Friday, February 06, 2015
Tuesday, February 03, 2015
Music Monday: Winter plods on
Alas, with football out of the way, now there is nothing. Winter plods on.
And will for six more weeks, that is if you're inclined to believe a rodent from the Quaker state, or the creator of the Gregorian calendar.
Most of the things that have been on my mind to write are rather heavy. I feel I'm in danger of entering the blog equivalent of Picasso's Blue Period, except with less fame. Some fame, just less.
Wanting to ward that off for your benefit, I offer instead some lighthearted fare.
For once the Super Bowl was, well, super. I actually had a nice little Super Bowl party, for one. But it was catered. By Domino's.
Everyone's talking about "the call." Might I suggest Seattle change its name from the Seahawks to Mitt Romney? That way, the next time they decide not to run, no one will be all that upset.
And can we stop making the Super Bowl commercials "a thing?" They're annoyingly lacking in creativity and let's be honest, they've been going downhill for the past five years or more. Which, strangely, is not unlike this blog.
Making it worse, I felt like the ads were super depressing this year -- childhood deaths, Cats in the Cradle, Jeff Bridges trying to salvage a once-passable career by begging people to visit his new website. Thank God for Doritos and Lindsay Lohan! Which, strangely, is not the first time I've uttered that sentence -- or as I usually refer to it -- sincere prayer of thanksgiving.
Speaking of Lindsay Lohan, why must the Super Bowl always make you think of your ex-girlfriend, amirite?
At least January has abated. February isn't worlds better, but it's short and close to March. I mean, it's not related to March or anything, but they know each other. January and March have never even met.
I was involved in a 20-some-odd email thread about General Hospital today, so things are looking up. I mean, what if Fluke really is the old Luke and he was hallucinating and fighting with himself in the basement?!?! What if Helena has brainwashed him like she has Jake/Jason? I know, but then why would Eckert's grave be empty? Unless real Luke wanted to throw everybody off. But then why did he seem so upset when the grave was dug up? I can't take it!
Oh, and Harper Lee is releasing a new book! I can think of no better news than that for a cold winter's day.
This week's Music Monday offering is one I've had on repeat quite a bit the past few weeks. It's by Adam Cohen, who is the son of Leonard Cohen. The lyrics just kill me. Every time.
"I know the kind of thing that makes you laugh / The way you tilt your head for a photograph / What other guy knows you like that?"
Most of the things that have been on my mind to write are rather heavy. I feel I'm in danger of entering the blog equivalent of Picasso's Blue Period, except with less fame. Some fame, just less.
Wanting to ward that off for your benefit, I offer instead some lighthearted fare.
For once the Super Bowl was, well, super. I actually had a nice little Super Bowl party, for one. But it was catered. By Domino's.
Everyone's talking about "the call." Might I suggest Seattle change its name from the Seahawks to Mitt Romney? That way, the next time they decide not to run, no one will be all that upset.
And can we stop making the Super Bowl commercials "a thing?" They're annoyingly lacking in creativity and let's be honest, they've been going downhill for the past five years or more. Which, strangely, is not unlike this blog.
Making it worse, I felt like the ads were super depressing this year -- childhood deaths, Cats in the Cradle, Jeff Bridges trying to salvage a once-passable career by begging people to visit his new website. Thank God for Doritos and Lindsay Lohan! Which, strangely, is not the first time I've uttered that sentence -- or as I usually refer to it -- sincere prayer of thanksgiving.
Speaking of Lindsay Lohan, why must the Super Bowl always make you think of your ex-girlfriend, amirite?
At least January has abated. February isn't worlds better, but it's short and close to March. I mean, it's not related to March or anything, but they know each other. January and March have never even met.
I was involved in a 20-some-odd email thread about General Hospital today, so things are looking up. I mean, what if Fluke really is the old Luke and he was hallucinating and fighting with himself in the basement?!?! What if Helena has brainwashed him like she has Jake/Jason? I know, but then why would Eckert's grave be empty? Unless real Luke wanted to throw everybody off. But then why did he seem so upset when the grave was dug up? I can't take it!
Oh, and Harper Lee is releasing a new book! I can think of no better news than that for a cold winter's day.
This week's Music Monday offering is one I've had on repeat quite a bit the past few weeks. It's by Adam Cohen, who is the son of Leonard Cohen. The lyrics just kill me. Every time.
"I know the kind of thing that makes you laugh / The way you tilt your head for a photograph / What other guy knows you like that?"
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Winter Cranberry
My hands smell of "winter cranberry"
These halls, an "ocean walk"
Sixteen candles?
If only there were that few
There are photos in frames
And not the ones that came in them from the store
These throw pillows are nice
But why must there be so many
And so pastel
The refrigerator
Once a bastion of pizza boxes, flat 2-liters, and... ketchup
Now boasts of celery, beef broth, cream cheese
And unexpired milk!
(Which I've learned most of the world refers to simply as "milk")
Once prized possessions--
My favorite shirt from college
My Stars of Baywatch poster
Seem to be missing
So long, CJ
Farewell, Stephanie
Vaya con Dios, Mitch
I sob (inside)
The work of petty thieves?
No.
There is a woman in the house!
These halls, an "ocean walk"
Sixteen candles?
If only there were that few
There are photos in frames
And not the ones that came in them from the store
These throw pillows are nice
But why must there be so many
And so pastel
The refrigerator
Once a bastion of pizza boxes, flat 2-liters, and... ketchup
Now boasts of celery, beef broth, cream cheese
And unexpired milk!
(Which I've learned most of the world refers to simply as "milk")
Once prized possessions--
My favorite shirt from college
My Stars of Baywatch poster
Seem to be missing
So long, CJ
Farewell, Stephanie
Vaya con Dios, Mitch
I sob (inside)
The work of petty thieves?
No.
There is a woman in the house!
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
A new (year's) memory
The call came early on New Year's Eve, just as I was beginning my annual revelry of struggling to stay up until midnight. Most years lately, I let midnight Eastern time suffice.
"Bone, this is your Aunt Ida. Listen hon, since your momma and sister are at the beach, Aunt Ida wanted to invite you over for New Year's dinner tomorrow."
My New Year's tradition has been to go to mom's for black-eyed peas, hog jowl, collard greens, and fried potatoes. But Mom, my sister, and nephews (there are two now) had taken a last-minute trip to the coast.
Even so, another year I might have said no, being my usual anti-social self. But not this year. Not this winter. In the span of three weeks, I lost an aunt and an uncle. Then on the way home from my uncle's burial, Fave Aunt was in a serious car accident, suffering several broken ribs and a fractured sternum.
Aunt Ida lives on this dirt road, at least five miles from the nearest traffic light. When I was little, it used to seem so far back in the woods and we'd almost always go at night to visit. Plus it was a dead end. It all made for a bit of a scary place to a kid.
I'm sure that was exacerbated by the fact they had a basement where we hid during the '74 tornadoes. Probably my earliest memory of life. I remember the lights going out and huddling in the dark. Years later I would learn that one tornado had passed within a couple miles.
Driving out there on New Year's Day, I discovered Aunt Ida only lived three-tenths of a mile off the paved road. (I nearly said main road, but you have to take two more roads to get to anything that might even remotely be considered a main road.)
When my uncle retired, or maybe even a bit before, they bought an old bus and customized it for traveling. It would have been the mid '80s, and I'd never seen anything like it. To me, the inside looked like a rock star's tour bus. I remember once they drove up through Canada and over to Alaska. Were gone for like 3 months.
My uncle passed on years ago, and as I pulled into the drive, I was struck by how empty the whole place looked without the bus parked there, or the enormous garden which used to stretch out forever behind the house.
My cousin, who's always seemed more like an uncle, and his wife were there. New Year's Day still means bowl games. And we enjoyed watching Auburn lose almost as much as we enjoyed the home cooking. Almost.
It was a quite lovely day.
So lovely, in fact, that I called and invited myself back over for breakfast this past Saturday. This time, I stopped by and picked up mom on the way. After enjoying gravy, homemade biscuits, pear preserves, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns, we sat and talked.
Well, mostly I listened, as the two sisters went on about growing up, kinfolk, and "whatever happened to so-and-so." They talked of businesses that had closed thirty years ago, houses that were no longer there, of getting a ride up to the highway so they could catch the bus into town. I soaked up all of it.
By the time we got up to leave, morning had become afternoon.
And there at the site of my earliest life memory, I'd made another one.
"We can stop and go to church with your sweet Aunt Ida / Have supper at the Chattanooga Choo Choo Diner / We'll be talkin' 'bout this trip when we're two old-timers..."
"Bone, this is your Aunt Ida. Listen hon, since your momma and sister are at the beach, Aunt Ida wanted to invite you over for New Year's dinner tomorrow."
My New Year's tradition has been to go to mom's for black-eyed peas, hog jowl, collard greens, and fried potatoes. But Mom, my sister, and nephews (there are two now) had taken a last-minute trip to the coast.
Even so, another year I might have said no, being my usual anti-social self. But not this year. Not this winter. In the span of three weeks, I lost an aunt and an uncle. Then on the way home from my uncle's burial, Fave Aunt was in a serious car accident, suffering several broken ribs and a fractured sternum.
Aunt Ida lives on this dirt road, at least five miles from the nearest traffic light. When I was little, it used to seem so far back in the woods and we'd almost always go at night to visit. Plus it was a dead end. It all made for a bit of a scary place to a kid.
I'm sure that was exacerbated by the fact they had a basement where we hid during the '74 tornadoes. Probably my earliest memory of life. I remember the lights going out and huddling in the dark. Years later I would learn that one tornado had passed within a couple miles.
Driving out there on New Year's Day, I discovered Aunt Ida only lived three-tenths of a mile off the paved road. (I nearly said main road, but you have to take two more roads to get to anything that might even remotely be considered a main road.)
When my uncle retired, or maybe even a bit before, they bought an old bus and customized it for traveling. It would have been the mid '80s, and I'd never seen anything like it. To me, the inside looked like a rock star's tour bus. I remember once they drove up through Canada and over to Alaska. Were gone for like 3 months.
My uncle passed on years ago, and as I pulled into the drive, I was struck by how empty the whole place looked without the bus parked there, or the enormous garden which used to stretch out forever behind the house.
My cousin, who's always seemed more like an uncle, and his wife were there. New Year's Day still means bowl games. And we enjoyed watching Auburn lose almost as much as we enjoyed the home cooking. Almost.
It was a quite lovely day.
So lovely, in fact, that I called and invited myself back over for breakfast this past Saturday. This time, I stopped by and picked up mom on the way. After enjoying gravy, homemade biscuits, pear preserves, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash browns, we sat and talked.
Well, mostly I listened, as the two sisters went on about growing up, kinfolk, and "whatever happened to so-and-so." They talked of businesses that had closed thirty years ago, houses that were no longer there, of getting a ride up to the highway so they could catch the bus into town. I soaked up all of it.
By the time we got up to leave, morning had become afternoon.
And there at the site of my earliest life memory, I'd made another one.
"We can stop and go to church with your sweet Aunt Ida / Have supper at the Chattanooga Choo Choo Diner / We'll be talkin' 'bout this trip when we're two old-timers..."
Monday, January 26, 2015
Music Monday: Remember me?
Congratulations! For the past four months, you have unknowingly taken part in a sociological experiment I like to call, "Could you survive without Bone?" I don't know how you did it, nor am I sure I want to know. But somehow, against all odds, you have done it.
Others were not so lucky. Some turned to Facebook. Some resorted to more extreme measures, such as interacting with other people, face to face. But even as we mourn those less fortunate souls, we must move on.
I am going to attempt to begin posting on a somewhat regular basis again. In fact, my goal is 3 posts per week.........
Why are you laughing? (I'm pretending I still have readers, just go with it.)
One might wonder why I am even telling you this. My hope is that by making such a public statement, it will hold me more accountable.
Think of me as you would an absentee father you've not seen in years. Just as you finally pull yourself together and accept that you will never have a relationship with him, he shows up and wants to be part of your life. He promises this time will be different.
Will he keep his promise? Not likely. But I gotta think he feels a bit more guilty breaking his promise than he would having made no promise at all. (It occurs to me this might not be my best analogy ever. I knew I should have gone with my "I'm still, I'm still Jenny from the block/I'm still, I'm still Bone from the blog" idea. Now I blog a little, used to blog a lot, etc.)
So where have I been? Working? Watching countless episodes of "WKRP In Cincinnati" on my new DVR? Spending every free moment reaching Level 90 on Trivia Crack in only five weeks (in all likelihood a world record)?
Sure, I could blame it on any of those things. And while all have some validity, the bottom line is if I wanted this relationship to work, if I truly wanted to be a part of your life, I would have made time to be here. There are always a million reasons not to write.
In closing, and because I am fresh out of segues, here is my promise to you. Actually, it's just a song called The Promise." Originally done by the British band, When In Rome. This is a fairly recent version by Sturgill Simpson. The words don't entirely apply to our situation, but Sturgill has been scratching me where I itch lately. Figuratively, of course. (Am I using too many -ly words? Probably.)
Here's to blogging more (and to hoping I'm a better father someday than I've been a blogger).
"I'm sorry but I'm just thinking of the right words to say / I know they don't sound the way I plan them to be..."
Others were not so lucky. Some turned to Facebook. Some resorted to more extreme measures, such as interacting with other people, face to face. But even as we mourn those less fortunate souls, we must move on.
I am going to attempt to begin posting on a somewhat regular basis again. In fact, my goal is 3 posts per week.........
Why are you laughing? (I'm pretending I still have readers, just go with it.)
One might wonder why I am even telling you this. My hope is that by making such a public statement, it will hold me more accountable.
Think of me as you would an absentee father you've not seen in years. Just as you finally pull yourself together and accept that you will never have a relationship with him, he shows up and wants to be part of your life. He promises this time will be different.
Will he keep his promise? Not likely. But I gotta think he feels a bit more guilty breaking his promise than he would having made no promise at all. (It occurs to me this might not be my best analogy ever. I knew I should have gone with my "I'm still, I'm still Jenny from the block/I'm still, I'm still Bone from the blog" idea. Now I blog a little, used to blog a lot, etc.)
So where have I been? Working? Watching countless episodes of "WKRP In Cincinnati" on my new DVR? Spending every free moment reaching Level 90 on Trivia Crack in only five weeks (in all likelihood a world record)?
Sure, I could blame it on any of those things. And while all have some validity, the bottom line is if I wanted this relationship to work, if I truly wanted to be a part of your life, I would have made time to be here. There are always a million reasons not to write.
In closing, and because I am fresh out of segues, here is my promise to you. Actually, it's just a song called The Promise." Originally done by the British band, When In Rome. This is a fairly recent version by Sturgill Simpson. The words don't entirely apply to our situation, but Sturgill has been scratching me where I itch lately. Figuratively, of course. (Am I using too many -ly words? Probably.)
Here's to blogging more (and to hoping I'm a better father someday than I've been a blogger).
"I'm sorry but I'm just thinking of the right words to say / I know they don't sound the way I plan them to be..."
Sunday, September 14, 2014
The great omission of Tom Wopat
On September 9th, 2014, small screen legend Thomas Steven "Tom" Wopat celebrated his 63rd birthday. Yet in his hometown of Lodi, Wisconsin, there was no celebration. Not so much as a mention of what surely should be its favorite son. For in Lodi, there is no roadside marker, no memorial bridge, no sign whatsoever designating it as Wopat's hometown. In fact, a cursory check of the city's website instead proudly proclaims Lodi as the "Home of Susie the Duck."
Barely esteemed, yet erratic, blogger Bone set out to investigate this, one of the great injustices of our time. He (almost) contacted Lodi, Wisconsin, Mayor (name redacted). Their conversation (had it occurred) could have been as follows (but most likely would have gone nothing like this at all).
Judge for yourself.
Mayor: "Mayor (redacted). May I help you?"
Bone: "So you say."
M: "Excuse me?"
B: "I'm going to ask you a couple of questions to prove that you are indeed the Mayor of Lodi."
M: "....OK?"
B: "Where do the Packers play?"
M: "Lambeau Field."
B: "Wrong. We were looking for the frozen tundra. We also would have accepted Green Bay. Or, Earth. Question two, foreign policy: What is the capital of Uzbekistan?"
M: "Tashkent."
B: "Wow. I have no idea, but that sounded like you really knew."
B: "Is it or is it not true that Adele works in your office?" (According to the Lodi website, the City Clerk is Adele "Van Ness.")
M: "...Yes. But how do you know Ms. Van Ness?"
B: "Van Ness? I thought her last name was Blue. Or Violet. Or something."
M: "Van Ness is her married name."
B: "Adele is married?!?!"
M: "I'm not sure we're talking about the same person."
B: "Does she sing?"
M: "I hear her singing sometimes when she's in the restroom."
B: "Are you admitting you have surveillance equipment in your employee restrooms? I believe this violates Code 7.12.cc of the Wisconsin Statute of Limitations. I can also cite the legal precedent set in the case of Tommy Lasorda v. the state of California."
M: "My secretary said you were with the IRS."
B: "Wow. Really? She bought that?"
M: "Excuse me?"
B: "Oh, uh, Mister (redacted), if that really IS your name, is it true that you hate Tom Wopat?"
M: "Why would you say that?"
B: "How else do you explain the fact that there is no historical marker, roadside sign, or other apparatus designating Lodi as the birthplace of Mister Wopat?"
M: "I guess it's just never come up."
B: "Oh, it's never come up, you say? Yet what HAS come up is a huge-ass sign designating your fair city as the home of Susie. The duck."
M: "People love Susie."
B: "That's not even a duck name. Donald. Daffy. Howard. Huey, Dewey, Louie. These are duck names."
M: "Those are all fictional characters."
B: "Your momma's a fictional character!!!"
M: "Are we about done?"
B: "What about Daisy?"
M: "Daisy?"
B: "Yeah. Daisy Duck. Has a nice ring to it."
M: "I don't think so."
B: "Do you even know who Tom Wopat is?"
M: "Of course."
B: "Well allow me to refresh your memory. According to IMDB, Tom Wopat is, and I quote, a virile, blue-eyed, dark-haired, plaid-shirted rascal on the rough-and-tumble bucolic 80s series 'The Dukes of Hazzard.' Unquote! Kinda reminds me of myself, actually."
(silence)
B: "What is it, Mayor (redacted)? Is it a North-South thing? Is there still a Civil War raging in your mind?"
M: "That's ludicrous!"
B: "And is it true that you are such a huge John Schneider fan that you have every episode of 'Smallville' recorded on VHS and always preferred Bo to Luke Duke? Is it? Is it?!?!"
M: ".......Maybe."
B: "Ah-HAAAA!"
M: "Well, Bo did always drive. And that hood slide was awesome."
B: "Luke could have driven that General Lee just as well as Bo! OK, maybe not just as well, but he could've gotten them to the Boar's Nest. Or Cooter's garage. Or Capitol City. Wherever they needed to go. Eventually."
M: "I suppose."
B: "You suppose? YOU suppose? Well, look everybody, Mister Big Shot Mayor supposes! Do you SUPPOSE any of this would be happening if Denver Pyle were still alive??? Do you? Do you???"
M: "I don't see how that would have affected anything."
B: "....Yeah, OK, probably not. You do realize 'The Dukes of Hazzard' is not the only thing Tom Wopat has done, right? He does those AutoTrader commercials. He was the voice of Wilkins Brother #2 on 'Phineas & Ferb.' And, AND, he was in the made-for-TV thriller 'Taking Chance' with Kevin Bacon. That's ONE degree of Kevin Bacon if you're having trouble counting there, Mister Mayor. So stick that feather in your cheesehead hat and call it macaroni!"
M: "Listen closely. I'm going to report you to the authorities and...."
B: "What are your thoughts on Coy & Vance?"
M: "If you ever call this office again..."
B: "Thanks for your time!"
M: "You will be incarcerated."
B: "Tell Adele I love her!!!"
"Things got bad and things got worse. I guess you know the tune. Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again..."
Barely esteemed, yet erratic, blogger Bone set out to investigate this, one of the great injustices of our time. He (almost) contacted Lodi, Wisconsin, Mayor (name redacted). Their conversation (had it occurred) could have been as follows (but most likely would have gone nothing like this at all).
Judge for yourself.
Mayor: "Mayor (redacted). May I help you?"
Bone: "So you say."
M: "Excuse me?"
B: "I'm going to ask you a couple of questions to prove that you are indeed the Mayor of Lodi."
M: "....OK?"
B: "Where do the Packers play?"
M: "Lambeau Field."
B: "Wrong. We were looking for the frozen tundra. We also would have accepted Green Bay. Or, Earth. Question two, foreign policy: What is the capital of Uzbekistan?"
M: "Tashkent."
B: "Wow. I have no idea, but that sounded like you really knew."
B: "Is it or is it not true that Adele works in your office?" (According to the Lodi website, the City Clerk is Adele "Van Ness.")
M: "...Yes. But how do you know Ms. Van Ness?"
B: "Van Ness? I thought her last name was Blue. Or Violet. Or something."
M: "Van Ness is her married name."
B: "Adele is married?!?!"
M: "I'm not sure we're talking about the same person."
B: "Does she sing?"
M: "I hear her singing sometimes when she's in the restroom."
B: "Are you admitting you have surveillance equipment in your employee restrooms? I believe this violates Code 7.12.cc of the Wisconsin Statute of Limitations. I can also cite the legal precedent set in the case of Tommy Lasorda v. the state of California."
M: "My secretary said you were with the IRS."
B: "Wow. Really? She bought that?"
M: "Excuse me?"
B: "Oh, uh, Mister (redacted), if that really IS your name, is it true that you hate Tom Wopat?"
M: "Why would you say that?"
B: "How else do you explain the fact that there is no historical marker, roadside sign, or other apparatus designating Lodi as the birthplace of Mister Wopat?"
M: "I guess it's just never come up."
B: "Oh, it's never come up, you say? Yet what HAS come up is a huge-ass sign designating your fair city as the home of Susie. The duck."
M: "People love Susie."
B: "That's not even a duck name. Donald. Daffy. Howard. Huey, Dewey, Louie. These are duck names."
M: "Those are all fictional characters."
B: "Your momma's a fictional character!!!"
M: "Are we about done?"
B: "What about Daisy?"
M: "Daisy?"
B: "Yeah. Daisy Duck. Has a nice ring to it."
M: "I don't think so."
B: "Do you even know who Tom Wopat is?"
M: "Of course."
B: "Well allow me to refresh your memory. According to IMDB, Tom Wopat is, and I quote, a virile, blue-eyed, dark-haired, plaid-shirted rascal on the rough-and-tumble bucolic 80s series 'The Dukes of Hazzard.' Unquote! Kinda reminds me of myself, actually."
(silence)
B: "What is it, Mayor (redacted)? Is it a North-South thing? Is there still a Civil War raging in your mind?"
M: "That's ludicrous!"
B: "And is it true that you are such a huge John Schneider fan that you have every episode of 'Smallville' recorded on VHS and always preferred Bo to Luke Duke? Is it? Is it?!?!"
M: ".......Maybe."
B: "Ah-HAAAA!"
M: "Well, Bo did always drive. And that hood slide was awesome."
B: "Luke could have driven that General Lee just as well as Bo! OK, maybe not just as well, but he could've gotten them to the Boar's Nest. Or Cooter's garage. Or Capitol City. Wherever they needed to go. Eventually."
M: "I suppose."
B: "You suppose? YOU suppose? Well, look everybody, Mister Big Shot Mayor supposes! Do you SUPPOSE any of this would be happening if Denver Pyle were still alive??? Do you? Do you???"
M: "I don't see how that would have affected anything."
B: "....Yeah, OK, probably not. You do realize 'The Dukes of Hazzard' is not the only thing Tom Wopat has done, right? He does those AutoTrader commercials. He was the voice of Wilkins Brother #2 on 'Phineas & Ferb.' And, AND, he was in the made-for-TV thriller 'Taking Chance' with Kevin Bacon. That's ONE degree of Kevin Bacon if you're having trouble counting there, Mister Mayor. So stick that feather in your cheesehead hat and call it macaroni!"
M: "Listen closely. I'm going to report you to the authorities and...."
B: "What are your thoughts on Coy & Vance?"
M: "If you ever call this office again..."
B: "Thanks for your time!"
M: "You will be incarcerated."
B: "Tell Adele I love her!!!"
"Things got bad and things got worse. I guess you know the tune. Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again..."
Monday, September 08, 2014
Doctor-patient confidential
Setting: Examination room in a doctor's office, aka the smaller waiting room after the first waiting room. Planet: Earth, most likely. Date: Circa 21st Century in the year of our Lord.
A child in a man's body sits on the butcher paper, awaiting his fate, admiring the walls...
This is a nice color. Sort of a Kelly green. Pleasant. Non-jarring. Very well-painted, too. Absolutely no bleed-over onto the door frame. Clearly done by a professional. No one like me could've painted this. Oh God, is this what home ownership does to a person? The doctor will be here soon. Should I take off my pants, or do I wait for him to tell me? I can't remember. I better take 'em off, just to be safe. No wait, that's at the masseuse where you take off your...
"Oh, hi doc."
"How are ya?" Why are this guy's pants unbuckled? Every day it's weirdos around here. I should've just done like my mother wanted, and been a classical pianist.
"Doing OK." Pretty sure I'm dying. Please help me. Please.
"So what seems to be the problem?" Yeah, pianist. For Elise versus examining someone's goiter. What the hell was I thinking?
I just told the lady that brought me in here. Did she not tell you? What was that all for? Wait a second, does she even work here???
"Well, let's have a look." I'll stick this thing in his ear, use my trusty stethoscope, and maybe bang on his knee with this little hammer I got down at the Walgreens so he'll think I know what I'm talking about. Ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, shin bone's connected to the knee bone, the knee bone's connected to the... hmm... now what was the knee bone connected to? I always forget that one! "Well, that all looks fine. How long has this been bothering you?"
"Four or five days, I guess." STILL with the stethoscope??? They were using those on Little House on the Prairie. Have we not advanced beyond this? And what's he doing on that laptop? Probably on WebMD or something.
"Let me just make some notes here." Double-you, double-you, double-you, dot, web-emm-dee, dot com.... Symptom checker, click... Hmm... Oh man, this doesn't look good. Holy $*#&! I've never even heard of that. Phew, am I glad I'm not this guy!
"So, uh, am I gonna be OK?" Is it West Nile? Mad Cow? I thought they eradicated that!!!! Rabies? Is it rabies??? NoCatheterNoCatheterNoCatheterNoCatheterNoCath...
"Well, we're gonna run some tests, just to rule out anything serious." Do you believe in miracles?
"OK. Thanks, doc." Somehow I'm never quite sure I get my eighty bucks worth here.
"She'll be in here in a few minutes to take some blood. You can, uh, probably go ahead and buckle up." Good God, they don't pay me enough to deal with this crap every day.
"Doctor my eyes / Tell me what is wrong / Was I unwise to leave them open for so long..."
A child in a man's body sits on the butcher paper, awaiting his fate, admiring the walls...
This is a nice color. Sort of a Kelly green. Pleasant. Non-jarring. Very well-painted, too. Absolutely no bleed-over onto the door frame. Clearly done by a professional. No one like me could've painted this. Oh God, is this what home ownership does to a person? The doctor will be here soon. Should I take off my pants, or do I wait for him to tell me? I can't remember. I better take 'em off, just to be safe. No wait, that's at the masseuse where you take off your...
"Oh, hi doc."
"How are ya?" Why are this guy's pants unbuckled? Every day it's weirdos around here. I should've just done like my mother wanted, and been a classical pianist.
"Doing OK." Pretty sure I'm dying. Please help me. Please.
"So what seems to be the problem?" Yeah, pianist. For Elise versus examining someone's goiter. What the hell was I thinking?
I just told the lady that brought me in here. Did she not tell you? What was that all for? Wait a second, does she even work here???
"Well, let's have a look." I'll stick this thing in his ear, use my trusty stethoscope, and maybe bang on his knee with this little hammer I got down at the Walgreens so he'll think I know what I'm talking about. Ankle bone's connected to the shin bone, shin bone's connected to the knee bone, the knee bone's connected to the... hmm... now what was the knee bone connected to? I always forget that one! "Well, that all looks fine. How long has this been bothering you?"
"Four or five days, I guess." STILL with the stethoscope??? They were using those on Little House on the Prairie. Have we not advanced beyond this? And what's he doing on that laptop? Probably on WebMD or something.
"Let me just make some notes here." Double-you, double-you, double-you, dot, web-emm-dee, dot com.... Symptom checker, click... Hmm... Oh man, this doesn't look good. Holy $*#&! I've never even heard of that. Phew, am I glad I'm not this guy!
"So, uh, am I gonna be OK?" Is it West Nile? Mad Cow? I thought they eradicated that!!!! Rabies? Is it rabies??? NoCatheterNoCatheterNoCatheterNoCatheterNoCath...
"Well, we're gonna run some tests, just to rule out anything serious." Do you believe in miracles?
"OK. Thanks, doc." Somehow I'm never quite sure I get my eighty bucks worth here.
"She'll be in here in a few minutes to take some blood. You can, uh, probably go ahead and buckle up." Good God, they don't pay me enough to deal with this crap every day.
"Doctor my eyes / Tell me what is wrong / Was I unwise to leave them open for so long..."
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
"Hey son's" and hugs
(My Dad's birthday was Monday. So I decided I would finish this story I'd started a couple of years ago....)
It was the last and only cold day of spring. Temps had started out in the mid-60s that April morning, but a cold front had sent them plunging into the 50's by early afternoon. Throw in a stiff wind and it was downright chilly.
Turning off the almost-two-lane country road, I saw him standing in the driveway in his fishing hat, straightening out some line. There was something about that moment, seeing my dad already outside getting things ready, that made me smile, and does even now.
As I got out of the car I was greeted with that familiar, drawly "Heyyy, suh-uhn."
My sister was along with Nephew Bone soon and we headed down the long, hardly-one-lane dirt driveway and across a small field to the pond. I took notice of Nephew Bone imitating Dad -- Peepaw as he calls him -- several times that day. And imagined myself doing the same thirty years before.
We weren't long for fishing that day. The weather was not our friend, and no one had dressed quite warm enough for it. So after about an hour we packed up our poles and tackle and snacks and headed back to the house.
As I drove away that day I made the same promise to myself I always make, and break: to visit more often.
And I was thankful.
Thankful that Dad was happy -- as happy as I can ever remember seeing him. He seems to have found an ease and a contentment with life that wasn't there for far too long.
Thankful I can still call him, to ask for advice about the house, or my Jeep, or just to hear that familiar "hey son" in a world that seems to go a little crazier every day.
Thankful Nephew Bone gets to spend time he will remember with his Peepaw, and vice-versa.
And thankful there's still a place I can go to, and even though I've never lived there, feel welcomed, and loved, and home.
Dad and I had a couple of rough patches, as I suppose fathers and sons sometimes do. But that seems like another lifetime now. These days, I love you's have replaced simple goodbyes. And we've long since traded hand shakes for hugs.
That's a trade I'd recommend to anyone.
"I know I can't turn back time / We'll slow it down while we can / I'm going home to see him / While he still knows who I am..."
It was the last and only cold day of spring. Temps had started out in the mid-60s that April morning, but a cold front had sent them plunging into the 50's by early afternoon. Throw in a stiff wind and it was downright chilly.
Turning off the almost-two-lane country road, I saw him standing in the driveway in his fishing hat, straightening out some line. There was something about that moment, seeing my dad already outside getting things ready, that made me smile, and does even now.
As I got out of the car I was greeted with that familiar, drawly "Heyyy, suh-uhn."
My sister was along with Nephew Bone soon and we headed down the long, hardly-one-lane dirt driveway and across a small field to the pond. I took notice of Nephew Bone imitating Dad -- Peepaw as he calls him -- several times that day. And imagined myself doing the same thirty years before.
We weren't long for fishing that day. The weather was not our friend, and no one had dressed quite warm enough for it. So after about an hour we packed up our poles and tackle and snacks and headed back to the house.
As I drove away that day I made the same promise to myself I always make, and break: to visit more often.
And I was thankful.
Thankful that Dad was happy -- as happy as I can ever remember seeing him. He seems to have found an ease and a contentment with life that wasn't there for far too long.
Thankful I can still call him, to ask for advice about the house, or my Jeep, or just to hear that familiar "hey son" in a world that seems to go a little crazier every day.
Thankful Nephew Bone gets to spend time he will remember with his Peepaw, and vice-versa.
And thankful there's still a place I can go to, and even though I've never lived there, feel welcomed, and loved, and home.
Dad and I had a couple of rough patches, as I suppose fathers and sons sometimes do. But that seems like another lifetime now. These days, I love you's have replaced simple goodbyes. And we've long since traded hand shakes for hugs.
That's a trade I'd recommend to anyone.
"I know I can't turn back time / We'll slow it down while we can / I'm going home to see him / While he still knows who I am..."
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