I just got a copy of a poem that my cousin wrote for his Uncle who was killed last week while at work. It passed my personal test of good lit when I read it and said, "Dang. I wish I'd written that." The boy might not have any skill at picking NCAA tournament games, but he's got some verse locked up in his dome for sure.
Uncle RJ
I'll never forget all those warm summer nights,
that followed the days of cold water fights.
Or the man at the center of every one,
my dad's older brother, gramps oldest son.
You could see that big smile all over his face
as his Harley pulled up to visit our place.
And it wasn't to long before he got hold of you,
and each of us knew what we had to do.
We cried,
Mercy, mercy Uncle J,
I think that’s all I can handle today,
I'll be ready for more when you come back again
but until then, I love you my friend.
I have never felt pain like I did on the day
that I learned from my sister he had been taken away.
I fell to my knees and begged the Lord please,
don't let him be gone without one final tease.
I thought of my aunt and my cousins too,
My heart swells with love and sorrow for you.
As we carried his body aloft in the air
past the uniformed brothers and sister all there.
I thought of the times he held me in the air
and tossed me higher than any would dare.
With a mind full of memories and soul of unrest,
I removed the flower that was pinned to my chest.
I placed it back on top of the box dyed tan,
near the truest of banners "The most Wonderful Man"
And I cried,
Mercy, mercy Uncle J,
I think that’s all I can handle today
You'll be waiting for me when I come back again
but until then, I love you my friend.
Mark David Walker
May 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Three for the Price of One
Didn't get a chance to post yesterday. Sorry. things were a little crazy. But the extra time to observe gave me some pretty funny stuff. But first things first.
As you may have figured from this last week or so worth of posts, I am officially on the job hunt. I have been looking in all the usual places; Ward Employment Specialist, LDSjobs.org, newspaper classifieds, etc. But something that I had not thought to do was enlist the help of my loyal and most favored readers. If any of you know of any jobs that I might apply for, please let me know. I have years of warehouse experience in shipping and receiving and when my eyes are good, (which will be soon, we hope) I have nearly a decade on a forklift.
I also have a Bachelor's degree in English which helps with communications skills and as a general indicator of work ethic. I'd really like to find something as a writer or in education, but at this point, I'll take any job that I qualify for.
If nothing else, we could use your prayers in our behalf while we try and figure out which direction to go in.
And now, I'll make with the funny.
The first one comes courtesy of Beak.
After a few months of Bub getting on and off of the potty training band wagon (I don't think he's had an accident here in I don't remember how long), Beak is convinced that the boy finally has it figured out. He hasn't had any accidents here or at home in over a week now, and she is very proud of him.
I spoke to her last night and she said she had some blog-fodder for me.
I'll let her tell it.
"Bub came running up to me today saying, 'Potty! Potty!'. I told him that if he had to go he should hurry up and get to the bathroom and not wait. He looked at me and made a bee-line straight for the back door. I started to tell him the bathroom was the other way, but he was already out the door. By the time I got to the back porch, he was standing on the edge of the deck with his drawers around his ankles and he was making it rain!"
I guess we know why the flowers in Beak's backyard grow so nicely, now, don't we? Kinda makes you wish that the Googlemaps satellite was flying overhead at just that moment, huh? It'd serve the nosey beggars right.
Second was Peff telling the Boss last night that he knew how chicken nuggets were made.
"You take the chicken part and the nugget part and the crust part and you put them in the oven and bake them. When they are done, you put the crust part on the chicken part. Then you put them into a special box and then you put them in happy meals."
Not sure what that "nugget" part is, but I now know why I've always been a cheeseburger kind of guy.
Last of all is my favorite story of the night. The Boss and I had been seeking a date for a while, and last night we got a chance to relax a little, sans monkeys. Uncle C agreed to keep an eye on them so we could have a night out. About 9:30 we went to pick them up. We chatted with Beak and Uncle C for a few minutes, then piled the runts into the van and set out for home. On the way, I told the kids that when we got home, they would have to hurry and get their pajamas on, take a melatonin and get to bed.
Have I never mentioned this stuff before? With all apologies to Ben Franklin and his take on beer, melatonin is the real proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. All natural, doctor recommended, no side effect children's sleep aid. Our pediatrician recommended it to us when Peff was a wild child that would not go to bed.
I'll never forget the first time he took it. He was running in a small circle as fast as he could while singing a song. The Boss gave him a tablet and a drink of water and then he took off again. I turned my head for a minute and when I looked back, he had fallen to the ground like he'd been hit with an ax.
Out cold.
I guess what melatonin does is just flip the switch in your brain that reminds you that you're sleepy. He hadn't slept enough for so long, it smacked him like a hammer.
Usually, it takes about ten minutes before it works, but that first time...Magic happens. I swear by it. Melatonin and Tivo for Sunday football are pretty much how I keep from climbing a clock tower, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, I told the kids they had to take some as soon as they got home and get to bed. Peff, from the back seat pipes up, "Don't worry about the melatonin, Dad. Uncle C spiked our drinks at dinner, so we already took some."
Suddenly Haggis shouts, "He did what?!"
Peff repeated, "Uncle C put the 'Tonin in our drinks at dinner."
Haggis: "Oh, crap! I drank my drink and then Reaggers gave me hers! I drank 'em both!"
The Boss and I erupted with laughter.
I called Beak who confirmed that Uncle C, had in fact spiked Reaggers drink. She parted with it so easily because she knew it was loaded and didn't want to take it. She was more than happy to let Haggis take her fall.
Now, I don't know if it's possible to OD on Melatonin, but Haggis takes the same dose as we give Squizzle, so I doubt it. Either way, by the time we got home, I had to practically carry Haggis to bed.
Have you ever tried to push a twelve year old to bed while trying not to bust your guts open with hysterical laughter? That's a funny enough image for its own story.
Ah, well. Who knows what adventure we may find today?
Enough for now.
As you may have figured from this last week or so worth of posts, I am officially on the job hunt. I have been looking in all the usual places; Ward Employment Specialist, LDSjobs.org, newspaper classifieds, etc. But something that I had not thought to do was enlist the help of my loyal and most favored readers. If any of you know of any jobs that I might apply for, please let me know. I have years of warehouse experience in shipping and receiving and when my eyes are good, (which will be soon, we hope) I have nearly a decade on a forklift.
I also have a Bachelor's degree in English which helps with communications skills and as a general indicator of work ethic. I'd really like to find something as a writer or in education, but at this point, I'll take any job that I qualify for.
If nothing else, we could use your prayers in our behalf while we try and figure out which direction to go in.
And now, I'll make with the funny.
The first one comes courtesy of Beak.
After a few months of Bub getting on and off of the potty training band wagon (I don't think he's had an accident here in I don't remember how long), Beak is convinced that the boy finally has it figured out. He hasn't had any accidents here or at home in over a week now, and she is very proud of him.
I spoke to her last night and she said she had some blog-fodder for me.
I'll let her tell it.
"Bub came running up to me today saying, 'Potty! Potty!'. I told him that if he had to go he should hurry up and get to the bathroom and not wait. He looked at me and made a bee-line straight for the back door. I started to tell him the bathroom was the other way, but he was already out the door. By the time I got to the back porch, he was standing on the edge of the deck with his drawers around his ankles and he was making it rain!"
I guess we know why the flowers in Beak's backyard grow so nicely, now, don't we? Kinda makes you wish that the Googlemaps satellite was flying overhead at just that moment, huh? It'd serve the nosey beggars right.
Second was Peff telling the Boss last night that he knew how chicken nuggets were made.
"You take the chicken part and the nugget part and the crust part and you put them in the oven and bake them. When they are done, you put the crust part on the chicken part. Then you put them into a special box and then you put them in happy meals."
Not sure what that "nugget" part is, but I now know why I've always been a cheeseburger kind of guy.
Last of all is my favorite story of the night. The Boss and I had been seeking a date for a while, and last night we got a chance to relax a little, sans monkeys. Uncle C agreed to keep an eye on them so we could have a night out. About 9:30 we went to pick them up. We chatted with Beak and Uncle C for a few minutes, then piled the runts into the van and set out for home. On the way, I told the kids that when we got home, they would have to hurry and get their pajamas on, take a melatonin and get to bed.
Have I never mentioned this stuff before? With all apologies to Ben Franklin and his take on beer, melatonin is the real proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. All natural, doctor recommended, no side effect children's sleep aid. Our pediatrician recommended it to us when Peff was a wild child that would not go to bed.
I'll never forget the first time he took it. He was running in a small circle as fast as he could while singing a song. The Boss gave him a tablet and a drink of water and then he took off again. I turned my head for a minute and when I looked back, he had fallen to the ground like he'd been hit with an ax.
Out cold.
I guess what melatonin does is just flip the switch in your brain that reminds you that you're sleepy. He hadn't slept enough for so long, it smacked him like a hammer.
Usually, it takes about ten minutes before it works, but that first time...Magic happens. I swear by it. Melatonin and Tivo for Sunday football are pretty much how I keep from climbing a clock tower, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, I told the kids they had to take some as soon as they got home and get to bed. Peff, from the back seat pipes up, "Don't worry about the melatonin, Dad. Uncle C spiked our drinks at dinner, so we already took some."
Suddenly Haggis shouts, "He did what?!"
Peff repeated, "Uncle C put the 'Tonin in our drinks at dinner."
Haggis: "Oh, crap! I drank my drink and then Reaggers gave me hers! I drank 'em both!"
The Boss and I erupted with laughter.
I called Beak who confirmed that Uncle C, had in fact spiked Reaggers drink. She parted with it so easily because she knew it was loaded and didn't want to take it. She was more than happy to let Haggis take her fall.
Now, I don't know if it's possible to OD on Melatonin, but Haggis takes the same dose as we give Squizzle, so I doubt it. Either way, by the time we got home, I had to practically carry Haggis to bed.
Have you ever tried to push a twelve year old to bed while trying not to bust your guts open with hysterical laughter? That's a funny enough image for its own story.
Ah, well. Who knows what adventure we may find today?
Enough for now.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
It's the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Men
No runts today; Uncle C is taking the day off. I do have a nice little tale of destruction from about a week ago that may prove entertaining, however.
I was trying to put a lesson plan together while Peff, Reaggers, Bub, and Squizzle played in the next room. They had decided they wanted to play Lego Indiana Jones, and so I gave Squizzle a bottle and put him down for a nap on the couch. I came into the kitchen and sat at the table to work on my lesson.
After about five minutes, I hear Squizzle stomp into the kitchen. I was only half paying attention to him and he ran straight to the cabinet under the sink, or as it is occasionally called, the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries".
I know.
I should have a child lock on it, but I don't. Moms think of that crap, not Mr. Moms. I am not sure what the boy thinks is in there, but I can't believe that it is not a tremendous disappointment for him when he actually manages to get the door open. All that's in there is the tub of dishwasher soap, the roll of garbage bags, and some dishrags. Not exactly Blackbeard's treasure.
Nevertheless, if one keeps one's eye on the prize for long enough, eventually one will find success. Squizzle caught me only paying half attention and snuck into the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries" and pulled the tub of dishwasher detergent from it.
I am fully cognizant of the potential for catastrophic disaster here. My mother warned us thousands of times to keep the little kids out of dishwasher detergent because even though it smelled of wintergreen, it did not taste of it.
Mom had a friend with a child that had to have all kinds of horrible treatments at Primary Children's hospital because they innocently sampled dishwasher machine soap and so it was one of her major worries.
I turned around in time to catch Squizzle trying desperately to get the lid off the tub. While he was unsuccessful, there was plenty of detergent dust on the outside of the container to gain my complete attention. So I snatched him up and pitched him into the sink for a full-on scrub down.
While my back was turned, Peff and Reaggers decided this was their big shot to do some dirty work. They snuck in and snitched a bag of mini-marshmallows from the pantry. By the time I could pay enough attention to see what they were doing, the snack had escalated into a full-blown mini snowball fight.
I knew exactly were this was headed. If I stopped it they'd only find something else to destroy while I was picking up the marshmallows. I've seen this type of escalation before. You turn your back to clean up one thing, and the monsters find something worse to get into and annihilate. It is their S.O.P, and I am becoming somewhat of an expert observer.
Since I still had to go down and get a new outfit for Squizz, I made the call to ignore the destruction for a moment and focus on one thing at a time. What difference between half a bag of marshmallows strewn about the room or a whole bag?
I forgot one of the Cardinal rules of Destroying Angel care. NEVER; I say again, NEVER make the assumption that you have them figured out. As a wise man said, "When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you...and...umption (or was it when you assume you make an ass of u and me? Wait...it's got to be your bull...or was it the butcher's?...Never mind. Forget I wrote it).
While I was dressing the baby, the Runts decided that throwing marshmallows was only about as half as fun as spitting them at one another. According to my theory, this type of escalation should only have occurred as punishment for me stopping them in their previous fun. I did nothing to deserve this! I let them have their way and this is how they repay my generosity?
By the time I got back upstairs, I found about two dozen soggy, sticky, goo-blobs stuck to my carpet as well as the kitchen linoleum, the walls, the TV, and in perhaps the most impressive display of five year old expectoration ever...The kitchen ceiling.
That one was impressive enough that I actually stopped being angry long enough to ask for a demonstration of how it was accomplished. Imagine my surprise to find that both Peff and Bub were able to pull it off. Hidden talents you never thought your kids might have. File "spitting marshmallows to the ceiling" right between "Make yourself belch" and "Use your armpit to create flatulence noises".
Who knew the sins of my youth would haunt me so long?
Enough for now, I gotta go spend the rest of my afternoon hunting on the job boards. Wish me luck!
I was trying to put a lesson plan together while Peff, Reaggers, Bub, and Squizzle played in the next room. They had decided they wanted to play Lego Indiana Jones, and so I gave Squizzle a bottle and put him down for a nap on the couch. I came into the kitchen and sat at the table to work on my lesson.
After about five minutes, I hear Squizzle stomp into the kitchen. I was only half paying attention to him and he ran straight to the cabinet under the sink, or as it is occasionally called, the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries".
I know.
I should have a child lock on it, but I don't. Moms think of that crap, not Mr. Moms. I am not sure what the boy thinks is in there, but I can't believe that it is not a tremendous disappointment for him when he actually manages to get the door open. All that's in there is the tub of dishwasher soap, the roll of garbage bags, and some dishrags. Not exactly Blackbeard's treasure.
Nevertheless, if one keeps one's eye on the prize for long enough, eventually one will find success. Squizzle caught me only paying half attention and snuck into the "Forbidden Cabinet of Magical Mysteries" and pulled the tub of dishwasher detergent from it.
I am fully cognizant of the potential for catastrophic disaster here. My mother warned us thousands of times to keep the little kids out of dishwasher detergent because even though it smelled of wintergreen, it did not taste of it.
Mom had a friend with a child that had to have all kinds of horrible treatments at Primary Children's hospital because they innocently sampled dishwasher machine soap and so it was one of her major worries.
I turned around in time to catch Squizzle trying desperately to get the lid off the tub. While he was unsuccessful, there was plenty of detergent dust on the outside of the container to gain my complete attention. So I snatched him up and pitched him into the sink for a full-on scrub down.
While my back was turned, Peff and Reaggers decided this was their big shot to do some dirty work. They snuck in and snitched a bag of mini-marshmallows from the pantry. By the time I could pay enough attention to see what they were doing, the snack had escalated into a full-blown mini snowball fight.
I knew exactly were this was headed. If I stopped it they'd only find something else to destroy while I was picking up the marshmallows. I've seen this type of escalation before. You turn your back to clean up one thing, and the monsters find something worse to get into and annihilate. It is their S.O.P, and I am becoming somewhat of an expert observer.
Since I still had to go down and get a new outfit for Squizz, I made the call to ignore the destruction for a moment and focus on one thing at a time. What difference between half a bag of marshmallows strewn about the room or a whole bag?
I forgot one of the Cardinal rules of Destroying Angel care. NEVER; I say again, NEVER make the assumption that you have them figured out. As a wise man said, "When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you...and...umption (or was it when you assume you make an ass of u and me? Wait...it's got to be your bull...or was it the butcher's?...Never mind. Forget I wrote it).
While I was dressing the baby, the Runts decided that throwing marshmallows was only about as half as fun as spitting them at one another. According to my theory, this type of escalation should only have occurred as punishment for me stopping them in their previous fun. I did nothing to deserve this! I let them have their way and this is how they repay my generosity?
By the time I got back upstairs, I found about two dozen soggy, sticky, goo-blobs stuck to my carpet as well as the kitchen linoleum, the walls, the TV, and in perhaps the most impressive display of five year old expectoration ever...The kitchen ceiling.
That one was impressive enough that I actually stopped being angry long enough to ask for a demonstration of how it was accomplished. Imagine my surprise to find that both Peff and Bub were able to pull it off. Hidden talents you never thought your kids might have. File "spitting marshmallows to the ceiling" right between "Make yourself belch" and "Use your armpit to create flatulence noises".
Who knew the sins of my youth would haunt me so long?
Enough for now, I gotta go spend the rest of my afternoon hunting on the job boards. Wish me luck!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Shut Up and Eat Your Manna...
I am almost certain that at this time a week ago, I was mowing a lawn and contemplating firing up the ol' swamp cooler. I didn't because for obvious reasons (if you've read my post "The Rooftop"), I have a love/hate relationship with swamp cooler maintenance.
Probably a good decision. It looks like December out there. Snowing like a son of a gun, and showing no sign of stopping. I'm actually wondering if maybe I didn't clean out the fireplace a bit too early...
Went to church yesterday and had a hard time feeling it. I almost always find something new to satisfy my curious mind, but for some reason I just felt tuned out. You have those kind of days now and again. The Boss and I sent the kids into do a quick pickup on the house while we sat in the car for a few minutes and talked about it. Squizzle sat on her lap playing with buttons and occasionally honking the horn (which he thinks is simultaneously the funniest and most terrifying thing ever).
Oh, yeah, I suppose I should mention that we have a new (to us) car. The Boss's Dad found a solid used Toyota Sienna for us to use. The Dodge is looking more and more like it has seen it's last tire change. If there is one thing in the universe that Pop hates more than crooked politicians, it's an unreliable automobile. Knowing that we were certainly in no position to do anything about it; he and mom stepped in to help.
I'm beyond grateful, yet conflicted. You'd think I'd have gotten used to the fact that a major portion of this little exercise has been about the Lord humbling one of his more arrogant children. You'd think that I'd have figured out by now that I'm simply not going to be allowed to rely on my own force of will to face the obstacles in my path. You'd think I'd just learn to accept the fact that the Lord's help will come in the way that He wants, not how I want.
But I haven't.
It's part of the reason I was so tuned out at church. We were so dam...darned close to being able to take care of that kind of thing ourselves and now we are right back into the cavernous maw of uncertainty. It's the kind of situation that makes a guy feel like his Man Card is about to be irrevocably suspended.
You are trying as best you can to provide for your family, and circumstances beyond your control seem to work against you. It is awfully frustrating. The Boss and I were wondering "what next?" when I mentioned that now that coaching wrestling isn't going to happen, and teaching English isn't going to happen, and Seminary isn't going to happen; Well, heck. My English degree does me about as much good as if I'd dropped out of high school instead.
"We'd have been better off if we hadn't left the warehouse job to begin with", I told her.
That's when it hit me. I've been teaching Old Testament in Sunday School, and all I could hear when I said that was "were it not better for us to return into Egypt?" (Numbers 14:3).
I was sounding suspiciously like Edward G. Robinson in "The Ten Commandments.
Then I heard the still small voice say to me "Shut up and eat your manna." (I know; the Holy Ghost doesn't tell most people to shut up, but most people don't talk as much as me).
I don't get to choose the method of deliverance from my wilderness. No one does. He sent manna because it was what the children of Isreal needed. They wanted meat (That didn't turn out so good. Read Numbers 11:20 for the funniest scripture ever). They needed manna. Yesterday after church, I read why.
Numbers 8:2-7
2 And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments, or no.
3 And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know; that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord doth man live.
4 Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee, neither did thy foot swell, these forty years.
5 Thou shalt also consider in thine heart, that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth thee.
6 Therefore thou shalt keep the commandments of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to fear him.
7 For the Lord thy God bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills;
This is why humility is the "Manliest" of virtues. You have to be really tough to accept the Lord's help when what you really want is to prove to him you can do it yourself. That line about "Thou knewest not" really struck me. The Lord told the people he was going to lead them to the Promised Land in a way they were not familiar with so that they were forced to rely on him. They got to the Promised Land, just not in a way they ever expected.
"Shut up and eat your manna"
About as good a lesson as I'm likely to ever learn.
So back to my original story. After the Boss and I talked in the car for a minute, we came in and decided to do something nice for someone. We got to cooking dinner and the Boss made a peach cobbler with enough to take a pan to the guy in our ward who had helped me with the Seminary internship. We went out to the car, the Boss turned the key and...
Nothing. It was deader than the Cubbies bullpen. Squizzle had turned on the lights when he was playing with things and as the controls are all still pretty unfamiliar, we didn't catch it until 5 hours later when the battery was gone.
If the Lord is leading us to the Promised Land, I am getting the nagging suspicion that we are going to have to walk. Cars just ain't cutting it for us.
The Boss went in to call Pop and have him come give us a jump while I sat down and contemplated whether or not manna tasted like peach cobbler; and if it pairs well with vanilla ice cream.
I wonder what that "Valley" is gonna look like?
Probably a good decision. It looks like December out there. Snowing like a son of a gun, and showing no sign of stopping. I'm actually wondering if maybe I didn't clean out the fireplace a bit too early...
Went to church yesterday and had a hard time feeling it. I almost always find something new to satisfy my curious mind, but for some reason I just felt tuned out. You have those kind of days now and again. The Boss and I sent the kids into do a quick pickup on the house while we sat in the car for a few minutes and talked about it. Squizzle sat on her lap playing with buttons and occasionally honking the horn (which he thinks is simultaneously the funniest and most terrifying thing ever).
Oh, yeah, I suppose I should mention that we have a new (to us) car. The Boss's Dad found a solid used Toyota Sienna for us to use. The Dodge is looking more and more like it has seen it's last tire change. If there is one thing in the universe that Pop hates more than crooked politicians, it's an unreliable automobile. Knowing that we were certainly in no position to do anything about it; he and mom stepped in to help.
I'm beyond grateful, yet conflicted. You'd think I'd have gotten used to the fact that a major portion of this little exercise has been about the Lord humbling one of his more arrogant children. You'd think that I'd have figured out by now that I'm simply not going to be allowed to rely on my own force of will to face the obstacles in my path. You'd think I'd just learn to accept the fact that the Lord's help will come in the way that He wants, not how I want.
But I haven't.
It's part of the reason I was so tuned out at church. We were so dam...darned close to being able to take care of that kind of thing ourselves and now we are right back into the cavernous maw of uncertainty. It's the kind of situation that makes a guy feel like his Man Card is about to be irrevocably suspended.
You are trying as best you can to provide for your family, and circumstances beyond your control seem to work against you. It is awfully frustrating. The Boss and I were wondering "what next?" when I mentioned that now that coaching wrestling isn't going to happen, and teaching English isn't going to happen, and Seminary isn't going to happen; Well, heck. My English degree does me about as much good as if I'd dropped out of high school instead.
"We'd have been better off if we hadn't left the warehouse job to begin with", I told her.
That's when it hit me. I've been teaching Old Testament in Sunday School, and all I could hear when I said that was "were it not better for us to return into Egypt?" (Numbers 14:3).
I was sounding suspiciously like Edward G. Robinson in "The Ten Commandments.
Then I heard the still small voice say to me "Shut up and eat your manna." (I know; the Holy Ghost doesn't tell most people to shut up, but most people don't talk as much as me).
I don't get to choose the method of deliverance from my wilderness. No one does. He sent manna because it was what the children of Isreal needed. They wanted meat (That didn't turn out so good. Read Numbers 11:20 for the funniest scripture ever). They needed manna. Yesterday after church, I read why.
Numbers 8:2-7
2 And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether thou wouldest keep his commandments, or no.
3 And he humbled thee, and suffered thee to hunger, and fed thee with manna, which thou knewest not, neither did thy fathers know; that he might make thee know that man doth not live by bread only, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of the Lord doth man live.
4 Thy raiment waxed not old upon thee, neither did thy foot swell, these forty years.
5 Thou shalt also consider in thine heart, that, as a man chasteneth his son, so the Lord thy God chasteneth thee.
6 Therefore thou shalt keep the commandments of the Lord thy God, to walk in his ways, and to fear him.
7 For the Lord thy God bringeth thee into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills;
This is why humility is the "Manliest" of virtues. You have to be really tough to accept the Lord's help when what you really want is to prove to him you can do it yourself. That line about "Thou knewest not" really struck me. The Lord told the people he was going to lead them to the Promised Land in a way they were not familiar with so that they were forced to rely on him. They got to the Promised Land, just not in a way they ever expected.
"Shut up and eat your manna"
About as good a lesson as I'm likely to ever learn.
So back to my original story. After the Boss and I talked in the car for a minute, we came in and decided to do something nice for someone. We got to cooking dinner and the Boss made a peach cobbler with enough to take a pan to the guy in our ward who had helped me with the Seminary internship. We went out to the car, the Boss turned the key and...
Nothing. It was deader than the Cubbies bullpen. Squizzle had turned on the lights when he was playing with things and as the controls are all still pretty unfamiliar, we didn't catch it until 5 hours later when the battery was gone.
If the Lord is leading us to the Promised Land, I am getting the nagging suspicion that we are going to have to walk. Cars just ain't cutting it for us.
The Boss went in to call Pop and have him come give us a jump while I sat down and contemplated whether or not manna tasted like peach cobbler; and if it pairs well with vanilla ice cream.
I wonder what that "Valley" is gonna look like?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Bum Knees and Busted BBQs
I promised more today, and so here goes.
Yesterday was the Boss's birthday. She turned twenty two and is just as hot and smart as the day we got married. I maintain that I am the only mistake she's ever made.
We were originally going to go to dinner with some friends and then to see Iron Man 2, but the plans fell through, so we just had a quiet night at home.
Woke up this morning and got ready to go to the neighborhood clean up and BBQ. I was supposed to take my grill. The last time I used it we made Teryaki chicken, and that really gums up the bottom, so I scrapped it out and noticed some corrosion on the burner. When I went to fire it up, the burner sputtered and then shot flames out the blowback valve.
Long story short, fifty bucks and 2 hours later I got my grill over to the park just in time to find out they didn't need me after all. If there was a prize for last place, I'd finish second.
While that was going on my mother called to tell me that my niece, who is training for consideration to get into the US Olympic gymnastics program, had landed badly on a dismount from the beam and had collapsed to the ground in agony. She began to go into shock and was taken from the gym by ambulance to the emergency room. The doctors said that she had ruptured her patellar tendon and they decided to do emergency surgery this afternoon before it could swell too much. If they waited, it would have taken weeks for the swelling to go back down, and it would complicate her recovery. So she's going to be spending the next month and a half in a cast.
If you listen really hard you can almost hear the train whistle echoing down the tunnel....
Yesterday was the Boss's birthday. She turned twenty two and is just as hot and smart as the day we got married. I maintain that I am the only mistake she's ever made.
We were originally going to go to dinner with some friends and then to see Iron Man 2, but the plans fell through, so we just had a quiet night at home.
Woke up this morning and got ready to go to the neighborhood clean up and BBQ. I was supposed to take my grill. The last time I used it we made Teryaki chicken, and that really gums up the bottom, so I scrapped it out and noticed some corrosion on the burner. When I went to fire it up, the burner sputtered and then shot flames out the blowback valve.
Long story short, fifty bucks and 2 hours later I got my grill over to the park just in time to find out they didn't need me after all. If there was a prize for last place, I'd finish second.
While that was going on my mother called to tell me that my niece, who is training for consideration to get into the US Olympic gymnastics program, had landed badly on a dismount from the beam and had collapsed to the ground in agony. She began to go into shock and was taken from the gym by ambulance to the emergency room. The doctors said that she had ruptured her patellar tendon and they decided to do emergency surgery this afternoon before it could swell too much. If they waited, it would have taken weeks for the swelling to go back down, and it would complicate her recovery. So she's going to be spending the next month and a half in a cast.
If you listen really hard you can almost hear the train whistle echoing down the tunnel....
Friday, May 21, 2010
Link to Something Kind
Right after I posted, I saw this on one of my favorite BYU Blogs. Since I know I just reccomended that you ignore the media, I thought I'd pass this one on. The part you'd be interested in is at the bottom of the post.
Football: Ninth member of the class of 2011 commits to BYU
Posted using ShareThis
Football: Ninth member of the class of 2011 commits to BYU
Posted using ShareThis
Back Again
Well....
It's been a while. I'm not sure I want to go everywhere yet, but if I don't start writing again soon, I'll lose whatever skills I might have had to begin with.
It's been a miserable kind of month for me; my self-esteem has taken some real shots (and when you are a self described fat, bald, blind, unemployed, layabout...self-esteem is in short supply on a good day).
First (and least important) was I had to shave my beard. I had a beard continuously from about the time that Haggis was born 13 years ago, so shaving was not something I wanted to do. But it was a requirement for an internship that I was trying to get and it could have lead to pretty sweet employment. I'd do anything to take the pressure off the Boss, up to and including the systematic removal of essential body parts. And a beard is definitely an essential body part for the Male Homosapien.
I've said it before and I'll say it again...If the good Lord didn't want men to have beards, why did he give them facial hair?
The result was I felt about 10 years old again, and discovered that I have a second chin that I was not aware of. Add the double chin to the swollen eye, the bald pate, and fat features, and I looked into the mirror and echoed my cousin's son who once said "I'm a Monster!" (Except I didn't like it).
I spent two weeks at the internship, teaching each morning and spending my evenings doing prep work. Since I will probably never find work as a teacher of English, teaching Seminary seemed like a pretty good opportunity for a paycheck.
I personally did not enjoy Seminary (for the Non-Mormon, Seminary is a daily version of Sunday School for teenagers), and was always a little offended when someone suggested that I would be a good Seminary teacher. It just wasn't my cup of postum if you know what I mean. What I know about scripture study, I learned from my Dad and on my mission and by applying the skills I learned in the study of secular lit.
But a year ago, it was finally apparent that the English thing wasn't going to work. So the Boss and I prayed and fasted and went to the Temple and got the very distinct answer that I should start the teacher development courses at the University of Utah Religious Institute.
I had barely learned that just because the Lord tells you to do something (i.e go back to school and get an English degree) doesn't mean that is for the reasons you think it is (otherwise, I'd be teaching somewhere right now, right?). So I didn't want to get sucked into the idea that I was going to be a Seminary teacher. After all, they told us at the start that from a strictly statistical ratio the odds were better for us to get into Harvard's grad school than to finish their program.
I guess they hadn't seen my grades, because with my misspent youth dragging me down, I scraped into graduation with a 3.0. I might have had a shot at being a seminary teacher. Harvard was an impossibility.
Each year the seminary training program starts with around a hundred or so applicants and whittles down from there. By the time we finished the year of classes, we were down to fifty. Those of us that were left got a two week internship, after which they selected twelve to become year long student teachers. Of those, they usually hire three or four as regular staff.
I finished my internship last Thursday. It had gone pretty well, and I was really happy with it. My first observed class was Wednesday and it went alright. The advisor said some complimentary things and the class was responding well.
Thursday was a whole different ball o' wax.
In spite of much prayer and fasting, I taught the worst class I have ever taught. It was classic Fatdaddy implosion. I made several rookie mistakes, not the least of which was not knowing they had changed the bell schedule and nearly ended the class ten minutes early. I recovered OK, but by then it didn't matter.
I'm pretty sure the regular teacher is still picking parts of my toes out of his whiteboard 'cuz I shot myself in the foot with at least a 12 gauge. I knew as soon as I started teaching that day I was doomed...but at least I went down swinging. I have no regrets about my preparation or effort, it just wasn't meant to be. I did what I had to do.
Like I said, I knew that just because I had been told to take the classes didn't mean the Lord wanted me as a Seminary teacher. But when they called and told me that I wasn't one of those moving on, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head anyway. Somewhere down the line I had convinced myself that this was going to be the ticket out of the long black cave of the last five years, and to have it crash down that abruptly was not pleasant.
"If it makes you feel better, you were in the top twenty," they told me. Since it didn't pay any better than fiftieth, it didn't; but I was tactful enough to keep that to myself.
Once again, I find myself without direction. To paraphrase Moroni, "I have no job, nor where to go."
"Close, but no cigar" is rapidly becoming the odds on favorite to find itself on my family crest.
I've been checking the employment sections but I don't need to tell you how depressing that is. I can't even go back to the old warehouse gigs because even with the improvements in my sight, I'm an accident about to happen on a forklift.
So between the work that I was putting in while I taught and the black despair that has inhabited me since, I haven't had that much to laugh about of late. I hope that this is a satisfactory excuse for leaving you all hanging for the better part of the last month.
Of course all this was put into perspective yesterday when I heard some truly devastating news. My uncle's brother was killed in an accident at work. I know exactly what kind of pain my uncle must be feeling. Losing a brother is like having part of you amputated. Nothing seems real, and you have to work to convince yourself that it actually happened. Especially in this type of accident, where a sudden death is a mixed blessing. You are grateful that it was quick and painless, but you mourn the lost opportunity to say what you need to. The shock helps numb the pain, but keeps you from coming to acceptance of it.
The only advice I can give is to stay away from TV's and Newspapers for a while. The callous ignorance and tactless rush to judgement by the media and general public would cause further pain and suffering that you don't need right now. The stupidity of the human race can surprise you at a time like this. Focus on the love of those around you. We'll help you with this burden, if you'll let us. But it'll be hard for a while. In the mean time, I'll stick with my practice of posting a poem that says things better than I can.
More Tomorrow.
Promise
It's been a while. I'm not sure I want to go everywhere yet, but if I don't start writing again soon, I'll lose whatever skills I might have had to begin with.
It's been a miserable kind of month for me; my self-esteem has taken some real shots (and when you are a self described fat, bald, blind, unemployed, layabout...self-esteem is in short supply on a good day).
First (and least important) was I had to shave my beard. I had a beard continuously from about the time that Haggis was born 13 years ago, so shaving was not something I wanted to do. But it was a requirement for an internship that I was trying to get and it could have lead to pretty sweet employment. I'd do anything to take the pressure off the Boss, up to and including the systematic removal of essential body parts. And a beard is definitely an essential body part for the Male Homosapien.
I've said it before and I'll say it again...If the good Lord didn't want men to have beards, why did he give them facial hair?
The result was I felt about 10 years old again, and discovered that I have a second chin that I was not aware of. Add the double chin to the swollen eye, the bald pate, and fat features, and I looked into the mirror and echoed my cousin's son who once said "I'm a Monster!" (Except I didn't like it).
I spent two weeks at the internship, teaching each morning and spending my evenings doing prep work. Since I will probably never find work as a teacher of English, teaching Seminary seemed like a pretty good opportunity for a paycheck.
I personally did not enjoy Seminary (for the Non-Mormon, Seminary is a daily version of Sunday School for teenagers), and was always a little offended when someone suggested that I would be a good Seminary teacher. It just wasn't my cup of postum if you know what I mean. What I know about scripture study, I learned from my Dad and on my mission and by applying the skills I learned in the study of secular lit.
But a year ago, it was finally apparent that the English thing wasn't going to work. So the Boss and I prayed and fasted and went to the Temple and got the very distinct answer that I should start the teacher development courses at the University of Utah Religious Institute.
I had barely learned that just because the Lord tells you to do something (i.e go back to school and get an English degree) doesn't mean that is for the reasons you think it is (otherwise, I'd be teaching somewhere right now, right?). So I didn't want to get sucked into the idea that I was going to be a Seminary teacher. After all, they told us at the start that from a strictly statistical ratio the odds were better for us to get into Harvard's grad school than to finish their program.
I guess they hadn't seen my grades, because with my misspent youth dragging me down, I scraped into graduation with a 3.0. I might have had a shot at being a seminary teacher. Harvard was an impossibility.
Each year the seminary training program starts with around a hundred or so applicants and whittles down from there. By the time we finished the year of classes, we were down to fifty. Those of us that were left got a two week internship, after which they selected twelve to become year long student teachers. Of those, they usually hire three or four as regular staff.
I finished my internship last Thursday. It had gone pretty well, and I was really happy with it. My first observed class was Wednesday and it went alright. The advisor said some complimentary things and the class was responding well.
Thursday was a whole different ball o' wax.
In spite of much prayer and fasting, I taught the worst class I have ever taught. It was classic Fatdaddy implosion. I made several rookie mistakes, not the least of which was not knowing they had changed the bell schedule and nearly ended the class ten minutes early. I recovered OK, but by then it didn't matter.
I'm pretty sure the regular teacher is still picking parts of my toes out of his whiteboard 'cuz I shot myself in the foot with at least a 12 gauge. I knew as soon as I started teaching that day I was doomed...but at least I went down swinging. I have no regrets about my preparation or effort, it just wasn't meant to be. I did what I had to do.
Like I said, I knew that just because I had been told to take the classes didn't mean the Lord wanted me as a Seminary teacher. But when they called and told me that I wasn't one of those moving on, I felt like I'd been kicked in the head anyway. Somewhere down the line I had convinced myself that this was going to be the ticket out of the long black cave of the last five years, and to have it crash down that abruptly was not pleasant.
"If it makes you feel better, you were in the top twenty," they told me. Since it didn't pay any better than fiftieth, it didn't; but I was tactful enough to keep that to myself.
Once again, I find myself without direction. To paraphrase Moroni, "I have no job, nor where to go."
"Close, but no cigar" is rapidly becoming the odds on favorite to find itself on my family crest.
I've been checking the employment sections but I don't need to tell you how depressing that is. I can't even go back to the old warehouse gigs because even with the improvements in my sight, I'm an accident about to happen on a forklift.
So between the work that I was putting in while I taught and the black despair that has inhabited me since, I haven't had that much to laugh about of late. I hope that this is a satisfactory excuse for leaving you all hanging for the better part of the last month.
Of course all this was put into perspective yesterday when I heard some truly devastating news. My uncle's brother was killed in an accident at work. I know exactly what kind of pain my uncle must be feeling. Losing a brother is like having part of you amputated. Nothing seems real, and you have to work to convince yourself that it actually happened. Especially in this type of accident, where a sudden death is a mixed blessing. You are grateful that it was quick and painless, but you mourn the lost opportunity to say what you need to. The shock helps numb the pain, but keeps you from coming to acceptance of it.
The only advice I can give is to stay away from TV's and Newspapers for a while. The callous ignorance and tactless rush to judgement by the media and general public would cause further pain and suffering that you don't need right now. The stupidity of the human race can surprise you at a time like this. Focus on the love of those around you. We'll help you with this burden, if you'll let us. But it'll be hard for a while. In the mean time, I'll stick with my practice of posting a poem that says things better than I can.
More Tomorrow.
Promise
Not tested above what I can bear,
A promise made to me.
But hid from view,
All that I knew;
How much testing may that be?
I thank Thee for Thy confidence,
I’m not worthy of Thy trust
My will is wanting,
The world, taunting;
My own faith dries like dust.
Heavenward I stretch my prayer,
Oh Father! Hear me weep!
Tears wring out,
I begin to doubt!
And then, a restless sleep….
“I hear your cry, my troubled son
I share your tears this night.
Peace, be still,
This is my will;
I’ll make this burden light.
I have not forgot my promise
Place this thought past any other
For your true worth,
Hidden at your birth
You are my little brother!
I’ll help you all you want me to,
Hold you close, and lead your way,
But it’s still your choice,
To hear my voice;
And do my work this day.
And if you follow where I lead,
Be sure, I know the path.
The clouds will lift
This is my gift
You’ll share all Our Father hath.”
A promise made to me.
But hid from view,
All that I knew;
How much testing may that be?
I thank Thee for Thy confidence,
I’m not worthy of Thy trust
My will is wanting,
The world, taunting;
My own faith dries like dust.
Heavenward I stretch my prayer,
Oh Father! Hear me weep!
Tears wring out,
I begin to doubt!
And then, a restless sleep….
“I hear your cry, my troubled son
I share your tears this night.
Peace, be still,
This is my will;
I’ll make this burden light.
I have not forgot my promise
Place this thought past any other
For your true worth,
Hidden at your birth
You are my little brother!
I’ll help you all you want me to,
Hold you close, and lead your way,
But it’s still your choice,
To hear my voice;
And do my work this day.
And if you follow where I lead,
Be sure, I know the path.
The clouds will lift
This is my gift
You’ll share all Our Father hath.”
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wait A Minute
What's that old saw about how even a blind squirrel is going to find a few nuts? Just when I thought I wasn't going to have anything to write about, another wacky kid quote comes from out of the blue.
I'm learning that patience and close observation are the keys to finding the good stuff. Sometimes it doesn't happen until late in the afternoon, but there is almost always going to be something worth writing down.
This morning, I was in washing the breakfast dishes. I knew Squizzle was sporting dirty drawers, but I only have two hands and he wasn't exactly screaming to get changed (and if he really wanted to, he'd just fiddle around until he got his diaper off himself) so I figured I'd get one job done before moving on to the next. Squizzle ran off into the living room where Peff, Bub, and Reaggers were all watching Spongebob on TV.
After .02 seconds, I hear Reaggers and Peff scream in unison, "EWWWW! Bub had an accident!"
Now Bub has been really good about not having accidents lately and since the timing was too close for coincidence, I knew they'd picked up the Squizzle "trail" and were wrongfully blaming Bub.
"He didn't either", I told them. "It's Squizzle."
Then I hear Reaggers say, "I'm sorry, Bub. But you have to understand. You stink."
I just about dropped the plate I was putting in the washer.
Point blank, matter-of-fact, no tact required. Sorry, brother; but you smell bad. Bub's feelings didn't seem to be hurt and no one noticed that I was already starting to plan out today's post.
I decided that I'd go change Squizzle before he caused any more chemical warfare alarms to go off, and while I was downstairs getting a diaper and the wipes, Squizzle had gotten Bub's spare underpants from his bag and was trying desperately to load them into the dishwasher. I guess Reaggers wasn't the only one who wanted to blame Bub.
Anyway, it has been nice to see a real pickup in the number of visits and new followers. I have been at this for a couple of months now and I am pleased with the response that I'm getting. If you are new, check the sidebar for my favorite posts, they give an overview of what I'm trying to record and a few of the ones that make me laugh the most. Make all the wise-acre comments you want. Please share this site with your friends and neighbors. I think everyone could use a good laugh now and again and I know most of you can relate to the train wreck that is my life.
Along those lines, I am looking to add a few guest bloggers to the blog. I need some of you who have better stories than mine to fill in now and again. Just some of your favorite disaster stories, whenever you feel like adding to the chaos. Since even I don't get paid, they don't have to be professional posts, just make sure you hit the punch lines. You can remain anonymous if you want; that's the way I prefer it for myself and hence all the nicknames. If I can do this crap, anyone can.
If you are interested, please get in touch with me in person, or let me know on the comments below, and I'll make the arrangements.
I'm learning that patience and close observation are the keys to finding the good stuff. Sometimes it doesn't happen until late in the afternoon, but there is almost always going to be something worth writing down.
This morning, I was in washing the breakfast dishes. I knew Squizzle was sporting dirty drawers, but I only have two hands and he wasn't exactly screaming to get changed (and if he really wanted to, he'd just fiddle around until he got his diaper off himself) so I figured I'd get one job done before moving on to the next. Squizzle ran off into the living room where Peff, Bub, and Reaggers were all watching Spongebob on TV.
After .02 seconds, I hear Reaggers and Peff scream in unison, "EWWWW! Bub had an accident!"
Now Bub has been really good about not having accidents lately and since the timing was too close for coincidence, I knew they'd picked up the Squizzle "trail" and were wrongfully blaming Bub.
"He didn't either", I told them. "It's Squizzle."
Then I hear Reaggers say, "I'm sorry, Bub. But you have to understand. You stink."
I just about dropped the plate I was putting in the washer.
Point blank, matter-of-fact, no tact required. Sorry, brother; but you smell bad. Bub's feelings didn't seem to be hurt and no one noticed that I was already starting to plan out today's post.
I decided that I'd go change Squizzle before he caused any more chemical warfare alarms to go off, and while I was downstairs getting a diaper and the wipes, Squizzle had gotten Bub's spare underpants from his bag and was trying desperately to load them into the dishwasher. I guess Reaggers wasn't the only one who wanted to blame Bub.
Anyway, it has been nice to see a real pickup in the number of visits and new followers. I have been at this for a couple of months now and I am pleased with the response that I'm getting. If you are new, check the sidebar for my favorite posts, they give an overview of what I'm trying to record and a few of the ones that make me laugh the most. Make all the wise-acre comments you want. Please share this site with your friends and neighbors. I think everyone could use a good laugh now and again and I know most of you can relate to the train wreck that is my life.
Along those lines, I am looking to add a few guest bloggers to the blog. I need some of you who have better stories than mine to fill in now and again. Just some of your favorite disaster stories, whenever you feel like adding to the chaos. Since even I don't get paid, they don't have to be professional posts, just make sure you hit the punch lines. You can remain anonymous if you want; that's the way I prefer it for myself and hence all the nicknames. If I can do this crap, anyone can.
If you are interested, please get in touch with me in person, or let me know on the comments below, and I'll make the arrangements.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Better Than A Stick in the Eye
Been a long couple of days. The Boss has had some busy days at work, the kids' school activities have shifted into "full-speed ahead" mode, the van went on the blink (again), and I went back to the eye doctor.
I should have known we were headed for trouble when the van only required $500 worth of repairs to pass registration. Friday night, the Boss got in the van after work and the engine wouldn't even turn over. We just replaced the starter motor two years ago, so she figured it was a dead battery and got a jump start. She came home, parked it, came inside to get me so we could go to the store, and by the time we got back out it was dead again. We got a neighbor to help us jump start it again and drove it down to Checker to get the battery checked. Just for gee-whiz, because we replaced that a year ago as well. The test said the battery was fully charged and fine.
Normally a mechanic telling me something is fine would be great news, but this time...not so much. The Boss has a kid that works part time for her who is a mechanic during the day and he's going to look at it tomorrow.
I'm going to weigh the cost of repairs against the price of a half stick of dynamite and a tow truck to take it into the West Desert. ARGHHHH!!!!
The laptop screen is still on the fritz, and that is going to require a temporary hiatus on the blog while the computer is sent to Bombay or Mumbai, or wherever the heck Laptop Hell is located. Why can't things break down one at a time?
I have an idea of having guest bloggers while I'm offline, I'll let you know before I shut it down. There is one story in particular that I am chasing that frankly outdoes everything I have ever written about, including "Dad Has Two Heart Attacks".
Peff had a funny the other night. We were watching this show on PBS called Cheese Bites, an interesting show where they highlight a type of cheese, show how it's made, how it came to be, the difference between good stuff and bad stuff, etc. This week was on that nasty, drippy, half rotten looking French cheese Camembert. My second favorite line was from the show itself, when the voice over said that good Camembert should "taste like cooked cauliflower and smell like God's feet".
Am I the only one who wants to know who established the baseline on this characteristic? How do they know, and who would want to eat something that smelled like any one's feet? Ick!
But it was Peff who had the line of the night. After watching the segment on how they make Camembert, he turned to the Boss and asked "When do they put the bears in?"
Hilarious. How Willy Wonka-esque. Whipped cream needs to be whipped with real whips, poached eggs aren't poached unless they are stolen in the dead of night, and real Camembert cheese MUST be made with real bears!
Awesome.
After the show, the Jazz game started. I watched Krylo Fesenko get dunked on, miss a shot, throw a pass out of bounds, play matador defense (OLE!!), all in the first minute. I sent a text to T that said, "Fesenko is a Lummox (A Lummox is the worst insult imaginable for a wrestler. Lummox is worse than fish, worse than wuss, and worse than sloth) For the Jazz to have even a prayer, D-Willy is going to need to drop fifty."
Ok so it was thirty three and fourteen assists, but somehow the Jazz pulled it off. Fesenko even played solid enough defense for the rest of the game for me to remove the Lummox tag, at least for the time being. Game three is Friday.
Yesterday, I was sent to a new eye doctor. I spent a year and a half ignoring the Boss, my mother, my mother in law, pretty much everyone that knew me. Now I don't often brush off the advice of my mother, or her in-law counterpart, and I brush off the Boss even less frequently. But I had put my foot down on this one. I could "Wait and see what happens" without needing a to drop a copay. I wasn't going back.
Until the subject came up within my dad's earshot over Easter weekend. "You get your butt back to the doctors, and you do it now" he said in a tone that I remembered from my days as an idiot teenager. I made the appointment the next day. You don't ignore dad unless you have brain damage...or wish to obtain it.
So yesterday was the day, and after four hours, two receptionists, a ream of paperwork, one tech, two doctors, and an eye chart that I couldn't even see, they confirmed that I am, indeed legally blind.
It's never a good sign when the first words you hear when the tech looks at your eyes is "Wow".
Less good is when the first doctor says, "Huh. I'm gonna wait until the other doctor comes in to have a look at this".
The punch line is when the specialist and the head honcho doc comes in and says "Oh, my."
For the next hour, the doc's used a microscope, a tiny scalpel, and the smallest tweezers you ever saw to snip and then remove the rest of my stitches from the transplant. Imagine covering a racquetball with a nylon and then plucking at it with tweezers, and that's kinda the sensation going on. I cannot describe the will power required to see that blade come up to and onto your eyeball. You find yourself really hoping that the doc took it easy on the coffee that morning. You really, really want to pull your head away from the microscope base. The pain wasn't that bad, at least not at first. Just the thought.
When I get the shots, it hurts the most during the shot itself and in the first few minutes afterward. The rest is kind of like a dull echo. With this, the flinching was tough to suppress, but the pain wasn't too bad.
Until I got home. It was like watching a Fran Drescher marathon. It was annoying at first but you could mostly ignore it. After a while, you find yourself really distracted, and the next thing you know you are grabbing a deer rifle and looking for a clock tower to climb. By 6 last night, I was not a happy camper.
After they pulled the sutures, they gave me a prescription for the same eye drop steroids I'd been on before and told me...(wait for it)... to come back in two weeks.
Some struggles are eternal.
The van will break down, my kids will say funny things for me to write on this blog, the Jazz will find a way to disapoint me, and two weeks from anytime, I'll be at an eye doctors.
Count on it.
I should have known we were headed for trouble when the van only required $500 worth of repairs to pass registration. Friday night, the Boss got in the van after work and the engine wouldn't even turn over. We just replaced the starter motor two years ago, so she figured it was a dead battery and got a jump start. She came home, parked it, came inside to get me so we could go to the store, and by the time we got back out it was dead again. We got a neighbor to help us jump start it again and drove it down to Checker to get the battery checked. Just for gee-whiz, because we replaced that a year ago as well. The test said the battery was fully charged and fine.
Normally a mechanic telling me something is fine would be great news, but this time...not so much. The Boss has a kid that works part time for her who is a mechanic during the day and he's going to look at it tomorrow.
I'm going to weigh the cost of repairs against the price of a half stick of dynamite and a tow truck to take it into the West Desert. ARGHHHH!!!!
The laptop screen is still on the fritz, and that is going to require a temporary hiatus on the blog while the computer is sent to Bombay or Mumbai, or wherever the heck Laptop Hell is located. Why can't things break down one at a time?
I have an idea of having guest bloggers while I'm offline, I'll let you know before I shut it down. There is one story in particular that I am chasing that frankly outdoes everything I have ever written about, including "Dad Has Two Heart Attacks".
Peff had a funny the other night. We were watching this show on PBS called Cheese Bites, an interesting show where they highlight a type of cheese, show how it's made, how it came to be, the difference between good stuff and bad stuff, etc. This week was on that nasty, drippy, half rotten looking French cheese Camembert. My second favorite line was from the show itself, when the voice over said that good Camembert should "taste like cooked cauliflower and smell like God's feet".
Am I the only one who wants to know who established the baseline on this characteristic? How do they know, and who would want to eat something that smelled like any one's feet? Ick!
But it was Peff who had the line of the night. After watching the segment on how they make Camembert, he turned to the Boss and asked "When do they put the bears in?"
Hilarious. How Willy Wonka-esque. Whipped cream needs to be whipped with real whips, poached eggs aren't poached unless they are stolen in the dead of night, and real Camembert cheese MUST be made with real bears!
Awesome.
After the show, the Jazz game started. I watched Krylo Fesenko get dunked on, miss a shot, throw a pass out of bounds, play matador defense (OLE!!), all in the first minute. I sent a text to T that said, "Fesenko is a Lummox (A Lummox is the worst insult imaginable for a wrestler. Lummox is worse than fish, worse than wuss, and worse than sloth) For the Jazz to have even a prayer, D-Willy is going to need to drop fifty."
Ok so it was thirty three and fourteen assists, but somehow the Jazz pulled it off. Fesenko even played solid enough defense for the rest of the game for me to remove the Lummox tag, at least for the time being. Game three is Friday.
Yesterday, I was sent to a new eye doctor. I spent a year and a half ignoring the Boss, my mother, my mother in law, pretty much everyone that knew me. Now I don't often brush off the advice of my mother, or her in-law counterpart, and I brush off the Boss even less frequently. But I had put my foot down on this one. I could "Wait and see what happens" without needing a to drop a copay. I wasn't going back.
Until the subject came up within my dad's earshot over Easter weekend. "You get your butt back to the doctors, and you do it now" he said in a tone that I remembered from my days as an idiot teenager. I made the appointment the next day. You don't ignore dad unless you have brain damage...or wish to obtain it.
So yesterday was the day, and after four hours, two receptionists, a ream of paperwork, one tech, two doctors, and an eye chart that I couldn't even see, they confirmed that I am, indeed legally blind.
It's never a good sign when the first words you hear when the tech looks at your eyes is "Wow".
Less good is when the first doctor says, "Huh. I'm gonna wait until the other doctor comes in to have a look at this".
The punch line is when the specialist and the head honcho doc comes in and says "Oh, my."
For the next hour, the doc's used a microscope, a tiny scalpel, and the smallest tweezers you ever saw to snip and then remove the rest of my stitches from the transplant. Imagine covering a racquetball with a nylon and then plucking at it with tweezers, and that's kinda the sensation going on. I cannot describe the will power required to see that blade come up to and onto your eyeball. You find yourself really hoping that the doc took it easy on the coffee that morning. You really, really want to pull your head away from the microscope base. The pain wasn't that bad, at least not at first. Just the thought.
When I get the shots, it hurts the most during the shot itself and in the first few minutes afterward. The rest is kind of like a dull echo. With this, the flinching was tough to suppress, but the pain wasn't too bad.
Until I got home. It was like watching a Fran Drescher marathon. It was annoying at first but you could mostly ignore it. After a while, you find yourself really distracted, and the next thing you know you are grabbing a deer rifle and looking for a clock tower to climb. By 6 last night, I was not a happy camper.
After they pulled the sutures, they gave me a prescription for the same eye drop steroids I'd been on before and told me...(wait for it)... to come back in two weeks.
Some struggles are eternal.
The van will break down, my kids will say funny things for me to write on this blog, the Jazz will find a way to disapoint me, and two weeks from anytime, I'll be at an eye doctors.
Count on it.
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