I guess I’m sort of old school when it comes to matters of technology. I don’t own a cell phone or have a computer at home. I don’t have a DVD player, a camcorder, a digital camera or anything else that remotely puts me anywhere into the 1990’s. My kid doesn’t own any video games or the like to provide her with entertainment. Christ, I don’t even have cable television and yes, when I barbecue, which is quite often by the way, I prefer coals over a gas grill. As a matter fact, the only tools that I can use with any degree of confidence are a knife, a fork and the occasional pen.

I guess that’s why words are so important to me. I could show you thousands of pictures but they don’t hold tones, the inflections, the timing or the body language that go so far in the telling of a decent tale. Don’t get me wrong, all of those devices that I mentioned previously have their place in this world and for many of you I’m sure they’ve become quite the necessity. I just don’t think that they can tell the whole story the way words do, some of the magic is somehow lost.

I’ve often wished I could put a frame around certain little things that occur and make my life what is. This way, I could remember them the way they should be remembered. I think that’s why I spend a lot of time daylogging. Maybe someday, somebody else will read these words and realize that every moment we’ve had, whether written down for posterity’s sake or not, is precious and I would encourage others to do the same.

Anyway, I think it was this Wednesday last when borgette made a somewhat unexpected visit to casa borgo. I had gotten a call the night before about an impromptu little birthday party that was being held on behalf of one of the other neighborhood kids and that she would be more than welcome to attend. Arrangements were made and schedules were altered so that she could attend this most vital function. I picked her up from school around four and we made our way home. Since the festivities weren’t due to start until around seven,, we decided to have a little dinner and relax with some conversation. As the time approached, we wrapped up her present, put together a quick and dirty little birthday card and headed off down the block. I left her at my neighbors doorstep and made my way home.

For those of you who don’t know me, I’m a self-described political junkie .I like the action and the debate (especially in this coming election year) that they inspire. Even without the benefit of all of the technological marvels that I described earlier, I still try and consider myself well informed and am usually always open to a well reasoned exchange of ideas.

As it so happens, the Republican National Convention was underway and I settled unto my porch with the television on in the back round, a beer by my side and nothing but the sound of the politicians and commentators around to take my thoughts away. After a little while, my next door neighbor came out and we began discussing the upcoming elections. I guess it went on for awhile because before I knew it, my little one had returned and parked herself onto one of the chairs on the porch. She seemed content enough to just sit back and listen, a trait that I wish I would hold myself to more often.

Anyway, it was getting late and Vice President Dick Cheney was getting ready to give his acceptance speech. Not being a fan of the present administration, I said some along the lines of “This guy gives me nightmares”, gathered up my daughter and went inside.

Bedtime at my house is one of rituals. There’s the ritual of a snack, the ritual of pleading to stay up a little longer, the ritual of getting into an oversized t-shirt and the ritual of tucking her in. Then the ritual words are exchanged where we both offer up some comforting thoughts to each other in the hopes of both of us getting good nights sleep.

I made my way downstairs, intent on catching Mr. Cheney’s speech. I settled in when all of a sudden the voice from upstairs called out…

“Dad, come up here quick!”

This doesn’t happen very often. My kid is a sound sleeper and has no fear whatsoever of the night. With that thought locked in the back of my head, I rushed upstairs and asked, maybe a little frantically, what was wrong.

“Dick Cheney is under my pillow!!!”

I’m guessing she recalled my earlier comment to my neighbor, I’m guessing she might have wanted to stay up a little longer, I’m guessing she was just trying to either impress me or to just get a laugh out of me. I’m guessing all of those things but I’m hoping that one day she might read this and recall the smile her little words brought to both of our faces