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Update At Gee, does that remind you of anyone we know? Tonight's schedule - I was scheduled for a Cub Scout Leader Meeting 6:30 - 8 pm. Ann was scheduled for a Girl Scout leader meeting 7 - 7:30 pm. Rhiannon wanted to participate in Destination Imagination - or just good old "DI" - and that organizational meeting was 6:30 - 8 pm. The good news was tonight was the heavy night. Tomorrow is lighter, followed by Wednesday with only one kid-only event - Thursday and Friday we apparently have off - Saturday is Jack's birthday, and Sunday - dare I say it? We have off. Of course, then there's next week. Tuesday pack meeting, Wednesday Choir, Thursday morning DI, Thursday night Girl Scouts, Friday morning Chess Club, Saturday Rhiannon and Ann have Girl Scout Badge day, while Jack and I will spend much of it delivering wreaths. Sunday, which would be the Sunday before Thanksgiving, I get initiated into the Knights of Columbus, and then we have ... oh, heck, more of the same. You get the idea. And now that I'm finally running the notes for my tiger parents, guess what I've run out of? You got it. Paper. Sheesh. |
Update At 2250 As I grew older, I learned about the responsibilities of command, and how a soldier or military person of any service could choose to contest orders they felt were unlawful - though in the case of the war in Southeast Asia, it would have done little good. But I was, and remain, disgusted by the "protesters" who blamed those soldiers for everythign wrong with the world. The average grunt is not party to the decisions of his higher-ups - and while we'd sure like to have a voice in governmental policy, the painful truth is that we're listened to about once every other year - if at all. And while I'm thankful and more than thankful for the Veterans we have and their sacrifices, I believe we owe it to them to find and support leaders who will not waste their lives on the removal of dictators we don't like - sure, Saddam was evil - and there's no other evil dictators on the planet now, are there? Not a single lying little tin-pot dictator out there anywhere. Right. But I digress - we owe it to our veterans and their families to make damned sure that their leadership - and by "leadership" I mean the man or woman with his or her finger on the button - who will not waste their lives as so many have been wasted in Iraq already. So that was how my day "off" started. It went downhill rather quickly thereafter. After taking care of the daycare stuff, I tried to take Ann to her bus - and failed miserably, missing it by a full three or four minutes. Okay, downtown St. Paul it is. Then back to the garage for a dropoff - and I found out that the promised ride home evaporated in a cloud of fever, vomit, and various other "crud-like" symptoms that struck down two of the shop's mechanics, and as I stood talking to the shop owner, another mechanic disappeared into the small room to place a phone call to the fellow on the really big phone - you remember Ralph? So, I says to myself, self, we're about two and a half miles from home (er, four, but who's counting?), let's hoof it. And off I hoofed for about forty-five minutes until I got a call. "Er, your eldest is unwell. Get her." Ah. Er. I'm not quite half-way home. "What you want I should do, fly?" Yes? No. Taxi?
So after some back-and-forthing, I settled down to rest for a moment - then realized that I needed to get the car back. So I hoofed it (another mile on the feet) to the bus stop (much cheaper than a taxi, all told), and back I go - to within a half-mile of the shop. Feets, don't fail me now. I start hoofing it to the shop. And what to my wondering hip should occur but another phone call (since I have my phone on vibrate, I'm assured of at least one WTF moment daily - when it rings, and I briefly wonder "have I blown a major gasket, or is that my cell phone?"), this time, the school nurse. "Hi, I've got Jack - he ate a big lunch, and he's thinking he's gonna throw up." Lovely, it'll be about 30 minutes. "Okay. I'll have him lay down here." To the shop, where they've got the part on order, it'll arrive tomorrow, and they'll replace the shift knob with a non-freezing kind. Nice. Into the car, over to school, and there's Jack on the Nurse's cot. Pick him up, remind him that if he misses school, he will have to miss his Tiger meeting. The tears roll down, but he nods and quietly heads out of the nurse's office. "Holy Sh*t," says I, "he must REALLY be sick!" Call Ann, have her make a quick Doctor's appointment for both kids, since one of Jack's best buds is down with Strep. Get Rhiannon, get over to the Doctor's office. The quick Strep culture comes back negative (phew), so we head home, and I finally diagnose the headachy-nausea feeling in myself - I haven't had BREAKFAST yet and it's 4:00! A quick snack, a quick look through my book, and there we are, a meeting plan for the Tiger Den. Back out to rescue Ann from the bus, a stop to get dinner, my Den Leader, a stop at home to eat dinner, and then load the car. Off to school where we held the meeting, pack up, come home, and ... relax? Maybe. We'll see. Tomorrow's got to be easier. All I have to do is work... |
Update At 2130 I wrote a few weeks back about my father's broken hip. Shortly thereafter (knowing my father quite well), I asked my mother what was being done to make the house more handicapped-accessible. "Oh, we don't know if he's coming home" says mom. "He might be in one of those assisted living places." Fat chance, toots. This man will go back to that house if he has to walk, broken hip, polio, and all. So I started researching ramps. About two weeks ago we had another discussion. "Oh, we're having that done by Uncle [name deleted]." Gee. Thanks, Mom. One of the few times I would think my father would be thankful for my "overbuilding" traits, and they farm the damned job out. Okay. So tonight, what happens? "Uncle [name deleted] can't do it," (well, duh, mom, Uncle is in his seventies, and swinging a hammer in the middle of winter on a ramp isn't his, or anyone else's, idea of a good time - mine, yeah, but that's just me...). Okay, then. So I have a couple of weeks (perhaps three or four) to design, build, and install a ramp my father can use with a wheelchair to get in and out of his house. Times like this, I go with my strengths. I call my buddy the architect. "Can you get me some plans?" We'll see what we'll see... I'm beginning to think "overcommitted" refers to my life - in general. Oh well. Beats the hell out of being bored. I just wish I had time to uncrate and play with my birthday present...
Oh, Go Soak Your Heads I see the Senate is going to spend hours pissing and moaning about not getting four nominees through the confirmation process - Gee, I wonder how many of Bill Clinton's appointees the Republicans held up? I think I understand the problem in Washington - we're electing people who should be IN a daycare to run the country. So instead of the Senate doing any useful work for a day and a half or so, they're going to sit and sulk about not getting everything they want. What ever happened to compromise? Whatever happened to "let's work this out"? I guess it fell by the wayside along with intelligence, common goals, common sense, and the common good. You know, when I was out of work for fourteen months, I would have been quite happy with a ratio of four interviews to 172 resumes sent out - I damned well would have been ecstatic. But no, apparently in government, the idea is to wail like a spoiled child in a candy store, hoping against hope that mom will give in and give you what you want. Gee, if I piss, whine, moan, and wail long enough, will someone give me a winning lottery ticket? A million dollars? A great job? I don't think so - that's not the way it works. What the deal is, see, is you work hard, prove you're worth it, and then you get a good job. The other things? Well, the odds aren't in your favor, but you can keep hoping. I guess it is true - we get the government we deserve. Frankly, I really thought I deserved better. Then again, I'm thinking that a bunch of trained chimpanzees would do just as well - and the best part is that trained chimps would also provide more entertainment, and require fewer handlers, than the Senate and House do. Gee. I may have something here... |
Update At 2245 Sadly for them, I moved, and they wasted a fair amount of piss, vinegar, and good, decent electrons. I guess I really wouldn't have a problem with most of the kooks in this country if they didn't spin things so far off that I know they're desperately in need of a dosage adjustment. One whiner complained that the Senate hadn't approved any of Bush's nominees. So sorry, not so, Sparky. He's been able to get 168 of 172 approved. Now, I don't know about your job, but if I was successful 168 times out of 172 when I had to get 60 people to agree on something, I'd be more than over-the-moon thrilled, myself. Put it another way - if George Bush had managed to have any three players on his baseball team (when he owned it) who could add their batting averages together to get a .976 batting average, I think the first thing that would have happened is Dubyah's daddy would have fallen over - who knew that little idiot could add to nine hundred plus? For, as we all know, the Texas counting methodology (at least, back when oil was flowing, and when Dubyah allegedly went to school) is one-two-three-many-lots-one million, two million, three million, four million... You get the idea. Anyway - no, Dub the Shrub isn't getting screwed - he's pretty much getting everything he asked for. As to the four he's not gotten through the Senate, what's so special about those four? Aren't there four other equally competent people for the job hanging around? Or is it a case of these four are poorly qualified, but he wants them anyway? Or, heaven forbid, they're four people who have opinions that run counter to someone else's? Good grief. The only sure thing these days is that we shall never run out of idiots - we have a self-replicating supply. Sadly, that's the one thing idiots are very good at. Making other idiots.
So how WAS my day? So tonight after dinner I had to turn around and head to the usual store (Menards) to get a float/flap valve. And for once, it went in just the way it should have. Makes me wonder just what the hell I did wrong downstairs. So there's a project for the weekend. Of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and whilst at Menards, I stumbled across a wall clock. In 1991, Ann and I moved out of our second married home (same building as our first, just farther down a hall, and down a few flights of stairs), and into our third. When we did so we left behind a single memento - a wall clock which she'd had since before we were dating. I moved a clock that had been in the living room into the bathroom, where it sat on the counter - sometimes nearly buried - for ten years. Nearly every week I swore that I would get a better clock - specifically, one that I could read from across the room with my glasses off and soap in my eyes. And I didn't - until tonight. We now are in the possession of a $4.88 wall clock for the bathroom. It's the little things that count. I also went hog wild, and picked up a pair of work gloves for the upcoming woodworking fiesta later this month. And, in an absolute freaking fit of shopping insanity, I splurged on both cheap lumber (11 1"x8"x24" pine boards at 69¢ each) and a bench grinder (under $20). The one will allow me to build Jack a little "scrap bin" type of box so I can reclaim my milk crates for tool hauling for long-distance jobs, while the other will allow me to ... make better use of my birthday present - which, God willing, I'll get to use before Christmas, if I'm lucky. Other than that, not a whole heck of a lot going on. I will spend some time this weekend working on ramp plans, of course. The one "bright" idea I did have is that as this thing is going to be something in the neighborhood of 40 feet long, I might as well make it in parts - so I'm making it in six separate pieces - first I'll build the "platform frame" which will be a 2x8 box and 2x6 supports inside - three of these will be normal, one will be six feet long, another five feet with an odd angle on one end (the "bend"), and the final unit will be the "ground contact" portion - Lord only knows what that one will look like. I also had a fair inspiration on the rest of the thing as well. Rather than try to figure out how to make the whole thing work ahead of time, I'm going to take an eight-foot 2x10 and slice it on an angle, so that I can make two long boards with a rise of one inch for twenty inches of run. Then this board will be used whenever/where ever possible to mark the "drop" of the ramp, and I'll use posts sitting on concrete pads (for now) to determine the appropriate height. Next spring the posts will come out one at a time and proper footings will be put down (if needed - we might not have to) for these things. Finally, I had a thought about the railing/sides. I've seen many a ramp with the nice every-two-inches balusters screwed into the deck frame and rail top - and that's a hell of a lot of screwing (pardon the double-entendre there, please). Instead, I'm going to take 2x8 chunks of treated lattice and put it in a 2x4 frame, and then bolt the frames to the posts to cut down on the crap that blows across. I'm also planning on adding regular old landscape lighting to the thing so they can see to get up and down it when it's dark (which it usually is this time of year), along with some other "improvements". It'll be fun. Expensive, but fun. As to the rest? Well, I learned a new phrase today. "This is a chicken and egg problem - it's not rocket surgery." "Or brain science," another fellow across the table deadpanned. PHBs - gotta love 'em. Without them, we'd be the idiots... |
Update At 2355 +/- a bit My wife arranged with her female friends to hold a Girl's night. As there were budgetary concerns, they decided that we'd use one of the houses for the girls (of all ages) and one for the boys. I lost the toss (might have something to do with the fact that I have dangerous tools in my home), and got tossed out. So I spent the night over at a friend's house, where we watched some TV and Spiderman. We came home and now I'm about to crash. There it is, a Phil Hough-like Friday night... G'nite. |
Update At 2230 He stood in the bathroom saying "What? WHAT!?" Standing over a crumpled towel. Which I had done nearly everything but place his face upon it to indicate it was the object of my displeasure - well, not it, precisely, but that it had, through no fault of it's own, managed to land wet and rumpled in the middle of my bathroom floor. The very bathroom where someone was experimenting with his "Bath Chalk". Don't tell him it's soap with dye in it - he'll stop doing "warpaint" on his face - and frankly, his face seems about three shades lighter this evening, but as usual, I digress. We were discussing Jack standing over a crumpled towel in my bathroom. I finally had to ask. "Did you use that towel?" "Yea-ah" (that twisted lilt children get when they want to end the phrase with "Duh, Dad" but don't dare). "And do we store dirty towels on the bathroom floor?" "Sometimes..." A far, far cry from what I had been doing exactly seven years earlier. Though it seems now like a thousand. Jack had been born some three hours earlier after a discombobulating whirlwind of events that included a freezing rainstorm, a sleet storm, a snowstorm, inability to find anyone on our "baby is coming" list, Rhiannon's daycare closing within a few weeks, and an incredible, tremendous amount of stress. Not to mention a burnt frozen pizza. But at 9:30 pm on November 15, 1996, I was looking at a nurse, trying hard to follow directions to a hospital I knew damned well where it was, but couldn't for the life of me make sense of her directions. It had changed again from snow to rain, so I was driving into a rather hellish neighborhood, on a Friday night, alone, in freezing rain - to follow an infant only hours old as he rode to get special care for breathing issues. Had I known then what I know now, I can assure you that I'd have been the calmest man in the world - though perhaps the thought of stuffing the child's face into the pillow would have glanced through my mind a time or two - I can't deny that. In the last year, when Jack and I spent nearly every weekday afternoon together (when he wasn't playing with neighborhood friends, climbing onto the roof of the house, or otherwise finding ways to nearly break his fool neck), we managed to get through whatever latent hostility issues we had towards one another (and I freely confess I started them - I'm sure I did - though I don't know why). And I've been so very, very fortunate to learn that I don't have a little yard-ape who I'm tolerating until I can bung him in a barrel or toss his hairy backside out into the street at the stroke of midnight some eleven years hence. I'm one of the most fortunate of fathers - I have a beautiful, wonderful, loving child who daily surprises me. Sometimes pleasantly so, sometimes ... well, let's just say I'm surprised. Like yesterday morning when I realized the bit of cloth on the hook behind the bathroom door was NOT a tee shirt or some washcloth. No, by God, it was Jack's Scooby-Doo underpants, hanging for all the world like an interior decorator had placed them there, some eighteen inches above his highest reach - unless he's climbing cabinets again. When I think of the challenges we'll face - and the heartbreak I'm going to experience when my little boy finds his friends are more important to him than old mom and dad, I'll endure. I'll remember these days - like last night, goofing around in the grocery store - running through the parking lot with him in a "car-cart" pretending to drive - sure, he's about twice the age of kids who are normally in those things, but then again, he is making up for lost time. I'm just so very fortunate to be able to be here with him and watch him do it. |
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