It's a'coming!
I've been saying that all day long, because I believed the Weather Channel when it said rain starting in the late morning. Well, they were way off, because it's been a lovely day up until a few minutes ago when I heard the first thunder rumble.
Around here, the weather is always a few ticks milder than the forecast. Still, looking at the current radar, we are in for it for the next few hours. Shut up your windows and storm doors!
It's tee ball season again: that joyful springtime rite where five and six year olds seemingly absorb all the rules and strategies of baseball in practice, then promptly forget once the ump yells "Play Ball!"
This year, though, we've spent most of our tee ball game time watching high school softball games.
Somehow our 6:00 games have all been significantly delayed (or cancelled in last night's case) because the prior game, scheduled for 4:00, didn't start on time or ran very long. So we end up having extra practice time, but still a bunch of disappointed tee ballers in the end.
Now I fully understand you would not cut short a school game to accommodate the tee ball schedule, but do we have a lack of usable ballfields in town? Don't high school games generally take place at the high school?
Oh well, at least it gave me time last night to cut my grass ahead of today's impending rain storms.
I've seen this time and time again, at Subway, at Hardees, at the Market Building, anywhere a quick lunch can be had: guys who are obviously together, arrived together in the same truck, going back to the same job site afterwards, who eat lunch together but at separate tables right near each other.
Usually, both are facing the same direction, and one guy converses over the other guy's shoulder. Sometimes they face in perpendicular directions. Today, I even witnessed a musical chairs kind of dynamic, where one guy initially sat down facing his companion's back, but then turned a 180 and sat back to back with him. Yet they continued on the conversation!
What this leads to, generally, is a loud shouting match so each can hear the other. What is going on here? Why not just share a table and save the other one for someone else? Sometimes it's because one or both have two or three sandwiches all laid out, but still, I don't get it. What are they afraid they might want to hold hands?
We've had a huge and growing list of chores to tackle around here, and April was pretty much lost, so this weekend we tore it up.
Things started slowly on Friday, no set plans, just the family at home, making some grilled fajitas and dining on the deck.
Then, my neighbor suggested a few orange sodas at the pub down the street. LBB and TB proceeded toward a wholesome and sensible bedtime, whereas I stumbled home about midnight. OK, I know that's not all that late, but considering our usual bedtime is 9 or 10, it was late for me.
Still, I woke up Saturday ready to take on the world. TB had an early birthday party to attend at 9:30, so I took the opportunity to hit the Home Depot to prepare for extreme home chore weekend. Then, I needed a few things for the car, so I went to Advance Auto.
After the boy's party, the plan was to have lunch downtown and hit the market for some herbs to pot and put out on the deck and some veggies, just for eating. We forgot about the chili cookoff going on, but it was no big deal, we found a parking spot within five minutes (and that was with an extry thousand or two people downtown . . . I hear a lot of complainin', but believe me, parking in downtown Roanoke is no problem.)
The market veggies didn't look so good, except for some whopping big onions and some great summer squash, so we skipped that, but we eventually found our herbs. We had lunch in the Market Building we hundreds of others. The weather was great, so Saturday was a huge day for downtown Roanoke.
Then the chores began. TB had a buddy over, so he was happy. I decided to start with some exterior touch up painting. A layer of Killz on Saturday and a top coat on Sunday. Discovered some rotting fascia wood under some of my gutters. That was disheartening.
Then, what else did we do: between the two days I did more painting, washed the cars while TB washed the bikes, did the primer, color, and clearcoat painting on the damaged Camry, fertilized the lawn, hauled all the inside plants out, planted the hot pepper garden, cleaned the garage (including suspending the bicycles from hooks on the wall - been meaning to do that for six years), replaced some window screens, patched some foundation cracks and a gaping hole that has emerged on our front porch steps, put out some ant traps - little black ants are my mortal enemy, hacked down a bunch of brush next to the fish ponds, and generally piddled around with other overdue tasks.
LBB attempted to begin the dreaded attic cleanout. Every time I go up there I want to hurl up my breakfast it's such a mess. I don't like pack-ratting, and we've managed to fill every nook and cranny of our nearly 4000 sq. ft. It's time for a purge! But it got hot up there pretty quickly so she didn't get too far. Then she tackled the hall coat closet, which was also a mess. This inspired me to go through my dresser since we had a Goodwill bag filling up. Sadly, I had about eight pair of jeans and shorts that I can never hope to squeeze into again. Out the door. Then, she planted the herbs in pots and did all the watering and Miracle Gro'ing.
We had to pull out all our bedroom furniture, because we're having the room painted today, so that's exciting.
Saturday night, we went to our friend's house and ordered take out from the Isaacs restaurant over in Grandin village. That was my first experience with them, but I assure you it won't be the last. Very, very good Greek food. I had a falafel sandwich and a blue cheese side salad. The falafel was a bit lighter and, I thought, better seasoned that the more common middle eastern variety.
TB spend Sunday afternoon bike riding, throwing baseballs, and otherwise carrying on with one of his friends. Then Sunday evening there was a picnic planned at the playground by Penn Forest Elementary. I don't know if it was the allergies or exhaustion, but he initially threw a tantrum and declined to go! I'm not sure I've ever seen my son turn down an event. Of course, it probably didn't help that I had already reneged in favor of staying home to do some paperwork for my Mom. In the end, he went, had a fine time, came home a bit before dark and continued to rage on by riding his bike up and down the sidewalk for another half hour.
He was most proud because he topped off his busy day by skidding on his bike and blowing out a tire. Considering that it was a $40 bike and he's had it for three years, and he's got a birthday coming up, I'm thinking he just might be getting a new bike. As long as he cans it with the tantrums.
What a weekend!
For the most part I've kept my political preferences out of this blog, but today, I feel like letting a few things fly.
I guess I may be the black sheep in my (mostly) conservative family. I tortured Dad about politics when I was in high school. Probably that was teen rebellion. We had more than a couple shouting matches, and I remember quoting Marx just to be as big a dick as I could possibly be to him. Today I understand and embrace much of Dad's wisdom, but have rolled it into a liberal, libertarian framework.
After college, I joined the Republican fold for awhile. I had my doubts, though, so as a social progressive, I fell for the Ross Perot campaign in 1992.
1996? I think I pulled the Clinton lever, but wouldn't swear to it in court.
Then we entered the GWBush era, and through the debacle of the 2000 election, I became cynical. Party politics, campaign promises, conservative, liberal, blah, blah, blah . . . it's exhausting. I felt dismayed 20 minutes into Bush's presidency.
Then, the World Trade Center was attacked.
There was no big rallying cry behind our government in my home. We felt sadness, deep in our hearts, and yes, we wanted those responsible to pay and pay dearly. I wept for the future of my three month old son, harder than I've ever wept before or since.
That didn't mean we offered license to our President to lead us into the war in which we remain mired.
Don't even get me started on the economy. You could have heard me breathe a deep sigh of relief for the fifteen minutes or so we had a balanced Federal budget in the late '90s. That's how I manage my own finances, and I would hope after 230 odd years my country could do the same. We ain't no struggling start up anymore, so let's run in the black, people! Sadly, neither party is very good at making this happen, but the Dems did it most recently and seem willing to try again.
And now we are in another endless election season. If only we could prevent this from even starting before January 1 of the election year. If there is any sort of contest, we are weary by Super Tuesday. Doesn't it seem like that is how it has gone? The run up to Pennsylvania, on the Democratic side, was endless and you realized the candidates were worn out, too. Not good for the voters, the candidates, or the government (considering all of our front runners are US Senators!)
As far as the Republicans go, well, clearly they realize in this time of extreme malaise, that they can't win with a right wing conservative. McCain appeals to the middle and that's what they needed. Yawn . . . .
The Democrats . . . agh, if only we could pick someone.
Here's my take: the Democratic campaign, which started so long ago and is now wearing on the nerves of anyone who might have crossed over, began as it should have, as an exchange of ideas.
Ideas about moving the USA out of its position of weakness: weakness in the world, because of the war and our lack of international diplomacy, and because of our lessened global economic presence.
Early on Barack Obama was the one best able to embrace new ideas, energize the party, and pull voters into the party. His rhetoric was a beacon to many who would not have otherwise paid attention. He is the candidate of ideas.
Hilary Clinton is more pragmatic, more experienced in Washington, and more amenable to finding solutions by reaching across the aisle. She's the candidate of issues.
But the sad thing is that, as always, it's become a campaign of innuendo, and only because the Dems haven't nailed down a nominee yet. McCain sails above and his chances rise by the day, while the press snipes away at Obama because of something his pastor said, and they rehash Clinton's (suppoedly) negative ads and wonder about Bill Clinton's role.
As far as I can tell, the only ones rising above most of this are the candidates themselves.
They are both able. They both have progressive ideas. They can both ably lead the nation. We need to make a choice, and we need to make a choice for legitimate change from the Executive branch as we have known it.
We need a President who can make the populous think of ideas as well as issues, simply because we need such a drastic change from what we have had for the last eight years.
We need to support Barack Obama.
Wow. I watched TB kick the crap out of a few songs on the Hard level of Guitar Hero III tonight. If you have ever played this crazy thing, you know, as an adult, with responsibilities, deadlines, alarm clocks, and, well ...... sadly diminishing autonomic reflex skills, this shit ain't easy.
I have managed to get 40/42 songs on the Easy level, but I can't get past "Raining Blood" (by Slayer), or the guitar battle with "Lou".
TB has rocketed through the Medium level and pretty much wants to blow off the Hard level and move on to Expert.
He soaks this in. I leak it out unless I stick with it day after day. Spring is here. I'd rather be outside, so I'm not practicing much. Neither is he, though, except for a few minutes before school.
What is amazing is how he absorbs the notes flying at him. I asked, and he confirmed, that he can see the whole screen at once, read the words that pop up, see the other guitar neck in a "battle", and not miss a beat. Somehow, he sees the big picture without losing the details. Not me. All I can do is focus on my guitar neck and the notes I'm supposed to (have) play(ed).
Fun stuff. He may be the next Eric Clapton.
The best part, though, is that he wants me to keep up with him. I've told him ever since he understood language that the one thing I cannot stand is cheating. He gets it, but he wants me right with him in the competition, so he offered to play my band (Frumpus) and get me caught up.
If he plays my last two songs on the Easy level for me, we've cheated. It doesn't make me a better player, either. He knows it, I know it, and it won't happen, but he still wants to play those two songs for me so I can get to Medium. In the end, he suggested I just watch him play the songs so I can learn the notes.
He is so much like a little me. He wants me to play along and do just as well as him, but most of all he wants to play fair. Watching him play Guitar Hero, and almost everything else he does, I know he gets it. He's going to be a good boy.
I'm working at home this morning because my office is on fire. No, not really. All I know is, it was surrounded by fire trucks and they wouldn't let us in when I got there. Rather than sit around waiting on the street with hundreds of people spreading rumors about the building caving in, I decided to head home. There's practically nothing I can't do here anyway.
But now it's lunchtime, which leads me to today's random rant: lunch meat. I decided to make a turkey sandwich, on whole wheat with a few cucumber slices and wasabi mayo. What's killing me, though, is the turkey itself. What happened to good ole' easy to handle sliced turkey? That seems hard to come by anymore. Same thing with ham and roast beef. What you get is either a shredded mess that has no resemblance to it's original form, or you get a mass conglomeration, folded over in and upon itself, slices so thin that you can't possibly separate them one from another to lay out onto a sandwich.
What I end up doing is grabbing wads of turkey, placing them side by side on the bread. What has happened here? I've used twice as much meat than I really wanted. That's what the meat barons of America want us to do: pile it high. Well, the way this stuff gets packaged it's hard to avoid. Merchandising at it's most clever.
I'd like to see them pull that off with salami, though.
My wife, on the other hand, is out for her second tasty ethnic meal in less than 18 hours. Last night, she and some hens went to The Isaacs for some Mediterranean goodness. Rave reviews all around. TB and I, after a delayed t-ball game ran on to 8PM, grabbed something from the always disappointing Wendy's. I don't know why I always fall for the Spicy Chicken sandwich. It never gets better, yet I keep trying.
Then today for lunch she's over at Taaza (warning: music). Me? I'm struggling to build a reasonable turkey sammich. Oh, well. At least she invited me but I've got no time for table service. I'm an important business man! Which reminds me: I guess I better go check my email.
Suddenly my google ads have all become public service ads, which is fine, since they were only bringing in 50 cents a month. Still, I wonder why it changed, since I've made no changes to the layout and had no warnings from Google.
I'm guessing a lack of posting, thus a lack of traffic has confused the program that sends the ads.
I was recently tagged by Country Dew with a meme for a six word memoir. That’s fitting, because whenever I work on my column or my blog, which has been infrequent lately, my son asks if I’m working on my memoirs. I think he learned that from his Momma.
He likes the word so much that when tasked in school to create a timeline of his life, he titled it “Noah’s Memoirs”. Memoirs of a six year old, that’s a good one.
So, I’ve been pondering this on and off for the last few days. Six words. That’s very tough to do, although enough people nailed it that it was turned into a book. I’m having trouble with the approach. We all wear many hats, mine: husband, father, son, brother, friend, writer, employee, co-worker, homeowner, home project manager, music lover, hobbyist, weekend athlete, sports fan, club member, etc. Then you have carbon life form versus sense of self.
Where do I begin? How can this be done in six words? I came up with a few that only apply in specific contexts:
Desk job daydreamer. Needs a vacation.
Father of one, master of none.
Not one to miss a meal.
But how should I sum up the whole package? I’m not sure it’s even possible, so I’m going to cop out, quote my all time favorite band The Police (excuse the pun).
We lost my father on Friday, April 11. He endured a long battle with Alzheimer's disease, the signs emerging well over ten years ago. Dad remained physically strong, though, and only took a very sharp decline after a fall in February. From that point on, he never really gained back enough strength to walk or get up from bed on his own. There were several attempts at physical rehab in a nursing home, but there was little progress. In the end, he was unable to swallow and died from aspiration pneumonia.
His wishes were not to have to life-sustaining procedures, such as a feeding tube. His passing was peaceful and he was in no discomfort.
I had visited in February, to help Mom navigate the process of arranging nursing home care for him. It was obvious that Mom's miraculous efforts in caring for him at home were no longer possible after his fall. She had done everything for him for years, and truly maintained his quality of life heroically. So much so that she had difficulty leaving his side to go home and sleep at night. Trust me, the staff at the facility was top notch, but it still didn't quite suit Mom.
They had been married 58 1/2 years.
The nurse manager called me at work, Wednesday April 9, and said that it was probably time to get up there. I arrived Thursday afternoon and was able to spend several hours with Dad. Mostly, he slept, but he did open his eyes a few times. There was a twinkle there. He may not have been able to say my name, but I think he knew who I was. At least I choose to think that. He gestured a lot with his arm, reaching out to us, mostly to Mom.
Friday morning when we arrived at his room, we were met by the nurse manager who said he had just left us. Mom was torn up that she wasn't there with him, but believe me, no one could have been at his side more than she had been. For 58 1/2 years.
Then we gathered the family, made the arrangements, moved on with the things that must be done. Having just lost my father-in-law less than a year ago, I knew the routine, so waiting for the undertaker, choosing a casket, all that, my brother and I handled without Mom even getting involved.
One of the saddest things in this is that my son lost both of his grandfathers, G'diddy and Pop Pop, in less than a year. He soldiers on as a six year old will, and we are glad he is old enough to have some memories of them.
My wife and son arrived on Saturday, as did much of the rest of the family. My parents have four sons, ten grandchildren, and thirteen great-grandchildren. It was remarkable that nine of the ten grandchildren were there (the tenth unable to travel because she's quite far along pregnant with great-grandchild number fourteen). Sad to reunion over an occasion such as this, but we all knew it was coming. A long time coming, really. So we all shared some memories and toasted to Dad and each other.
We had a visitation Sunday, a service and burial on Monday. Mom and Dad had not been church members since they moved to Poughkeepsie in 1959, so the service was brief and mostly secular (though performed by a Lutheran pastor). My brother gave a eulogy, in which he read a piece I had written last summer for the South Roanoke Circle. Here it is, on page eleven of the pdf.
I do miss my father, but the truth is, we have all missed him for years. He was a strong man, not overly strict (with me, anyway. I think my older brothers may have another perspective), and he had a great sense of humor. It was sad to see that fade over the last years. Selfishly, and for the sake of my family, I hope there is a cure found for dementia, because I know it can be hereditary.
If any of your loved ones or friends have even been afflicted with Alzheimer's, or if you know someone who is a caregiver to a spouse or parent, you know how difficult it is on everyone. Please consider a donation to the Alzheimer's Association on their behalf.
Be careful if you start playing this new game. It will eat up a couple hours before you know what hit you.
I was a bit worried after last weekend about my overall level of profanity here at JSR. After having a fair number of orange sodas while watching the NCAA tournament, I put up a string of posts laden with salty talk. Next morning, I got up and took a look and I thought it was a bit much so I yanked a post or two.
Now, I've got no problem with low humor. Shoot, I don't have a problem with what many people consider low morals. Sometimes taking it to extremes can be funny (NFW YouTube video, beware).
OK, maybe that's pushing it.
Still, I think well considered profanity can be effective, and isn't always a sign of poor character.
I do tend to disguise some of my foul language, not like this @#$!#%, but sometimes by changing the spelling or throwing in an apostrophe in place of a few letters. Isn't that f'n clever? No? Well, bite my ais!
Anyway, I was glad to get this low rating on the cuss meter:
Created by OnePlusYou
Two days from April and it's sleeting. Not even supposed to get out of the 30's today. What kind of cruel torture is this? Yesterday was a little nicer than expected, so I'll take that as a bonus, but enough already with these cool temperatures.
I always plant too early, but I want to get my peppers in the ground!
Do you like the three point shot, or do you hate it?
My six year old can make a shot (every now and then) from the top of the key, so I think the three point shot is bullshit. Yeah, I'm old school, but I liked watching Walt Frazier and Earl Monroe score points two at a time.
Look at this piece of junk that showed up here last week. OK, it may be art, and it may be art that only cost $6 at Marshall's, but I think it's hideous. LBB thinks it's a treasure.
Good golly, take a look at the little leg stalks. The chicks have been sawed in half. It's easter in HELL!
So last night, my son is in the bath and all the sudden he grabs a plastic toy, like a rubber duckie or a boat or something, dangles it off his privates like a codpiece and declares that it's "Double Weenie Tuesday".
