Finishing Something

Wow! It’s been three entire days since I sat down with this blog. I must have been really busy, you’d think. Either that, or I was napping a lot. No, I was actually busy, installing the new faucet for Diane’s bathtub.

Speaking of napping … my good friend, Doug, had the audacity to call me at 0930 this morning, rousing me from my blissful after breakfast nap (ABN) and immediately started asking questions that required me to actually think before responding. I was taken totally off guard and had to scrape the sleep from my eyes to get rid of those annoying little crusty things that appear every night. And after my ABN. And after I allow my eyes to remain closed for longer than 30 seconds. All that “stuff” just appears out of nowhere.

Back to “really busy” … to get the faucet installed required that I dismantle (destroy) a closet wall, and part of the ceiling in Diane’s Girl Room (DGR). The reason for doing so was to gain access to the pipes and fixture so I could remove them and replace them. The old fixture was tossed (on my shop floor – OMSM), as were the pipes. The fixture was, of course, replaced with a new one that had an outlet for a shower, which the old one didn’t have. To install it required that I remove (destroy) one 4″ tile where the shower control had to go, and kinda saw off a bunch of the 2 x 4 stud that was inconveniently placed in the exact position required by the vertical shaft for the shower head. Complicated, I know. But I dealt with it. The pipes were replaced with PEX tubing and Shark connectors. The connectors are awesome because the tubing simply slides right into the connector. No wrenches needed. It was so much fun that I’ve decided that my next project will be to replace all the old galvanized pipes in the house with plastic tubing. I already have the tubing.

 

During my absence I also nursed Diane back to health after she had all her teeth removed. She was miserable, laying on the couch with ice all over her face, with a dazed far away look from the spare narcotics she found in the bathroom. OK, that’s only partially true. She had one molar removed and the narcotics were in the bathroom because they were prescribed and that’s where she left them. She’s getting better and is once again able to feed me which is the reason I agreed to marry her in 1968. She’s kept me alive and healthy for the last 44 years and I appreciate her more and more every day. I didn’t have to say that … I said it because it’s true. I appreciate her even when she’s mad at me for doing dumb things.

Speaking of dumb things … as I was sitting down to rest, while Diane was making lunch, she called for assistance because she couldn’t find the package of shredded cheddar cheese she had removed from the refrigerator to use in the tuna casserole she was making. After a frantic search of all the refrigerator compartments, she finally found it … in the utensil drawer next to the stove. Having participated in this memorable event, I’m more comfortable with some of the odd things I’m accused of doing. I have to add that Diane wasn’t feeling all that great when this transpired, but I’m just saying … y’know?

Today was a banner day for me because I actually finished a project. Having gained an inordinate amount of confidence from installing Diane’s new bathtub faucet, I re-installed the laundry sink. In the laundry room. Next to the washing machine. Diane was thrilled. I was thrilled because she was thrilled. We were both thrilled all because of a simple laundry deep sink. Until recently it was a rusty mess. Now it isn’t, and it’s no longer between the washer and dryer so Diane doesn’t have to walk those 2 extra feet from one to the other.

 

OK. That’s about it, except Diane has been working on a plan for our next trip to the East Coast in October. This time we’re going to try staying only at military facilities and see how that works. She’s wearing me out. No doubt there will be more on this in the near future.

G’nite …

In Review …

After being forced to sit on the couch for two days, to allow my foot to regain it’s former shape, I’ve had time to review my previous blogs which were considered, by a vast minority, to be “wife bashing”, and have come to the conclusion that it’s just not true.

Reviewing was the difficult part because I never edit anything before submitting it. It just seems wrong to do that as it smacks of composition, and we all know that’s the stuff you put around vegetables to make them grow better.  I found many of the entries quite enlightening and I had to relearn some things that I thought I had permanently purged from my fluffy brain. Now I’ll have to address that at some point in the near future so pardon me if I get a little repetitive.

Another problem was trying to understand and follow my thought process as it wandered around in some of the more stupid entries. Diane doesn’t like me to use “stupid”, but I don’t know a better word to describe some of the stuff I read. Those blogs had to have been added by someone who has my super secret password, or I was in a trance which means I cannot be held responsible for my actions for either of those events.

Moving on … now, the wife bashing aspect of my earlier entries mystify me. All I was doing was relating how it is to be me. Perhaps I embellished a bit which, by law, I’m allowed to do … it says so in one of the amendments to our constitution. I’m sure that’s true, but I don’t remember the number. Does anyone know if you need to know the number of an amendment to invoke it? I might have to look that up or, perhaps, just write a new one.

I keep getting off topic here, and I apologize. You may wonder why I do that. So do I.

When I explain that I’m not allowed to use power tools when I’m home alone it’s because when Diane leaves the house she tells me, specifically, “don’t use power tools!” So, if by repeating that as a visual treat for all who read this, it’s deemed to be wife bashing, then I suggest that by giving me those instructions in the first place it’s husband abuse because I’m being told to “not” do something which I kinda like to do.

And, when I relate that I have to get permission to do certain things, it’s true because when I exercise free will and do something wrong, which I inevitably do, I’m told “you should have asked first.” Most of the time I remember to do that. Now. Sometimes I regress and forget. Actually, lots of times I regress and forget. No, I forget because it’s far easier to ask than it is to remember.

That last bit is important because Diane and I will have a conversation in the morning and in the afternoon, or a few minutes later, I’ll ask her a question about it because I want to know the answer. She uses these opportunities as a training evolution to help me remember what we were talking about by saying, “I just told you a while ago” which, in her mind, serves as the answer to my question. So, I’m left with a comment to my question, but no answer. Since it’s important that I know the answer, I push forward, explaining that if I knew the answer I wouldn’t have to ask the question, but she pushes back with “think about it for a minute.” Most of the time I’ve already done that which brought me to the need to ask the question.

After a round or two of this I actually figure out the answer myself so, perhaps her method works. Most of the time it doesn’t, however, and it leads us to the brink me calling a lawyer to initiate divorce proceedings. She just laughs at that because she knows I’ll never do that because she has all the answers. All I want is a few of them. Not a lot. Just a few answers, once in a while.

Also, most of the questions I ask can be answered with a “yes” or a “no”. I never get that. Instead, the response is a conversation where she tries to lead me to the correct answer while the entire time I’m waiting for a “yes” or “no” to pop up, but it never does. Consequently, while concentrating on the one word answer I seek I’m placed in the unenviable position of having to ask her to repeat her answer because, although I heard all the words, it passed all my filters as if I was trying to read random words in a dictionary … individually I knew what they mean, but the meaning of the combination in which they are used totally escapes me. I attribute this to the fact that once I finish my question, I’m waiting for the short answer and when it doesn’t show up in the first six words, I’m lost because now I’m that far behind in whatever is being said to me. I never catch up to the meaning.

It’s a sad thing to have to live with and you’d think I’d figure it out, wouldn’t you? I’d think so, too, but so far that hasn’t worked out well. Oddly, this affliction only presents itself while talking with Diane which I believe is because I’m more comfortable with her and trust her to be paying attention when other people are talking, or when she’s talking with me. When I’m talking with other people I must be paying more attention because I don’t have to ask them many questions about our conversations and it’s usually with other men who give the proper one word response to which I’m conditioned.

I know there’s a stark difference between the way men and women perceive things, and I’ve sincerely tried to get into my feminine persona at times, but that doesn’t work out well when we have to leave the house. In St. Helens it’s NOT OK for men to wear Reno 911 short shorts to ACE, or NAPA to get car parts. Other men frown and tend to reach for their side arms which, thankfully, aren’t allowed in ACE or NAPA. I’ve only done that once, by mistake. Now Diane checks to see what I’m wearing whenever she’s home and I have to leave for any reason … even to go to the driveway.

For those of you who made it this far, I want you to envision a fairly long break right here because I had to stop and leave with Diane to take her Mom, Jean, to lunch. That’s what we do on Sunday … we take Jean to lunch. Today we went to Sizzler in Longview, Washington. That’s directly across the Columbia River from Rainier, Oregon, which is about 13 miles west on Highway 30, which is confusing because when looking at a map Rainier is directly north of St. Helens. How does that work? Hmmm.

Anyway, we had a wonderful lunch. I was going to get all you can eat shrimp but reconsidered since I was just getting over gout and it’s been scientifically proven that all you can eat shrimp is a major gout causer. So, I had the all you can eat salad bar which includes fried chicken, my second favorite food int he world. I ate a lot of it. Jean was concerned that I’d start clucking like a chicken so, of course, I did. It sounded like this … Brock bock bock b-gock! Maybe not. I guess you had to be there.

Now for the good news … my left big toe is almost normal and the right hip is responding well to the pain killer the doctor gave me for my toe. Life is good. Now I’m quitting.

Getting In Touch With Your Mortality

It’s official … I’m terminal.

When we got home yesterday at 12:30 I called the doctor to plead for mercy … no … to plead for help to remove all the uric acid from my body which is apparently overflowing with the stuff and it’s all settled in my left foot. I briefly considered standing on my head but the possibility of it draining into my brain caused me to pause and consider the benefits of that. There weren’t any, so, I didn’t do it.

It was 12:32 when I finally called the doc but they weren’t there … they go to lunch at 12:30 and don’t get back until 2:00. What a deal. This delay required me to sit on the couch, writhing in pain, until they returned. During that time I made a VA appointment for my annual diabetic retinopathy checkup. I was able to complete that appointment just in time to call the doctor’s office at 2:00.

Brenda answered the phone, as she almost always does. Like all really good receptionists, she knew me immediately because I used to visit the office on a regular basis to repair all my nicks and ding over the years. And, I take her coffee once in a while. Actually, I took Dutch Brothers coffee to the entire clinic one time. I was very popular for a few minutes.

Brenda squeezed me in for a 4:15 appointment with the new doctor, Sharon L., because my old doctor, Janet K., retired and sold her practice. One time I got a huge sliver in my arm and videoed Dr. K. removing it, as well as our conversation during the process. That was a fun time. Dr. L. retained all the nurses and semi-doctors so the only change at the office was ownership. It was she, Dr. L., whom I saw. I like her. She prescribed the necessary drugs to make me comfortable until the end. I had to go to the lab, too, so they could drain off some excess blood and look at it to see about the uric acid, among other things. At that time I posed the question about how long she thought I had. Stopping a moment to think, she hung her head a bit in a telling manner, then told me I probably only had about 30 years left, maximum.

I was stunned! Flabbergasted! Etc.! I was really hoping to make it to 100, but she cut me off 2 years short. Now I need to start getting my things in order because at my age 30 years will fly by in an instant since I plan to sleep during a large portion of it.

Since my prognosis is that I will retain almost full use of my left foot, if I’m good and don’t walk on it much for a while, I’m relegated to sitting on the couch with my feet propped up, pointed at our excessively large TV set. Within the area of my vision, without turning my head, I see Ozzie laying on his old flat pillow, his favorite, which was placed on the new pet hammock Diane bought him from Groupon. He wasn’t sure about it at first because his dog tag clanged against the metal tubing that hold the sleeping area about 6 inches above the floor. That’s chin high for him. After a couple of training sessions, he’s OK with it now.

As I sit here all the things of concern are running through my little brain like a shopping list … the leaky faucet in the tub, the future home of our fire pit over the septic tank, the dirt I must move to flatten the area for the fire pit, the ditch I need to finalize by the garage to keep the driveway from flooding when it rains, the old roof, the Subaru air conditioner that leaks, my messy shop, the pool table that needs to be reconstructed, half the garage that’s full of “stuff” we probably don’t need (except for the player piano which I’m really going to restore one of these days), the book I’m going to write, the thousands of pictures I need to sort through, the clothes in my closet I rarely wear that take up space causing wrinkles in the clothes I do wear, golf, the yard, hedges that need trimming, trees that need to be chopped down and turned into firewood for the fire pit … stuff like that.

After going over all that I’m a little depressed so I’m going to take a cymbalta and try to access some more uplifting things to think about.

Gout and Other Fatal Ailments

Greetings to you all from the middle of nowhere, on the outskirts of Vernonia.

Camping is going well, but the temperature soared to about 105 degrees today. A good time to be on the interior of anything that has a working air conditioner. Since Diane took me to my VA physical therapy this morning, A/C for us wasn’t an issue. But it was for the tent campers, with whom we share our space, who suffered the brunt of the heat. They went for a ride in their car to escape it while we were gone, but Oz was trapped in the RV with just a fan running. So, we talked the tent dwellers through an emergency start of the A/C system so Ozzie would be comfortable in our absence. The tent dwellers took advantage of this new turn of events and stayed inside with Ozzie to ensure he was getting the full benefit of the A/C’s blissful cooling nature. It was a benefit to all of them.

After my physical therapy appointment, to address my persistent, crippling hip and leg pain. The therapist, Jed, was a new one and was assisted by Rebecca, who is attending Boston College and is doing her PT internship at the Portland VA Hospital. Whew! Jed is therapist who concentrates on bones, not just muscles, and he fixed me up and I walked out of there without limping. I was so amazed that we went to Elmers to celebrate by having breakfast. We had pancakes & eggs with Bacon (Diane) and Sausage (me). Diane’s bacon wasn’t cooked long enough so we brought it home. When cooking bacon for Diane, one must test it by holding it approximately 6 inches above a clean plate, and dropping it. If it just lands, without fanfare, it’s not cooked enough. If it shatters like a plate glass window, it’s just right. She didn’t send it back. We put it in a box and brought it back to the camp ground.

On the way, we stopped at the Fred Meyers located at the intersection of Highway 26 and Cornelius Pass Road. It’s a bigun. All I was after was earplugs for Jennifer so she could sleep because Daniel sleeps very loudly.

When we returned to the campground, we sat in the incredible heat for a very short while, then piled into the buick for a ride to a park by the Nehalem River in Vernonia so the boys could get wet. They did that while the rest of us sat in the sweltering heat by the river. Granted, we had an option to get into the river, but declined. Instead I, personally, napped in my chair. When I awoke the shade was gone and the sun shined brightly on the exposed parts of my tender body. It made me sweat. A lot. Panzee accompanied us and also found it necessary to take one step too many and fell into the river. Then she stood in front of everyone and shook it all off. Quite amusing.

Finally, after Jeran finished his marathon swim about 100 yards down the middle of the placid river, we returned to the campground to release Ozzie from his nice air conditioned motor home.

Here’s Jeran’s triumphant return …

20120816-195629.jpg

All that riding caused my hip/leg pain to return with the added benefit of gout in my left big toe. Nice. After the adults watched me walking around, trying to figure out which leg to limp on, I was given permission to sit for a little while before being forced back up to cook supper. We had hamburgers with all the trimmings. Since I forgot the little BBQ grill, I used our electric Griddler which worked just fine. During this evolution I had to remain standing until everyone had eaten before I was allowed to sit and eat.

Now I’m fed and Diane did all the dishes. In all honesty, she did all the prep work for supper, too. I just cooked the meat which wasn’t a big deal at all. I just sat in a chair and watched the Griddler do it’s thing.

It’s 8 pm and finally cooling off a little. I may survive after all. Most everyone is sitting around the campfire waiting for it to ignite. I’m not sure that’s going to happen.

20120816-201220.jpg

Camping

Two days ago we loaded up the RV with everything we own, including all the food we had, and headed for the wilderness a little East of Vernonia. We went there because it was out understanding that it was the only place in the world that wouldn’t be inundated with political rhetoric and the never-ending barrage of unsavory news stories. That was true, until Diane told me she had to have internet access in order to submit her Avon order for this week.

Doing that, of course, violated about 12 rules of camping … there shouldn’t be internet access in any campground. You should have to go to the nearest village for that. I already knew there wasn’t any TV reception because that’s the first thing I checked. There was, however, excellent cell phone service, another violation.

Since there was excellent cell service, there was no problem getting my new iPad hooked up to the internet after a couple of conversations with some very nice AT&T people who answer phones at 611 in order to help people like me.

Once Diane had access she did her order and all was good, but knowing I could take it that one step further was just more than I could bear, so I downloaded some apps from the app store. Just the free ones. I rarely pay for apps. Just Angry Birds. And Angry Bird sequels. Nothing else. The apps I downloaded violated more camping rules because they related to News. There is no current news allowed in camp grounds unless it comes from someone newly arrived who is eager to share what they know.

20120815-225413.jpg

That’s us camping, by the way … about 28 hours ago when we got here. After everything was set up. We had Papa Murphy’s Pizza for supper, another violation. It was really good, and I ate too much of it. But, what the heck, we’re camping. We brought the pizza with us and Diane baked it in the RV’s tiny little oven. Worked pretty good.

We brought Cedric and Jeran with us yesterday, along with the two dogs. Jeran rode with me, and Cedric rode with Diane, in the chase car. Actually, it was the lead car, and I followed in the RV so I guess we now have a “chase RV”, instead of a chase car. We brought the Buick because I have physical therapy at VA tomorrow morning that I dare not miss.

This afternoon Daniel and Jennifer arrived and the level of activity increased. Yesterday I was pretty much cripple because my back seized up while eating pizza (so I’m never doing that again) making it necessary for me to eat with my elbow propped on the table. After eating, and working my way slowly from my place at the picnic table, I limped all over the place until Diane suggested that I give it up and go to bed, which I did. This morning my back still hurt, but it was much better and I didn’t have to limp as much, which pleased Diane. She doesn’t like it when I limp. Sometimes, however, I just can’t help it. The physical therapy I’m getting tomorrow is my 4th session to deal with the back issue. Oddly, the back issue causes my right hip and leg to hurt, a lot, but not my back. I suspect I’ve mentioned this before so will not bore you with those details.

Because of all the limping, and whatnot, I was allowed to take a nap this afternoon. It was good because it helped relieve the pain a great deal. While I dozed, Diane and Jennifer went about the business of making dinner for everyone, except for Lydia who isn’t here. She’s at another camp with her friend, Brianna. It’s a church thing.

Diane cooked a large pan of frozen lasagna in our tiny oven and during the end of that evolution I became more alert and asked Diane a few questions. She failed to respond to any of them so I mentally investigated the possibility that I had died while laying there. Finally, however, she came a little closer so I asked another question and she immediately responded and wasn’t at all surprised that by answering a simple, innocuous question, she had just resurrected me from dead. Actually, she didn’t know it because I was so relieved that I was alive that I didn’t mention it. Until now.

Now it’s late, and our day is done. It’s going to be an early day tomorrow because we have to be back in civilized country by 0930 for my appointment. It’s going to take about 45 minutes to get there and, as I said previously, we cannot be late. Anyone who is late for a VA appointment is punished by the appointment people who ensure that your next appointment, for any reason, is not any time soon.

Good night.

Creavolution

I’ve decided to be a philosopher. I made this decision after reading “A Brief History of Time”, by Stephen Hawking. One of my classmates, Dr. Eddie D., recommended it to me after listening to me postulate about my opinion that there are valid arguments for both creation theories, and evolution. I say that, in that manner, because theories, I learned, cannot be proven and evolution is a fact. I believe that all things are the result of “creavolution”, a new word that I just made up.

That’s what I thought until I looked it up on the internet and found that I’m not the first. Dang! It didn’t surprise me that the person under whose name I found it used it for the same reason I did.

According to my readings (which are few), and delvings (which are numerous), I’ve determined that I agree with most of the scientists and theologians who have espoused their theories and thoughts in countless publications throughout history. I can only believe all of them do this in their tireless efforts to convince everyone else that their beliefs, and/or theories are the only correct ones. Once in a while a few of them will agree and gang up on anyone who doesn’t “buy” their view of “things”.

Most of those who agree do so because of empirical evidence which cannot be disputed. We call the majority of those people scientiests. Some of the more well known scientists have the added benefit (in my opinion) of believing that some things are just beyond our comprehension, and that’s OK. Sadly, lots of those folks will take a header off the deep end of the universe in their efforts to define theoretical events in a logical manner. They can see the results of an “event”, but they don’t know what the event is, or was and it drives them nuts, crazy, whacko.

Because of that tendancy I’ve abandoned all efforts to prove those theories. Instead, I just make up theories. I have lots of them, but they’re hard to remember. Only one comes to mind, at this moment in time, and it isn’t one that I’m normally allowed to share because Diane frowns on it. But, I’m going to tell you anyway, and perhaps one of you adventurous folks who read this will step up and go about proving it. Personally, I’m just going to leave it as a theory for someone else to ponder …

The Napkin Theory: Most meals come with napkins which we teach our children to place neatly in their laps to ensure food does not soil their clothing and which they should use to dab away stray bits of gravy, or other food from their lips, or the backs of their hands. We do this because that’s what we were taught to do by Emily Post. I propose that it you eat your napkin after every meal, and the napkin is of a very good quality, and tastes worthy of being eaten, you would never need toilet paper as the napkin would be the last thing out, cleansing both the digestive tract as well as the difficult to reach parts of our anatomy, to which bits of processed food adhere, as it exits our body.

Think about that a bit. The only problem I can see with it is that prodigious eaters may have two or three napkins transiting their innards at any given time. But, if this theory is proven, and the napkins are really, really good, it may well be the solution to overeating because there would be no between meal snacking. The napkins can be engineered to ensure that that undesireable eating gene is removed by breeding it out of the human race. That smacks a bit of evolution, but that’s OK. We do that. Everything does that.

I do not expect anyone to take this up as a challenge because it’s a bit beyond unbelievable … at least for now. That’s because napkins are either made to break down quickly in a damp environment, or they’re made to be washed after being used. I suppose my theory could be proven by using a washable napkin, but what’s the point of that, unless their going to be shipped to a different country after being washed. I don’t think I’d be using one of those more than once having the knowledge of how it was used the last time. Perhaps some of you think differently about that, but I truly doubt it. Unless your freakishly weird.

So, most theories cannot be proven, or there aren’t enough people willing to prove them publicly, which would move them into the empirical category, which brings me to theologians.

Theologians thrive on theory which is, perhaps, why their title uses most of the letters in that word … theo. I actually know a person named Theo which causes me to wonder if he’s just someone that can’t be proven, or if he’s someone who can’t prove he exists. I shook his hand, and I talked with him, so I believe he exists. But wait! Was he just a figment of my imagination, of which I have many, or was he trying to prove to himself that others could actually see and touch him? I may never know because at this moment all he is is a memory. Perhaps that’s all he ever was. Maybe I’m the only person in the entire universe and everything I feel, do, see, taste, smell, hear, or whatever, is just my mind making stuff up. Yeah, that’s it. It has to be …

The reason, of course, is because there is no emperical evidence that explains how all this, the stuff around us, other people, earth, planets, etc., began. Big Bang? Probably, but what was there before that?

In conclustion, there’s comfort in the belief of a higher being, perhaps God, and that it’s OK to treat everyone with respect and kindness. It’s unfortunate that all the bad in the world, at least the worst of the bad, is the result of misguided religious beliefs.

Perhaps each of us conjures up everything in existence, and we all see it just a little differently through our chosen lens and belief system.

Perhaps each of us, in our own way, is a bit of God that was scattered all over the place during an experiment gone wrong that resulted in the Big Bang.

Perhaps the end result of all this is that we will eventually find our way back to wholeness when the universe collapses into a singularity … and we realize what it’s all about … just before it blows up again.

Apples & Reunions

You’ll have to forgive Jerrie for his absence the last few days, but he’s just now recovering from a catatonic state of mind caused by the near fatal crash of his beloved Apple computer. It was scary to watch as he frantically searched for answers for the problem he experienced and we even took him to Best Buy, where he got it, to speak to a Geek. Turns out those Geeks aren’t allowed to work on Macintosh hardware … they can just install, or reinstall software.

Since Jerrie’s hard drive was essentially dead, according to the message he received when attempting an upgrade to Apple’s newest operating system, he was seeking assistance at the highest level. At best buy he was provided help by a Geek who had difficulty getting Jerrie’s iMac back into the box in which it was delivered, and was then told he’d have to go to an Apple Store at one of the biggest malls in the Portland area. Not totally pleased, he went there, dropping Diane at a handy Costco on the way, and arrived 2 minutes late. Because of that he was removed from the Apple Help queue and told he’d have to wait another hour for assistance.

For Jerrie, that wasn’t an option because he was parked in a 10 minute zone and Diane was certainly getting jittery at the unfamiliar Costco at which she was dropped. The jitteriness was caused by the architects and builders of that particular Costco because the floor plan is the exact opposite of every other Costco floor plan in the know universe. What were they thinking?

Jerrie safely made it back to retrieve Diane, after getting lost only twice, and they returned, happily, to their quiet corner of Oregon. When they got home, Jerrie made six last attempts to resurrect his Apple, earning success on the third try. He did it three more times just to make sure it worked. He was able to restore his system, recovering all 77,892 photos from his backup drive. Now he will make himself crazy trying to save them to a portable form of media now that he knows, for certain, that Apples don’t last forever, and the skill level of Best Buy Geeks are suspect. This was proven when Jerrie managed to resurrect his Apple using a software solution, which is apparently all his assigned Geek was allowed to do.

The resurrection wasn’t quick. It took, like 3 days. Seriously. Thankfully, Jerrie had his MacBook and iPad to keep him company as he worked through his mental issues regarding the possible loss of every photo he’s taken in the past 4 years. He sobbed for hours on end and, at one point, was told to knock it off her someone was going to call 911. He did, they didn’t. Still, he sobbed quietly when he thought no one was looking. He blamed the little black dog for all the little drops scattered around the house.

Ooops! Here he comes so I must quit. He’ll surely want to get an entry out there for all of you who are just riveted with amazing wonderment at what he might “say” next, so don’t tell him what I’ve been telling you … OK?

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<   >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Hey! What’s going on here. Looks like someone, or thing, has been using my computer without my permission. It’s still warm from someone’s lap, and it wasn’t mine. Dammit, Jim! (that’s a Star Trek reference, by the way). My laptop should only be warmed by MY lap, not some interloper’s.

Let’s see … ah … yesterday Diane invited everyone we knew to her Mom’s house to celebrate her Mom’s 85th birthday. The birthday was actually on the 8th, so at the time of the party she was already well on her way to 86. That didn’t matter. And, it turns out that the only people we know well are family members … 25 of them, to be precise. Well, not all of them were family members, but that didn’t matter because it was pot luck and the food was welcome.

Diane wanted to do this at her Mom’s house because she has a creek running through the back yard. It’s real low now so the little kidlets would have a place to splash around.

Here’s Lydia in the creek with her cousins, Gilligan and Baylee …

Here’s a picture of all the small children at the gathering …

That’s Danyell, Baylee, Juliette, Gilligan, and Jerrie. Danyell and Juliette are our two Great Grand Daughters. Baylee, Gilligan, and Jerrie are their aunts. Neat.

Here’s a picture of the whole gang … our kids and their kids … and their kids’ kids …

Diane’s Mom is on the left, back row.

The day before this momentous event, Diane made me stay up until almost midnight to make my patented nationally acclaimed potato salad. She won’t let me make it during the day when someone might be able to see how I do it.  So, at risk of life and limb, I’m going to share it all with you, here and now.

It involves potatoes, oddly enough, onions, mayonnaise, mustard, salt, pepper, mustard, celery seed, a big bowl, a potato peeler, and a little time. Oh, and a big pan half full of water.

First, get a 10 pound bag of potatoes and remove 4 of them from the bag. Put them in a special place in the garage, or basement, where you won’t forget where they are until they start smelling real bad and are hard to pick up. Peel the rest of the potatoes. I had to do this because my pan isn’t big enough to hold the entire 10 pound bag. Perhaps you have a larger pan.

After peeling them, get the large knife that I failed to include above, and cut them into fairly small cubes then place them into the pan of water into which you have already dumped a bunch of salt. The amount of salt is subjective, based mostly on the condition of your blood pressure.

“Why,” you may ask, “must I cut the potatoes into ‘fairly small’ cubes?”

“Actually,” I would respond, “you don’t. You don’t have to cut them up at all. Just put them in the pan entirely whole”

The problem with that, however, is doing so wastes space in the water and makes it take longer to cook them. Fairly small cubes cook much quicker, but you must be weary, watching them every minute so they don’t cook into mush which will result in mashed potato salad.

Considering that you chose the proper path for deconstructing the potatoes, once the potatoes are cooked and you have spread them out to cool, they might look something like this …

I used five normal dinner plates, one platter, and one smaller dessert plate. There was no conscious thought given to the selection of the plates. That’s just the way it worked out. If you have a big enough pan to cook the entire 10 pounds of potatoes you may have to use bigger plates, or more of the smaller ones. I don’t know.

While the potatoes are cooling you’ll have time to mix up the mayonnaise, salt, pepper, mustard, and celery seed. Doing this will require the use of a smaller bowl that I failed to mention above in the list of required participants in this exercise.

Oh … did I mention eggs? You’ll need eggs, too. About this many …

I’ll explain the eggs in a minute … right now, you’re mixing the mayo and other stuff.

To get the right amount of mayo, use a large spoon and dip out about half the jar, if it’s a big jar. If it’s a smaller jar, use two of them. The mustard is used to give the dressing a little “zing” and some color. Salt and pepper to taste, and mix it all up. Once that’s done, get your celery seed container, and sprinkle on the mixture until it’s covered with the seeds. Mix thoroughly.

Leave all this on the counter and take the eggs to the sink where you will be peeling the wrappers off them. What I forgot to tell you was how to cook the eggs … put them in a pan, cover then with water, bring water to a boil, turn off the burner, cover, and leave them alone for a while, until you’re ready to peel them.

Peel the eggs under cold running water. eat all those that don’t peel cleanly. You should wind up with almost 8 of them for the salad. Put them aside for later use. It doesn’t matter if you put them in in a container or just leave them on the counter.

While the potatoes were cooking, you should have been chopping up a bunch of dill pickles and 1/3 of a very large onion. I use a chopper thing, but you can use anything sharp, like a knife. Any kind of knife that will cut an onion. Even a plastic one. When done chopping, put them aside for later use.

Now the potatoes are cool, and it’s time to start mixing everything together. Here’s how.

Get the large bowl. The biggest one you can find. The one I use is a yellow tupperware one. Maybe you have one of those. If so, use it.

To begin, dump one of the plates of potatoes into the bowl. Go find the bowls of chopped pickles and onions, and put a small handful of each on top of the potatoes. Then add a couple of large spoons full of the dressing mix. Chop up  two of the eggs and put them on top. Do this for each plate of potatoes, until everything is all in the bowl. Then get a large spoon with holes in it and mix it all up, but don’t over mix it because it will turn into mashed potato salad, the same as if you had over cooked the potatoes in the first place. You don’t want that. Trust me, no one will eat it … unless you make some kind of gravy for it. I don’t know how to do that.

Now that you have everything mixed up put the bowl in a refrigerator overnight so the flavors mix properly. If the reason you made the salad is for a more immediate use, that’s OK. I’ve actually served my potato salad warm which adds an unexpected element that people normally don’t expect. Maybe that should be “… that normal people don’t expect.” Whatever.

OK – that’s about it for potato salad. I’m sorry I don’t have a picture of what I made but it was all eaten. Now I have to make something else, but don’t know what it’s going to be. I’ll let you know what I come up with.

Oh .. you may have noticed the bottle of ketchup in one of the pictures. That was just there for added color. It needed red.

Witnessing Death

We’re all touched by death throughout our lives. Many of us are called to witness the transition from a viable entity, to an empty vessel. It’s a sad, helpless feeling that is sometimes accompanied with relief, if the passing spirit was suffering, but most often it’s just sad and shocking, and we’re filled with profound grief. We’d really rather be somewhere else. Let someone else be the witness. Not me.

Today it was my turn again when I held a hummingbird in my hand as it died. How profoundly sad that was, watching the life soundlessly escape that beautiful tiny body. It was all iridescent green with a spot of gold on it’s breast. So pretty.

This little bird wound up on our porch as a gift from Breezie, a testament of her hunting prowess. She was proud of her accomplishment and I couldn’t be mad at her because that’s how she survived the first year or so of her short life. Panzie alerted me of the injured bird when she made Breezie back off. I picked it up and cradled it in my hand, light as a cotton ball. It’s wings were askew, but the eyes were still alert and it moved it’s head around as if on guard, but made no attempt to flee. Ever the optimist, I thought maybe it was gathering it’s strength to once again fly, but that didn’t happen. Instead, it gathered it’s wings to itself, opened it’s little beak in a soundless cry, and was gone. By the clock it was about 2 minutes, but it seemed to take much longer. I hoped it knew I was friend at the end.

I held it for a bit, wondering what to do. The garbage came to mind, but that just didn’t seem right, so I wrapped it in a napkin and buried it in our tiny garden, near the feeder where it was captured. That seemed appropriate.

As this brief event transpired, I remembered all the other times I was called to witness death. Most were small animals when I was young, but the most significant was when I stood next to Diane and watched our first son, Brad, die. He was seven weeks old. His little heart just wasn’t up to the task. I didn’t think I would ever feel that kind of loss again, but then Mom and I were with Dad when he died in 1992. It was just as bad because things like that are compounded, bringing back memories of all deaths you’ve witnessed. Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think so.

So, the passing of this little bird today was as bad as any loss I’ve ever experienced because of the memories it evoked. It doesn’t get any easier and it isn’t any clearer about why I must endure as the witness. I suppose this sounds a lot like complaining because my experiences are few and infrequent, when this day and age young men and women are witnessing the deaths of their friends on a daily basis. I submit to you, however, that witnessing the loss of any life is traumatic, tragic, and memorable, no matter the reason for that loss. That’s why we’re there … to remember that loss and not allow it to go unrecorded. These memories help give those lives meaning.

It gives them immortality.

So, remember them.

Dogs … Insanity, and whatnot

Arrrrrgh! Dogs! Why can’t they use the bathroom like everyone else in this house? If that isn’t something they’re comfortable with, why can’t they at least have enough consideration to allow me, the keeper of their food, to get the sleep I need to function in a semi-normal manner at a later time in the morning? Why can’t they learn to use a can opener like the rest of us … why, why, why?

That was, of course, a rhetorical rant. I’m allowed. Also, I jotted that down a month or so ago and just found it in my “drafts” section. Since Ziva left to live with Jeff, the dogs haven’t really been a problem. Oh, they bark at pretty much anything that moves out front, but they don’t take extended trips into town like Ziva did. Funny thing is that she doesn’t appear to have any desire to run away from her new job of guarding Jerrie Anne.

The reunion is over, and everyone has gone their separate ways. Harriet came the furthest, from Oahu, Hawaii, and Eddie was second, from Oklahoma. One of the items I had all typed out last night, was the excellent visit Eddie and I had last night when he came up to the house for a visit. We got to talking and just lost track of time. I finally realized how late it was and suggested we eat something. Eddie admitted he was hungry and could eat, and suggested that he take Diane and I to dinner. As nice as that sounded, it would have meant I’d have to go change all my clothes, including my underwear, maybe shave, leave the house, stuff like that, so I talked him into a tuna sandwich, which I made. He was easily persuaded.

I like calling him Eddie because he’s a Doctor of Psychology who admits he really enjoys working with crazy people. Perhaps that’s why we get along so well. Anyway, we talked about all kinds of things and I was really proud that I could hold my own with this highly educated man with whom I grew up.

Today Doug and I went golfing, again. I don’t know why he insists that we golf every week. Wears me out, but I enjoy it a lot. And, I’m actually getting to the point where I can hit the ball fairly straight, when I hit it, and most of my putts go in on the second try, if not the first. My 5 wood is my favorite, but I have all these other club in my bag and, by golly, I’m determined to use them. So, I do, and it’s fun. The best part is the visiting, and I get to drive the cart.

Since I had to golf this morning, I got absolutely nothing else done today. I made an attempt to clean up my photo files, but it’s a tough job because it just doesn’t see right to delete photos with people in them, or pictures of places I can’t remember. I do take too many pictures, for sure, and lots of duplicates, but … it hurts me to delete them. So, I made a concerted effort to archive them to DVD’s. I got through 4 of them before discovering that I was doing it all wrong so now my computer is restoring all those files I deleted. See, I knew I shouldn’t have done it. I am, however, a bit nervous about having so many photos on my computer … and my backup drive, and various CDs laying around the house in no particular order, and even some 3.5 and 5.25 floppy disks. You may wonder how on earth I could possibly look at photos stored on a 5.25 disk since computers don’t even have floppy drives any more. Easy. I’m a hoarder and have all the parts I need to resurrect pretty much any kind of data. Doubt that I ever will, but I can if I have to. Maybe. In a pinch.

I think you’ve read enough for this one. It’s time for you to put your computer away and go to bed. G’nite.

50 Years Ago …

Today 48 members of my graduating class from 1962 celebrated our 50th year of separation from our High School educations. The original class was 88 strong, and 20 have predeceased us, so only 20 were unable to attend for reasons we may never know. But, of those 48, we were blessed with the presence of many who I haven’t seen during the past 50 years. Significantly, one of my first loves, Jennie, showed up. I was 8 years old again, conjuring up so many memories from so long ago. I won’t dwell on this because I don’t want to get in trouble with Diane, but it was awesome seeing her after all this time.

In all, there must have been eleventy dozen people, or so, making it hard to hear each other think. Talking was very difficult because of the steady thrum of surrounding conversations, but we talked anyway. Sometimes we shouted to be heard. It was all good.

There we were …

Here we are …

 

OK – I’m bummed. I had a whole lot of “stuff” added right here that, somehow, was omitted. Now I’m in the position where I must attempt to recreate it, or just make something else up. Or, just quit. Following the path of least resistance, I’m gonna quit. Tomorrow, perhaps, I will relate this morning’s breakfast, at the fairgrounds, Eddie’s visit to our home, and maybe some other things. Who knows?