Good song...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gBR_FVBED4w
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
This looks like an interesting movie...
Since 2012 is coming fast upon us, it's only natural that movies about the latest end of the world date would be coming out.
For those of you that don't know, the end of the Mayan calendar is December 21, 2012. It's believed that the world will either end, change drastically followed by a rebirth or machines will turn against their masters.
Here's a trailer for a new film starring John Cuzack coming out in November that explores the second idea.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mktuxQLWrSs&annotation_id=annotation_279660&feature=iv
For those of you that don't know, the end of the Mayan calendar is December 21, 2012. It's believed that the world will either end, change drastically followed by a rebirth or machines will turn against their masters.
Here's a trailer for a new film starring John Cuzack coming out in November that explores the second idea.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mktuxQLWrSs&annotation_id=annotation_279660&feature=iv
Julia masters the art of picking locks...
Thursday, I was home with Julia. I was working from home downstairs while Julia was upstairs reading, playing and watching television. I locked the pantry door because if I don't, Julia will take that opportunity to just mindlessly eat whatever is in the pantry.
I came upstairs at one point to check out what she was doing.
There she was trying to jimmy open the door lock with a bobby pin.
She saw me and tried to hide the bobby pin behind her back.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Nothing..." she said.
"Are you trying to pick that lock? I'd like to see you try."
I was sure she wouldn't be able to do it. The lock seemed a little more complicated than the ones we had on our doors as children. Those were easy to jimmy open. All it took was a nail and you were in.
These doors in my new house take a special key.
She rooted around some more and not 10 seconds later, she had it open.
"Aha!" Julia exclaimed. "They don't call me Julia Lockpants for nothing!"
I thought, "People call her Julia Lockpants?"
I came upstairs at one point to check out what she was doing.
There she was trying to jimmy open the door lock with a bobby pin.
She saw me and tried to hide the bobby pin behind her back.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Nothing..." she said.
"Are you trying to pick that lock? I'd like to see you try."
I was sure she wouldn't be able to do it. The lock seemed a little more complicated than the ones we had on our doors as children. Those were easy to jimmy open. All it took was a nail and you were in.
These doors in my new house take a special key.
She rooted around some more and not 10 seconds later, she had it open.
"Aha!" Julia exclaimed. "They don't call me Julia Lockpants for nothing!"
I thought, "People call her Julia Lockpants?"
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Had to ground Julia tonight...
So Julia was out with BFF tonight. We had told her that she was supposed to be home at 8:30. We had her put on a watch to make sure she was aware of the time. She did show up a little late, about 8 minutes, but at least she showed up pretty much on time.
When she got here, she asked me if BFF could stay and play. I did say she could stay for a bit, but then about 30 minutes later, I told her that BFF had to go home.
BFF asked Julia if she wanted to go to the park with her.
"Sure!" Julia said and started to head upstairs.
"Whoa!" I protested.
"What?" Julia asked.
"Get back here! I didn't say you could go to the park."
Julia gave me a sad face.
Then proceeded a few minutes of pleading (on Julia's part) and lots of "No"s (on my part).
Finally, Julia asked if she could just ride with her home.
I said okay as long as she was back in 10 minutes.
...
40 minutes later, I hopped in my car and went around the neighborhood to see where she was. I checked the park she usually hangs out at (about 4 blocks away). She wasn't there.
So I went down to the other park (4 blocks from the first park). This time, I spotted her. She was with BFF.
I rolled down the window and declared, "You're in trouble."
When she got home, I told her that she was grounded because this wasn't the first time that she told me one time and then proceeded to come back at another time. Each time, she says she's sorry, but this time, I felt I needed to make a statement.
The punishment was one of two choices: no TV or video games all day tomorrow or no BFF tomorrow.
Surprisingly, Julia chose no BFF.
Laura and I are no strangers to getting grounded. I've even gotten the no TV grounding. I'll have to save a grounding story for another day, though...
When she got here, she asked me if BFF could stay and play. I did say she could stay for a bit, but then about 30 minutes later, I told her that BFF had to go home.
BFF asked Julia if she wanted to go to the park with her.
"Sure!" Julia said and started to head upstairs.
"Whoa!" I protested.
"What?" Julia asked.
"Get back here! I didn't say you could go to the park."
Julia gave me a sad face.
Then proceeded a few minutes of pleading (on Julia's part) and lots of "No"s (on my part).
Finally, Julia asked if she could just ride with her home.
I said okay as long as she was back in 10 minutes.
...
40 minutes later, I hopped in my car and went around the neighborhood to see where she was. I checked the park she usually hangs out at (about 4 blocks away). She wasn't there.
So I went down to the other park (4 blocks from the first park). This time, I spotted her. She was with BFF.
I rolled down the window and declared, "You're in trouble."
When she got home, I told her that she was grounded because this wasn't the first time that she told me one time and then proceeded to come back at another time. Each time, she says she's sorry, but this time, I felt I needed to make a statement.
The punishment was one of two choices: no TV or video games all day tomorrow or no BFF tomorrow.
Surprisingly, Julia chose no BFF.
Laura and I are no strangers to getting grounded. I've even gotten the no TV grounding. I'll have to save a grounding story for another day, though...
Audiobook - I listened to the New Testament...
I didn't actually listen to the whole New Testament, but just the first four books, which chronicle the story of Jesus. The reason why I did this is because I'm preparing to read a book called, Lamb, which satirizes the years between when Jesus was 12 and when he reappears at 30. There is no record in the New Testament about that.
The book's full title is Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. It's by one of my favorite authors, Christopher Moore. He's done many a satirical book. There was Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story, which centered around a newly minted vampire and her human love interest. A Dirty Job centered around a second-hand shop dealer who finds out that he's been chosen to be a death merchant, a person that collects souls, on the same day that his wife dies after giving birth to his daughter, who may or may not the Illuminati. Those are just two of his books. All are funny.
Like I said above, I was listening to get myself better acquainted with the life of Jesus before I listened to Lamb. I had, of course, heard a lot of the stories before like the walking on water, the miracle of the loaves and fishes, the tempting by Satan, the miracles, the last supper, the betrayal, the crucifixion and the rising from the dead after 3 days. But as I listened closely to his teachings, there were a few things that struck me about Jesus.
For one thing, divorce is viewed rather harshly by him. He says that divorce should only be allowed if it's because of infidelity and that if you marry a woman who is divorced then you are committing adultery. This means that a whole lot of people, especially those family values politicians on the right are directly going against the word of Jesus.
For another thing, Jesus' followers seemed to be pretty dense sometimes. Time and time again, he would perform great miracles, but then when a challenge came along that was similar, they were amazed as if he had never done it before. At several points, Jesus gets frustrated with them by asking how they can't believe. If that was me, I'd be like, "Dude! You've seen me do this before! Stop being a dunderhead!"
In terms of plot, several parts of the New Testament are rather stilted. It's as if it was patched together from tales told many years apart (kidding). For example, after one miracle, he tells his disciples to go on ahead in their boat while he prays, but then has to walk across the water to get to the boat when the water gets too rough. Better time management might have helped or they could have just waited for him.
As for the crucifixion, I am reminded of the beating Jesus took in the Passion of the Christ. I kept waiting for the prolonged whippings and beatings in the New Testament, but there were few mentions of it. At one point, he's given a crown of thorns and it then dressed in purple after they've mocked him. I guess I'm confused as to where the prolonged beatings were added.
The version I listened to was very good to listen to. Each character was voice by a different person and there were sound effects of crowds and weather to add to the story. If you were going to read the New Testament by just listening to it, I think I would highly recommend it. It definitely seems to save some time and enhances what's going on.
The book's full title is Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal. It's by one of my favorite authors, Christopher Moore. He's done many a satirical book. There was Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story, which centered around a newly minted vampire and her human love interest. A Dirty Job centered around a second-hand shop dealer who finds out that he's been chosen to be a death merchant, a person that collects souls, on the same day that his wife dies after giving birth to his daughter, who may or may not the Illuminati. Those are just two of his books. All are funny.
Like I said above, I was listening to get myself better acquainted with the life of Jesus before I listened to Lamb. I had, of course, heard a lot of the stories before like the walking on water, the miracle of the loaves and fishes, the tempting by Satan, the miracles, the last supper, the betrayal, the crucifixion and the rising from the dead after 3 days. But as I listened closely to his teachings, there were a few things that struck me about Jesus.
For one thing, divorce is viewed rather harshly by him. He says that divorce should only be allowed if it's because of infidelity and that if you marry a woman who is divorced then you are committing adultery. This means that a whole lot of people, especially those family values politicians on the right are directly going against the word of Jesus.
For another thing, Jesus' followers seemed to be pretty dense sometimes. Time and time again, he would perform great miracles, but then when a challenge came along that was similar, they were amazed as if he had never done it before. At several points, Jesus gets frustrated with them by asking how they can't believe. If that was me, I'd be like, "Dude! You've seen me do this before! Stop being a dunderhead!"
In terms of plot, several parts of the New Testament are rather stilted. It's as if it was patched together from tales told many years apart (kidding). For example, after one miracle, he tells his disciples to go on ahead in their boat while he prays, but then has to walk across the water to get to the boat when the water gets too rough. Better time management might have helped or they could have just waited for him.
As for the crucifixion, I am reminded of the beating Jesus took in the Passion of the Christ. I kept waiting for the prolonged whippings and beatings in the New Testament, but there were few mentions of it. At one point, he's given a crown of thorns and it then dressed in purple after they've mocked him. I guess I'm confused as to where the prolonged beatings were added.
The version I listened to was very good to listen to. Each character was voice by a different person and there were sound effects of crowds and weather to add to the story. If you were going to read the New Testament by just listening to it, I think I would highly recommend it. It definitely seems to save some time and enhances what's going on.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Single Frame - Exact Copy
Another song I like. The rest of this band's album? Not so much...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNGQYwXN0H8
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNGQYwXN0H8
I get a physical and am reminded how much I hate needles...
I went to a new doctor on Friday morning because I had been meaning to find a new doctor and a health fair we had on Thursday got me into high gear. Since my Dad died, I've had this cough that won't go away. We all got colds when we all got together for my Dad's passing. At the health fair I mentioned, a breathing test confirmed that I may need to see a doctor. The lung function was a little low.
I kind of skimmed my health insurance's web site for doctor and health clinics close to my house and chose one that didn't look too expensive. The one I chose is right next to the local hospital.
I went to this doctor and got a physical, which I hadn't had in about 18 months. My new doctor did the usual checking eyes, ears and listening to my breathing. I was then instructed to go down to their lab to get my blood drawn.
I joked, "Hopefully, they can find a vein in these."
I held out my arms to the doctor elbows down to show my lack of visible veins.
The doctor said, "Oh, they do this all day long. They're experts at drawing blood."
I wasn't very confident about that. I've had a lot of bad luck when it comes to my veins.
There was the time when I was in college that we all went downtown to the plasma center that gave you 20 or so dollars for giving your plasma. The workers there would stick a needle into your arm, which was attached to a machine that sucked out your blood, spun it around various tubes, removed the plasma and inserted it back into your body.
Most people just relaxed and did homework while they sat there with the robotic Dracula sucking out their life. I tried to do that, but noticed something wrong. My arm started to hurt. It felt like a giant vacuum was trying to suck at the bend in my arm. I asked for assurance from the assistant that this was normal. She looked at the machine and tried some settings or whatever, but it continued this way. She left and returned with a doctor. Pretty soon, I had three doctors around me rubbing their chins thoughtfully and nodding. They would take turns twisting the needle in my arm to see if it would get the machine to go. They explained that the machine was starting and stopping because it didn't have enough blood to keep going, so it would shut down and start up again until it had a steady flow of blood.
One of them explained after a while that it appeared that my vein was constricting to a needle being placed in it.
I asked if I could quit, but was told that 'No', I had to grin and bear it because the machine would quit when it was done.
Three and an half hours later, I walked out with my sore arm and my cash.
Everyone at the dorm asked what had happened to me because they had all left hours ago. Apparently, the procedure is only supposed to last 30 minutes. My brother, Bill, told me that he had noticed that there were doctors huddled around someone, and he was wondering what was going on with the poor guy over there. Then one of the doctors moved, and he saw that the poor guy was me!
I swore I'd never give plasma again, which I didn't.
However, I did attempt to make some cash later in college when I tried for the latest medical experiment from the local lab that used college students as test subjects. I was a little distressed when I went in to the test to see if I was eligible when the lab assistant informed me if I got into the experiment that they'd have to draw my blood every hour on the hour for over 3 days!
Then to make matters even worse, they had to draw two large vials of blood to test against to see if I qualified. The assistant managed to get one vial of blood drawn, but then found a lot of trouble with the second vial. The vein just seemed to shut off, so no matter how much the assistant gently pulled, twisted and prodded, no more blood was coming into the vial.
The assistant tried the other arm, but could only get about one fourth of the vial filled with blood. Finally, they took a small needle and pulled the rest out of a bulging vein in my hand, which tickled let me tell you.
I didn't make the experiment, which I secretly thanked God for.
Back to Friday, though...
When I got to the lab, I was ushered to a seat with large arm rests for when the technician draws blood.
The lady asked me which arm I wanted to have blood drawn out of.
I chose my left arm.
She tied that elastic band around my arm and looked for a vein.
I again joked, "Good luck finding a vein."
She smirked a little because I'm sure she hears that all day.
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable prick. Finally, I felt her swab my arm, which was followed by pain.
I winced.
There were a few pricks of pain. Then it stopped. Relieved, I sighed and opened my eyes. Much to my horror, the technician had not drawn any blood at all! She was moving the needle around in my arm.
"Hmm... Having a problem?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't seem to get into this vein. It's there, but it's not cooperating."
I closed my eyes again and braced for it to end. Suddenly, pain shot through my arm as if she had stabbed me there.
I yelped and screamed a little.
I looked at my arm. She had not drawn any blood at all!
"All of that pain for nothing!" I exclaimed while laughingly nervously.
The technician didn't seem to think it was funny. She switched arms and got it done pretty quick.
I told Laura this story, but instead of sympathy, I got mockery.
"God, you're a wuss," she snorted.
Yes, I am.
I kind of skimmed my health insurance's web site for doctor and health clinics close to my house and chose one that didn't look too expensive. The one I chose is right next to the local hospital.
I went to this doctor and got a physical, which I hadn't had in about 18 months. My new doctor did the usual checking eyes, ears and listening to my breathing. I was then instructed to go down to their lab to get my blood drawn.
I joked, "Hopefully, they can find a vein in these."
I held out my arms to the doctor elbows down to show my lack of visible veins.
The doctor said, "Oh, they do this all day long. They're experts at drawing blood."
I wasn't very confident about that. I've had a lot of bad luck when it comes to my veins.
There was the time when I was in college that we all went downtown to the plasma center that gave you 20 or so dollars for giving your plasma. The workers there would stick a needle into your arm, which was attached to a machine that sucked out your blood, spun it around various tubes, removed the plasma and inserted it back into your body.
Most people just relaxed and did homework while they sat there with the robotic Dracula sucking out their life. I tried to do that, but noticed something wrong. My arm started to hurt. It felt like a giant vacuum was trying to suck at the bend in my arm. I asked for assurance from the assistant that this was normal. She looked at the machine and tried some settings or whatever, but it continued this way. She left and returned with a doctor. Pretty soon, I had three doctors around me rubbing their chins thoughtfully and nodding. They would take turns twisting the needle in my arm to see if it would get the machine to go. They explained that the machine was starting and stopping because it didn't have enough blood to keep going, so it would shut down and start up again until it had a steady flow of blood.
One of them explained after a while that it appeared that my vein was constricting to a needle being placed in it.
I asked if I could quit, but was told that 'No', I had to grin and bear it because the machine would quit when it was done.
Three and an half hours later, I walked out with my sore arm and my cash.
Everyone at the dorm asked what had happened to me because they had all left hours ago. Apparently, the procedure is only supposed to last 30 minutes. My brother, Bill, told me that he had noticed that there were doctors huddled around someone, and he was wondering what was going on with the poor guy over there. Then one of the doctors moved, and he saw that the poor guy was me!
I swore I'd never give plasma again, which I didn't.
However, I did attempt to make some cash later in college when I tried for the latest medical experiment from the local lab that used college students as test subjects. I was a little distressed when I went in to the test to see if I was eligible when the lab assistant informed me if I got into the experiment that they'd have to draw my blood every hour on the hour for over 3 days!
Then to make matters even worse, they had to draw two large vials of blood to test against to see if I qualified. The assistant managed to get one vial of blood drawn, but then found a lot of trouble with the second vial. The vein just seemed to shut off, so no matter how much the assistant gently pulled, twisted and prodded, no more blood was coming into the vial.
The assistant tried the other arm, but could only get about one fourth of the vial filled with blood. Finally, they took a small needle and pulled the rest out of a bulging vein in my hand, which tickled let me tell you.
I didn't make the experiment, which I secretly thanked God for.
Back to Friday, though...
When I got to the lab, I was ushered to a seat with large arm rests for when the technician draws blood.
The lady asked me which arm I wanted to have blood drawn out of.
I chose my left arm.
She tied that elastic band around my arm and looked for a vein.
I again joked, "Good luck finding a vein."
She smirked a little because I'm sure she hears that all day.
I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable prick. Finally, I felt her swab my arm, which was followed by pain.
I winced.
There were a few pricks of pain. Then it stopped. Relieved, I sighed and opened my eyes. Much to my horror, the technician had not drawn any blood at all! She was moving the needle around in my arm.
"Hmm... Having a problem?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't seem to get into this vein. It's there, but it's not cooperating."
I closed my eyes again and braced for it to end. Suddenly, pain shot through my arm as if she had stabbed me there.
I yelped and screamed a little.
I looked at my arm. She had not drawn any blood at all!
"All of that pain for nothing!" I exclaimed while laughingly nervously.
The technician didn't seem to think it was funny. She switched arms and got it done pretty quick.
I told Laura this story, but instead of sympathy, I got mockery.
"God, you're a wuss," she snorted.
Yes, I am.
Monday, June 15, 2009
If All Movies Had Cell Phones...
This is a good video that explores the concept of if all your favorite movies had cell phones in them. I noticed that as we've advanced in this immediate technology that movies have either compensated by allowing the characters to go beyond today's technology (CSI with their 'enhancing' of video as an example) or they go out of their way to explain that something is blocking the transmission.
This video explores something that I think about from time to time when I read a book. One of my favorite books, Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp by C.D. Payne, was written in the early 90s and set during that time. As a result, a lot of the book revolves around outdated technology road blocks. The main character, Nick, a horny teen looking to woo a girl he meets during summer vacation, is constantly has roadblocks. His girlfriend sends him letters, which are torn up by his Mom. He accepts a lot of collect calls that run up several phone bills. He and his friends have to speak in code to avoid prying parental ears.
If the book was set today, there are cell phones, which he might not have automatically. He does have a computer in the book, so instant messaging would be a natural work-around.
The movie based on the book is coming out this fall staring Michael Cera, so it'll be interesting if they set it in the present, which might actually speed the story up because a lot of it is Nick anxiously waiting for a letter or a phone call.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Dad's Eulogy...
As many of you know, my father passed away on Wednesday, May 20th. It seems like yesterday that I was talking to him. Now he's gone, but his memory remains. I think about him all the time.
Here's the eulogy that I wrote. We gave copies to people when they came to his celebration of life.
MEMORIES OF A MAN, MY DAD
My Dad was born Richard Joseph Homan. He was the youngest of four siblings. He is survived by a wife, five children, 12 grandchildren and one great grand child. He is also survived by four refrigerators; one deep freezer; seven televisions; eight phones; an old ice maker; 4 rain gauges; hundreds of drill bits; 1 machete; 1 plastic Michelin man; 11 peanut jars of odds and ends; over 100 jars and cans of nuts, bolts, nails, screws, washers, hinges, latches, brackets, wires, and other metal pieces; 9 9/16 wrenches; 7 7/16 wrenches; 3 cowbells; 2 iron horses; over 50 bottle openers and 39 lag bolts.
My Dad was well-rounded man. He liked to bake cookies, to make salsa, to grow tomatoes, to watch birds and to watch football (especially Nebraska football).
There didn't seem to be a Sunday that would go by where my Dad wasn't baking his chocolate chip cookies. The best times to get them were before they were baked and right after they came out of the oven. He'd scowl if he'd see you sneak some of the cookie dough, but I don't think that he minded that much.
He started dabbling in salsa when I was in college. He'd make tons of batches of the stuff. He thought it was pretty good, and I knew that a lot of people liked it. He'd give away jars of the stuff whether you wanted it or not. He ran into some snags with it early one, like the batch that wasn't red enough for him, so he used red food coloring, which turned the salsa pink.
He started his bird watching later in life. He had several bird feeders and a bird bath. I gave him a couple of bird watching guides to help him out.
This leads into a short story of mine about Dad trying to protect his birds.
A year or two ago, my Dad had it up to here with the squirrels. Apparently, the squirrels in his backyard were eating the bird seed that he used in his bird feeders (naturally) and he was doing something about it.
A previous bird feeder problem occurred when black birds moved in and were eating all his food and scaring the smaller birds away. Undaunted and a little aggravated, my Dad did what any reasonable bird lover would do, he bought a pellet gun and started shooting them.
Now before you think my Dad was cruel to animals, you have to understand that he wasn't intending to kill these birds. He was merely trying to scare them off... and scare them off he did. He'd sit in the garage watching the bird bath. A black bird would fly down to the feeding area, my Dad would cock and pump the pellet gun, and he'd fire off a pellet. Usually, it'd whistle by the bird, who would then be so startled that it would fly away. A few times, I think it hit a small part of the wing, but then was still able to fully fly away.
My Mom kept telling my Dad that "one of these times, the animal control people are going to see you!", but he kept on at it. After a while, the black birds got the message and stopped coming.
The squirrels were another matter. We were over at my brother Bill's place for his daughter's birthday. My brothers and I started talking to my Mom. One of us asked, "How is Dad doing?" It was a common question because you never knew what was happening with my Dad. Seeing as how my Dad was retired, he had plenty of time to spend as he put it 'watching the world go by', which also meant that he had plenty of time coming up with new things to obsess about.
For example, my Mom told us that my Dad had jars upon jars of nuts and bolts that he took from my Grandpa's barn before it was torn down. My Dad had been sitting outside and sorting through the nuts and bolts. We guess that he was sifting out the 'good' from the 'bad.' To my Mom, they are all bad and she admitted that she'd been systematically throwing a jar away every now and then. "But he'll never notice," she had said.
Knowing my Dad like I did, I thought, "He probably does notice." Sure enough, barely a day after she told me that, my Dad suddenly complained, "Well, your mother keeps throwing away things I'm trying to save! She's throwing out my jars of bolts!"
I suppressed a smile and said nothing.
The squirrels had him at his wit's end, I guess. He'd seen the squirrels out there eating all the bird seed that he had left for the birds. At first, he had tried to hide the food from the squirrels. While that was semi-successful, they really ticked him off by biting through his sun room's screen door and pillaging the food from the bucket it was stored in.
Seeing what his options were, my Dad decided to do the most reasonably humane thing he could think of, which was to capture and relocate all the squirrels.
He set out to do this by getting an animal trap, one of those cages that allowed the animal to walk in, but closed before they could walk out. He finally got his first victim and instructed my Mom to dispose of the critter by the ball field by her work. She took it out there, opened the cage, and set it free. The squirrel shot out of the cage, turned around to look at her once as if to say 'thanks' and took off for the nearest tree.
Dad managed to trap yet another one, but my Mom started to put her foot down on this behavior.
"People are going to think that I'm weird!" she scolded.
The success of trapping tapered off rather quickly, though. When my Dad had still only caught only two squirrels several weeks later, he threatened to take even more drastic measures.
My Mom said, "You're going to be fined for cruelty to animals, you know!"
Dad snapped, "It's a small price to pay for my happiness!"
My Dad wasn't necessarily a cruel man. He just wanted the thoughtless animals from eating his food that he left for other animals.
Our Dad was also one of the toughest men that we knew. My brother, Joe, remembers being at the old family farm doing some work in the barn, when a large beam fell and hit Dad squarely in the chest. Joe said that he shrugged it off and continued working all day as if nothing happened.
I had heard stories about fights that Dad had gotten into. One that we talked about was when Dad went to the liquor store and encountered two guys giving a guy he knew a hard time. Dad took both of them on. His excuse to Mom was, "They were messing with my friend. I had two fists. What was I supposed to do?"
I can verify that Dad hit hard. As one of five kids that frequently got into trouble, Dad would have to spank us once to make his point every now and then. You did not want to be on the receiving end of one of those open-palmed spanks. If memory serves, it felt like his hands were made of solid rock. You still saw the brute force of those hands from time to time. One day when my brother, Bill and I were around 12, we heard some yelling upstairs, followed by a commotion of chairs, followed by a stomping of feet downstairs. My brother, Paul, zoomed past us with a whimper followed closely by Dad. Paul slammed the door to his room in time for my Dad to punch a hole through the first layer. Apparently, Paul was smarting off to Dad, which was not an uncommon occurrence in our house and Dad had had enough that day. I thought to myself, "There is no way I'm going to mess with Dad when I get as old as Paul."
I had no idea what set my Dad off that night, but my brother, Paul, and my Dad laughed about it years later like it was a planned prank.
Growing up with my Dad was like growing up with Tim Allen's character on Home Improvement if instead of rewiring things, he built things. My Dad always seemed to have some solution to a problem by merely using nails, wood (paneling, plywood or real wood) and some elbow grease. At our old house on First street, Dad built a bar with a sink, a kind of sitting booth, an insert into the wall for a TV and inserts for fish tanks. The summer when I was in kindergarten, we moved to the current house on Anna street. It's a three-bedroom house. When we moved in, Dad constructed walls downstairs to make three more bedrooms, a laundry room and a bathroom. When one of the rooms wasn't big enough, Dad moved two of the walls a few feet over to make more room.
He was always trying to improve his set up. He'd build a shelf within a desk and then he'd build mini shelves that would go on the bigger shelves. On his shelves were every type of container either store bought or re-used from its previous life as a cigar box or a wine container.
Dad was also a scavenger. If he saw something while driving that was being thrown out, he'd come back later to claim it. One of our mini-closets for our downstairs was a rolling rack that was being thrown out by a store. Dad saw it and came back for it later.
It was often that we'd be riding with our Dad on the highway when he'd spot something on the side of the road. He'd hit the brakes, pull over to the side and drive backwards all the way to the item he spotted, which might be something like a bungee that someone had dropped. If it still looked like it worked, he'd pick it up.
You could always count on my Dad to help out. He was always willing to help us move in and out of our homes and apartments.
When Bill and I moved into our first apartment off campus while we were in college, we opted for one that was a fairly large two bedroom apartment. My Dad showed up with our stuff that we had packed into a horse trailer. He showed up at the apartment in a fowl mood. For starters, it was far from campus. Then he had issues with the apartment itself in that it was on the second floor.
"Couldn't have gotten one on the ground floor?" Dad asked.
"We didn't really have a choice, Dad" one of us tried to explain.
Dad scowled. That was late summer of 1991. Even then, Dad was starting to show the signs of his years of smoking. He huffed and puffed up the stairs with our stuff. It was a hot August day and he was pouring with sweat.
When all the furniture was off loaded. Dad brought up a fan for us to use. It was a metal shop fan that was round like it was some sort of stool. He turned it on and showed us the various speeds that it had. It started to rattle a little.
Dad said, "Oh that's normal. If it starts to rattle like that you just give it a little kick like this."
Dad kicked the fan. The rattle stopped.
"See? Just kick it."
Sure enough, we started kicking it whenever it rattled.
As Dad was leaving, he turned to us and said, "You guys are never going to be able to afford this."
Thanks for the vote of confidence Dad!
Dad was a Nebraska Cornhusker fan. He didn't go to many games, but he'd gladly buy tickets for us kids. He was just glad to do it because we were fans.
He was a big optimist about the Huskers. The year that the Huskers went 7-7, he boldly proclaimed that they'd win the national championship. I don't think he ever missed a game that was on television.
My Dad was a Bud man through and through. That is, until he switched to Busch Light, but for decades, he could be counted on for being a loyal Budweiser customer. My Dad didn't drink pop, so it was only natural that we'd see him with a Bud in his hand. That is not to say that he had a problem though. If he was somewhere and was offered a beer and they didn't have Budweiser, he'd just go without. Now that's loyal!
He was also prepared. Whenever the weather report called for some severe weather, he'd go out and buy a few more cases.
One time, I was visiting from college. My Dad met me in the garage and asked me to take his beer out of the cooler and put them on the shelf in the garage. I complied, but noted that he had six cases in the trunk.
I mentioned this to my Mom, whose reply was, "Six? He usually buys nine!"
He drank out of a Bud koozy. Our various dwellings were scattered with various Budweiser coasters, commemorative bottles, clocks, beer signs, fridge magnets, and other Budweiser memorabilia.
His other drink of choice was coffee, which he drank a lot.
I'd see commercials for those Mister Coffee machines and think that Dad would enjoy that, but he was an old-style percolator man through and through. There wasn't a day that didn't start with coffee. Sometimes, he'd forget to buy coffee filters so he'd have to compromise by using toilet paper or Kleenex. He'd really let Mom hear it if the only thing available was colored, scented tissue paper.
He never took sugar or cream. Even with the popularity of gourmet flavored coffees, iced coffees and cappuccinos, he never once tried them. It was black or nothing.
For food, Dad was just as simple. He was a meat and potatoes man, that is until he discovered that he was allergic to starches, then it changed to just meat. He loved chicken, especially gizzards and livers. He enjoyed eating his home-caught catfish when we had a summer trailer.
Dad was a very well-liked man. He got that way by being himself. He was always generous to other people. Even in his last days, he would have us stock his snack stash with cookies and snack cakes, which he'd often give to the nurses.
Dad very rarely was out in public in a fowl mood. He'd always have a kind word to say to people when they walked in when he was at his usual place, at the end of the bar: behind it. He'd stand behind the bar so he could see who was coming in and to say 'Hi' to people. If the people working behind the bar minded, they didn't say so. That's just where he stood.
I guess you could say that he was an optimist... for the most part. He never talked about being 'Stressed”. Speaking of the word, 'Stress'. My Dad hated that word. One time, I made the mistake of saying to my Dad that I was 'stressed out' because of college. He immediately scoffed by saying, "I don't believe in stress. It's a made up word. What do you have to be stressed about anyway? I bid on multi-million contracts every day. If anyone can say that they're stressed, it's me!"
From then on, I made sure to use the word, "pressure". He didn't mind that one.
But as much as he was personable towards people he knew, he was very much against giving out your personal information.
For example, one day my Dad and I went to Radio Shack to get some batteries. Normally he didn't go to Radio Shack, but we were at the mall for some reason and he said he needed batteries, so I pointed to Radio Shack, which was the nearest store.
We walked in and sure enough, there were batteries. He grabbed a pack and set it on the counter. He pulled out his wallet.
The man behind the counter asked, "Can I get your name and address, sir?"
Dad asked, "Why do you need my name and address?"
"I just need it to complete the sale, sir."
"But I don't want to give you my name and address."
"I'm sorry, but I need it."
"But I just want to buy these batteries."
"Well I'm sorry sir," the man persisted. "But I can't open the register unless I have your name and address."
Dad eyed the kid a little.
"So you're telling me that you can't just let me pay cash for these batteries?"
"That's right."
"What do you need my name and address for anyway?" Dad asked.
"They use it to send out a mailer to you." the clerk explained.
"But what if I don't want a mailer?" Dad asked.
"I'm sorry. But like I said, I can't open the register without your name and address."
Without a word, Dad put his wallet back in his pocket and left the store without buying any batteries. For the rest of the day, everyone he talked to was treated to that story which ended with the phrase: "And I picked my money up and walked out the door!"
Being a teenager, I was like "You sure told them, Dad!" Well not to his face. I thought it. I may have been young, but I wasn't crazy.
Because he didn't like giving out any more personal information than he had to, he had a card by his phone that had written on it every magazine subscription he had with the expiration date and every donation that he gave and the day he gave it. That way, if he got a call from a telemarketer telling him that his magazine subscription was about to expire or he last gave a donation at a certain date, he'd whip out the card, check it and tell the telemarketer that his subscription still had so many months left or that he gave at a date different than they had told him.
I don't know what grand plans Dad had about how he'd live his life, but I know he probably didn't want to spend the last several months of it in hospitals or stuck at home. Even so, I'm so glad that he lived long enough to enjoy several years of retirement.
He said to me on several occasions that he was just sitting watching the world go by, which is what he was reduced to for the past year or so. He lamented about that once. He said, “We thought we were all invincible.”
If he were here today, well he'd probably be cursing us out for throwing away a lot of perfectly good tools, wire, bolts, nuts, nails, screws and various things he needed that were in his garage and study. But he wanted me to make sure and tell everyone, “Enjoy and have fun.”
So Dad, here's to you: “Enjoy and have fun.”
Here's the eulogy that I wrote. We gave copies to people when they came to his celebration of life.
MEMORIES OF A MAN, MY DAD
My Dad was born Richard Joseph Homan. He was the youngest of four siblings. He is survived by a wife, five children, 12 grandchildren and one great grand child. He is also survived by four refrigerators; one deep freezer; seven televisions; eight phones; an old ice maker; 4 rain gauges; hundreds of drill bits; 1 machete; 1 plastic Michelin man; 11 peanut jars of odds and ends; over 100 jars and cans of nuts, bolts, nails, screws, washers, hinges, latches, brackets, wires, and other metal pieces; 9 9/16 wrenches; 7 7/16 wrenches; 3 cowbells; 2 iron horses; over 50 bottle openers and 39 lag bolts.
My Dad was well-rounded man. He liked to bake cookies, to make salsa, to grow tomatoes, to watch birds and to watch football (especially Nebraska football).
There didn't seem to be a Sunday that would go by where my Dad wasn't baking his chocolate chip cookies. The best times to get them were before they were baked and right after they came out of the oven. He'd scowl if he'd see you sneak some of the cookie dough, but I don't think that he minded that much.
He started dabbling in salsa when I was in college. He'd make tons of batches of the stuff. He thought it was pretty good, and I knew that a lot of people liked it. He'd give away jars of the stuff whether you wanted it or not. He ran into some snags with it early one, like the batch that wasn't red enough for him, so he used red food coloring, which turned the salsa pink.
He started his bird watching later in life. He had several bird feeders and a bird bath. I gave him a couple of bird watching guides to help him out.
This leads into a short story of mine about Dad trying to protect his birds.
A year or two ago, my Dad had it up to here with the squirrels. Apparently, the squirrels in his backyard were eating the bird seed that he used in his bird feeders (naturally) and he was doing something about it.
A previous bird feeder problem occurred when black birds moved in and were eating all his food and scaring the smaller birds away. Undaunted and a little aggravated, my Dad did what any reasonable bird lover would do, he bought a pellet gun and started shooting them.
Now before you think my Dad was cruel to animals, you have to understand that he wasn't intending to kill these birds. He was merely trying to scare them off... and scare them off he did. He'd sit in the garage watching the bird bath. A black bird would fly down to the feeding area, my Dad would cock and pump the pellet gun, and he'd fire off a pellet. Usually, it'd whistle by the bird, who would then be so startled that it would fly away. A few times, I think it hit a small part of the wing, but then was still able to fully fly away.
My Mom kept telling my Dad that "one of these times, the animal control people are going to see you!", but he kept on at it. After a while, the black birds got the message and stopped coming.
The squirrels were another matter. We were over at my brother Bill's place for his daughter's birthday. My brothers and I started talking to my Mom. One of us asked, "How is Dad doing?" It was a common question because you never knew what was happening with my Dad. Seeing as how my Dad was retired, he had plenty of time to spend as he put it 'watching the world go by', which also meant that he had plenty of time coming up with new things to obsess about.
For example, my Mom told us that my Dad had jars upon jars of nuts and bolts that he took from my Grandpa's barn before it was torn down. My Dad had been sitting outside and sorting through the nuts and bolts. We guess that he was sifting out the 'good' from the 'bad.' To my Mom, they are all bad and she admitted that she'd been systematically throwing a jar away every now and then. "But he'll never notice," she had said.
Knowing my Dad like I did, I thought, "He probably does notice." Sure enough, barely a day after she told me that, my Dad suddenly complained, "Well, your mother keeps throwing away things I'm trying to save! She's throwing out my jars of bolts!"
I suppressed a smile and said nothing.
The squirrels had him at his wit's end, I guess. He'd seen the squirrels out there eating all the bird seed that he had left for the birds. At first, he had tried to hide the food from the squirrels. While that was semi-successful, they really ticked him off by biting through his sun room's screen door and pillaging the food from the bucket it was stored in.
Seeing what his options were, my Dad decided to do the most reasonably humane thing he could think of, which was to capture and relocate all the squirrels.
He set out to do this by getting an animal trap, one of those cages that allowed the animal to walk in, but closed before they could walk out. He finally got his first victim and instructed my Mom to dispose of the critter by the ball field by her work. She took it out there, opened the cage, and set it free. The squirrel shot out of the cage, turned around to look at her once as if to say 'thanks' and took off for the nearest tree.
Dad managed to trap yet another one, but my Mom started to put her foot down on this behavior.
"People are going to think that I'm weird!" she scolded.
The success of trapping tapered off rather quickly, though. When my Dad had still only caught only two squirrels several weeks later, he threatened to take even more drastic measures.
My Mom said, "You're going to be fined for cruelty to animals, you know!"
Dad snapped, "It's a small price to pay for my happiness!"
My Dad wasn't necessarily a cruel man. He just wanted the thoughtless animals from eating his food that he left for other animals.
Our Dad was also one of the toughest men that we knew. My brother, Joe, remembers being at the old family farm doing some work in the barn, when a large beam fell and hit Dad squarely in the chest. Joe said that he shrugged it off and continued working all day as if nothing happened.
I had heard stories about fights that Dad had gotten into. One that we talked about was when Dad went to the liquor store and encountered two guys giving a guy he knew a hard time. Dad took both of them on. His excuse to Mom was, "They were messing with my friend. I had two fists. What was I supposed to do?"
I can verify that Dad hit hard. As one of five kids that frequently got into trouble, Dad would have to spank us once to make his point every now and then. You did not want to be on the receiving end of one of those open-palmed spanks. If memory serves, it felt like his hands were made of solid rock. You still saw the brute force of those hands from time to time. One day when my brother, Bill and I were around 12, we heard some yelling upstairs, followed by a commotion of chairs, followed by a stomping of feet downstairs. My brother, Paul, zoomed past us with a whimper followed closely by Dad. Paul slammed the door to his room in time for my Dad to punch a hole through the first layer. Apparently, Paul was smarting off to Dad, which was not an uncommon occurrence in our house and Dad had had enough that day. I thought to myself, "There is no way I'm going to mess with Dad when I get as old as Paul."
I had no idea what set my Dad off that night, but my brother, Paul, and my Dad laughed about it years later like it was a planned prank.
Growing up with my Dad was like growing up with Tim Allen's character on Home Improvement if instead of rewiring things, he built things. My Dad always seemed to have some solution to a problem by merely using nails, wood (paneling, plywood or real wood) and some elbow grease. At our old house on First street, Dad built a bar with a sink, a kind of sitting booth, an insert into the wall for a TV and inserts for fish tanks. The summer when I was in kindergarten, we moved to the current house on Anna street. It's a three-bedroom house. When we moved in, Dad constructed walls downstairs to make three more bedrooms, a laundry room and a bathroom. When one of the rooms wasn't big enough, Dad moved two of the walls a few feet over to make more room.
He was always trying to improve his set up. He'd build a shelf within a desk and then he'd build mini shelves that would go on the bigger shelves. On his shelves were every type of container either store bought or re-used from its previous life as a cigar box or a wine container.
Dad was also a scavenger. If he saw something while driving that was being thrown out, he'd come back later to claim it. One of our mini-closets for our downstairs was a rolling rack that was being thrown out by a store. Dad saw it and came back for it later.
It was often that we'd be riding with our Dad on the highway when he'd spot something on the side of the road. He'd hit the brakes, pull over to the side and drive backwards all the way to the item he spotted, which might be something like a bungee that someone had dropped. If it still looked like it worked, he'd pick it up.
You could always count on my Dad to help out. He was always willing to help us move in and out of our homes and apartments.
When Bill and I moved into our first apartment off campus while we were in college, we opted for one that was a fairly large two bedroom apartment. My Dad showed up with our stuff that we had packed into a horse trailer. He showed up at the apartment in a fowl mood. For starters, it was far from campus. Then he had issues with the apartment itself in that it was on the second floor.
"Couldn't have gotten one on the ground floor?" Dad asked.
"We didn't really have a choice, Dad" one of us tried to explain.
Dad scowled. That was late summer of 1991. Even then, Dad was starting to show the signs of his years of smoking. He huffed and puffed up the stairs with our stuff. It was a hot August day and he was pouring with sweat.
When all the furniture was off loaded. Dad brought up a fan for us to use. It was a metal shop fan that was round like it was some sort of stool. He turned it on and showed us the various speeds that it had. It started to rattle a little.
Dad said, "Oh that's normal. If it starts to rattle like that you just give it a little kick like this."
Dad kicked the fan. The rattle stopped.
"See? Just kick it."
Sure enough, we started kicking it whenever it rattled.
As Dad was leaving, he turned to us and said, "You guys are never going to be able to afford this."
Thanks for the vote of confidence Dad!
Dad was a Nebraska Cornhusker fan. He didn't go to many games, but he'd gladly buy tickets for us kids. He was just glad to do it because we were fans.
He was a big optimist about the Huskers. The year that the Huskers went 7-7, he boldly proclaimed that they'd win the national championship. I don't think he ever missed a game that was on television.
My Dad was a Bud man through and through. That is, until he switched to Busch Light, but for decades, he could be counted on for being a loyal Budweiser customer. My Dad didn't drink pop, so it was only natural that we'd see him with a Bud in his hand. That is not to say that he had a problem though. If he was somewhere and was offered a beer and they didn't have Budweiser, he'd just go without. Now that's loyal!
He was also prepared. Whenever the weather report called for some severe weather, he'd go out and buy a few more cases.
One time, I was visiting from college. My Dad met me in the garage and asked me to take his beer out of the cooler and put them on the shelf in the garage. I complied, but noted that he had six cases in the trunk.
I mentioned this to my Mom, whose reply was, "Six? He usually buys nine!"
He drank out of a Bud koozy. Our various dwellings were scattered with various Budweiser coasters, commemorative bottles, clocks, beer signs, fridge magnets, and other Budweiser memorabilia.
His other drink of choice was coffee, which he drank a lot.
I'd see commercials for those Mister Coffee machines and think that Dad would enjoy that, but he was an old-style percolator man through and through. There wasn't a day that didn't start with coffee. Sometimes, he'd forget to buy coffee filters so he'd have to compromise by using toilet paper or Kleenex. He'd really let Mom hear it if the only thing available was colored, scented tissue paper.
He never took sugar or cream. Even with the popularity of gourmet flavored coffees, iced coffees and cappuccinos, he never once tried them. It was black or nothing.
For food, Dad was just as simple. He was a meat and potatoes man, that is until he discovered that he was allergic to starches, then it changed to just meat. He loved chicken, especially gizzards and livers. He enjoyed eating his home-caught catfish when we had a summer trailer.
Dad was a very well-liked man. He got that way by being himself. He was always generous to other people. Even in his last days, he would have us stock his snack stash with cookies and snack cakes, which he'd often give to the nurses.
Dad very rarely was out in public in a fowl mood. He'd always have a kind word to say to people when they walked in when he was at his usual place, at the end of the bar: behind it. He'd stand behind the bar so he could see who was coming in and to say 'Hi' to people. If the people working behind the bar minded, they didn't say so. That's just where he stood.
I guess you could say that he was an optimist... for the most part. He never talked about being 'Stressed”. Speaking of the word, 'Stress'. My Dad hated that word. One time, I made the mistake of saying to my Dad that I was 'stressed out' because of college. He immediately scoffed by saying, "I don't believe in stress. It's a made up word. What do you have to be stressed about anyway? I bid on multi-million contracts every day. If anyone can say that they're stressed, it's me!"
From then on, I made sure to use the word, "pressure". He didn't mind that one.
But as much as he was personable towards people he knew, he was very much against giving out your personal information.
For example, one day my Dad and I went to Radio Shack to get some batteries. Normally he didn't go to Radio Shack, but we were at the mall for some reason and he said he needed batteries, so I pointed to Radio Shack, which was the nearest store.
We walked in and sure enough, there were batteries. He grabbed a pack and set it on the counter. He pulled out his wallet.
The man behind the counter asked, "Can I get your name and address, sir?"
Dad asked, "Why do you need my name and address?"
"I just need it to complete the sale, sir."
"But I don't want to give you my name and address."
"I'm sorry, but I need it."
"But I just want to buy these batteries."
"Well I'm sorry sir," the man persisted. "But I can't open the register unless I have your name and address."
Dad eyed the kid a little.
"So you're telling me that you can't just let me pay cash for these batteries?"
"That's right."
"What do you need my name and address for anyway?" Dad asked.
"They use it to send out a mailer to you." the clerk explained.
"But what if I don't want a mailer?" Dad asked.
"I'm sorry. But like I said, I can't open the register without your name and address."
Without a word, Dad put his wallet back in his pocket and left the store without buying any batteries. For the rest of the day, everyone he talked to was treated to that story which ended with the phrase: "And I picked my money up and walked out the door!"
Being a teenager, I was like "You sure told them, Dad!" Well not to his face. I thought it. I may have been young, but I wasn't crazy.
Because he didn't like giving out any more personal information than he had to, he had a card by his phone that had written on it every magazine subscription he had with the expiration date and every donation that he gave and the day he gave it. That way, if he got a call from a telemarketer telling him that his magazine subscription was about to expire or he last gave a donation at a certain date, he'd whip out the card, check it and tell the telemarketer that his subscription still had so many months left or that he gave at a date different than they had told him.
I don't know what grand plans Dad had about how he'd live his life, but I know he probably didn't want to spend the last several months of it in hospitals or stuck at home. Even so, I'm so glad that he lived long enough to enjoy several years of retirement.
He said to me on several occasions that he was just sitting watching the world go by, which is what he was reduced to for the past year or so. He lamented about that once. He said, “We thought we were all invincible.”
If he were here today, well he'd probably be cursing us out for throwing away a lot of perfectly good tools, wire, bolts, nuts, nails, screws and various things he needed that were in his garage and study. But he wanted me to make sure and tell everyone, “Enjoy and have fun.”
So Dad, here's to you: “Enjoy and have fun.”
Monday, June 08, 2009
I save a life with the power of my anecdote...
I have the habit of telling people anecdotes about my life. Something will remind me of something else and I'm compelled to give people the gift of my life lessons. It's my way of paying it forward... or maybe I just like to talk...
An example of this is when I got a toilet the other day. I had a work friend help me with it off the shelf. As I was looking at it, I pointed out the rating of the toilet by an independent study. I told him that when they test this stuff, they use a paste that they make out of a soybean soup mix that resembles the consistency of the average fecal matter. They then give it a rating based on how many grams it can flush.
He replied that he knew that because I had told everyone on my work team that... while we were all eating lunch one day. I guess some people are just touchy about what you talk about at lunch.
I said, "Oh... That doesn't sound like me at all."
I was kidding, of course.
So today, I was calling my neighbor, Michelle, because Laura had seen a set of furniture sitting on one of our neighbor's driveway. It was an older-looking night stand, dresser, tall dresser and various pieces of furniture. We couldn't tell if it was out on the driveway because they wanted the garbage men to take it, it they're being picked up by the goodwill or it's out there for sale. When we saw it on our way to work, Laura got excited.
She liked the furniture and wondered if we should ask if we could buy it. I pointed out that when my Dad was in his prime, he would spot furniture like that on the street and then come back when it was dark to retrieve them if they were still there. I suggested that we could do this.
So when I called Michelle to see if the furniture was still there, she said that she didn't know because she hadn't been home since yesterday.
She then started to tell me that she had been thinking about me and one of my stories.
Apparently, her son had what she thought was the flu. Weeks before, something got me to tell Michelle this story about a time when my Mom thought I had the flu.
It was a Sunday night when my appendix ruptured all the way back in the Fifth grade. We had just watched the new Marty Feldman movie that was on HBO called In God We Tru$t. Marty, if you recall, played Igor in Young Frankenstein. He was also in a few goofy movies. The movie was okay, but I remember that I didn't feel so hot when I went to bed. Then I slept a restless sleep filled with bizarre dreams about that movie.
When I woke up, I was hot and I had thrown up, so I stayed home from school. I felt horrible. The day came and went and I was still sick, so I stayed home the next day, too. I started throwing up more and more. My Mom would yell at me because I wouldn't even get up to go throw up. The problem was, I was too weak to get up.
Finally, by the third day, my Mom started to suspect that this wasn't the flu. My brother, Joe, carried me upstairs and put me on my parent's bed so Mom could keep an eye on me. The TV in my parent's room had no cable. The fact that I laid there staring at soap operas and I didn't complain once sent up red flags to my mother pretty quickly!
She rushed me to our family doctor, who saw me immediately. He did some poking around my belly. I winced at a place by my belly button. They drew some blood and tested it for white blood cells. The count that returned was so high that it rivaled a leukemia patient's count. It was determined that I had a ruptured appendix. I was rushed to the hospital by my Mom, who informed me on the way that I was going to have to have an operation. I was too sick to even argue although I did whimper that I didn't want an operation at least once.
Long story short, I spent ten long and boring days in the hospital recovering from an appendix that burst behind my liver. I had a tube down my throat and some tubes sticking out of my abdomen. They even left my incision open for a day to let the infection seep out.
My Mom felt horrible. She told me that she felt like the worst mother. She felt a horrible guilt for yelling at me for throwing up because she just thought that I had the flu. I came damn close to dying.
So I had told this story to Michelle. She had this story in the back of her mind when her son got sick two days ago. When he wasn't getting any better, she took him to the emergency room. She asked them if this might be an appendix that ruptured. They did a CAT scan and sure enough, they saw that the appendix had indeed ruptured.
Michelle thanked me for telling her that story. So Mom, my funny anecdote about you feeling guilty during this time probably helped save this kid's life.
Well, maybe not his life, but it got the doctors to catch it before it got too serious. He'll be out of the hospital in a few days. Oh and that furniture is still there...
An example of this is when I got a toilet the other day. I had a work friend help me with it off the shelf. As I was looking at it, I pointed out the rating of the toilet by an independent study. I told him that when they test this stuff, they use a paste that they make out of a soybean soup mix that resembles the consistency of the average fecal matter. They then give it a rating based on how many grams it can flush.
He replied that he knew that because I had told everyone on my work team that... while we were all eating lunch one day. I guess some people are just touchy about what you talk about at lunch.
I said, "Oh... That doesn't sound like me at all."
I was kidding, of course.
So today, I was calling my neighbor, Michelle, because Laura had seen a set of furniture sitting on one of our neighbor's driveway. It was an older-looking night stand, dresser, tall dresser and various pieces of furniture. We couldn't tell if it was out on the driveway because they wanted the garbage men to take it, it they're being picked up by the goodwill or it's out there for sale. When we saw it on our way to work, Laura got excited.
She liked the furniture and wondered if we should ask if we could buy it. I pointed out that when my Dad was in his prime, he would spot furniture like that on the street and then come back when it was dark to retrieve them if they were still there. I suggested that we could do this.
So when I called Michelle to see if the furniture was still there, she said that she didn't know because she hadn't been home since yesterday.
She then started to tell me that she had been thinking about me and one of my stories.
Apparently, her son had what she thought was the flu. Weeks before, something got me to tell Michelle this story about a time when my Mom thought I had the flu.
It was a Sunday night when my appendix ruptured all the way back in the Fifth grade. We had just watched the new Marty Feldman movie that was on HBO called In God We Tru$t. Marty, if you recall, played Igor in Young Frankenstein. He was also in a few goofy movies. The movie was okay, but I remember that I didn't feel so hot when I went to bed. Then I slept a restless sleep filled with bizarre dreams about that movie.
When I woke up, I was hot and I had thrown up, so I stayed home from school. I felt horrible. The day came and went and I was still sick, so I stayed home the next day, too. I started throwing up more and more. My Mom would yell at me because I wouldn't even get up to go throw up. The problem was, I was too weak to get up.
Finally, by the third day, my Mom started to suspect that this wasn't the flu. My brother, Joe, carried me upstairs and put me on my parent's bed so Mom could keep an eye on me. The TV in my parent's room had no cable. The fact that I laid there staring at soap operas and I didn't complain once sent up red flags to my mother pretty quickly!
She rushed me to our family doctor, who saw me immediately. He did some poking around my belly. I winced at a place by my belly button. They drew some blood and tested it for white blood cells. The count that returned was so high that it rivaled a leukemia patient's count. It was determined that I had a ruptured appendix. I was rushed to the hospital by my Mom, who informed me on the way that I was going to have to have an operation. I was too sick to even argue although I did whimper that I didn't want an operation at least once.
Long story short, I spent ten long and boring days in the hospital recovering from an appendix that burst behind my liver. I had a tube down my throat and some tubes sticking out of my abdomen. They even left my incision open for a day to let the infection seep out.
My Mom felt horrible. She told me that she felt like the worst mother. She felt a horrible guilt for yelling at me for throwing up because she just thought that I had the flu. I came damn close to dying.
So I had told this story to Michelle. She had this story in the back of her mind when her son got sick two days ago. When he wasn't getting any better, she took him to the emergency room. She asked them if this might be an appendix that ruptured. They did a CAT scan and sure enough, they saw that the appendix had indeed ruptured.
Michelle thanked me for telling her that story. So Mom, my funny anecdote about you feeling guilty during this time probably helped save this kid's life.
Well, maybe not his life, but it got the doctors to catch it before it got too serious. He'll be out of the hospital in a few days. Oh and that furniture is still there...
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Saturday, June 06, 2009
My daughter tries to bribe me...
Julia has been hanging around with a girl that I like to call, BFF (best friend forever). I don't actually call her that, but for this story I will since I don't like using real names of people without knowing them too well.
So Julia and BFF have been hanging out with each other a lot. There have been several sleepovers. I mentioned the one on Saturday where she came back smelling like a bunch of wet puppies...
This Tuesday she decided that she wanted to ride her bike over to BFF to hang out. Well she'd been really tired for those first two days of summer camp and didn't want her to get even more tired.
Julia didn't see that logic. All she knew was that she wanted to see her friend, BFF.
She kept pleading and pleading. I kept telling her no.
Finally, Julia pulled the Ace in her sleeve. She ran into her room and came back with money.
"Daddy, I will give you two whole dollars of my own money if you'll let me go over to BFF's house."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Are you trying to bribe me with my own money (money I gave her for her allowance), so you can go to BFF's house?"
"Please, Daddy. I'm serious. I'll give you to whole dollars."
"No!" I exclaimed. "I'm not going to take your money!"
Julia could see I was a hard sell, so she upped the price.
"I'll give you three whole dollars if you'll let me go to BFF's house."
I stared at her. While the money was certainly tempting. I didn't want to start a bad trend.
"Put your money away," I said. "I'm not going to take your money no matter who much you try to give it to me. You can go to BFF's house to see if she's home, but if she's not there, you have to come back."
She ran out the door only to return 10 minutes later because she wasn't there, but in that absence, I could only shake my head. I could not believe that my own daughter had tried to bribe me. It's not like I've ever tried to do it myself, let alone in front of her. I rarely keep cash on me!
Maybe she gets it from Laura...
So Julia and BFF have been hanging out with each other a lot. There have been several sleepovers. I mentioned the one on Saturday where she came back smelling like a bunch of wet puppies...
This Tuesday she decided that she wanted to ride her bike over to BFF to hang out. Well she'd been really tired for those first two days of summer camp and didn't want her to get even more tired.
Julia didn't see that logic. All she knew was that she wanted to see her friend, BFF.
She kept pleading and pleading. I kept telling her no.
Finally, Julia pulled the Ace in her sleeve. She ran into her room and came back with money.
"Daddy, I will give you two whole dollars of my own money if you'll let me go over to BFF's house."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
"Are you trying to bribe me with my own money (money I gave her for her allowance), so you can go to BFF's house?"
"Please, Daddy. I'm serious. I'll give you to whole dollars."
"No!" I exclaimed. "I'm not going to take your money!"
Julia could see I was a hard sell, so she upped the price.
"I'll give you three whole dollars if you'll let me go to BFF's house."
I stared at her. While the money was certainly tempting. I didn't want to start a bad trend.
"Put your money away," I said. "I'm not going to take your money no matter who much you try to give it to me. You can go to BFF's house to see if she's home, but if she's not there, you have to come back."
She ran out the door only to return 10 minutes later because she wasn't there, but in that absence, I could only shake my head. I could not believe that my own daughter had tried to bribe me. It's not like I've ever tried to do it myself, let alone in front of her. I rarely keep cash on me!
Maybe she gets it from Laura...
Thursday, June 04, 2009
June 3rd - Stretching...
Today I went swimming with Julia after work. Laura worked out while we smam. She's apparently got it into her head that she's going to sign up and run a 5k, which is about 3 miles. She also took great pleasure in rubbing it in how she's in the best shape of her life and how I need to get back on the ball since I've gained a lot of weight since last summer.
I grumbled, "Oh, you're just loving rubbing this aren't you after all my years of suggesting that you start running."
"That and the 'you need to stretch' stuff that I've been hearing."
I've been urging Laura to stretch because she doesn't. I keep trying to tell her that not stretching is going to lead to problems, but she doesn't listen. She periodically will pull a muscle, which requires her to ice and take pain killers.
I try to point out that if she goes to a doctor to complain about the muscle that a doctor is going to ask how it happened and when the cause is diagnosed, the doctor will show her a series of stretches to perform before and after working out to get rid of it and prevent it from happening again.
Laura scowls every time I tell her to stretch.
I replied, "Well, it's true. And if you're going to run a 5k without stretching, you're asking for pulled muscles, shin splits and Achilles tendinitis."
I grumbled, "Oh, you're just loving rubbing this aren't you after all my years of suggesting that you start running."
"That and the 'you need to stretch' stuff that I've been hearing."
I've been urging Laura to stretch because she doesn't. I keep trying to tell her that not stretching is going to lead to problems, but she doesn't listen. She periodically will pull a muscle, which requires her to ice and take pain killers.
I try to point out that if she goes to a doctor to complain about the muscle that a doctor is going to ask how it happened and when the cause is diagnosed, the doctor will show her a series of stretches to perform before and after working out to get rid of it and prevent it from happening again.
Laura scowls every time I tell her to stretch.
I replied, "Well, it's true. And if you're going to run a 5k without stretching, you're asking for pulled muscles, shin splits and Achilles tendinitis."
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Audiobook - Odd Thomas by Dean Koontz
I just finished an audiobook for 'Odd Thomas' by Dean Koontz. Dean Koontz is like the poor-man's Stephen King, which is a little unfair to Dean, who after all was publishing for years before Stephen first got published.
There are major differences between a King and Koontz book. Whereas King likes to take his time moving into the plot, Koontz generally hits you over the head with it. They move fast usually.
I've read 'Phantoms', 'Intensity' and 'The Bad Place' by Koontz, but I wasn't so much a fan that I wanted to read more.
I saw that he was branching out into a series with the Odd Thomas series, which is on its fourth volume by now.
The series centers around a man called, Odd Thomas. Go figure. Odd is his real name and he has the unnatural gift of being able to see the dead. The dead appear to him when they need him to help with unfinished business. He works with the police chief in town, who knows of the gift, by leading him to the killers of murdered people.
This is all turned on its head when Odd notices a man who's being followed around by dark shadows that usually appear when mass trauma is about to go down. He follows the man with the shadows and sets in motion a series of horrifying events that changes the town he lives in forever.
It's a pretty decent listen. The narrator is just right to play the very simple Odd. It does have its share of horrifying scenes, but not so much to turn off the non-horror fan. It's also a little humorous at times.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
June 2nd - Waterparks, Ghostbusters and I Don't Care...
Earlier today, I went out for a run. I'm trying to get back in the swing of running. Since winter, I've gained about 10 pounds. Normally, even with my extra gut weight, I'm in better shape than Laura. After my pitiful performance while hiking Saturday, I can see that I'm in need of getting back in the groove of running. I had quit last year because I started getting massive pain in my Achilles heel. It turns out that I have Achilles tendinitis. After a months of icing, stretching and strength exercises, the tendinitis may never go away. It's a lot better but still there somewhat. I decided to just be cautious and stretch a lot before and after. That seemed to work. It wasn't bad. I ran/walked for about 37 minutes.
While running, my mp3 player was on shuffle. It came across the new Fall Out Boy song called, "I Don't Care."
I had to smirk a little because I joke with my brother, Bill about his parenting skills. There's the 'Hey! Stop that!' technique which is invoked when the older child does something naughty. Another strategy is the 'I Don't Care' technique, which is invoked when the older one is being slow and giving excuses for not doing what Bill wants. When this happens, Bill is all 'I DON'T CARE!' and 'LOUD NOISES!' while trying to get his point across.
So I pictured Bill screaming 'I DON'T CARE!' every time it was mentioned in the song.
For example:
"(Bill's voice) I DON'T CARE! what you think as long as it's about me. The best of us can find happiness in misery."
There's also a section that goes,
I said I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
I said I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
Said I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
No, I don't
All to the tune of Bill's voice. I wish Bill would consent to me recording him yelling like that so I can create a mash-up, but he probably wouldn't do it.
We may make a quick trip to Colorado for a three-day vacation in late July.
I stumbled across a water park called 'Water World', which is north of Denver and sits on 64 acres. My original plan was to take my brother's fold-up camper and save on hotels, but Laura nixed that plan.
"So you're wanting me to spend all day getting sun baked and wind blown at a water park and then top that off by sleeping outside without air conditioning? I don't think so."
The problem is that Laura showed the park's web site to Julia, which is something I wasn't even going to do. Now Julia is insisting that we spend every day there. It's still not set in stone, but I'm just thinking a day at the park would suffice.
We'll also be hitting the Casa Bonita, which I've been to once. It's a huge Mexican restaurant with cliff divers, wild west shootouts, wild gorillas and various other oddities. You can also go into a treasure cave and dress up like an outlaw to get your picture taken. It's about the only thing I remember about Denver other than my Dad's friend's son freaking me out about rattlesnakes when we went on a hike. He made it sound like they could snatch you by jumping at you from 20 feet away. Needless to say, I steered clear of any possible rattlesnake hiding places.
Ghostbusters was on AMC. They were celebrating the 25th anniversary of the film. When that was announced between commercials, Laura said, "Jeeeezzzzz!" while cringing.
It's really something when you realize how old you are in relation to things that you liked when you were a kid. I was about 13-years old. Laura was about 9-years-old. This happens to me more and more.
I like to freak Julia out by telling her how old some of her favorite songs are.
"Do you know the song, "Somebody to Love" by Queen?"
"Yeah" she'll say.
"Well, it's over 30 years old."
"Whoa!"
While running, my mp3 player was on shuffle. It came across the new Fall Out Boy song called, "I Don't Care."
I had to smirk a little because I joke with my brother, Bill about his parenting skills. There's the 'Hey! Stop that!' technique which is invoked when the older child does something naughty. Another strategy is the 'I Don't Care' technique, which is invoked when the older one is being slow and giving excuses for not doing what Bill wants. When this happens, Bill is all 'I DON'T CARE!' and 'LOUD NOISES!' while trying to get his point across.
So I pictured Bill screaming 'I DON'T CARE!' every time it was mentioned in the song.
For example:
"(Bill's voice) I DON'T CARE! what you think as long as it's about me. The best of us can find happiness in misery."
There's also a section that goes,
I said I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
I said I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
Said I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
I DON'T CARE!
(I DON'T CARE!)
No, I don't
All to the tune of Bill's voice. I wish Bill would consent to me recording him yelling like that so I can create a mash-up, but he probably wouldn't do it.
We may make a quick trip to Colorado for a three-day vacation in late July.
I stumbled across a water park called 'Water World', which is north of Denver and sits on 64 acres. My original plan was to take my brother's fold-up camper and save on hotels, but Laura nixed that plan.
"So you're wanting me to spend all day getting sun baked and wind blown at a water park and then top that off by sleeping outside without air conditioning? I don't think so."
The problem is that Laura showed the park's web site to Julia, which is something I wasn't even going to do. Now Julia is insisting that we spend every day there. It's still not set in stone, but I'm just thinking a day at the park would suffice.
We'll also be hitting the Casa Bonita, which I've been to once. It's a huge Mexican restaurant with cliff divers, wild west shootouts, wild gorillas and various other oddities. You can also go into a treasure cave and dress up like an outlaw to get your picture taken. It's about the only thing I remember about Denver other than my Dad's friend's son freaking me out about rattlesnakes when we went on a hike. He made it sound like they could snatch you by jumping at you from 20 feet away. Needless to say, I steered clear of any possible rattlesnake hiding places.
Ghostbusters was on AMC. They were celebrating the 25th anniversary of the film. When that was announced between commercials, Laura said, "Jeeeezzzzz!" while cringing.
It's really something when you realize how old you are in relation to things that you liked when you were a kid. I was about 13-years old. Laura was about 9-years-old. This happens to me more and more.
I like to freak Julia out by telling her how old some of her favorite songs are.
"Do you know the song, "Somebody to Love" by Queen?"
"Yeah" she'll say.
"Well, it's over 30 years old."
"Whoa!"
Monday, June 01, 2009
June 1st - Summer camp and a super-sonic toilet.
Julia started her first day of summer camp, which is run by my employer. They have a day care facility and run a summer camp for the older kids.
Julia has been a little weird that last few days. When spring break ended, she almost refused to go back to school because, "No one plays with me at recess." We tried to reason to her, but she wouldn't take our reasoning. Then we remembered that she had pulled the same arguments at the end of fall vacation and winter vacation. When I opted to have her teacher talk to us and give reports on it, which we had done previously when Julia had complained about recess (Her teacher was baffled at the complaint. She assured us that Julia plays with a lot of kids), Julia back peddled and decided that she wanted to go to school after all.
She cried off and on the last few days of school last week because she said she loved school. She declared that she was never going to see her teacher and her friends again. She was also distressed that another year had come and gone. Julia is sad that one day she's going to leave us. I assured her that she could live with us while she goes to the local college. She excitedly agreed.
I'm going to hold her to that!
So this morning, Julia was marginally excited. When I picked her up, Julia was pretty tired. By the time bed time rolled around, she declared that she was "soooo tired!"
I mentioned yesterday that I wanted my super sonic toilet. Well I picked one up at the local hardware super store. It's an Eljer Diplomat. While it's the economy purchase, it was rated at a 10 on the flushing scale. An independent water research group tests toilets using a paste that they mold into fecal shapes. The paste is made of soy beans. My new toilet can now flush up to 1000 grams of fecal matter in nothing flat!
I was going to install it tonight, but Laura put her foot down.
"For the love of God and my sanity, just please wait for the weekend!"
I guess super-sonic flushing will have to wait until then. She also threw a monkey wrench into my plans. She is insisting that we put it in the bathroom by the front hallway near Julia's room. I think it's so I'll be forced to not use that one and not the one in our master bedroom. The other benefit is that if we have people over, we no longer have to worry about the toilet backing up.
I know I'm kind of weird about this stuff, but I look at it this way. Last year, we spent about half the amount on an umbrella for our deck along with an umbrella stand. But because our deck is high off the ground, we had many problems with wind gusts. More than once, the umbrella would just soar out of the crappy base and fly off into the yard. Then it snapped in two one day just by the wind knocking it back and forth! This was only after one month of use! Plus it didn't really help with the sun's glare because we'd try to use it near dusk, but the shadows were past the deck, so it was like we never even had an umbrella. We also spent a lot more on shrubs and flowers that died!
At least with this toilet, I'll know that I'm going to get some worry free, quality flushing in!
Julia has been a little weird that last few days. When spring break ended, she almost refused to go back to school because, "No one plays with me at recess." We tried to reason to her, but she wouldn't take our reasoning. Then we remembered that she had pulled the same arguments at the end of fall vacation and winter vacation. When I opted to have her teacher talk to us and give reports on it, which we had done previously when Julia had complained about recess (Her teacher was baffled at the complaint. She assured us that Julia plays with a lot of kids), Julia back peddled and decided that she wanted to go to school after all.
She cried off and on the last few days of school last week because she said she loved school. She declared that she was never going to see her teacher and her friends again. She was also distressed that another year had come and gone. Julia is sad that one day she's going to leave us. I assured her that she could live with us while she goes to the local college. She excitedly agreed.
I'm going to hold her to that!
So this morning, Julia was marginally excited. When I picked her up, Julia was pretty tired. By the time bed time rolled around, she declared that she was "soooo tired!"
I mentioned yesterday that I wanted my super sonic toilet. Well I picked one up at the local hardware super store. It's an Eljer Diplomat. While it's the economy purchase, it was rated at a 10 on the flushing scale. An independent water research group tests toilets using a paste that they mold into fecal shapes. The paste is made of soy beans. My new toilet can now flush up to 1000 grams of fecal matter in nothing flat!
I was going to install it tonight, but Laura put her foot down.
"For the love of God and my sanity, just please wait for the weekend!"
I guess super-sonic flushing will have to wait until then. She also threw a monkey wrench into my plans. She is insisting that we put it in the bathroom by the front hallway near Julia's room. I think it's so I'll be forced to not use that one and not the one in our master bedroom. The other benefit is that if we have people over, we no longer have to worry about the toilet backing up.
I know I'm kind of weird about this stuff, but I look at it this way. Last year, we spent about half the amount on an umbrella for our deck along with an umbrella stand. But because our deck is high off the ground, we had many problems with wind gusts. More than once, the umbrella would just soar out of the crappy base and fly off into the yard. Then it snapped in two one day just by the wind knocking it back and forth! This was only after one month of use! Plus it didn't really help with the sun's glare because we'd try to use it near dusk, but the shadows were past the deck, so it was like we never even had an umbrella. We also spent a lot more on shrubs and flowers that died!
At least with this toilet, I'll know that I'm going to get some worry free, quality flushing in!
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We recently had to decide whether or not to send Julia to kindergarten this year or wait another year. Julia is one those lucky individuals ...
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I've lost the heart to do this blog the way I've been doing it. It takes a lot of time and effort to try to think of funny stories t...
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Last Saturday, I mowed the lawn, took a shower, and came back outside to finish putting things away before I had to get ready for lunch and ...
