Category Archives: Stupid Stuff

In The Beginning

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For a lack of anything better to share, I’m giving you a preview of my short story about the history of everything. It’s stupid and obviously make believe and it’s bound to upset more than a few folks. If you’re one of them, I’m sorry.

In The Beginning: the real story

Disclaimer:

“Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, ligula suspendisse nulla pretium, rhoncus tempor placerat fermentum, enim integer ad vestibulum volutpat. Nisl rhoncus turpis est, vel elit, congue wisi enim nunc ultricies sit, magna tincidunt.” -Author Unknown

I have it on good authority that the above statement is absolutely meaningless. I looked it up. It’s simply a place holder in a template and we’re supposed to replace it with something of value. I kinda like the way it looks, however, and it goes right along with what you are about to read, if you continue. The following pages are pure fabrication, snatched from my caffeine agitated brain. Please, do not believe any of it. Also, please don’t take offense at anything you read and remember that you have the option of stopping at any time you wish. I mean, being upset about something that’s already proclaimed to be false, is like getting upset with an NBA referee for making an obviously inaccurate call against your favorite team. It happened, and you can’t take it back. Move on and get over it. There will be a makeup call on the next possession.

Preface 

Since there’s so much turmoil between various religions about who’s the messiah, if there’s a messiah, if the messiah is coming back, if the true religion is Jewish, Christianity, Muslim, Islam, Buddhism, The Church of Elvis … or Whatever … I thought it’s about time I set everyone straight on what really happened, and what’s going on now, and what you can look forward to.

So, here goes … and remember, this is just pretend.

 Ich mein nogginshakin mitt smackinhappy noddinupndown

 Chapter 1: Kablooey!

There was a great light that lit up the universe and would have caused blindness had there been any people. But there weren’t any. It would have gone totally unnoticed had not someone made a note of the event so it could be shared at some time in the future. Since everything began with God, He must be the one who took notes. All the writings I’ve read report that when God spoke He referred to Himself as Us causing one to think there was more than one spirit involved, even in the beginning. Either that, or God is the father of multiple personalities.

Anyway …

The light was caused by an explosion of a very small amount of cosmic matter that, purportedly, God had in his pocket. To him it would be like lint is to us. He reached in to pull out change so he could get a copy of the Daily Heavenly Review, and saw the lint pinched between the two coins he’d extracted. After picking it out, he set us free by flicking it away from him, into the rarefied air of his domain.

Time is a subjective “thing” that changes with perspective. To us, God moves in super duper slow motion, so slow He doesn’t appear to move at all to us. For us it’s a frantic voyage. Consequently, what to some was the “Big Bang”, was to God  a bit of lint that, when propelled into the “void”, fell apart, scattering particles in all directions. Since that moment in time, “our Universe” has been nudged by unseen breezes, like dust motes, sometimes rising, but mostly falling, toward the floor of God’s living room. If we’re lucky, God’s environmental system will suck us into his air filter and blow us into another room then we can float from room to room in God’s mansion. Some folks think the air return on God’s A/C is a black hole, and the quick trip through the filtration system is a design that moves “things” to another time in space. That’s true, it does exactly that.

As the lint floated, God took notice, and things began to happen. There are six rather long, well documented naps,  interspersed with periods of alert activity on His part.

Life on earth evolved in many forms. Some of them are being talked about to this day. Like neanderthals, and things like that. Also, Mastodons, saber tooth tigers, a bunch of different kinds of dinosaurs, and bugs galore.

About a bazillion years later, the guessing began as to our origins and whether or not we humans are the result of creation, or if we’re related to salamanders, or if we’re a little bit of both.

Here’s what really happened …

OK – that’s enough for now. Perhaps that’s enough “forever” for the majority who stumble upon this. Perhaps I’ll finish this one day.

Dreams and Diane’s New Vacuum Cleaner

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Today started out nicely because I found a pair of work pants that has knees. Diane hides them so I’ll wear out the ones that don’t. This causes two irreversible problems … my knees always look dirty (but they really aren’t … honest) and whatever washcloth I use in the shower becomes permanently stained the color of whatever kind of dirt I was kneeling in. Red dirt is always the worst. As luck would have it, I should have used my kneeless pants because all I did was lay under the “new” motorhome and get rust in my eyes while loosening bolts on the rear gas tank brackets. I may explain this at a later date. To do this required that I lay on my back so I didn’t even get my pants dirty. They’re good for another couple of weeks, now.

Another plus today was Diane got up early and had coffee ready for me. She hadn’t, however, let the dogs out. Had she done that, I may have caught another hour or so of sleep.

The first thing Diane made me do was help make the bed after I’d ingested a couple cups of coffee. I don’t mind helping with chores because that’s something I normally do. In fact, I get in trouble all the time for taking over a task Diane is doing, that she wants to do, and she yells at me. Really loudly, too. Sometimes I’m afraid the neighbors will call the police for domestic abuse, or something. But they don’t so maybe it’s not as loud as I seem to think it is. As you may already know, my mind plays tricks on me like that.

This afternoon we received the new vacuum cleaner Diane ordered on eBay. Yes, it’s really new, too. Not like the old $10 Rainbow she’s been using for the past 3-4 years. No sir. This one is either brand spanking new, or it’s been cleaned really well and sprayed with something that smells like a new vacuum cleaner. It’s very quiet, compared to the old Rainbow. This afternoon, while lunch was cooking, we tried it out. That’s why we know it’s quiet. It’s also easy to use, so now I might not have to vacuum all the time. I will, however, volunteer if necessary.

It’s good the vacuum showed up because it’s been about 3 months since the Rainbow died. Things are getting a little dicey around here, but I didn’t notice. Diane told me that so I took a shower thinking that would solve the problem. Apparently that hasn’t been working well.

I took a picture of this butterfly in disguise that was rushing across Diane’s bedside rug before we vacuumed it. 

 

That is, of course an out and out lie. It wasn’t rushing at all. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t even moving. It just stood there looking at me, daring me to pick it up. Little did it know that I don’t pick up strange caterpillars in disguise. So, it was a pointless dare. When I was younger, maybe, but I’m not taking any chances this late in life with all those STDs flying around out there.

Oh yes. That’s not Diane’s bedside rug, either. It’s the one outside our back door that the dogs wipe their feet on before coming back into the house after running around in the soggy yard. I wish.

Now, let’s discuss something of great importance to me. I’ve been thinking about this for the last hour or so and it’s caused me to question even my reality. It’s about The Matrix, as in is it really our reality? I mean, are we all soaking in a tub of goo with tubes and wires stuffed into our arms and legs? I don’t know what caused this to leap into the viewable part of my brain, but it did. Perhaps it was another thought I had about how we all live in a time machine. Seriously. Close your eyes and think about that for a minute.

When you open them, write down all the places your mind just took you. If you don’t think it took you anywhere you must have distractions in your life. Try it in a quiet room. If that doesn’t work, you may need to go to Triple A and get some free maps to see what you’re missing.

When I close my eyes I can go anywhere I want. Mostly it’s places I’ve already been, doing things I’ve already done, but I get to pick the place when I’m awake. I don’t have a lot of control over where my mind takes me when I’m asleep but I do believe that when I’m dreaming, I’m really there. It’s so spooky that I’m always surprised when I don’t wet the bed.

OK … I didn’t mean to go there so things are going the wrong direction. I better quit.

Changing Plans, a New Roof, and My Ditch

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Now I must be serious, at least for a short time. Most of you know that’s hard for me to do and will tolerate this diversion from the norm, so I only ask those of you who wound up here by mistake to please have patience while I make an attempt to shift some gears.

For some reason, at this point, speaking about gears, I’m compelled to insert a “vrooooooom” right here. Silly, I know, and it’s not going toward the serious side of things as I had intended.

The serious “stuff” is that Diane and I made a decision to remain on this side of the Rocky Mountains the remainder of this year. The original plan, as of this morning, was to drive to Charleston, SC to attend the annual USS Cleveland reunion, but some things got in the way of those plans, taking a trip east out of the plans. Therefore, we will miss seeing Charleston, as well as points north, as was our desire. To those of you in Connecticut, whom we love to pieces, we send our regrets. There will be another time, we promise.

Our roof is going to be replaced beginning next Thursday. From start to stop it’s going to be a 3-day event. Pretty amazing to me because it’s a total ripoff and replacement of 3 layers of shingles. Tons and tons of shingles. One of the biggest cost factors is disposal of the old material.

We’re extremely happy that Mark’s Custom Exteriors could rearrange their schedule to accommodate us before we have to head south on Sunday. Even though it’s cutting it close, we’ll be here to ensure every nail is hammered in properly. I’m going to do that be wandering around on the roof, putting a little “x” on each one of them with my handy magic marker. No nail gets covered up until I “x” it. Normally that would add 2-3 days to the job, but I’ve been practicing this and have devised a way to do it without all that bending over, or crawling around on my hands and knees. I’m simply going to pre-“x” them before they’re loaded into the nail gun. I know, it seems kind of pointless doesn’t it? But, just for fun I’m leaving some of the nails blank just to see if someone comes to get me to “x” it. I seriously doubt they will, and I will not complain because that would just be silly. Who would do something like that?

In a precious entry I reported that I was being allowed to rent a small excavator to enlarge the ditch I dug, manually, that’s intended to drain water away from our driveway, and keep it out of the garage. I know the ditch works but it needs to be deeper and I’m just flat out of the energy required to hammer my way through all those rocks and roots. As it is, I’ve succeeded in killing the tree whose roots I severed to reach the back yard, so it’s something I’ll have to address before the floods loosen it all up and it topples into the neighbor’s yard. It’s OK that I killed it, because I was going to cut it down anyway … it has a terrible knot-forming kind of disease that just doesn’t look good. The birds love it so Diane was kinda wanting to keep it, but I sood my manly ground and killed it anyway. Actually, I didn’t mean to kill it. It just kinda worked out that way. Apparently it’s OK because I’m still sleeping inside.

Weather … we haven’t had any measureable rain for the past 2 months. That’s unheard of in Oregon. We always have rain, right? Most people believe it rains in Oregon all the time. We get our share, for sure, but it’s a bit sparse this year. I think most of it was recently dumped on Louisiana and the surrounding area. The folks who moved here from California, and there are more than a few, think it’s just fine that we’re not having any rain because that’s what they’re used to. Real Oregonians, however, do not thrive well in dry weather. We get all wrinkly and it’s not pretty. We need moisture. Thankfully, Diane is an Avon representative so I have unlimited access to all kinds of moisturizers when I need them. Lots of them make me feel pretty, so I use them on rainy days, too.

I think it’s time to terminate, now, since I totally lost track of where I’m going with this. Truth is, I never had any certain direction in the first place. Just like normal.

Wife Bashing, in general …

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Today was bust as far as getting anything done around the house. And, it’s late enough in the day that anything we need to do is just going to have to wait until tomorrow morning.

On a positive note, it rained last night so mowing the lawn yesterday gives me genius-like decision-making qualities, something I rarely have. Diane will agree.

About the Title … I’ve mentioned this before, but need to do it again so I can refresh my memory, about how my early blogs were deemed to veer toward “wife bashing” because of the way I shared information about my life. I pleaded my case, explaining that what I said was far, far, away from wife bashing, and much closer to self criticism because of my need for supervision on most of the things I attempt to accomplish during my daily routine. OK, I don’t have a routine. I’m so spontaneous that some days I’m sure I’m just going to ignite and flitter away on a breeze. Normally I call my actions ‘reactive’ because that’s what I do. Nothing is planned. I just kind of richochet through my days changing directions as obstacles get in my way. Many times (most times) this requires guidance, redirecting me toward the initial goal. Sadly, by the time guidance is provided, that goal is long forgotten. Hence the need for supervision. Well, it’s not really supervision … it’s more like just having someone around to call for help should I need it and can’t do it myself. Lydia’s babysat me in the past, so age isn’t a factor. Anyone who can dial can do the job.

Now, is that wife bashing? I think not. It’s an admission on my part of faults I perceive in how my mind and body operates. Sometimes they aren’t in sync and ‘things’ just happen. I’ve been fortunate over the years and have never broken a bone, like Jack has. Or cut the tips of my fingers off with my riding lawn mower, like Jim has … we still point this one out as a major, major programming issue when we all gather. No, I just cut, scrape, bend, jam, bang, and bruise various parts of my body during the course of pretty much any task I attempt. Diane could tell folks that she got me at the ‘Ding and Dent’ sale at K-Mart and not be far off. Perhaps she’s already done that – I don’t know, nor would I presume to assume she has. But, if I were her, I’d do that.

That last bit makes me wonder if what I’ve said about Diane in the past is ‘transference’ behavior on my part. If so, all my past sins of this nature are simply the result of a mild form of mental illness for which I should bear no responsibility. Or, maybe it’s not so mild. Maybe it’s really, really invasive, wiggling it’s way deep into my brain, making my ears ring, my eyes scum over, and my nose drip. I limp, too, among other things. Perhaps all of these symptoms are related to this new illness I’ve diagnosed.

It needs a name. While I’m thinking about that, I’ll share my medical term for why people get constipated – their craparatus is broken, or jammed. Obvious, huh? So, what’s the right name for Jerrie’s Mental Illness? Hmmmm. I’ll have to think longer on this one, but the longer I ponder, the less inclined I am to submit to the dreadful reality that I’m mentally ill. What a quandry. I guess that means if I just quit pondering it, I’m cured, and will have to be responsible for all of my actions. That’s the adult way to go, I suppose, but lots less fun.

Time to stop. Jeff just alerted us that all the girls are awake, so we’re off to see what Jerrie Anne Diane looks like in this, the beginning of her 2nd year of existance. No doubt she’s just a little bit cuter, as she is each day. Just like her older sisters who, if they would just hold still for a second, I would photograph and show you. But, they won’t.

My Onan Generator

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Today I totally dismantled the Onan 4000 Gen Set in our RV. I had all the parts laid out so I could put them back together in the correct sequence when the cat showed up and started batting pieces all over the place. Thankfully, it started raining before it got out of control and the cat ran for cover. Being a dedicated Oregonian, I stuck it out and rearranged all the pieces.

The initial problem with the generator was the fuel pump. It didn’t suck very well so I bought a new one. Fortunately, the mounting holes are in the same location so I didn’t have to relocate anything. To test the system, I just hooked it up and got the new one pumping fuel from the tank like it’s supposed to. Unfortunately, that didn’t solve the problem because it still wouldn’t start. I knew I had spark, and fuel was flowing, so the carburetor wasn’t allowing the fuel in. Something was stuck. So, the dismantling began.

To do that I had to remove Diane’s mattress which, unfortunately, got all wet because I laid it out in the driveway. It was in the way. I put a piece of plywood on top of it, but it still got a little ground water on the bottom. Too bad the plastic covering got ripped when I tossed it out there. The plywood was on top of the bracing for the bed so with it out of the way I was able to see the top of the generator containment module. It’s been accessed before because someone cut the top out of it and used about 185 sheet metal screws, and a bunch of caulk, to put it all back together. Removing this allowed access to the faulty carburetor and other pertinent parts that cannot be accessed from the side opening of the generator containment module. I vowed that, when I reassembled it, I would install access doors to take care of that problem.

The carb didn’t cooperate so I threw it away and put on a new 4-barrel Holly, but it still wouldn’t start so I removed the head, took out the pistons, ground the valves, installed new piston rings, added a couple of extrta cylinders so I could fully ustilize the potential of the larger carburetor. It was simple matter of adding an old Kawasaki 750 cc engine I found in the attic over the garage the other day. I don’t know how it got there, but it came in handy.

After I got it all back together I did the “smoke test” and it passed with flying colors. With the addition of the Kawasaki parts the red line bumped up to 11,000 rpm which meant I could comfortably run the unit at 5500 rpm without fear of it falling apart. At that rpm the generator produced approximately 1.7 mega watts of power which is enough to light up a small city. Learning that made me head in a totally different direction.

With all that electricity being generated I thought, “Why not just  yank out the engine and install an electric motor on each wheel?” That turned out to be difficult, but not impossible. I found most of the parts at ACE and the remainder at Wal*Mart. So, now we have a hybrid RV. The very first one ever.

I did a test run to Astoria and back and made it in just over 1.5 hours and it got exactly 72 mpg! And, with no need for an engine or transmission, I added a small hot tub that’s accessible through the old engine cover in the cab. That’s really handy for Diane because when she gets tired of sitting and giving me directions, she can turn her chair and soak her feet. Nice. She doesn’t know about that, yet. It’s a surprise.

With all those kilowatts this rig can do a full 4-wheel burnout and get to 60 mph in just under 9 seconds, and turns a 1/4 mile at 115 mph in 14 seconds. The high end torgue of the electric motors really crank during thos last 5 seconds. They literally scream like little girls. They also smoked a little but I wasn’t worried because they were new and it was just the paint baking off due to the intense heat.

Now I need to shim up the toilet so it doesn’t wobble, install the new horn, and we’re good to go.

I wish I had pictures to share, but I don’t because none of that’s true.

All I managed to do today was get a new fuel pump installed and make it pump gas from the tank. For me, that’s success. Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll tackle the carburetor problem. The hammer didn’t work.

Jerrie’s List

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Jerrie’s been thinking about the last few entries he’s made, and believes he’s not really providing anything of value by narrating what he does every day. Seriously, who really cares what Jerrie does anyway? I certainly do not find it informative and I’m intimately involved with his every move … everything he thinks … the things he sees, smells, feels, hears, and tastes. It’s pretty pedestrian stuff, believe me.

Take today, for instance … he was jarred rudely from a deep sleep at 10:00 am.  I mean, really! So he’s retired. Big deal! That’s no reason for him to be asleep at that time of morning. He should be up doing “stuff” by then. Perhaps even dressed, for God’s sake. The phone call was from a guy in Florida who wanted to get registered for the USS Dennis J. Buckley (DD-808) reunion next October. Turns out that Jerrie, in his infinite wisdom, raised his hand at the last reunion when someone asked who was willing to step up and arrange the next one. Rumor has it that Diane kicked him under the table a wee bit too late which means she had to be involved, too. So, now he’s the clearing house for potentially 600 ex-sailors who, at one time prior to 1973, were stationed aboard DD-808. I bet he’s going to run out of minutes on his cell phone since, again in his infinite wisdom, he dumped the house phone. Nice going, Jerrie. But, it’s done, and he must move forward.

Once awake, and infused with a bit of caffeine, he started responding to verbal commands and was pointed at some tasks designated for his attention this day. Diane makes lists, you see. Since there was the possibility of rain today, it was imperative that he ensure that he replaced the silicone sealant around the windows from which he removed it three days ago. He said he took it out because it was no longer adhered to the window frame and it “looked crappy.” He managed to do that and it appears to be sufficient to deter random raindrops from gaining entrance but the general consensus is that it still “looks crappy.” He said he could clean it up with mineral spirits as soon as his hands recover from the abuse they suffered today.

While apply the sealant, he was interrupted by a FedEx driver who stopped by the house to deliver a package that he wasn’t expecting until later in the afternoon. It was the replacement turn signal unit he’d ordered last Friday. It arrived wicked fast. Once he determined it was the proper item, he went to work installing it and managed to get it done without breaking anything else. He even cleaned up the wiring that was hanging all over around the steering wheel. Most importantly, he soldered the wires onto the little calmpy things that used to be connected to the starter button he installed because the inanition quit powering the starter for some reason. To resolve that, he ran two new wires to the starter then, when the switch fell off, just turned the ignition on and held the wires together until it started. It’s a wonder someone didn’t turn him in for trying to steal it.

All this RV work is to get it ready for a trip to Hood River next week to participate in Hoodfest. That’s the annual gathering of old Winnebagos at the Hood River County Fair Grounds where they have the Blossom Festival. It’s a gala affair that Jerrie & Diane have attended for the past two years. The first time they stayed at a nearby bed & breakfast. Last year they stayed in a tent. This time they’re going to stay in their very own Winnebago. According to the Winnebago Leader, this represents a steady downward spiral in the quality of accommodations. To continue ensuring the RV is road worthy, Jerrie is still on the hook for getting Diane’s TV installed. She doesn’t go any where without her TV. So, he needs to get a new HiRes antenna for the top of the Winnie to replace the one he summarily ripped off and threw away thinking it wouldn’t be of any use. Turns out, however, that this old antennas apparently pull in channels for the new digital TVs pretty good. I guess the joke is on him, right? Now he must replace it because not all camp grounds have cable.

The next item he’s waiting on is the new awning. All that’s coming is the material because all the mechanical aspects of the old awning work just fine. In preparation for this, he removed all 1700 screws that hold the top portion to the RV and threw them all away because they were mostly rust. Fortunately, he had a box of screws, with handy rubber gaskets attached, to replace them. He wire brushed the entire mount and replaced it. When he was done, there was only one screw left. Lucky him. Hopefully the awning will arrive tomorrow so he can get that task done then he can work on the brakes.

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.

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!”

Dog Food Wars

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I’ve mentioned this before, about how Ziva and Panzee have this daily argument about food. Just thought you might like to see the results of the confrontation. Not pretty. The upside is that they always clean up after themselves so we just leave them alone. About the only time it’s an issue is when they start yelling at each other in the living room while Diane’s trying to watch something on HGTV, or Grey’s Anatomy. Diane wants me to explain to them that they’re being rude and really annoying, but I’ve tried that. They either just don’t understand, or don’t care. I’m not sure which. So, I just don’t bother trying any more.

We were all excited to watch the Blazers play the Suns this evening but the referees, and poor shooting ruined it all. Apparently the pre game meeting, that all referees have, resulted in a decision to let the Suns win. So, they did. We quit watching with about 5 minutes to go in the 4th quarter with the Suns up 22. Bummer. Losing to the Suns isn’t as bad as losing to the Lakers and the Blazers beat them last night in PDX. So, they were tired for tonight’s game and should have been given a 10 point advantage for having to travel. That’s only fair.

This morning the dogs got me up at 6:45. They went outside for about 15 minutes. When they got back in, and I had filled their food bowls, in preparation for the afternoon food fight, I kicked back on the couch and slept until 10:22. I know it was that time, exactly, because that’s when Diane got up. She said she got up at 10:15, so I don’t know where that other 7 minutes went. I think she either fibbed, or just took 7 minutes to walk down the hall. It was a nice nap.

Since it was so late, we decided to have breakfast and call it lunch. We had bacon, hash browns, and a 6-egg cheese omelet, which we split right down the middle. I know it was right down the middle because I cut it. I also cooked it. Diane did the bacon and potatoes. We ate on our handy-dandy lap trays and watched a couple of recorded shows.

When Diane was done she had me hold her tray while she stood up so I took that opportunity to do a functional analysis of all her sphincter muscles. I call it a Sphincter Check. When she got up I held the tray up for her and her little bowl of strawberry jam just slid right off the tray, followed closely by the pepper shaker. All of her sphincters kicked in at once, sealing off various sections of her body like she was setting water tight integrity on a Navy ship (setting Zebra, it’s called). In a Navy ship it’s done to segment the ship into many water tight compartments to prevent the ship from sinking too quickly. In a human body, sphincters are set to keep anything from leaking out of the body. I guess we could call this test “setting sphincter”.

Doing this allowed her to react quickly enough to snag the jam bowl right out of the air, without spilling a drop. But, the pepper shaker wound up wrong side down in the jam and required a washing. She yelled at me, of course, not understanding the benefit of doing this critical body function check at least once a year. It’s important, as we get older, to ensure all of our remaining sphincters are fully operational and under our command.

It’s 10:30 pm and I’ve been up for 12 hours. Must be time for bed.