Monthly Archives: March 2014

Crimea, The Bachelor, Taxes, Budgets, & Falling Down

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So, I wonder. Why does our government have so much interest in Russia and  the Crimean Peninsula? Do you think Russia would care if Texas wanted to abdicate and our lusty government didn’t think it was a good idea? Would Russia care if our government surrounded Texas and enslaved everyone in the state? Would any other country care?

OK. Maybe Texas is a bad example. I think they’ve already abdicated. How about if we decided to make the Baja Peninsula our 51st state? Would Russia think it was illegal? Would they care? Perhaps someone from Russia will look at this and let us know what they really think.

Thankfully, the romantic drama of The Bachelor has ended. My favorite part was when Claire gave Juan Pablo a pretty significant shakedown before leaving. It was pretty cool. Perhaps it’s evident that I’m not a fan.

I just filed our taxes. This is the first time, in a long time, that I’ve filed ahead of the April 15th deadline. Getting older, with a fixed income, simplifies taxes. Just send everything to the IRS and life is good.

Over the last week or so I’ve been working on a budget to see if we can figure out where all of our meager earnings go. The reason for this is because Daniel and Jennifer are working a budget and doing very nicely with it. Being the jealous type, I had to try it for myself. I printed off the first part of it so Diane can review it and let me know what’s wrong with it. I say that because, according to my computations, we’ll be debt free in 2016 and bazillionaires by 2020. I used Microsoft Excel to build it so could be some of my formulas are wrong. I’m counting on Diane to help me out.

Another aspect of the budget, that isn’t documented, is that we are divesting ourselves of all the “stuff” we’ve gathered over the past 46 years. Most significantly are the excessive four-wheeled vehicles we’ve accumulated as projects. OK, “I” collected them as projects. Those would be the ’73 Winnebago and the ’68 Chevy truck. I’m no longer motivated to work on them all by myself. There are too many other things that I find more interesting.

Like napping.

Speaking of naps … although I truly do like them, I mad a conscious decision this morning, at 0630, to stay up and be productive all day long. I accomplished 50% of that goal … I stayed up. Beyond that, the day is a blur.

Except for lunch. Lunch was good and it was really breakfast. I was out doing something when she got too hungry to wait and cooked her own. She was done by the time I got back so I had to cook my own. That’s OK. I’m actually pretty good at it sometimes. Diane had toaster waffles and a fried egg and that sounded pretty good so I decided to have the same and called it the “1-2-3-4”. That’s for 1 cup of syrup, 2 eggs, 3 waffles, and 4 sausage links. It was really good and I didn’t get any on me. That’s significant especially since I opted to dine without my bib, a choice upon which Diane frowns. She prefers that I wear my bib.

After that magnificent lunch, I remembered that I’d been to church this morning and cleaned all the leaves out of the cement ditch on the side of the building and that I needed to clean it up. Diane said we had to clean the church anyway, so she would go with me.

We picked up her Mom, Jean, on the way because it’s always good to get her out of the house once in a while. Though she wasn’t expecting us, she up for the ride so we wandered smartly out to the Buick. As always, I accompanied her to the vehicle, ensuring she was safely aboard, then I got in the back. Before we could get out of the driveway, however, she remembered that he had some laundry that needed to go back to the church. She always does the laundry.

So, I got out and opened the door for her and stood back to let her disembark. Sadly, I was on the wrong side of the door because she got her right foot tangled up in the strap on her purse which caused her to lose her balance and tumble gracefully to the driveway. I was able to get my left hand under her right arm to slow her descent, but there was no way I was going to stop it. The result, of course, was that my heart rate ascended to a dangerous clatter, making me wish I still had my monitor, and there was a brief moment when I also wished I had worn depends.

After sitting quietly, for about 15-20 seconds, Mom rolled over and got back on her feet unassisted which I found amazing. The only injury, at this time, is a skinned finger which was sustained when she stopped her fall with it on the cement. Tomorrow, I suspect, things will be a bit different because she landed hard on her left buttock. Knowing how prone she is to bruising, I have no doubt that she will be quite colorful tomorrow. I doubt if I will ever get to see it. Perhaps Diane can sneak a camera in when she checked it out.

For the record, Mom is 86 years old, and she bounces without breaking. Thankfully.

That’s about it for today.

Oh! If anyone is interested, we have a player piano and a Lowry organ that need to go away. The piano is a rebuild project that I don’t think I’ll ever get to, but the organ works perfectly. Anyone?

Safeway Deli Food, Panzee, Insurance, Silverado, Cardio, & Golf

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It’s been four days since I’ve propped myself up at this keyboard and a lot has happened. That doesn’t mean this will be jammed packed with interesting information because the memory problem remains a factor. I do, however, have a calendar into which I’ve recently begun to add events so I can recall. Now all I need to do is figure out the code I used in the shorthand.

Let’s see … Sunday was normal. No change, there. We went to church, brought Mom home for lunch, and watch “stuff” on TV. We did change it up a bit for lunch by getting Chinese food from the Safeway deli on the way home. It’s pretty good stuff. Broccoli Beef, Orange Chicken, Fried Rice, Noodles, and Spring Rolls. Really, really good. That’s all I remember.

On Monday I had a 1000 appointment at Midway Vet for Panzee for some shot updates and an exam. It was all good, although we had to sit and wait until almost 1100 to be seen. That was OK because Panzee was the best looking dog in the place so we were just fine sitting there looking awesome. She’s a sweetheart and very well-mannered. In dog years she’s about 85 which may account for all of that. Doc said he thought she was between 5-7 years old in people years, but she’s really 12-13 and in terrific shape.  Now, if she were only bald so she couldn’t shed.

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Tuesday I met with Heather, my new insurance agent who runs American Family Insurance here in town. I switched from Allstate who has been our choice for 20-25 years. AmFam beats them hands down so I switched everything to them. It was a good choice. Heather already seems like a family member. Could be because she also insures Jennifer and family, and has been friends with Jeff for years. That, and she’s got the same last name as my barber, though they claim to not know each other.

After working with Heather, I stopped by Emmert Motors to look at Diane’s new pickup. It’s a 2014 Silverado 1500 High Country that was just put on the lot. All the right colors and bells & whistles. Yes, Diane’s been wanting a pickup for a long time but we’ve been fiddling around with these old Winnebagos for too long and have decided it’s time to be more reasonable and divest ourselves of those projects. That also applies to the old 1968 truck, if anyone’s interested. We are parring down in preparation for another leisurely trip around the USA. News at 11 on that.

From the pickup I made my presence known at the Legacy Health Clinic for my 1430 appointment with my new cardiologist. We had a great visit and he learned a lot about what makes me tick. As a result, he’s scheduling me for a stress test in conjunction with an echocardiogram. I get to watch my heart beat during the process which he said is “wicked cool.” I really like him and trust that if he manages to give me a heart attack during this process he can bring me back from the brink. It that does happen, I suspect I will be able to witness the event in living color. Don’t know when that will be, but I’ll be sure to report on it.

Later in the day on Tuesday, my good friend Doug dropped by to talk about some American Legion “stuff”, and to report that Wednesday, today, was going to be the nicest day of the year so we had to go play golf. He, JP, and Lyle were teeing off at 1000. Knowing we wouldn’t be able to finish a round in just two hours I had to beg off because I had a 1200 PT appointment for my shoulder. So, he made a command decision to move tee time back to 0900.

This morning, at 0730, Doug called to say Lyle couldn’t make it at 0900 so I agreed to just join them at 1000 and leave when I had to go for my PT. On the way to the golf course, I stopped by the PT place and inquired about changing my appointment due to conflicting engagements. Crystal and Terry were happy to oblige, so I was good to go.

It was an incredibly beautiful day. Clear, sunny and warm. Just perfect. I started off pretty good and finished the first hole in single digits. That’s a goal I don’t normally achieve. From there I kinda fiddled around, hitting the ball badly like I usually do, then something clicked and I started swinging slower and actually watched the ball throughout my entire swing. It’s amazing what happens when you do that. The ball actually went straight, and I started to look like a real golfer. I kinda felt like one, too. Turns out I was the only one in the group to par a hole, and I bogied 3-4 others. When the count was done Lyle and I tied at 52, JP had 53 and Doug had a 54. Very unusual because I never beat, or tie, those guys. This is for nine holes, by the way. We don’t do 18 like real golfers because it’s just too far. And, for us, low 50’s is good, especially for JP and me because we have 36 handicaps. We’re really that bad. But, we have a great time.

After the game we headed to Fultano’s in Scappoose for lunch. I called Diane to see if she wanted to join us, but she was having a good time pawing through ‘stuff’ at the senior center store in St. Helens and declined. Then I called Jack’s cell, which he didn’t answer, I was sure, because he was working. Then I called his house and got Wynette who confirmed that. So, I asked her out to lunch and she accepted.

Lunch was great and we had a good visit with all the Peal brothers, Jerry, JP, and Doug. Then I took Wynette home and went to work on Jack’s laptop. I was supposed to call him yesterday afternoon, but forgot. He called me while I was getting dressed after seeing the cardiologist and literally caught me with my pants down. I suppose I could have ignored the call, but didn’t, and asked if I could call back, which I didn’t do.

He had a unique problem which baffled me for the entire time I was there. He has a Verizon hot spot for his phone and internet because he’s too far away from any kind of reasonably priced cable installation. It works really well both at home, and on the road. I couldn’t, however, get his computer to connect to it. The little wireless light just wouldn’t turn the correct color, white, indicating connection and internet access. I tried everything I could think of and wasn’t having any luck at all.

Then, around 1630, Diane texted me asking if I’d run off into a ditch or something because I’d been gone for about 7 hours. It was a reasonable question, and I was amazed that so much time had passed by unnoticed as I fought with Jack’s laptop. Then, right as I answered Diane’s text, apologizing for not letting her know what I was doing, Jack’s laptop connected and everything appeared to work just like normal. It makes me wonder, a lot, if only Diane had texted me earlier, if the laptop would have worked then. It was like magic. I walked away without a clue about what made it finally work, except for Diane’s scathing text.

From there I went right to Church for our Lenten Service. Diane made her excellent vegetable soup.

Kathryn showed up with chicken noodle soup, and three guests … her son John, his fiancé Brittany, and her son Dominick. I sat next to John and, obeying my inquisitive nature, inquired about the musical note on his hand asking if he was a musician. “Percussion,” he said to which I replied that “I played the snare drum in my high school band.” Just one drum, not a set like he surely does. This conversation continued to reveal layers of substance. Then I mentioned the Trojan Swamp Monster band that our son Jeff is working with. Turns out John knows Jeff, Logan, and Shene, and visited our old house down by the river at some point in the past. I do not remember meeting him, but apparently we did.

Just one more “Small World” indicator for me. For Jeff, his name is John Wold. Remember?

Now it’s late and I must reattach my heart monitor and retire for the night.

I’ll leave you with an image that just never gets old. This is looking back up the 5th fairway with Mt. St. Helens gleaming bright. Life is good.
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Vegetable Soup, Computers, and PT

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Last Thursday Diane made the absolutely best Vegetable Soup I’ve ever had the pleasure of ingesting. It was so good that I ate two big bowls full. I also ate two pieces of toast with each bowl. Like normal, I asked her if she used a recipe and she said, “No.” Then I asked her if she could recreate this masterpiece and she said, “I don’t know.” These are pretty standard answers for those questions because Diane improvises most everything she cooks, and she doesn’t taste anything while she’s doing it. I’m the taster.

Now, having said all of that, I gotta tell you that she’s never given me a bad meal. They are all good, and it’s exciting because we can have the same meal multiple times in a row and they are all different. Take Sloppy Joe’s, for instance. Or Meat Loaf. Or Beef Stew. In subtle ways, they are different every time which always gives us at least one topic for dinner conversation … what’s different about this version? Always good, and always fun.

The soup? Including the three dishes mentioned above, it’s joined their ranks as one of my favorites. Now I have four of them. Life is good.

While the soup was cooking, I spent some time visiting with the MELCA guys over coffee at the Kozy Korner. Like normal, it was an eventful visit where we once again solved many of the world’s problems. Sadly, attempts to notify the appropriate authorities with these solutions were met with a disagreeable level of snickering and other forms of  degrading noises, so we ceased our efforts.

Then we had some more coffee.

The rest of Thursday was a blur of un-memorable activity of one sort or another.

Friday morning I had a date with Pam’s computer because it had issues. It was a new one for me so, therefore, a challenge. I spent a couple of hours fiddling with it at her house and couldn’t resolve it so disconnected it and took it to the car so I could dismantle it at my house.

Then I went to Physical Therapy where Derek & Patrick teamed up on me to bend my right arm into positions I don’t normally bend it. The reason I don’t is because it hurts. For that reason, over the years, I discovered ways to do things, like comb my hair, without using the offending muscles. As a result, over those very same years, the offending muscle has lost it’s ability do the things muscles normally do. Like, move my arm in a specific direction. Now, in order to please my doctor, and the physical therapists she unleaded upon me, I find it necessary to work on resurrecting the offending muscle. The good news is that with a little bit of manipulation, Derek and Patrick were able to improve the function indicating there’s hope we can regain use of the muscle. I’d tell you which muscle it is, but I have no idea which one it is. All I know is it’s the one that doesn’t work when I hook a large yellow rubber band to a door knob and attempt to stretch it while keeping my elbow next to my body. I face the door with the doorknob on my left, my right forearm sticking straight out from my body, then moving my arm to the right, away from my belly button. That part doesn’t hurt, it just doesn’t work. I guess making it work will help resolve the pain problems. We’ll see how that goes.

After returning home, it became imperative that we rearrange all of the furniture in the living room. It was imperative because it’s what Diane wanted to do. Now the living room has a totally different, open look to it. But, it still has too much furniture in it, so there will be another evolution in the near future. I will be on alert.

Yesterday evening I attended my monthly American Legion meeting at the Moose Club on Old Portland Road in Warren. I know you probably don’t care where it’s at but I was compelled to add that bit of information. Now you know.

Since I didn’t have time to eat supper before rushing off to my meeting, I was hungry. Thankfully Diane had mixed up some tuna for a sandwich and there was enough left for me to have half a sandwich. She doesn’t use relish when making tuna salad, so I mixed some in the remaining tuna and slathered it on a piece of bread. On the way to my chair I felt it would be a good idea to wrap the sandwich in a paper towel to keep from dropping bits on the carpet. That’s a  sure way to get into huge trouble in this house. Just ask Diane because it’s her rule.

I was near the counter top, a couple of steps away from the roll of paper towels, but there was one laying right there in front of me. Grabbing it, I wrapped it around my sandwich and sat down to eat it while we watched whatever Diane was watching on TV. As I was working my way through the sandwich, folding the towel out of the way, I noticed the paper towel had an odd texture. When the sandwich was gone, I folded the towel in half and wiped the residue from my lips. It was then that I detected a distinctly un-paper towel like aroma that caused me to give it a closer look.

There were some dark spots on it which, upon closer examination, revealed themselves to be spots of dust. Then I rechecked the towel’s texture and everything started clicking with regard to all the clues I had received.

Turns out the paper towel I grabbed was really a Swiffer sheet that Diane had used to dust all the furniture in the living room as we put it back in place. Then she conveniently tossed on the counter instead of into the trash.

After discovering what I had wrapped my sandwich in, I got the distinct taste of dust and, perhaps, Pledge, in my mouth that kind of ruined the sandwich for me. So I ate an apple.

I think she left it there on purpose to see what would happen.

Either that, or she knew the bread was dusty.

Losing Things, Nicks & Dings, and a Sandwich

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This morning, when checking my email, I was once again amazed to discover that someone took the time to read what scribble. That happens every day, actually, but this morning’s offering caused me to consider putting more thought into what I share. I can only believe that adding the word “Karma” into the title prompted a look by Gede Prama. Whatever the reason, it added another layer of blessings onto my  already overflowing life. Check him out and let me know if you think I’m nuts.

No, scratch that … just let me know if you find his messages helpful.

Now, about pain …

I endure it every day in some manner, as I suspect pretty much every one does. Sometimes it’s so faint I barely notice it. Then there are times when it becomes the only thing I can think about, willing it to end, willing myself to get beyond it and move along. We’ve all had those, I know. Like, when you stub your bare toe, really hard, into an immovable object. That hurts like crazy, doesn’t it? I’ve done that. I’ve also hit the end of my big toe with a hammer, so hard I actually thought I was going to die from the pain. This is a story I’ve told before, buried in an ancient post, so will not repeat it.

A lot of the pain I experience, however, isn’t self-inflicted because of stupid things I do,  but rather as a result of Karma, I believe. I’m being punished for some deed that I failed to recognize as one that was not aligned with universal acceptance. Sometimes the sin isn’t readily apparent, taking days, perhaps, to resolve into a meaningful understanding of what I did wrong. Consequently, I’m fated to repeat the errors until the consequences of my actions are hammered home, so to speak, until I’m forced to consider my moves carefully.

That’s tough for me to do because I’m a pretty spontaneous person. That trait is directly attributable to many of the injuries I’ve sustained over the years. I just didn’t think ahead far enough to figure out the possibilities of my actions.

I drop and spill stuff all the time, but not all of those events cause me to change directions like that socket did. Like, a cup of coffee, for instance. Granted, it makes me   immediately change direction to seek something with which to clean it up, but it doesn’t deter me from my primary object which was probably getting to the bathroom. before something more exciting took precedence. Sometimes the spilled coffee is ignored for a moment, or two, before getting adequate attention.

During this downhill side of life the spontaneity is less physical and more spoken or written. The physical side has shown me that, since moving from vertical to horizontal is becoming increasingly more difficult because of complaining joints, it’s not a good thing when I drop “stuff.” Like that socket I spoke of yesterday. I’m confident I’ll find it, eventually, but dropping it caused me to move on to something different. This half of the journey has proven to be a bit less painful, also. Partly because I’m slower, and actually think about what I’m going to do, most of the time. And, partly because many of the pain receptors in the parts I’ve injured the most, over the years, no longer transmit. They are simply worn out. Oh, they let me know I’ve done something wrong, but not to the point of hopping up and down until the pain subsides. It’s more of a warning that I should look, for instance, at the elbow side of my right arm after slamming it into the bracket that holds the hood up on my pickup. I did that yesterday, too. It was a warning shot, I’m sure, just before dropping the socket, but I didn’t recognize it as a message at the time. It hurt, I looked, and didn’t see any blood seeping into my long-sleeved short, so went about business.

Then, dropped the socket. A more stern warning from my limbic system that things aren’t going well.

Then, last night, after a pretty successful period of time playing with power saws in the basement, I received another shot across my bow, the reason for which I have not yet discovered.

We were eating dinner. Jeran was there. Diane had cooked up some really great pieces of deceased chicken, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. We all sat down at the table and things were progressing well until I was compelled to rise out of my chair to visit the kitchen for some reason which I can’t remember.

Attaining a vertical position from a seated position, especially while sitting on a chair, is not a complex move because you have both arms and legs to use to make it work mechanically in a symmetrical manner. I, however, was forced to make the move with only one leg, because the pain receptors in my right foot went on full alert.

After a rapid intake of air, the body’s response that enables one to vocally alert any one in the vicinity about the severity of the situation, I reached down to investigate the cause.

Here’s what I found firmly attached to the bottom of my foot …

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I had to yank it out. Kinda reminded me of the time Mike Friday jumped off my bed (we were kids, and he’s a cousin) and wound up with an embroidery needle stuck all the way through one of his toes.

Kinda makes you want to hop around on one foot, doesn’t it?

The immediate message I received, and the one that is probably the one intended, is that I actually should wear something on my feet, even in the safety of my own home. There could be, however, a more meaningful meaning that I’ve yet to realize. I’ll let you know if I ever figure it out.

Yesterday, for lunch, Diane made us a “Fat Tuesday” meal of pancakes. She made enough of them that we were able to do it again today.

Since I don’t have a photo of that meal, I’ll share this one of the supper I had night before yesterday …

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Jewel will appreciate this one because it’s your standard fried egg, potato patty, and spam sandwich. It was awesome. A Hawaiian favorite, at least from the spam perspective.

Trucks, Karma, Kids, & Wood

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Today I started my work day working on the pickup but it didn’t last very long. The reason for that is I let Karma dictate the direction my day goes. My task was simply to get the truck started after sitting for a while, but that let to me dismantling a bunch of stuff, and fiddling with a bunch of wires. It wasn’t going well at all. Finally, two things happened that made it evident I was supposed to go find something else to do.

First, while taking the wire connection off the firewall side of the fuse block, I dropped my 3/8″ socket that was attached to my only 3″ extension. I’m pretty sure it dropped to the ground under the truck, into the 8″ deep grass that’s grown there since I parked the truck, but I couldn’t find it.

Considering this devastating loss a minor setback, I found something else to do that only involved a phillips screwdriver. Since the screw I wished to remove was large, and too hard to turn by hand, I used my 1/4″ socket into which I inserted the phillips head. After I got the screw out, the bit also fell into the grass.

That’s when I wrapped everything up, took my tools inside, and went to work on my work bench project. It’s been sitting idle for a couple of months because it seems I was either overly involved doing “other” things, or I was not motivated to go down all 15 stairs into the basement. Today, with the truck project an abject failure, I made the effort, and hammered together a bunch of wood I’d already cut in anticipation of this moment.

Although I have extremely limited space in which to work, I found a way to get it done. Well, not done, exactly, but at least well on the way. Soon, very soon, I’ll have another expanse of horizontal surface on which to stack all that stuff that used to hang on the peg board. At the moment it’s all over the floor making it difficult to get around. I’d include a picture but I’m pretty sure both of the California Mike’s would find totally unacceptable, boarding on the obscene. It’s not pretty. But, it’s getting better. Honest, it is.

When it’s finished, it will have hidey holes for all the power tools and maybe event some extra drawers in which to store things I only use once or twice a year. With all those things actually put away, I don’t know what I’m going do with the time I’ll save by not having to move a pile of “stuff” each time I want to do something. Right now it’s just a way of life for me. Has been for years. That, and looking for my tape measure, or a pencil, every time I need to measure something. Next time those things are on sale, I’m going to buy 6 or 7 of them and just leave them lying around all over the place so one is always handy. I know, I could hook it on my pants, but I don’t like doing that. I have a tool belt/pouch thing, too, but that’s like work. Jeff gave me a really good tool belt once, but I didn’t use it enough so he took it back. Can’t say I blame him. It was a nice one.

Jeran came to visit this evening because the rest of the family was doing things that he wasn’t part of. We had dinner together and then we played board games until Jennifer came to get him. I have to point out that, though he tried very hard, Jeran went home a loser. He didn’t win even one game.

I guess he really didn’t go home a loser because Ozzie allowed Jeran to pet him, something he’s never done before. Maybe Ozzie took exception to the ‘loser’ label. Whatever the reason, Jeran was delighted that he was allowed to touch Oz without fear of getting his hand ripped off.

Lydia is wearing contacts, now, and is really excited about it. She’s cute like normal but more so because now it’s easier to see her eye makeup.

We don’t know what Cedric was doing. I think he must have moved to Arizona. I’m not sure. Haven’t seen him in a while. Maybe Jennifer will fill us in.

I don’t think that I mentioned that I mowed our yard a few days ago. That’s because I felt bad about being able to do that when all the rest of the country is having such terrible weather. I could have mowed it again today, if I wanted to. It was dry and 60-something. Very balmy and spring-ish-like. I can say that because the heather and forsythia are blooming, a sure sign that spring is just around the corner.

Now I’m told it’s time for bed. It’s 2245 and I have absolutely no business being on the computer this late at night. I should be in bed, like all the other old people I know.

The Common Cold, Sleep, and Pizza

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This post is going to be short because I don’t have anything extraordinary to share with everyone.

First, yesterday I had two chances to share with you that I experienced a near perfect day of retirement. I spent the entire day in my jammies. Part of the reason for that was because I displayed the beginnings of bronchial pneumonia. the main reason, however, was because I just didn’t want to wear real clothes.

Diane totally disagreed with my medical diagnosis thinking, instead, that I simply had a cold, or a previously undiscovered virus of undetermined origin with unknown consequences whose most detrimental condition is a productive cough. Thankfully, it’s not the constant kind of coughing, but a cough just the same.

I’m sure I had a ‘second’ item to share, but can’t remember what it was. If I was concerned about editing this in a proper manner I’d get rid of the “First” but I’m not so I won’t so there. I’m not an editor.

Much of yesterday was spent trying to make my day so boring that whatever has ahold of me might find it necessary to seek a more exciting medium in which to propagate. As a result, it was very late when I finally put down my iPad for the night (like 0010 or so) and I was up and navigating at 0300. Diane will tell you it was 0230 and that she knew this because I checked my iPad to see what time it was. In case you don’t know, activating an iPad in a very dark room is like turning on the light switch. It’s very bright. My recollection of my awakening is different, and more correct, I’m sure.

The iPad did ignite, briefly, but not because i did it on purpose. I have a distant memory of entering my bathroom and checking the time on clock installed on the wall therein. It was 0300.

One of the reasons I got up is because I’ve been trying to wean myself of the sleep aid I’ve been taking for about the past 10 years, or more. To facilitate that, I’ve put myself on half rations, but it just isn’t working. If I don’t take my sleepy pill, I simply don’t sleep. Oddly that seems to be mainly true when I’m in the bed. On the couch, however, I can sleep nicely for hours. So, upon arising at 0300, that’s where I went and that’s where I stayed until 0900 with only a brief period of vertical alignment to let the dogs out around 0700.

Diane deemed me to be unfit to accompany her to church this morning, fearing that I might contaminate all those old folks with whatever it is I’ve contracted. So, I stayed home and rested. Some more. I have only vague recollections of brief periods of lucidity during Diane’s absence and beam more alert around 1200 when my stomach determined that it was time to ingest something nutritious. Without a clear plan for obtaining sustenance, i opted for another cup of coffee. I use creamer that contains enough sugar to kick-start pretty much anyone, but it still wasn’t enough. As I was sitting at my computer, pondering a bowl of nuts, or perhaps some fruit, Diane texted me to report she and her Mom went to Fultano’s Pizza after church and that she would be home with leftovers after they made a stop at Fred Meyers.

Excited about the prospect of warmed up pizza, I decided to not eat anything else until she arrived. By the time that happened I was very hungry, but delayed my feast until I helped her empty the Buick of the bags of food she purchased to get us through the next couple of weeks.

Then I reheated the pizza and had my feast. It was half of a small pizza, for which I was thankful because it was just the right amount. Had it been an entire pizza I would have surely eaten the entire thing and been miserable for the effort.

Now it’s almost 2100 and I plan to very soon ingest an entire sleeping pill and go to bed. Diane will, I’m sure, stay up to watch the Oscars which is currently being recorded.

I hope she doesn’t wake me up when she comes to bed. If she does I’m going to complain to someone. Not to Diane, of course. That wouldn’t be conducive to my currently fragile medical condition.

A 50’s Kid

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I grew up with two older brothers who picked on me unmercifully, all the time. Because of this I learned very early that we’re not all created equal. It was pointed out to me fairly regularly that I was different. There were obscure references as to how I was different, but the references changed so I tended to either ignore them, or I simply believed them, taking them at face value. For instance, the reason my name is Jerrie, I was told, is because I was supposed to be a girl. That actually makes sense. I can see Mom, dealing with two boys 5 and 7, praying that I would be a girl. I was OK with that. And it justified my desire to wear dresses to school once in a while.
As I grew older it became apparent to me that I’m really not all that different. It was just the normal sibling rivalry which I always won because I was the baby. I always got my way so everything was right with the world. Topping that off in later years, I learned that my older brothers were named after a pair of mules our Dad used to have. I’m sure that’s not true, but it’s a good story and explains why they were named Gee and Haw.
Having said all that, I think I turned out pretty normal, as did my brothers. All of that was made possible, I believe, because of the strength we had as a family.
During those formative years, our parents were friends with a family who visited on a regular basis. I do not know the basis of the friendship, and I’m pretty sure we weren’t related in any way, but it seems like they visited on a regular basis, even more than relatives, and we saw our relatives pretty often. Normally they showed up when it was time for lunch. Perhaps that was it. Mom was a great cook.
This family had a young boy who I think was my age and we had a great deal of fun playing whenever they visited. Many years later it was revealed to me that my friend was mentally handicapped. I didn’t notice. I just remember that we had a lot of fun and I have absolutely no recollection of him being different from me. I think about that once in a while, and wonder why that was.
A recent discussion I had with a good friend revealed the answer to me – it just wasn’t important. It just didn’t matter. We had fun and that was what mattered. I do not recall anyone in our family ever commenting on this friend’s diminished abilities. Therefore, there was no predisposition for me to think of him that way.
I’m not relating all this in an effort to point out how special I think I am because I really don’t feel that way. I’m just your average 50’s kid. There are lots of us out here running around in public, unsupervised, and I don’t think I’m all that much different from any of them.
Another part of my growing up involved my best friend, Jimmy. We went through 12 years of school together as best friends. I went on numerous camping trips with him and his family, and he went on numerous outings with me and my family. We ran around together all the time and he’s the one who taught me to dance to Rock and Roll music in the eighth grade, 1957. I have nothing except great memories of growing up with Jimmy.
After graduating from High school, we went our separate ways. I joined the Navy and he went to college, I believe, got married and had a couple of daughters. After that he declared that he was actually a gay person. What a surprise to me. All that time we spent together, for all those years, and I didn’t have a clue. Apparently he didn’t either since he got married and had a family.
I guess the point of all this is that we are who we are. Sometimes it takes a while to figure that out. The fact that life takes us, and our friends, in surprising directions isn’t, in the end, really an issue. It’s how we deal with it “in the moment”.  How we do that is pretty much the result of good parenting.
That, and I wasn’t exposed to a lot of graphic detail about issues like that throughout my childhood. Maybe I was just sheltered and very naive. Maybe I was exposed to those prejudices but they weren’t significant enough to impact my behavior. Maybe it’s because our entertainment consisted of the family gathered around the radio listening to Fibber McGee and Molly, Jack Benny, The Whistler, and during Christmas, The Cinnamon Bear. Or, we stood around the piano singing while Mom played.
Who knows?
Maybe I’m really living in a matrix and all my memories are manufactured.
Whatever the reason, I’m content with them as they are. I just wish my Kids, and their Kids, could have had that same experience. But, you know? They are content in their own version of happiness, making their own memories, and they’re going to be just fine.

Spelling, In General …

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OK, I admit I’m far from the best speller, and I probably couldn’t get very far in a Spelling Bee with a bunch of 7th graders, but I take a lot of pride in limiting the errors I make. So does Diane. I’ve recently learned that she needs to read everything I’m ready to submit before I Push That Button. She’s made that pretty clear. It’s really good for her to have my back, to help me correct potentially embarrassing errors from reaching the public’s eye balls.

Both Diane and I read news articles with a critical eye to spelling and errors jump out at us all the time. I bet most of you readers do the same thing. Maybe not intentionally, but errors do pop out, don’t they?

I was just reading an article on Fox Sports about Ritchie Incognito beating up his $300K Ferrari with a baseball bat in which they mentioned that a “neigbor” noticed damage to the vehicle. It’s understandable, in my opinion, that Ritchie released his rage on his car, but not so much when you learn he did it with a baseball bat. Why didn’t he use his Dolphins helmet? Oh, wait! He doesn’t have that any more, does he?

I guess I can forgive Fox Sports for spelling neighbor incorrectly because they obviously misunderstood the new rules regarding the use of “gh” in most words. In neighbor, it’s silent so why bother using them. It’s a waste of time and bandwidth to add them to words where they don’t make sense. It should simply be neibor. The new rules also apply to all words containing “ough”, like tough, and rough. They will simply be spelled phonetically, as all words should be in the first place.

I must admit that I’ve ignored the new rules myself and named one of my dogs Ghydeaux, and I’m not going to change it.

I could go on and on about spelling, but the longer I do that, the more prone I will be to error. So, I must get off that subject. Besides, why did God allow someone to invent spell checkers if he wanted us to be good spellers? Spellcheckers open up an entirely new arena for discussion regarding grammar, another favorite of mine.

I had coffee with the MELCA guys at the Kozy again this morning. In attendance was Larry, Larry, Jeff, and Jerrie. I know you knew I was there, but had to add my name so it rhymed. Once again we solved many of the problems threatening the world today, as we do every Thursday. Since I was missing last week, I don’t know what was solved last Thursday. They wouldn’t tell me and I wasn’t going to guess. Again. It gets me too excited, like Hammy in “Over The Hedge”. Remember him?

After all that coffee I went to our church to retrieve Diane’s Mom’s card table and clothes rack, and to change the sign board out front. It was still advertising the quilt show from two weeks ago. Now it isn’t.

While resting on the couch next to my lovely bride she asked, “guess what would be really good for dinner tonight?” With barely a pause I said, “Chinese food from the Safeway deli!” Her eyeballs lit right up like she couldn’t believe I was correct, but I knew I was. She mentioned that a couple of days ago, and I remembered! Now that is significant.

I offered to go get it, which she allowed. I drove down there, went in and hardly had a chance to look over the choices when a clerk popped up, like out of nowhere. I started rattling off what I wanted then reached for the wallet that wasn’t in its customary spot in my back pocket. Excusing myself, I went back home, getting the mail along the way, and delivered it to Diane, so she would have something to do while I went back to Safeway, retrieved my wallet and phone from my couch table and calmly walked away. Although it really didn’t need to be said, she did it anyway, asking if I “forgot my wallet.”

That was my chance to end the day on a positive note and I blew it. Forgot my wallet. Guess I need one of those biker wallets with a chain on it.