Author: Jon Gauger

The glory of springtime in bloom withered with a rude awakening this week.  All I wanted to do was "simply" remove the worn wood siding on our storage barn and replace it with new. As it has been 35 years since we built the thing, it was overdue for an overhaul. After emptying the ten-by-ten structure (a process which somehow filled our entire garage), I noticed the problem. One corner of the plywood floor had succumbed to rot. As my fingers pressed deep into the spongy pulp, I knew this would be no small project.  Time for a trip to…

I am confused. In our town—perhaps yours as well—we see lots of signs encouraging us to “stay safe—stay home.”  Point taken.  COVID-19 continues to threaten and kill. Yet our town also features signs that say, “Businesses are open. Shop local.”  Hmm….what are we really saying? "Stay home unless you have dough to spend, and unless you intend to spend that dough locally?"  Or maybe the intended message is "Spend your money here first—THEN stay home.  To me, it's a mixed message. Sure, I get the fact that everybody needs milk and eggs and toilet paper.  Which means there is a…

On April 15, it snowed.   Enough to cover the grass.  Enough that I could carve a heart on the windshield for my wife.  Enough to cause a 50 vehicle pile-up on Chicago's Kennedy Expressway, sending twelve people to the hospital. It's tempting to call this an "inconvenient snow."  It is spring, after all.  April showers, not April blizzards, are supposed to bring May flowers. For anybody now dealing with an insurance headache and a car in the body shop, it certainly was an inconvenient snow. Me, I took a walk in it. I made sure that hike took me past…

I'm still not sure how it happened.  At one point, we were playing, laughing, and enjoying the antics that provoke little tykes to giggle (my specialty).  Then, rather abruptly,  a look of fright oozed all over three-year-old Ava's face.  Something had startled her, but I didn't know exactly what.  And her response was unforgettable. “Hey, you scared myself!” She blurted accusingly. I couldn’t resist teasing her.  So I fired back, “You scared myself?” “No!” She insisted.  “You scared MY-self!” (Emphasis on the “my”).   “Oh,” I feigned understanding.  You scared MY-self.” “No!” Ava insisted.  “You scared MY-self.” Whatever the original fear…

My wife and I have proudly joined the 2010s.  We now have Netflix on our TV.  Since all the cool kids went there a long time ago, I guess we're not so cool. But we are enjoying a lot of what we see.  From tours of English castles to hilarious movies to mind-expanding  (and downright entertaining) TV series, it’s been fun. But as delightfully distracting as Netflix is for a season like Coronavirus, it flows into our homes with a deceptive undertow. I shouldn't be surprised by the unrelenting push to watch more episodes of whatever we just watched.  But…

My red American Tourister suitcase—the one with the nice spinner wheels—lived a rough life and died an early death.  Despite the widely held belief that duct tape can fix anything, Ol’ Red gave up the ghost.  Black residue from countless strips of adhesive oozed from a gash that ran most of the length of the top seam, and it didn’t take a doctor to know it was time for the final trip—out to the curb. Yet, based on the rattle of  Ol' Red's innards, I figured I ought first to perform a sort of autopsy to see what might be…

“I just dunno if I did the right thing or not."  Jack shifted back and forth from one leg to the other.  My friend was upset, so naturally, I urged Jack to spill his story. “It was midafternoon in downtown Chicago,” he recalled.  “I walked past a truck being unloaded outside a CVS store. Then I saw him.” “Saw who, Jack?” "This guy in a wheelchair was coming toward me.  As I got closer, he somehow managed to flip his wheelchair over on its back.  Made me suspicious, so my antennae were up." “Did you help him up, Jack?” “Well…no. …

I am weary of Coronavirus. I am weary of the apocalyptic level of coverage found on every news channel or website. I am weary of watching health experts and reporters and news anchors each vying to outdo each other in a bid for higher ratings. I am weary of trying to sort through what is hype and what is truth. Weary of wondering whether we'll get to go on an upcoming trip. Weary of wondering if I've made a fatal error because I haven't bought 900 rolls of toilet paper.  Weary of the dizzying stock market maelstrom (can our retirement…

It controls nearly every aspect of my work life. With it, I can freely access buildings, elevators, studios, and locked doors. Without it, I am stuck on the outside. I’m referring to my Moody Radio security ID, of course.  The one I misplaced. For about a week, I borrowed a Lost ID card from our Public Safety team but delayed replacing my own.  What held me back, you ask?  Vanity. Like most employee IDs, ours feature a prominent photo of your face. Having been treated by a dermatologist (who burned off several areas of facial skin), it didn't seem like…

It’s a verse I wish wasn’t in the Bible. Do you relate? I’m referring to Psalms 34:1, a harmless—if not pleasant-sounding—verse.  David said, “I will bless the Lord at all times.  His praise shall CONTINUALLY be in my mouth” (emphasis added). The ad campaign humorously asks, “What’s in your wallet?” This Psalm asks, “What’s in your mouth?” I wish David hadn’t used that word in Psalms 34:1, continually.   Because a lot of the time, you’ll hear complaining coming out of my mouth.  Or criticism.  Or worse.  What’s in your mouth? The more I study, the more convinced I am that when…