Is That the Finish Line Up Ahead?

Is That the Finish Line Up Ahead?

I've been working for a long time. If I'm figuring it correctly, and I think I'm pretty close, it comes out to about 50 years. Half a doggone century of working for someone else doing something. Sometimes something I maybe wouldn't have done if I had more of a choice. Maybe, maybe not.

I started my working life when I was 16 years old. I had a job cleaning the Chamber of Commerce offices in my hometown. I went in Saturday mornings and emptied trash, cleaned desks, swept and generally spiffed things up. Don't know how I got the job. Just remember doing it for a period of time, maybe a few months, maybe a bit longer. It had to be around 1963 because I can always equate that particular job with the assassination of John Kennedy. That tragedy happened the fall of the year I was an office cleaner. Then there was a couple weeks as a carhop at a local restaurant. Yes, they had guy carhops back in those long-ago times and we did NOT have to wear roller skates! That didn't last long but I still remember that place had the BEST peanut butter pie! Alas it's been out of business for many decades. Then I was hired at one of the first fast-food restaurants in my hometown. No, not the one with the golden arches and the clown. This one was called Burger Chef. I performed most of the positions there, waiting on customers, cooking the food, cleaning, stocking. All the stuff that needs done at one of those places. I worked there my junior and senior years of high school. I worked there after school, weekends and holidays until I graduated, then I worked at the factory where my dad was employed. I was an assembler on an assembly line (go figure) and attached various parts to Post Office trucks as they metamorphosed from bare chassis to finished red-white-and-blue truck. This was for a fairly short period of time after I graduated high school and before I joined the Air Force. The military then had me for four years. After that I went back to the factory for a while as they had to hold my job while I was in the service. Knowing I just wasn't cut out for factory work by the mind-numbing repetition of the assembly line, I then started business college and worked part time at a department store in the electronics and hunting/fishing departments. That job lasted until I got my diploma from business college when I began working for J. M. Smucker Company – the jelly guys. I worked in their computer room as an operator for them for about three years in the early '70's. Then about 9 years at a local insurance company also in the computer room. In '81 I went to work for a telecommunications company in Hudson, Ohio called Mid-Continent Telephone, again as a computer operator. I held several positions there as it changed names a few times and finally became Alltel. I was “downsized” from there in '01 and about three months later started work for a neighboring county's water department as, again, a computer operator.

That brings us to now.

I'd been toying with the idea of retirement for a number of years and had never really got around to setting a date. It was always “in a couple of years”. But recently my wife and I had actually sorta/kinda picked a target date a little over two years in the future when we decided that we would pull the pin. After setting that date, I received news from P.E.R.S., the Public Employee's Retirement Service that their rules were changing and, to qualify for their retiree's health care you had to have at least 10 years service and you had to retire before the last day of November, 2014.

Otherwise you would need to have 20 years service to qualify.

Since I will only have 13 years service next year, that announcement made my choice of retirement date easy. It would not be “about” two years from now.

It would be Thanksgiving of next year.

Wow! I was going to be a retired person! No more “working for the man.” No more having to go somewhere when the weather was awful. No more long hours doing things I might not particularly want to do or sitting and waiting for the day to end.

Now I'd be able to do pretty much what I wanted to!

And then I thought, what the hell do I want to do?

And it scared me a bit. As I've shown you, dear reader, in the earlier paragraphs of this blog, I've been working for FIFTY DOGGONE YEARS! I'm afraid that I don't know exactly HOW not to work. It's such a massive transition that it concerns me as transitions are never without some cost, some initially and some down the road.

The only thing in my past I can really equate this to is possibly my quitting smoking. That was a giant leap at the time as I'd smoked for many, many years before finally bidding the butts adios. And my life changed at that time.

A lot.

But there are no patches to put on your arms or gum to chew when you retire. There are no groups to join for assistance and advice on the correct procedures to guarantee a sure and total conclusion to the working habit.

So I'm planning on spending the next 17 months thinking about what my options are after retirement and to make some tentative plans.

There are a number of our friends and family who have retired and who like to tell us that it's “great” and that “you'll really enjoy it” and “you can do what you want when you want.” Which all sounds good. But two of the couples travel around the country and that really isn't too intriguing to my wife and I. Another likes to fix stuff up and yet another likes to fish. Likes to fish a LOT. I guess I could do some of that, too, and it does sound nice that if I wanted to start a project, I wouldn't have to piece it out between working hours. That'd be nice.

It's probably an unfortunate personal habit of mine that I always like to plan stuff before I do it. Sometimes, I'm told, I'm a bit of a fanatic about it. But that's the way I am and that surely isn't going to change.

I've even queried Uncle Google on the internet with the question: “what do retired people do?” And, after a long list of this and that, one reply stuck in my mind. It was something like, “Don't think you really have to do anything. If today you only want to watch the birds build a nest in your back yard, just do it. And if nothing is the plan for the day, go for it!”

I do know, however, you have to do some stuff to keep the brain and body active and functioning. There is one activity that I'm sure I'm not going to do. It's sitting in a recliner until I die. As the famous singer Meatloaf said in his immortal song “I'd do anything for love (but I won't do that)”, I won't do that!

So don't be too surprised if you see another blog or three on this upcoming even in the next year-and-a-half. I'm sure the subject will be at or near the top of the pile for quite a while.

At least that's the plan.

Just Passin' Through

Just Passin' Through

Got an email from an old friend recently. He wanted to talk a bit about this and that, to respond with his views about a few things that I'd been doing and to also tell me that he would be back in our hometown about the beginning of the second week of next month. Now that was some wonderful news! I only got reacquainted with this guy two years ago after a very long absence and am tickled he's going to be back in town for a while. Unfortunately I know that he's not staying long. Couple of weeks, probably. Maybe three.

The truth is that he's just passin' through. From where and to where you might ask? That's the interesting part about him and his wife.

Some background...

First off, he and his wife are retired. That allows them time to do things. And the things that he and his wife like to do most of is travel. They've purchased a humungous (at least to my eyes) humdinger of a motor coach and they travel.

They travel a lot.

They hunker down in one of the warm southwestern states in the wintertime, though. They've a home in the desert down there. But, when the weather warms up they start their annual trek.

Where do they normally go, you might ask?

Well, apparently just about everywhere.

I used to think that I was a half-way well-traveled man. Sorta-kinda. At least in the good ol' U.S.A. I make sure I go on vacation every summer and not always to the same place. I've been to quite a few locations, both as a single man and a married one.

Quite a few places.

Or so I've thought.

But to be brutally honest, I'm a baby, a veritable neophyte, a wet-behind-the-ears tyro in the travel game compared to these two. They are travel monsters! They have two destinations they try to achieve each year, everywhere and almost everywhere. They've consistently attained the latter and are always shooting for the former.

They travel the warm months of the year by motor-home, generally dividing the United States into a couple zones and spending their time moseying around in one or another of them. I guess they might have a strict itinerary, but I'd be a little surprised if they did.

I think the true destination for their yearly travels is probably this: lets stay south a bit this year then head through our old home state. After that, lets see which way the wind blows and follow that for a while.

Or: “I've got a hankering for a Nathan's hot dog. Let's go to Coney Island.”

Or: “I heard that Dean Martin was from Steubenville, Ohio. Let's check it out.”

Or: “I want to see: Little Big Horn, the Grand Canyon, Appomattox Court House, Ground Zero in New York, Stephen King's house in Bangor, the charter boat fleet coming in at Key West, Graceland, the top of Gateway Arch in St. Louis, Half-Dome at Yosemite, a pow-wow in Oklahoma, John Wayne's footprints at Grauman's in Hollywood.”

Or: “I want to spend a month on the beach in South Carolina/Florida/Texas/Alabama.”

Or: “I heard a rumor about the best ribs in the U.S. How they can't decide between ten different places. Let's go find out where they're at, go there and eat at all of them.”

I may have that wrong. They may have more specific itineraries with places to be and times to be there. Maybe. My best guess is that they may have a place or two in mind and a general idea of when they'd like to be there, but they're totally able to change that at a moment's notice.

Their mail address? General delivery, Anywhere, U.S.A.

It's a fascinating lifestyle to contemplate. Oddly enough, it reminds me of an old Western movie or horse opera on TV. The stranger comes into town, goes to the bar, downs a shot or two of “whiskey, neat” and stares at the mirror behind the bar. Someone asks the stranger how long he'll be in town. He answers, “A while.” Then they ask where he's from. He says, “Over yonder.” How long he's been traveling? “A spell.” Where he's going next? “Up the road a piece.” The stranger's a bit road-bedraggled, dusty, thirsty for a bit of red-eye and has a piercing glance that sets all the damsel's hearts a-flutter. Then, after some obligatory gun-play he rides off into the sunset.

Where? No one knows.

And there may be a silver bullet involved. Maybe.

Of course that's not at all the way my friend and his wife look. Not at all.

But if I was to make a logo for that couple it'd look like that stranger. Or maybe just a simple tumbleweed blowing in the wind.

Silly ideas, eh?

Knowing that these wandering friends of mine are setting sail for my neck of the woods and will be here soon has started my mind a-racing. They've been retired for some years now and I am looking at retirement in a year-and-a-half. I try to picture myself living the life they live, traveling, meeting new folks, seeing new sights, being king and queen of the road (thank you Roger Miller).

For week after week, month after month. On the road. A day here, a week there, a month up the road. In the rain and in the sunshine, in the light and in the darkness. Always up the road, always somewhere else to go, somewhere else to see.

And I wonder...

And I try to envision myself in that picture. My wife and I. Road warriors.

And can't.

Now don't get me wrong. I don't want to cast any aspersions to my friend and his wife. They've found an ideal lifestyle for themselves and I'm totally happy for them. Totally! In fact I even envy them insofar as they've decided on a path in life and are following it quite happily.

It's working for them and I surely do wish them well.

But I believe the future that calls more to my wife and I is that of the hearth and home. To venture out from time to time, yes, but to return in due course to the local newspaper, the favorite easy chair, the dog sitting at your feet, the comfort of your own bed and the familiarity of your own four walls.

Besides, where would our gallivanting amigos and amigas have as a destination if we weren't here holding down the fort where we all started?

As Tom Bodet was fond of saying and as I'll repeat for all my wandering friends, “We'll leave the light on for ya.”

The Death and Resurrection of a '98 Honda

The Death and Resurrection of a '98 Honda

I guess I ought to give you a little background before jumping right into my blog for today. It'll help you visualize the playing field I hope.

My wife, my son and I all work different shifts, I work second shift from 4 pm to midnight, my wife works days from 8 am to 5 pm and my son works midnights from midnight (or 1 am, depending on the day) until 8 am. We all have our own cars that we use to get to work and back and for the other miscellaneous stuff you need a car for. And, as things are in the real world, one or another of the cars occasionally needs some maintenance – scheduled or unscheduled.

Since there are three cars, when one is in the shop we can always keep going by shifting cars, driving each others car to work and such as needed. In other words, there's usually a car sitting in the driveway to be used whenever we need one and a key to it hanging on a peg in the house.

That was the situation a few days ago. My car was in the shop for an air conditioning problem. Spring had finally sprung and it was getting warmer around home. Now was definitely the wrong time for the car's a/c to be cutting out and refusing to work.

Pretty much a no-no in hot weather.

So I had taken it to the mechanic's shop and told him to fix it.

As and aside, our mechanic is a gem! He'd been recommended to me by a friend some time ago and I'd noted his name but really didn't need him right then. Not too long afterward I started becoming disenchanted with my present mechanic at that time. He'd not followed through on several problems I'd had and I'd decided I was ready for a change.

I'd give my buddy's recommendation a shot.

We started going to the new guy for our oil changes and other needs and were always handled with courtesy, promptness and excellent prices. He'd even handled some major things well and we were very happy with him. We gave him all our business for all three cars.

So that brings us up to this past week.

My car was sitting in my mechanic's shop getting the a/c work done. I had taken my wife's car to work. I work in a city 25 miles from home, so it wasn't just around the block. I'd finished my shift at midnight and had gotten into the wife's car and headed home. I was just pulling out at a stoplight about 9 miles from work (and 16 miles from home) when the car began to display some, to me, horrifying attributes. It got tremendously loud and started bucking and chugging. Clank, clank, chugga-chugga-chugga, shudder, buck, buck, clank. It also began blinking the engine check light. Blinking, not just on.

I assumed that was worse.

I immediately pulled over into a parking lot, shut it down and starting thinking about my choices. My first thought was, I can call the wife and she can come up here and... Uh-oh! She was in bed, my son had taken the last available car – his – and had driven it to work. So, there was no help coming from her. No need to call and wake her up.

What to do, what to do?

I started the car again and listened. Yes, loud but it ran. I put it in gear and eased out into the street. It shuddered and bucked but kept moving down the street. Chugga-chugga, buck, buck, rumble. I was babying it along through the first of two villages I had to go through on the way home and doing OK. It sounded like the car was dying most of the time, but every minute I headed south I was closer to home.

Just keep going, I thought.

I had just gone through the second village when the flashing blue and red lights caught my attention in my rear view mirror. Great, I thought. Just what I need.

The officer lowered his head, looked in my window and said, “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

I replied, “Probably the loud engine?”

He said, “Nope. Your license plate lights are out.”

“Sweet,” I said. “Just what I need tonight.” I then explained my ongoing predicament. He agreed that it sounded terrible, checked my license, registration and proof of insurance and then set me free with his wish for my good luck with the car. And to fix the license plate lights, of course.

I restarted the engine, gritted my teeth against the noise and vibrations and again headed toward home.

Rumble, rumble, buck, chug-chug-chug. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

I arrived home about a half-hour later than normal. When I got to the bedroom I saw that my wife was mostly awake, so I asked if she'd heard me come in. She replied that she thought it was the neighbor across the street who'd come home on his motorcycle. I told her that no, that unholy racket was her car! I then related the whole story of the trip home. I also mentioned that I was guessing that the car was quite possibly kaput.

The next morning I took her to work as I didn't want her trying to drive the amusement park ride that her car had become. She was also alarmed by it. When I got back home, I popped the hood and looked at the engine.

First off, I'm not a mechanic by any stretch of the imagination. Not at all. Nope, nope, nope. I can add fluids, change oil if I feel the urge, replace plugs, air filters, etc. Nothing major. And I normally would not notice what a problem was. I'd just stare at the engine and wonder, What the hell? But... This morning I could see the problem. The spark plug wire and the insulator doohicky that would normally extend down into the cylinder block and attach to the spark plug was laying on the valve cover. I gulped what I thought was the implication of what I was seeing and looked into the spark plug hole. In that gaping hole there was no spark plug, it was just an empty hole into the engine.

Uh-oh, I thought. This baby's toast!

And I believed it with all my heart.

I called my wife at work and related what I'd seen and asked her if she was ready for a new car. I really thought it was a goner.

I then called my mechanic and asked if he had my other car ready yet as I needed another car to go to work that coming night. When he asked why, I told him the evolving story. He said uh-huh at the appropriate times and then, when I thought he'd recommend my call to a junk yard, he said, “why don't you bring that booger over right now and I'll take a peek.”

He didn't even seem too upset!

I was still expecting the worst when I pulled into his driveway.

He came out and took a look under the hood. He nodded and hummed a bit. He then looked down and said, “Oh, there's your spark plug.” It was laying on one of the motor mounts. He examined it. It was broken. He said, “Broken spark plug. Hmm...”

I still was thinking doom and gloom.

He then did a quick tap of the spark plug hole to make sure the threads were still OK, slipped in a new plug, attached new spark plug wires for that plug and the other 3 and told me to fire it up.

I turned the key and... it worked! It worked fine! The car was still OK!

I thought I heard triumphal orchestral music and angelic voices singing hosannas for a moment, but I might have been mistaken.

I actually just shook my head and gave thanks that I had a good mechanic and he knew what he was doing. I shook his hand and acted the fool for a minute or two with my gratitude at his knowledge versus my ignorance, then headed back home. I called my wife and told her the good news and hoped she hadn't picked out a new car yet!

So it's now been a couple days and the D.O.A. car is still running as good as ever. And I'm still amazed at my complete ignorance of things automotive.

I've heard that there are only two things in life you can't escape. Death and taxes. I agree, of course. But I'd also like to add another adage for your existence on this planet.

Get yourself the following three things in life and you'll never have any problems.

A good doctor.

A good money manager.

And a good mechanic.

I'm lucky to have all three.

So, if you're looking for a good wrench man, give me a holler. He's a goooooood one!

I Get It!

I Get It!

“Like and share if you love Jesus.” “Keep scrolling if you love Satan.”

“Obama is a Muslim, non-American and only wants to destroy this country.”

“Obama is the answer to America's prayers and has done more for the country than the past x number of presidents combined.”

“Share if you love your wife or husband or sister or brother or aunt or uncle or cousin.”

“Share if you know religion is a farce and anyone who's religious is a throwback or a naive ignoramus.”

“Guns are GOOD!” “Guns are BAD!” “Ban guns!” “Require guns!”

“Democrats stink.” “Republicans stink.”

“Ship all the rotten illegal aliens back to wherever they came from.”

“Make all the illegal aliens American citizens.”

“Christians against Obama”. “Christians for Obama.” “non-Christians for/against Obama.”

“Share this if you're a REAL American. If you don't, pack up and move out!”

Do you recognize any of the above statements from Facebook or your emails? Or possibly a variant of one of them? Do they prompt you to forward or share the message or do they make you want to unfriend the sender? Do you agree 110% with the sentiment of some of them or are you vehement about your opposition to them?

I get it.

I got it back a few years ago during the political campaigns when you expressed your preferences. And then did it again. And again. And numerous times daily. And continually since the elections. I figured out your allegiance after checking out the first couple of them. Here's a question back at ya. Did you think you were going to change my mind by your postings? Did you think you'd steer me away from the “error of my ways” by your sharing all the vitriol on the Internet that was available for sharing? Even the ones that had been proven incorrect a LONG time ago? Or were you just venting, just expressing your rights by belittling the “worthy” opposition?

I hate to burst your bubble, my friend, but your continual haranguing on the negative aspects of the running candidates did absolutely nothing to change my mind insofar as the support of my candidate. I picked my man quite a while ago and ended up voting for him no matter how virulent your pronouncements were.

Now don't get me wrong. You ARE my friend. You may have diametrically opposing ideas on a bunch of things from what I do, but you are STILL my friend. You wouldn't be on my friends list otherwise. I do NOT friend anyone who I don't consider a friend. With maybe a couple exceptions, folks that I friended in a weak moment. Or to maybe just keep tabs on someone. But the vast majority of my friends on Facebook ARE my friends.

And to all my devoutly religious friends and family: Thank you for your concern about my well-being and my immortal soul. Seriously. Your thoughts and prayers ARE much appreciated. I may or may not share your particular beliefs but I'm very pleased that you're a believer, whatever the flavor of that belief may be. My only complaint, if you may call it that, is the absolute choice some of you like to give me on your FB postings. Some of you like to give me the old “you're either with me or agin me” choice. And, in your mind I'm sure you believe that there actually IS only that single choice, only that specific flavor of belief. Only black or white. And I'm sorry if I offend you, but I see LOTS of shades of gray in LOTS of areas of life. That may be a curse or a blessing, but it's me and that's where I'm at now.

Back to the politics. I honestly do try to examine most of the examples you might put forward to explain a stance or position. Sometimes I see your point and on others I draw a blank. To be honest, I don't mind those postings. They generally require some study and some reflection and I'm usually willing to do that. But I do want to tell you I'm not very fond of what I call the “straight hate” postings; the ones that say “I hate so-and-so, now and forever, in every aspect of his life, for every thing he's done and for everything he wants to do.” Excuse me, but I'm going to skip over those posting and try my hardest to not dislike you for them. They trouble me and I don't need to be troubled.

Also understand, my friends, that there are issues that we will never see eye to eye on and which I'll never agree with you. That's just the way it is. I will probably always be pro-this and anti-that. If that's in opposition to your stance, so be it. Badgering me for my beliefs is an exercise in futility. Better to let it go and agree to disagree.

Or post some funny cat pictures.

Please also look up the definition of jingoism if you don't know it already and understand that there are ALL KINDS of Americans. All colors, all religions, all kinds of backgrounds with all kinds of beliefs. And the VAST majority of them are GOOD Americans, from the Navajo woman on her reservation hand crafting a silver ring to the turbaned Sikh in Detroit praying to his elephant god. From the rabid liberal newscaster to the rabid conservative newscaster (you fill in the names). From the demonstrating hippie in 1969 carrying the anti-war sign to the begrimed Marine close to the Vietnam DMZ during the same year. From my close friend “A” to my close friend “B”.

All good Americans.

Please also note that fervency is not a necessary requirement for citizenship or emblematic of your patriotism. There are a lot of laid-back souls who don't jump up and down when the patriotic music starts or who don't carry signs at demonstrations. Lots who show their patriotism and their love of country in quiet, unobtrusive ways. Doing this or that “under the radar”, quietly serving in the military and then not strutting about their patriotism, patiently supporting a candidate with time or money, thanking veterans for their service, flying the flag.

Be aware that I see your Facebook posts and I know where you stand. I see who you like and, way TOO often, who you hate.

I get it.

You know, I originally intended this blog to be one where I would scream and carry on about the dumb postings and closed-minded pronouncements of the folks on my friends list. I planned to holler about their shallow meanness, their blank-minded membership in whatever organization that they professed involvement in. I'd lambast them for not checking Snopes out before posting an item that was totally wrong and proved so. I planned to express my mild to profound distaste for most of their mindless postings. I really did.

But then I decided that wasn't right.

Why couldn't they post those messages? Why couldn't they believe what they believe? Why couldn't they shout their mottoes and their credos and their passion in high fidelity and living color? What made me the arbiter of what they could or could not say?

What made me sure they were wrong?

As a matter of fact, I'm sure there were a LOT of people who read those self-same articles and pronouncements and said, “Right on, brother!”

So, if you carry anything away from this blog, from this small rant of mine, carry this. If I don't forward your messages, if I don't comment my approval, if I don't profess my undying support of your brand of faith, don't believe for a minute that I don't support it. Or that I do.

If I don't profess my undying love for whatever item you've put forward for my perusal or don't forward same, don't think I'm not for it. Or against it.

If you absolutely need to believe something about me, believe this:

Some things I'm for and some things I'm against, but for the vast majority of things that go floating through my Facebook pages I'm far more likely to be simply ambivalent. And I'm just not very demonstrative. And I'm truly sorry if that offends you.

But if you want to know a secret, I'll tell ya one! If you want me to share one of your postings, if you want me to comment on it or tell all my friends, just make me laugh. Just be clever or just make me think.

I'll share those in a flash with a great comment!

But for the rest?

I get it!

Doggie Dentistry

Doggie Dentistry

So... I decided to grit my teeth, face this empty piece of paper tonight and try to put a few words on it that don't sound too much like drivel and dreck. Of course I'll probably be OK with them, but it'll be up to you to decide the drivel-ness and dreck-ness of what ends up here. So get your grading pencils sharpened and lets go!

March, in these precincts, is always an iffy go. It's what could be called, if you're a generous soul, a transitional month, a period of time when the iron grip of winter is supposed to begin to loosen and the warmer blessings of the springtime begin to show with more clement temperatures and the earliest flowers beginning to poke out of the warming earth. The maxim “in like a lion, out like a lamb” as a description of March is unfortunately a generality, not a specific. Some Marches follow the old adage, others are contrary and gleefully allow Old Man Winter some extra weeks to strut and fret upon this particular stage. So, with a week and a couple more days to go, is the Lamb gonna make his appearance? Or is the Lion gonna keep growling for a bit longer. Guess we'll find out 'fore too long.

It's seemed like a long, long winter this year and everyone is antsy for spring.

We had a fairly stressful go of it this past week, faithful reader, but I'm hoping the stressful part of it is over now. This time the author of our family's anxiety was our half-pint Schnauzer Barney.

It started one morning recently when my wife was playing with our dog and noticed some dried blood on his whiskers. She did some eyeballing of the pooch, peering here and there, and couldn't find any source of the blood. She washed it off his muzzle and, before leaving for work, mentioned it to me. I woke up enough to notice that there was a bloody spot on the carpeting next to the bed where the dog usually sleeps. It was about the size of a large grapefruit, so there had to have been a decent quantity of blood that would cause it. I checked out the dog also and didn't see any problem although it was a bit unnerving. I cleaned the spot from the carpet.

I discussed it with my wife and we decided he probably got a sharp piece of a rawhide chew and had cut the inside of his mouth. Odd but hey, it could happen. So we removed all the bones and pieces of rawhide that were laying here and there around the house. He wouldn't get cut again.

The next morning my wife had the dog on her lap when he started bleeding again. She took him to the sink in the kitchen and, seeing the blood was coming from his mouth, put a paper towel in there with some pressure and soon the flow stopped. That was enough of that, so I bundled him off to the vet that morning. She did an exam and after a long look finally found that he apparently had a bad tooth. Since it was a large canine molar and she didn't do extractions of that magnitude, she had me schedule a dental x-ray and extraction with another vet in town who specialized in doggie dentistry.

Yesterday I dropped him off at the pet hospital for this procedure. I received a call a couple hours later from the vet. He had Barney under anesthesia and had removed two teeth at that point in time. He had called to tell me that the dog had several more quite bad teeth and wanted my OK to continue with his extractions. I asked for the dog's prognosis after the extractions and he said it was excellent. I asked for a ballpark dollar amount and he gave it to me. It was expensive but less so than I'd feared. Since the prognosis was so good, I said to go ahead.

We got a call a bit later after the procedure was complete and the vet said he'd came through “with flying colors” and we could come get him later that day. He also said he expected Barney to be much better insofar as his general health was concerned as he would not be fighting the infections from those doggone bad teeth any more. He also said that, unlike a person who had gone through six tooth extractions and could be expected to be a while recovering, dogs usually were back up and raring to go in about 2 days.

Good news.

My wife picked him up after she got off work yesterday afternoon, and the vet was quite right. The dog was pretty active when he got home along with being very thirsty and hungry. We had to limit his intake for a while to make sure he was OK, but he's actually acting much better than he had for maybe the month or two before. We didn't know it, but he'd been hurting for a while.

He'll be on soft food for a week or two, but I don't think he'll be much the worse for wear and it'll be really nice to have a healthy dog back! Of course he's still sightless and a diabetic, but you'd be surprised at how little that bothers him. And as a possible bonus of this procedure he went through, the vet thought his diabetes might be much better also. We'll see about that in the days to come.

I feel really bad we didn't catch this problem earlier, but Barney's a pretty stoic little mutt and it's difficult to catch the signals of him hurting if he doesn't display much. In hindsight we can remember certain mannerisms over the past month or two that we should have equated with a problem, but we just missed 'em.

So now we have doggie toothpaste and a doggie toothbrush as a parting gift from his dentist. My question is this: how's he supposed to brush his teeth if he can't hold the toothbrush?

Wait a minute. You don't suppose that we're supposed to...

Oh lord, that ain't gonna be fun...

It's About Time

It's About Time

It seems like a really, really simple thing. I mean, really! At certain times of the year you go to your clocks and watches and chronometers and other timepieces and set the hour forward or backward one unit. If you're performing this task at midnight, you set your clock to either eleven pm or to one am the next day, depending on whether it's spring or fall.

I mean, really, really simple, eh?

And what possible difference would one hour make? How could this adjustment to your clocks make any difference in the world?

I find myself repeating that mantra twice every year and every time I do, my words turn to ashes in my mouth because it makes a lot of difference.

At least it seems to and I'm still not really sure why?

I guess the difficulties are all based on the human diurnal rhythms or our internal clocks. Or the way the sunshine ebbs and flows throughout the year. But it really does seem to be built into us on a sub-conscious level. We always hope that it won't bother us this time, but on the spring morning when you wake up after resetting your clock one hour ahead, your body will disagree with the clock. He will not be happy about your messing with the time.

Not at all.

Of course this phenomenon is really just jet lag hiding in its vernal or autumnal equinox disguise. It is indistinguishable from flying east or west to another time zone.

So, at least in my case, you end up walking around a bit tired and groggy and bumfuzzled for a week or so after the change. Bedtime seems to come too early (or late) and the morning dawns long before you're ready for it or strangely later.

I know there are places here and there that don't fiddle with their clocks twice a year. According to what I read on the internet, Arizona (with the exception of the Navaho Nation), Hawaii and the territories of Puerto Rico, Guam and American Samoa do not participate in this bi-annual procedure, but stay on “standard time” the year round.

I'm not terribly interested in exactly why they chose not to fiddle with their clocks although it's probably a fascinating story. My real question to folks living in those places is this: how do you know when to change the batteries on your smoke detectors? I always use the time change to remind myself to get another pair of nine-volts at the store and stick 'em in the detectors. I'm sure I'd be at a loss in Arizona. Maybe they use Christmas and Independence Day as their reminders. I'll have to ask the next time I see an Arizonan. Or is it Arizonian?

And then there's the question on how do you remember which way to move the hands of the clock? I guess the most memorable mnemonic is the old adage “spring forward and fall back”. Pretty straight forward, eh? But a little adversarial voice inside my noggin always tries to mess me up. He says stuff like, “how about you springing back and falling forward?” I try to ignore that crazy little voice, but he can cause me to second guess myself from time to time.

Another concern with this fun time of year: we have a lot of timepieces around my house. Yes, some of them do the twice-yearly jump all by themselves – the computers and cell phones and the televisions seem to take care of this task with commendable alacrity. Even one of our bedroom alarm clocks also does it. But there always seems to be a lot of battery clocks that require your physical attention and they always seem to be hung just a wee bit higher on the wall than you remembered them being. Or the timepiece needs some complicated pressing of buttons to achieve the desired hour. I had a wristwatch like that. After a couple years of swearing at the darn thing twice a year and trying to reread the instructions with its tiny print and oddly-phrased English, I finally gave up on it and relegated it to a drawer. The learning curve on the beast was sadly more than I wanted to attempt and a lot of the functions that the 873-page instruction manual said would do this or that, wouldn't. Or maybe this feeble-minded button pusher missed one of the manipulations that were required. Whatever the reason, off to the drawer it went. So I backslid to an analog watch a year or so ago with a stem that I could twist and turn and hands that would move to those manipulations. Easy-peasy.

Once in a while I'm guilty of forgetting to reset the clock on the thermostat. Missing that one results in some icy cold mornings when getting out of bed because the setback programs still think you're living on the “other” time. I usually get yelled at by my wife when I miss that one – she's the one that gets up early. And, of course, resetting the time on that isn't exactly easy either.

Even with all the downsides and hassles of changing the clocks, it is kind of nice in the spring to have that extra hour of daylight in the evenings. To do things with the family, to go outside and enjoy the daylight after toiling all day at work.

Except for the sad fact that I work second shift and the extra daylight in the evening is only a tease outside my office windows.

So I trudge along in my acclimation week, sleepy and a bit grumpy, glancing at the clock, mumbling to myself a bit and waiting for my slow-ass body to catch up with the new rhythms of the world.

Should be good to go in about a week. That'd be about time.

A Tale of Two Sisters

A Tale of Two Sisters

          ---Sometimes it feels like simply saying thank you just isn't enough.---

                                                                    &

After living these past six-and-a-half decades and watching how things work in the world and trying to understand what I've seen, I've discovered something. Most families seem to always have at least one member that's become the go-to person or the rallying point for the family. It might not even be the oldest or the smartest or the richest one, but there is always one that is accepted as the one you go to to get things done. They're the ones that the other family members defer to and ask to spearhead social occasions, to host and celebrate family happenings, the birthdays, the anniversaries, the weddings and the graduations.

They become the hosts, for many reasons, of the gatherings that provide the glue for the family and, in many instances, the extended family. They're the ones that know who's got a major birthday or anniversary coming up, the ones who always have a smile for your accomplishments and a cake to celebrate them. They seem to genuinely enjoy having family in for the holidays and to always be there to help out when times require a helping hand.

I am delighted to say I have two sisters who are magnificent in those positions.

My sister Kathy came into my family when my father remarried in 1976. My birth mother had passed away several years before and my father was lucky enough to find a wonderful woman with which to share the rest of his life. She had four children from her previous marriage and the oldest was named Kathy. Our blended family worked well together for quite a few years, with my father and her mom being the “go to” folks during that time period as is usually the case with parents. But when my father passed away in '92 and Kathy's mom began to grow infirm from age some years ago, the mantel of family “go to” person easily evolved onto her.

Kathy was always a stand-up gal. She was probably the one child of the blended family who had their head screwed on the best and who always demonstrated wisdom far beyond her years. She made a good marriage and had two great kids. She was the one that we all gravitated toward when tragedy struck; when dad passed away, when her sisters passed away long before their time, during the tough divorces and other life-altering circumstances she was there. She always had something for you to eat, a shoulder that you could cry on, a hanky to wipe away your tears.

She was our rock.

She took a job at a large church near where she lived and gained more and more responsibilities as her tenure there grew. She recently pleased all of us by answering a call and becoming an ordained minister, a position that seems to suit her well.

She was and is a tough, fair and deep-down nice lady who I'm proud to call sister.

On my wife's side of the family I'm extremely pleased to say I have another super sister! I'm not sure how I got so lucky, but I seemed to have hit a home run in wonderful women in the family.

Maenar became a member of the family some years ago when she married my brother-in-law Roy. Maenar and her family own and operate the most successful Chinese restaurant in the city in which she and Roy reside. You can probably understand why I was pleased and intrigued by that union. Suddenly I had a restaurant in the family! And, to top it off, a Chinese sister-in-law! How utterly exotic was that for this semi-naive Ohioan of German/English/Italian heritage. I had a cousin who had married a Thai girl during the Vietnam war and I always enjoyed visits with them. She was also a wonderful lady and a marvelous cook. And now, another Asian-American in the family. With a well-loved restaurant coming along for the ride!

How cool was that!

Maenar is about five foot nothing and her weight is barely in the triple digits. She has a world-class smile and is quite possibly, all kidding aside, one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, man or woman. Besides all that, she has a work ethic that would shame most people. She is an exemplary example of the “treat your customers right and they'll always come back” school of business owners. As is the norm for people like that, her workdays are always long. She is the front person in the restaurant and is the “face of the place”. People come from many miles around to eat there and do so over and over again.

And they always look for Maenar when they step in the door.

They know they'll get treated wonderfully and their meals will be superb. (Her brothers are the cooks and they're great!) The turnover at the restaurant is minimal. Her wait staff simply adore her. She's been known to close the restaurant, grab her “girls” and take them to New York for a weekend on the town to say thanks for work well done.

She is the one on that side of the family that everyone gravitates toward. She can plan a celebration and host it, spearhead a charity, support her husband in his business endeavors, lavish untold attention to her husband's children and their myriad of activities, and still be sure to ask you what you've been doing and how the world's been treating you. And really listen to your answers.

She's one of those folks who would rather stand than sit, walk than stand and run than walk. I'm constantly amazed at her energy and her joie de vivre.

Maenar is an absolute joy to be around and I am, again, also proud to call her sister.

My little immediate family, the three of us here in my small home town, have often been the recipients of my sister's invitations to their places, to sup with them, to celebrate the accomplishments of the family, to commiserate with them during down times. We've gathered together with the rest of the family at their homes and businesses to commemorate the holidays, to rejoice in engagements, children, marriages and noteworthy accomplishments, to join in the ongoing song of family and of solidarity.

And when the festivities are over, when the handshakes and hugs are concluded, when the promises to get together again “real soon” are spoken, how do you say thank you? How do you express your joy and happiness at being a part of this strange and wondrous thing, this amalgamation of disparate people with wildly differing lives who constitute the members of this family, this totally unique thing?

You say thank you Kathy and you say thank you Maenar.

But it never, ever seems to be enough.

So you sit down and maybe try to express the thank you in written form, trying to say the words differently. Maybe if you said them in another language they might be more eloquent. Gracias. Danke. M goi. Dank je. Grazie. Domo arigato. Xie xie. Merci. Spasibo.

But, in the end, it's always thanks Maenar and thanks Kath.

And it still just doesn't seem like enough...