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Isn’t it funny how the littlest things can trigger a memory? Sitting here sipping soda over crushed ice in one of those metallic cups from old. The frost popping instantly. The coldness shimmering off the sides. The chill running through my teeth.
It reminds me of days spent outside running around during summer vacation. Coming inside all hot and sweaty. The coke tasting exquisitely cold and wonderful sipping from the metal cup.
Ah summer where have you gone?
Ciao
For some reason I decided to take a class locally. Well, local in the sense that it would only be 5+ hours of driving time. But hey, it was going to be an “adventure”. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. Maybe I shouldn’t have tempted the gods or maybe I should have just flown to Las Vegas. The class was to be a boot camp of 6 full days (9-7 pm). I must have been crazy!
My friend from work heard about the journey and loaned me his GPS Navigator thinger. After a few lessons, he drove off confident that I wouldn’t break his toy. I was a little nervous about using the darn thing. The last thing I wanted to do was break it or have it stolen. But I was going on an “adventure” and it would be just like having my SO with me to navigate.
Well, for the first 100 miles the poor little device was constantly telling me it had to recalculate, cause I just wasn’t going the way it thought I should. Once I crossed over the big-ass bridge, it finally got its act together and started talking nicely to me.
There was this little scary moment when the thing ran out of juice and I plugged in the charger. Seems whoever had the charger last hadn’t treated it with loving care and the darn thing fell apart (more like exploded) in the cigarette lighter. I pulled off the road and started pulling pieces of the charger out from the socket. Praying I wouldn’t somehow electrocute myself.
I pull back out and as I’m sailing back down the road, I noticed I have no tunes, no books on CD, no clock, no dash lights, no radio, no noise, no charger… Nothing…. You have to understand, I could get along without the GPS Navigator thinger, but I could not survive (and many others might not) without my Books-On-Tape. Things would get very ugly, very fast.
I grabbed my owners manual from the glove compartment, found a grocery store parking lot, and pulled in for some repairs. Seems in order to get the spare fuses, I’d have to pop the hood, poke around in the very, very hot engine compartment and find this very little tiny fuse remover tool. Then go back under the dash and find the offending fuse. I did it. I found it and got it replaced. Lights, noise, clock, radio, charger, everything worked again. EXCEPT for the Navigator thinger.
Talk about a rollercoaster. I’m sitting there with sweat dripping off my nose and the damn thing won’t work. I tried every button, every plug, even tested with my phone charger. I’m thinking how to break it to my friend that I busted his toy.
Okay, once more through all the plugs. Still no joy. Resigned, I start to take everything apart to put it away and I noticed a little button on the back under the clamp piece I just popped off. I get a pen out, poke it, and the darn thing fired right up. Seems somewhere in all the power plugging, battery running out, and fuse blowing, the puppy lost it’s mind. Hitting the hard reset button made it come back. Crisis averted.
Back on the road, with it once more happily telling me what to do, I made it to my destination.
Gota’ love that gadget stuff…
Ciao
My friend had Cancer. Had being the operative word there. They think they got it all. She’s recovering nicely and only needs to go back for annual checkups.
I cried when I found out.
Ciao
A baby dropped by work yesterday accompanied by Big Brother, Mom, and Dad. Women came from all directions as if there was some scent in the air. What is it with all the squeaking and cooing and can I hold him? Men fled and women stood in line to hold the baby. He was passed around like a hot potato. He’s not even a month old yet. So it was a very small sack of potatoes, more like a very large roast. Big Brother got bored and started racing around the cube-farm at top speed, bouncing off walls, and stealing candy. I didn’t blame him. At his age, what fun is it if you can’t play with it. All those adults inquisitioning him about his new Little Brother. Give him a break, he’s really not sure how he feels yet.
All this fuss, and it was legion, was going on right outside my cube. I had a front row seat for all the squeaking, cooing, and pregnancy stories. As I sat there, it struck me as bizarre. You get pregnant. You swing between moments of sheer terror and incredible joy. You can’t stop nature and shazaam, you suddenly have another life that you are responsible for. At this stage, its sleep deprivation for you and constant sleep, poop, and eat cycle for him. Men flinch and women exchange war stories.
His mom confessed she’s bored stiff and has already been sneaking peaks at email, keeping tabs on work, and just plain craving adult conversation. She gladly passed him off to all the cooing females just to have a few minutes off.
Eventually, all the more aggressive moms wandered away and the shy people popped out. Those people who aren’t quite sure what to do with a baby, want to look, or feel socially obligated to go see the baby. They stand back a few feet, right on the edge, hesitant. You can see things flitting through their minds: “It’s a baby.” “Am I ever going to have one of those?” “Does it bite?” “Let me get a little closer..” “Eww, ohh, wow.” “It’s a baby.” “There, did it. Social obligation fulfilled. Run.” “Do I want to hold it?” “It’s a baby.” “It looks like every other one I’ve seen.” “Cool.” “Eww, are they supposed to do that?” And then they too drift away.
Then it was my turn. She turned to me and said, “I have to pee. Do you mind holding him for a bit?” I must have looked wrong because after a frustrated sigh, one of the women plopped him in my arms, told me how to hold him, and next thing I knew, I was feeding a three week old infant. I must have been doing it right, because everyone settled down. Then he farted, burped, and went to sleep. I was told I had truly been accepted. But I must confess. No twinges of maternal instinct. No ticks from the old clock. Nada. Zilch. Zippo.
Long time ago I realized that on the subject of having children, I really was apathetic. I’m sure if I was with someone who really had the joneses for them, I would have them. But who I’m with now, likes them a lot but also likes to give them back. We’ve talked about it and agree, if something happened to our friends, we would gladly step in and raise em. But having our own just isn’t in the stars.
Ciao
I shouted, “The Guys are here, hon. Get dressed.”
If you ever wander back through my little blog of diatribes, you might notice that I started this when we started our house building. Well at least when we actually bought land not the 7 year odyssey that it took to get there. We became proud owners in Dec ’05. Not much has gone wrong with the house. A few mechanical difficulties which were promptly fixed by “the Guys”.
“The Guys” would show up after a call and eat our food, drink coffee, and generally be loud fixer-uppers of stuff. Nothing was too small or too big. Fixed and off they would go. I often wish my SO had their talents. Sigh… All he did was rip the spigot off the side of the house with the lawn mower..
Well its time for our 1 year walk-thru and due to the vagaries of scheduling they appeared this morning and are eating our food, drinking coffee, and are quietly banging around the house fixing nail pops, cracks, leaks, etc. Over the next few days, I’ll get to see all “the Guys” who we worked with to build our home.
People delighted in telling us how bad our experience would be and to tell the truth, it wasn’t so bad. Sure we had our arguments, discussions. But those mainly were me and the SO trying to find tile, colors, cabinets, and lights. Early on we determined we would move no load-bearing walls, not re-arrange the kitchen for the umpteenth time, or change our minds half-way thru anything major like tile work. Every horror story we heard seemed to come from those three with a healthy dose of (you guessed it) lack of communications.
We would make a choice and for better-or-worse stick with it. The Builder knew his stuff and we have a very beautiful solidly built house.
Guess what I’m trying to say is “the Guys” can come over anytime and eat our food, drink coffee, and bang around the place.
Ciao
Thoughts of an Old Fart 