On November 3rd, 2004 my first attempt at “Ramblings” was published in this newspaper, and in the twelve years between that day and this, I have made roughly 288 more attempts. Any statement, answer or explanation I’ve ever given that required the application of math has been, and always will be, preceded by the word “roughly”.

I’m sure you odd (and even) “numerophiles” that can’t help but ensure that things add up correctly, rather than roughly, are busy trying to solve the very advanced formula I used to arrive at 288. No, I didn’t take into account leap years, those weird months when I had three columns, or the 284 times my pet chimp, Mr. Chips, filled in as my ghost writer when I was experiencing writers block or other intestinal issues.

Mr. Chips has actually evolved into an “associate”, but we are able to take advantage of various tax and legal loopholes if he is referred to as a “pet”.

Twelve years. Other than my underwear, a lot of things have changed in that time. The 5 and 9-year-old kids that provided me with so much material to ramble about, are now young adults that are busy trying to write their own stories. Just twelve years, and all those day-to-day routines that accompanied the raising of our children have all disappeared.

I often wonder when the last time was that I gave them a piggy-back ride up to bed, read them a bedtime story, and sang “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”. When was the last time I picked them up at school, and heard them yell, “Dad!” as they ran and jumped into my arms?

I don’t remember when those things stopped, but I remember them happening quite clearly, and the fact that they happened, is much more important than that they have stopped.

“Time marches on” as they say, but it crawls, wobbles and runs first. The kids are off and running. Sometimes in four directions at once, sometimes headlong into a wall, but they’re running, and whenever they look back they’ll see me cheering them on. Except for the first and third Sunday of the month, when I’m busy mixing daiquiris (banana of course) for my associate, Mr. Chips. He claims that they fuel his creativity, and help him tolerate my whining about writers block and other intestinal issues.

If you indulged in a little more math a few paragraphs ago, you may have deduced that the 5 and 9-year-old kids that I waxed poetically about are now 17 and almost 21. Yes, on November 5th, our little girl can legally drink anywhere in the world, and Wyoming. Anywhere in the world, and she has chosen to celebrate her day, and most likely a portion of the wee hours of the next, with her family in Lignite.

Actually, she made it known that she was going to celebrate her 21st in Lignite when she was about 11-years-old, and being a goal orientated woman of her word, Lignite is where it shall be.

As a film major, her only request is that everyone come dressed as their favorite movie character. Armed with an excuse to dress-up, the Ellis and Chrest clans are eagerly rummaging through their tickle trunks in anticipation of the celebration. Stay tuned for the Mr. Chips exposé on Sierra’s 21st the next time “Ramblings” comes around.