Five Routine Minutes: Sharing A Diet Coke With Omar

I haven’t run a Five Routine Minutes post in a while. For those who haven’t seen one before, this is the most poorly illustrated series on the net. Also, many times, what’s depicted doesn’t even add up to two minutes. But I like the idea as a goofy way to tell a story, so I’m resurrecting the series.

My wife has had to work a few recent weekends. That’s not typical and we’re taking it in stride. She’s done a lot of it at home. But this weekend she knew there was an event I wanted to attend.

Artist’s note: Despite what the drawing shows, my wife does not look like me. That would be creepy. Also, my goatee does not make my face look fat.


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Five Routine Minutes – Visiting The Body Shop

You might remember me telling you of a recent run in I had with an impatient jerk a deer.

came out of nowhere Read the rest of this entry »

Five Routine Minutes: Dropping The F-Bomb

Last Saturday, the people I worked with at the police department held a party to celebrate my retirement.

It actually wasn’t that kind of party. No pitchforks and torches. There were a lot of laughs and a lot of stories told.

There was even a bubble wrap suit made for me to commemorate my resistance to everyone’s efforts to protect me over my last few months. Read the rest of this entry »

Five Routine Minutes: The Martin Luther Technique

Last week, the microwave oven in my office died. It was replaced by a toaster. As you may recall, I found the toaster inadequate an appliance for heating up soup.

I returned to work on Sunday. I was certain that, days after the microwave went into the big sleep, a new machine would be in place. After all, I work for an agency with a huge budget. This kind of expenditure was nothing in the grand scheme of things. At lunch time I went into the break room. There was a microwave on the counter. The old one.

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Five Routine Minutes: A Cauliflower Sheep

I help teach a class designed to help police officers have more effective interactions with people who are dealing with mental illnesses. My work in that class is something I really enjoy. I’m proud of the team I work with to put the training on. C.I.T. class weeks are my favorite work weeks.

People from the community bring food in for the students to snack on. It is a nice little extra treat for everyone.

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Five Routine Minutes: An Owl’s Job

An owl keeps hanging around outside my window.

An owl talking shit to me

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Five Routine Minutes: A Long Distance Call

A little background on this one. While I was in college, my family moved away. I wrote about the sordid details here. You should go look, I’ll wait.
Welcome back. My mother and I had a conversation last week about my life in Maryland after the family had moved on to North Carolina. This was one of the stories I told her.

During the last year and a half of my time in college, I lived with a family who had a home a few miles from campus. They had a spare bedroom for rent. The university matched us up and it worked for both sides. Steve, Claire and their kids were very good to me.

They were really nice people.

This was in the early eighties, so there are a couple of things that are important to know. I shared the house phone, which was in the kitchen. This was in the pre-cell phone era, so I’d talk to my parents once a week or so. Long distance calls were expensive. I couldn’t afford many of them if I wanted to pay for things like school, rent, food and dates.

Also, I had a mustache. My mustache has nothing to do with the story. But, as a visual artist, I know that you’ll see the difference in how I portray myself in this post.

During this time, my grandfather was very ill. His time was short. I’d been to visit him and was back in school for about two weeks. My routine was back to normal, but grandpa and my mom were on my mind.

One morning, I slept in later than usual. There were no classes on my schedule until close to lunch time and I’d worked late the night before. The phone rang in the kitchen.

Claire answered it. I could hear her talking as I dozed. Then she called up the stairs – “Oma, your mom’s on the phone. Are you up?” My mind started racing as soon as she said it was my mom.

There was no doubt what this call was. I jumped out of bed, put on my glasses and zipped down stairs.

Claire knew about my grandfather’s condition. She handed me the phone, touched my arm and mouthed, “I’m sorry”. But when she did it, she had the oddest look on her face. It was almost like she was stifling a laugh.

I stood in the kitchen and consoled my mother over the phone. We discussed arrangements, then I went upstairs to take a shower. By the time I came back down, Claire had taken another call from my family and gotten my flight arrangements. She even offered to drop me off at the airport.

On the way to the airport, I had a disturbing realization. I was asleep when the phone rang. Claire called me and I jumped out of bed. There was something missing in that sequence. There was only one way to clear up my concern.

Was I wearing pants?

This horrified me. I offered to move out. Claire would have none of that. She told me she knew I would never have stood around in the kitchen in jockey shorts on purpose. When I came back home, she and Steve both went out of their way to make me feel welcome.

They also got in their share of jokes until the day I graduated.


Five Routine Minutes: My Dad And A Hard Working Five Year Old

On Sunday, I took my parents to North Carolina State University. We went to see my son play with the school’s Pep Band at a women’s basketball game.

Here is a picture I drew of my folks and the Omawari-son after the game.

How do you accessorize a breast cancer awareness t-shirt?

Yes, I know it isn’t my usual caliber of work. Even Picasso had a bad day now and again.

After we had dinner, we were on the way to drop my son off at his dorm. He pointed out a favorite restaurant of his. It is a Korean place that I’ve written a “Five Minutes” post about before. The conversation reminded my Dad of an encounter he had with the owner of a shoe repair business, a Korean gentleman. Read the rest of this entry »