Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

How did you sleep last night? Did you get the recommended 7 to 9 hours? Did you wake up refreshed? Did you greet the day in a sleep-deprived fog? Did you toss and turn and wish you could unplug your brain until morning? 

So many questions, so little rest for the weary. For me, almost anything can upset my chances to go deep sleep diving at the end of the day. Cases in point:

Rousing Sporting Events or Movies. What I watch on TV before turning in for the night can either lull or enliven me. Win or lose, a close game that goes down to the final seconds will have me replaying the key moments long after the players have showered and gone home. 

Same thing with a riveting movie that stirs me up, yanks me around, and then leaves me scratching my head about an ending I didn’t see coming. The antidote to this problem is to only watch Hallmark movies where the happy ending is predictable, or sporting events where I don’t care who wins, but that could lead to too much sleep before bedtime and not enough during the night.

Song Lyrics That Live In My Head Rent-Free. Being a word guy, I love the rhythms and flavors of language and how it can make us think, feel, relate and connect. When it comes to lyrics, this is a dangerous attraction that can lead to having a song get stuck on continuous play in your head. 

Take the quirky “Oo-De-Lally” by Roger Miller. It was first featured in the 1973 Disney animated movie Robin Hood and was more recently part of a TV spot for Google Android. It goes like this:

Robin Hood and Little John walking through the forest, laughing back and forth at what the other had to say. Reminiscing this and that and having such a good time, oo-de-lally, oo-de-lally, golly, what a day. 

Sounds harmless, right? A simple little ditty unworthy of further reflection or repetition. Tell that to my brain where “Oo-De-Lally” has played on multiple nights this week when I’m trying to fall back asleep after a trip to the bathroom.  

Unfinished Projects. Not getting closure on a project opens the door for some dead of night deliberations. A recent caulking job for a leaking shower stall is a prime example. I bought the caulk, watched 10 to 12 YouTube videos on how to do the job, cleaned out the old, moldy caulk and left the installation of the new stuff for the next day. Big mistake. Being a home handyman of limited ability, I spent half the night replaying snippets of the YouTube videos I had seen and asking myself a series of unanswerable questions, such as:

- Did I buy the right caulk?

- Did I clean out all the old caulk?

- Is one tube of caulk enough?

- Do I have a utility knife to cut the tip off the caulk tube? 

- How do I keep the pressure, speed and angle of the caulk line consistent? Should I practice first on a piece of scrap wood? Do I have any scrap wood?

- Is there a handyman I can call?

All toll, I lost three hours sleep on a project that took me 20 minutes to complete the next day.

Dream Interpretation. Dreams can be fascinating, provocative, perplexing or ridiculous – often all at the same time. This can spark futile attempts to make sense of the senseless at the expense of the shuteye I so desperately need. For example:

I dreamt I was a former child star living in a Winnebago outside of Forest City, Iowa with a small battery-powered TV and a collection of cabbage patch dolls. Interpretation: You’re better off being a late bloomer.

I dreamt my wife and I were contestants on the Amazing Race and got beaten in every event by a bickering lesbian couple from Santa Fe. Interpretation: Sometimes when you lose you win.

I dreamt I was a 400 lb. contestant on The Biggest Loser and tearfully told a trainer "I want to live to see my kids graduate college." The trainer slapped a giant chocolate chip cookie out of my hand and yelled, "Then let's get to work!" Interpretation: Relax, you don’t have kids.

I dreamt I was about to make a game-winning field goal in a big football game, but instead of kicking the ball my shoe flied off and sailed through the goal post. In the ensuing confusion, the refs count it as a goal and I’m carried off the field a hero. Interpretation: There’s a fine line between hero and zero.

Look, sleeping is a natural process essential to the restoration and recovery of vital bodily and mental functions. But “natural” and “automatic” are two different things and achieving the state of mind that produces eight uninterrupted hours of unconsciousness is a fragile pursuit. 

To keep things in perspective and improve your chances of drifting off without a struggle, I suggest reciting the following nursery rhyme each night before hitting the sack:

Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray I don’t have thoughts too deep. 

If I should wake with brain waves flowing, I’ll just roll over and say “Not going.”

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Mr. Radio Breaks His Silence

Throughout my life, I’ve had complete strangers who, upon hearing me speak, ask if I work in radio. I’m always caught off guard by the question, because any time I’ve heard my voice on recordings I cringe at what sounds to me like a nasally camp counselor struggling to convince the rowdy teenagers that I’m in charge. 

“In about five seconds I’m going to start taking away miniature golf privileges. Do not test me!”

My reservations notwithstanding, the comments keep coming. While making small talk at the dentist the other day, the hygienist said, "You have a great radio voice." 

"Actually," I told her, "I sit silently for big stretches of time writing. I might not say a single word for hours" 

"That's ironic," she said.

I suppose she had a point as I look back on years of quietly tapping the keyboard. When I’m thinking things through, my so-called radio voice is reduced to the murmurs and mutters that come with the process of herding words into something worth reading. Ironic indeed.

This whole quirk of nature is truly a mystery to me. My father had a normal speaking voice. My mother does, too. In fact, as far as I know, no other member of my family has been mistaken for an announcer or radio personality, though several have been confused with certified meteorologists.

At times, I’d felt a twinge of guilt about wasting a natural resource like a broadcast-quality voice.  Give the people what they want, I would chide myself. Break your silence and share the gift! Go out and earn the title of “Mr. Radio” instead of disappointing those who already think you are. 

I pictured my enormous face plastered on the sides of buses, all air-brushed and slaphappy like local on-air celebs in every American city. Honk if you love Big Head! I would change my name, of course – something flashy and fade-resistant, with a back story to match. Something like…

Kip Caramia. Bilingual in English and Gobbledegook, Kip is hailed as “the coffee addict’s voice of choice” for his popular morning radio show “Sip a Cup With Kip.” In addition to his on-air impact, he has earned a reputation for speaking eloquently in front of large crowds at business functions without prior knowledge of the function's purpose or the makeup of his audience. His specialty: Winning over audiences by addressing them frequently as "a fine group of buckeroos" and limiting his speeches to exactly 11 minutes. 

Or maybe more like…

Lee Largo. A radio legend renowned for his ability to pronounce difficult words like “incalculable” and “Timothee Chalamet,” Lee is also a Unitarian Universalist minister. His best-selling book, Knock, Knock – Anyone Home?,  became the springboard for a speaking career that has taken him on nationwide tours of second-rate amphitheaters, dilapidated band shells and flea market food courts. 

Or possibly…

Connor Bradley. Beloved by radio listeners for practical pointers like the importance of grunting while lifting heavy objects, Connor’s speaking tours keep him on the road 200 days out of the year, sharing the personal wisdom behind his wildly popular podcasts and seminars. His many nuggets of inspiration include such penetrating insights as:

“Happiness is a choice you make when you feed your subconscious the nutrition of yes.”

“You prepare for greatness by maximizing your must-ness.” And, most profoundly…

“Dare to embrace your inner hero and your worries will surrender to the odor of your aura.”

The dirty little truth behind these absurd sayings is that if you come equipped with a voice that sounds microphone-ready, people will lap them up and label you brilliant. How can I make such a bold statement, you ask? It’s because as Mr. Radio I’ve walked the walk and talked the talk. 

But alas, that’s not the road I’ve traveled. Except for some late-night deejaying in college and the occasional voiceover gig during my time in advertising, I’ve been mostly radio silent. So when people compliment me on my voice, I simply tell them that my secret is to drink plenty of warm water with honey and lemon. Also, that I'm the bastard child of iconic game show host Wink Martindale. (Wink, wink.)

Reporting live from a quiet corner of my home, this is Mr. Radio signing off.

A Florida Whimp Whines About Winter

Cold enough for you? I’m freezing.

It was so cold this morning, I saw a squirrel wearing a hoodie.

It was so cold, I saw a collie in line at Dunkin' ordering a double expresso.

It was so cold, a raccoon asked me for directions to the Burlington Coat Factory.

Exactly how cold was it, you ask? It was 41 degrees. In Florida. Okay, I’m not expecting anyone to throw a telethon for us. I’m not even expecting an outpouring of sympathy for my discomfort. But after 40 years as a Floridian, I hope you can appreciate the hardship I’m enduring as I face temperatures well below the 75 degrees I’m used to in the winter months.

“Oh, poor baby,” my brother Jim scoffed during an early January phone call. “It’s 14 degrees here in Nebraska and we haven’t seen the sun in six days.”

“But your 14 degrees is the equivalent of our 41 degrees,” I countered lamely, pointing out the blood thinning effect of spending decades in a subtropical steam bath.

“In a few days you’ll be back soaking up the sun,” my brother ventured. “Meanwhile, we’ll be huddled by the fireplace taking swigs from a flask of whiskey and praying our provisions hold out till spring.”

“It was so cold this morning, I saw an egret wearing leg warmers,” I blurted, trying to match melodrama with imaginary wildlife.

Dressing For Distress

One of the first things you notice when the temperature drops is that a Florida cold snap brings out some strange wardrobe adjustments.

While running errands yesterday I saw a woman on a bicycle wearing a heavy winter coat with a hood. She was also wearing shorts. Earlier today I saw a guy wearing sandals, shorts and a heavy knit sweater. In both cases, it's as if their upper and lower bodies came from two different climates and formed an uneasy alliance in search of better weather.

To be honest, I’m not immune to wardrobe confusion either. When you spend the better part of the year in shorts and a t-shirt, assembling an outfit suited for cooler conditions doesn’t come easily. A long sleeve tee and jeans feels like a logical upgrade, but what if the daytime high never gets out of the 50s?

Under the right circumstances, a mid-weight sweater would be a sensible choice, but that depends on if it’s windy or not. Maybe that heavier sweater that feels like wool but is really acrylic needs to be exhumed from the cedar chest. And what of that smell embedded in the garment? Is that the cedar chest scent or the cold sweat ghosts of Christmas’s past?

Whatever ensemble I pick, I’m invariably too warm, too cold, or convinced that the apparel I need was donated to a long-ago clothes drive because “I’ll never need this stuff in Florida.” Think again, Sonny Sockless.

Hunkering Down Until The Temp Goes Up

When the weather got unseasonably cold, my wife and I found ourselves downshifting to a hunker down lifestyle, canceling all plans and priorities that involved leaving the house.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked Sherry, hoping she was as committed to sustaining cozy comfort as I was.

“I’m content just to putz around the house,” Sherry confided, leaving details up in the air.

“Let’s do that,” I agreed. “I think we have our hands full maintaining body temperature. I’d hate to lose focus on that just to feel actively engaged in the world around us. Besides, it was so cold this morning, I saw a sand hill crane wearing flannel pajamas.” (I have a million of them.)

As the chilly days dragged on and the sun kept its distance, we realized that we were no different that most other Floridians: A lucky group of hearty souls who, despite our sun-splash lives, reserve the right to whine about any dip in temperature that makes us reach for a light jacket.

If nothing else, I hope this cold weather commentary raises awareness around the rest of the country that winter's icy assault sometimes effects Florida folks, too.

To my fellow Americans in Northern and Mid-Western States: Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

To my Fellow Frozen-In-Place Floridians: We WILL get through this. Your courage and resilience give me goosebumps.

Of course, that could just be my body’s reaction to the temperature dipping below 60 degrees.

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