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Don’t Piss on My Boots and Tell Me It’s Raining -Would You Like a Lime With That Week Three

Don’t Piss on My Boots and Tell Me It’s Raining -Would You Like a Lime With That Week Three

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My hands hurt.  They are cracked and bleeding.

I am washing my hands a lot.

Back in the early 80’s I was working as a Respiratory Therapist in the ICU at Fairfax Hospital (now INOVA Fairfax Hospital) and I worked with a nurse whose husband was from somewhere in Africa.  I remember her telling us one evening that her husband would say that if you had a wound or cut your skin you should urinate on it.

I don’t know about that but I do know that on those occasions that I have to apply hand sanitizer to my now split, cracked, and sometimes bleeding hands peeing on them sounds like a less painful option.  Alcohol on cut skin stings.

 

This is now the third week of our escalation of caution related to the Coronavirus Pandemic.

And speaking of peeing, there was a lot of pissing on boots and claiming it’s raining this week from all sides but thankfully the bill was finally passed that would begin to bring some economic relief to workers and businesses big and small.

I don’t know that I understand all the detail nor do I want to but I am comforted to know that it may be just the beginning and could be expanded should it be needed in the future. I want to be sure that if the Kennedy Center goes through their $25 million too soon they can get more.

 

Also this week I had a “first” experience.

Instead of kissing my wife goodbye when she leaves for work we started elbow bumping.

Now I want you to know that this year, on July 1st to be exact, will be my 20th wedding anniversary.

And if, by July 1st, the only thing my wife and I are touching are our elbows, I am going to be pissed.

 

And this week the President got in trouble encouraging the use of a drug called chloroquine and another closely related drug called hydroxychloroquine.  Sadly, a man in Arizona ingested an aquarium cleaner with a similar name, chloroquine phosphate and died, which the President got blamed for on social media.

Dr. Anthony Fauci, who we have all come to know and love, said he would take the drug if sick but only within a clinical trial.  I understand the need for data, but sometimes it’s hard to understand the delays in treatment while you set up the protocols, qualify the patients to meet those protocols, and then finally at some point begin the treatment while all the time you are your loved one is dying.

 

Yesterday I was going back through some Google photos and realized it has been four weeks since I have seen my parents. The first Sunday in March we were attending the 9th Annual Crawfish Boil and Muskrat Stew Festival in Cambridge, Maryland with my parents and my sister Pat and brother-in-law John, as we celebrated their 68th wedding anniversary that weekend.

Ralph, the winner of last year’s and this year’s Muskrat Leg Eating Contest.

Life was still normal back then.

Well, at least as normal as eating Muskrat legs can be.

Congratulations to “Peg Leg” Ralph Bramble for repeating as Muskrat Leg Eating World Champion again this year.  We didn’t stay to watch the competition but I did ask Ralph for a photo before I left.

 

We also learned this week that Easter was canceled.

Well, not canceled really, you can’t cancel Easter, but churches, at least United Methodist churches are to be closed until at least April 23.

Too bad, I think we could all use a little reminder of Jesus and what Easter is all about right now and in the coming weeks.

 

Please continue to pray for those who are sick, those who are taking care of the sick, those families who have lost loved ones, for our leaders as they navigate us through this situation, and those working on a cure and vaccine for all diseases.

 

Post Script:

While writing this I thought it best to look into this peeing on a wound question and from what I have determined, it is not advisable.  So, let me make it clear I am not encouraging you to pee on the next wound you get.  I don’t want to be demonized on social media for causing you to be septic.  Soap and water and little antiseptic only, please.

Mr. Nobody -Would You Like a Lime with That Week Two

Mr. Nobody -Would You Like a Lime with That Week Two

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“I get the news I need on the weather report,
I can gather all the news I need on the weather report”

I can’t help it, it just happens.

I woke up this morning singing “The Only Living Boy in New York.”  I have been belting it out all day.

Don’t we all just want to get all the news we need on the weather report these days?

We are now in week two of the official escalation of Coronavirus pandemic.

Life has changed for all of us.

For those lucky enough to be still working it’s not business as usual by any means.   Working from home is the case for many, or shortened hours; reduced staff; “take out” only.

Shopping continues to be challenge, especially for certain items.

Hopefully you don’t have colonoscopy scheduled any time soon.

But even if you did those elective medical procedures are probably canceled anyway.

Sporting events are going on with no one in the stands or not at all.

My “first Saturday in May” event, the Kentucky Derby, will this year be the “first Saturday in September,”Labor Day weekend.

And my daughter Alexa has officially proclaimed the Maryland Terrapins 2020 NCAA Champs daring anyone to prove her wrong.

And of course, if you are a church, you are preaching to the camera on Sundays with no one in the pews while on Friday afternoon your lone staff person is belting out “The Only Living Boy in New York.”

 

Then there are those who are not working at all.  Their lives have really changed.


“Hey, I’ve got nothing to do today but smile,
Da-n-da-da-n-da-da-n-da-da and here I am”

Many with nothing to do today, but hopefully still smiling.

 

I spoke with my mother on the phone earlier today.

One of the highlights of my dad’s day is his “coffee break” which for him is kind of a mid to late morning time for some food and coffee and rest that goes back to his days as a crabber and a waterman.  It could be out at the table by the river or on the deck or in the house depending on the weather.  Or if they happen to be up in Cambridge, the closest and biggest town near them like they happened to be this morning, it could be at a restaurant, or McDonalds, or Royal Farms.  My dad no longer drives so this morning he asked my mother to stop for coffee break and of course she couldn’t and had to explain to him that everything is take out.

My mom said my dad is having trouble understanding that.

I get it, it’s hard to change your routine.  I understand, but it’s hard.  Especially for old guys, ninety-year-old guys who don’t have a lot of options for fun activities even without a pandemic.

He wants his “coffee break.”

 

One of the highlights of my week again came from a post on the Oceanport Centennial Facebook page belonging to my New Jersey hometown.

Someone posted a photo of my dad sitting on a little desk on the job at the Wolf Hill School.

My dad was the head custodian at the Wolf Hill School which had grades K through 4 or K through 5 depending on the year.  He started in that position the year my younger brother started Kindergarten so maybe 1966 and retired about 28 years ago so maybe 1992?  So, for about 25 years or so he worked at that school.

It got a lot of comments:

“Great guy to work with”

“So great with the kids!”

“Love him”

“He would sweep…with Mrs. Jeffrey’s class pet hamster in his shirt pocket”

“He would sing to me my own special song”

“great guy’

“The best”

“A true hero”

“Wonderful sense of humor”

“True work ethic”

“Amazing guy”

“Such a nice man”

“What a terrific man”

“Loved us kids and we loved him”

“What a wonderful man”

“One of my fondest memories”

“Deserves nothing but the best!”

 

Gee whiz Pop, I hope when I am your age someone will even just remember me.  Probably be more like “yeah, I remember that guy, he gave me a cold once…”

 

And then there was this comment:

“Remember the notes on the black boards from Mr. Nobody?”

 

Mr. Nobody?

From one aging nobody to another, I had never heard that story.

So, I asked the nice lady who posted that comment to tell me more.  Here was her response:

I believe he only did it with the lower grades because I only remember it happening in 1st grade with Mrs. Bennett. When we were out of the room someone would mysteriously leave little notes on the black board and signed them Mr. Nobody. They were short messages like have a nice day or be good children, I’m watching, etc. We would be so surprised and excited when we got a note. I didn’t know until probably 4th or 5th grade who it was.  (Tara)

Hey Pop!

Hey Mr. Nobody!

Reading all these comments, it doesn’t sound like you are nobody to me.

Sounds to me like the kids thought you were pretty special.

 

In three weeks, Mr. Nobody will celebrate his 91st birthday.

I am hoping this pandemic doesn’t keep me away from visiting him for too long.

I would like to thank all you nice folks for all the nice comments about my dad.

I can’t wait to get out there to share them with him.

 “Hey, let your honesty shine, shine, shine
Like it shines on me
The only living boy in New York”

 

Yeah Pop, like it shines on me…

Happy early birthday Pop!

 

Oh, and let me not forget to thank all you healthcare workers who, like our soldiers in war, are reporting for duty every day, then going home and taking care of your own families. We are grateful and praying for your safety!

Week Two

 

(The Only Living Boy in New York, written by Paul Simon, performed by Simon and Garfunkel)

Would You Like a Lime with That?

Would You Like a Lime with That?

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It’s Friday the 13th.  If you believe in that sort of thing, you might think it a fitting way to end this week.  For me it actually came complete with being attacked by a black cat.  How appropriate!

Last night around 8:00 p.m., I finally settled down after I made a trip to Sam’s Club. That was an experience. You had to forage for your own shopping cart from the parking lot and the lines were long.  The obvious things were gone: toilet paper, disinfecting wipes, hand soap.

But other items too you wouldn’t expect, like chicken. There wasn’t a piece of chicken to be found, rotisserie or otherwise.  I sent a photo of the egg cooler to Kim, totally empty, and told her not a chicken or an egg was to be found in Sam’s.

Then I couldn’t help myself and sent her a second text asking “I wonder what went first the chicken or the eggs?”

Sometimes I just crack myself up.

Wednesday night the President finally did what everyone wanted him to do. Tell it like it really was. After telling us his plans to try to reduce the severity of the situation he basically said,

“Folks, we’re all screwed”

Well not exactly but based on the hysteria it’s caused since then he might as well have said that.

 

I remember when I was a kid, my younger brother Gary was diagnosed with Scarlett Fever. I remember Gary being out of his mind with fever and hallucinating which my brother Carl and I thought was hilariously funny. My mother had to come into the bedroom and try to calm him down while he talked about monsters and such. It was awesome, maybe not so much for Gary though.

But for the rest of us it was awesome.

Because, we got quarantined and had to stay in home from school! Though I think we were supposed to stay in the house, my mother let us go out in the yard and play. I believe we were off from school the whole week.

 

Though I am not prone to panic I did make that foray into Sam’s Club.

My mission?

I didn’t have one.  I was just curious.

So I wandered around bought some canned goods (“brown beans”) and some vitamins.  I have already been in the habit of practicing a lot of the safety precautions due to my everyday desire to avoid getting a cold or the flu.  The last time I had the flu was back in 1986 but I remember it as being up there with my perforated colon as an experience I wouldn’t to go through again.

They say we don’t need masks and I believe that.  But just as a precaution I am in the process of letting my nose hairs grow long and bushy to add some extra filtering capabilities.

And I was considering allowing my mustache to grow to one of those long “David Crosby” styles that cover your mouth too but that would make it too hard to eat onion soup.  All that cheese and stuff.

We just need to use common sense. Wash our hands with soap and water for 20 seconds

Some are saying sing the happy birthday song twice but I would prefer a couple of verses of Humble Pie’s “I Don’t Need No Doctor” while I am scrubbing.

 

As an adult in 2020, staying home is no longer as much fun as it was when I was a kid. There are certainly more conveniences because now as adult “kid” I can order supplies from Amazon, food from Uber eats or Take out Taxi, groceries from Pea Pod, and according to the sign I saw recently at a local intersection you can even get your beer and wine delivered.

And with my PC, internet and VPN connection I can work at home. With my cell phone I can communicate and have my calls “follow me” if I chose to.

Isn’t progress great?

I would rather play in the yard.

 

How did we get here?

Was it a conspiracy?

Was this China’s way of reducing their population through natural transmission of disease?

Some say it was the CIA!

Was this China’s way of showing us how dependent we are on their country?

Maybe a plot to reduce our country’s healthcare costs by filtering out the older more costly age group of citizens (like me) utilizing our healthcare system as we usher in the new socialized programs?

 

Who knows?  Of course I am making that all up.  But I can see how easy it is to spread fake news.

But the situation is now very serious not only from the health threat.  Not since Y2K have I seen such a response to a potential problem.  Of course in that case nothing ever materialized.

We know COVID-19 is more than just a potential problem we just don’t know yet how much of problem.   We have sickness and some deaths, and the already devastating economic costs are just beginning to be realized.

“Folks, we are all screwed.”

 

We will no doubt get through this like we have gotten through every other crisis to affect this country. And like with terrorist attacks, 9/11 and the wars that followed lives will be lost.

The stock market will go down and eventually the stock market will go back up.

Our vigilance will be heightened though maybe a little different (“hey man, cover your mouth!”)

But it will all be okay again and maybe even better.

Maybe our dependence on foreign manufacturing goods, pharmaceuticals, and foods will be realized and those supply chains will return home to our country.

Maybe research in finding vaccines and treatment for COVID-19 will aid other treatments and vaccines including those for the common cold or other disease.

Then it will all be behind us.

And we will just hear about the mundane deaths we have grown used to like those from cancer.

Or unwanted babies maybe.

And with that the world can be happy again.

 

So on this Friday the 13th and my weekend to follow, I think I just may have to quarantine myself to my deck and my back yard.  I can open up a can of brown beans, drink some Elderberry juice or maybe even a Corona with lime, play in the yard, relax a little, shut out the world, and just pray about it.

 

Just sit back, relax,  and watch the nose hairs grow.

Fat Tuesday Musings

Fat Tuesday Musings

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At my job, on the day before Ash Wednesday the talk around the water cooler would not be about how many beads you received.

No, it would be more like this:

“Ash Wednesday reminds us of our mortality and of our need for repentance and amendment of life, so that we are truly ready to meet our Maker,” a quote I read from a publication I received in my email.

I work at a church in case you didn’t know.

I don’t know that I need too many more reminders of my mortality especially lately, but maybe the need for “amendment of life” on this Fat Tuesday eve of Ash Wednesday wouldn’t hurt.

And thanks to social media that’s been reinforced by a couple of recent reminders of just how many years have gone by for this aging nobody that in some weird way have made me a little depressed.

I was contacted on Facebook Messenger by someone I went to high school with who had posted an old photo on a Shore Regional Alumni Facebook page that she thought might have included me in the picture. Shore Regional is the name of the high school I graduated from in 1974. I went to the page and checked it out and it was me, in 1973 or 74 probably.  So I messaged her back and confirmed it was in fact me and she encouraged me to join the alumni page which I did.

A few days later another old photo was posted on the Facebook page of my hometown’s 100th anniversary organization Oceanport Centennial.  My hometown of Oceanport, N.J. will celebrate its 100th anniversary this year and so the page is for information and the sharing of old photos.  This photo, I would guess, was taken around 1975 and was a group photo from an Oceanport Hook and Ladder Fire Company event of some sort.  I was a volunteer fireman back in those days.

Where did all those years go?

Though my hair is getting a little long it’s certainly not that long.  And the once blonde locks are now white and gray and a lot thinner.

But it was fun that the photo also included by father, my brother Carl who also needed a haircut, and two of my uncles.  And upon closer examination, those same blonde Frye boots I was wearing that evening in that photo from 1975 or so, were actually on my feet that Thursday all these years later as I carefully examined the cast of characters from my past with a rush of memories.  Those same blonde Frye boots I wrote about in “He Restoreth My Soles” that I bought in 1973.

But the reminder on this Fat Tuesday that the “need for… amendment of life” might be on account of some other things that also might be characterized as “fat” and getting larger, like my body.   Those amendments included the introduction of plain yogurt and strawberries for breakfast and tuna fish on super whole grain bread with seeds that could practically choke you.

And while mixing up that tuna fish this morning I was also reminded that there some things in life that aren’t getting larger like my can of tuna fish.  I remember when I was a kid you could feed yourself and your buddy lunch with one can of tuna and a little Hellmann’s (of course) mayonnaise.  Like my flat stomach, those days are gone.  You get one sandwich from the little cans now.

Though I long for my loaf of French bread, I don’t really think that losing ten pounds is what the author of the quote was referring to as proper preparation to meet my Maker on this eve of Ash Wednesday.  And I don’t need any more reminders of my mortality.

Or the areas of my life where I need to change.

I have my wife for that.

But the truth is I probably could do some repenting after all those years.

But there is a lot to be thankful for as well.

On that same Thursday, the day of that photo post, I got a call on my cell phone from my Dad.  It’s always unexpected when my Dad calls, and once I realized there was nothing wrong that triggered the call, we tried to have a conversation.  Unfortunately, since my father’s hearing is no longer good, we eventually agreed to hang up to try again some other time.  But I was still glad he called.  It’s a blessing that I can still receive phone calls from my dad even though we can’t have a conversation.

And hey it’s also kind of cool to know I have a pair of boots that may outlive me.

Recently I was surprised to find out that I may actually live on in one of the happiest places on earth.  Because you see the photo of me with the mandolin is me in likeness but really not me.  That photo was taken a few weeks ago by Alexa on a trip to Disney World where she found me immortalized as an animatronic in the Spaceship Earth Ride in Epcot.

So, I guess I can thank Jesus for everlasting life, and Disney for my everlasting likeness and for preserving the flow.

I hope your Tuesday was fat and happy.

That’s me front row second from left. My dad is front row four from left. My brother back row center under the light. This photo courtesy of Oceanport Centennia Facebook page.
Pass The Doritos Please

Pass The Doritos Please

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Friday evening Kim and I took Cameron to dinner.  He told us about something that happened at school that day where one of his classmates was having some trouble completing his work. Cameron said he told his friend that if he needed help, he should just ask Jesus and He would help him.

You got to love that.

Super Bowl Weekend.

Since we are Steelers fans we didn’t really have any skin in the big game.  However, Donny was a big San Francisco Forty-Niners fan back in the Steve Young, Jerry Rice, Deion Sanders early 90’s so we saw the Super Bowl as an opportunity to share a moment with one of our kids even though he wasn’t able to physically share it with us.  So we got a couple of Forty-Niners tee shirts and busted out some of Donny’s San Francisco 49er gear that we had stored away in the house.  Then we got a bag of Doritos and sat down on the couch to watch the game.

It was a good game though we were a little disappointed, the 49ers didn’t win and I thought the commercials were just okay.

Ah, but the half time show sure caused a big stir.

I certainly understand, the game is in the Miami area and you have two dynamic Latina singers and dancers appropriately scheduled as the half time show.

In the end, the debate ensued as to whether the show was appropriate for prime time national television audiences.

I don’t know about you, but I can tell you sitting on the couch watching Shakira and Jennifer Lopez performing with my wife right there next to me, yeah,  there might have been a time or two I wanted to pick up that bag of  Doritos and read the Nutrition Facts with something like:

“Hey, honey did you know these Doritos have 150 calories per serving?”

Or say something I have used before like, “Hey how about those Nat’s?”

I could see how some folks were squirming a little.

But the most ridiculous thing I read the next day was a piece by a young Latina writer who insisted she knew what the whole issue was really about.

Racism.

Yup, racism.

In an article titled “Dear White People: The Super Bowl Halftime Show Wasn’t Too Sexy, You’re Just Racist” she argued that if you were uncomfortable watching the Super Bowl Halftime show you are a racist.

Imagine that?

That would be like somebody telling me “Dear white person Curt:  It’s Not That You Don’t Like Bean Burritos Because They Give You Gas! You are Just a Racist!”

Come on.

Maybe you have young kids and don’t want to explain in the middle of a Super Bowl party what all that was about.  Maybe you would prefer to wait until they were ready to go to college.

I was told by my daughter that my four-year-old grandson watched with his mouth open then commented on what Shakira was able to do with her butt.   Though he is part Latino,  I think it better that he have a little more time to understand these things.

Or maybe you’re a mom watching with a couple of your teenage boys and had to sit and squirm, watching in silence, probably wishing you had a bag of Doritos in reach.

Or maybe you are just an older conservative-minded individual who just doesn’t understand this younger generation.

There were lots of reasons why some folks might have felt uncomfortable watching that performance, but I am pretty comfortable saying one of them probably wasn’t racism.

You would have to have been living in the wilderness for the last twenty or thirty years to somehow not be familiar with the talent and the success of these two women.  From In Living Color, American Idol, The Voice, countless movies, and music videos; American television viewers were not surprised and therefore angered by who the performers were.

There wasn’t any “Hey honey, can you believe it? There are Spanish people dancing on TV!”

My family is interesting.  We have white Christians, Jews, Latinos, Lebanese, and African-Americans.

And I would guess we aren’t that different from a lot of families.

And I am told that my son-in-law was once a pretty good salsa dancer (he is part Latino).

And though I love my son-in-law I think if I had to watch him salsa dance I would be squirming and reaching for the bag of Doritos in that situation as well.

I don’t know too much about this young lady who felt inclined to turn this situation into one promoting hate, but I am guessing maybe she doesn’t have any young children, or teenage children, or children at all.  I am guessing she hasn’t experienced a Christmas Eve comprised of white Christians, Jews, Latinos, Lebanese, and African-Americans reading the story of the birth of Jesus.

I am guessing she doesn’t have the experience or the wisdom of the two fine Latina ladies who have made themselves so successful and well known to all of us.

She doesn’t understand that it didn’t have anything to do with them as people and especially what part of the world they were born in.

Maybe Cameron’s words of encouragement for his friend at school would help this young author too.

I don’t know how Donny would have felt about the halftime show.  I don’t think even if he was with me in the room we would have been high-fiving each other.  He might have had kids that he had to think about as well.  And his mom was right there!

We will never know.

By the way, to the young author who wrote the piece, you have a typo in line four.

The Stone

The Stone

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God has made a home in the heavens for the sun.

It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding.

It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race.

The sun rises at one end of the heavens and follows its course to the other end.

Nothing can hide from its heat.

 

Wow.

Maybe the greatest poet or song writer ever, even better than Dylan.

David.

I have been reading Psalms lately.  Those words are from Psalm 19.

So cool but he is all over the place.  Sadness and joy, hope and desperation, all in a handful of lines.

I think if David were alive today he would surely be on Xanax.

I had a band I used to follow who I have mentioned before called Lowen and Navarro.  They used to joke at their shows about how depressing their songs were that they wrote.

I get that, I think I have that tendency too.

I guess sadness, loss, and desperation evoke emotions that need a way to be processed.

It’s therapy.

April 17, 2017, Easter Monday, I wrote a post called “Good Friday, Easter Sunday…What Did Jesus Do On Saturday?”

The day before, Easter Sunday, I was all proud of the fact that I had my entire local family in church with Kim and me.  I think we filled the pew.  In that post of April 17,  I wrote about the sermon from that Easter morning.

In that sermon, the preacher asked who will roll away the stone.  That stone referred to in Mark 16 of great weight blocking the way to Jesus in the tomb.  The stone, the preacher said, that represented all those hard times in our lives; times of tragedy, divorce, loss of a job, an unexpected diagnosis, all things that were tough in our lives.

At the time I knew that message spoke to all those sitting in my pew.

But at the time I didn’t know just how much.

On the way out of the sanctuary that morning we were each handed a small stone to remind us of the weight of our troubles and that Jesus was just on the other side.

About a month later I got a call from Hayley who was in the pew that Easter morning.  She needed help.  She was ready to make the decision to remove herself from the physically abusive marriage/relationship that she was in and that we were unaware of.

Over the next few weeks, she would be safely removed from the problem, begin to initiate the legal requirements necessary, and start the process that continues today of healing and living in a safe environment.  Life for Hayley today is finally starting to return to one she can build her dreams on once again.

The relevance of all this is that Hayley’s decision to muster up the courage to finally end the mental and physical abuse she was experiencing in her relationship,  resulted from the message she heard that Easter morning.  According to Hayley, she finally got the strength she needed to roll away her stone from the words of that preacher.

That sermon saved her from mental anguish, physical pain and bruising.  That sermon, in my opinion, literally saved her life.

On a day in the months after, I shared this story with the preacher who delivered that message and thanked him for saving Hayley from a life of torment or even worse, death.  Thoughtfully that day in his office, he asked if he could pray for us, and he prayed.

Hayley still carries that stone that she received leaving the service that morning.

I share this story with you now because the life of the preacher who delivered that life-altering sermon was tragically taken from us this week.

Early Wednesday morning Pastor Steve Vineyard passed away, too young, and very unexpectedly.

I probably have many things to thank Pastor Steve for but none of them will ever come close to giving my daughter her life back.

For that, I will be forever grateful.

 

Tomorrow the sun will rise from one end of the heavens and follow its course to the other end.  We can’t hide from it, our lives will go on.

But we will all be carrying another stone.

 

P.S.

The photo above is one of Pastor Steve and me on a “typical day” at work.  Our work, as you can see, is awesome, but never typical.  I was reminded of that this week.

Rest in peace, my friend.

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

David’s last verse of Psalm 19.

That works for me too.

Hayley sharing her stone right now and the National Domestic Violence Hotline number 1 800 799 SAFE (7233)
Surface Tension

Surface Tension

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I had a house full this Christmas and therefore one of the rules of the Christmas season in my house this year was no talking about politics.  I wanted to keep things festive.

So with politics off the table, the debate immediately shifted to something more near and dear to my heart yet equally as volatile…

My toilet paper.

Yup, my choice of toilet paper came under attack.

“It’s too rough…it’s not soft enough… it’s too thin,” yeah I heard it all.

I don’t really care about any of that when it comes to my toilet paper what is important to me is…

Surface Tension.

Now I realize from my Respiratory Therapy days that the true definition of surface tension relates specifically to a liquid.

But I like to apply those same qualities to my toilet paper, you know, binding together, like an elastic membrane so that nothing breaks through.

 

And as you know I don’t usually like to venture into commentary on what may be construed as political. I like to write about important things like meatballs, making fart noises, The Dave Clark Five, and Publix employees snapping my French bread in half, and even toilet paper.

You know, real cutting edge stuff.  But there are recent events that I find are more troubling.  But not necessarily from a political aspect, I don’t really care whether you are a democrat or a republican, or a socialist, or whatever.  My concern is more about our ability to stand together as Americans, bound, strong, like an elastic membrane. Impenetrable.

Like my toilet paper.

Hayley gave me a book to read called Barbarians and Brothers: Anglo-American Warfare 1500 to 1865. In his book, author Wayne E. Lee looks at issues like race and ethnicity in war and also how culture, strategy, and logistics determined the nature of the fighting.   I recently started reading this book and though I am no scholar of war, you don’t have to venture too far into it to find meaning in current events. Lee says, “War is intended to convey specific messages to an enemy; only rarely in history has that message been merely ‘die.’”

You see the elimination of this most recent terrorist with minimal collateral destruction, sent a great message.

Unfortunately, the actions of a rather large number of Americans to align themselves with the enemy afterward, to apologize for this military action, and to even maybe try to limit our future ability to protect our country, sent an entirely different, not so great message.

“It is always distressing to find American citizens who benefit from the protection and assistance of this government lending their voice in any way to governments such as the [enemy, whoever that might be] distressing indeed,” said State Department spokesman Charles W. Bray, according to a July 1972 Reuters story.

That statement was made in 1972 in reference to Jane Fonda’s support of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam) who was at the time our enemy.

This most recent action against terrorism seems to have generated a lot of Jane Fondas.

 

The attacks on America by the terrorists on 9/11 in 2001 brought our country together and since that time we have been in a war against terrorism.  Last week another terrorist responsible for the loss of American lives was terminated.

Unfortunately, those sentiments that brought us together in the early days of this war have waned quite a bit.

 

Today is Donny’s birthday.  He would have been 33 years old today.  I remember watching the events and the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks unfold on TV with Donny.  I remember his passionate support for the country and the fact that even at the then age of 14 he was ready to sign up for the military and join the fight.

I remember a lot of passionate support for our country back then.

We had surface tension.

But this is America where we are free to pledge our allegiance to Charmin or Scotts; the USA or Iran.  You are free to choose.

Times sure have changed Donny, that passionate support for our country that you had is not as popular now.

I hope someday, out of respect for those who have paid the price of defending us these last almost twenty years, we can get that back again and stop the urge to lend our voices in support of our enemy governments.

To be impenetrable once again.

 

 

 

Jabberwocky

Jabberwocky

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Well I’ve never been to Hawaii.

But I kind of like their shirts.

Well they tell me I was born there.

But I really don’t remember.

What does it matter?

 

Well you all know that’s a bunch of crap because I was born in New Jersey.

I guess I just got caught up in the moment.

 

The fact is I do have a jones for “Hawaiian” shirts.

The fact is, I have forty-six of them.

I just counted.

 

This is the time of the year I like to get organized.  I have been working on my closets.

Fun stuff, right?  Livin’ la vida loca is my 2020 motto.

Last week I worked on my bedroom closet.

Today it was my laundry room closet where all my Hawaiian shirts reside.

 

I knew I had a lot of Hawaiian shirts, but I didn’t actually know how many until today.

Some are special, some are not as.

Five of them were actually made in Hawaii.  One of those is my Christmas shirt with Santa, a couple of reindeer, a jalopy, and a surfboard.  Another of my Hawaii Hawaiian shirts is the one with the ships sunk in Pearl Harbor depicted on it.  Alexa and Namaan bought be that one on a trip to Hawaii.

I have nine Tommy Bahama shirts.  Those are expensive.

I have one Tommy Bahama that is a Disney Tommy Bahama with Mickey Mouse on it.  I am sure that one was crazy expensive, but lucky for me, that was gift,  as were three or four others.  I found a couple of Tommy B’s in a thrift store, which is more my speed.

There are other special ones.

My unofficial good luck racetrack Hawaiian shirt that has thoroughbred racehorses charging down the stretch on it.  Though I always get a lot of attention when I wear that shirt to the track, I usually don’t get any good luck from it.

I also have one that is an official Kentucky Derby Hawaiian shirt and I have an official NFL Steelers Hawaiian shirt too.  I wrote about that one once before.

One of my favorites was designed by Steven Stills.  I bought that one at one of his shows.

I have another one that has the Christian fish shape on it.  I like to wear it to church.

The rest I have accumulated in one way or another and some remind me of beach vacations, weddings, or other nice memories.

 

And now that I have organized my Hawaiian shirts my next project is my office and shredding my unwanted 2019 financial documents while I prepare for taxes.

Can you feel it?

It must be real.

It feels so good.

Oh, feels so good!

 

I hope your first weekend of 2020 is going as well as mine.  Remember my motto for 2020?

 

By the way, my word of the day today was Jabberwocky.

 

Jabberwocky: Writing or speech that contains meaningless words.

 

So,

How did I do?

 

(Lyrics lifted from Never Been to Spain, written by Hoyt Axton)

The Christmas Letter 2019

The Christmas Letter 2019

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Christmas 2019

It’s August 3 and I am at an auction with my father in law in New Centreville, PA.  I drop my father in law off to register then I go park my truck.  Now my turn to register, I am trying to explain to the guy behind the table who I am and my relationship to my father in law when the guy says, “yeah I know who you are.  We didn’t get a Christmas card and letter this year, we usually get a card and letter!”

The next month, on September 14 we went to Kim’s 40th high school reunion and had a great time. But again, we had multiple people asking why no Christmas card and letter last Christmas?

The next morning after the reunion I attended the Geiger Church of the Brethren, but on this day, I was haunted by the ghosts of Christmas letters past. The sermon that morning included the story from Genesis of Jacob wrestling with God the night before he was to meet with his brother Esau and his family who he hadn’t seen in years. The last time they saw each other Jacob had tricked his father Isaac into blessing him instead of the oldest son Esau as should have been customary thus making Jacob lord of the family and all the other family members, servants to him. Now after all these years Jacob was anxious and even scared that Esau would do him and his family harm as a result. His concern was only bolstered by the fact that his servants who went out ahead to tell Esau that Jacob was coming, returned to say Esau was on his way to meet Jacob with 400 men.  Jacob thought it best to be overly generous with gifts. Surely that would make the best impression.

So, he sent his family and servants out ahead of him with the gifts of many goats, female camels with their young; ewes, and donkeys and cows. Then he spent the night tormented by his concerns of seeing the brother he hadn’t seen in a long time, having enough gifts, worrying about arguments or even worse. He wrestled with those concerns, and with God all night.  As daybreak came upon them, the wrestling ended, and Jacob asked God to bless him.

Sitting and listening in church that morning, still with visions of Christmas letters dancing in my head, I thought, wow, this story of Jacob and Esau seems to have many parallels with modern day Christmas rituals.

Because last Christmas, Kim and I wrestled with our own anxieties over the holiday.  Whether it was the grief that you don’t “get over” and never goes way, stress over normal things like finances maybe, or just being tired, or all of the above.  Christmas at our house last year, as I had told Hayley at the time, was “cancelled.”

In a Christmas time post on my website last December I had written this:

I had always put a lot of energy into our Christmases.

But for the first time in my life I didn’t have a Christmas tree.

And for the first time since Kim and I have been together, we didn’t send out a Christmas card

with a Christmas letter.

This year we just didn’t have the energy.

 

I guess like Jacob, we felt the pressure.  The need to buy too many gifts, the stresses of socializing in the face of grief and loss, the unpacking of just too many memories to put up on the shelves only to take them down again and pack them away for another year.  And I guess, like Jacob, we wrestled.

Unlike Jacob however, our conversation would have been more like this:

“Seriously Kim, how many milking camels do we really have to buy this year? Does Alexa really need another camel?  Haven’t we spent enough?  And do you know what it cost to ship a milking camel?”

And I can’t imagine my wife telling me, “Curt your brother Gary called to say he is coming to visit from California for Christmas.  And he is bringing 400 of his family and friends with him.”

Yup Jacob, I got you!

 

But that was last Christmas.

And on the way back home to Virginia from the Rockwood High School Class of 1979 40th reunion, Kim said,

“You know you are going to have to write a Christmas letter this year.”

 

So, with Alexa, Namaan, Christian, and Ethan coming up to Virginia for Christmas, the kids and grandkids would be together this year for the first time in two years. We started to get the old Christmas spirit back again.

Well sort of.

Since I had thrown out the last artificial tree we owned, the Sunday before Thanksgiving, realizing we would be away Thanksgiving weekend, the time we would normally put up our Christmas tree, we found an awesome deal on Facebook yard sale, drove right over and picked it up.

Now with our “new” used artificial Christmas tree in the back of the SUV, we headed out to have lunch in Leesburg with Savannah and Cameron celebrating Leon’s birthday with Leon’s family.  Hayley was there too with her new friend Malcolm who I had never met.  He seemed like a really nice guy and I liked him.

Then finally Kim and I went home and set up our “new” used artificial Christmas tree to get into the spirit of things. Kim put on some awful 70’s music while we went to work decorating the tree.  That triggered an exchange that went something like this:

“Me and you and a dog named Sue, traveling and living off the land,” I sang along with the song.

“It’s Boo!” Kim said.

“It’s what?” I asked puzzled.

“Boo, the dog’s name is Boo not Sue!” she corrected me.

“I thought it was Sue,” I grumbled feeling a little silly.  Ah it’s a stupid song anyway, I thought.

By the end of the evening, the “new” used artificial Christmas tree looked great, and we had some fun.

Then, this past weekend I even put Christmas decorations up outside, something I used to do with Donny but hate to do now.  Though unlike the neighbors I put ours up in the backyard so we could see them and enjoy them.

Everything was falling into place.

Everything, except for one thing, Kim’s words,

“You know you are going to have to write a Christmas letter this year.”

Yeah, I suppose so.

 

Post-Script

It has been a year for us that has been different than most.

Kim and I spent less time together this past year than we ever have.  That wasn’t good.

But on the plus side we spent a lot more time with our families than we had in a long while.

We had some answered prayers, and we still have some big ones out there we are waiting to get answered.

I was reminded while at work today that this is the season of miracles, that the birth of Jesus to a virgin shows that nothing is impossible with God.

 Nothing is impossible with God.

I am going to go into the New Year with that re-assurance that the rest of those prayers will get

answered too.

We can take a lot from the story of Jacob and Esau.

Because after all our wrestling, God did bless us too.

And like Jacob’s plea to his brother Esau,  “Please take my gift which has been brought to you, because God has dealt graciously with me and because I have plenty,” we will find comfort in the joy of giving, the reminder that no matter how much time goes by and no matter the problems of the past, our love of family is unconditional.

And as Kim and I enjoy our three little guys this Christmas, I will be reminded that God has dealt graciously with us too.

I hope that you and your families have an awesome Christmas this year.  And if there is anything you might be wrestling with, I hope God is gracious and blesses you too.

And finally, I hope that none of us get any milking camels for Christmas!

 

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from all of those mentioned above including Donny too!

Kim and Curt

This was Christmas 2018

 

My Favorite Veteran

My Favorite Veteran

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Last year in my post Veterans Day Musings I whined about not wanting to be stressed out by listening to the news and therefore I had retreated to music and my favorite Sirius XM radio station, Little Steven’s Underground Garage.

Sadly, not much has changed in a year as far that is concerned.  But I did get to make that same road trip this year.

Actually, this year I was able to kiss my favorite veteran on the forehead on Veterans Day and thank him in person for his service.  Not all of you can do that anymore and I am sorry about that.  I am certainly blessed with that privilege.

But a Tuesday doctors appointment for my mother and the sudden burst of cold weather requiring the water lines out to the dock to be disconnected and blown out for the winter had me in my truck after work on Monday with the Underground Garage tuned in headed once again over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and on to the Eastern Shore.   Thanks to the holiday, I arrived early enough on Veteran’s Day evening to hang out for a while with my parents and eat ice cream with my dad.

 

The process of shutting off the water and blowing out the water lines requires removing two 32 x 36-inch pieces of flooring and leaning them against the wall.  Then, crawling down below the 2 X 10-inch floor joists to get to PVC water line and the shut off valve.  The pipe is then disconnected at a threaded fitting and an air compressor quick connect is screwed on.  Once that is complete the spigots are opened up out at the bulkhead and further down on the dock and the air compressor line is attached,  blowing the water out to keep the pipe from freezing and cracking.

At one point in this process my dad observed me to almost bump my head on one of the 32 x 36-inch plywood sub-floor that was leaning closest to me as I was entering the crawl space.  My dad leaped into action balancing one foot on the 2-inch edge of the floor joist and reaching to grab the piece of sub floor.  With my mother now panicking yelling “Carl what are you doing?” he replies “I have to move this piece of plywood before it hits Curt in the head.  Don’t worry my balance is pretty good today Flo!”

Lying helplessly in the crawl space looking up through the floor joists, I listened to the commotion occurring above me.  Seeing my dad’s shoe with his weight now balanced on the 2-inch edge of the joist, while he bent and grabbed the piece of flooring to move it, I could only just hope for the best.

“My balance is pretty good today Flo.”

My dad is 90 years old.

A veteran of the Korean War.

And he has Parkinson’s Disease.

His kind of Parkinson’s makes him prone to falling.  He loses his balance easily.

So, seeing his sneakered foot on the floor joist above me and hearing my mother’s overly expressed concern, with only the comforting knowledge of “my balance is pretty good today Flo,” meant it was one hairy 20 seconds.

 

But I guess it’s nice to know you are never too old to have your dad try to keep you safe.

And guess it’s also comforting to know he will never be too old to want to.

 

Happy Veterans Day Pop.

Thank you for your service.

And thank you for keeping me and the rest of us safe.