, we pressed on.

A few years ago, they bought an old trailer. It's comfy and a wonderful respite after coming in from the cold.

Just to the right, a dug-out 20' in diameter sets; it's used for the campfire. On November nights, it's the perfect setting for swapping stories while listening to the train and the sounds from the high school football game a few miles away.



Ol' Yeller - the work truck. Nobody knows how many miles she has on her; but she runs like a horse.

Sure enough, the entire field was covered with bluebonnets.

On the far left about 130 yard in front of the truck, just beyond the clearing, five deer (two visible in the picture) stared at us before bolting off west.

It seems these pictures should inspire some Robert Frost-like poem. Snow, a field of flowers, and a trail.

Bitter Taste In My Mouth

I just got back from my father-in-law's house from perhaps the worst night of cards I have ever had.

Sure, sounds like the beginning story of any sore loser.

Let me say this, however: I have never left his house in the hole and have left ahead several times.

But tonight, I lost four hands on an ace-kicker. Once, I lost with pocket bullets to a flush on the river. Un-be-lievable.

What made it worse, I was one of the blinds at least three of those times. I had already paid to see the flop and getting out would be just dumb in that situation.

There was only one hand I folded where I should have stayed in. After having lost a hand I honestly felt I should have won, I got out with a king/duck. Yeah, I know - pay to see the flop and try to pair up the cowboy; I know that - but the two scared me. I was still shell-shocked and I got out too early. Of course, the king showed up on the turn. That was the only hand I misplayed.

I don't mind losing to Larry - he's a good player and our money changes hands quite often. He's either very up or very down. I've only seen Burger down once; he doesn't slow play too often (unlike me), but he bets wisely. I've only played against Mike once; the only good thing is that his read is now obvious - if he's in after the first raise, he's got something. Charles, our decorator's husband, is fun, as well. He can play some cards but he's not unbeatable.

Still, I can't complain too much. I like boys night out; with Melissa out of town for the weekend, it was fun to get out and to speak as men speak.

But tonight I've never heard truer words than those from Jack King - "Few players recall big pots they have won, strange as it seems, but every player can remember with remarkable accuracy the outstanding tough beats of his career."

Over The Weekend

Vignettes:

-- I've been reading Jeffrey Steingarten's The Man Who Ate Everything. Regular viewers of Iron Chef America will instantaneously recognize Steingarten as the curmudgeon rarely content with the food he eats. That, however, does not prevent him from polishing off each plate presented before him. He is the living embodiment of the adage to never trust a skinny cook.

Steingarten is an attorney and food critic for Vogue. He is every much the curmudgeon in his book that he is on the show.

Steingarten is never above reducing the talent of any first-class chef/owner of a Michelin rated restaurant (exceptions made for only Bobby Flay) to that of a short-order cook of a construction site roach coach. Neither does he spare criticism of his fellow judges; he has likened the insensitive palate of a fellow judge to a center field fan at Wrigley Field who just swallowed his third hot dog and guzzled his fifth beer. The guy's wit, honed at Harvard Lampoon, is as sharp as the knives in Kitchen Stadium.

He, however, is an excellent teacher of how to appreciate food.

-- We were supposed to have dinner with Nikki on Friday night before she went back to school. Nikki cancelled because she didn't want to drive in bad weather. It deprived us of her company and me from borrowing a movie over the weekend.

I texted her to express my disappointment- "Fredo, you broke my heart."

She called me a few minutes later and started off with "Who the heck is Fredo?".

Then, a couple of weeks ago, Hilary came over to watch Desperate Housewives with us. Every time Julie comes on-screen, I sing "The Rainbow Connection" because I think she looks like a Muppet. Hilary was vaguely familiar with Ms. Piggy and Kermit but didn't know what a Muppet is.

I forget that they are just kids.

- The second season of Rome started last night. Melissa and I have eagerly been waiting as the first season ended in November of 2005. Octavian is smarter and more calculating; Antony is more arrogant and cruder; Atia and Servilia meaner toward each other.

If I had to pick only one show to watch this season, I wouldn't even consider another.

Weekend Pics

At the tailgate.
Larry and Colleen.
Chris in the background makes me laugh.
"Is there no place better than Wichita Falls?"

Confining or Liberating?

My home is my refuge.

It is the place I travel to at the end of each day that signals a new day is about to begin. Each weekend, my home allows my body and mind to rest, my soul to recharge, and my wife and I to celebrate the end of a long week together.

While I try to live by the Michael Corleone rule-of-thumb regarding my work ["Don't ask me about my business, Kay"], that line of demarcation is occasionally crossed. Problems and worries follow me home each day and sometimes I need more of a retreat.

That usually entails a trip outside the Metroplex.

This weekend, we were in Wichita Falls for Nikki's homecoming weekend. I say this with very little sarcasm, but I fully enjoyed myself.

Part of the enjoyment of traveling is the small rituals that over time have become habit.

One is morning breakfast. Larry and I always meet in the lobby at 8 for breakfast. No questions asked, few excuses allowed. I bring the paper. We talk politics and sports; I make fun of A&M, he makes fun of tu. The occasional silence is comfortable and never awkward.

I was feeling a bit under the weather this weekend, however. When we got the the hotel at 9:30, the only thing I had energy for was brushing my teeth and going to bed. After tucking me in, Melissa went downstairs to her parent's room to see the rest of her siblings. As she walked in, her father was in his sleep clothes getting ready for bed himself causing Melissa to utter, "Oh my - I've married my father."

We both took it as a complement.

Saturday was full of activities with Nikki's sorority. A tour of the campus; putt-putt and go-cart racing; a tailgate at the football stadium; the homecoming football game.

It was exactly what I needed. A chance to get away and escape from my normal surroundings. A rejuvenation, as it were.

Isolation, of sorts, does have its down side. Like getting football scores from across the nation. Larry and I probably sacrificed an eardrum apiece trying to separate the announcer's voice from the static. I resorted to the next best option: calling my brother who could text message updates for the rest of the game.

Saturday night as I crawled into bed, I realized my brother's occasional messages were the only times I thought about anything outside of Wichita Falls.

The weekend was a quick retreat, but a retreat nonetheless.

I can't wait for the next one.

William Shakespeare, Poker Night, and Destiny

I always know I'm in trouble whenever my father-in-law calls me. Especially if the call is before 9 a.m. or after 9 p.m. He doesn't call to chit-chat.

Larry called at 8:15 this morning telling me to be at his house at 7 p.m. All the boys are coming over, he said. That means it's poker night. It's time to speak as men speak; to refer to each other using only last names, their hometown, or other crude nicknames.

I'm really not a big gambler. I figure that every month, I have x amount of money earmarked for entertainment. It's usually books or cd's, but I guess this month it's poker.

When I was growing up, I figured all poker games were like what I saw on M*A*S*H. A mountain of chips, cash, and watches and wedding bands in the pot; cards were always hot; winning hand was always a full house or a flush. In reality, not even close. It's a bunch of jerkies who can't decide whether to raise $.25 or $.50; trying to bluff with a pair of threes; phone calls from the wife pleading not to lose the baby's lunch money.

So I retroactively made Date Night last night. Melissa's mother, Rhonda, is visiting from Waco. Additionally, Rhonda's sister and brother-in-law (Sharon and Rod) live in town, as does Brooke (my sister-in-law). So last night, the entire family loaded up and went to see Twelfth Night performed by the Junior Players, a rather talented troupe from local magnet schools.

Being wholly unfamiliar with the play, I had to beef up on basic plot lines so I could intelligently fake my way through the play and hide my ignorance- what I do most of the time anyway.

After having seen the play, the only way to describe it is a mixture of Three's Company, The Big Sleep, and When Harry Met Sally. It's a romantic comedy where men play women's roles, women play men's roles, identities get confused, double entendres cause mass confusion, and plot lines are often distorted and left unresolved. The ending is a mixture of optimism and anguish; near-strangers marry, true loves are led to different lives, and the village idiot becomes mayor (please, no Bush 43 jokes).

The play also goes by the title What You Will. I'm not sure if Shakespeare actually comes from the Free Will school of thought when it comes to matters of the heart or if he is a believer in Destiny. He seems to say that the two are often confused for each other and are competing forces. The mind controls Free Will, the heart Destiny. Some listen to one, some to the other.

Being a big fan of the Tudor-Stuart period, I couldn't help but think about art's role in society. There is a reason the Era of Elizabeth is know for its classic literature and the Bible we use is called The King James Bible. It's because Henrys VII and VIII were too busy fighting off the foreigners, beheading barren wives, building a dynasty.

And playing Texas Hold Em when the boys came over.

So, Shakespeare, write about that.