Winter Golf

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As I walked to the 1st tee, I could see Doug & JP limbering up their stoved up extremities in preparation for that first crucial hit of the day. It’s always a challenge, that first drive, but they almost always hit it down the middle so the ball winds up somewhere in the mud at the bottom of the first hill. We’ve learned that hitting high drives isn’t conducive to finding that first drive because it will invariably bury itself in the muck and become a lost ball. In the middle of the fairway. Just one of the challenges we face on every trip around the course.

To the right of the 1st tee box is a pasture where cows roam, sometimes wandering over to the fence to watch us play, hoping we’ll hit it over their heads so they’ll have something to add to their collection of balls. I generally do that, but not today.

Instead, I line myself up, cock my arms and fire away, driving the ball about 8 feet off the ground toward the left side of the fairway, where the trees are. Trees are another one of my downfalls. I almost always wind up in a forest. This time, however, my ball rolled through all of those trees to the bottom of the hill leaving me a clear 2nd shot to the left toward the hole. After Doug & JP duff a couple of shots, I take aim with my unreliable 5-wood and fire away. It’s a good connection and the ball sails up as planned and through some straggly little branches of a birch tree which slows the ball just enough to stop it at the top of the hill.

Ahead of me the fairway goes out and dips into another soggy mess before rising again to the green which is still about 300 yards away. Using my 5-wood again, I make it to the bottom of the hill, duff it a couple of times before making it to the green, and 2-putt for a 7. Not bad since it’s a par 5 and I usually wind up with a 10. Doug & JP do much better with a 5 & 6. They’ll do whatever it takes to beat me, but I don’t mind.

The 2nd hole is only 156 yards and is reachable with a 6-iron for those who can actually hit it the direction they think they are aiming. That’s not me, at all. I only know the general direction my ball will go, but I can hit it a long ways on the rare occasions when everything comes together. Today wasn’t one of those. My ball sailed safely into the trees, but in such a manner that I was able to find it without much trouble. Both Doug & JP were just short of the green in the middle of the fairway. Typical of them.

Oddly, even though I was in the trees, I had a fairly safe shot to the green. I didn’t make it, but it could have been done by pretty much anyone else. I got on the green with my sand wedge, one of my favorite clubs, and only had to putt three times ending with a 6 for this par 3. Doug & JP had 4 & 5.

Hole number 3 is a long par-4 with an added challenge of a swamp to the right, and a stream to the left, that curves in front of the elevated green. With a good drive, you can make it across on the 2nd shot, then 3-putt for a 5. I’ve done that once. Today, however, was a typical shot to the creek on the left, duff for 15-20 feet, then a good fairway shot that falls 1.5 feet short of the green, landing in the creek, then a chip from the line of sight location, and a rare 2-putt for an 8. Doug & JP end nonchalantly with a 5 & 7.

The 4th hole is a dog-leg right, around a very tall forest. At this time of year these trees have no leaves so it’s possible, with lots of luck, to shoot right through them with no problem. All the leaves on the ground, however, make finding your ball impossible ir you don’t make it. I’m almost always out in the middle of those threes and have had some success zigzagging my way through them to the back of the green. This hole is also par-4 so I’m resigned to my normal 8, but surprise myself by playing safe and getting back to the fairway on my first shot, then hitting the sand trap, and successfully getting it from there to the green on the first try. So, it’s on in 4 and a 2-putt for six. Doug & JP get 5-6, so I finally tied JP on a hole! I should have quit then when it appeared I was on the way to better things. But, hole 5 beckoned us.

The cart path wanders past the only toilets on the course but they can’t be used because they are locked with chains and padlocks. It doesn’t matter because we always use the bushes anyway, normally at the back of the tee box on #4. It’s relaxing for us to stand there, letting go, and talking about trivial things. It seems appropriate.

Number 5 is a long par-4 dog-leg left around another small forest. Doug & JP almost make the edge in the middle of the fairway and I hit a line drive right at the next to last tree before the corner. When I get to my ball I decide to play it safe and just hit ahead to the corner so I will have a clear shot to the green. Normally I just plow my way through the trees which, in years past, I could actually hit over. My shot to the corner kind of worked on the third shot, and I continued on to the green. My 4th shot was just a little ways past the pin and about 10 feet off the green on the low side meaning I’d have to make another iffy chip shot before I could safely do my standard 3-putt. Which I did.

At #6, a dog-leg right, I fluffed a couple of shots off the green but they didn’t count because the agreed upon DCTO rule was in effect. My third try was much better, but still hit a tree and landed right next to JP’s ball. He played safe, but I, once again, chose to ignore the trees with expected results. I finally ricocheted my way to the green and wound up with only a 2-putt to end it. Both Doug and JP worked their way down the fairway with much better results.

Hole 7 is a fun 3-parr because you must hit across a valley of sorts to reach the green. JP hit about halfway up the hill toward the green, as did I, and Doug made it to the top, but to the right of the green, behind a tree. Somehow I was able to make it to the green in two more shots, as did JP & Doug. We all 3-putted, the only tie of the day for me, I believe. That was my success of the day.

The 8th hole is a long dog-leg right and the first leg is all downhill and flattens out at the corner to the green. The ideal shot, which I’ve done more than once, is to hit all the way to the bottom where a good golfer can make the green in two. I’ve also done that, but it’s rare. This day it took me three shots to reach the bottom, another two to turn the corner, then I shot a wedge that actually hit the green making it necessary for me to repair the dent my ball made, a task I’m not overly familiar with. I usually roll on the green from somewhere out on the fairway. From there I 2-putted and headed for #9. Doug & JP both had difficulty with 8 but not as much as I did.

Just for fun, even though I didn’t have honors, not something we ordinarily observe, I teed off first and whacked my ball over the hill that rises up to the elevated fairway from the tee box. I hardly ever make the top without sailing 2-3 balls off into the ditch to the right that is out-of-bounds. When that happens we don’t count them because of the DCTO rule. Both Doug & JP made it over the top, too, just like they normally do.

My second shot went a bit right, behind the copse of birch trees but they still aren’t too tall for me to hit over, which I did. My ball headed for the sand trap and was stopped by a rake that was left in just the right spot to keep my ball from rolling all the way in. A chip, and three putts later I had my customary 7. Doug & JP, or course, made their way down the middle of the fairway just fine and ended much better. But, after applying the Gimmees and Mulligans that I hadn’t used I still wound up with a respectable 39 for this round, beating them both because neither of them are allowed either of those handicap helpers.

So, there you have it. A typical round of golf on a beautiful Oregon day.

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Doug in a Ditch I Dug, & Diane

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Just when I thought everything was going perfectly, I discovered there was a leak in our water line between the new meter that was installed, and the house. I notified the water department asking them to please visit and convince me that installing the new meter wasn’t the reason for the leak. They come up and we had a nice conversation during which they proved to my satisfaction that there were no leaks at the meter. That was disappointing news because it meant I would have to dig around in the yard to find the problem area. A daunting task. I had visions of holes all over the place and the trouble I’d be in if that actually happened.

So, I decided to dig down to the input pipe next to the house hoping I wouldn’t have to dig up the year at all. Grabbing a shovel I got to work. The input into the house is through the basement foundation about 3 feet below ground level. To get there required that I hack my way through the root structure of some really old rhododendron bushes that I dismantled a couple of years ago. Finding the water line may result in the demise of one or more, but that’s OK. I never liked them anyway. Then again, I’ve also discovered that it’s really hard to kill one of those things so they may be just fine.

At the level predicted, I encountered the old water line that was installed, I’m sure, when the house was built in 1957, a good year for Chevys. The 58-year-old pipe I found was very rusty and appeared to be a serious candidate for springing a major leak. Fearing the worst, I sprang to my feet and rushed to ACE Hardware to get the parts I needed to correct this potentially expensive situation.

Upon my return I went to the basement to shut off the water to the house. Normally the whole house cutout valve is located outside the home, but not here. It’s located just above the basement work bench. Then I killed the water on the city side of the meter so I could disconnect the house side from the meter. By adding one crafty attachment to the house side, I was able to attach my new water line hose. At the house, I connected the other end of the hose to the outside spigot that’s conveniently located almost directly above the input water line. Going back to the house cut out valve that’s inside the house, you may wonder why I turned it off. Well, as it turns out, that cut out valve is located below the outside spigot so by connecting the new water line house to the spigot turned the spigot into the house supply point. Here’s what I wound up with.

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I figured my task was done. I bypassed the rusty old pipe, got water flowing into the house again, and when everything was turned off, the meter didn’t spin like it did before. Then I suddenly remember that I was married and that there was no way having the hose strung across was going to be a good thing. I called my lawyer and was able to negotiate a deal that would allow the hose to stay in place temporarily while I dug a proper ditch that would allow me to install a proper water line. The only driving factor for completion is the weather … considering the hose is above ground, freezing temperatures could prove to be problematic.

About this time my friend Doug called and offered to lend his considerable talents to help me resolve this problem. Actually, he called before and was the one who suggested the temporary hose solution. I cannot deny him that success because it was an awesome suggestion. So awesome, in fact, that it could easily be a permanent solution in a warmer climate.

This morning Doug arrived at 0900 to assist me with a proper ditch into which we can stuff a new direct line to the house. We began by laying out a huge tarp onto which we laid the sod we removed from the path we chose from the meter to the house. Then it was time to begin the ditch. Doug chose to work in the ditch I’d already dug next to the house, hence the title to this little ditty. I started digging deep at the meter, piling the excavated dirt onto the aforementioned tarp. As we worked in our respective ditches it occurred to me that we represented over 140 years of life experience in the course of our tasks. I pointed this out to Doug and we both concurred that it was time to take a break. It was time for lunch anyway, so we went in to eat soup with Diane.

The afternoon stretch, after lunch, found us moving a bit slower and taking breaks more often to chat. Soon we were chatting more than working so figured it was time to call it a day, which we did. We were dirty and our boots were caked with mud so it took a little bit of time for us to make ourselves presentable enough to administer a proper adios to each agreeing to reconvene another day that is yet to be determined. Doug commented to Diane that he was afraid I’d go to work on it without him and thereby take all the credit for the big finish. I wouldn’t do that. You know that, right?

After I scraped myself clean, then took a shower, putting the temporary waterline hose to the test, I relaxed for a bit and watched the New England Patriots beat the Baltimore Ravens. Then I made us BLTs for supper and we watched the Seattle Seahawks take out the Carolina Panthers. When that was over we switched channels to watch the Portland Blazers play the Orlando Magic. As I rattle this keyboard, there are 33.5 seconds remaining and the Blazers are up by 7 points. In order to maintain their winning ways when they are ahead after three-quarters, they must maintain until the bitter end. Now there are 9.8 seconds remaining and it’s 103-92 Blazers and that’s where it ended.

Now, about Diane. She’s been battling terminal bronchitis for two weeks now and it pains me that there’s nothing I can do for her. She’s on antibiotics and they are helping, but not quickly enough for either of us. She gets exhausted coughing and watching her do that just wears me out. Please pray for her recovery so I won’t get so tired.

Thanks

Happy 1515

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Greetings to you all. If you are reading this I can only surmise that you survived whatever New Years celebration party you chose to attend, and that your gift of sight is still functioning. Could be, however, that some of you may have a third party reading this to you. Why anyone would do that is beyond me, but it could happen. I suppose.

It’s readily evident that Diane and I survived the festivities in good shape mainly because we avoided them. We watched the ball drop in New York, stayed up until 0100 New York time, then went to bed. A few revelers in the neighborhood popped off a few illegal fireworks to let everyone know they could read a clock and knew the precise moment when it turned to midnight. That’s OK. Happens every year the very same way, by the very same revelers. It’s expected to the point where the dogs didn’t even bark. They no longer bark on the 4th of July, either. They are self-taught, in this regard, with a lot of encouragement from we who no longer bark at fireworks.

Diane celebrated the 1st day of this new year by continuing the hacking and coughing cold I had over Christmas. I can share an informed guess that what she’s coughing up is a lot like the photo I shared in a previous post but she won’t share so that I can confirm.

As you may have guessed, not a lot transpired at this domain no New Years Day. Just waking up on the green side of the grass was a positive event. Actually, that’s a good one on any day. When it comes to waking up, green is good, you know. It’s also a primary color in the Oregon Ducks uniforms. Normally.

Speaking of the Ducks … their uniforms are quite the topic of conversation over here in the Far West because of the lack of color. My first take on them was, “where’s the yellow ‘O’, or the green one?” For the the inaugural NCAA championship game they are  gray and silver. After my initial disappointment I gave it a little thought and realized that the uniforms look like something a warrior might wear. Quite stunning, and appropriate. It’s going to be a good game and history will be made because, gee, there isn’t an ACC or SEC team involved which goes against everything the BCS computers stood for; those computers that everyone knows were developed and maintained by a Booster Club somewhere in Alabama.

January 2nd I attended the first Veteran’s Breakfast of the year mainly because Diane, between very productive coughs, insisted I go. It was a good visit with some old guys who used to wear uniforms for a living. Doing this meant I had to get up early and be ready to eat at 0800, something a little beyond normal for me. But, I did it. I couldn’t stay for the entire event because I had to be somewhere at 1000. I can’t remember what that was about, but I know I was on time.

On Saturday I left Diane at home, picked up her Mother, Jean, and joined Barb and Ron at the church so we could dismantle the Christmas tree and get it outside before it decided to spontaneously combust and burn the building down. That didn’t happen so it was a successful day. Also, I didn’t fall off the ladder which was a good thing because I’ve learned that as I increase in age my ability to bounce when I fall is drastically diminished. I’m sure that’s true for all of us. We just kind of land and jiggle for a bit. Then, when all motion has ceased, we evaluate our extremities to see what does and does not work. Sometimes a weak “ouch” or two escapes before the jiggling stops, but not always. Sometimes there isn’t enough air available for that until much later. There may have been times where I was unconscious but I don’t remember them.

Sunday found me at church with Diane’s Mom, Jean, to get the New Year off to a good start. I’m sure something else happened Sunday, but I can’t remember what it was. Surely there was a point in time where I made a light lunch for my bride as the next step in her recovery. At that point she didn’t have much of a voice because of the congestion, so I just fixed her something that I thought sounded like what she asked for. I think it might have been fried eggs and toast, one of her favorite comfort food groups.

Later in the evening I got a text from Whitney, the girl next door, asking me to please let her dogs out because she had taken Scott, the boy next door, to the emergency room to address an emergent medical condition. I did that for them. The dog’s names are Taylor and Trigger and they are well-behaved. It was raining but they didn’t mind. I let them run around for a while, fed them, gave them water, had them visit with out dogs for a while, but ushered them back to their cage in the garage. They went in with no problem. Good dogs.

Monday I got up fairly early and let the dogs out again and just left them out to run because they don’t run away even though one of them is still a puppy. By doing this I learned that they are both quite good excavators when they plowed up the flower beds along the basement wall on the south side of the house. It was a really nice job. I later learned that they had also expressed their love of dirt by churning up the raised flower beds out front. They had fun. Lots of it. Then they took their dirty little feet back into their cage with no complaint.

I worried about Scott all day Monday and was happy when he was released back into the wild before the sun set. At that time Cedric showed up so he could make a Power Point presentation for his church youth group. That was good because it meant he’d be there to help his Grandma get off the floor in the event she fell down while I was gone to our Lions Club meeting. We had a program presenter from Harlyn Medical which is an innovative company conveniently located in St. Helens. Our presenter was the company’s Chief Marketing Officer who, also conveniently, is the son of one of our club members. This young man and the rest of the executive team for the company is bringing cutting edge technology with a global impact home to St. Helens. Pretty cool.

Now it’s Tuesday, garbage day. Thankfully I remembered to put the cans out yesterday allowing me to avoid another early morning reason to get out of my pajamas. No, not that, but a reason to go outside before noon.

Did I mention that we sold the old 1973 Winnebago? Probably not because that happened Sunday, also. I just remembered. We sold it just two days after advertising it on Columbia County Buy Sell Trade internet site. It worked so well that I will be taking pictures of lots of things to post for sale, but next will be our 1996 Subaru. If  all goes well, in a couple of weeks we should be able to clean out at least one layer of “things” that are littering the basement floor, and lots of other stuff throughout the house that I don’t recognize. Then, in a couple of years we’ll remember we had something that was really useful at one time and know it’s in the basement somewhere but we can’t find it. Then we’ll buy another one, not remembering that we sold one just like it, a couple of years ago, for about half what we paid for the new one that could very well be the old one since it was purchased at a thrift store. I guess that’s kind of the circle of life for most “stuff”.

Now I must rest because I took Mom Jean shopping this afternoon. Diane sent me with a list and I got everything she wanted. That makes today a success.

Now … who figured out the 1515 reference in the title?

Year End Special

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So, here we are, on the last day of 2014 once again wondering, ‘where did the time go?’ Every year we do that. I’m including you in the we because I suspect its true. If not, then please forgive me.

I have a pretty good log for what happened throughout the year, but I’d have to read all of it to make it real. Doing it from memory isn’t an option. Sure, there’re bits and pieces that filter through the fog, and more detail is added if I scrunch my eyes closed real tight and think about it, but that’s like work any more. It’s easier for me to rely on other people’s memories than mine. And, it works. I just accept what I’m told as gospel truth and everything is good.

You may remember a number of months back when Diane was on a roll to get a convertible PT Cruiser. Well, the end of that story is one of the things I’ll remember from 2014 for sure, because it happened over the last two days, a distance span that i still have no problem with. Yet.

What happened is she spied this silver PT Convertible on the internet that tweaked her interest so we went to look at it. It’s a 2005 GT and only had 57K miles on it. By comparison, the 2001 PT we originally purchased in April 2000, was on the plus side of 204K, and it had some major issues that I was not really in the mood to resolve.

So, we cleaned up the ’01 and drove it to the lot where the ’05 was, in Milwaukie, OR, about 45 miles away. The trip was pretty exciting for me because I drove it. The dealer made me an offer, I accepted, and we traded right there on the spot.

It was a classic case of “Out with the old” …

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… and “In with the new?”IMG_0024This is Diane’s second car so she was in a quandary as to how to get them both home since she followed me to Milwaukie, to pick up pieces, if necessary. She decided that it would be OK for me to drive the convertible home since I risked my life to drive the old one in for the trade.

The ride home was very pleasant.

 

Old News, What’s in a Name?, & Jerry 3

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Sports events are escalating with the addition of about 4-5 NCAA football bowl games per day which I find to be OK. Though I’m not a fan of most of the teams who are playing, it’s fun to watch all that commotion as they struggle to be the best at whatever bowl they are playing in. Then there is the NFL which is winding down to another Super Bowl. The BIG one for me, of course, is the Rose Bowl game on New Year’s Day. That will be Oregon and Florida State going at it to advance to the National Title game against either Alabama or Ohio. Should be fun.

All this football causes me to think about team names and how the whole world seemed to get all upset about Indian names being used in a way that has been so demeaning all these years without anyone saying anything about it. That’s kind of like a woman stepping forward to report how Bill Cosby abused them 30-40 years ago, like all the sudden it’s too unbearable to keep a secret any longer. Or, the legion of altar boys who were abused by trusted ministers and pastors. I know, I’m trivializing those situations, but it astounds me that such events are hidden for so long, until one person steps forward. Then another, and another, until it becomes a HUGE problem because the media just eats it up and ensures that everyone is aware of the problem multiple times a day, every day, until a plane crashes somewhere.

So, then team names all the sudden became a problem because they diminish Native Americans. Most notable, of course, is the NFL’s Washington Redskins. National news, right? So, I propose that we take a look at all team names, not just those related to cultures. Like the New Orleans Saints. Seems like the Vatican should be up in arms about that one because there is no depiction of any of the many saints on advertising, or uniform items leaving one to doubt the validity of their association with the Catholic Church, which is obvious because of the name.

How about the Dallas Cowboys? Shouldn’t REAL cowboys be upset about that name? There is nothing about the team uniforms or logos that have anything to do with cowboys which leaves fans in limbo, allowed to draw their own conclusions about what kind of cowboys the owner is talking about. Everyone knows that only the media knows whats good and bad about all this.

Then there’s the Chargers, Packers, Bears, Panthers, Jaguars, Dolphins, Eagles, Broncos, Seahawks, Rams, etc. Man, if I was an animal of some sort, I’d either be upset because of the ambiguity of those names, or upset because I’m an animal without a team. Like a Chipmunk, or a Rabbit. Maybe the Cleveland Cows. That would be better than the Browns, which is about as undefined as one can be. What about all the other colors? Shouldn’t they be included somehow?

Maybe we could just use body parts as names for teams … like the Miami Knuckles, New York Arm Pits, Denver Dicks, San Diego Scapulas, Seattle Knee Caps, Carolina Cartilage, Dallas Digits, San Francisco Fingers, Pittsburgh Groins … OK, I’m outta names. Gotta quit before I work myself into a frenzy with this stuff because it drives me nuts. Seriously, who cares? Well, in my examples, perhaps Denver would … then, again, maybe not. We will probably never know. It is my humble opinion that those who get upset about team names are people who look for reasons to be upset about lots of things for no apparent reason.

Sorry for all of that. Maybe I should write more about stuff I know something about, like raisins, or dirt, but that would be incredibly boring.

To end I must report that Jerry 2 is alive and well. I know this is true because he called me to make sure I knew that, specifically. It was good to know.

Health, in General …

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For those of you who are concerned with my well-being, or those of you who are curious and wonder what kind of a fine kettle of fish I’m currently embroiled in, I must comment on my visit to the doctor last Monday, the 22nd. As you may recall, at that visit it was determined that I probably had a virus but if it didn’t clear up in 7-10 days it was probably an infection that would require antibiotics. So, here I am on day 9, hacking and coughing up some pretty interesting stuff that feels like it has a death grip in my bronchial tubes until a sufficient amount of coughing wrenches it free, allowing me to spit it out and have a good look. Now, it’s understood that I’m not an expert on material that exits a body, in any manner, but I know what I like and what I don’t. In this particular case, not only does the expelled material reek of infection, it also tastes really bad … a little like sulfur smells. Or the taste one might get from sucking on a mouthful of pennies … so I’m told.

To help remedy this, I sent my doctor an email explaining my symptoms and suggesting that a round of antibiotics may be in order. I have a particular antibiotic in mind, but didn’t want to suggest it and, therefore, appear to be a bit brazen. But, I bet I get what I had in mind.

If anyone is interested, I’ll take some photos of the chunky monkey I’m coughing up, but think a generic photo will suffice. It’s something like this …

thIt looks a lot like pancake batter.

Now I must stop and watch football, leaving you with this image that may cause you to reconsider your breakfast choices going forward.

Christmas Eve

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It’s Christmas Eve and it’s going to be a very non-traditional one for me. Remember that kid-germ virus it was probably the virus that’s going around, a common diagnosis when there really isn’t one. So, to avoid sharing it with all the old folks at church during our annual Christmas Eve Service, I’m staying home. Not that I’m a super singer, but my absence is going to change the dynamics of our choir because I’m the only bass singer who showed up at practice. The only other guy in the choir is a tenor, so he’s going to be all alone this evening and I regret that. But, I’ve decided that at the stroke of 9 pm I will rise from my sick chair and belt out the bass part of Hosianna, the song that we always open with at this service. And, yes, we sound just like choir in the link but we sing it a cappella. We always think it sounds great but that opinion is a bit shaded with self administered communion for spiced wine prior to the service. Not a lot, but just enough.

So, as I sit here, waiting for 9 pm, I wish you all a Merry Christmas and pray that all is well with you wherever you may be. May God bless and keep you in his ever loving care.

My Wife

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She’s the love of my life, the best friend I’ve ever had, and the person who completes me. She also makes sure I smell good when I leave the house, for any reason, that I wear the proper clothes for the reason I leave, and that I have a list of things I’m supposed to do while I’m out and about. She makes me go golfing a lot, cooks me incredible meals, does all my laundry, irons my shirts, and feeds all the birds. All I do is mow the yard once in a while and get the oil changed in her Buick when needed. I feel that I don’t pull my share of the load, but I’ve learned that I shouldn’t volunteer to help. I should just wait until she asks and when she does, I’m always there. She’s more than earned it.

Today is her birthday so help me in wishing her a really good one. I’m not allowed to say how old she is, but she was born in 1946.

I love you, Diane. Thanks for all you do.

Me

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Santa Claus

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Never in my life have I posed as Santa Claus, but I woke up this morning and decided that playing The Big Guy for a bunch of rowdy kindergarten kids might be a lot of fun. In anticipation of this uncommon desire, I rented a Santa suit yesterday for the astounding amount of $40. That’s only good for one day. They don’t rent beards or fancy hair so I had to purchase that. I suppose that’s a really good idea since I probably wouldn’t like to wear a mustache and beard onto which someone’s DNA resides as the result of a dripping nose, or smoker’s cough. That wouldn’t be good. No sir. It was Diane who made me aware of that danger and the logic behind purchasing, instead of renting a beard.

My Santa day began early this morning. I had to be up, scrubbed, and dressed for a 0815 encounter with 25 wide awake 5-year-olds. I needed coffee but didn’t get a whole cup before having to leave. Diane was my helper, making sure my uniform was on straight, things like that. My main concern was the fear of my pants falling off. Even though I had a fluffy pillow installed, it was a danger, one I couldn’t see going well at an elementary school. “Santa’s Pants Fall Off In Mrs. Miller’s Class!” It would make a great headline, but would probably end my Santa career on the spot. So, I was careful. The morning went well, and I had a lot of fun interacting with all the children. One of them was our Great Granddaughter Danyell. I don’t think she had any idea who I was even though I quizzed her about her sister Juliette, and Aunts Gilligan and Baylee.

I didn’t get to visit Gilligan’s classroom because she’s in First Grade, but we arrived just when Jeff was delivering her so I got a hug. There was no fooling her. She just ran to me and said, “Oh Grandpa!”, gave me a big hug and ran for the front door. Very Gilligan like.

Back at the house I removed the uniform because my next engagement wasn’t until 1230. I had time to rest and dry out a little. That suit is really hot. I vowed to not wear so many clothes under it the next time.

Jennifer showed up at 1200 because she was my afternoon guide. We arrived in plenty of time for our 1230 visit and it went very well. One victory stands out for me in one little girl who was fearful of coming near me to get her candy cane. Her name was Samantha. We didn’t push it and just let her be. When the class was assembled on the floor in front of the stool I was sitting on, she was in the front row a little to my left. Mrs. Miller had them sing Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer for me. I glanced at Samantha once in a while and finally caught her eye. Then I slid a candy cane over to her and she reached out to get it. That was great. Then, after the song was done, and all the kids went back to their tables, she came back for a hug. That was better than great.

The afternoon engagements weren’t as dramatic as Samantha, but still fun. I got mobbed by the entire class who all tried to hug me at once before I left. They slammed me into the blackboard and, had it been the morning group, I surely would have lost my pants. Thankfully, for the afternoon trip, I wore suspenders. The danger was gone.

It was a good day …

VA, Costco, Michaels, Fred Meyer, & Lydia

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Today I paid another visit to my psychiatrist at the VA clinic. She officially said that I’m not nuts after all and that I didn’t have to come back unless I wanted to. She was very nice and we had a good rapport. Apparently I speak a bit of her language. Anyway, we severed ties because she’s moving on to greener pastures with her skills. I can’t say that I’ll miss her because I’ve only seen her twice, but it was meaningful and we accomplished my goal of ridding my life of Ambien. By January I should be done with it.

Now all I have to do is lose about 30 pounds so the Diabetes Police will leave me alone. All I have to do is quit eating. Simple.

We returned home by way of Costco, the one on Jenkins Road, where we enjoyed a festive lunch of very large hot dogs. $3.00 gets you two of the foot longs plus two refillable drinks. Can’t beat that for a decent meal. Ok, ok, … it’s processed meat, I know, but it’s still a decent meal. On the plus side, I only had half a cup of soda instead of a full one with a refill, like Diane did.

Then we stopped at Michaels so Diane could get some important things. She let me stay in the Buick and rest. And read my book. On my iPad. Then we had to stop at Fred Meyer to get yogurt. She let me stay in the Buick there, too. Gas was only $2.27 but we didn’t need any. It’s cheaper at Freddie’s than it is at Costco.

One of the things she got at Costco was a dead chicken in a plastic box. It was all broiled and brown and I figured it was destined to be our early dinner. I was correct, as I am many times throughout the day. One of us may disagree on that point and that’s OK. I know I’m correct, like I am many times throughout the day. Again, there may be disagreement, etcetera.

Once home, my job was to dismantle the chicken while Diane made a festive salad. We had to hurry because I was tapped to return Lydia to Hillsboro for her weekly goalie training session. I did it because both Diane and Jennifer were booked for a hot bunco party, something they do once a month at various homes throughout the area.

Lydia and I had a very meaningful conversation on the trip over since it was just the two of us. We don’t get that kind of quality time together very often and it was good. I learn stuff. Today it was that one of the qualities of a good male friend, for a girl, is that he will hold your hair back when you throw up. Every time. She was sick, you see, during a teen conference thing for church and thought it would be more fun to throw up out side on the street than inside in a toilet. The male friend, I’m told, is sweet on Lydia but it’s been made very clear to him that she likes him like a brother. Still, he tries. During this learning evolution she consumed 17 of the 20 chicken nuggets we got at McDonalds on the way out of St. Helens. She only wanted 10, but for another $.50 we could get 20 so I opted for the bargain. It worked out.

Now I must stop. This is post 690. Maybe not a big deal to many of you, but it is to me. Thinking about all those words makes me tired.