the Rev

About a year ago at this time, my son and his fiance were busy planning their wedding, making all the usual decisions about time and place, invitees and participants. They had most of it under control except for one vital thing: who would officiate at the ceremony. Since none of us invovled in the whole complex arrangement is affiliated with any church, there was no clergy to call upon who knew the bride and groom. We considered a judge, but having no experience with any aspect of the law (none of us have ever been arrested) we didn't know who to approach.

Desperation calls for desperate measures. It had to be a moment of pure desperation when the two would-be newlyweds asked me if I would consider officiating at the wedding. Don't get me wrong, I was flattered and honored that they would even entertain such a thought, let alone express it and take the chance that I might agree. Obviously the whole idea hinged on the possibility that I could attain some sort of official, legal status so that they would, in fact, be legally married when all was said and done. To that end, I did some research, made a few phone calls, and found out that I could in fact do the deed if I was so inclined without needing to register with the county in any official capacity, whether as a layman or as a member of the clergy.

So I started prospecting online, looking for an officially recognized group that could confer legal status on me. To my amazement I found that there are enough sanctoned organizations out there that every man, woman, and child, and their dogs could become ordained. For a fee, of course. The fees varied widely depending on whether the newly ordained wanted to be a mere minister or wanted to ascend the heights of religious hierarchy up to archbishop. No mention of what it would cost to be Pope or the Grand Ayatolah. I opted for the lowliest rank of officialdom, reasoning that no amount of money would get me any closer to redemption. Salvation can't be bought, but I can.

So, after sending in the apropriate fee of $29.95, I received from Rose Ministries my official designation as Reverend. Included in the fee was an official id card with my name preceded by "Reverend" along with several official looking forms for weddings and baptisms, plus some examples of those ceremonies. But the absolute coolest item included in the packet was a placard for the dashboard of my car indicating my status as a member of the clergy which would allow me to get that front row parking spot when I visit the hospital. The fact that I will never actually visit a hospital in any clergy capacity is irrelevant. I just like knowing that I could park there if I want to.

Once I became "legal" I actually had to seriously think about my official duties as the officiant at my son's wedding. Suddenly the enormity of the task hit me. This was not just a "maybe it will happen sometime in the distant future if it happens at all" situation. I had to actually do this and do it in a memorable and classy way that they would remember fondly at all their future wedding anniversaries. I started in May researching wedding ceremonies and making notes and writing and rewriting the ceremony that would occur in August. All the preparation paid off with a wedding ceremony that was beyond beautiful. I played my part with a dignity that was universally praised by all the guests, and most importantly by Jon and Katie, the newlweds. I even got some inquiries as to my availability for future weddings. But no, I haven't planted a cross in my front yard with a "for hire" sign on it.

Since that August wedding, I have become known by family and friends with the tongue-in- cheek appellation "the Rev."
Anyone who knows me well, knows how ludicrous that honorific is. I am probably as far from reverent as one can be without being demonic. But for that one day in August and in the memories of that day, I earned and deserved the title. And Jonathan and Katie are officially and legally and happily married.

one more notch

Today I get to carve another notch in the timeline of my life. On this day in 1948 I entered the world kicking and screaming and I haven't stopped since. My kicking may be slowing down, but I compensate by screaming louder. When I make it through this, my 58th year, I will have achieved another family milestone. My father died at the age of 58 and I am determined to surpass that age and add a considerable number of years to it. Wish me luck.

Now all together:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR BOB
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.

The above refrain is sung to the tune of Happy Birthday. Thanks.

morning coffee

We bought a new coffee maker the other day. The old one was still servicable; it still made coffee. But it was very slightly broken in a nonessential way. So, we tossed it and bought this new one.

The new machine is a step up from the old one in that it is programmable. That means, of course, that we can prepare the ingredients the evening before the morning when we want coffee, saving us the trouble of trying to make it while we are in a semi conscious state. Wonderful theory. I'm sure it works for most of the reasonably intelligent adult population that drinks coffee. We, however, seem to belong to the adult group that finds "programmable" to be something intended for the super human. Anytime we acquire a new appliance or gadget that has technology at its heart, panic sets in and we begin frantically looking for the nearest ten year old to take care of it.

It didn't help either that the instructions for programming this incredible machine were, for some inexplicable reason, written in Spanish. Not being bilingual, I looked at the pictures in an attempt to decifer the method for producing programmable coffee. Mary jumped in with the remainder of her Spanish knowledge dredged up out of the murk of her once flluent ability with that language (at the very beginning of her teaching career she actually tought beginning Spanish). Even she could not make sense of the instructions. So I was left to "wing" it. I loaded the water and coffee into the appropriate places (I think), and pushed a few buttons. Saw some pretty red lights and numbers that may or may not have corrresponded to the current time or the brewing time. Stepped back and prepared for the explosion I was sure I had just programmed into the machine.

Nothing happened immediately, so I figured we were safe in retiring for the night. I did, however, sleep with my fingers crossed all night. I fully expected to either find a coffee pot with nothing in it, or a kitchen with coffee on the ceiling, walls, floor, and dog. To my absolute amazement, the coffee had been brewed, the pot was full, and it smelled wonderfully the way only fresh brewed coffee can smell in the morning. I called to Mary to come witness the miracle and to join me in a cup of that life giving elixer.

As she poured herself a second cup, she picked up the directions booklet, intending to toss it in the trash, only to find, by some divine intervention, that it had been translated into English.

" It's a miracle," I exclaimed in wonder.

"No," she said as she smacked me upside the head with it. "All you had to do was turn it over, you dummy. The book is witten in both English and Spanish."

I was very careful to avoid pointing out that she had failed to notice that the evening before when we were struggling so with it. A really good cup of coffee in the morning apparently is essential to awakening not just me, but my common sense and survival instincts. Mmmm, good to the last drop.

....later

I've been dealt with. All the fearful anticipation and anxiety was wasted emotion. When Mary got home from school yesterday I figured I would get the icemaiden treatment from her. You know, the icy stare and cold shoulder and frigid response to my effusive greeting. But frankly I think she forgot all about my egregious faux pas of the day before. She was far more concerned about the always rocky start to a new semester, dealing with new classes and schedule. Naturally, I carefully avoided any mention of the previous day's conversation that had so set her off and had left me grasping for a lifeline. I honestly think that at this point, she is far more involved with work than with worrying about dealing with me on any level. In the future I will have to remember to save my harshest criticism and loudest arguments for the beginning of the new semester. I sort of get a free pass at that time. And I didn't even have to make a peace offering of some trinket or go the flower route. I got away cheap all the way around.

Of course there is always the possibility that she hasn't forgotten and is storing this stumble on ny part as ammo to be used later. Forgive and forget is not one of her virtues. Sometime in the future when we are having one of our contentious dicussions (ok, argument), she will dredge up that bit of mud and throw it in my face. That's when I will finally get the chance to say, "What I really meant was..." Now I just have to think of what it was I really meant.

chin deep and sinking fast

Oh boy, did I let loose a shit storm yesterday. I said something in the normal course ofthe conversation that just came out wrong and now she's ready to drown me in the tub of shit I find myself in.

Some background first. Mary, my wonderful, intelligent, funny, sensitive, sexy wife, who is definitely my better half (so ok, I'm pandering here a bit just in case she reads this), got in her head that she needed to lose ten pounds. It doesn't matter that I thought she was perfect as she was. Her New Year's resolution was to lose some weight to make her feel better about herself. Did I mention I ithought she was perfect already? Anyway, to that end she has been a marvel of determination and discipline, arising at 5 AM each morning to exercise for an hour before getting ready for work. She walks on the treadmill or bicycles for 30 minutes and then lifts weights or does a routine with the exercise ball. She has sworn off alchohol as well, so now I feel guilty having my glass of wine at dinner while she abstains. I've cut down on my Brandy consumption as well in support of her effort, but I really don't mind because she is such an inspiring example for me. (quit your gagging)

So, the conversation last night at dinner concerned some comments made by her teaching colleagues at school that day, who were very complimentary. These particular teachers are all quite a bit younger than my gorgeous wife and look up to her as someone they want to emulate in both their appearance and in their professional life. Mary has been a mentor to one of them who is almost another daughter for her. Some of the younger teachers have commented that they wished their own mothers would look as good as she does. Mary always looks professional in her appearance and manages to stay quite fashionable while doing so. She dresses appropriately for her middle age. Yet she was saying that all the compliments didn't make her feel any better about herself since she still feels "fat."

Ok, this is where I jumped in with both feet and didn't have enough sense to keep my idiot mouth shut. Try to understand that I was trying to join in the compliments by suggesting that the way she dresses has a lot to do with the fact that her young proteges don't see why she is concerned about losing that ten pounds. I said, "they should see you naked. Then they would understand." Yeh, this is where the shit starts flying.

"So you think I'm fat and ugly when I'm naked?"

"No, what I mean..."

"Say no more, mister. You are in deep shit now."

"But that..."

"Shush! Now I know what you really think of me."

"No, no, that's not...."

"Don't make it any worse. I'll deal with you later after I calm down."

Are there any more ominous words than, "I'll deal with you later?" I am treading water, er, shit, here waiting for her to dunk my head under. She hasn't yet "dealt" with me and the anticipation is killing me.
Help. Throw me a line here, people, I'm sinking fast.

give a little

I just finished writing a short letter to Javier. He is a ten year old boy who lives in the Dominican Republic. He comes from a poor family, naturally, since the DR is not exactly a place with an affluent population.

My connection to him is through a sponsorship program called Compassion International which is a Christian organization that connects people like me with children like him. The cost of sponsoring a child from an impoverished country is only $32 a month, but the reward is immeasurable. That $32 provides the child with food, clothing, education, health care, and the intangible feeling that someone cares about him.

I think Compassion sponsors several hundred thousand children all around the world. I don't know the exact statistics off hand. But even if it was only a fraction of that number, the good that is being done for those children is worth all the effort that goes into the sponsorship program. And I can't think of a better way to spend those few bucks each month.

Not to get on a soapbox or preach from a pulpit of self-proclaimed goodness, but I'm sure there are many bloggers out there who could easily afford those few bucks each month to help make the world a better place for another child. After all, those kids are the future and if we want to affect the future and insure a caring and compassionate world, the time to start is now. And the cost and effort is so small, yet the result so big.

Give it chance. Check it out.

another cane

Here are some pictures of the latest cane to come out of my workshop. It's a rooster tail design made of Aspen and Oak. I continue to make canes, not because I use them myself, but because I like the form and the endless possibilities for ornamentation and shape. Plus I get to use a lot of the scrap material left over from other projects that would otherwise just be wasted.

Now I get it

You may have seen or heard this before. If you have I apologise for subjecting you to it again. The following is a copy of the actual words spoken by our nimrod President as he explains the unexplainable Medicare D drug plan. We need to cut him a little slack since English is obviously his second language, a Texan dialict of Idiot being his first.

Bush Explains Medicare Drug Bill -- Verbatim Quote
WOMAN IN AUDIENCE: 'I don't really understand. How is
it - the new plan -
going to fix the problem?'
Verbatim response: PRESIDENT BUSH:
'Because the -- all which is on the table begins to
address the big cost 
 drivers. For example, how benefits are calculated,
for example, is on
the  table. Whether or not benefits rise based upon
wage increases or
price  increases. There's a series of parts of the
formula that are
being  considered. And when you couple that, those
different cost
drivers,  affecting those -- changing those with
personal accounts, the
idea is to  get what has been promised more likely to
be -- or closer
delivered to  that has been promised. Does that make
any sense to you?
It's kind of  muddled.
 
Look, there's a series of things that cause the
-- like, for  example, benefits are calculated based
upon the increase
of wages, as  opposed to the increase of prices. Some
have suggested
that we calculate  -- the benefits will rise based
upon inflation,
supposed to wage increases. There is a reform that
would help solve the red
if that were put into effect. In other words, how fast
benefits grow, how fast the
promised benefits grow, if those -- if that growth is
affected, it will
help on the red.'

Well that explains everything. I feel so much better now, don't you?

decorating and me

I want to know where in the rulebook of the Wifely Sisterhood that it says that if one of the wives starts redecorating her house that that creates a mandate for all other members of the confederation to follow suit. Just because her friend, Judy, has repainted her living room and insalled new carpeting and put some new furniture on top of that carpet doesn't mean that Mary has to do the same thing. Or am I wrong?

All of a sudden our very comfortably decorated home has been found lacking by the Queen of the household. Up till now our home has been well suited to our lifestyle and comfort level. And it is really quite well decorated and visually pleasing. In a word, comfortable. But since Judy has been on a decorating rampage of late, Mary has decided that we simply have to make some changes to keep up. Now all of a sudden our bedroom is old and tired looking. Doesn't matter that we only see it at night mostly in the dark. It needs to be redone. The bathroom is perfectly servicable with the tile and color scheme, but for some reason it is now totally inadequate. The wallpaper in the kitchen is wonderfully done, but just because it's been there for too many years, it to needs to be changed. I could understand the need to change any of those things if they were really in need of change, but just to redo them for the sake of keeping up insults my sense of logic.

You have to understand that Mary is a compulsive decorator. The fact that she is good at it only fuels the fire. I am perfectly happy with my Lazyboy and remote with some of my favorite artwork on the walls to distract me. She, however, is constantly tweeking the visual landscape. That would be ok if she didn't always seek my opinion about the latest tweeking. For the past week she has been stopping off at various stores on the way home from work and buying all sorts of new doodads and gimcracks in an effort to change the look of my surroundings. Of course, I am then expected to join in the oohing and ahing over the new purchases and enter into the endless discussion about them and their intended use. This is usually done during the basketball game I am watching on the tube. In my Lazyboy. With the remote. Her priorities and mine are not in accord.

In her quest for a change in color around here she has come home with several "throws." For the uninitiated, a "throw" is really a blanket of a certain size that is supposedly "thrown" onto a chair or couch or bed to add color and textural interest. It is in fact never thrown, it is placed ever so carefully and artistically after being folded into a pleasing shape on the piece of furniture it's meant to decorate. So in this case "throw" is a noun, not the verb that describes the action I take with my jeans when I take them off. We now have different color "throws" on the couch and chair in the living room, on the futon and loveseat, on the end of the bed (where it has passed the Smoosh test (Smoosh being the cat in residence who claims our bed as her favorite domain), and probably on a few other places I have yet to discover.

In addition to those atfully placed rags, we have had endless conversations about what color towels and color coordinated accessories (like the cupholder I refuse to refill) we should choose to create a new look in the bathroom. I have to admit that those conversations are more like monologues on her part with my participation limited to the occasional grunt, or nod, or "yes, dear, whatever you like." I really don't give a rat's ass what color the towel is as long as it is there when I need it to dry my ass. But I try to fake my interest in the process to maintain at least a semblance of tranquillity around here.

As long as she is only adding new colors and new visual stimuation with the use of easily obtained throws and towels and accessories, I feel relatively safe in my limited participation. But when she starts talking about painting and wallpapering and heavy duty labor on my part, then I pay closer attention. When she starts using the royal ''we", as in "we need to repaint the living room," my self preservation instincts shift into high gear. By "we" she naturally means "you, lackey, peon, laboring serf of mine, do my bidding now or suffer the consequences." She's great at coming up with ideas that I then have to make happen. I have to admit that in the past she was spoiled by my willingness and capability to handle any and all projects she could dream up. I even dreamed up a few of my own. But I have entered into a stage of life when I have neither the willingness or, truth be told, the physical capability to handle any but the simplest projects. So I vehemently exercise my veto power in those more involved projects. So far I have avoided any heavy lifting, but I know the time will come when my arguments will fall on deaf ears. I will then have to convince her to hire the necessary labor to do whatever needs to be done.

I can only hope that this decorating mania is just a phase she's going through that will be supplanted by something new in the near future. That may or may not be a good thing. She seriously suggested that we go to the Boat Show this weekend to look at a pontoon boat to replace our ski boat. I hope her friend, Judy, didn't buy a new boat lately.

and it's still January

Last night I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the new fallen snow. It was such a gorgeous evening, a perfect winter night. In the dark of the night, the moonglow makes the snow glisten and shine and is just too perfect. A postcard picture.

At a time like that the tendency is to forget about the practical matter of what to do with the snow that is now clogging the driveway and piling up against the door. Unfortunately I had to get up this morning to about 6 inches of that white crap (it's not so pretty in the harsh glare of the morning sun) and devote the better part of the morning to clearing it away. I'm back to hating the stuff again. Fortunately, the temperatures are near 40 again so the great meltdown is ocurring even as we speak. Green grass is in our not to distant future again.

p.s. Don't you just hate it when all anyone can talk about is the weather?

it's still January

It's been snowing for the past couple of hours. And you know what? I'm ok with it. This is January and January in Wisconsin generally means there will be snow. So far this month has been more like Spring, and while I enjoy the mild temperatures, there just seems to be a lack of seasonal rhythem without the cold and snow.

I've never been a real fan of winter. I never really got into any of the usual winter activities like skiing, or that idiotic pastime, ice fishing. Basically I just tolerate the weather at this time of year and count the days until Spring. You might wonder why I remain in this climate if I don't like the winters; I've often wondered the same thing. I guess we stay here by default. It's where we grew up, went to school, got jobs, raised a family, made a life. We just never got around to looking at other places.

So now I'm looking out the window while I write this and feeling kind of content. It's a nice feeling knowing that while it is cold and snowing outside, I can sit here, hunkered down in the warmth, and enjoy the beauty of the falling snow. If we get as much as the weatherman is predicting, I will actually have to get the shovel out and maybe even the snowblower. But for now we'll just cocoon for the evening and appreciate the season.

skirmish in the marriage war

Her two most often fired missles on the battlefield that is our marriage are the absolutes, ALWAYS and NEVER. As in "You NEVER turn the light out when you leave the room," and "you ALWAYS leave your chair pulled away from the table," and "you NEVER hang your bath towel when it's dry," and "you ALWAYS forget to take yur phone with you." I could go on and on, but you get the idea. The fact that I OCCASIONALLY or SOMETIMES do those things is beside the point. Reasonableness is not one of Mary's virtues when it comes to enumerating my shortcomings.

So I was on to her game yesterday when I noticed that the bathroom dixiecup holder was down to the last three cups in the dispenser. Just the night before she went on a rant about how if she didn't replenish the cup supply it would NEVER get done. Or if she didn't replace the roll of toilet paper it would NEVER get done. Now you have to understand that the cup dispenser has never been depleted enough that a normal human being would notice that it needed to be refilled. Same with the rolls of toilet paper in both bathrooms. There has never been an occasion when the three pyramided rolls of paper in the decorative basket next to the toilet has lacked its top roll. Even in all the years when both children were still present and using those items did there appear to be any diminished state of supply. Mary has always claimed that we thought there was a gang of elves that snuck in in the middle of the night to do the resupply chore. The point is, we, and now I alone, have never had to restack the toilet paper or refill the cup dispenser because she always did it before we had a chance to notice that it needed to be done. So seeing the cup holder nearly empty was something I never expected to see and fully expect to never see again in this lifetime.

The test was obvious. No subtlety at all. She must think I'm a totally clueless moron to not see her gambit. Would I notice the lack of cups and refill the holder? Of course I'd notice. It would be like seeing Lake Michigan emptied of all its water. Unavoidably obvious that this was not normal. But the real test was whether I would actually refill Lake Michigan, or in this case, the cup holder. Now, my problem is that I think too much. A normal person would just go ahead and put some more cups out and be done with it. Not me, though. I didn't want to give her the opportunity to pat me on the head in her patronising manner as she does when I've been a good boy and lived up to her expectations. So I decided to leave it in its near empty state. Then when she started again on her rant about my NEVER filling the cup holder I could say, "Of course I noticed it was almost empty, but I didn't fill it because I wanted to see if you noticed that I noticed it was empty and didn't fill it because that has always been your job and I didn't want to take away any of the great satisfaction you get from doing your job so well."

Ok, that didn't fly. I was accused of being a total rebrobate with little or no redeeming social value. According to her, without her guidance and custodial care, I would probably be a dumpster-diving vagrant slurping puddled water from grimy cupped hands. She says she will laugh uproariously when I get stuck in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles, paperless and desperate, because I didn't replace the emptied roll of paper. She then mimiced my PD shuffle, bare-assed, as she imagined my quest for sanitary relief. Thank goodness we were laughing all the while. God, how I love that woman and her sense of humor. But I'll be damned if I'll fill that cupholder.

The skirmishes will continue. The battle has only just begun, even after 36 years of sizing each other up.

I think I've got it

Thanks to BadAunt I've learned how to add a link to my blog entries. I feel so empowered. I may just become the ultimate linkster before I'm done. Don't you just love it when you learn something new, put it into practice, and find that it works exactly the way you expect? I'm getting almost giddy here. I may have to go clean the catbox or pick up the dog crap out in the yard to bring myself back down to earth. Thanks again BadAunt. I think I love you.

yoga and other pt

I just finished an hour of yoga. The time I spend on that discipline is some of the most enjoyable and beneficial time I allow myself. I learned the basics while taking a series of classes aimed specifically at Parkinsons patients. I now practice mostly on my own, but will head back to class for a "tune-up" one these days. I've found that the stretching and strengthening that results from yoga has kept me mobile and functioning at a near normal level. I say "near normal" because I will never again be as physically active and adept as I once was. I move too slowly and my balance is somewhat compromised by PD to ever achieve that state again. But because of yoga I can still ride my bicycle, can still swing a golf club. What more could I ask for.

While yoga has kept me active, physical therapy has finally eased the constant pain I've endured for nearly the past year from persistant bursitis in my left hip. Over the past week I've finally gotten over the hump and have realized what it is like to not wince and gasp with each step. The bursItis caused muscle pain from my butttock down my leg, sometimes all the way to my ankle. It has taken pt sessions twice a week for that past 3 months and a daily exercise routine to get to this point. The pt sessions usually include ultrasound treatments and muscle massage.

Naturally, since the pain originated in my hip area and buttock, the treatments required that I remove my pants. At first the therapist was concerned that I might be embarrassed by being so exposed, but I explained to her that over the years I have been examined, evaluated, diagnosed, poked, probed, prodded, palpated, invaded, medicated, drugged, scoped, humiliated, and had a near death experience so that lying on the examining table in my underwear didn't even rate an honorable mention on the list of indignities inflicked on me. I told her I would be happy to prance naked through the mall whistling Dixie if she convinced me it would help ease the pain. After that we had no problem. And now we have the desired result.

So if you are ever in a similar situation requiring physical therapy, be aware that though it may take some time, good results will be there. I takes persistance and patience, but eventually you too can get over the hump and back to normal. If I can do it, anyone can.

Upstate

Upstate
Originally uploaded by Bobciz.

This is my latest wall sculpture. I just completed it this past weekend. I've had the idea in mind for a long time, ever since making the drive to Ithaca, NY several times over the past few years to visit Carrie when she was at Cornell.

4 (or more) about me

This exercise really made me think. I was "tagged" by one of my blogger friends, G-Man (I wish I knew how to add a link to him here), with the "4 things about me" questions that he also answered in response to an invitation from one of his blogger contacts. You can tell I'm technically challenged by my inability to provide you with the proper links. Someday soon I will figure it all out. Or blow another brain circuit trying.

Anyway, the point of this excercise is to learn a bit more about me. It's tough to narrow down some of the responses and tough to come up with the required 4 responses to some of the questions. Introspection comes hard to me, and making choices means working within the stated limits. I usually like to color outside the lines, so this is a good chance to exercise some discipline. Consider yourself enlightened by the following.

four jobs you've had: stock handler in a factory, factory piece work in a hydralic tool factory, pizza delivery, short order cook (those 4 were all during my college years), I've been a military instructor and drill seargent in the army as a reservist. I've been a retail store merchandiser and designer, and had my own business as a designer/builder/carpenter/contractor. I'm now retired and finally being an artist.

four movies I could watch over and over: The Godfather Parts I and II, Dances With Wolves, The Graduate, Schindler's List.

four places I've lived: grew up in Sheboygan, lived in Madison during college and early married years, have lived here in Greenfield for the past 35 years. I know, boring.

four tv shows I live to watch: there are none that I feel I can't miss. My tv viewing tends toward the sports world. If there is a game on, any game, I will watch that before anything else.

four places I've vacationed: Clearwater Beach, FL many times, Colorado, northern WI, New England. Never been out of the country other than a brief drive through Canada on the way to New England. Never been farther west than Colorado. I know, boring.

four websites I visit daily: CNN. com, CnnSI.com, JSonline (Milwaukee Journal/Sentinel for local news), BLogs that I've come to enjoy

four favorite foods: I actually love fresh fruit and currently have in the house bananas, oranges, apples, grapefruit, blueberries, and red grapes. Other than that, if there's a chocolate chip cookie within reach, it's gone. And pizza. I could scarf up a whole pepperoni, mushroom, green pepper, onion pizza all by myself if left unsupervised. Shameful, I know, but I have no other vices.

four places I would rather be: I assume this means right now. In which case I would rather be on any golf course anywhere, or downstairs in my workshop/studio, or pedaling my bike along the Lake Michigan shore, or on a massage table getting rid of some of these aches and pains.

four albums I could listen to over and over: I like the term "album" since it has a certain nostalgic value. We no longer hear about "albums", it's all CD's now. So asking for albums is a trip down memory lane. The Beatles White Album, of course. Pink Floyd, "Dark Side of the Moon", The Eagles, "Hotel California", Simon and Garfunkel "Bridge Over Troubled Water".

four people to pass this along to: Again I wish I knew how to supply the proper links here, but you know who you are badaunt, wiccachicky, bud, and kim

we're gonna pay for this

The calendar says January 12. The thermometor outside my kitchen window says 60 degrees. Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it supposed to be closer to 20 degrees at this time in January in Wisconsin. I look out that kitchen window and see grass that is as green as it would be in mid May. I'm thinking I may have to get the lawnmower out if this weather trend continues. The whole month of January has seen very mild temperatures and no snow. Yes, we've suffered through a couple weeks of gray clouds and no sun, but today the sun is shining brightly without a cloud in evidence anywhere on the horizon. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm just confused and a bit apprehensive about what is in store for us down the road.

It's like the saying, " no good deed goes unpunished." Around the middle of March I expect we will be hit by a huge blizzard that will bury our butts in a couple feet of snow. That will, of course, delay the start of real Spring until the middle of April or later. So, while we may be enjoying the balmy Spring-like weather now, we will pay for it later. I've lived in this climate for too many years to expect anything less. And while I may be tempted to get the golf clubs out (several local courses are actually open), deep down I know it's too soon and I will only be torturing myself with great expectations.

I hope that Mother Nature is only teasing us a little and not pulling a huge practical joke that will leave us longing for normalcy. I would really prefer that we have some real winter weather now so that the natural progression of the seasons isn't so perverted. As much as I dislike the cold and snow, I would rather have those conditions now than in March when we should be experiencing the warmth of the coming Spring. Global warming apparently is more than just a theory.

what's in a name

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet"
Act II, sc ii, 43-44

Old Willie had it right. My name doesn't really make me who I am. It simply applies a label for identification. So I think from now on I will dispose of my Lithuanian surname and all the attendant irritations of spelling and pronouncing for the dullards who refuse to try either and go with something simpler and easier. What name,though, should I settle on?

I'm convinced that having a difficult name can be a hindrance in life. I'm sure that those with more consonants than vowels in their names get short listed and overlooked simply because the one holding the list doesn't want to be embarrassed by his inability to pronounce the name. Promotions are harder to come by because the boss has trouble with the name or because it costs more to paint the longer name on the door. The Jones and Smiths of the world should be required to carry a 50lb bag of rocks tied to otheir scrotums to make up for the ease with which they sail through life's name game.

With one of those eastern Europeon names attached to you, you always know when the roll call has reached your turn. A lot of hemming and hawing insues when the roll caller gets to one of those toughies. There usually is a lot of throat clearing and nervous sweating before a botched attempt spews forth, followed by a plaintive, "help me out here". There have been many times in the past, when faced with just such a situation, that I would remain silent and let em sweat. After the appropriate amount of time passed for optimum humilliation to set in, I would come forth and say, "Do you mean me? It's pronounced just the way it's spelled." And, indeed, my name is pronounced just as it is spelled. If they had just paid closer attention to their grade school phonics lessons, we wouldn't be having this problem.

In the army I had to answer to "Alphabet" whenever the nco did a roll call. But I can forgive that, military intelligence being the oxymoron that it is. But I find it difficult to forgive laziness or lack of effort or preparation. A few years ago Mary was being honored at a district wide celebration of her 25 years of teaching. When the master of ceremonies came to her name he badly mispronounced it. Now, correct me if I''m wrong, but shouldn't he have made the effort to be sure he had it right beforehand so as not to embarrass himself or her. She was being cited for 25 years of service so by then someone should have known the correct pronunciation of her name. From the audience I shouted out the correction, drawing stares and some nervous murmurs, while I glared at the moron with the microphone. Later I had to be restrained from accosting him and questioning his intelligence.

My mother realized the potential difficulties our surname might bring, so she gave each of her children a 3 letter middle name that could be used in its place. I never took advantage of that. I don't know why. Masochism perhaps. I've encouraged my own children to jettison the name and go with something more user friendly, but so far they have stuck with what I stuck them with. Carrie has the real opportunity to legitimately use the name Smith, but has said that she would stick with her given name, since it would give her a more memorable and distinctive professional presence. Go figure.

Maybe I protest too much. After all, if I had a name like Jones or Smith, I would have to tolerate the knowing stares and covert winks of the desk clerks whenever I checked into a motel. I don't have to worry about that with my given name, because who could or would make something like that up. Score one for "Alphabet."

technophobe

I hate technology. I use it, but only to the minor extant that allows me to do stuff like this. Granted, these computer things are a neat tool that gives us all a chance to connect in a way we never could before. But my knowledge of all the attendant doodads and gizmos that make these websites and blogs pretty to look at is negligible. Adding links and photos is a chore that is beyond my comprehension. All that code stuff might as well be Greek for all the chance I have to understand any of it. Cut and paste I can do--with a scissors and some construction paper and a bit of Elmers.

I am reasonably iintelligent and generally follow directions well enough to get by. I admit that when we get something that needs to be assembled, I will generally just go ahead and put it together without reading the directions. It's a guy thing, sort of like not asking for directions no matter how lost I might be. But putting something together with my hands requires only that I see it and do it. If I can visualize it, I'm home free. But all this computer hooha is impossible for me to visualize. My middle aged brain just won't accept any of this stuff. As far as I can tell, it's all voodoo.

What brought on all this whining? I spent a couple hours this afternoon trying to figure out how to add some links to my blog. I thought it would be nice to put all those fellow bloggers that I enjoy reading on a list on my blog so everyone could enjoy them as well. Damned if I can figure out how to do it. I read all the help stuff available on Blogger, but none of it seems to fall into place the way they say it will. Maybe I'm missing a small chunk of brain that comprehends this shit. Whenever I try to do any of this technocrap it just doesn't work for me. I really think that "they" change little things everytime I get involved just to frustrate me. "They" assume I have some basic knowledge that I don't really have and have no way to get. I am the lowest common denominator that they should be addressing. Well, actually I'm a bit lower than that, but my self esteem is low enough right now so give me a break.

It looks like you'll just have to be content with my plain generic blog. Hopefully my words will satisfy you enough that I won't need any fancy trimmings to keep your interest. Then again, maybe ligtening will strike and my blog will be instantly set up all pretty and nice. Sure, and I plan on winning the lottery this week too.

I'm better now

I saw it this morning. Only briefy, for about an hour. It wasn't crystal bright and blinding, but it was really there for awhile. I saw the shadows. I even had to squint slightly when looking out the window. As I sat at the dining room table and read the Sunday paper, a fragmented beam shone through the blinds and actually lit up the room and warmed my arms. The sun is still there, still pulling us in our orbit round and round. After 15 days of longing for it, the relief was palpable and sweet. The sun still shines. I'm better now.

dark and gloomy

I am in a dark mood. We are half way into our 15th day of gray skies here in Wisconsin. The sun hasn't peaked through the clouds since before Christmas, and I am feeling as gloomy as the sky. I have never before been so affected by the weather, being a usually easy going sort of guy. But lately I have been on the brink of a major depresssion. I would like to blame this funk solely on the weather, but the truth is there are other demons working on me. I've never been a whiner or complainer, at least not to excess, but I feel the need to whine and complain as a way too exorcize those demons.

"Why me" has never crossed my lips or even been a conscious thought. The diagnosis three years ago of Parkinsons Disease was admittedly a blow to me. But only for a moment. After hearing the diagnosis, I spent a brief time adjusting to the new reality and then just got on with it. Keep moving on. Deal with it. After a short period of adjustment I accepted the way things were and for all intents and purposes am dealing with it. I choose to look at the positives as much as possible, since negativity takes too much energy. But lately I've found myself leaning more toward the negatives and finding it more difficult to maintain that previously positive attitude.

Where before I cared little about what people thought of me as I shuffled along, occasionaly with a cane, now I sometimes think those same people are looking at me with pity. I have become more self-conscious about the way I appear to people. I hate it when they step aside and make an obvious effort to hold a door open for me or slide to the side to give me more room. I can open the fucking door myself, thank you. I would rather whack you with my cane to get you to move aside than to have you make the pity move to get out of my way. Where before I thought moving slowly was a great opportunity to notice the world around me, now I just think of how long it's taking me to get wherever I'm going. Where I used to joke about the great milkshakes I could make with the involuntary shaking of PD, now I try to hide the shakes as much as possible to avoid the stares of witnesses to my tremors. I used to think having a handicap parking card to get those front row spots in the parking lot was a cool benefit earned by my disability. Now I would give my left nut to have to park in the far reaches of the lot and have to walk like a normal person all the long way to the store entrance. I now hate the fact that I can't handle a pen or pencil with any normal facility, where before I thought of this as an opportunity to explore other means of expressing my creativity. The daily regimen of medications necessary to deal with PD is a constant reminder of this new reality I'm living.

Part of the problem contributing to my morose feelings is the continueing battle with persistant bursitis in my left hip. I've been fighting it for a full year now and still haven't found enough relief. I had a period of physical therapy last Spring which did lttle good and eventually led to a cortisone shot that helped me get through the summer. But once the cortisone wore off, the bursitis was still there. The cortisone merely masked the symptoms, but did nothing to affect a cure. Back to the doctor. Too soon for another cortisone shot. More physical therapy instead. For the past two months I've been seeing a therapist who is far superior to the previous one I saw. Chris is approaching the treatment for the bursitis as a whole body problem due to Parkinsons. I believe the bursitis is a result of the awkward and unbalanced gait and halting movements associated with PD. So she is helping me to strengthen my core muscles and increase flexibility in the muscles around the hip. I've gotten considerable relief from the constant pain due to her ministrations, but the dull ache that radiates from a trigger point in my left gluteus down my leg to my knee and sometimes beyond is still persistant at night and prevents me from getting a decent night's sleep. Consequently, I have less energy during the day, am more crabby and out of sorts, and find it difficult to find the motivation to get anything done.

I currently have four separate projects in process in my workshop, but have little motivation to complete them. The exercise routine I need to follow to maintain as much functionality as possible has been difficult to complete. And I usually love to exercise to stay in shape. I love to cook, but lately all I want to do is open a can of something and nuke it, swallow it, and be done with the necessity of eating. I'm not housebound by any means, yet I have no reason to venture out other than for visits to the doctor or therapist or a run to the post office. My litany of complaints could go on and on, but you get the point. If you want to feel sorry for anyone, feel sorry for Mary since she has to put up with me. And lately that isn't easy.

This whole preceeding diatribe would never have made the page if the sun had just made a regular appearance over the past two weeks. Then again maybe doing this whining has been good for me. Instead of internalizing it, maybe getting it out will have some therapeutic value. I hate to sound like I'm feeling sorry for myself. I remember what my mother said when she was dying of colon cancer, "God would not give me anything I couldn't handle." My lamentations are minor compaired to what she went through. I can do this.

domestic god II

This is driving me nuts. I put the sheets in the washer (this is the one bit of laundry I'm allowed to do) and then the dryer. When they come out of the dryer they are ready to be folded neatly for storage in the linen closet. The pillow cases are no problem. The cover sheet is easy enough. But this is where I run into trouble. How the hell do you fold a fitted sheet? I have tried and tried, but all I end up with is bundle of wrinkles. Is the procedure one of those secrets, like how to make a perfect pie crust or when to use bleach, that the Sisterhood of Domestic Goddesses has sworn to never reveal to us mere mortals, I hate to put that wad of fabric into the closet in that jumbled state. It offends my sense of order. I like things neat and orderly and and folded properly and stored neatly, everything in its proper place. Ok, so I'm anal and need some therapy, but that doesn't get the sheet folded.

Now that i thinks about it, that lament is a symptom of a far greater problem that has come to plague me. I have fallen into the role of housekeeper with little sign of resistance. Mary still leaves me a stack of notes each morning detailing my duties for the day. But the fact is I don't need her lists anymore. I know what to do without being reminded. I know when to vacuum and dust, when to wash the floors, when to clean the kitchen. I know when to change the sheets and put out fresh towels. I know how to plan the weekly dinner menu and have dinner prepared on time when she gets home form work. I have even descended to the depths of nagging and whining like any other housebound frau. Yesterday I even called her when she was late getting home to whine about her being late and not calling me and "now dinner is spoiled." I fear that every last iota of machismo I harbored in my psyche has been permanently and irrevocably excised by the pussy whip. How far must I fall before I start wearing aprons and wrapping my head in kerchiefs?

Enough. I have to go get dinner ready. The boss is due any minute. She better be on time today or I might have to throw a cying fit. I think she may be taking me for granted.

cockroaches and congressmen

Have you noticed that when the lights go on, any cockroaches in the vicinity scurry for cover to avoid being caught? There is an amazing similarity to the scrambling congressmen who are diving into the darker corners to avoid the light of disclosure that uber-lobbyist Jack Abramoff is flashing their way. Those roaches of congress are suddenly making charitable contributioins with excess campaign money they don't need anymore. You have to wonder how many votes are going to be changed as a cover for the illegal shenanigans that those funds were meant to buy. "Look," says congressman "A", "I didn't know where that money came from, but I'd love to give it back." Congressman "B" says, "It wasn't me. My aides are the naughty ones." "C" says, "Yeh, whatever they said." Those unrepentant, lying, vandals of the constitution are tripping over each other trying to get out of the way of the flying indictments coming at them. Instead of indictments what we need are a few industrial size roach motels to rid us of the pests. Does the exterminator make Senate and House calls?

name change for the new year

Bobology is the new name for my blog. It represents a more accurate measure of the mental flotsam that usually appears in this space. It also refers to my penchant for pontification on any and all matters that pique my interest. There is a historical reference for the term as well. When the kids were growing up they frequently had questions about whatever which they directed at me, their all-knowing father, who would proceed to answer them whether I knew the answer or not. Trust me, I mostly had the answer. But on those rare occasions when I iwas somehow stumped, I didn't hesitate to make something up. I always felt that you could get people to believe anything as long as you said it convincingly enough. Of course, as the little brats got older they caught on to my scheme and thereafter referred to my intricate and expansive answers as BOBOLOGY. So, dear reader, you will from hereafter be subjected to a diet of bobology if you so choose to partake. You might even learn something, if I can say it convincingly enough.

this could be heaven

For a football fan the past few days couldn't be any better. With a bowl full of bowl games and the final weekend of NFL regular season play there was enough football to satisfy any football jones. And if you happen to be from Wisconsin, the past two days were especially satisfying. The Packers finally won again, maybe for the last time with Favre. Then today the Badgers kicked some serious ass in the Capital One Bowl, sending those crackers from Auburn home to their mamas in Alabama licking their wounds all the way. Then the Packers today stepped up and got rid of the coach who should never have been in that position in the first place. Bye, bye, Mike Sherman. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out. The best part is that there is still more to come. I just finished watching Ohio State kick Notre Dame in its golden dome and now I get to watch Georgia vs West Virginia in the Sugar Bowl. The fact that I know next to nothing about either team is irrelevant. It's football. That's all that matters. There's more to come tomorrow with the Orange Bowl and then the Big One on Wednesday, the Rose Bowl for the national championship. The BCS got it right this year giving us USC and Texas battlling it out for the, finally, undisputed championship. In years past there were always several teams that could claim a legitimate piece of the college football championship, causing a bit of controversy and debate about who really deserved to be called champion. Not this year though. USC and Texas played the whole season ranked as the number one and two teams in the country and fully deserve the chance to compete for the trophy. Plus those two teams have three of the best and most exciting players in the game with Reggie Bush and Matt Leinert of USC and Vince Young of Texas. Never before has a championship game had three Heisman Trophy finalists in the same game. I'm so excited that I may wet myself if I keep on like this. Pardon me while I hyperventilate............
And just think, March Madness is only two months away.

resolutions

I don't make any. New Year's resolutions that is. I've always thought that when people make resolutions for the new year they are only setting themselves up for disappointment and failure. The promise to lose weight, quit smoking, excersize more, eat better, be a better person are all admirable goals, but they should be done as a matter of course without the need for a formal resolution. That's why I feel that if I just live each day with the best effort I can give, if I do everything each day to the best of my ability, then I don't need to make any resolutions to make me a better person or to improve my lifestyle. Granted, I don't always succeed each day as I intend, but at least I know my intentions are good. There's always tomorrow to pick up the slack.

Having said all that, there are some things that I need to make a concerted effort to either improve or sustain. Diet certainly. In the past year I slacked off on the mostly vegetarian, healthy diet that I need to maintain my somewhat precarious health. I won't completely eliminate those chocolate chip cookies I love too much, but I'll have to cut the dose back to maybe two instead of four at a time. Also I have to cut back on the evening cocktail that too often tends to multiply into two or three. Red wine is ok, even good for me, but those brandy manhattens and glasses of peppermint schnaaps have to be reduced. My exercize regimin is pretty solid, with a variety of workout routines that include bicycling, weight training, and yoga, but I need to pay closer attention to the stretching and flexibility exercizes that my physical therapist has laid out for me. Once the therapy sessions end and I walk out feeling great, I tend to forget that it is an ongoing process that requires my participation. Chris, I promise to be more consciencious. As far as behavioral aspects of my life, I'm perfect and require no extra efforts to improve. Of course, Mary might choose to argue that, but opinions are subjective and subject to dispute.

If you choose to make resolutions for the new year, I wish you luck. Just be realistic in your promises and know that it is an ongoing process subject to change. Be good to yourself. But not so good that you lose the discipline needed to succeed. If you take care and exercise moderation in all things, you surely will have a happy new year.