The Corrections

Frantzen's slightly exaggerated characters provide excellent insight into the state of the suburban American psyche in the early 21st Century. He brilliantly shows how it's the small decisions in life that make up our destinies.

Slice of Life: Christmas 2010

Christmas is chaotic at my parents' house. People are eating even before all the food is brought out of the kitchen and everyone opens their presents all at once. This year my brother and his family home from Germany, which was a blessing. We were also blessed to have my parents and grandparents in good health. And the two greatgrandboys enjoyed the day too!

Mary's appearance in Green Bay

Last night while my wife was busy singing, playing her flute, and ringing bells in the Faith Lutheran bell choir, I was busy trying to calm our 8-week old son. The lights were ablaze in the church office, so we wandered in there. Andrew loves staring at ceiling lights. We sat down at the church secretary's desk so that I could give Andrew a bottle and I opened the copy of Christian Century magazine that was lying there. I had not read this publication since I was in the seminary almost 15 years ago. What a delight! And now I've found this juicy article on their website!

Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


Matterhorn is a masterpiece. I've read that the author, who was himself a Marine in Vietnam, came back from the war and pumped out a 200,000 word manuscript. Then, for the next 35 years he re-wrote and edited it. Not that any of that shows in the final product, which took me only a few days to get through, slow reader that I am. I laughed and wept at the tragic story of these young men in combat. It is a must read for anyone interested in American history and great literature.



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A Wife's reply

Here's what my wife had to say about my latest post, "Wow! Stars in our own reality blog! Sure, blame your hormones...that's the easy way out! You knew exactly what you were doing!"

'Tis true! I cannot deny it!

On Becoming a Parent

Becoming a parent is probably the strangest thing that has ever happened to me. I use the passive tense as if Andrew's conception and healthy birth were an accident, which they were not. My wife and I had been trying to conceive for five years prior and had even suffered a miscarriage. Still, I can't help feeling like a passerby to a magnificent street performance where you stop and ask yourself, “What is this person doing here in Washington Square Park?” Then you squint your eyes and think, “Perhaps this is a gift just for me and the few dozen others gathered around.” The exception with Andrew being that the performer has now moved into your home and, apart from his daily ten minute performance, requires that you tend to his every need! Forget about that leaky faucet and that messy garage. Forgot to run the gas out of the lawnmower? Let it go! You used to like to come home and finish the newspaper? Never mind. Oh, and you used to think it natural to sleep through the night? Nuh uh! Your little impresario needs to eat. NOW! This, I take, is what all those friends, family, acquaintances, even strangers meant when they wagged their finger and said, "Everything's gonna change!"

The economy of living with and infant is straightforward: you feed it around the clock eight times a day. In return you will get ten minutes of mind blowing adorableness. Forget drugs, forget the best concert you have ever seen, and, dare I say it, forget the fun you had conceiving the little tyrant! There is nothing in the world like those ten minutes.

But there are unintended consequences to this little contract. Suddenly, your wife seems a little strange. Before Andrew came along, she seemed closer to you than your own soul. Now you look at her and hear that line from the Talking Heads, "Is this my beautiful wife?" Also, the basement, which used to be the place where you stored the Christmas tree, the old broken camera, and the unopened, unused sewing machine from your mother-in-law, now beckons. My dad spent A LOT of time in the basement when I was growing up, which I never understood until now.

This leads me back to my victimhood. I believe now that I am a victim--a victim of the hormones that made me desperate to impregnate my wife. No way was that rational! After just seven weeks of fatherhood, I can now say with certainty that free will is just a dream. Just take my little guy. He is completely programmed. That half smile he flashes once a day? Spontaneous, but still part of the instruction code, right? And my response? You know the rest.