Author Archives: Jerrie Cate

Monday Morning

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Now that I’m retired, Monday Mornings just aren’t the same. They’re exactly like every other day, but different. I used to wake up on Mondays eager to ride the red snake to Portland where I would assume a position much like the one I’m in at this moment. Poised professionally behind a computer, clicking away at one task or another, and waiting for the phone to ring so I could solve my first mystery of the day. Now I’m poised in my pajamas, and my clientele consist of my lovely bride, three dogs, and whoever wishes to call seeking help.

The dogs don’t generally have any issues with computers so they’re easy to assist. All they need are full food bowls so they’ll have something to argue about during the day. And water.

Hmmmm. Wonder what happened there. Some sort of melancholy thing, I guess. Way too serious. Perhaps the reason I went down that road was because Diane left me alone for a while yesterday when she went to church to meet with some of the ladies to hold a prayer vigil for a friend. Her name is also Diane. She went to the hospital last Thursday for chest pains, and wound up getting a 5 hour session of open heart surgery. She had an aortic aneurism which normally kills folks outright, but she survived. The vigil was to pray for her recovery because she hasn’t yet awakened since the operation. The doctors are optimistic, but it’s one of those things that that’s hard to fathom. Bad things just happen so quickly so treasure every second you have.

I’m writing a book about history. Not the way you learned it, but the way it really happened. From the beginning. So far it’s five chapters long, but it’s only 10 pages so there’s some filling I need to add. Shouldn’t take me more than a couple more days and I’ll be done with it.

Today I took Ziva & Ozzie to the vet to get their rabies boosters. I put a big red leash on Ozzie, and black on Ziva because they’re supposed to be on a leash in the office. I told the attendant that the dogs were twins and I used the different colored leashes so I could tell them apart. They figured it out right away, though, when I had to put the dogs on the scale. One at a time. Ozzie weighs 6.4 pounds. Ziva weighs 74.4 pounds. And, when you look closely, they don’t look much alike at all. The doc said Ziva was overweight, which didn’t make her happy, but she took her shots well and decided going to the vet wasn’t all that bad because she got treats. Ozzie wasn’t having anything to do with the treats and gave the doctor his Elvis lip when she tried to pet him. He can do that on either side of his face and it looks pretty scary. So, I had to hold his nose until she was done.

When I got home I put on my three day old working clothes that have been laying on the bedroom floor for three days, and went out to whack some black berry vines. I quickly learned that the gloves I was wearing weren’t up to the task of protecting my tender little fingers very well. I was constantly pulling thorns out of them. What made them stick in the gloves was the points that imbedded themselves in my skin. Apparently the thorns have been trained from birth to leave a small piece of themselves behind when pulled from human flesh. Now I have little black dots on my fingers and hands. I took a couple of shots across the face with some unwieldy vines, too, and Diane wouldn’t let me come back into the house until the bleeding stopped. So, I just kept working. Finally, at 5 pm, Diane said I could come in to eat supper. She figured it had been long enough for the blood to have solidified on my wounds, and she was right. Now all I have to do is wait for the wounds to fester so I can pop the rest of the thorns out of them.

Now its time for bed, and there I must go.

Jody, The Quilt Show & Fine Dining

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Yesterday Diane and I went to Hillsboro to visit a very good friend who had just been released from the ICU after a kidney operation to remove a HUGE stone. It was 1/3 the size of her kidney. The doctor removed about 3/4 of it before Jody’s BP dropped so low they had to terminate the operation. It was a scary time for Rick, I know, and for us when we found out what happened. It was good to see Jody and talk with her. I ask that everyone keep Jody in your thoughts and prayers as her doctors devise a way to get rid of that other 1/4 of her stone in a less invasive manner.

This morning I went to coffee with the MELCA group while Diane went to the church to set up for the WELCA’s 31st annual quilt show. Actually, it was only part of the MELCA group as a few were missing. But, seven of us filled up a 4-person table at The Kozy Korner Kafe. I don’t know if it’s “Kafe” or not, but seems like it should be since everything else starts with “K”. MELCA stands for Men of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. It’s not really an official group … Larry made that up thinking that when the WELCA group had their shindigs at the church, the MELCA group could have a tail gate party in the church parking lot. I guess that didn’t fluff a lot feathers in the right direction so we decided to have coffee every Thursday morning instead. We met at the Warren Country Inn until it went bankrupt and closed down. Don’t know how long we’ll last at the Kozy.

The WELCA Annual Quilt Show is a big deal for the ladies and they put a lot of hard work into it. Quilters come out of the woodwork to display their efforts, and to sell their wares. It’s quite an event enjoyed by everyone who takes the time to participate and those who just show up to look. The ladies serve sandwiches and soup … the absolute best homemade clam chowder in the world, bar none. Really. That’s true. Valerie makes it. Not the Connecticut Valerie … the St. Helens Valerie. I can talk about her because I know for a fact she doesn’t have a computer. It’s in my basement shop. Well, it was, until I tore it apart and recycled it because it was broken. Since she doesn’t have a computer she can’t read any of this. I’ve had her computer in the basement for the last 4 years. She didn’t want it back and she didn’t get a new one. She doesn’t like computers.

After a very tiring hour at coffee hour with the MELCA guys, I took a piece of tail pipe to Don to see if he could bend me a new one just a little longer. The piece I had fell off our RV and I couldn’t get it back in the sleeve because it was rusted off a little. Don used to own a muffler shop and he’s a really good guy to know. He’s also Diane’s cousin, which helps. I fiddle with his computers and he’s my official car mechanic and muffler guy. Don also races on the local track that he got built, at the local county fair grounds, many years ago. His shop currently has three race cars in various stages of construction, or rebuilding from the last race. Races start in May. We visited for a while then I had to leave because Diane and I had a date in Oregon City to have a late lunch at Mike & Kathie’s. This Mike & Kathie is not the same Mike & Kathie who live in a secluded area East of Sacramento. They just have the same names, with Kathie spelled the same way. Kind of odd, actually, but I’m comfortable with odd.

Since the church was close to Don’s, I stopped by to see how Diane was doing and found her vacuuming the floor. Being properly trained, I got to her as quickly as I could and took the machine away from her and finished the job. Then we went home to get cleaned up for our date.

Mike & Kathie’s Kafe is in a secluded location not far from the famous Willamette Falls, last seen by this reporter in an episode of Leverage, starring Timothy Hutton, which is a TNT series filmed in Portland. As I recall, Timothy got shot down there, but didn’t die. Of course he wouldn’t die, because there has to be another show next week. Anyway, Mike & Kathie’s is known for their fabulous quizeen … I mean cuisine. It’s exciting because we never know what’s on the menu until it lands on the table in front of you. Mike started me off with a sangria and club soda mixture, which is kinda like Bali High wine and vodka, with a lot less kick. Pretty good stuff. I watched him open the bottle so know it was fresh.

Diane had water.

Then the honey buns were brought to the table and they were excellent. We munched on them while our plates were being filled by the owners. The excitement was building as wonderful odors wafted from the newly remodeled kitchen, with really nice fake granite counter tops. Actually, they aren’t fake at all. And, they aren’t granite. They are quartz, and very very nice.

In a short time Kathie appeared with steaming plates and placed them in front of us. She served me first because, I thought, she liked me best. Turns out I was just the closest to her. This Kathie, in addition to being an excellent cook, is a prodigious quilter, as is Wynette. We’re related to Wynette, and the Mike & Kathie who live near Sacramento.

On the plate was mashed potatoes, corn, and spare ribs. That was good and bad. Good because I had on a dark shirt. Bad because the plate was sitting on a white lace table cloth. Diane gave me that “look”, warning me to be very careful with my food and not get any on the table, or myself. I was a little tense as I took my first bite, but found that the meat pealed off the bones quite nicely. So, I stripped the bones, cut up the meat, and just mixed everything on the plate, like I normally do the TV dinners we have at home. I really like TV dinners that way because it makes it all look more appealing. Doing it at Mike & Kathie’s, I discovered, wasn’t a good choice, so I hit the magic button in my armpit, and spun the clock back 30 seconds to where everything was OK on my plate. Except the meat was still stripped from the bones.

It was most excellent. So good, that I ate twice. And, I only got one, little, teeny, tiny, spot on the table cloth. I pulled my plate a little closer to cover it up, thinking I  could get away with it, but Diane saw me and gave me that squinty eye, head turned look which forewarned me of events to come. It was a really little spot.

After eating, we visited for about 3 hours. Normally you can’t do that with Kafe owners, but they are good friends, and it was really in their home. So it was OK. We don’t see them nearly often enough because they live so far away. Or maybe it’s because Diane and I live so far away. It’s one or the other. Many of our friends fall into that category. They seem to all live 40-50 miles away. That shouldn’t been so bad, you’d think, since we’ve been known to drive 2500 miles to attend a wedding. Really, what’s 40-50 miles?

We returned home safely and the dogs were very happy to see us. Like normal. Just before we got home, Jeff sent a text stating that Ziva, our black blue healer/catahoula leopard hound mix, is a descended from Spanish war dogs which were bred in Louisiana to go out and pick fights with feral hogs, and get them to chase them home. I think this is where the term “bringing home the bacon” really came from. That was fitting end to our evening.

Sorry I didn’t take a picture of my plate of food so you would have a visual reference, but I was too engaged to think of taking pictures. I ate and visited instead.

G’nite.

Super Bowl Sunday & Other Stuff

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Yes, I watched the game. So did Diane. We did it mainly to watch the commercials. We also watched the Madonna half time show which we both thoroughly enjoyed. I guess that makes me a Madonna fan. I’m a Danika Patrick fan, too.

Before the game, Terry and his bride arrived to remove the old generator from the ’68 Winnebago I’ve been destroying. He had to get here today because Ryan is hauling off the carcass tomorrow and I’ll have to get busy cleaning up the mess. Terry and I managed to yank the generator out with little difficulty, and transfer it to his trailer. Generators are very heavy. At least the ones they made in 1968 are heavy.

After the generator went away I fired up the BBQ and we had steaks. The weather has been incredible. It must have been around 70 degrees, or so, and I was thinking about mowing the yard. Diane nixed that in favor of the BBQ.

I’ve been sitting here a while trying to think up something clever to write, so this might be at least a little interesting, but I’m coming up empty. I think that’s because Diane is making me take my fish oil pills three times a day. It’s supposed to help my heart, which works just fine, but rumor has it that it also helps ADD afflicted folks, of which she thinks I one. Jennie told her that because that’s what the doctor is doing for Jeran. I have this theory that the fish oil capsules, which also contain flaxseed, safflower, and olive oil, are suppressing my imagination. I find that things aren’t flying around in my head like they used to but I found, too, that caffeine can temporarily fix that.

Here’s what the sunrise looked like this morning from our back porch …

As an old friend, Jewel, who lives on Hawaii (big island), and lives in a house that sees every Hawaiian sunset … she’s not really old … at least she’s younger than me, I think … anyway, she calls this sunrise “stunning”. High praise from a lovely lady who is surrounded by incredibly beautiful sunsets every day. Some might think that would get boring, but it doesn’t. Here’s a Hawaiian sunset picture I took a couple of years ago so you can see what I mean …

Kinda ho hum, huh? Who would want to look at stuff like that every day? Well, Diane would. For that reason I would force myself to endure the brutal assaults on my senses. I’d suck it up and deal with it.

You may find it amusing that Diane and I are sending emails back and forth so she doesn’t have to yell at me. She’s sitting in the living room with her laptop, and I’m all alone in the Man Room, with the dogs. We’re having some of the calmest “conversations” we’ve had in years. I guess it works better when there isn’t any body language involved to emphasize certain points. Little things like raised eyebrows, or rolling your eyes in lieu of a verbal comment to something you might not believe, or simply disagree with. It’s kinda fun to enter a conversation between a couple of women and just do that once in a while without saying anything, whether or not you know what’s being discussed. It gets interesting pretty quickly. You should try it. Perks things up, it does.

Time to quit. I hope “your” team won the game today. If your team was the Patriots, I’m sorry. I’m not really sorry, because I really didn’t have anything to do with it other than to cheer on the Giants. That may have helped, a little. No, I’m not sorry at all, and you can’t make me feel bad for rooting for the winning team. I won’t allow it. No sir! We’re just not going to talk about this any more.

PS – we love our new furnace.

Heat! Finally!

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Greetings … The heat came back on about 3:30 pm, PST. The installer arrived before 8:30 am and got right to work. We lucked out and got Jake again. He’s the one who installed our gas fireplace and he does an excellent job.

While Jake worked, Diane fiddled around in the Girl Room, with a heater, while I slaved away in the cold basement dismantling old computers. They’ve been stacking up for years and I figured it was time for them to go away, or get repaired. Of the six I had, only one was resurrected. The remaining five were stripped of every screw, and piece of plastic. Power supplies were dismantled, fans salvaged, and hard drives torn apart. I’ve always wanted to do that … tear a hard drive apart. That went well until I got to the magnets and about got my finger snapped off. They are extremely powerful little devils.

Now I have to stop because Diane just returned with supper. She was going to drive to the mail box, then thought that was a little excessive, so I suggested she continue on to Burgerville for a couple of hamburgers and stop at the mail box on the way home. She thought that was a good idea.

What It’s Like Living In A Cave (in the winter)

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Simply said, it’s cold! Sure, it’s 62 in the house, but when you’re used to 68-70, it’s cold.Really! It is!. To compact the frigid indoor weather, we’ve been living in the Man Room with a tiny little space heater. Today, however, Diane has migrated to the Girl Room with her own space heater because she has contracted a terrible cold and, being the stellar person she is, has chosen to not subject me to the presence of her germy exhalations, sneeze-like, or otherwise. Bless her efforts, but I’ll probably catch it anyway because I always kiss her good morning and good night.

When not in the Girl Room Diane is in the Living Room hunkered down in front of the fireplace. Sadly, I didn’t far picture of her ensconced in my Mom’s old rocking chair, wrapped in a blankie, wearing boots, and shivering. She looked adorable.

Tomorrow the lack of indoor heat will be resolved because the Furnace Guy returned with a viable offer. Still overpriced, but what can a guy do? It’s cold.

The new furnace is a Trane XV95 80,000 BTU, 2-stage, variable speed fan, gas guzzler. The “team” will be here at 0830 tomorrow morning to begin the installation. We’ll have heat by noon at the latest.

I kinda whined about being cold, but the weather has been just terrific. Here’s the sunrise that greeting me this morning …

That little puffy cloud in the middle is hovering right over Mt. Hood. Quite spectacular. All of the Weather Guys are telling us this weather is going to continue for the next ten days. Nice, but early February. Apparently the 14 inches of snow we had was the extent of our winter. And, it only last about 3 days. I rescind all of my complaints and  whines.

Since the weathers going to be non-precipitating for the next week, or so, I retrieved the old Winnebago from it’s tiny little storage closet so I could do some work on it. As soon as I got it home, I went to work on the exhaust system was a little loose in the rear. There was a sleeve over a section near the rear. When I tried to tighten the u-bolts holding the sleeve, I discover the reason it was loose … the end was rusted off and there wasn’t anything for the sleeve to clamp on. Now, I know the vast majority of you, who take the time to read this drivel, find anything about Winnebagos fascinating, but I’m afraid that’s all I have for you on this subject. That, and the liquified container of dryzair slid off the dash, where I foolishly placed it. It was OK, though, because it landed on Diane’s side. I can say that because she’s vowed to never drive it. I’m in command of the RV. I sopped it all up first thing when I got it home. I used a dog towel to do that.

Jeran had a doctor appointment this morning to find out what might help his ADD, ADHD, or whatever it is that causes him to act out a little in lass. It’s tough on him. Jennie said the doctor doubled his fish oil intake as they’ve discovered that fish oil has proven to produce remarkable improvements in children with this affliction. When she told Diane about this she added that “may you should have Dad do the same.” You, know, like double up my fish oil. Like that would help. I can’t remember to take my fish oil once a day so why would she think I could rememberer it twice a day? She really should keep an eye on me because I was taking her vitamin D for a long time thinking they were my “new” fish oil pills, just 1/3 the size. Turns out that wasn’t good for me. Apparently too much vitamin D makes a person mean, edgy, paranoid, and suspicious. I had no idea because I thought I felt pretty good. I do, however, feel even better now that I’ve been banned from the vitamin D bottle. Diane hid it from me and made me put my fish oil pill bottle on my computer desk.

i’ll be back tomorrow with a report on how the new furnace installation went.

Our Furnace Quit

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Bummer! Just when things were looking up, the furnace decided it wasn’t going to use any more gas. The fan still moves the air around, but it’s the same old air and it’s getting colder. We figured there was going to be a problem when the most recent gas bill was double the previous one. We do, however, tend to keep it warmish in the house, as older folks do. Actually, it’s not that cold right now, and we have a gas fireplace that works just great. Thankfully, the fireplace is in the room where we spend the majority of our waking hours. Well, there and the Man Room. The furnace guy is going to be here between 2-3 this afternoon so I’ll probably have to clean the house. Diane hates having strangers come in the house unless it’s just been cleaned. The 8 mile trip to the house for the furnace guy will only cost $99.95. Then they will tell us what’s wrong and has to be replaced. I’m guessing it’s going to be the entire furnace because it’s about 20 years old, at least.

I was up at 6:30 this morning, with the dogs, but had to wait until 8am to call the furnace folks, like Diane told me to. I took my phone into the freezing garage so I wouldn’t disturb Diane as she was still sleeping. Once that was done, I made coffee. That’s a noisy process because Diane insists that we grind the beans within 30 seconds of putting them into the pot. This, also, must be done in the garage as the grinder runs for 19 seconds. Everything in the pot has to be prepared ahead of time to ensure I make it within the allotted 30 seconds after the grinder stops.

I always make 12 cups of coffee, and used to be very precise about how much water I put in. There are lines on the pot and the reservoir to help with this, but I discovered that you can actually pour as much water in there as you want because there’s a nifty little hole in the reservoir, just above the 12 cup line, and all the excess just runs out on the counter. Then it becomes a cleanup project with helps keep the counter very clean around the coffee pot.

I think the coffee pot is done so I’m going to quit this and go get a cup. If something interesting happens with the furnace guy, I’ll let you know.

Long pause …

It’s a lot late, it’s dark, and I’m sweaty.

The furnace guy, Don, showed up early and determined that our furnace is trash and it’s amazing that we’re alive. He didn’t actually say that, but the implication was there. Our heat exchanger is cracked which is the reason for out huge gas bill for last month. We solved that today by turning off the furnace for good. Thankfully, the temperature today was around 50 so it really wasn’t too bad. A little chilly, but nothing a fuzzy blanket couldn’t resolve.

After the furnace guy left Diane’s Mom called. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but on this end things got pretty lively with serious carrying on and lots of daughter to mother “don’ts” and “shouldn’ts”. Turns out that Grams, who is 84, hauled out an 8 foot step ladder, hooked up all the flex and fixed hoses toy the shop vac, and started vacuuming her roof. It’s had about a zillion maple whirligig seeds on it for a while now. Today she’d had enough. The only reason she called was because the furthest piece of fixed hose fell off and was on the roof. So, I jumped in the car and went to the rescue.

By the time I got there she had removed the piece from the roof using her broom. So, I got her longest extension cord and blower and proceeded to blow those little suckers off the roof. It took be a couple of hours and I finished just as it was getting dark. That’s the part that made me all sweaty. I can’t take a shower, yet, because I need to go get Lydia from her basketball practice in about half an hour.

Cheers.

A Fried Egg Sandwich & More

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Greetings Earthlings. I come in pieces.

Yesterday I had a fried egg sandwich. It’s one of my favorite things to eat. That and bacon. I probably should have had bacon with this, but I hate frying it. Especially in the nude. I have to admit, cooking it that way is pretty exciting, but I got tired of explaining it to the nurse every time I visited the emergency room. You know them … make you take off all your clothes and put on one of those drafty little dresses, even for a simple scalp wound. So, I don’t do it any more. It was fun while it lasted.

I was going to say that I don’t remember what else we did yesterday, but I do! Had I said that, it would have been a lie. We went to see “Grease” at the Scappoose High School auditorium. Nice. According to the brochure, it will hold “just under 400 people.” It doesn’t say how far under, but I’m guessing it’s pretty close to that. The play was put on by the high school students and it was very good. Diane’s cousin’s daughter, Victoria, played Rizo and did an excellent job. Everyone also really like the fairy guy that sang “Beauty School Dropout” to Frenchy. Diane didn’t like that I referred to him as a “fairy guy” and said he was an angel. But he had huge butterfly wings and everyone knows angels don’t have butterfly wings. I talked with him after the play, to congratulate him, but didn’t mention anything about fairy’s. I seriously doubt he is one, and suspect he’s going to be a success at whatever he does.

Victoria is a senior and has a full ride scholarship to Portland State University in the Air Force ROTC program. I’m told that one works out to about $400K. Smart cookie. I think there’s not much doubt that she’s going to succeed, also. Did I tell you she’s gorgeous?

Today we went to the Portland Auto Show. It was in Portland. At the Convention Center, on MLK Blvd. We weren’t going to go, but our friend, Mike, works the show every year and it was an opportunity for us to see him. Unfortunately, his lovely bride, Kathie, not to be confused with the Sacramento Kathie, daughter of Gene, to whom I’m related, won’t be at the show until tomorrow so we missed seeing her. Now, I believe, we have a date to mingle on Monday. It’s difficult to do because they live all the way over in Oregon City. On the other side of I-205. It’s a hike. But, we haven’t seen them for almost 6 years, so it’s about time. We have to do that because the last time we had an opportunity to visit, they came to the house. OK, so that means it can’t be 6 years because we’ve only been in this house for only 4 years, 3 months, 2 days, 3 hours, and 67 minutes. Not as long as I thought. Before I forget, here’s Diane’s favorite car …

It’s a Fiat 500. When we lived in Italy (70-73) those things were absolutely everywhere. Little 3-cylinder things that seemed to run forever on hardly any gas. Considering that gas at that time was over $3 a gallon using very little of it was a very good thing. They were called cinquacentos (chink-qua-chentos) which, I still firmly believe, means 500 in Italian. What drew us to the little car was still un-thirsty nature. Though it now has a 4-cylinder engine, it still gets over 30mpg average. Which leads to another thing we learned … the car we have is perfectly OK … for long trips. And, we take a lot of long trips. So, we’ll keep it and, perhaps, turn the PT we have into a Fiat so we have something economical for the frequent runs to Safeway. The PT is fast, but only gets around 20mpg on a good day.

The dogs were very good during our 6 hours absence, for which we were grateful. We didn’t leave any trash cans within their reach, so I’m sure they had a very boring time.

When we got home Diane made me make potato salad for the pot luck at church tomorrow. It’s not my best, but it’s OK. As a friend once told me, about a food choice about which I wasn’t particularly fond, “it’ll make a turd,” meaning, of course, that you don’t have to like it in order for it to do what food does in your body. This friend was a USN Master Chief on one of my ships, so I had to believe him. Turns out, he’s right. He also once asked me, “Jerrie! d’ya know why you throw up when you’re stomach’s upset?” Of course I said, “No, Ed. Why?”, because I don’t always do that. “Because your belly’s fulla puke,” says Ed. So, if you’re stomach’s upset, but you don’t puke, it’s because it’s not yet full. That’s a bit of nautical knowledge everyone should know.

Time to quit … probably should have quit one paragraphs sooner, huh?

Day 26 – 2012

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Today I spent almost all day in our church office running off 70 copies of a 16 page report for the church’s annual meeting. Sounds simple, right? Perhaps for someone other than myself, that would be true. Generally, I don’t have problems with copy machines, and today really wasn’t any different. The problem is that the copier is very slow, and it kept interfering with the Sudoku game I was playing on my phone.

That’s another twist for me, too. Playing games on my phone! I used to make fun of people who did that. Now “I’m that guy!”

I mean, common! I’m almost 70 years old, for crimminy sakes. How did this happen? Phones, for me, have traditionally been a communication device. Then I got one with a camera. Shortly after that, I learned how to text on my Motorola Razor. I suspect that was the beginning of my transcendence into the group of people for whom cell phones are a lot less for communication than they are for entertainment. I’ve even been known to listen to music, for gosh sakes. I do all this stuff with my phone, and I find that I’m still behind the power curve with where all that technology is going.

Diane’s even ahead of me, here. When she gets into her car, her phone automatically connects to the audio system using Bluetooth. So, when her phone rings it’s on the car speakers. How cool is that? She answers with the push of a button on the steering wheel and has a jolly conversation with whoever’s calling. Sometimes it’s a wrong number, but that’s OK because it’s as if she’s talking to the car. Which she actually is.

Now I have a problem because we watched “The Bing Bang Theory” this evening. It’s one of our favorite shows. Raj, who cannot talk with girls, got an iPhone 4s and got real comfortable with Siri. Siri, for those of you hiding under a rock somewhere in Montana where there’s no cell phone towers, allows the phone owner to just talk to the phone to get what they want. Raj was so enamored with Siri that he started dating his phone. Pretty funny stuff. Now I want a phone with Siri, but I can’t have one until sometime next year when my current phone obligation expires. I really don’t see how I can possibly survive that long without getting one of those.

So, I started talking to the phone I have, and ancient iPhone 3Gs, and guess what! It kinda does what I tell it too. Like “Call Diane”. It was amazing, and sent a little sensuous thrill up my backbone. When it got to the base of my skull I briefly went blind in my right eye. I call it sensuous, but I have no frame of reference for what that means. I think I read it in a book.

I have an iPad, too, but I want to get an iPad2. Say that to someone who has their eyes closed and they’ll think you’re nuts. My iPad doesn’t take pictures. Perhaps by the time my  2-year obligation is up with AT&T there will be an iPad3 that makes phone calls. That would be totally awesome!

Back to the church … once all the pages were copied, Diane and I took the stacks to the church basement and started putting them together. There were two long tables pushed together so I spaced the 16 pages around them. Diane sat at the end of the line and accepted the collated bundle I handed her. Then she’d put a clip on the report and put it in her pile. I did this 70 times, and, according to the pedometer on my phone, walked almost a mile doing it. So, now you’re wondering why I just didn’t have the copier collate the reports, like most copiers do. Well, ours doesn’t. So there.

Gotta quit now. Diane just reported that Ziva, our big black dog, has been cleaning out our bathroom and bedside trash cans and has a Q-tip sticking out of her ass. I was wondering why I never had to empty those on garbage day.

Day 24 of 2012

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Yesterday, when Diane took Jennifer and Cedric to the emergency room, in Longview, I went to our rented storage facility to check up on our Winnebago. The main thing was to see if it would start. I feared that the battery may have run down since it’s been over a month since we closed that door. If it wouldn’t start, I’d have to drag it out in order to get to the battery because there’s only, like, 3 inches of space on the battery side.

Thankfully, it cranked right up, and I let it run for a little while. When the fumes started making my fingers go numb, I thought it would be a good idea to back it out so the exhaust went somewhere else. That went well. Getting it back in proved to be trickier, however, because I thought it would be a good idea to get more space on the passenger side. This meant, of course, that I needed to squeeze another inch, or two, off the driver’s side. There was contact, but I will deny it to my dying day. No major damage and I think my liability coverage will take care of it. Maybe.

So, “why,” you may ask, “did Cedric and Jennifer have to go to the emergency room, and why did Diane have to drive them?”

I’ll say, “because Jennifer couldn’t get Cedric’s bagel wound to stop bleeding, and had to keep pressure on it all the way to the hospital.” Driving wasn’t an option for her.

The visit was a success. Cedric was using a serrated knife to cut his bagel and sliced into his left thumb and into the palm of his hand. The doc used glue instead of stitches because the wound was so jagged. Then he put those little strips of tape across them like Diane uses on me all the time. The ones that are skinny on the ends, and skinnier in the middle. There’s a name for them, but it escapes me. They look like little versions of the nose strips I use to keep my nose open when I sleep. If I don’t use those, my nose slams shut. Diane wakes up and jabs me whenever she hears that sound.

So, Cedric is OK, and has something to talk about at school, which is important for a growing boy. It’s going to be an awesome scar, and I’m envious. I believe, however, that I still have a few scars in my future. There’s actually no doubt about it. I’m always finding little nicks and dings with bits of blood and don’t have a clue how it happened. So, if I’m actually paying attention when I receive a wound, it’ll probably be a good one. You’ll be the first to know, after Diane, when that happens.

I’ve decided to be a good boy when I eat. That shift was motivated by events of two days ago. Maybe it was three. Anyway, I was really on edge, not feeling well. I blamed it on the 9 pounds of Chinese food I ate at lunch, but Diane thought it was more basic than that. Bowing to her better judgement, as I always do, I made a decision to “eat right.” I was toying with the concept of not eating anything white – white flour, sugar, rice, potatoes, etc… A friend of our is doing that and he’s lost, like 180 pounds in the last couple of months! I’m guessing, here, and could be off by as much as 100 pounds or so. Still, that’s a lot of weight. He looks really great, too, because it’s not a rapid loss. He’s only losing about 4-8 pounds a day. I think the way he’s losing that weight is from spitting. You know, from spitting out all that good food, for the taste, just before eating all that non-white stuff. If I did that diet I’d just make everything brown by putting gravy on it. Simple. That, or teriyaki sauce.

Instead, I’m going to test my resistance and will power by just eating less of everything and fill up on water when my spirits start to wilt. Get it? Water? Wilt? Kinda sounds like I’m some sort of delicate flower. Not true. That’s Diane, not me. I’m like a cactus. The only time I used to drink water was when it rained in Arizona. Now I have to drink it whenever it rains in Oregon.

Last Saturday I attended a motivational seminar conducted by an old friend. As a result, I’ve decided to make a concerted effort to see if there’s a story in my head worthy enough for someone to pay for it. My first step will be to find a local writer’s group. If there isn’t one, I’ll just have meetings with myself, sitting here at my computer, talking to all of you. I’ve already looked for, and found one in St. Helens. But, it’s not in Oregon. It’s in England. That commute is a bit long for a weekly trip. Guess I’ll keep looking.

We hope everyone is doing well, wherever you may be.

Stitches

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This isn’t for the squeemish. The following is a detailed account of how I happened to be blessed with the 12 stitches depicted above. I believe I reported this incident in a previous (old) blog entry so if you read that one and find discrepancies, the old one was incorrect.

It happened a long, long time ago. In a land faraway. It was a clear day and the stars were shining brightly. Rain was pouring from the sky. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked …

While living in our previous home, it was determined that we needed to replace the kitchen flooring. The simplest way, for me, was good old peel-n-stick tile. As luck would have it, doing this requires proficiency in the use of a very sharp object to make cuts so tiles fit snugly around various obstacles.

In this instance, I used a box cutter with a new blade. I had permission to do this because Diane was in the house, and Joshua, a foster child at the time, and an honorary Grandson, was helping me. He was about 10 at the time and Diane figured he could dial 911 as well as anyone if she wasn’t immediately available.

Well into this project, there became a need for Diane to accompany our oldest Grandson to the local Urgent Care, leaving me and Joshua alone. They left in such a hurry that Diane didn’t have time to give me any instructions on how I should proceed with the project. Joshua and I conferred, and agreed that we didn’t receive specific instructions about NOT continuing. So, we continued.

We had about 30 minutes of uneventful progress, and were on the very last piece I had to cut. Cutting, as I said, involved the box cutter and a steel framing square to ensure all the cuts were straight. I held the square down with my left hand, and had adopted a method of scoring the tile on the first cut, with light pressure, then doing another cut with more pressure. Safety was my primary concern. Really, it was.

On that last cut I did the first light cut, then the second, and added a third for emphasis, kinda like an Ole’ move that the deed was done. On this third cut, the box cutter veered off the desired path, crossed a very short section of the square and connected with the tip of the pointing finger of my left hand. I swear to this day that is was like a laser guided weapon.

Upon hitting the soft portion of my finger, the blade smoothly sliced into the tip of the distal phalanx of my left index finger. Since bone is very hard, the blade was forced upward, but it didn’t stop cutting. It sliced through the outer edge of my fingernail and continued toward the interphalangeal joint. The joint deflected the blade away from my finger thereby avoiding further injury and the requisite stitches.

All of this happened in less than the blink of an eye. Zip, and it was done.

Immediately recognizing the pain of serious injury, I pinched my thumb against the wounded digit, and raised it above my head. This also happened very quickly because I was fearful of getting blood on the floor. Diane would have been livid had that happened. Joshua got a little wide-eyed at that point, and asked what happened.

I went to the sink and held my left hand in front of me, still pinching very hard. But, I knew I had to look to confirm that the pain I felt was worthy of a trip to visit a doctor. I slowly released the pressure and blood gushed into the sink giving me all the proof I needed that, indeed, there was a trip to urgent care in my near future. I reapplied the pressure, rinsed the blood off, grabbed a handy dish towel, released the pressure, wrapped my finger and reapplied the pressure. That was quickly done, too, as I was to learn later.

I told Joshua to come with me and we headed for my car. It’s really “our” car, but Diane let’s me call it “mine”. Fortunately, for Joshua, he had relatives who lived between us and urgent care, so I dropped him there, saving him from having to visit the waiting room.

At urgent care, I got all checked in and patiently waited my turn. The pain was becoming excruciating, causing me to invoke the age old method of pain relief of sucking air loudly, and often, through my clenched teeth. My hand, of course, was planted firmly on top of my head. There was a little girl in the waiting room who appeared to become quite frightened by all of this, but she was saved from life altering trauma when I was called into the business end of urgent care.

The nurse who escorted me to my room is a friend of Diane’s who’s name, oddly, is Diane. I was allowed to lay down and let my left arm rest on a handy table that was provided, and release the pressure on my finger. It was at this point I discovered the dish towel had hardly any blood on it which I knew would please my Diane. Nurse Diane didn’t care because she was more interested in the wound.

She let it bleed for a little while, making sure all the little blood vessels were working OK, then she stuck a needle in my finger near the metacarpophalangeal joint. She did this numerous times, injecting lidocaine to numb my finger. It felt like my finger was swelling up as she did this so I looked. Indeed, it was swelling up to about twice it’s normal size.

Then she got this really small, thick rubber band and worked it down my finger to the metacarpophalangeal joint. When she let go of the rubber band it cut off the blood supply to my finger and the bleeding stopped. My finger started turning white and she said she could leave the band on there for 45 minutes without killing my finger. While laying there, watching my finger die, my daughter, Jennifer, appeared in the doorway. This caused me concern because she tells her Mother everything. I was curious, too, to know how she had tracked me down.

Lydia, daughter of Jennifer, was a Girl Scout at this time. Girl Scouts sell cookies and Jennifer was the Cookie Mom. Lydia had sold cookies to Joshua’s relatives, the ones I dropped him at on my way to urgent care. This was the day they were delivering cookies. When they arrived at Joshua’s location they were surprised to see him and more surprised when he told them that I’d cut off my finger.

Jennifer went directly to urgent care and we had a nice little talk. Most of it was pleading with her to not tell her Mom what had happened. I knew, deep down, that, being a good daughter, the only choice she had was to rat me out. So, she did, but I didn’t immediately detect the ripple effect of that conversation.

The Doc finally appeared, with only minutes to spare. When she entered the room, looking at my chart, she said, “Jerold Bradley Cate.”

I said, “Yes, but you can call me Jerrie.”

She said, “No. It’s Jerold Bradley Cate. Get used to that, and tell me what happened.”

Now, every man knows that, when anyone uses all of his names, something bad is going to happen. In this case, it already had, but I knew there was great potential for things to get a lot worse. She had all manner of tools and sharp instruments at her disposal so I thought it would be prudent to do pretty much everything she told me to do.

We started chatting and I learned that she was the doctor who treated my Grandson, and visited with my Diane during that process. Apparently Diane gave her enough background on me that she wasn’t at all surprised to encounter me this fine morning.

I watched as she calmly stitched the flab of finger back into place. Two of the stitches were through the attached part of my fingernail making me admire the fine manufacturing abilities of whoever made such a sharp needle. When she was all done the ridges of my fingerprint were perfectly aligned. It was quite magnificent.

Then it was time for the leak test. That’s when she cut the rubber band that was killing my finger. It was very interesting to watch the blood flow back into my finger, turning it back to a normal color. The stitches held nicely, and not a drop of blood escaped.

I was released and sent home with a prescription for some pain killer, but I didn’t go get them figuring I better just get used to the pain. On the way I picked up Joshua and shared the story with his relatives.

Once home, Jeff called to see how I was. He found out because after Jennifer called Diane, Diane called him, telling him to have me call her when I got home. Jeff and I had a fun conversation about being clumsy and accident prone, which we both kinda are. We laughed and enjoyed the moment.

Soon, however, it ended with my promise that I would call his Mother right away, which I did. Her phone rang twice before she answered with, “Jerold Bradley Cate, what did you do?” She’s never been one who gently eases into a conversation.

“Well,” I said, “the good news is that my tetanus shots are up to date.”

“What’s the bad news?” she replied.

“I have 12, new, incredibly complex stitches,” said I, “and my new gloves will live to fight another day.” I added the part about gloves in an attempt to steer the conversation away from talking about the injury, but she tricked me.

“You weren’t wearing them, were you?” she responded.

“No,” said I.

“Why,” said she.

“Because.”

“Why because.”

“Just because.”

“JEROLD BRADLEY!”