Christmas Angel

Heavy snow.  Strong winds.  Cold temperatures.  Two widow neighbors.  One snow blower.  Throw these things together and I knew I wouldn’t have any fun for the next couple days.   On this cold winter morning in December I woke up to a moderate snowfall in central Iowa.  I quickly donned my snow blowing apparel and set out to try my new snow blower.  I knew I would have to blow out these three homes several times in the next few days since the forecast was for an additional 12” of snow over the next 24 hours and wind gusts of up to 45 miles per hour.  I finished my work in about 50 minutes, I ate breakfast, and then I cleaned up and left for work.   

It snowed all day and in the afternoon the wind picked up.  Due to the storm, we left work an hour early.  As soon as I got home I fired up the snow blower and I quickly cleared off my short driveway and then prepared myself mentally for snow drifts.  The first widow’s home has a driveway about 110 feet long.  The last 30 feet next to the detached garage always drifts if there is any wind.  I pushed the snow blower to her home and discovered I didn’t have the right tools.  The city plow had pushed hard crusty snow at least 13 feet up her driveway.  What I needed was a flamethrower, a jackhammer and some dynamite.   I resolved to slowly eat away at this mess but I first glanced toward her garage and my fears were confirmed; there were large drifts next to her garage.  It wasn’t her fault but I was mad now.  It would take me forever to clear her driveway since the drifts were over four foot high by the garage and the intake height of my snow blower was eleven inches. 

So it began.  I pushed ahead one foot in this petrified precipitation and pulled the machine back before it died.  Over and over and over again.  My bad right shoulder was now protesting. Pain shot through the joint and radiated down to my forearm.  I didn’t understand why my elbow should also hurt but it just added to my mental funk.  When I reached the portion of her driveway that was on the west end of her home I encountered the dreaded maelstrom.  This is an area where the wind swirls and you don’t really throw the snow any direction; you just eat it and wear it on your clothing.  No matter which direction I turned the discharge chute, the snow blew back in my face.  I was now a triple threat; Angry, tired and wet.  By the time I was done with the snow dunes I was thinking of demanding payment.  This lady and her son had a popcorn business and she was would often bring over caramel corn and chocolate covered popcorn but now it didn’t seem adequate compensation.  Did she realize how important I was?  Did she know how much agony I was in?  Did she know that I had a pound and a half of snow down my shorts?  As I pushed my snow blower back down the driveway toward home I remembered that I needed to clear the small sidewalk up to her front door.  Wearily I struggled into the wind and as I came past the living room window I glanced inside.  That’s when I saw the angel sitting at the front window. 

She was maybe four years old with curly shoulder length hair and the light from the Christmas decorations made it seem golden.  There was a twinkle in her eye and she was watching me intently.  She was innocent and pure and altogether beautiful and she waved and smiled at me.  My heart melted since I’m a pushover for little girls and I was flooded with a mixture of emotions: guilt, shame, joy, contentment and happiness.  The self pity I had been feeling was gone and I was now thinking about Christmas and the beauty of the season.  One man (the God-Man) had given up everything so that I might have a right relationship with God.  This one little girl made me think about the real meaning of this Christmas season.  One little girl had transformed an ugly ogre into a homely man willing to help his neighbor.  She was my neighbor’s granddaughter but I think that was just a disguise.  To me she was an angel sent to change me and I’ll always see that little face as I blow snow around this home.  God bless her.

Broadway

It’s always been a dream of mine to be in a Broadway musical; Silk shirts, green tights and those funny looking dancing shoes.  I long to hit the high note and hold it until the all the old lady’s glasses shatter, the plaster cracks overhead on the ceiling and the crowd roars its approval as women faint in awe of the power, beauty and purity of that one note.  In my dreams men cry at that moment and the entire musical is interrupted as a Tennant floor sweeper wheels onto the stage to sweep up the mountains of flowers and the corsets that have been thrown on the stage in appreciation.  Reporters rush to access their online Thesaurus in hopes of finding new superlatives to describe the ecstasy of the moment. 

But sadly that moment will never come for I have given myself to the building products industry.  “To reach the unreachable star” will now only echo off the ¾” particleboard during inventory week.  “Follow every rainbow” will only be heard by the men on forklifts. “We know we belong to the land.  And the land we belong to is grand!” will be drowned out by the whining of the panel saw.  Broadway’s loss is plywood’s gain. 

I have resigned myself to this course but I still wanted to see a Broadway musical.  So on Wednesday, June 18^th, I had my ticket and was headed for a matinee performance of “A Catered Affair.”  We rode the subway down to Grand Central Station and walked to Broadway after visiting the historic Public Library (you can’t check out books at this library). Just a block from the theatre was the M&M store and the Hershey’s candy bar store.  Could this day get any better? 

The theatre was small and rather cozy; too cozy.  It seemed that every woman over 70 in the 5 boroughs of New York was there; and they all knew each other. Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap.

They wouldn’t shut up.  They stood and talked.  They turned around and talked.  They talked in the aisles, they talked in their seats.  They talked on their way to the ladies room and they talked on the way back to their seats.  I’ve been in a poultry house with 60,000 hens and it was quieter there in spite of the cackling and grunting produced by 60,000 eggs being laid.  I prayed for a lighting bolt that would only be attracted to blue hair but no such luck. I learned the following in spite of covering my ears and humming the Barney song loudly and off-key:

• The lady next to me was appalled that her clothing store didn’t have a purse that would match her leopard underwear.
• A lady in front of me was humiliated because her neighbor hadn’t invited her to last week’s big pool party.
• Another lady in front of me was upset because her husband had spilt a coke on the leather seats of her BMW and the car only had 3000 miles on it.  She would have to trade it in.
• A woman 2 rows ahead of us was suffering from gall bladder problems and she had been to 3 doctors trying to find a cute one she felt comfortable talking to.
• A lady 3 rows ahead of us had a son who was a doctor and he was just God’s gift to women.

The lights dimmed and a solitary spotlight revealed a suitcase on stage but the dimwits didn’t quit talking.  Another sound now blanketed the theatre. SSSSHHHHH. SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH SSSSHHHHH.  If it had been a snake I would have preferred the agony of its bite and a merciful death over the torture inflicted by these crazed females.  Over the next twenty minutes two different sounds drowned out the rather insignificant events on the stage; the sound of cell phones ringing (at least 5) and the sound of old biddies arriving late.

“CAN WE GO UP TO THE FRONT NOW?  THERE’S NOT MUCH HAPPENING ON THE STAGE.”

“IT’S MY SON JULIUS.  HE’S GOING TO MEET US AFTER THE PLAY.”

I was aggravated now! I was seething! I had paid over $10 for these tickets and I had hoped to be able to hear the conversations on the stage.  I had been pushed too far. It was time for action.  My eyes glazed over and I was young again.  There was a pea shooter in my hand and my pockets were full of perfectly round aerodynamic peas.  There was a woman 3 rows ahead of me who was still whispering most of the time.  Two peas went into the mouth and in quick succession, they found the thin spot on top of her head.  She whirled quickly but I had already reloaded.  Three perfectly aimed missiles slammed against her head and she toppled over.  It was the last sound she would make at the theatre.  Two other loud-mouths were targeted and a shotgun spray pattern laid them out. 

The worst offender sat across the aisle 2 rows ahead of us.  She arrived late, talked on her cell phone and whispered loudly to her companions.  There would be no mercy for her.  She had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.  Her sins in their multiplicity were much too grave to forgive.  She would get the dreaded 3S; sweat, snot and saliva.   The 3S tactic had been developed by a friend in the 3^rd grade who was constantly blowing his nose.  A single pea was held momentarily in the arm pit.  It was then dragged across his hankie and then spit on.  The index finger on the left hand then covered the opening on pea shooter that you blew on.  This virulent projectile should not be allowed to enter the mouth. The toxic pea was now slid down the pea shooter from the other end.  I listened for the sound of the air conditioner since blowing air could affect the trajectory of the shot.  I waited.  This contemptuous woman turned her head slightly and now there was a 2 second window of opportunity.  I aimed carefully and a strong breath took this special pea on its way.  The pea arrived on a slight downward path and it rattled into the ear and was buried in the ear canal.  The effect was immediate and gratifying.  Her whole body stiffened and she fell to the floor. One small spit from man, one giant gift to mankind.  This vile inconsiderate woman would never interrupt another soliloquy.

Somewhere across the theatre an old man coughed.  I turned toward the sound and was quickly brought back from my imaginary world of revenge and justice.  I was smiling now.  The show must go on and I enjoyed every minute of it.  I did make a vow to never attend another matinee but as cheap as I am, that vow will probably be broken.  The show ended and as we left I decided to keep my ticket as a souvenir.  I put it in my pocket and to my amazement I found one solitary pea.  How it had gotten there I’ll never know but I decided to keep that as a souvenir too.

Bats in the living room

It had been a good day. I had been at my mother's 75^th birthday party all day.  We grilled for lunch and had a meal catered for supper so there was plenty to do since there were about 35 people present.  There was a pool next to the clubhouse and my cousin's 3 children had spent much of the afternoon playing in the water.  I could see that their play time was much too mild so I began to do my imitation of a shot putter using the 12 year old girl, the 11 year old boy and the 9 year old boy as the shot put.  I would lift them up and launch them with my right arm as far and high as they would go and they would scream with delight as they hit the water.  I must have thrown each one into the pool at least 10 times so my arm was dead. We had a good time the rest of the evening with relatives but finally at about 9:00 PM, my blushing bride loaded up her car with decorations and left-over food and headed for home.  She had worked hard all day and was tired.

 I helped bring food, decorations and dishes to my sister’s house 80 feet away and then started to say my goodbyes.  My brother from Denver then handed me his cell phone. My wife was on the line and she wasn't pleased.  As she unloaded her car and entered the house through the garage, she thought a large moth had followed her into the house.  She looked for the moth and discovered that it was actually a large, ugly, bloodsucking building-product-wholesaler-hating black bat.  It landed on the blinds in the living room and dared anyone to bother him.  She tried to call me but my cell phone was at home.  She called the Polk County Sheriff’s office but they told her to call “Critter Control”.  She dialed their number and left a message on their answering machine (this was Saturday night and they called back Tuesday morning).  She was desperate so she tried my brother’s cell phone.  She didn't call to say she loved me.  She didn't call to say how glad she was to be my wife.  She didn't even call to thank me for all my hard work that day.  It was the usual.  She called because she wanted my body; she wanted it to single-handedly face that bat in mortal combat, a fight to the death.   She had closed all the doors in the house and now that bat calmly waited for my arrival.   

I got home as soon as I could.  I entered through the garage door since I knew I would need a tennis racket.  The theory was that the bat's radar would go through the strings rendering it unable to detect it as it sliced through the air.  I brought the racket into the house and went directly to the coat closet.  There I kept my secret weapon, the one item all bats detest - a pith helmet.  I put it on and immediately my confidence level soared.  Now I was protected since the bat couldn’t land in my hair.  The bats fangs were now rendered useless against my soft underbelly, i.e. my scalp.  I hitched up my pants, pulled my belt tight and walked into the arena

I approached the bat slowly and carefully.  I tried to stare it down but he didn’t bat an eye.  I circled to my left, looking for an opening but there was none since his eyes swiveled to meet mine. I held out the racket in front of me and as I tried to poke him he took off and flew toward my head.  The tennis racket went flailing to my left and the bat swerved and circled around for another attempt at exposing my carotid artery.  I took a step back and reminded myself of the proper bat swatting form.  Let him commit to a path, keep a good firm base, never flinch, use short explosive swings and always follow through.  The bat hesitated for a moment and then flew forward toward my neck.  I smiled now for I had become one with the racket and I knew that in a short time one of us would be dead. All motion seemed to slow and I calmly executed a drop step with my right foot and pivoted to my left.  My right arm was a piston of explosive fury and power and in a single motion the bat’s future was decided.  I made solid contact in the middle of the racket and my follow through was a text book example. Two sounds immediately followed.  There was a soft crunching noise as the bat was thrown into the wall and then I heard the sound of wood on wood as my racket slammed into the entertainment center to my left.  I would have to look at the entertainment center later since I knew the blow was fatal and I didn’t want the bat to bleed all over my wall and rug.  I called for a paper towel and my faithful sidekick Sandy rushed one to me.  I gentled picked up the bat and carried it out to the garage where I dropped it on the cement floor.  I needed to make an example of this bat so others wouldn’t follow his lead.  A 2x4 was dropped and the bat rebellion was crushed. 

My adrenaline was flowing so I knew I wouldn’t be able to go to bed immediately.  I spent the next few minutes reliving other proud moments.  I thought back to the time when I killed several spiders threatening to enter the house.  Who could forget the time I had swatted over a hundred flies in the garage.  I smiled faintly as I recalled the time I cornered two crickets who had kept us up all night.  Those were good times but the struggle for supremacy with the bat was far more satisfying.  My courage and skill had been tested but my virility had once again been confirmed.  It certainly had been a good day.

And a Child Shall Lead Them

I’m old, decrepit and hopelessly out of shape.   My idea of a work out is to exercise my options.  Once I was a college athlete who could run forever.  My weight never fluctuated from 181 pounds no matter what I ate.  Then after college my exercise routine changed.  Now

 I run.... my mouth,

 I jog ......my memory,

 I lift ...... my fork

 and I skip..... good meals.

  Slowly the pounds were added.  Trim became tired, svelte changed to slob and fit went to fat.  I really never tried any diet or exercise program until now.

My granddaughter was at our house on a Tuesday night and she commented that she was running 3 miles every week on the treadmill now.  She has never been a fitness freak but she is the most competitive 6^th grader I know.  She was disappointed because she had run a mile in P.E. but her time was not as fast as she had run weeks earlier.  She decided to run 3 miles every week until school was out.  I was impressed and to help her I told her I would run 3 miles per week myself and we would help keep each other accountable.  I forgot all about this stupid promise until the next day when she called at supper time.  She asked for me and then she told me she had just finished her second mile for the week.  How was I doing?  Busted!  I told her I would start that night so after supper I changed my clothes and started running on our treadmill.  It was as if I had no brain and was controlled by youthful exuberance.  I didn’t stretch and I didn’t warm up.  Turn the machine on and away we go.  In no time flat I was done.  This was going to be a piece of cake.  Later that night the bear jumped on me.  I hadn’t used good shoes so the ball on my right foot was now throbbing.  My back hurt.  I could hardly stretch my left leg. 

I took Thursday off to heal and tried again on Friday night. 

I had no energy and my foot still hurt.

After 2 minutes my legs felt like cement.

After 4 minutes my side was burning.

After 6 minutes my feet were numb.  Normally I can’t see my feet but now I couldn’t feel them either.

Minute 8; breathing hard, there was a knife in my side, my lungs were burning and my knees were throbbing. 

Minute 10; I had to turn the speed setting down to the lowest level to keep from falling off.

Minute 12; I was starring in a remake of a desert movie where the hero vainly crawls through the sand, panting for water.  I had gone a mile and a half so I called it quits for that night.

The next day my body still hurt and I didn’t want to get back on this medieval torture machine.  I had, however made a promise to my granddaughter so I really had no choice.  This day I decided to lessen the pain by listening to Josh Groban as I ran.  I have discovered that most recorded vocal music is better when I direct the orchestra backing the singer (I used to direct a church choir).  I seem to have the ability to bring the strings to their full rich lush potential with my big sweeping arm movements and sensitive interpretation.  Two things make this difficult on a treadmill.  #1. The side to side arm motion of directing tends to conflict with forward motion of the legs.  #2. The speed of the treadmill doesn’t necessarily match the tempo of the music.  Two problems indeed for mere mortals but I am Norwegian and us rugged hardy Norsemen have never let lack of grace or coordination deter us.

The treadmill picked up speed and I was jogging at 4.5 mph.  This was not a problem for these chiseled calves and thighs.  I turned the machine up to 5.5 mph. The music was moving much slower at 60 beats per minute (andante) so it took a conscious effort to maintain my rhythm.  As the music swelled my right arm hit the water bottle sitting in the console and I lunged to catch it so the water wouldn’t douse the electrical panel.  Unfortunately I had already run for 2 minutes so I was tired and my body just wouldn’t do what I wanted it to.  My right toe stuck on the tread and I was thrown into the console.  Water went flying everywhere as I then careened into the left arm of the treadmill since this perpetual motion machine was still running.  I frantically tried to grab the front console but by this time my upper body was being thrown off the right arm of the treadmill and my feet were leaving scrape marks on the back wall.  I remember thinking, “this really isn’t going to end well” right before I landed on the boom box sitting on the floor to the right of the treadmill.  There was an awful screech from the speakers right before the cord was ripped out of the socket by my size 12 tennis shoes and then mercifully all noise and motion ceased. 

I laid there for a moment and mentally surveyed my pathetic situation.  My ribs hurt from hitting the console.  My back hurt from being thrown into the left support arm of the treadmill.  My right thigh was throbbing and my left hip hurt from the glancing blow of the boom box.  I would live but I cried since there was now a permanent scratch in my CD.  I gingerly picked myself up and I knew there was only one thing left to do.  I drove two blocks to the nearest QT and got a candy bar since chocolate has always been the best medicine.  I learned a valuable lesson that day:  Exercise is a dangerous activity and should be avoided at all costs. 

A bad day at Home Depot

I am on the home stretch with my basement remodeling project.  The family room is done and all the carpet has been laid.  I needed to install the moulding in the bedroom downstairs and hang some casing on 3 doors.  I got up early Saturday to go to Home Depot since I needed a nail set, some wood filler, and a vent.  I grabbed a $50 bill and jumped into my truck.  At Home Depot, I grabbed the wood filler and then bent down to get a white vent.  I think the whole store heard the riiiiiiiipppppppp sound as the seam in the crotch of my pants gave up the good fight and let the forces of science take over.  Oh the shame, oh the humanity, oh the draft up my thoracic cavity.

I quickly stood up and turned my back toward the vents.  I strained to remember if this was the day I was wearing underwear.  When I confirmed that there was still 1 thin layer of fabric between me and an indecent exposure charge, I was able to take a deep breath and plan my strategy.  I would hug the wall and work my way out of the store always facing any pair of human eyes.  Gracefully I bent my knees keeping my back straight and lowered my body until I could put the vent back in the right place.  I looked toward the front of the store and realized there were too many people there to execute a swift merciful escape.  Keeping my back to the shelves, I walked sideways to the back of the store.  I dropped the wood filler on a waist high shelf and I quickly began walking sideways again to the very far corner of the store.  I knew there would be fewer people back there and I planned to work my way past the service counter and out to my truck.  Keeping my back to the shelves, I continued to smile whenever I saw someone in my aisle.  Eventually as I neared the front of the store, a Home Depot employee asked me if I needed any help.  I told him I was just hanging out and didn’t need any help and continued my sideways shuffle.  As I got close to the check out area, one of the cashiers asked if I needed any help.  I told her I didn’t think so and I worked my way past the self-checkout aisle.  I heard her tell another employee that she thought she should call security. 

“OK, my pants are ripped,” I confessed.  “I’m going home to change my pants and then I will come back and pick up the things I need.  I have nothing in my pockets and I just want to get out of here without too much embarrassment.”

She tried to keep a straight face.  She really did.  But as she realized what I was doing she couldn’t hold the laughter any longer. 

“It’s not real funny to me,” I shouted over my shoulder as I ran out the door to my truck.  I went home, changed my pants and prayed that the checkout personnel would have changed by the time I got back.  I found the misplaced wood filler, picked up a nail set and grabbed the vent that started this whole fiasco.  A different clerk rang up my items and I gave her my $50 bill for a $14.85 charge.  She looked into the cash register and realized she didn’t have enough change.  She called to a supervisor and after she was done gossiping with another clerk, she came over to my lane to see what the problem was.  The two ladies looked at each other for a while and then the supervisor picked up a phone and called someone.  What ensued was a thrilling 2 minute conversation where the supervisor was trying to convince someone that they really did need change.  I looked to the clerk and told her to just void the transaction and I’ll pay with a credit card.  I was told she couldn’t do that.  When I asked her who can, I was told that it was impossible to cancel a transaction and I would just have to wait.  The two ladies then took turns staring at me for a least another three minutes and I then offered to go get change at another store.  Rejected again!  I put on my best phony smile and showed them all the love I could as I asked how much change she had in the register.  She had a $20 and 20 $1’s so I told her to count the change out since I would take the $1’s.  She didn’t want to do that since she might need the $1’s for another customer.  I gave her the LooK and the Tone as I slapped my hand on the counter and told her I want my money.  Fearfully she counted out my change.  I didn’t hear a thank you and I didn’t hear an apology but I didn’t care.  My pants were still working, I had my money and I still had a job with Bluelinx so what more could I want.  If only the rest of the day went so well, but that’s another story.

Home Improvement Skills - Electrical

One recent evening I smelled the pungent odor of burnt rubber in our family room.  I checked the cord on our space heater and my fears were confirmed.  The end of the plug was blackened and the cord was slightly melted.  My analytical powers were put to the test but I decided to pitch it and get a new one.  I looked at the electrical outlet and saw that it too must be replaced.  Now I was faced with a conundrum since the light switch was white in color and the two outlets on the wall were tan.  I decided to replace both outlets but there was a problem.  The only time I had to replace the outlets was after work when it would be dark in the basement.  I asked a couple guys at work if there was a way to replace the outlets while it was still hot.  Dave Green came to the rescue and told me that it was easy to do as long as you only touch one wire at a time.  One at a time is doable so stopped at my local lumber yard and picked up 2 new white outlets.

 As I started to take off the cover to the first outlet I realized my first mistake.  The outlet covers were also tan.  Now I would have tan covers and white outlets.  I made a note to go back to Home Depot later.  I unscrewed the outlet from the box and pulled it out, thrilled that I was the master of all things electrical.  Dave had told me that I should be able to pull out the wires from the back.  I grabbed the outlet and started to pull the white wire.  Nothing happened.  I started to wiggle the wire and I felt this strange sensation as a small current coursed through my body.  It was a pleasurable feeling, a slight tingling in my hands and down my spine.  It reminded me of my first kiss with Sandy; thrilling, short and leaving me out of breath.  Wow, I liked this electrical stuff.   

I got a tighter grip on the outlet and now I was shaking it like a mad dog with a new toy.  As I kept pulling on the wire my hand eventually slid down and I must have touched the screws on both sides of the outlet because I was blasted with a million volts of power and blown back several feet.  I no longer had a smile on my face.  Eventually I quit twitching, the hair on my head laid down and I after a long pull on a bottle of Pepsi, I got my courage up once again to tackle this evil device.   I finally got the white wire off and after another careful 5 minutes of jiggling, the black wire came out.  I unscrewed the ground wire, I bent the wire into the appropriate question mark shape and began to attach the wires to the appropriate screws.  I got the white wire connected and then I screamed as I was hit with another large shock.  I don’t know what I did but I realized now this latest shock had done a lot of damage.  The hair on my head was standing straight up, the hair in my nose was now curled (eliminating the need for a trim for at least 3 weeks) and my few chest hairs were singed.  I gently pulled out my belt and a single plume of smoke escaped from my pants.  I wasn’t even going to look.  It’s somewhat difficult to attach wires with a screwdriver using only 1 hand but that’s what I did.  I finished up the first outlet and as I hacked my way into the second, I vowed not to touch any metal parts this time. 

I kept my hands from touching any forbidden thing, I kept all wires away from each other and eventually I was able to push the outlet back in the box and secure it.  That’s when I noticed the scratches on the wall next to the outlet.  My fear and panic had caused me to keep the wires as far from me as possible.  As I was working with one wire, the others had brushed against the wall numerous times.  Now I am going to have to do a touch up paint job on the wall.  The outlets are done but now I have this urge to eat quiche and buy lacey shirts.  Man, I love home improvement

Costa Rican Death March

...good things which belong to prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired.  Francis Bacon...

On Sunday morning we came face to face with Gallo (guy yo) Pinto.  This was the much beloved traditional Costa Rican breakfast.  It didn’t sound very good to me but Kristen and Sandy both ordered it.  It consisted of fried plantain, rice and beans, fried eggs, and a ½” chunk of greasy cheese.  Sometimes foreign phrases and words are hard to translate so let me describe this dish in Iowa English.  You get some soft old bananas, slice them into thin pieces, pour a mixture of molasses and diesel fuel over it and then fry them until they turn dark brown.  This produces the soft, soggy, rubber tasting plantain.  Mix some dark fried rice with some white steamed rice, add some week-old  dark red beans with any other beans left around and pack them firmly down until everything sticks together.  Then take out an ice cream scoop and dish out a large helping next to the plantain.  Over cook a couple fried eggs and arrange tastefully on the same plate with the cheese, rice and beans,  and plantain. Ta Da!! . Gallo Pinto!  I was still in afterglow from the previous night’s meal so I ordered an omelet.  

After breakfast, we went into town to acquire the necessary equipment for the day’s hike.  Sandy needed a hat and Elmer needed a new pair of sunglasses and a hat to shade the ever enlarging bald spot on the top of his head.  We then hired a local man to take us out to the Cabo Blanco Natural Reserve.  It was about a 10 mile drive and cost us 2000 colones ($4).  This was a rain forest alive with unusual plants and screaming monkeys.  We would take a 2 hour walk through the forest and end up at a beautiful beach along the Pacific Ocean.  All this and more for only $25.  It was 11 AM and because we had to catch a 5 PM bus back to the city I suggested that we march straight through the forest without stopping so we could see how much time it actually took to walk the trail.  Then we could swim for an allotted time and then slowly walk back and read every sign, chase every butterfly, admire every branch that resembled a monkey, and take all the pictures our digital camera would hold.  I am a man, I admit it and this was a manly plan.  Logical, getting us back in time, yet giving us time to do everything we wanted to do.  I was outvoted, 1 to 1.  Sandy wanted to stop and smell the roses wherever and whenever the mood struck.  Since this was our vacation, I immediately saw the wisdom in doing whatever she wanted so I caved in.  I had an ingrown toenail that was bleeding, there was  a hole in the bottom of my right foot that hurt, I was wearing the backpack that weighed about 20 pounds, the temperature was over 80 degrees, and the humidity was 82%. All these factors would normally spell trouble, but I was no mere mortal.  I was a lumber salesman in my natural environment (a forest) so we set off without a care in the world. 

We stopped to look at any unusual branches.  Every butterfly produced a heartfelt Ooohh.  If a bird would fly by, we strained to see where it would land.  We read every trail sign in English that told of some significant feature in front of us.  Then we read the Spanish version of the same sign.  We took pictures of a big tree.  We took pictures of a little tree.  We took pictures of a medium sized tree.  The farther we walked, the worse the trail became.  At times the path was steep and hard to climb.  There were places where the trail was simply a 10” wide washed out area from the rainy season.  We climbed over trees. We crawled under low hanging tree branches.  The only relief was found in a small stream that we had to cross a couple times.  I stooped down and used my new cap to scoop up water and pour it over my head.  Sandy stood in the stream in her hiking sandals and let the water wash over her feet. We walked for miles using most of the water in the backpack.  I dreamed of younger days when my body would actually do what I wanted it to do.  Now it took a determined effort to continue, wandering when this death march would end.  Eventually we came upon 2 other couples looking up into the trees.  There were several monkeys gathered there looking down to see if perchance any humans might pass by.  These humans would not be in their natural element so it would really be a sight to behold.  Eventually we got tired of looking at each other so we moved on. The path had been climbing for some time so we knew that we would soon have to descend in order to get to the ocean.  We finally started down and the walk became slower since the trail was rocky and it was difficult to find a safe place to put your foot.  As we went down my foot would slide to the end of the shoe and it would irritate my ingrown toenail.  I couldn’t remember when I had so thoroughly enjoyed a similar walk.  Over 2-½ hours after we began, we came to the beach.  We had survived but I was worried about the return trip since we had drank most of our water and Sandy and I were beat.   

I went to the water facet near the beach and fought to beat back the anxiety and concern that came when I found out it didn’t work.  I wouldn’t be able to complete this trip without replacing the water I’d lost.  Kristen didn’t seemed fazed by any of this since she jumped into the ocean as soon as we got to the beach.  I ate an apple and a hunk of dry bread and then took a piece of paper and updated my will.  When they found my body, I wanted them to know and understand my final wishes.   

We found a shower line at the edge of the forest and determined that we would have to use this water.  I drank a large quantity of water and we all filled our bottles.  We were only able to stay on the beach for 30 minutes since I thought we would be slower walking back.   The return trip was at times pure agony.  I had to contend with sore muscles, fatigue, a throbbing foot, dizziness and 2 vultures who were slowly walking behind me biding their time.  My shirt now weighed over 10 pounds and was chafing with each movement.  Time didn’t stand still, it seemed to go backwards. …….. I was carrying Sandy now over my shoulders and dragging Kristen by the hand.  I would walk for 50’ and then catch my breath.  I had to fight now for each step up the narrow rocky path.  Every 10 minutes I would stop and pour additional water into Sandy and Kristen.  I would not take any water for myself until I knew they would regain consciousness.  I struggled on.  Finally we got back to the bus stop and we were able to return to our motel.  I had lost 10 pounds that day.  We were all tired but glad to be alive.

Hammocks in Costa Rica

Leftovers from Montezuma, Costa Rica 

Our motel room was fine but there was one little idiosyncrasy.  The walls in the bathroom didn't go all the way up to the ceiling.  There was a slight 8 to 10 inch gap on either end where the 8’ wall ended and the rafters continued to the peak of the roof.  This gap was not a problem until the last night because the rooms on either side of us weren't occupied.  Monday night we heard someone move into one of the rooms as we were going to bed.  Their talking didn't bother us so we ignored the noise, shut the bathroom door and turned off the light.  There is a state of mind your body gets to right before you go to sleep.  This is that time where young boys slay dragons, teens dream of catching the game winning touchdown pass, and men envision heroic deeds on their career path.  It’s relaxing and euphoric at the same time and now I was in my happy place.  I'd forgotten that the bathroom door doesn't stay shut unless you locked it from the inside.  There was no latch on it so it had slowly swung open. 

Suddenly there was an unusual noise coming from the bathroom and I was jolted awake.  I hadn't heard this noise since I was a young boy living on an acreage.  The only logical explanation in my altered state of consciousness was that there was a large horse somewhere nearby vigorously peeing on a flat rock.  As I slowly came to my senses I realized what was happening.  I was in a motel in Costa Rica, the room next to me was occupied, and one of the occupants of that room was taking a shower.  The showers were a cement cube and the water pipe extended along the ceiling to the middle of the cube, from there the water fell 8 feet to the cement floor.  I made a mental note to myself to sing loudly and off key when we got up early and used the bathroom the next morning. 

Another unusual feature of this motel was the large lounging area which was really a covered patio.  You could sit in a chair and look out at the ocean or you could lay in one of a dozen hammocks hanging from the ceiling.  Practically every time we went to our room we saw people swinging and relaxing in the hammocks.  The night before we left I mustered up all the courage I could spare and decided to try one of these hedonistic contraptions.  I pulled at the hooks in the ceiling to make sure they were anchored properly.  I inspected the fabric to make sure there were no holes or weak points that couldn't hold this magnificent human edifice.  Lastly, I waited and did the most important thing of all.  I looked down the hallways and scanned the patio to make sure no one else was around.  I was all alone except for the presence of my lovely, ever-supportive wife.  I backed up to the hammock slowly and gingerly transferred my weight to this legendary device that was about to provide me blessed relief from all my worldly cares.  Blissful tranquility was just moments away.   

You know, I never really liked science.  I had to take one science course in college so I took Rocks 100 (basic geology).  No biology, no chemistry, and certainly no physics.  Now the laws of science jumped up and bit me.  I felt as though I was in a rollaway bed in a cheap motel and the bed had just closed up on me.  I was bent at the waist and my eyes had an unusually close view of my knobby knees.  I should have known this would happen.  The 2 hooks that held the hammock up were only 4 foot apart.  I had just dumped over 200 pounds of dead weight into the middle of an unsupported piece of fabric and I thought this would be fun?  This might have been one of the few times in the last 30 years where I could reach out and both see and touch my toes.  I know now why babies cry when they come out of the womb.  It’s because they have been cramped and crunched into this awful position for the last nine months.  This just wasn't for me.   

I tried to sit up but there wasn't anything to push against.  I finally hooked my arms around my knees and tried to swing them over the edge.  The problem was that I couldn't lift my knees up high enough so my feet would clear the edge of the fabric.  I heard snickering and I glanced up at Sandy.  She tried to hide her face in a book but I could see the evil grin on her face and the twinkle in her eyes.  Her hand was over her mouth now but I could see her shoulders heave up and down noiselessly.  My task was further complicated because my frantic movements had caused the hammock to start swinging.  I tried to stretch out and roll over the edge but all that did was put me face down and desperate to breathe.  I rolled back over and tried to throw my arms over the edge of the hammock.  Maybe Sandy could then help pull me out.  I realized I was on my own when I saw her laying on the cement floor bound up in fits of hysterical laughter.  Tears were rolling down her face and I saw neither sympathy nor compassion.  The more I moved, the more she laughed.  I finally hooked a single leg over the side and was able to half fall and half roll out of this death trap.  I landed on my feet but the hammock was swaddled around my butt like a huge thong.  The hysterical howling from the floor continued but I pried that awful material from me with all the grace and dignity I could manage.  I will never succumb to that temptation again.  

Zip lining in Costa Rica

Monterverde Costa Rica

 Most of the tourist attractions around Monteverde required daylight so there wasn't much to do that first night (especially since we're Baptists and we can't dance).  So we each lay on our own bed and wrote in our journals or read.  And since we are from Iowa, we also snacked on two small packages of OREO cookies.  I couldn't find the double stuff variety but it really didn't matter since we hadn't had any chocolate all week.  My only regret was that we didn't have any butter to spread over the cookies which would have indulged both of my vices.  We showered in hot water for the first time in 4 days and went to bed early because the next morning was ZIP LINE day and Sandy had longed for this moment for 3 months. 

 I like the way many of the tourist attractions operated.  You would call for an appointment the day before and they would send a bus to pick you up and after the activity they would take you home.  We were picked up at 7:45 and driven to a remote location in the cloud forest.  We paid to ride the zip lines and were then directed to a large gazebo where they fitted us for a harness, gloves, and a helmet.  On a zip line, you are hooked to a large cable via a pulley and harness and you ride down the cable to a platform.  We were given instructions on what to do, warned about what we shouldn't do and then given the option to “have a taxi”.  This meant you were hooked up to a guide.  They made the children go this way and 1 or 2 ladies opted for this method.  There were about 50 in our group and we all trudged to the starting point.  There were 8 zip lines in the first set.  You would land on the platform, go up a few steps and take off on the next line.  We walked about 400’ to the second set and it also had 8 lines.  The shortest line was about 85 meters and the longest was about 500 meters.  Some of the lines were steeper than others but you could reach speeds of 30 - 35 miles per hour as you soared 200 feet over the ground in the forest.  You put your strong hand behind you on the cable and by pulling down on the cable you slowed yourself down.  Your other hand held on to the harness that attached to the cable.  The guides on the platform would make hand signals to tell you to brake or to tell you to roll freely.  Sandy had a grin on her face from the first moment she slid downhill and it stayed on her face for 2 days.  It was thrilling.  The whole experience went too fast and at times you didn't really enjoy the scenery that was flying past.   

The 14th line was one of the longest but it wasn't real steep.  I had discovered that more weight was a disadvantage since it pulled you down and acted like a brake.  On this line I could tell that I was going too slowly so I tried to lighten my grip on the back hand.  I lost my grip which caused me to sway side to side and slowed me down even more.  I came to a screeching halt about 50 yards from the platform.  Normally you would have to spin around and pull yourself hand over hand back to the platform but because I was so far away the young muscular guide came out toward me to help me back.  When he got about 10 feet away from me I heard him holler, BRAKE! BRAKE!  I couldn't be going any slower since I was just hanging there so I wondered what he meant until I heard the whirring of another pulley coming up behind me.  Apparently the guide from the platform I had just left didn't see my problem and he sent a young woman down the zip line.  I could tell from the sound that she would never be able to stop so as I prepared for impact I tried to remember any advice my parents had given me. 

 Never run with a pair of scissors  - no, that didn't help.
 
 You're never fully dressed unless you have a hanky  -  good advice but not useful  right now. 

 Hail Mary, full of….. I just remembered that my Catholic friends said that didn't  help unless you could say it fast 4 times in a row. 

 When the inevitable is about to happen, relax and  - no that was Bobby Knight  who said that. 

 Always wear clean underwear in case of an accident  - this one sounded promising  until I realized that if I had an accident my underwear wouldn't be clean. 

 Don't wipe your nose on your sleeve, use the tablecloth. 

 Check your oil every time you fill up with gas. 

 Nothing good ever happens after midnight.

 Nothing came to mind that would help.  The crash came in stages and seemed to last forever.  I felt the girl’s feet crushing my kidneys (probably the only time I was glad for a prostate problem).  Then her knees rearranged my spinal column and my neck.  Lastly her head slammed into the back of my head and I hastily tried to compose a proper acceptance speech for St. Peter.  She asked if I was okay.  I told her I was fine but I swung around and unhooked her harness and threw her 200 feet to the ground below (okay, that part wasn't true).  The guide quickly lashed the lady and me together and then hooked himself to my harness.  Slowly he towed us back to the platform 50 yards away.  He wouldn't let us help which was probably a good thing since I was slightly dingy and couldn't clear my head of the fog that seemed to surround me (go ahead, take your shots on that one).  The last 10 yards almost killed the poor guy since they were all uphill.  He was towing over 500 pounds and I thought I heard him curse the day I was born.  I felt badly for him so I offered to sell him lumber at a discounted price.  I staggered up to the next line and set off again.  At first I thought everything was in slow motion but then I realized that I was just going incredibly slowly again.  I'm ashamed to say that I hadn't learned my lesson so again I tried to reduce the friction on my back hand and again I slowed down even more when my hand slipped off the cable and I came to a halt 30 yards in front of the landing platform.   

I took 2 nonverbal communication courses in college so I was able to read the expression on the small guide’s face.  “DO I HAVE TO GO OUT THERE AND RESCUE THAT FAT GUY?”  I didn't wait for any help this time so I swung around and started to pull myself back to the platform hand over hand.  Did I mention that it was uphill all the way, the cable was covered with barbed wire and that it felt like it was 105 degrees in the shade?  Although my arms were aching and I was out of breath, I kept up a rapid pace and was soon standing on the platform.  The guide grinned at me and said, “ you a strong one.”  That made me feel so much better.  My arms were tired, I felt dizzy, and my neck was hurting from the crash.  The last line was quite long but didn't look real steep so I asked the guide if I could walk the last line.  I was in no shape to pull myself in if I got stopped again.  He pointed to the ground and I could see that we were 90’ in the air and there was no way down.  I reluctantly got hooked up to the cable and then he changed his mind and made me stand at the back of the platform while everyone else went ahead of me.  I tried to get hooked up again but he had determined that I was going to have a taxi.  I had to wait for a guide to hook up with me.  I was shamed.  I was humiliated and emasculated at the same time.  I might as well have been a little girl.  I pulled my coat over my head to hide my identity and my shame.  If I was Japanese I would have had to commit Hari Kari.  I put on a brave face and enjoyed the last ride and was thrilled as we landed to see that Sandy was there recording this marsupial moment for all mankind to see with our digital camera.  What a day!!!

Parenting never ends.

Parenting never ends.  It doesn’t matter how old your children are, it seems you’re always bailing them out of something.  Parenting can bring joy, satisfaction, agony, fulfillment and even heartbreak.  It brought me a dog.My oldest daughter Heather has a 9 month old Mastiff/Boxer pup; 9 months old and Lucee is already 75 pounds.  We don’t want to dog sit but we’ve already spent one blessed evening with her crying, moaning and barking (she must be in management).  She wouldn’t shut up until her kennel was put in the living room and I slept on a mattress 2 feet away from her and I’m not even a dog person.  Any time I’ve been around a strange dog it bites me, wets me or goes straight for the crotch sniffing, all of which are proud moments for me.  I’m told dogs can sense fear in a human.  I believe they sense indifference and resignation from me so they make me a target.  Now I have a granddog (my daughter’s term). 

Heather was going to Missouri with friends this past weekend so knowing that we didn’t want to be tied down with a dog for several days she contacted her friendly dog motel.  The good news is that they had a vacancy for Lucee.  The bad news is that they were booked up for the weekend so they could only take her Wednesday and Thursday nights.  Say it with me, “I am a parent and I will always bail my children out.”  Yes, some children can bring joy and fulfillment.  Mine brought me a dog.   

Check out time was 10 AM Friday morning at 4 Paws Unleashed so of course I got there early.  Heather had paid for boarding her dog in advance so at least I didn’t get stuck paying the bill.  I wandered around the “lobby until a young man grooving to some tunes on his I-Pod finally noticed me.  I told him I was here to pick up Lucee so he disappeared around the corner for a few moments.  When he came back through the lobby he had Lucee’s collar and leash but no dog.  He went into the back room and a minute later reappeared with a brown boxer.  Lucee is black with a white blaze on her chest.  I was tempted to take this dog since it was smaller.  I would simply tell Heather that she had a breed change operation.  The young man handed me the leash but I handed it right back to him.  

“Lucee is Black.  This dog is brown.  Lucee is a Mastiff/Boxer mix.  This dog is all Boxer.  You did get the right collar however.”  The young man glared at me as he took the dog back but I glared right back at him and when his back was turned I stuck my tongue out at him.  You don’t mess with the grandfather of a dog. 

A moment later a young gal came walking into the room with Lucee.  She had shown Lucee how to play in the small swimming pool outside at no extra charge.  Now I got to drive a wet dog in a pickup truck.  I quickly took out my notebook listing the 50 things I wanted to do before I die and crossed out #37 even though I was still north of the Mason Dixon line. 

I tried to get Lucee to lie down on the floor of the pick up.  Although I out weigh her by at least a hundred pounds I was no match for wet fur.  I pushed her down.  She wiggled up.  I pulled her head down with the leash and her butt went into the air and plopped down on the truck seat.  I pulled her out of the truck so we could try again.  I showed her how nice and soft the carpeting was on the floor of the truck.  I explained the nuances of safety to her and how an unstrapped passenger becomes an unguided missile during a sudden stop.  She nodded her head and climbed onto the truck seat.  It dawned on me then that this was a female so there was no chance I could change her mind.  I rolled down the window on her side a few inches and shut the door.  I walked around to my side, opened the door and was greeted by two things: the all encompassing smell of a wet dog and the wet dog.  Lucee was sitting on my side behind the steering wheel.  Now the bench seat was wet all across the truck.  I tried to push her over but she didn’t want to go.  I had to grab her collar and pull her and I finally succeeded in spite of the fact that my shorts kept sticking to the seat.

I pulled out into the street and Lucee slid toward me.  I made a left hand turn onto Highway 69 and now she was beside me.  I turned to look at her and she put her head next to me and tried to lick me.  There is nothing that turns me on quite like dog breath.  I tried to push her over again but she just kept edging closer to me.  With one hand I was holding her head away from me and the other hand was used to push against her body.  That left me with only my knees to steer and although I once drove 40 miles without my hands ever touching the steering wheel, I had never tried it with a dog struggling to sit on my lap.  We saw wild sunflower plants in the left ditch.  We veered to the right and admired the beauty of the purple flowers in the other ditch.  We were amused by the strange one-fingered waves from the oncoming traffic.  I finally got to a stoplight and using all my strength, I managed to slide her over to the middle.  

We slowly limped home but I had to use my football straight-arm tactic while I drove.  I pulled into the driveway glad to be home but afraid that any moment my other daughters might call.  They’ll probably need money and you know I’ll give it to them because parenting never ends.

My Netti Pot

I love coming home after a hard day's work.  Usually there is the aroma of a wonderful meal being prepared and my lovely wife greets me with a passionate kiss.  Monday was quite different.  When I got home the first thing I saw on the counter was a small, cute, blue plastic tea pot.  It looked like a piece from a child's first tea set.  Initially I was perplexed, and then an evil grin spread slowly across my face since I knew that we were going to play games again. My hopes took a hit as Sandy came into the room and asked if I saw the Netti-Pot.

"You know you snore," she told me.  She went on to explain that the Netti-Pot was a way to wash out the sinus cavity in an effort to dry it out and make it easier to breathe at night.  I asked her how it works.  She showed me a small package that you dissolve in hot water in the pot (a saline solution).  Then you lean over a sink, tilt your head to the side, open your mouth and pour the hot water through one nostril and it exits out the other.  The end of the spout is round and much larger than the rest of the spout.  This allows the pot to seal up the nostril as you pour. Some men look forward to a night of caressing and hugging.  I get to use the Netti-Pot.  The anticipation was killing me.  Here was a chance for every nose follicle to experience the thrill of a wash and blow-dry.  I couldn't wait for 10 o' clock to come.

 That much anticipated moment finally came.  Sandy stood nearby in the bathroom to insure that my technique was appropriate.  I took a wide stance insuring a strong base as I leaned forward over the sink.  I tilted my head to the right as I lifted that pretty blue medicinal device to my nose. I gently inserted the spout and began to pour.  As a small trickle began to flow from my right nostril I notice that Sandy was getting excited.  I poured faster and her breathing became more labored and she edged closer to me.  I tilted my head in the other direction and poured that life-giving liquid in a steady flow and Sandy couldn't take it any longer.  She wrapped her arms around me and whispered, "you are so exciting!"  As I finished pouring those 65 quarts through my sinus cavity, she squeezed me and all that water under pressure exploded.  Water shot through my nose and ears.  Saline solution dripped from my mouth.  Salt water coursed down through the tear ducts and streamed down my face. 

 The moment was gone.  The magic had disappeared.  Nothing says romance like water cascading from every orifice in your head.  I toweled off and blew my nose and I knew that I would only get a perfunctory kiss that night.  The salt from the saline solution was now doing its work and I might as well been in a wind-blown desert.  My nose felt like a prune but it would be worth it if Sandy was happy.  I'm now scheduled to use this miraculous device every night.

 I am resigned to my fate.  I am going to get pleated shirts, sit at tables with scented candles and eat quiche.  I was secure in my masculinity but now everything has changed.  My best friend is now a blue plastic kid's teapot.

Taking one for the team

Taking one for the team” means giving up your own comfort or pleasure so the team can prosper.  I took one for the team this weekend.  Last month my wife suggested that we add a layer of insulation in the attic.  Our attic already had about 6” of blow-in insulation between the joists.  We would get an energy tax credit equal to the cost of the insulation up to $500.  Whenever she starts a sentence with, “I think that we” it means that she has a project for me that will be difficult since I have no skill and no tools.  She asked if Bluelinx had any insulation.  It just happened that we had some insulation that was on our slow moving inventory list so I did what was best for Bluelinx and bought the remaining 4 bags of insulation and brought them home with me on Friday night. 

 The first part of Saturday morning was spent scrounging the house for every scrap of plywood and lumber that could be used to cover the joists.  I pushed up the first bag and gleefully scampered up to distribute it.  It was only then that I realized how little room there was to move around.  The pitch on the roof was 3/12 so I my crawl space was about 24” high.  I discovered when I crawl that my head and butt have an inverse relationship.  If I lower my head to pass under the cross bracing, my butt rises up and I scrap the lumber with my back and my belt.  Several times I got stuck.  If I lower my butt it raises my head and I slammed it against those blasted 2x4’s at least 20 times over a 2 day period.  The next problem was breathing.  Every time I moved it stirred up black particles that I ingested at a rapid rate.  This made it harder to breathe which made me frantic which caused me to move erratically which stirred up more dust and black matter.  I had my wife buy some cloth masks which I wore on Sunday but after 30 minutes both sides of the mask were covered with black dust and fiber.  Call me eccentric but I enjoy breathing. 

I had to quit Saturday after distributing the contents of one bag. I was getting cramps in my hip, cramps in my calf muscles and my knees were raw from crawling along the boards.  Sunday afternoon I was determined to finish this task. I got a few more scraps of plywood and covered all the joists I needed to crawl along. I set a lamp up by the access hole and I had a flashlight to light the far end of the attic. I attacked. I pushed 2 bundles of insulation to the end of the house. I wasn’t going to make the mistake of dragging the insulation piece by piece the length of the house. I quickly laid the contents of one bag in the far corner and then went to cut open the next bag. Since I had never studied law I made a horrible mistake by violating the laws of science. These bags are shrink-wrapped only after they suck all the air out of them. My back was up against a vertical 2x4 and when I cut the bag, air filled the porous cavities of the insulation causing it to double in size. Now this noxious insulation was on my lap and wedged up against the roofline. I couldn’t push it forward and I couldn’t get it off me. Fiberglass has 2 basic properties. #1. It is very porous and traps airs slowing the transfer of heat. #2. It’s annoying to the skin. I could feel the fibers on my pants, in my pants, and against my skin. You might feel the same sensation if you slide naked across 127 cactus plants. I couldn’t move to the left and I couldn’t move to the right. My back was against a 2x4 so my only option was to burrow underneath it, letting it slide to the spot I just occupied. Now I had fiberglass fiber on every inch of my clothing. I laid all 10 pieces of that bag and began the 40’ crawl on swollen knees to get the last bag. I hit my head again so I lowered it to clear a support member but as I wobbled underneath it my pants got stuck on a nail. I tried to move forward. I was stuck. I tried to move backward. I was really stuck. I tried rocking sideways but almost fell off the board. I was alone, stuck on a nail with no way to contact anyone. My wife wouldn’t be home for 3 hours.
I asked myself, “What would MacGyver do? “ I agonized over any possible solution. Ultimately there was only 1 resolution to my predicament. I had to move forward, leaving my pants behind. I unzipped and unbuttoned then I realized that I would also have to remove my shoes since they wouldn’t slide through my pants. I began humming the stripper as I slowly pulled myself along by my elbows and forearms. Inch by inch my pasty white fiberglass infested legs were exposed. I was cold now but I was free. I hastily unhooked my pants from the nail and balancing myself on a narrow board I quickly slide my fiberglass infused pants over my fiberglass covered legs. I found my shoes and after dumping out 3 inches of cellulose insulation I put them back on my numb feet.
I wanted to call it quits but I knew I could never bring myself to go up in the attic again. I cut the last bag open and hastily spread its contents. I was a few pieces short but I didn’t really care. My knees were scrapped, bruised and swollen but I knew that wasn’t really important. My bloodied head was of no consequence. My aching shoulders and cramped muscles didn’t matter at all. I knew that I would now have to see a doctor for my twisted back but that was not a problem. You see, I was a Bluelinx employee and we had sold the last of the slow moving insulation. I felt good about myself knowing that the stockholders of this august organization could now have a merry Christmas. I took one for the team but I just hope and pray we don’t need to sell slow moving plumbing.

Retail Madness

Is it just me or has the whole world of retailing gone mad?  I went to a furniture store this past weekend to buy two bar stools for my daughter’s birthday.  She has 2 wicker bar stools now and some of the wicker isn’t there anymore.  Sandy and I had checked out the selection last week and she sent me to the store on Saturday to purchase two.  I found a clerk and showed him what I wanted, we walked over to his computer and the following inane conversation took place. 

“I just need your name and address.” 

”No, I’m just paying cash. ” 

”Well I need your name for our records. ” 

”I don’t want to be on any of your lists or in your computer.  I just want to buy these 2 bar stools and give you cash.  I earned this money from a legal business.  It’s not drug money and it is legal tender. ”

 ”I’m sorry sir but its company policy.” 

”Well it’s my policy not to give out personal information.” 

”Well we need this information.  If there is a problem with the chairs we can call you.” 

”How will you know there’s a problem?  If there is a problem with the chairs, I’ll call you.” 

”You don’t understand sir.  I have to have a name on this form.” 

”Well put your name on it.  Use John Doe.  Use John Smith.  Use Cash Sale.  Put any name down that you want but I am not giving out personal information you don’t need.” 

”Ok, I think I know a way we can get around this.” 

At this point I look over his shoulder while he types up the order.  In the space for name he dutifully types Wood Notgivename.  He then gives me a sales slip and tells me to go to the front of the store and give my money to the cashier. Some people may say that I am just too unreasonable and that I should have just given him the information but I was tired.  I was tired of dealing with incompetent customers.  I was tired of dealing with stupidity at work.  I am tired of dealing with idiotic policies.  I am tired of politicians and stupid people in general.  I just wasn’t going to take any more guff from anyone.  I dug my heals in and now I was happy since I won the battle. I walked to the front of the store and I waited in line until an elderly woman motions for me to come to her counter window.  I hand her my sales slip and my money, glad that I’m almost out of the store.  She gives me back my change and says, “Just sign here.” 

“What for?” 

“To show that you have paid for your merchandise.” 

“Why don’t you sign it to show that I’ve paid? Or here’s a novel idea.  If you give me my receipt we both will know that I have paid for the merchandise.” 

“Sir, you have to sign this.  It’s company policy.” 

“Listen, lady.  I don’t care what your policy is.  I go into a grocery store and give them cash and they give me groceries.  I don’t have to sign anything.  I buy hardware in a hardware store and give them cash and nothing has to be signed.  I pay for my meal at a restaurant and pay cash.  I don’t have to sign anything.  I don’t need to sign anything here.  I’ve paid for the merchandise and I want my receipt so I can pick it up.” 

My voice is getting louder and people in all five lines are starting to look at the clerk.  She decides to end this brilliant debate and she gives me my receipt with my order number and tells me to take that receipt to the Northwest gate and pick up my furniture there.  I give her my best fake smile and say thank you.  It was dripping with sincerity.  I can’t be sure but as I was walking away I could swear she was sticking her tongue out at me. 

I got in my pickup and drove to the appropriate gate. A young lady on the speaker asked me my sales order number and then directed me to parking space #17.  I parked there and 5 minutes later a young man came out with my bar stools on a dolly.  We loaded the box into my pickup and then it happened again. 

“I just need your driver’s license number,” he said. 

I looked to the heavens and quickly said a prayer to God, asking him to smite every employee there with boils, hives and a dose of intelligence.  I waited for 10 seconds and when nothing happened I told him that it was private information and he wasn’t going to get my drivers license number.  I quickly shut the tailgate so he couldn’t get the box back.  I showed him my receipt and told him that should be all that proof he needed that I paid for the bar stools. 

“Well then I have to take down your VIN number.” 

He walks to the windshield and I follow.  I put my hand over the VIN number just because I was tired of being jerked around.  He walks toward the back of the pickup to get my license number and I quickly jump into my truck and pull away.  Just to show that there were no hard feelings I give him a quick wave.  He waves back and now I feel sorry for him because I realize he must have had an accident at some time in his life.  He was waving with only one finger.  I wonder if that also was company policy.

ISU Baseball

It was the spring of 1974 and my heart was racing for the legendary coach of the Iowa State baseball team just told me that I would be starting the next day in centerfield against the Oklahoma Sooners in Norman.  Oklahoma had been to the college world series the last 2 years and in the mind of this small town Iowa boy, they were the giants of Big 8 baseball.  All of their players had 48” chests and 30” waists.  They could run the 100 yard dash in 6.7 seconds, every one of them could hit the ball 500 feet and most importantly, they looked really good in their uniforms. 

I was a walk-on that fall that had made the team and now I was getting a chance to get out of the stands and play with the big boys.  As you might expect I had a difficult time getting to sleep and when I finally nodded off, I had this incredible dream.  I dreamt I was at bat and although a right handed batter, I hit a blistering line drive down the first base line.  I rounded first base and stopped at second with a stand-up double.  I told me roommate my dream the next morning and although he laughed he told me he hoped it came true.

My turn to bat finally came in the third inning (I’m hoping that I batted ninth as a second lead off position) and just as in my dream, I hit a scorcher over the first baseman’s head and into right field.  In practice I had the fastest time from home to second base, not because I had great speed but because I knew how to round the bag without slowing down. Now this skill served me well and I sprinted to second with my feet hardly touching the ground.  I stood at second, breathing hard but trying my best to look cool.  My image said this was old hat, no big thing.  I did this all the time. But inside I was screaming at the top of my lungs and dancing like no Baptist ever should.  Much to my surprise I heard mad voices from our first base dugout.  I glanced at my teammates and they were yelling at me and gesturing with anger.  Totally confused I looked at the third base coach for the first time and he was just as mad and just as animated.  I had just done something wonderful and yet I was now berated my those who should have been happy for me.  I finally turned and looked toward right field and I could see why everyone was disgusted.  After having stood at second base for at least 5 seconds, the ball was finally coming into the infield.  The one slow player on the Oklahoma squad was playing right field – where every slow player who could hit was generally hidden.  I could have read the paper at second base and still had time to walk to third. 

The only player in our dugout who was laughing was my roommate.  He knew that in my dream I stopped at second so there was no need to even think about stretching that hit into a triple. I learned a valuable lesson that day.  Dreams can come true but sometimes we don’t dream big enough.