Drama Trauma

Chapter 1:  PRP, the future is now.
So in my attempt to avoid season ending shoulder surgery, I opted for Platelet Rich Plasma (PRP) Therapy to repair my torn rotator cuff. Faster recovery, less pain, and just as good or better recovery rate, what's not to like. I found a place with the recommendation of friends and finally got in. Scheduling an overnight road trip with a 3 month old added complexity to the trip, but baby RC was a trouper and we made it across Missouri. The next day we woke up, had some breakfast and headed to the clinic bright and early. Filled out paperwork and was ushered into the room at 8am. Chat with the nurse and doctor, and they offered to inject my knee too. Awesome! It has been a 25 year problem for me with knee replacement as the only proven prognosis. So I have been waiting on the high tech treatments, like spray foam injection or something. If this works, I may not be able to run marathons, but hopefully I will be able to jog farther than across the street without paying for it. "Yes, please!" Blood was drawn from my arm, then rolled me over and jabbed me with railroad spikes to take marrow from my hip and some fat cells from my muffin top. The juices were filtered and sprinkled with magic grow dust in preparation for reinsertion. Then guided with a sonogram the parts were injected, 4 times in the shoulder and just once in the knee. With local anesthesia, pain was at most a moderate discomfort, most so in my shoulder, as the deeper and more intricate joint, I think. In and out in 2 hours, sent on my way with post care directions and a script for pain, which was filled with our first stop! Lunch and a 4 hour car ride as my shoulder starts stiffening up, half way home I take the hydrocodone/apap, but is didnt seem to have really any effect. Oh well, we made it home, with less whining from the baby than me.

Chapter 2:  to ER is human.
Upon getting home, I let Xan unload the car and I got the mail and cooled off. When I took my shirt off, I realized I had bled though one of the patches on my back and stained my nice new seersucker shirt. We sat down on the bench in the dining room to change the dressing on my back. Xan got the first one done and was cleaning up the mess on the second when I started to feel woozy. I tried to hold on while she finished the second then the next thing I know I am looking up at a concerned looking wife talking on the phone. First thing I said was, "I'm OK." Evidently I passed out, falling backwards against her hitting my head on the hardwood table before getting laid on the bench. Unable to detect breathing or pulse, she punched my chest a couple times, then grabber her phone and called 911. Firemen then EMT's showed up as I was still trying to regain my wits and hooked me up to various monitors and cuffs. I tried to sit up, but soon felt woozy and my extremities where tingling almost painfully and had to lay back down. The crew had to rearrange the living room to get the stretcher in, so when asked if I wanted to go to the hospital I agreed. With the medical bills already paid this year we have got to be close to our out of pocket max with insurance, and I have never ridden in an ambulance, and Xan wouldn't have let me not go, better safe than sorry... they loaded me up and away we went. Xan grabbed a shirt and, unsure if I had any pants on, a pair of shorts, as well as the baby and met me at the emergency room. It was a busy day in the ER, as I think they all are so it took a while. But a couple liters of saline, a blood draw and umpteen probes and feet of tape stuck to hair, a head CT, an EKG, 5 diaper changes and 6 hours I was declared healthy. Some vasovagal episode, not sure of the trigger, dehydration, stress, pain, sitting... well, hope it doesn't happen again, I don't think Xan liked it very much.
I am taking it easy today, this blog will be the most effort I will put out today. Hydration, medication and staying cool are my goals.

Thank you Easter Bunny!

I don't know how to tell this story. I have been mulling it for a couple weeks now. Is it an Easter miracle or April Fools story? Maybe neither, I guess it depends on belief vs luck, good plan vs good fortune... OK here goes.
As previously blogged, I am the proud pappa of a happy healthy baby girl. But it wasnt always a fore gone conclusion, as we were on pins and needles for the first couple days. Especially the first night, when our precious was getting boxed up for a deep space mission and shipped off to OP NICU to try to solve the white cell count and SpOx problems. Thank fully Dr House was not working there, come to think of it I'm not sure who was working on that little girl.
I don't think anyone would think of me a religious guy. Yeah, I believe in a lot of things, the number sixty-nine... the small of a woman's back... high fiber... and most of Crash Davis's list. I also have strong evidence to help me believe in a god. A creator/helping hand with a typical hands off approach to the silly people on this planet. I also believe God is female, but that might be a future post.
So faith with an (un?)healthy does of cynicism. I am not one to ask for help usually. And when it comes to prayer, well, I have had my belief fortified. I have prayed for divine intervention twice in my life. The first time it was answered but taught me a valuable lesson, be careful what I wish for, as I asked god to make my parents stop arguing... they did and separated and divorced soon after. In the grand scheme of things it was a good thing but the kind of thing that can shape a teenager.
So as the minutes ticked towards the close of March, I lay on possibly the most uncomfortable sleeper sofa, physically and emotionally exhausted, I sent out a silent prayer. Something along the line of make my little girl be OK, as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place." Well, that was answered also, while she had a 7 day stay at the hotel NICU, baby RC showed fight, pulling her intubation out during the ride to OP and vast improvement as her white cell count was back into normal range the next morning. By the time mom got out of the hospital, our bundle of joy had a little jaundice and an IV to complete the antibiotic regiment, but was otherwise healthy! Amazing!! What ever it was or is, I am thankful.
Welcome to the world little Rowan!!!!!!
watch her grow...
https://picasaweb.google.com/twedelc/BabyRC
and
https://picasaweb.google.com/xwedel/Rowan#

Baby RC's first tramp stamp

I saw this on the news and reminded me of a book I read, Jennifer Goverment, so I started playing with it. I suppose there is some invasion of privacy or some evil historical events that make this a bad idea, but what if we tagged our children.

point your barcode reader at that!
and you could put a lot more info in it, address, phone number, allergies...

see... I know we all love our children and would do anything to protect them, but have I gone overboard? I suppose when we have to fear the minority of evildoer and protect our information as much as our babies maybe not as good an idea as I would like. And what if you move a lot, do make a whole belt line of tats? Temporary tats!! Oh wait, the kidnappers can rub that off. Is there such a thing as a shallow tat that only lasts a year? Or the GPS chip embedded in the neck, yeah! 

So I sit here with my little angel strapped across my chest thinking of how I can keep her safe. Feed, change, and swaddle her in love will be the first steps, chips, tats and leashes can come later.

Sweet Child...

She's got a smile that it seems to me
Reminds me of childhood memories 
Where everything 
Was as fresh as the bright blue sky 
Now and then when I see her face 
She takes me away to that special place
And if I'd stare too long 
I'd probably break down and cry 


Sweet child o' mine 
Sweet love of mine 


She's got eyes of the bluest skies 
As if they thought of rain 
I hate to look into those eyes 
And see an ounce of pain 
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place 
Where as a child I'd hide 
And pray for the thunder 
And the rain 
To quietly pass me by


Sweet child o' mine 
Sweet love of mine 


Where do we go 
Where do we go now 
Where do we go 
Sweet child o' mine 


thank you GNR...

RC and the Baby Beer

Once upon a time there were 3 Beers that lived in the forest.  Papa Beer was a big Russian Imperial Stout, as thick and rich as any beer in the forest but with an abv and bitterness that kept all but the bravest away. Mama Beer was a Belgium Quadruple, sweet with the complexity of refined royalty.  Baby Beer was an English Bitters, that despite the name was balanced and smooth and always pretty to look at, way better than a tall glass of water any day. Baby Beer had an older brother, Lambic, who had moved to San Fransisco and was "working on the docks" for sailors with his roommate, an American Light Lager.
On a beautiful Spring day, along came a fair-skinned strawberry blonde princess with the voice of an angel, Rowan Calliope (who was strong willed and independent). She loved adventure, and her parents, and would spend hours wandering through the forest studying the flora, fauna and the wonders of nature. She stayed clear of the hollowed out tree full of dirty needles, she skirted around the clearing where the confused elves braided hemp, and avoided the temptation to skip through the poppy field and was on the path, "over the river and through the woods" until she came upon the house of the Beer family. There was a nice big swing on the porch and after knocking on the door and finding no one home she sat down on swing to rest her weary feet.  Next to the swing there were 3 stainless steel taps coming out of the wall labeled "Papa", "Mama" and "Baby". She loves her papa and she was awfully thirsty, so after discovering light herbal and chocolate notes when smelling the tap, she put her mouth to the tap and pulled the handle. She was quite surprised when the motor oil thick liquid poured into her mouth with texture she could almost chew and unsurpassed roast and bitterness. Knowing that her mama was sweet and beautiful, but hesitant from her Papa Beer experience, she poured out a handful Mama. Taking a big sniff she found it to be divinely complex with layers of dried fruit and winter spice aromas, begging her to take a sip.  Her first sip all she found was molasses like sweetness but that was followed by essence of cherry and fig flavors.  Now she was really thirsty and went on a quest to find some water.  She let herself into the house and wandered around, a little disoriented, until she found a sink, where she washed her hands, as learned from her mama, then drank from her cupped hands, as taught by her papa. Less thirsty now, she just wanted to rest.
Rowan awoke and noticed the shadows were getting long, and she was on the bathroom floor. Confused for a minutes as the cobwebs cleared, she remembered where she was, but not how she got to the bathroom floor, but the slate floor did feel good.  As she left the house, she saw a shelf labeled "Take some and Share" loaded up with the fanciest flip-top growlers she had ever seen. Taught from birth to recognize a bargain, she grabbed one and took it outside to fill it to take home for her papa. She hadn't noticed before, but the lid had a 3-way lever and as she moved it the magical growler filled with each of the Beers. Wow, she thought, wont my papa be so proud of me, as she headed back towards home.
She shared the Beers with anyone she came across knowing that sharing was the purpose of of good beer. There was the wolf in a red cape, with a grey wig, who really like the Papa Beer and ran off to howl at the sun.  Then she saw a bother and sister dropping bread crumbs. After sharing the liquid bread, they ate the rest of the bread, now seeing things from a new perspective, they headed home, too. A little later she found a rabbit sitting on a stump, and they got to talking, the rabbit bragging about how fast he was and "that danged old turtle didn't have a chance." After a couple drinks of Mama from the growler he curled up on the stump and promptly fell asleep, snoring loudly.  Countless others shared in the Beers, but it never seamed to get low, and as dusk approached she found herself coming to her home, and ran up the stairs into the arms of her loving parents. Showing her magical beericopia, as she had come to call it, as it never ran out, her papa was pleased and took out 3 glasses, 2 large and one taster glass. Unfamiliar with the lever system, papa poured into each glass and all were amazed as the brown liquid appeared change colors, one turned a reddish brown, one a light amber and the baby glass turned a sparkling golden color. And as each tasted from their glass, papa found the most delightful Flemish Sour, mama found a floral and citrusy bitter India Pale Ale, and little had Baby Beer, a light and well balance Bitters.
And they lived happily ever after...

Daddy Issues

As my wife packs her "going to the hospital to birth a baby" bag, I too am checking things off on my list. While hers is printed, my is mental...

1. Baby Name. I have compromised, OK, given in. Rowan was the first choice of first names, and Jezebel was allowed for a middle name (it doesn't have to be on school paper work, she says).  But after much contemplation (and disparagement) I have come to really appreciate the other first choice, Calliope.  Rowen Calliope, RCW, just like her daddy. Check.
2. Baby Bathing Sink.  New faucet installed that will allow the laundry sink to become a baby bathtub.  Check.
3. Dining Room Ceiling.  The project that started, well really years ago when we torn down the beams, then last winter when we scrapped off the popcorn, then last spring when I ordered the tin, then this fall when first attempt to put them up failed, and finally this winter got it up and the crown moulding installed!  And it looks good!  Now the DR can be used again.  Check.
4. Baby Seat.  The Subaru now had the seat base installed.  Not as easy on a vehicle without anchors built in, and these rear facing seats take up a lot of room, but it is secure.  Check.

Things not done yet include:

1. Guest Bedroom.  aka Mother-in-law (or Au Pair) quarters. The spare bedroom downstairs which has been a bedroom, tool room, green house, office, and junk room in the few years we have lived here, now needs to be a livable space since the 2nd bedroom upstairs will be Rowan's.  The ceiling has been re-sheet rocked and needs to be taped, mudded and painted, and there is a 16" gap in the wall from when we replace the waterlines, that still needs to be patched. 
2. Baby Seat.  A second baby seat base need to be installed in my car. With LATCH hooks, it should be a snap, even if it means the passenger seat needs to be pushed all the way up to make room.
3. Daddy Bag. For the hospital, they have a list of things dad's should pack. Not as long as the things mom's need, but but I can pare down that list even more, like a shaving kit, wont be needed. Change for the vending machines, maybe.  I have it worked out, I need cell phone, cell phone charger, (that takes care of notifications, pictures and entertainment), sweatpants and slippers (for comfort) and a wallet. 
4. FREAKING OUT!!  I suppose I will have this to look forward to for the next 18+ years. No amount of preparation and planning seems sufficient. "Don't worry, you be fine," or "You'll be a great dad," comments don't help to assuaged my apprehension(better make that plural)s over my impending daddihoodness.  Eek!  All I can be sure of is that if I can be half the dad mine was, then I will do alright and little RC will be fine.

Fingers crossed...7 more weeks...

The "L" Word

Growing up I was taught the L-word was Layers.  To stay comfortable you needed layers.  I had layers of blankets on my bed, would wear multiple socks, layers under my jeans, and most importantly the torso.  Well, covering my head was probably most important for warmth, but the ability to add and remove layers kept me comfortable all day long.  Not uncommon to go to the woods for the day with a t-shirt, a long sleeved t-shirt, and and over shirt or sweater all under a light-weight jacket.  My favorite layer was the sweater.
I have always had a number of sweaters.  Before the "Ugly sweater party" was popular, I had a closet full of them!  Even now I have a countless collection of sweater, but my favorites are what I call the magic or elfin sweater.  The light weight merino wool (wool is the only way to go) sweater, a tad small so it doesn't have extra fabric that can get in the way.  If it has some caulk or tar on it or get a small hole in a non-vital location, then it become a classic Wedel-Way sweater, adding to the magic.  Magic in that it is itch free, warm, cool, and has the protection factor of chainmaile from Arda.  I don't think it is bullet proof, but it maybe blade and nail proof, and possibly even chainsaw resistant (like Wedel-way jeans)!  And they makes me feel good, the right combination of warm and cool, sexy even.  I have brown, charcoal, even a dark purple one and a couple black ones, the cashmere with a couple holes is my lucky sweater. ;)
So under a waterproof shell, a wool sweater is the prefect layer in the cold half of the year, joining my Exofficio's as the most import part of my wardrobe.

Random acts of kindness

Random acts of kindness make me tear up.  Hell, formulaic acts of commercial kindness do as well.  And 'tis the season for both!  The other day American Pickers was on in the background at work.  I had never seen the show before as I stay away from reality shows unless food is involved.  Well, the guys find some carnival sign and buy it for $200.  But when they take it to NY and get it appraised they are told it is worth $10,000 if restored!!  They were offered $5000 on the spot, but turned it down, opting to restore instead.  The show goes off on other adventures for a while, then come back for the last scene with the seller with the sign, and gloat that they restored it and got ten grand for it.  Then they thank him and give him half the sale price, $5,000!!!  I had to go stand in the cooler and compose myself for a minute... I get a little sniffly now recounting.

At home I am spared most of the wrenching commercials with the miracle of DVR, but rarely does a day go by that some selfless act in a book or touching story on the radio that gives me hope that this can be a better world.

Merry Christmas!

As both of you who read this already know, I am going to be a father.  And last week we learned that she is a girl, which came as not surprise to me.  I have known that it was going to be a girl since before conception, since we started trying.  In my world of doubt and uncertainty and non-absolutes, this was something I KNEW.  I cant really explain it, be even more certain than any belief in a god, I believed I was to father a little girl.
With this knowledge, I have been searching for my daughters name for years.  The steady stream of media input I take in, TV, movies, books and audio, all have provided potential names. NPR corrispondants names are a wealth of potentials, especially the names like Lourdes Garcia-Navarro or Ofeibea Quist-Arcton. But when I was listing to Assimov's Foundation Trilogy, I found the name, Jezebel.  OMG, you are thinking, how can he do that!!  Or, good name, but...  If it weren't for Betty Davis making her into a hussy in the 1930's, I think it would fly.  Here is a strong-willed, independent woman who knows how to get what she wants.  Yeah, my kind of girl!
My wife, of course, is totally against this name.  "She will be beat up in school, or worse!" she claims.  I hate to think we still live in times where bullying is allowed, kids are made fun of for their shape, size, color or names.  I know growing up the closest I ever came to getting in a fight in all the years of school was one day on the bus defending my sister who was the focus of some white-trash red-necks peppering her with racial slurs, and i suppose not much has changed, at least for the better, in the 30 years since then.  And maybe she will get some unwanted evilness flung her way, but will gain strength though it.  Like Johnny Cash's A Boy Named Sue.
So I will lose this battle, She will be named Rowan or something out-of-the-top-1000-names list, but will always be Jezebel to me.  She will grow up to change the world, making it a better place.  Her influence will be as legendary as the name... at least in my world.

so what to blog about?
How the Brew guild annoys me?
How work in "the dungeon" sucks?
How I cant make a massage chair work?
How car shopping with wife who has completely different ideas is impossible?
How Brewing Beer should be fun?
How My body is falling apart?
How impending fatherhood effects me?
NoBloPoMo?... nobody tell me anything!

isn't that just so cute!  

who cares about the rest of it!

Halloween

I like Halloween, among the top 10 days of the year.  ( like a lot of things…)  It’s that day to dress up or dress down or just be a little goofy… and not be out of line with everyone else.  It is the day that I can wear my kilt to work, and not worry about getting sent home.  Sure I get the “what do you have on under your kilt” question, and being in the harassment free work place (No Fun Zone), I reply with a “yes” or simply smile.  Other work friendly costume I have worn, a toga as I was Socrates, a custom home-made Cowardly Lion, and this year a frontier bartender, of course I was tending bar, so not much of a stretch.

I also like the benefits of Halloween, candy, especially the small size.  It is the only time spending more money for cute little candy bars is not frivolous.  Since I have decision making problems, I can have two and satisfy myself doubly!  And Smartee’s and Skittles’ and Tootsie Rolls and…

Past my trick-r-treating days, I can also get a great measure of joy handing out candy.  In years past there has been a party surrounding this, the first one when I lived in Prairie Park, across the street from a grade school.  As with many of my parties, adult beverages where served and we took turns handing out the candy everyone brought over.  When we ran out of candy, we broke into the freezer and started to hand out frozen burritos, until reason prevailed and we turned off the porch light.  There were quite a few kids, but nothing compared to our current location.  Old West Lawrence, maybe due to it’s proximity to downtown and that candy handout, or maybe the reputation of the neighborhood, we get A LOT of kids!!  For several years we had parties, we needed extra people bringing goodies to supply candy to all the goblins and princesses, and then last year I took a tally, 170 something, if I remember right.  Broken down by time, there was a quick start about 6:30, then a lull followed by a rising tide that crested around 7:30, and slowly receded until 8, when all that was left roaming the streets where bands of teen agers. 

This year, we were prepared.  With the house in various stages of (dis)repair, we didn’t have a party, so my wife bought 10 bags of candy, including 2 super sized bags.  Wading home from Angler’s though the sea of people sucking up the candy handouts down town, I knew we had it coming.  The doorbell rang with the first pair of kids just before 6:30.  I grabbed the caldron of candy and my beer and headed for the porch.  4 super heros  into it, we got a note pad and pen to keep track, and soon after that I went in and filled a pitcher of homebrewed IPA for the parents.  It was fast and furious and when we ran out of candy bars at 7:30, our tally was in the 170’s again, and we were down to the tootsie family multi pack.  I wanted to make it last, so 2-3 treats got handed out instead of handfuls, and it worked, at 7:58, we hit the magic 200 trick-r-treater mark.  And as I ran glass the last of the 3 pitchers of beer I poured next door, 2 more came up, final tally 202!!  Whew!

Now a short little complaint.  I don’t think kids know what Halloween is, or even what they are supposed to do.  Half the kids mumbled “Trick or Treat”, and only one offered to show us his trick.  And while some parents stayed on the sidewalk, many walked all the way up to the porch escorting the little zombies.  I suppose it was crowded and busy enough there was not time for tricks, but at least say the line.  My first Halloween memory, I was a football player, and for my trick I would pose with the football like I was OJ running past a defender, the posture that I later recognized as that of the Heisman trophy.  I was cute.  And my little sister was a cheerleader, even cuter (but cant find that picture…)

Here is one with the two of us.  I don’t think this is Halloween, but it could have been, or maybe someone’s wedding, Upton is pretty rural. 

Cute, cute, cute!!!

I Like Everything

Unlike my friend that blogged I Hate Everything, I have the problem that I Like Everything. This is especially an issue when it comes to food and entertainment. Anyone who has eaten out with me knows of my legendary indecisiveness. How many times has the Jeopardy theme been hummed for me? I just can’t decide, I like it all… Marriage has simplified some of this, if I hesitate for even a second when ordering, my wife will say, “you’re getting the special.” At home, “what sounds good for dinner” is almost a trick question. “Anything” isn’t the right answer, but neither is “Tacos!” usually. Beverage selection can be difficult, too, so many choices, all of them good. Beer, wine, cocktail… with multiple choices each and that is just when I get home from work!

I also like movies. I like action, drama, thriller, romantic, comedy movies. I like indie film and blockbusters. While I disagree that Titanic was the best movie of whatever year that was, I did like it. Witty movies, stupid movies, I am just pretty easy to entertain. When it comes to reading, I just want to be entertained, and edutainment is good too. I like I like I like. Just look at my Goodreads ratings, nothing less than a 3.

And I like TV. Deprived as a child, I grew up with one fuzzy channel on a small B&W TV until we moved to Lawrence. And when the picture tube went out, my sis and I would listen to Saturday morning cartoon, but that was too pathetic and soon that went away and for the next 10 years I grew up in the TV-less household. I remember renting a TV for the Olympics, and getting the TV from the school in a couple summers, but nothing was cooler than the friend with cable! Once we got TV and cable, I bought the nicest VCR my $1000 at the Army Exchange would buy and recorded… and watched and recorded some more. Now the major factor in my TV viewing is time. I have to pick and choose what I want to watch, sometime a really hard decision needs to be made. External factors, DVR space and time conflicts seem to be the most important decision making tools.

One of the best filters I have is price. If I can decide how much I want to spend, that can narrow down my choices. When I picked out a car, I factored price, performance, utility, economy and style into the mix, but that wasn’t defined enough, I like so many. So I weighted the top three factors, then threw out price, since I knew how much I wanted to spend, and got Utility and Economy, which lead me to one car, well, 2, the Matrix and Vibe. The duchieness of the Toyota dealer pushed me into my happy Vibe. Similar decision tree for food and beverage happens too, but I have minutes not days to resolve. I think I am getting better, tho.

Multiple Tasking

I like multitasking. It seems wasteful to only do one thing at a time. Surf the internet while watching TV, shaving in the shower, walking and chewing gum all fine task doublers. My favorite is when it involves work. For years I have listened to audio books while making maps, each just enough distraction from the other to help me concentrate on both. I find it difficult to listen to an audiobook without multitasking, my mind wonders and I realize I have no idea what just happened. This happens while working sometimes, when I come upon a challenge that requires little more brain power than I have dedicated to work, and have to steal thought cycles from the listening part.

Recently I have been multi-processor multitasking. With 2 computers on my desk and a network that allows me to take control of several others, I can really get some work done. Yesterday I could be found with a mouse in each hand, setting up processes on both machines at the same time. After kicking those off, I remotely connected to a third machine and started up another batch. I had 3 computers, a total 6 CPU/core’s doing my bidding!! (Of course they where windows 32 bit machines, so really only one of the cpu’s on each machine was working for me, the other against me…) I was connecting to another machine, a quad-core beast when others needed one of my (like that, mine, all mine) machines for some little process…psh. Oh well, they crank away, making maps, while I blog, multi tasking again. Ooo, and soon I will pick up with my audiobook. Stephen King, here I come!

Eeek!

For the first time in our current old house, we found a mouse. I think maybe the brown recluse colony, no, civilization, in the basement had been keeping them out, but now with that in better control, the rodents can compete. We heard a scraping noise and isolated it to the cold air return where this little mouse was trying to scramble up the pipe. We watch in amusement at it would get to a certain vertical angle then slide down again. So I grabbed a towel, lowered it down the pipe and replaced the grate, the thought being that it would get itself out and the kids would find it.

The “kids” being the fur-kids, 2 cats and the dog, Annie. Annie and the older cat, EO (Ebony-Obsidian, guess what color she is) are proven mousers, having racked up multiple tag team take-downs at the previous old house we lived in. Ixxie, aka “Kitten”, however was untested. Since showing up at our house 2 years ago, the skinny, skittish, broken-tailed little thing has grown to be the next vowel in our clan. She has a playful streak longer than what EO will put up with, so she can be found making friends with sticks. Not “so to speak”, but really sticks, and weather stripping, and earrings, even coins. I watched her one morning, pick a penny up in her mouth off the slate bathroom floor, carry it out the door where she dropped it and proceeded to play hockey on the hardwood. That helped to explain the change that was found on the floor everywhere, even in the cold air return.

And it was that cold air return where we found the mouse, and Ixxie was in the next room, making us wonder if she had been playing with her new friend before knocking it into the grate. So fast forward 45 minutes, we are watching TV and suddenly Annie is guarding this little grey thing… oh my, with a tail… on the floor, with Ixxie a couple feet away looking on, blankly as she does at what I suspected she had played with all the way into the living room. The mouse was moving slightly and breathing fast, so Annie gave it a quick little nibble, pick it up and repositioned herself further from the cat, mouse between her front paws. Implored by my wife to get rid of it, I pick up the tiny little thing in a paper towel and after showing it to EO, who had just wondered in the room, tossed it out side.

With winter approaching, the little creatures looking for someplace warm might be better served to find accomidation elsewhere, this old barn is hostile!

Nuts!!

I stayed home to get some work done this fine Saturday, but my remote connection to work was down so the fall back was house work. after getting the old bed broken down and out of the way, I resumed cleaning the spare bedroom where it will be going, eventually. I made some headway and then moved the foot board and box springs (split-queen) into that room. I don't want to get too carried away, as there are some repairs needed in the wall and ceiling. First week in the house, we hear a loud noise, and when we looked, a section of ceiling had collapsed. Hum, right over the water damaged section of flooring. Nice disclosure. When we investigated further, the upstairs shower/tub sliding doors didn't drain in the correct direction, with the water in the trough leaking OUT of the tub, down to the, and saturating the ceiling until collapse. I guess the previous owner didn't shower... Then we lost hot water in the upstairs and then a leak started to show up in the basement, so we cut a floor to ceiling gash in the wall to fix... plumber called and replaced all upstairs pipes, requiring more ceiling demo...

So, i check again, still having network issues, so I mow. I realize there are a few acorns on the sidewalk and they are kind of like marbles, making the already tricky brick treacherous, and with delivery men showing up, i decided this would be a good time to join the safety police. I grab my new blower, and get the nuts and leaves off the stairs and short walk to the house. I now have several inches of acorns collecting in the low spot of the brick, so i get the vac attachments for the blower. OMG! that didn't work very well, the aerodynamics of the acorns pretty slippery. So I upgrade to the Billy Goat, electric yard vac! That will work, right!, big powerful thing... not really. It sucked up leaves and sticks, but really struggled to make headway against the pile of acorns, and not any better on the scattered ones. Back to the blower, and I blow them into a large pile and go old school, push broom and dust bin. Then the small scoop shovel, then the snow shovel! I fill the first trash can and drag up the next and fill it, too. There were some leaves and sticks, but mostly nuts. A couple hundred pounds, 6 bushels I estimate. Much more to come, I am sure, not to mention the piles in the grass. What a productive tree this year, I cant wait for the leave to fall...

It's Just a Flesh Wound...

Not that it explains any of my oddness, but I was once shot in the head. It was a friendly fire incident, the worst of all reasons to get shot. It was Easter of 1982, I think, and the emergency room was quiet compared to many of the other times I visited there. They saved the projectile that they dug out of my skull for me in one of those urine sample jars, which is now labeled and lost among the boxes and drawers of memories. I was so lucky…

My friend Adam lived in KC with his dad during the week and came out to his mom’s on weekends. We would pal around, hiking, hunting, camping, stalking, mini-biking and all that other fun stuff on the quarter section of wooded hillside between our houses. We build hay forts and tree stands and hydro-engineering projects in the ditch just for the fun of it. Anything we could figure out to do with firecrackers, we did. He brought some bottle rockets from home and we would take turns shooting at each other as we zipped by on the mini-bike. Being the young engineer I was, I made a launcher with a flag pole, capped at one end, a hole cut to light the fuse, and a tennis ball can as a flash suppressor, which gave the game some surprisingly close calls. But it was all harmless.

You might be thinking 1982, what were you doing with a firearm? But I was living “in the country”, a couple miles outside of town where boys and guns went together like, well, boys and guns! And our arsenal was comprised of pellet and BB guns, hardly lethal, at least to boys. Now pigeons and grasshoppers might fall prey to the mighty guns every now and then, a squirrel once and a lot of cans, but nothing much bigger than a shoe. This particular spring, we had gone down to the pond to shoot (at) frogs. I had left the nice .22 caliber pellet gun at the house, preferring the cheaper ammo of BB guns. The drawback of BB’s are their accuracy, saving the lives of countless critters. When we ran out of BB’s, we tried hunting them down with pocket knives, and when that fun wore off, we started to trudge back home, me in the lead. Adam had a CO2 powered BB pistol, with a 50 or so shot reservoir for BB’s, and you could shake and hear the rattle of your remaining shots. Well, since we had long exhausted our ammo, firearm discipline had lapsed, and for no reason that anyone can explain, Adam took aim at me from 30 feet or so and pulled the trigger. Hey, it was empty, right? Well that puff of compressed air pushed the real last BB out of the chamber on a trajectory towards me. Continuing in the series of unlikely events, the .177 caliber slug, travelling at hundreds of feet per second, founds it make, me, striking me in the back of the head, several inches behind my ear! I thought I had been stung by a wasp, and flinched, bringing my hand up to my head as I turned around. The shocked look on Adam’s face (and the gun pointed at me) quickly informed me to what had happened. Not content with giving me a welt or just a small flesh wound, the BB pierced my skin and imbedded itself between my scalp and skull a good inch from the entry point. I told Adam not to worry, I would tell the parents that it was a ricochet, so he wouldn’t get in (too much) trouble, and turned and ran the rest of the way back to my house, where I told my mom I was shot. Shocked, she cleaned up the blood, scalp wounds are bleeders, to find a tiny hole and a bump, and after tying for several minutes to move the BB back to the hole, decided this might be best left to the professionals, and loaded me up in the car and we headed to the Emergency Room. There, after a requisite wait, a local was injected and a small X was cut to remove the BB. And continuing the cover up, I had to get a tetanus shot (since it had bounced off the ground). After returning home, I found Adam waiting on the back porch with his mom, and a large basket of Easter apology candy.

Well, it sits in a plastic jar labeled “The BB that got me, Easter ‘82” and is packed away somewhere next to the chunks of cartilage from my first knee surgery, a reminder of how lucky I was.

A Few of my Favorite Things

I don’t believe in absolutes. I will rarely be heard to say “best”, “worst”, or “favorite,” instead opting for modifiers like “quite possibly the best” or “my current favorite”. Favorite restaurant, don’t have one. Best beer, I wouldn’t even try to answer that, and my favorite beer changes faster than the weather. Seasonal changes don’t even begin to explain all the fluctuations, there are just so many variables. Once I was heard to say “that was the Greatest movie I remember,” a declaration that received quizzical looks until I clarified, “Great meaning big, not good…” that movie was T2.

Now I finally have something in my life that is “my favorite”!! My underwear! I might even call it “the best”, but definitely “favorite.” Exofficio boxer briefs. I was drawn to them years ago when I found them in the REI store in Albuquerque, a performance fiber with the right amount of support and comfort. And the tag line is awesome, “17 countries… 6 weeks… One pair of underwear.” That has been revised lately to add the line “(Ok, maybe two.)” The quick magic fabric can be hand washed and will dry over night. My wife doesn’t agree, but I think it is more magical than that, a good nights airing out and they are good to go! Barring accident, 1 or 2 pair will last the whole road trip, weeks vacation, or business trip, even without hand washing. Simply awesome!

And they are the most comfortable undies ever, too. Cut just right to allow room and support, chafing and problem of the past. And the waist band has a velvety touch that never binds. The magic fabric controls heat and moisture so the boys are always comfortable. Maybe too comfortable, as sometimes I notice a little shrinkage after a long hard day brewing. I guess like the magical, elfin stuff that it is, the shrinkage is a protective measure, that extra level of safety in a dangerous world.

I’m not sure how many have joined me in this bliss. My brew-partner is one. We wear matching “brew-panites” on brew days, Ocean blue of course. We each just grew our wardrobe when they went on sale and own at least one of each color! I hope that doesn’t mean we will have to coordinate that too, we already have to decide brown or green shirts.

They are a bit pricey, up to $25/pair for the boxer briefs, but well worth it. The first couple pairs I bought have been in regular use for almost 5 years, and except not being able to read the tag they are in perfect condition. They come in other styles, I did just buy a regular boxer, probably for use as PJs, a sport brief and regular brief, and 5 colors to choose from, manly colors like Black, Charcoal, Deep Palm, Ocean, and White. The women’s lineup is even more extensive, offering a Capri pant, bras, tanks, camis and panties from a full cut brief to a thong. I haven’t found a following of women for these yet, but I am looking forward to hearing about it (so slick and tactily pleasing…).

So whenever I am asked what my favorite ____ is, I think about my underwear, and I hope you will too. You wont regret it.

Polyga-Me

So I had a dream the other night where I was married to 3 women! I don’t know if married is right, I didn’t get the impression I was Mormon, but harem wasn’t the feel either… anyway, 3 women all in the same house, each with separate skill set they brought to the household. One was kind of sporty tom-boy, one a homemaker type, and the other a career woman. One to maintain the outside, one to keep everything in order on the inside and one to make bank! It was a good dream!! And there was a signup sheet on the fridge indicating who preferred my company each night. Career woman had first dibs on weekends, as her work schedule kept her out of town a lot and even when in town, was exhausted. Each got my affection and attention more or less equally and nobody complained. Date night might see some or all of us going out on the town but rarely comingling in the bedrooms. Like I said, a good dream.

Then I woke up and starting thinking about this, and I am pretty sure there is not a chance in the world it would work. While the thought of being shared among 3 women may seem appealing, the demands would likely be overwhelming, especially if they competed for my time. Multiple “honey-do” lists would surely develop, and there would be no way I would get a bathroom or garage space. And most of the date on the calender were empty, does that mean I sleep on the couch? I suppose arrangement could be made for all the unique want and needs, TV, food, temperature… more space for sure. Maybe start up something like the “My Ol’ Ladies and me” commune. That doesn’t have the right ring. Oh well, maybe I will return to the dream and get to work out all the details.

Dam the NPR for getting into my dreams... or was it the preview of United States of Tara?

Incidental porn

No surprise, I like porn. My current favorite is... well, I won’t go into that right now. But my second favorite is what I like to call incidental porn. Maybe accidental might be another adjective. It might not really be porn…

Porn: Noun; creative activity (writing or pictures or films etc.) of no literary or artistic value other than to stimulate sexual desire. (http://www.dictionary.net/porn)

OK, it IS by definition. Let’s see about the other word.

Incidental \In`ci*den"tal\, a. Happening, as an occasional event, without regularity; coming without design; casual; accidental; hence, not of prime concern; subordinate; collateral…

Good, got that right, too. So put them together and we get “a happening or event without regularity or design of no value other than to stimulate sexual desire”. Yep, that’s it, though “…sexual desire” might be a strong phrase, it could just be left at “…to stimulate”.

So what am I referring to? Well, not the emails from Victoria’s Secret (too regular) or from friends (with design). More accidental, like scrolling down dealnews.com and coming across a bra and/or panty sale. Or in the real world when a gust of wind reveals a little more skin than planned. A wardrobe malfunction uncovers a colorful bra strap, a decorative décolletage or racy panties. You say, “OK, we know you are observant and a perve, so what?”

The next variant is more mental. Have you ever come across something titillating, it says in your head and you mull it over, research it maybe? A really hot car never before seen on the road advanced plans for the next generation of solar heat/pv panels, plug-in hybrids, geothermal… something that sparks something when you don’t expect it? Maybe some food or beer that exceeded expectations by so much you start dreaming about what you can do with it, when you can have it again… The smile from a stranger, a thank you from a pretty girl and sleeping, eating, playing, being pushed in a stroller babies (by mom who’s swollen breasts that defy laws and cant be contained anymore J) all can create another happy, make me smile, incidental porn moment.

Bad Dreams

Growing up I had 2 reoccurring nightmares. They would invariably wake me up before I found out where it was going, maybe a good thing, as the first was of falling. It was completely white with large floating boulders that I was falling past. Some were course, like lava rock and black and others where as smooth as ball bearings, maybe even shiny. There seemed to be a pattern, like the rocks would start small and rough and get larger and smoother, or something like that. Nothing threatening about this dream except the unsettling feeling of falling.

The other dream had me running though the woods. As background, growing up in Upton, WY, a very small town, I have memories of walking to and from the babysitters, though miles of dense forest. I moved away when I was 5 so I am sure that that wasn't the case, and when I look at a map, it was a large triangular city block between home and the sitters. I probably only walked it once, hand in hand with my little sister, though the tall pine trees, but is seems like more. Anyway, the sitters had TV!! A big color console, if I remember that right, and I got to eat my Kraft mac&cheese on a TV tray in the living room (while little sister had to eat in the highchair/booster seat in the kitchen, haha!). That was so cool!

Back to the dream, running though those same woods and wondering why I am running away from the 6-million dollar man?! The bionic sound pierced the quite of the woods spurring me on. Why was I running from the good guy? Then he turned into Bigfoot! WTF?! Where did this come from? That is when I was startled awake. Years later I was told there was an episode where Steve Austin does battle with Sasquatch. Whew, it wasn't drug induces.

Another nightmare I had that overlapped these, but didn't walk me up as much as keep me awake. I feared "The Bomb" and dying a virgin. I would lie in bed think up elaborate plans to get myself deflowered if I ever learned the missiles where coming. Not very practical plans, especially being isolated in the country, I just hoped it happened when I was still at school. Then I moved to Korea. I suspected that despite being in a city of millions of people and going to school with some real sluts, that if it came to the nuclear option, I wouldn't have time, mere minutes, to fulfill my dream. Luckily the fall of the Berlin Wall came just in time. The thawing up the Cold War may of may not have had any effect on my virginity, but both passed into the footnotes of history, thankfully! After that, I could sleep without worry.