In a contest between a weed whacker and a pile of doggy dung, the only looser is the guy holding the weed whacker…
Opening Scenes In Books I Will Never Write – Chapter Two: “Mondays In Tazania”
Tazania… (Pronounced Tuh-zaaay-nee-uh)
It was a Monday…. It was raining, and that should have been the first indication that it was going to be a lousy day…. It’s always raining in Tazania… hot, tropical, steamy rain that makes your clothes stick to your skin like they were dunked in warm maple syrup before you put them on in the morning… and makes the scum on your exposed flesh build up so thick you could scrape it off with your finger nail the way you would scrape a layer of butter off a cube with a butter knife… every day of the week…. Except Mondays…
It always snows on Mondays…
Mondays can always be counted on to provide a cooling, comforting respite from the muggy conditions of the other six days of the week…. Oh, the snow wouldn’t last more than overnight, that’s for sure…. White, cool, powdery all day on Monday, only to have its pristine brightness metamorphose into a murky, lukewarm mess with the always timely arrival of Tuesday… and the rain… and the heat… and the ever-present mud that saturates and mixes with the pure, white, cold powder and turns it into a putrid, brown slush – precisely like what happened to my heart when she walked out on me… on that hot, steamy, rainy Monday… in Tazania…
…
(From Chapter 17 of my bio. But I thought it would be a good addition to the category…)
Murphy’s Law: Episode 2 – The Bonding Experience
My name is Bond – Dog Bond…
Well, hello once again, gentle readers. It’s time for a short status update on the canine relationship in the Kammerer household…
I believe I will begin at 4:00 AM Monday morning, about 11 hours after Murphy Patrick Harrigan O’Kammerer first walked through the front door of his new palatial estate (our house). That’s because 4:00 AM is (apparently) shortly after the time that Judy departed the homestead on her way to the airport to catch a 5:35 AM flight to San Francisco for a conference. I say “apparently” because I have no recollection of her actually leaving.
I first noticed that she was missing when I heard, what sounded like, a wolf howling at the moon. Inside my house. At 4:00 AM. In the dark.
Had I not been asleep at the time, I would have been more clear headed and recorded it and then found a way to assign it to Judy’s alarm clock tone on her cell phone.
But I digress…
I got up, opened the bedroom door, walked down the hallway and followed the call of the wild until I happened across the source. When Murphy saw he, he immediately ceased verbal communication, sauntered over to me and demonstrated his joy at seeing me still present in the domicile.
Like a good dad, I squatted down in front of him and assured him that I was still there and had no plans to boogie in the near future.
(Later that night, I told Judy about it over the phone. She said “Howling?”.
I replied, “Yes. Like a wolf.”
“You mean like this,” and proceeded to loudly say the long drawn out word “Aaooooooooooooooo!”
“Yes, quite like that, actually. Although, if I was in a hotel room with people all around me, I would probably not do that particular imitation.”)
I led him back to his bed (The Murphy Bed), coaxed him into curling up on top of it, said goodnight and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. I decided to leave the door open in case he needed to hear me snoring or something, just to make sure I was still there… I drifted off to sleep.
A couple of hours later, I poured myself out of bed and headed toward the room with no telephone and the big hole in the chair. On the way, I noticed that I tripped over something quite fluffy, though not all that soft…
Now that we were both wide awake, I went out and fixed him breakfast. I think my culinary talents must be improving because he seemed to like the breakfast breakfast I assembled for him. But then, dog food isn’t that hard to cook, I guess…
After breakfast, we girded our loins for battle (I put on pants and he put on his leash) and went for another walk around part of the yard to which he had, as yet, not been introduced. We had a great time marking our trail (‘we’, meaning ‘he’). This is all in an effort to familiarize him with the boundaries of the place. Some day we are going to go out there without a leash, and I want him to know where he is while we’re hiking around or dragging fallen trees, etc.
After a productive morning of work, we spent lunch time exploring and getting familiar with the neighborhood, topped off with a trip to the store to get some milk and bread. I wanted to see how he would react to a ride in the back seat of the truck. And how he would react to stayingin the truck for five minutes while I rushed in, got the stuff and rushed out.
I’m happy to say that he did GREAT! When I got back, he was in the driver’s seat with one of his paws on the steering wheel and a big smile on his face! By the time I got the phone out to take a picture, his paw was back in place underneath him. Bummer… It would have made a GREAT picture…
We have been learning a lot about each other the past couple of days. He knows I work upstairs, and I go up and down several times a day. He’s not at the point where he’s figured out that when I go downstairs during the day, I will probably be back up in about 30 seconds, so he follows me every trip up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down…
I am pretty sure that he’ll get over that soon enough and start waiting to see if I’m coming back up/down shortly before he follows me.
Fast forward to about 4:00 this morning…
Again, last night, I left the bedroom door open in case Murphy needed reassurance. I really slept well last night, but I woke up at about 4:00 with a feeling of pressure in my chest. That kinda spooked me until I put my hand there and found that it was Murphy’s head. He had hopped up on the bed in the night, curled up to me and slept with his head on my chest.
A couple of more walks today and another trip in the truck to go get the mail.
Tonight’s walk was the longest one since he’s been here. Maybe two miles round trip. At one point we came upon a covey of quail. (For those of you who don’t know what a ‘covey’ of quail is, it’s a group of quail. Like a ‘congress of baboons’ – yes, that’s what a group of baboons is really called – or a ‘noise of children’ – no, that’s not what a group of children is really called, but it is fun to think so.)
My right arm is now about 2 inches longer than my left…
I’m figuring out what English he knows.. So far, this is what I know he knows:
Off
Stay
Sit
Go
This way
Off
Good dog
Good boy
Heel
Murphy
Off
No
OK
Back
Treat
Off
I’m also figuring out to which English he best responds:
Off
This way
Treat
Back
Treat
All in all, I think we are bonding well…
On to Wednesday!
A Very Happy St. Patrick’s Day…
Fifteen days ago, we lost a beloved member of the family… It was, as most of you know – many from going through the same experience – even recently so, quite painful for both of f us.There has been a great big hole in our home, and in our hearts, since then.
That’s not what this post is about…
Today, we welcomed a new member into the family! We have filled in a big part of that hole, and Judy and I are happy to say that we traveled about 500 miles round trip this weekend and adopted another Brittany!
He is either 8 years and 8 months old, or he’s 5 years and 1 month old – we’re not sure. There is conflicting information on that. We hope to clear that up on Monday. Either way, he is a very sweet dog and he is lying down right beside my chair as I type.
We found him in a rescue home in Quincy CA. He had been there for about a month after the foster “parents” rescued him from a shelter where he had been for three weeks after being surrendered by his former owner.
We discovered that he has an interesting “name” history. Apparently, he has gone by the name “Dog” for most of his life. The folks who welcomed him into their home and loved him up over the last month thought he deserved a more imaginative name, so they renamed him “Dodger”. A much better name for a dog – it makes him more personal.
Long story short, Judy contacted Louise and Derrek (his foster parents) when she found Dodger online. After several traded emails and phone calls, we all agreed to a meeting in Yuba City this afternoon to make sure everybody agreed that this was a good idea. We met, and the decision was made…
Judy had been talking with her sister, Kathy, about it and Kathy mentioned that it’s often suggested that the new owners change the name, for some reason. This kinda fit into our situation…
You see, while the name “Dodger” was a massive upgrade from the name “Dog”, I, and most of my family are from San Francisco, where the word “Dodger” is not spoken in polite company.
This, of course, presented a bit of a concern for us because, in other circumstances, it is a great name for a dog. For instance, if you live (or grew up) in Los Angeles, or Brooklyn, you couldn’t go wrong giving your dog that moniker. But my family either all lives in Northern CA, after being born here, or they live in San Diego where the name is held in nearly equal disfavor.
Another concern was that we didn’t want to hurt Louise and Derrek’s feelings because they came up with such a good name for a dog.
Concern number two was alleviated just as we were parting company this afternoon. Louise and I had just said goodbye when she said, “Oh! By the way, do you know how he got his name?”
She related the story to me and finished up with “So you can rename him to anything you want, if you like.”
I told her my relief and the reason for it. She asked if we were going to name him “Giant”.
“No, Judy ‘s a Padres fan,” I said. “We will think of something appropriately neutral.”
With the demise of concern number two, the demise of concern number one became reality…
We had about a four hour drive home and had a great time with Dodger. He’s a happy doggie…
On the way home, we were thinking of names left and right. None of them seemed to fit. About 90 minutes away from home, Judy saw a sign with the name “Kelly” on it. How about “Kelly”? After all, it IS St. Patrick’s Day.”
I almost involuntarily changed lanes.
“YOU ARE A GENIUS!,” said I… “But not Kelly – – – – HARRIGAN!”
“We could call him “Harry,” she replied. “Or there’s ‘Patrick’,” she went on. After all, it’s St. Patrick’s Day.”
“We could call him ‘Paddy’,” I responded. “No, that doesn’t sound like a nick name for a dog. It’s a much better nick name for a hamburger.”
We went on like this for about three quarters of an hour. Then it hit me…
“Murphy,” I blurted out… “We can call him ‘Murphy…”
It was brilliant, I know… But we were still not quite satisfied. We liked all of them – Harrigan (because it was my Irish Grandparents’ name), Patrick (because it was his day, though we couldn’t see ourselves calling a dog Patrick, or any derivative of Patrick) and Murphy because it’s a great name for a dog…
The indecision was monumental… A single decision was not forthcoming…
So here’s what we decided to go with…
Say “Hello” to Murphy Patrick Harrigan O’Kammerer…
He even looks, Irish, doesn’t he? Actually, I think he looks like Carl Malden…
The Max Factor – The Final Chapter…
I sit at my keyboard with reddened eyes and tear streaked cheeks, in mourning and in gratitude.
Mourning because my nearly constant companion and best buddy over the last three years, one week and one day, Max, is gone.
Gratitude because I thank God for seeing fit to finagle a way bring us together in the first place.
Max was, as any of you who love dogs will understand, part of the family. He was just about the happiest dog I ever met. No matter what, he always had a joyful demeanor and the look to go along with it… (See above – He almost always looked like that when he was awake.)
Except, perhaps, when he was taking a bath…
Or pointing at something…
For which he was trained at an early age…
Or when he was just feeling lazy, or patiently waiting for me to acknowledge him or say “Ya wanna go for a walk outside?”
He loved hiking in the woods…
No matter what the weather…
Even better if he was with a friend…
And even if he had a frozen butt…
He loved having fun in the snow, though he never quite got the concept of “mush!”…
He loved hanging out with the family…
And running in the back yard…
He even liked Panther, though she only learned to tolerate him…
And he had an affinity for waste baskets, though he never admitted it – even when he got caught he would give us the “who? Me?” look…
He loved helping me work in the yard…
He stuck by my side all day every day. While I was working in my office, he was right there beside my desk. I kept treats for him there, and every couple of hours I would ask him “You want a treat?”
Treat was one of the words he knew best… He never refused one. Even an hour before he died, he would still eat a treat, and be happy about it.
Max loved everything about life, I think. He was still a puppy at heart, though not in body. He kinda reminded me of my brother-in-law, Jeff, that way…
And kinda like me, too…
Being a “senior” dog (He was 13 when he died) when he first came to live with us, he had some arthritis in his hips. We spent thousands of hours massaging those hips, and happily so. He loved it. He would come up to us and we would scratch his head for about 15 seconds, and then he would start walking until his rear end was swung around and facing us, ready to be rubbed.
He loved our daily/nightly walks around the neighborhood… And he loved hiking with us in the back yard… And he always was a “puller”. No matter what mood he was in, once he was on a leash and walking around the neighborhood or the woods or anyplace else, he became a puppy again. He had to sniff everything that was associated with another animal, and when he wasn’t sniffing, he was dragging us along the path.
And he would eat anything he could wrap his jaws around…
Until the last three days…
Every morning, he would be lying down outside our bedroom door, waiting for us to exit. And waiting for the magic word, “breakfast!”. Thursday, the 28th, I walked out and announced “breakfast time for Max!” as I proceeded down the hallway toward the doggie diner. . I fixed his breakfast and noticed that he wasn’t behind me waiting. I just figured that he would get to it when he felt like it.
Later that day I came downstairs for lunch, and I noticed that he hadn’t touched his breakfast. Alarm bells went off in my head, but I let it go.
Then, after work, I got him ready for a walk around the neighborhood. He was, as usual, excited about that and we started off. He wasn’t pulling me along. And he wasn’t sniffing. More alarm bells.
When we got back, I noticed that he had vomited in four places.
At that point, I was really worried. When Judy got home, we talked about it and decided she would take him to the vet on Friday morning.
Judy and I stayed up with Max until 5:00 the next morning, trying to make him comfortable. At 9:30, Judy got him in to see the vet. They ran several tests and called Judy about noon.
Long story short, Max was in critical condition with advanced liver cancer and in acute pain. We were crushed. They had him medicated with pain killers, and suggested they keep him overnight on IVs and check on him in the morning.
We talked about it and asked if we could bring him home and take care of him here, especially since no one would be there with him overnight. And we thought we could keep a better eye on him anyway.
They were wonderful. As long as he had no IVs inserted, we could bring him home. We picked him up at about 5:00 in the afternoon, along with several doses of the pain killer and an empathetic conversation with a wonderful nurse and doctor. But we knew that we would bring him back the next morning, and he would not be returning home with us again…
We wanted to make sure that his last night would be as comfortable and filled up with as many of his favorite things as we could… And it tore us up inside… He was in pain, his breathing was extremely labored and he couldn’t get or keep anything down.
We took him for his last walk around the neighborhood – it was slow and tough on Judy and me, but he enjoyed it…
Last night, Judy and I both slept next to Max’s bed, in front of the fireplace. Not so much sleep, actually. We spent the night being with him, petting his head and stroking his back, talking to him, telling him what a good dog he is and how much we love him and going outside with him when he needed to go outside. And trying to get pain killers down his throat. We would pet him until he fell asleep, and his breathing became somewhat easier, and then wait for him to wake up again and start over.
The next morning at about 7:30, I took him for his last walk around the back yard. I cried most of the way…
Then he rested in the piano room…
And played ‘hide and seek’ under the piano…
It was time to go…
We arrived at the vet hospital and met the nurse on the back side of the building. Eventually, we got into the room, where they had laid out a fluffy, soft blanket on the floor. Max knew what to do with that, so he got comfortable. I laid down on the floor close beside him, put my arm around him, facing him, each of us looking into each others eyes. Judy on the other side of him on a short chair, caressing his back while I stroked his head and neck area, speaking to him just above a whisper when I wasn’t choking up.
The nurse came into the room to flush out the catheter on his leg and make sure it was open. She asked if we would like a few more minutes. I said, “no. but if you can arrange it, we would like to have a few more years.” The nurse began to tear up and left to get the doctor…
After a few minutes, the doctor came in and re-explained what was going to happen.
She said, “I know that making this decision was the hardest thing you’ve ever done.”
“No,” I managed to get out, “This is the second hardest thing I have ever done. The hardest thing I’ve ever done is to observe the reason I did the second hardest.”
She paused a moment with a thoughtful look on her face…
Finally, she nodded her head in agreement and said, “Are you ready?”
Judy and I both answered, “Yes,” and I started talking to Max again while she retrieved the needle..
Both of us stroking Max’s now shaking body, I spoke into his ear, repeating the words he had come to know over the past three years. “You are such a good doggy, Max. What a good boy. You”re my best buddy and my best friend, Max. I love you, Max.”
One difference this time… I ended with “I Love You, Max… Goodbye, Max…”
He stopped shaking. He stopped his labored breathing. He went limp. Judy and I both broke down…
It was exactly 10:00 AM…
Sometimes “goodbye” is the toughest love of all…
We had previously agreed to talk about something else on the way home, just so we could get home in one piece. I couldn’t help myself and started to say something about the events of the past three days when Judy interrupted me with “How about them Bears, huh?”
That got us home. As we walked into the house, I almost yelled out my, now, customary “Helloooooo Max!” but caught myself.
It didn’t matter – we both fell apart anyway. We wrapped each other in a consoling hug and regained our composure. Then we started gathering Max’s beds, toys and other things… More crying and consoling…
This has gone on the entire day. We are still very emotional about it. I am a wimp, but I think that in this case I can afford to be.
There is a sign in Max’s feeding room, above his full food bowl. Judy reached for it and I stopped her. I wanted to keep it there…
It’s still there…
Thank you, Lord, for bringing Max into our lives. Thank you for the joy he brought us.
Thank you for the laughter, the games of ‘fetch the duck’ and ‘keep away’ and a thousand other moments of fun and games.
Thank you for the buddy to take on a hike, always ready to hop into the car and take off for adventures unknown.
Thank you for allowing us into Max’s life – to give him a place and a family by whom to be loved, and to make his “golden” years a time of joy and security…
And thank you for the pain and grief we are feeling now – because from that we know that love exists…
I have often pondered, over the past three years, one week and one day, the fact that “God” spelled in reverse is “dog”. If God is love, and I believe He is, then can it be said that “Love is dog”?
Today, you would have a hard time convincing me otherwise…
We Love You, Max… Goodbye, Max…
…
…
…
…
…
*If there is an ad below, I didn’t put it there… It’s a WordPress thing.
The Max Factor – Chapter Seven: Poetry Dedicated To Max (Maxetry) – Verse Two
Hello again, gentle reader… Once again, it’s time for another Max Inspired sonnet, officially inspired by Max…
I launch…
Max: A Dog’s Life
By
The Very William H. Kammerer, Jr., Esquire (not)
.
I spend my life barking at flies
And I wonder why
And so does the fly
.
I pass my day staring at cats
I think about that
And so does the cat
.
I often dream of chasing down cows
And I wonder how
And so does the cow
.
I truly enjoy hunting down deer
I’ll catch them, I fear
And so does the deer
.
I often succeed at sniffing out toads
when I’m on the road
And so is the toad
.
But most of all…
.
I LOVE to watch Master picking up poop
For he has no scoop
Nor does the poop
The End…
Thank you for listening…
OK GO: This Too Shall Pass – Rube Goldberg Machine version
This has to be one of the greatest Rube Goldberg Machines ever created.. I don’t often put other people’s work up here, but every now and then something so great comes along that I have to do it.. This is one of those times..
Enjoy!
And as an added extra bonus today only – if you watch in the next 15 minutes – the Notra Dame Marching Band version…
Alpaca Facts – Chapter One: Let’s Go To An Alpaca Event!
Well, friends, it’s time to embark on another adventure into the wonderful world of Animals. This time, we are going to learn all about an animal near and dear to my own heart (they became that way yesterday), the Alpaca.
“The Alpaca,” you ask?
“Yes! The Alpaca,” I answer.
What is an Alpaca? Well, It’s kinda hard to describe unless you have seen one. Fortunately, I have seen one. In fact, I have seen several – all of them yesterday.
Thinking about it, it’s even hard to describe an Alpaca even if you have seen one. Or more. But they look kinda like a cross between a camel and a shetland pony. And if that doesn’t help, they also smell like a cross between a camel and a shetland pony.
Does that help?
Maybe this will help…
As we will see down the road, Alpacas come in a variety of sizes, colors and hair styles. But they all have the same number of humps – Zero.
This Alpaca (dubbed “Ringo” by my wife, Judy) is a fine example of a “Rock Star Alpaca”, as delineated by the hair style made famous by some 1960s rock group or other.
But I digress…
Why did I see several Alpacas yesterday?
I’ll tell you…
It all started when Judy and I were paying for our meal at China Delight a couple of weeks ago. We were standing at the cash register, and there it was, ensconced in the traditional “Free Rag” stand that you will see in many retail outlets. The ubiquitous (in our area, anyway) Java Mountain News.
We really should avoid picking up the Java Mountain News but, as I said, it’s free… And, besides, that’s where I got the idea for Cow Facts, one of my biggest hits on this site.
(Truth be told, I had been looking to the JMN for years in hopes of lightning striking twice and have been consistently disappointed in the content since the “Cow Facts” issue. I ceased reading it a couple of years ago because I couldn’t stand the frustration any longer.)
But I digress, yet again…
Judy decided that it was time to pick up another issue and did so.
And, like last time, nothing happened with it until a week.5 later when she needed something to read in the porcelain closet. Aparantly, she was so impressed by an ad that she left the JMN there, opened to the ad, for the next occupant to read and ponder.
Seeing as there are only two people currently residing at our house, I was the next occupant.
I read.
I pondered.
I immediately forgot all about it.
Judy, on the other hand, is not one to forget an ad that looks like this:
So, when she and I were in the back yard yesterday draging dead trees from where they were to the vicinity of the burn pit, she said, “Hey – when we’re done here, you want to go see the Alpacas?”
“Who are the Alpacas? Do we know them from church or do you work with one of them?”
“Neither. They are animals and they live on a ranch in North Fork.”
“What kind of animals?”
“They’re hard to describe unless you’ve ever seen one.”
“Wait a minute. Did you leave an ad in front of the throne?”
“Yeah – that’s what they look like.”
“How do they see? They don’t have eyes. Do they use sonar – like bats?””
“Maybe that’s one of the many things we can learn about them when we go there.”
“I think I have plans. I need to polish my nails. Or something. Maybe wash my hair.”
“Come on! It will be fun!”
“So is washing my hair.”
The “Look”…
“OK. Let’s go see the Alpacas…”
To be continued…
Non Sequiturs – Scene one: Translational Medicine
My wife, Judy, is currently enrolled in medical school. Yes, medical school. At the University of Edinburgh School of Medicine in Scotland. Sounds impressive, huh?
Well, actually, it is. She’s not studying to be a doctor, but to earn a certificate in Translational Medicine. One of the most impressive parts of this is that, normally, only Medical Doctors are accepted into that program. And not many of them, either.
Don’t ask me how she got accepted into the program – I have no idea. But I do know that this isn’t the first time she has mannaged to get into a highly specialized and prestigious program. A few years ago, she earned a Fellowship at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute in Bioinformatics. In that program, there are only about 30 students accepted from around the world per year. She is a Course Fellow in that program. (No, she is not coarse, and she most definitely is not a fellow, so don’t ask again…)
While motoring Northward last weekend with Judy, our son Steven and his girlfriend Amanda, I brought up the fact that “Mom is in medical school”.
Steve, while not unaccustomed to his mother being in some course of study or other, was somewhat intrigued by the fact that she was now in medical school.
“Really? Mom, are you going to be a doctor?”
“Well, no, Steve. I’m actually in a certificate program in Translational Medicine at the University of Edinburgh.”
“In Scotland?”
“Yes. In Scotland.”
“So, what’s translational medicine?”
At this point, Judy launched into a very detailed and informative description of Translational Medicine. And while the following is not word for word what she actually said (I borrowed it from wikipedia), it sounds remarkably like Judy’s monolog – it covers the same stuff.
Only she said a whole lot more and she went on for about 15 minutes
“It is the process which leads from evidence based medicine to sustainable solutions for public health problems. It aims to improve the health and longevity of the world’s populations and depends on developing broad-based teams of scientists and scholars who are able to focus their efforts to link basic scientific discoveries with the arena of clinical investigation, and translating the results of clinical trials into changes in clinical practice, informed by evidence from the social and political sciences. It has several phases:
“It investigates and translates non-clinical research results into clinical applications and tests their safety and efficacy in a Phase 1 clinical trial.The concept arose from research into pharmacotherapy and formed the initial basis for evidence-based practice and clinical guidelines, now incorporated into Translational Medicine. In the case of drug discovery and development, translational research typically refers to the translation of non-human research finding, from the laboratory and from animal studies, intotherapies for patients. This is often called “bench to bedside”. pharmaceutical companies and contract research organisations have a translational medicine division to facilitate the interaction between basic research and clinical medicine to design and conduct clinical trials….”
As I mentioned above, this kind of talk went on for about 15 minutes. I don’t know if anybody in the car, other than Judy, understood a word she said, but it sure sounded impressive.
At this point, she took a breath. And that’s when Steve asked a pertinent question.
“So, will you get to carry a gun?”
I immediately pulled over to the far right lane because the tears were blurring my vision and it was getting hard to see well enough to drive safely…
Meanwhile Judy, completely unable to process what had just happened, sat in stunned silence for the next 22.3 miles, wondering what it was that she said that would cause everybody to laugh so long and hard…
And my stomach still hurts…
What the heck is this thing? “Amazing what you might find when you floss regularly” version…
Drives like a gnat… Looks like a toe…
But they are easy to come by – you get them in Crackerjack boxes.
You can’t just buy one. You have to buy two – one for each foot.
I scrape these things of my windshield.
It looks like something that fell off a charm bracelet.
You have to remember not to leave it lying around anywhere because if somebody steps on it they could break their neck. Imagine the lawsuit…
Honey! I think I found your lost ear ring!
It’s safe as long as you don’t collide with a bicycle. Or a skateboard.
Or a Fly Swatter…
Amazing what you can find when you floss regularly…
Conversations with Judy – Episode 12 – The Max Factor – Chapter Six Point Five: “The Dog” or “Max”
The setup:
This morning at about 4:45 I was lying in bed trying my best not to be awake when it occurred to me that I needed to visit the bathroom. So, stealthily so as not to disturb Judy from her slumber, I slithered from the bed and skulked my way to the bathroom.
After a successful mission there, I decided that I was ready for a glass of Carnation Instant Breakfast and I made my way to the kitchen.
While I mixed up my early morning pre-breakfast, by the light of the refrigerator, I looked out the window over the sink and discovered that it had snowed during the night – the first snow of the year. I thought that was kind of neat, so I went to the breakfast nook to get a better look through the larger windows.
Immagine my surprise when I discovered that, while standing at the window, my right foot was partially submerged in a puddle of cold liquid…
Thinking water must have leaked in through the window, I felt around the sill and frame for more moisture. There was none.
This was, both, a very good sign (because it meant that there was nothing wrong with the construction and installation of the windows) and a very bad sign (because the only other possible sources of the liquid I could think of were me, Judy and Max).
I knew it wasn’t me, and I was cautiously hopeful that it wasn’t Judy. That left only Max.
The chagrin I was experiencing was exacerbated by the fact that the sink and everything necessary to clean up the mess is located about 20 feet from where I was standing with my drippy foot. Not only that, but there is a glass dinette set and a granite island that are positioned between where I was and where I wanted to be.
As I had not the slightest desire to track the biologically induced liquid across the entire kitchen floor, it was required that I hop on one foot from point “A” to point”B” and back again, all the while negotiating the necessary course corrections around the previously mentioned impediments.
And, because I had closed the refrigerator door after constructing my breakfast drink, I had to do all this in the dark.
After I did the cleanup job, both on the floor and my right foot, I went back to bed.
Judy had, somehow, woken up and asked me if everything was OK…
“Everything is fine. I just went to get something to drink,” I replied. “Except that the dog peed on the kitchen floor.”
“The dog?”
“Yes. I figure the only other possibilities were you and me, and I knew it wasn’t me. Plus, I assumed that it wasn’t you because you would have cleaned up after yourself.”
“But you said ‘the dog’.”
“Yes. The dog.”
“You have never referred to Max as ‘the dog’ before.”
“He has never peed on the kitchen floor before.”
“So if he pees on the kitchen floor, you call him ‘the dog’, but any other time he is ‘Max.”
“Yes….…………And let that be a lesson to you.”
As it happens, this warning appears to have been sufficient to keep Judy from peeing on the kitchen floor because it’s been about 15 hours and it’s still dry.
And this is a very good thing because I don’t want to have to call her anything other than ‘Judy’ or ‘Honey’ or ‘Sweetie’ or some other term of endearment.
I’m fairly certain that we both like it that way…
Please Move The Deer Crossing
This audio clip from Y94 Playhouse Fargo, ND radio station was too funny to not find a way for more people to hear it so thus, this video. A lady asks for help getting deer crossing signs moved to lower traffic areas. “The government can guide deer to lower traffic areas” ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! Kudos to Y94 Playhouse and Donna for the joy that you have been given many through laughter.
Some Assembly Required – The Mechanical Me, Verse One: Me and Tools and Assembling Things
One sure way to tell if I have recently been using tools to assemble some doo-dad around the house is to check in at the Church on Saturday afternoon around 3:00. That’s when confessions are heard in our parish, and I usually have to go to confession after building any object that involves more than one part. Moving or otherwise.
God has blessed me with a workbench. And He has blessed me with tools with which to work on various projects around the homestead.
However, He has seen fit to balance the scales by equipping me with the mechanical aptitude of a mango. If there is no possible way to put something together wrong, I will find it.
I have parts left over when I finish looking in the mirror – That’s how bad it is.
Now, don’t get me wrong… In the long run, I am perfectly capable of putting things together. But there are some things that, over the years, I have noticed about my own special process.
- It will take me anywhere from two to four times the specified “expected time to complete” assembly.
- During the process, I usually become convinced that the instructions were meant for an octopus, or in rare instances, a millipede.
- Things most often proceed as if I was dsylexic.
- Since most of the things I try to assemble come from non-English speaking locales, they are written by folks who write English as a third and a quarter language. I, of course, read them as an English firster.
While all of these things have been going on for years, it was only yesterday that I realized why thing 1 takes place. It’s because I sometimes actually put things together two, three or four times before I throw in the towel and simply declare that “It is finished!” (Fortunately, nothing has, yet, fallen apart using this exit strategy.)
Yesterday’s project:
Black and Decker Workmate Portable Workbench and Project Table
It’s actually a pretty handy thing to have and, other than the fact that it didn’t look anything like the floor model (mostly because there was ‘some assembly required’) when I ripped open the box, it is probably the best $30.99 plus tax I have ever voluntarily relinquished to True Value Hardware Stores.
I was so excited when I found it. I was actually looking to replace the folding plastic saw horses that somebody made off with after the house burned down. This was so much better, and so much less expensive!
Yehaw!
Sadly, my mood changed when I saw several plastic bags float to the garage floor upon my opening the box. You see, plastic bags are nature’s way of hiding nuts, bolts, screws and whatever pathetic screwdriver/wrench/hammer/drill/shovel combination tool that the manufacturer inserts into the box with the picture of the fully assembled and operational product on the outside.
There was, of course, most of an instruction manual.
This project actually went (for me) pretty smoothly, once I figured out that the actual artwork (pictures) were mostly in English. It only took me 2 hours and 27 minutes from start to finish. And I only had to disassemble and reassemble twice during the entire process. Somehow, I had managed to reverse parts X and Y when attaching them to parts R and L. But it wasn’t entirely my fault – I did that before I realized that those letters in French are actually pretty much the same as they are in English…
This is an accurate representation of how I usually progress when I inflict “construction” upon myself… Except that Homer is much faster than I…
Opening Scenes In Books I Will Never Write – Chapter One: “Blind Date”
Having never met, we approached each other at the previously arranged meeting place. We stood there, looking at each other… I, deeply struck by the loveliness of her face; she, with a look that said “There is some sort of mucous-like product occupying the interior of one or more of your nostrils.”
With one lithe motion of her hand, she reached into her purse and withdrew one of those ‘personal’ packs of facial tissue, extracted three of the finely milled sheets, held them out in my direction and spoke her first words to me, “Here… You really, really need these… All of them… In fact, keep the whole pack…”
Then, with no further comment, she turned and walked away.
Thus began, and ended, my first foray into the world of “online dating”…
About Me…
We have this new thing at work called “Chatter”, through SalesForce.com. It’s a lot like Facebook, only it’s restricted to the company. And, since we get to play on it during work hours, we also get paid to do so.
I have just completed my “About me” section, and I thought you might like to know more “about me”…
Started with the company formerly known as Hypercom on May 15, 2000. Prior to that, I was with National Bankcard Association (DBA Electronic Processing) in San Diego for 14 years.
I like quiet evenings, long walks on the beach or hiking in Yosemite Valley, soft music, and enjoying romantic evenings sipping Carnation Instant Breakfast through a straw while lying in a medically induced stupor in a hospital bed.
And I have grey hair.
And almost no sense of humor whatsoever.
I am starting a pool for those who want to take a guess how long it will be before I am asked to change my profile…
Things With Six Strings 