This week my appendix stump acted up again, but instead of seeking medical help, I treated it on my own w/antibiotics I had laying around. I know this was stupid, but I didn't want to go through what happened a year ago. The following describes my nightmare. I was working a temporary job in Germany and living in a hotel while my husband was deployed.
It’s the Thursday of Memorial Day weekend and I am ecstatically happy. I am flying to Brussells, Belgium to see Bob for the weekend, we have been apart for 11 months and haven’t seen each other for four months. I get off the plane and my belly feels a little queasy. That evening, we had dinner with a few other couples from NATO and I ate like a pig. At the end of the meal, I proclaim, “I’m so full I feel like I could blow up.”
A few hours later, I wake up with an extreme stomach ache and I know it’s that old appendix scar tissue acting up. Twice before since my appendectomy, I have had leakage into my abdomen from the area where the appendix once was and had to be treated with heavy doses of antibiotics. This leakage will cause an infection that will be extremely painful.
On Friday morning, Bob and I go for a walk and after about five blocks I am out of energy and cannot go on. I have a lot of pain. I don’t want to go to a hospital here cause I don’t know if they will keep me and I don’t want to sacrifice the few days I have with my husband. So I decide I will wait until my return to Germany to go to the doctor.
Tuesday morning, I call a friend, Bobbie, and ask her if she could take me to the medical clinic. She has no idea I’m on my 5th day of peritonitis (infection). She gives me the number to make a doctor’s appointment. For 15 minutes of redial, all I get is a busy signal. Then, the phone finally rings, “Press 1 for a doctor’s appointment.” I press 1. “Sorry, all lines are busy.” Click. It hangs up on me, no queue or apologies. This is not going to work.
I call Bobbie back and tell her I’ll just go to the Emergency Room. She picks me up and takes me to the Clinic. It’s so small there is no ER. I’m told it’ll be a few hours until I can see the doctor. I sit down and in ten minutes a young kid calls me in. I assume it’s to take my vital signs. It turns out this is the doctor. I think he graduated med school yesterday. He’s like 27 years old. But he sees the urgency in my case and sends me on to the German hospital. Good thing Bobbie stayed with me, or I’d be hitching a ride.
At the German hospital, they decide I will need to get surgery within a couple of hours. They can see on the ultrasound (this hospital is not into CT scans) that my bowels appear to have a problem where the appendix used to be. I ask them to just give me antibiotics but the doctor says no. He also says he’ll try to do the surgery through my belly button, but I may wake up with a large scar. The tears start to roll down my cheeks.
Then the ultrasound lady translates the ‘all that can go wrong, cover your ass legally’ document that I need to sign. We always have to sign these in American hospitals, too, but I’ve always signed and never really read them. She gets to the part “You may require a blood transfusion.” And I start crying…the crying gets worse with each statement. I recall one that said I may wake up with my colon attached to the outside of my stomach. I’m full-blown crying now and look at my friend Bobbie, who is loaded down with her purse, my purse, my water bottle, my jacket, and my paperwork. She looks empathetic and says, “I’d hug you but my hands are full.”
I tell this lady that I have terrible reactions to pain killers such as percocet, darvon, vicadin and that I will need Tylonol III. She knows none of these names. So Bobbie calls the Patient Liaison to have her translate. In spite of the Liaison’s guarantee that she can be reached any time, day or night, it’s lunch time and the phone goes unanswered. Bobbie then leaves a message with the emergency number and also a message on the Liaison’s machine. I hope this message gets through, I don’t want to see giant spiders and get violently ill.
Wheel me to my room. Strip off the clothes and put on the Johnny. Then a German nurse comes in and wants to put a tube up my nose and down my throat. I tell her this is done after the anesthesia gets administered and I’m asleep. Oh no, not in Germany. She sprays numbing spray in my nostrils and in my throat and eases this 75 foot long (at least that’s how long it seemed) tube up my nose. When it snakes to the back of my throat I get the gag reflex going and now I’m crying again. I know I am making it harder on myself so I try to think nice thoughts, but they are interrupted with each inch this tube makes down to my belly.
With the tube finally in, I am left alone in my room to await the call to surgery. Bobbie has left to go get my things for my stay here. I am crying again, this is hard to do with a tube up your nose. It is also hard to swallow without gagging on the tube in my throat. I try to think of all the people who are currently suffering more than me, but I find that my thoughts focus only on me and the pity I have for myself. After about 30 minutes, they cart me to the operating room. It is here that I meet the Professor. He is the main man, over all the doctors. He’s in his early 60’s and quite serious. He doesn’t have laugh lines, he has frown lines.
After the surgery and a couple hours in recovery, I am taken to my room, where Bobbie awaits me. She has assembled a bunch of my necessities, bought me some others, and has a smiley balloon to cheer the place up. There are also some gifts from other friends. What started off as a ride to the clinic has become an all-day project for Bobbie, who has also called my mom and emailed my husband with the news. She stays awhile, but then leaves to allow me to rest.
After a couple hours, two nurses come in and tell me I need to stand up, I am groggy, so they pretty much pick me up. I feel like Raggedy Ann. Then they have me sit on the bed and they spray my bare back with ice cold water. They tell me this is to help me breathe. It works, it takes my breath away.
My rest is interrupted by freaky dreams and waking up to think people are in the room with me. After one such nightmare, I look up at the IV bag and realize it’s pain killer. I buzz the call button to get the pain meds shut off. The call button is a modern marvel of the 70’s. It’s like a giant walkie-talkie. Once you push the red button, a voice comes over the walkie-talkie, “Bitte???”
“I want the pain killer shut off.”
“No. You can have no more.”
“I don’t want more, I want less.”
“No more, enough.”
“No, I want less.”
“I said ENOUGH!”
Conversation over. Lost in translation.
The following morning, Wednesday, Bobbie is visiting and I’m given a pain IV. I attempt to object/explain, but the nurse doesn’t understand. Bobbie calls the Patient Liaison and asks her to call the hospital and tell them I can’t take the pain killer. Shortly after, a nurse comes to the room and sits on my bed and says, “So, you need more pain meds?” I finally got her to understand the word ibuprofen and got my pain meds adjusted.
The Professor visits me and I ask him if I’m all fixed for good. “No. You had too much infection for us to get anything more done than to flush out all the infection and clean up your insides.” So, I am crying, because I know that at any time I will have this occur again and that I need to have surgery in the future to get this problem taken care of for good.
So, it’s Wednesday and I am allowed to eat. For breakfast, I am given soup, yogurt, and tea. I eat about half the yogurt. For lunch, I am given broth, yogurt, and tea. For dinner, I am given broth, yogurt and tea. I eat half the broth and within a couple hours I am sick and throw it up. I now hate broth, yogurt and tea. Especially the broth.
Thursday for breakfast it’s broth, yogurt, and tea. I open the broth container, get a whiff and have PTSD over the previous evening. My friend tells me this is called the Garcia Syndrome. Once something is associated with making you very sick, you cannot eat it again. Well, I have the Garcia Syndrome with each meal they bring me as the meal never deviates and broth is always the highlight. I have no appetite.
By Saturday, they have broken me. I should never get a top secret clearance because I can be broken by with-holding a shower and a normal meal. The Professor came by for his rounds and I started crying and begging for an American meal and shower. He had a weak moment and acquiesced on both requests. The next meal I awaited with great anticipation with my freshly washed body. In it comes, with the big domed plate. The nurse leaves and I imagine what good food must lie under the dome. I lift it and see two pieces of dry bread. Served with broth, yogurt, and tea.
I eat nothing on Sunday as the word never got to the kitchen that I was allowed to eat anything I wanted. I was still given the broth, yogurt, and tea. On Monday, I had an appetite so I begged the nurse for a piece of Swiss cheese (I know how to say this in German, “Suisse Kase.” ) I was given a piece of cheese on a plate and ate it like it was the best thing that ever went into my belly.
On Tuesday, the Professor gave me his approval to go home. A hotel room never looked so good.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Another haunted house
When I was growing up, I was terrified of the attic and the basement. When going into either, I made a lot of noise to scare away the ghosts or murderers that may linger there.
My bedroom was on the second floor, off the attic. So, when I went to bed at night, I'd run past the attic and then when I got to my room I would turn the light off and jump from the light switch to my bed. That prevented anyone lurking under the bed from catching my foot as I crawled into bed. I guess I never thought about why that person would just sleep under my bed and wait for only a foot.
I was convined there were vampires, so I slept every night with the sheet up around my neck. You may laugh, but that sheet kept my neck pristine. Not one bite mark.
I was also afraid that Sampson, the gorilla from the Milwaukee Zoo, would escape and come to my house. I imagined he'd swing from the cherry tree into my bedroom window. So, in the summer, I would only raise the window a few inches to keep him out.
Last night, I was alone in the old mansion I now live in. It was a stormy night and I had the windows open only a few inches. The wind howled through the windows and the doors kept slamming and rattling. I even heard footsteps. I just hoped there would not be a tornado because I was too frightened to go into the basement. At one point, the room turned really hot, I think that was a spirit crossing over me. Or maybe a hot flash.
Thank God I learned a lot of coping techniques when I was a child. First, I kept my eyes tightly closed so I wouldn't see the horrors that awaited me. Next, I was able to gain courage and turn the TV on really loud (funny shows only) and finally, I was brave enough to get out of bed to close the windows.
Somewhere, late into the morning, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt like a fool. Or maybe a child.
My bedroom was on the second floor, off the attic. So, when I went to bed at night, I'd run past the attic and then when I got to my room I would turn the light off and jump from the light switch to my bed. That prevented anyone lurking under the bed from catching my foot as I crawled into bed. I guess I never thought about why that person would just sleep under my bed and wait for only a foot.
I was convined there were vampires, so I slept every night with the sheet up around my neck. You may laugh, but that sheet kept my neck pristine. Not one bite mark.
I was also afraid that Sampson, the gorilla from the Milwaukee Zoo, would escape and come to my house. I imagined he'd swing from the cherry tree into my bedroom window. So, in the summer, I would only raise the window a few inches to keep him out.
Last night, I was alone in the old mansion I now live in. It was a stormy night and I had the windows open only a few inches. The wind howled through the windows and the doors kept slamming and rattling. I even heard footsteps. I just hoped there would not be a tornado because I was too frightened to go into the basement. At one point, the room turned really hot, I think that was a spirit crossing over me. Or maybe a hot flash.
Thank God I learned a lot of coping techniques when I was a child. First, I kept my eyes tightly closed so I wouldn't see the horrors that awaited me. Next, I was able to gain courage and turn the TV on really loud (funny shows only) and finally, I was brave enough to get out of bed to close the windows.
Somewhere, late into the morning, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I felt like a fool. Or maybe a child.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Jag Repair Woes
It's been over four months since I hit the deer with the Jag. Because I hardly tapped the deer, the damage to the car was minimal. Just a broken headlamp glass and the grill was cracked. The grill is plastic. I guess if it would have been chrome the car would have been priced out of the range of most luxury car buyers.
After the accident, I did a police report and intended to file a claim with the insurance company. But then I thought about it and figured that I could probably have it repaired for less than my deductible, which is $500. This damage could not amount to that much and I could probably do the repairs myself. I guess I came to that conclusion after I had a beer or two. That same night I probably thought I was a good dancer and singer as well.
So, I got on eBay and found a used grill in perfect shape. Only $175. Sold.
Then I was so ticked off to learn that the headlight glass could not be replaced, the entire two light giant component needed to be replaced. The thing still worked, just the one small glass was broken. A new one is $775, just for the part. I want environmentalists to get involved in this, if Jaguar just made replacement glass think about how much less would be in landfills.
I finally found a used headlight for sale on eBay, from somewhere in California. I bought it for $200. It said it was waranteed. But when I emailed the guy with a question he answered me back with an attitude. I'm afraid I may have bought this from some gang and a chop shop.
I finally got the headlight and it matches the car except it looks 15 years older than the one that it will replace, which has been lovingly cared for and garaged. Oh, well, I think it may be able to be buffed out.
So, Saturday comes and I take Bob out to the garage to install the parts and finally fix the Jag. We open the hood and just stare inside. Hmmm...this isn't like replacing a lightbulb. There are a bunch of wires and it's way too confusing. He begins to pull on a wire and I tell him to stop, we need to hire an expert. All I can picture is him getting electrocuted or doing more damage than good.
Today, I took it to the local Shell Station, Peach's in Phoebus. The man there was really nice. But after an hour he called to say that the headlight could not be installed there. In order to attach it, it requires removal of the bumper! He did attach the grill and didn't charge me, so I bought him some donuts as a thank you.
To summarize, I now have spent $375. The grill is finally fixed. But, I have to go to a body shop and have the bumper taken off so the used headlight can be installed. Then, it may not even work, I doubt that chop shop took great care in removing it. The warranty on the headlight may be bogus, backed by a bunch of thugs who want to break my kneecaps or I could wake up with a horse head in my bed.
I guess then I'll call the insurance company.
After the accident, I did a police report and intended to file a claim with the insurance company. But then I thought about it and figured that I could probably have it repaired for less than my deductible, which is $500. This damage could not amount to that much and I could probably do the repairs myself. I guess I came to that conclusion after I had a beer or two. That same night I probably thought I was a good dancer and singer as well.
So, I got on eBay and found a used grill in perfect shape. Only $175. Sold.
Then I was so ticked off to learn that the headlight glass could not be replaced, the entire two light giant component needed to be replaced. The thing still worked, just the one small glass was broken. A new one is $775, just for the part. I want environmentalists to get involved in this, if Jaguar just made replacement glass think about how much less would be in landfills.
I finally found a used headlight for sale on eBay, from somewhere in California. I bought it for $200. It said it was waranteed. But when I emailed the guy with a question he answered me back with an attitude. I'm afraid I may have bought this from some gang and a chop shop.
I finally got the headlight and it matches the car except it looks 15 years older than the one that it will replace, which has been lovingly cared for and garaged. Oh, well, I think it may be able to be buffed out.
So, Saturday comes and I take Bob out to the garage to install the parts and finally fix the Jag. We open the hood and just stare inside. Hmmm...this isn't like replacing a lightbulb. There are a bunch of wires and it's way too confusing. He begins to pull on a wire and I tell him to stop, we need to hire an expert. All I can picture is him getting electrocuted or doing more damage than good.
Today, I took it to the local Shell Station, Peach's in Phoebus. The man there was really nice. But after an hour he called to say that the headlight could not be installed there. In order to attach it, it requires removal of the bumper! He did attach the grill and didn't charge me, so I bought him some donuts as a thank you.
To summarize, I now have spent $375. The grill is finally fixed. But, I have to go to a body shop and have the bumper taken off so the used headlight can be installed. Then, it may not even work, I doubt that chop shop took great care in removing it. The warranty on the headlight may be bogus, backed by a bunch of thugs who want to break my kneecaps or I could wake up with a horse head in my bed.
I guess then I'll call the insurance company.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Fountain of Youth
I’m back at the Lakehouse in Wisconsin and watching the lake turn from ice to liquid again.
I discovered that my basement was flooding, it was the sump pump, which had stopped pumping. So I chose a plumber the way most people do. I saw a nice clean truck driving around that had “Plumbing” on it with a phone number.
I could have called the plumber down the street, but his sign is hideous. It has those slide in letters and they are all worn, faded and in different colors and stages of decay. He also has an unsecure wireless network, which is another indicator of half-ass and sloppy.
So, my new plumber pulled up and I was really happy until he backed his trailer over my little flower bed. Oh, well, nothing is blooming yet anyways.
While the plumber was here, I also had him reroute the drainage pipe because the other one drained into the lake, which is supposedly against DNR rules and also caused the land behind my sea wall to be soft and when the ice push came, blew it all apart. (That repair is on tap for next month.) You can see the sea wall in the picture.
The new sump pump is in and when he turned it on, it pumped enough water to raise the lake an inch. It turns on every 3 minutes (yes, I’m timing it) and pumps more water out. Now the side of my house is like a small creek. I’m hoping this will evaporate. I’m also throwing some bird seed in it so the birds take baths and fly off with some of my water on their feathers.
I am beginning to think that this house is on a spring. The plumber told me that there are artesian springs in the area. Maybe I could sell this stuff as some kind of fountain of youth water. I just would have to wear a veil over my face so the customers won’t see it’s a farce.
One thing the plumber told me as we were standing outside watching the sump pump gush water from the fountain of youth is that the eagles eat the ducks that fall asleep on the lake and get frozen in. I was horrified by this story, and I watched the eagles fly all along the icy parts of the lake, looking for their weak prey.
So, after he left, I drove around the entire lake and looked for stuck ducks that I might have to free. One more thing to worry about.
I discovered that my basement was flooding, it was the sump pump, which had stopped pumping. So I chose a plumber the way most people do. I saw a nice clean truck driving around that had “Plumbing” on it with a phone number.
I could have called the plumber down the street, but his sign is hideous. It has those slide in letters and they are all worn, faded and in different colors and stages of decay. He also has an unsecure wireless network, which is another indicator of half-ass and sloppy.
So, my new plumber pulled up and I was really happy until he backed his trailer over my little flower bed. Oh, well, nothing is blooming yet anyways.
While the plumber was here, I also had him reroute the drainage pipe because the other one drained into the lake, which is supposedly against DNR rules and also caused the land behind my sea wall to be soft and when the ice push came, blew it all apart. (That repair is on tap for next month.) You can see the sea wall in the picture.
The new sump pump is in and when he turned it on, it pumped enough water to raise the lake an inch. It turns on every 3 minutes (yes, I’m timing it) and pumps more water out. Now the side of my house is like a small creek. I’m hoping this will evaporate. I’m also throwing some bird seed in it so the birds take baths and fly off with some of my water on their feathers.
I am beginning to think that this house is on a spring. The plumber told me that there are artesian springs in the area. Maybe I could sell this stuff as some kind of fountain of youth water. I just would have to wear a veil over my face so the customers won’t see it’s a farce.
One thing the plumber told me as we were standing outside watching the sump pump gush water from the fountain of youth is that the eagles eat the ducks that fall asleep on the lake and get frozen in. I was horrified by this story, and I watched the eagles fly all along the icy parts of the lake, looking for their weak prey.
So, after he left, I drove around the entire lake and looked for stuck ducks that I might have to free. One more thing to worry about.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Cherry Blossoms
Bob and I were in DC Wednesday, peak time for the cherry blossoms. We drove down to the Tidal Basin area to see them. It was bedlam. People everywhere, horrible traffic, traffic lights weren’t working, and there was not one parking spot to be found. After an hour of driving around, we decided to head back to the hotel. As we entered the highway, I tried to snap a quick picture of the cherry blossoms from the road. I ended up with a close-up of the guard rail.
We ate an early dinner and I was lamenting that the day had such perfect weather and I was disappointed that I didn’t get some pictures of the cherry blossoms. Bob said, “Let’s take the Metro down there. We’ve got over an hour of daylight left.”
It was about a half-mile walk from the hotel to the Metro. We didn’t have a lot of small bills but didn’t want to put a $20 in the Metro ticket machine, because it gives change in those fake looking $1 gold coins. Bob put $5 on his card and I put $2 on mine.
We got on the Metro and asked a lady which stop would get us closest to the Tidal Basin. We got off at that stop and when I put my ticket in the machine to release me from the Metro, it would not take it. I asked the Metro cop why. He said I didn’t have enough money on my ticket. So I put the 85 cents I needed on and we were on our way. (And, yes, on the way home, we ended up with the gold dollar coins.)
Our hour of daylight was quickly evaporating as it took a half hour to get there and about 5 minutes to gather enough change to get out of the Metro station. The first thing we realized it that we had not gotten off at the closest Metro stop. We had to walk about a mile and a half to get to the Tidal Basin. By now we were in a very fast walk.
I wanted to jay walk and cut across grassy areas, but Bob would not cooperate. We had to stay on the sidewalks as the signs told us. We are in a slow jog and I am breathlessly complaining that we would be there by now if we just took my shortcuts. The sun is quickly dropping from the sky.
We ate an early dinner and I was lamenting that the day had such perfect weather and I was disappointed that I didn’t get some pictures of the cherry blossoms. Bob said, “Let’s take the Metro down there. We’ve got over an hour of daylight left.”
It was about a half-mile walk from the hotel to the Metro. We didn’t have a lot of small bills but didn’t want to put a $20 in the Metro ticket machine, because it gives change in those fake looking $1 gold coins. Bob put $5 on his card and I put $2 on mine.
We got on the Metro and asked a lady which stop would get us closest to the Tidal Basin. We got off at that stop and when I put my ticket in the machine to release me from the Metro, it would not take it. I asked the Metro cop why. He said I didn’t have enough money on my ticket. So I put the 85 cents I needed on and we were on our way. (And, yes, on the way home, we ended up with the gold dollar coins.)
Our hour of daylight was quickly evaporating as it took a half hour to get there and about 5 minutes to gather enough change to get out of the Metro station. The first thing we realized it that we had not gotten off at the closest Metro stop. We had to walk about a mile and a half to get to the Tidal Basin. By now we were in a very fast walk.
I wanted to jay walk and cut across grassy areas, but Bob would not cooperate. We had to stay on the sidewalks as the signs told us. We are in a slow jog and I am breathlessly complaining that we would be there by now if we just took my shortcuts. The sun is quickly dropping from the sky.
Bob suddenly stops and takes a picture of a random cherry tree. He explained that this was going to be the best we could do. By the time we got to the Tidal Basin, the sun had set. It was so beautiful but we were unable to capture it with a picture. Guess I’ll just have to buy a postcard
Thursday, March 26, 2009
The Advice Giver
Yesterday, I had my hair done at an entirely new salon (for me it's new, but it’s been there 3 years). I told the owner that I liked the colors she chose for the walls, the items for sale, and the personnel (who were very friendly). I also told her she needed to move her awards to the front area of the salon and put her certifications and explanations of such on her website.
The owner of the salon asked me to please return because I brought so many laughs into the salon. (Maybe it was because I asked the man who was getting his hair cut if he used dye.) I found out from another patron that there are good furniture deals if I drive to North Carolina. I kind of broke one candle on display and when the owner said she’d have to mark it down to 50% off, I bought it. I told her I’d be back to break more things and buy them “on sale.” I love that salon.
Today, I went to look at granite for my house in Chesapeake and I met most of the crew and eventually the owners. The owners came into the room we were in because it sounded like a party. It was because we were telling funny stories and I have a loud laugh. Note to self: one day I may be able to get hired out for parties to make it seem like fun because of my laugh.
Once I met the owners, I had to tell them about the granite I liked, how terrific their employees were, what to think about in advertising, and how to reach people like me who do not know their established reputation because I have only lived here a month. I asked them what kind of houses they lived in, what kind of granite they had and why they didn’t hold a party for people like me to see it all.
One of the owners (they were brothers) walked me to my car (the Jag) and I asked him if he knew anyone who could fix it at a good price so my husband wouldn't get electrocuted in his attempt. He laughed, either at my comment or because there was still deer fur embedded in my headlight.
I suppose he could have been rude enough to give me advice like I did to him, but he did not. But I could read his mind…this car has been damaged since Thanksgiving and you still drive around this way?
The owner of the salon asked me to please return because I brought so many laughs into the salon. (Maybe it was because I asked the man who was getting his hair cut if he used dye.) I found out from another patron that there are good furniture deals if I drive to North Carolina. I kind of broke one candle on display and when the owner said she’d have to mark it down to 50% off, I bought it. I told her I’d be back to break more things and buy them “on sale.” I love that salon.
Today, I went to look at granite for my house in Chesapeake and I met most of the crew and eventually the owners. The owners came into the room we were in because it sounded like a party. It was because we were telling funny stories and I have a loud laugh. Note to self: one day I may be able to get hired out for parties to make it seem like fun because of my laugh.
Once I met the owners, I had to tell them about the granite I liked, how terrific their employees were, what to think about in advertising, and how to reach people like me who do not know their established reputation because I have only lived here a month. I asked them what kind of houses they lived in, what kind of granite they had and why they didn’t hold a party for people like me to see it all.
One of the owners (they were brothers) walked me to my car (the Jag) and I asked him if he knew anyone who could fix it at a good price so my husband wouldn't get electrocuted in his attempt. He laughed, either at my comment or because there was still deer fur embedded in my headlight.
I suppose he could have been rude enough to give me advice like I did to him, but he did not. But I could read his mind…this car has been damaged since Thanksgiving and you still drive around this way?
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The Inconsiderate Hostess
We have lived here for a month and we had our third set of houseguests last night. Last night’s guests were friends from Wisconsin. I told mom they were visiting and she said, “Don’t go overboard, but be good to them because their dad will spread it around town.”
Bob was out of town, so I was on my own.
The weather was beautiful so I suggested we go for a walk. After about a mile of walking, I noticed Kelly was limping. I asked her if she was okay and she said she had a bad disk in her back that made her leg go numb. Hmmm, I guess I should have found that out before beginning the walk. I wanted to carry her home, but she was a trooper.
We got back to the house and I opened the beer refrigerator and showed them the selection. Kelly doesn’t drink beer. So, I offered her any mixed drink that used grapefruit juice because that’s all I had.
For dinner I made pork tenderloin. I hadn’t thought to ask if they were vegetarians. Luckily, they weren’t. After dinner, we went out on the porch. We sat out there and talked until Kelly mentioned that she was freezing and could we please go in. I noticed it was already 9:00 so suggested we go to bed.
I got into bed, caught up on my emails, and turned on the tv. Damn, American Idol was on and Kelly and Rod and mentioned they really wanted to watch it. I shouldn’t have sent them to bed. I didn’t even think to tell them to make themselves at home. So, now I want to go and knock on their door and tell them that they can get up and watch American Idol if they want, but I am not sure that is a good idea.
In the morning, they hurried out of here. As they left, they told me what a nice hostess I was. Probably because they thought that if they didn’t, I’d make them write it on a chalkboard 100 times.
I wonder what mom will hear around town…that I force marched them, made weird mixed drinks, froze them out, and sent them to bed by 9:00 with no American Idol?
Bob was out of town, so I was on my own.
The weather was beautiful so I suggested we go for a walk. After about a mile of walking, I noticed Kelly was limping. I asked her if she was okay and she said she had a bad disk in her back that made her leg go numb. Hmmm, I guess I should have found that out before beginning the walk. I wanted to carry her home, but she was a trooper.
We got back to the house and I opened the beer refrigerator and showed them the selection. Kelly doesn’t drink beer. So, I offered her any mixed drink that used grapefruit juice because that’s all I had.
For dinner I made pork tenderloin. I hadn’t thought to ask if they were vegetarians. Luckily, they weren’t. After dinner, we went out on the porch. We sat out there and talked until Kelly mentioned that she was freezing and could we please go in. I noticed it was already 9:00 so suggested we go to bed.
I got into bed, caught up on my emails, and turned on the tv. Damn, American Idol was on and Kelly and Rod and mentioned they really wanted to watch it. I shouldn’t have sent them to bed. I didn’t even think to tell them to make themselves at home. So, now I want to go and knock on their door and tell them that they can get up and watch American Idol if they want, but I am not sure that is a good idea.
In the morning, they hurried out of here. As they left, they told me what a nice hostess I was. Probably because they thought that if they didn’t, I’d make them write it on a chalkboard 100 times.
I wonder what mom will hear around town…that I force marched them, made weird mixed drinks, froze them out, and sent them to bed by 9:00 with no American Idol?
Monday, March 16, 2009
Props
When I was growing up, I had a mom who was different than my friends’ moms. I wanted her to be like June Cleaver, but that was never the case. At the time, I didn’t realize the terrific things I was learning from her. One of them was to always have a “prop” on hand. When she would travel with her girlfriends they would always bring large purses (to sneak beers into venues with), and a giant jock strap and giant bra (I am talking about 3 feet across). They would hang those in the hotel room (and eventually on the patio or window) to entertain passers by –and themselves.
My siblings and I have learned the art of the unexpected. When we go on a trip or to a game or concert, we always bring props. I think I was the first one to bring the D-Fence sign to Lambeau Field (I had seen it in Kansas City). At every game we attend, Bob rolls his eyes and asks what signs I’ve made or what props are in the bag.
At the Wisconsin State Fair last year, we brought crocheted shorts which I had been given as a gag gift when I left California. We sat down at a table and would call out to people walking by and ask them if they’d like to wear the shorts. These shorts were a huge hit. People wanted to buy them, but we would only allow them to try them on and photograph themselves in them. The fatter the person, the more the holes in the crochet would stretch. The shorts were baby blue with a pink ribbon and it was hilarious to see grown fat men squeezing into them. We became a side show at the Fair. And we were free.
In Vegas, my sisters brought a broom doll. She was posed all over the strip. She was even held up by a bunch of gangsters for a picture. She had her ‘foot’ run over by a taxi. She ended up being passed around the dance floor.
In Mexico, there was a horse I bought that they told me was hand carved wood. It turned out to be made of plaster and everywhere he went, he sustained more chips. We named him Chipper. He was photographed with people all over Mexico and southern Texas and ended up on stage with the live band on 6th Street in Austin. By then, Chipper had only a couple of legs left.
Now it’s Saint Patty’s Day and I have the Irish Nutcracker. He went with me to Williamsburg last week and he would talk to people (using the lever at the back of his head). The funny thing was that they would answer him and look him in the eyes. At times, he would yell at people, or faint, or just sing. Sometimes, he was rude to people.
Tomorrow is his holiday and he is going to go out and have some fun. I will accompany him. I will try to keep him under control, but this is his day so there’s no predicting how it will go.
Thanks, mom, for the great things you taught me.
My siblings and I have learned the art of the unexpected. When we go on a trip or to a game or concert, we always bring props. I think I was the first one to bring the D-Fence sign to Lambeau Field (I had seen it in Kansas City). At every game we attend, Bob rolls his eyes and asks what signs I’ve made or what props are in the bag.
At the Wisconsin State Fair last year, we brought crocheted shorts which I had been given as a gag gift when I left California. We sat down at a table and would call out to people walking by and ask them if they’d like to wear the shorts. These shorts were a huge hit. People wanted to buy them, but we would only allow them to try them on and photograph themselves in them. The fatter the person, the more the holes in the crochet would stretch. The shorts were baby blue with a pink ribbon and it was hilarious to see grown fat men squeezing into them. We became a side show at the Fair. And we were free.
In Vegas, my sisters brought a broom doll. She was posed all over the strip. She was even held up by a bunch of gangsters for a picture. She had her ‘foot’ run over by a taxi. She ended up being passed around the dance floor.
In Mexico, there was a horse I bought that they told me was hand carved wood. It turned out to be made of plaster and everywhere he went, he sustained more chips. We named him Chipper. He was photographed with people all over Mexico and southern Texas and ended up on stage with the live band on 6th Street in Austin. By then, Chipper had only a couple of legs left.
Now it’s Saint Patty’s Day and I have the Irish Nutcracker. He went with me to Williamsburg last week and he would talk to people (using the lever at the back of his head). The funny thing was that they would answer him and look him in the eyes. At times, he would yell at people, or faint, or just sing. Sometimes, he was rude to people.
Tomorrow is his holiday and he is going to go out and have some fun. I will accompany him. I will try to keep him under control, but this is his day so there’s no predicting how it will go.
Thanks, mom, for the great things you taught me.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Army Basic Training
We visited Fort Jackson last week and witnessed Army Basic Training up close. It was just amazing, these kids get there at all times of the day and night and the in-processing is open 24 hours. The Chow Hall is open until 2 am. By the time they go to bed, they already have a PT uniform.
On the first day of training, the new soldiers are taken to learn to rappel and do rope swings and climb rope bridges. There is a small rappel wall and that’s one I could do (I say that while standing safely on the ground). Once they learn that, they have to do the big rappel, which is about three stories high. They are scared, but they cheer each other on and gain confidence as they accomplish these feats. The end of the first day brings exhaustion, conquering mental and physical stress, and understanding the importance of teamwork.
The Drill Sergeants are amazing. They act more like coaches than abusive parents (which is what I was expecting). I asked one why he chose to volunteer to be a drill sergeant and he told me that his drill sergeant had made a huge difference in his life and he wanted to do that for others.
We also witnessed the training of how to put an IV catheter lock into a vein. The recruits partner up (they call each other battle buddies) and they are instructed on how to insert a catheter into a person’s vein. While we watched, the volunteer in the front of the room fainted as they were finding his vein, and one of the recruits mumbled, “This is reassuring.” I watched the recruits performing this task on one another and I could tell they were nervous. All of them said they would rather have it done to them than do it to another. But they don’t get a choice, they have to do both.
Some of the kids look fat, but the drill sergeants say that by the time the 10 weeks of training is done, they will look completely changed. I heard stories of recruits who had GEDs not because they had any intellectual problems, but because they had family hardships where they had to drop out of school to raise siblings or help sick parents. Those kids already know the meaning of sacrifice and the Army is lucky to get them.
At the end of the 10 weeks, there is a huge graduation and the stands are filled with very proud families. They cheer as if they are at a NASCAR race and they wave flags and signs and shout out the names of their soldier. I have been told that you will get goose bumps witnessing graduation.
Our old friends that we were stationed with in the early 90’s in Germany are there and we had dinner with them. First thing Brad says to me is, “Just leave me!” This was something I yelled in Amsterdam 15 years ago as we all sprinted to catch the train. I was the slow one and no one seemed to notice I was way behind or care that I might miss the train. (This included my husband.) So I shouted, “Just leave me!” And they kept running.
We had a great time seeing Brad and Jan again. We had so much to catch up on. Our lives have all changed so much since 9/11 and we have a hard time staying in touch. But the special thing about the military is that you pick right back up where you left off and friendships last a lifetime.
I think many of the recruits I saw at Fort Jackson are learning this already.
On the first day of training, the new soldiers are taken to learn to rappel and do rope swings and climb rope bridges. There is a small rappel wall and that’s one I could do (I say that while standing safely on the ground). Once they learn that, they have to do the big rappel, which is about three stories high. They are scared, but they cheer each other on and gain confidence as they accomplish these feats. The end of the first day brings exhaustion, conquering mental and physical stress, and understanding the importance of teamwork.
The Drill Sergeants are amazing. They act more like coaches than abusive parents (which is what I was expecting). I asked one why he chose to volunteer to be a drill sergeant and he told me that his drill sergeant had made a huge difference in his life and he wanted to do that for others.
We also witnessed the training of how to put an IV catheter lock into a vein. The recruits partner up (they call each other battle buddies) and they are instructed on how to insert a catheter into a person’s vein. While we watched, the volunteer in the front of the room fainted as they were finding his vein, and one of the recruits mumbled, “This is reassuring.” I watched the recruits performing this task on one another and I could tell they were nervous. All of them said they would rather have it done to them than do it to another. But they don’t get a choice, they have to do both.
Some of the kids look fat, but the drill sergeants say that by the time the 10 weeks of training is done, they will look completely changed. I heard stories of recruits who had GEDs not because they had any intellectual problems, but because they had family hardships where they had to drop out of school to raise siblings or help sick parents. Those kids already know the meaning of sacrifice and the Army is lucky to get them.
At the end of the 10 weeks, there is a huge graduation and the stands are filled with very proud families. They cheer as if they are at a NASCAR race and they wave flags and signs and shout out the names of their soldier. I have been told that you will get goose bumps witnessing graduation.
Our old friends that we were stationed with in the early 90’s in Germany are there and we had dinner with them. First thing Brad says to me is, “Just leave me!” This was something I yelled in Amsterdam 15 years ago as we all sprinted to catch the train. I was the slow one and no one seemed to notice I was way behind or care that I might miss the train. (This included my husband.) So I shouted, “Just leave me!” And they kept running.
We had a great time seeing Brad and Jan again. We had so much to catch up on. Our lives have all changed so much since 9/11 and we have a hard time staying in touch. But the special thing about the military is that you pick right back up where you left off and friendships last a lifetime.
I think many of the recruits I saw at Fort Jackson are learning this already.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Arlington National Cemetary
I drove to Arlington National Cemetery to go to a burial of a wonderful person. It was for Frank, my good friend Tami’s step-father. He was a retired lieutenant colonel and also a great supporter of our troops when we were at Fort Irwin, California.
He died a horrible death of pancreatic cancer at age 66. As sad as this was, it was fortunate for him that Tami’s mom was his wife, Sally, an educated nurse and was with him through all of his illness. She was his advocate at the hospital and his caregiver at home. They were a couple who loved each other and lived “to death do us part”.
Frank succumbed on Christmas Day. Beholding to his wishes, Sally arranged the burial at Arlington National Cemetery. Burial there is not quick as there are so many people in the queue that were in front of Frank. Sally was told that the burial would be on February 24th.
I heard about the burial from a few mutual friends that were flying in to be there for Tami and her family. I am less than four hours drive so could not say no. I knew I had to be there.
I drove in and parked and went to the center where we meet up and ran into Angela, our good friend, and former NFL cheerleader, who had met her husband on a USO tour (he’s a doctor and they met when another of the cheerleaders had collapsed while on the tour—that’s another terrific story). Also in attendance was our head dentist at Fort Irwin, now going to work for the Surgeon General in DC. Then there was me and also Jane and Dave, our head chaplain from Fort Irwin. All of us old friends just wanted to hug and touch each other. There is something very special about the bond among old friends.
I rode to the “gathering area” with Frank and Sally’s friends, Cliff and Pat, who we had gotten to know at Fort Irwin. They had come to the 11ACR Welcome Home ceremony, which Frank had contributed a good sum of money to make more successful.
Cliff and Pat told me about Frank’s last months and how strong Sally had been. They told me that after Frank had died and in the weeks where they were waiting to ship his body to Arlington, that Frank had a birthday. The coffin was still at the funeral home because Arlington can only accept the coffins two weeks out. Sally asked the funeral home if she could spend time with Frank (in his coffin) and they agreed. She brought a cupcake and spent hours at the side of the coffin. Upon hearing this, I began to cry. Imagine love this incredible.
The ceremony at Arlington is emotional. First, an Army band plays tributes. Then the coffin is put onto a horse drawn caisson. The soldiers loading the coffin are so strong and solemn. They make our country proud. Then the loved ones walk behind the caisson to the grave.
At the grave, words are said and the bugler plays taps. There is a 21 gun salute. The flag from the coffin is presented to Sally. She clutches it to her chest. The ceremony is over and we are dismissed. But no one moves. We all wait for Sally to lead. She can’t. She does not want to leave her husband. The coordinator tells us to each put a rose on the coffin as we leave. We all do this, but none of us leave, as Sally won’t. Finally, the coordinator tells us to go back to the reception area.
It’s over, the twelfth burial of the day at Arlington.
He died a horrible death of pancreatic cancer at age 66. As sad as this was, it was fortunate for him that Tami’s mom was his wife, Sally, an educated nurse and was with him through all of his illness. She was his advocate at the hospital and his caregiver at home. They were a couple who loved each other and lived “to death do us part”.
Frank succumbed on Christmas Day. Beholding to his wishes, Sally arranged the burial at Arlington National Cemetery. Burial there is not quick as there are so many people in the queue that were in front of Frank. Sally was told that the burial would be on February 24th.
I heard about the burial from a few mutual friends that were flying in to be there for Tami and her family. I am less than four hours drive so could not say no. I knew I had to be there.
I drove in and parked and went to the center where we meet up and ran into Angela, our good friend, and former NFL cheerleader, who had met her husband on a USO tour (he’s a doctor and they met when another of the cheerleaders had collapsed while on the tour—that’s another terrific story). Also in attendance was our head dentist at Fort Irwin, now going to work for the Surgeon General in DC. Then there was me and also Jane and Dave, our head chaplain from Fort Irwin. All of us old friends just wanted to hug and touch each other. There is something very special about the bond among old friends.
I rode to the “gathering area” with Frank and Sally’s friends, Cliff and Pat, who we had gotten to know at Fort Irwin. They had come to the 11ACR Welcome Home ceremony, which Frank had contributed a good sum of money to make more successful.
Cliff and Pat told me about Frank’s last months and how strong Sally had been. They told me that after Frank had died and in the weeks where they were waiting to ship his body to Arlington, that Frank had a birthday. The coffin was still at the funeral home because Arlington can only accept the coffins two weeks out. Sally asked the funeral home if she could spend time with Frank (in his coffin) and they agreed. She brought a cupcake and spent hours at the side of the coffin. Upon hearing this, I began to cry. Imagine love this incredible.
The ceremony at Arlington is emotional. First, an Army band plays tributes. Then the coffin is put onto a horse drawn caisson. The soldiers loading the coffin are so strong and solemn. They make our country proud. Then the loved ones walk behind the caisson to the grave.
At the grave, words are said and the bugler plays taps. There is a 21 gun salute. The flag from the coffin is presented to Sally. She clutches it to her chest. The ceremony is over and we are dismissed. But no one moves. We all wait for Sally to lead. She can’t. She does not want to leave her husband. The coordinator tells us to each put a rose on the coffin as we leave. We all do this, but none of us leave, as Sally won’t. Finally, the coordinator tells us to go back to the reception area.
It’s over, the twelfth burial of the day at Arlington.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Moving Sucks
We arrived at Fort Monroe, Virginia last week after an 18 hour drive from Wisconsin. We decided to bring both cars and our walkie-talkies were already packed and shipped, so we bought new ones.
Bob led the way in the Volvo and I followed closely in the Jag, which hasn't been fixed since I hit the deer. It still has a patch of fur caught in the headlight, kind of like a soul patch.
I am not sure whether Bob forgot I was behind him or if he was trying to shake me, but he wound in and out of traffic and I kept getting pinched out. At one point, I was caught in between two cars in a two car lane. I'm sure they were wondering what the Jag with the soul patch was doing, so after that, they stayed far away from me. After that, Bob's voice came over the walkie-talkie, "That sure was a close one." Then he sped off.
Our house here at Monroe is a huge old house built in 1907. It has 4 fireplaces and a maid's quarters on the third floor. The ceilings are 12 feet high. None of my curtains will fit. That's okay, the house is on the water so the view should be unobstructed. It's a beautiful post, too bad it is getting shut down. At least we'll get the opportunity to live in one of the great old houses from the Army's past.
The movers came on Monday and delivered our goods. There was minimal damage, but a couple of gouges to some of the larger pieces. On the inventory slip, every thing we own was marked as scratched, dented, gouged, rubbed, and damaged. It kind of hurts your feelings. Bob told the guy doing the inventory that he'd like to go to his house and inventory his furniture.
One vanity was missing the pieces that hold the mirror on, but the mover called us from back in Wisconsin and said they were on his truck. He mailed them to us.
Then the movers left and we have to unpack and put our stuff away. It takes days as we have 250 boxes to unpack. Many of them were of full of items we don't display, but we keep because they are sentimental. Like the hundred wine glasses from the various military balls we've attended. The huge wooden clock with a tiger figure burned on it that we got after giving up command of Tiger Sqn. We have a plaque with a boars head that weighs 25 pounds. The hundreds of framed pictures of various events. They all get unwrapped, then put into boxes sent to the basement only to be repacked when we move again.
Bob led the way in the Volvo and I followed closely in the Jag, which hasn't been fixed since I hit the deer. It still has a patch of fur caught in the headlight, kind of like a soul patch.
I am not sure whether Bob forgot I was behind him or if he was trying to shake me, but he wound in and out of traffic and I kept getting pinched out. At one point, I was caught in between two cars in a two car lane. I'm sure they were wondering what the Jag with the soul patch was doing, so after that, they stayed far away from me. After that, Bob's voice came over the walkie-talkie, "That sure was a close one." Then he sped off.
Our house here at Monroe is a huge old house built in 1907. It has 4 fireplaces and a maid's quarters on the third floor. The ceilings are 12 feet high. None of my curtains will fit. That's okay, the house is on the water so the view should be unobstructed. It's a beautiful post, too bad it is getting shut down. At least we'll get the opportunity to live in one of the great old houses from the Army's past.
The movers came on Monday and delivered our goods. There was minimal damage, but a couple of gouges to some of the larger pieces. On the inventory slip, every thing we own was marked as scratched, dented, gouged, rubbed, and damaged. It kind of hurts your feelings. Bob told the guy doing the inventory that he'd like to go to his house and inventory his furniture.
One vanity was missing the pieces that hold the mirror on, but the mover called us from back in Wisconsin and said they were on his truck. He mailed them to us.
Then the movers left and we have to unpack and put our stuff away. It takes days as we have 250 boxes to unpack. Many of them were of full of items we don't display, but we keep because they are sentimental. Like the hundred wine glasses from the various military balls we've attended. The huge wooden clock with a tiger figure burned on it that we got after giving up command of Tiger Sqn. We have a plaque with a boars head that weighs 25 pounds. The hundreds of framed pictures of various events. They all get unwrapped, then put into boxes sent to the basement only to be repacked when we move again.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
In less than 3 months, I have become a Facebook addict.
It all began innocently. I was curious to see what an old friend was up to so did a google search. I found they had a kid with a Facebook account. In order to see the picture, I had to sign in to Facebook. Wella, I was suddenly getting emails from old friends. I became a committed member.
I spent the first day trying to figure it all out. And there were more friends appearing. Then on the right sidebar, I would see pictures of people I knew and all I had to do was click and type in some blurry words and if accepted, they were my friends.
Then I found my neice on there and she had over 300 friends. Now it was a competition --how could Auntie Jill be such a loser with only 30 friends? So I did a friend search and found more.
It has now become an obsession. I can't wait to log on to see what is new with all my friends and what new friends it recommends. There are some photos of "suggested" friends that appear so often, I feel I know them now and want to make them a friend.
I realize that as I look back on my life and the friends I've made, I can input their name into the search feature and find some of them. And that is what makes it so incredible. This week I found friends I haven't seen in 10-15 years and it was great to go to their photos and see how they look, how many kids they've had and well...just get misty-eyed.
Facebook also allows you to look at your friends' friends. Thus, there can be more connections.
I have invited a few close friends to join Facebook and two have and are also addicted. The others have chosen not to. When they email me and ask what's happening, I just want to scream. They would have access to all of that if they would join Facebook.
Gee, this sounds like an ad for Facebook. I'm Jill Cone and I approve this ad.
It all began innocently. I was curious to see what an old friend was up to so did a google search. I found they had a kid with a Facebook account. In order to see the picture, I had to sign in to Facebook. Wella, I was suddenly getting emails from old friends. I became a committed member.
I spent the first day trying to figure it all out. And there were more friends appearing. Then on the right sidebar, I would see pictures of people I knew and all I had to do was click and type in some blurry words and if accepted, they were my friends.
Then I found my neice on there and she had over 300 friends. Now it was a competition --how could Auntie Jill be such a loser with only 30 friends? So I did a friend search and found more.
It has now become an obsession. I can't wait to log on to see what is new with all my friends and what new friends it recommends. There are some photos of "suggested" friends that appear so often, I feel I know them now and want to make them a friend.
I realize that as I look back on my life and the friends I've made, I can input their name into the search feature and find some of them. And that is what makes it so incredible. This week I found friends I haven't seen in 10-15 years and it was great to go to their photos and see how they look, how many kids they've had and well...just get misty-eyed.
Facebook also allows you to look at your friends' friends. Thus, there can be more connections.
I have invited a few close friends to join Facebook and two have and are also addicted. The others have chosen not to. When they email me and ask what's happening, I just want to scream. They would have access to all of that if they would join Facebook.
Gee, this sounds like an ad for Facebook. I'm Jill Cone and I approve this ad.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Mattress
What is up with getting a new mattress? It is so complicated. Why do there have to be 40 pillowtop styles all under one manufacturer? Then there is the plush style or the foam. Do you prefer organic foam? Latex?
I began the quest of choosing a new mattress a few days ago. Holy cow. They all begin to look the same. And the names are like those of champion dogs with six words or so to each mattress...the Simmons Black Beautyrest Margaritaville No Salt...and on and on.
It is recommended you lay on each on for five minutes to see if you like its comfort. When I walk into a furniture store and see a couple lying on the bed, I think they are freaks. It is just so much out of the comfort zone of normal people to lay on their back in a public place. I think it would be a good Candid Camera stunt to have a couple lay on a bed in a store for hours and see what the sales people do.
I laid on a bunch of mattresses (sideways across the bed feet on the floor) and they all felt okay to me. I got online and compared prices and read reviews. I finally settled on one that appealed to me because it had a great price to go along with the 15 inches of foam and latex. The price was slashed because it was a floor model. I think it will be great once I get over the thought that under my sheets and mattress pad could lay other people's dead skin cells.
Nighty-night.
I began the quest of choosing a new mattress a few days ago. Holy cow. They all begin to look the same. And the names are like those of champion dogs with six words or so to each mattress...the Simmons Black Beautyrest Margaritaville No Salt...and on and on.
It is recommended you lay on each on for five minutes to see if you like its comfort. When I walk into a furniture store and see a couple lying on the bed, I think they are freaks. It is just so much out of the comfort zone of normal people to lay on their back in a public place. I think it would be a good Candid Camera stunt to have a couple lay on a bed in a store for hours and see what the sales people do.
I laid on a bunch of mattresses (sideways across the bed feet on the floor) and they all felt okay to me. I got online and compared prices and read reviews. I finally settled on one that appealed to me because it had a great price to go along with the 15 inches of foam and latex. The price was slashed because it was a floor model. I think it will be great once I get over the thought that under my sheets and mattress pad could lay other people's dead skin cells.
Nighty-night.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Talkative Mover
Most of our moving team are quiet hard-working guys. They say very little. This team packs the Green Bay Packers. One of the guys told me I had the most shoes he’s seen. He said one of the Green Bay Packers had almost as many shoes as me, with many of them being athletic shoes of the same brand in different colors. Bob complains that I have too many shoes and every time I buy a new pair he tells me to throw an old pair away. Bob heard the remark, so I’m sure I haven’t heard the last of that.
One of our movers is a chatterbox. He is a brand new employee and is going to be in sales, but was sent to our house to experience the packing first hand. I found him to be very interesting. Here are some of the things he told us about himself:
He used to own his own business, but three of his employees took the trade secrets, left the company, and became competitors. He couldn’t sue them as one of them was a lawyer and knew the ropes. He lost $1.4 million.
He sold his hunting shack, which had no running water or electricity, for $835,000. Paid in cash by the owner of a large Milwaukee welding business. He used that money to help settle his debt from the failed business.
He is 43 and just had his first child last summer. He was a stay at home dad until his savings account dwindled to $3,000.
He raises and trains Labradors.
He rebuilds classic cars.
He competes in extreme sports. Now, this came as a shock to me because he’s pretty fat and looks a bit dumpy.
He was one of the five original people who did the helicopter drop skiing. Three of the others went on to be famous.
He competed in motocross ice races. He also competes in cross country ski races of 50 km.
He took his Ford F350 out on the frozen lake and raced it, beating a real race car and ticking that driver off. As he was attempting to get off the ice, the front end of his truck fell through and he had to be towed out. $1100 damage to the truck.
He finished a ski competition in 1985 in the top ten in the country, so he tried out for the Olympic ski team, but did not make it.
He was a mountain guide for Mount Ranier. He was also on their Search & Rescue squad.
During one Search & Rescue, he brought back a dead body only to meet the widow at the bottom and had to notify her of her husband’s death.
He is a sea and whitewater kayaker. He took an expedition of kayakers to Mexico and hired a Mexican who lived in a hut to watch their vehicles and gear when they were out at sea. The Mexican he hired drank isopropyl alcohol, so they paid him in tequila.
He worked for Jansport and took a hiking expedition to Peru. There he introduced the mountain guides to a backpack with wide straps. The guides were used to strapping their packs using twine, which dug into their skin. They at first put the packs on upside down using the narrow part of the strap until he showed them the proper way to use the backpack. They were very grateful.
With all of his extreme sports, he cracked a disc in his spine and did not realize it until he sneezed one day and lost all sensation in his arms and legs. The disk snapped into his spinal cord. He now has it fused.
As a kid, he used to hang around the Green Bay Packers and would help clean their locker room.
His uncle was the priest that performed the marriage ceremony for Vince Lombardi’s daughter.
His cousin played football for the Green Bay Packers.
His dad used to own 154 Packers season tickets, but has pared down to 50.
He grew up on a 4,000 acre game farm where the Green Bay Packers used to hunt. They were not good shots.
During all this talk, all he got done was the packing of a couple of boxes. I told him he didn’t have to have eye contact when he talked because we’d never get our stuff packed out. When he left, I told Bob how amazing all of his exploits were and asked what he thought of him. Bob replied, “He’s a bullshitter.”
One of our movers is a chatterbox. He is a brand new employee and is going to be in sales, but was sent to our house to experience the packing first hand. I found him to be very interesting. Here are some of the things he told us about himself:
He used to own his own business, but three of his employees took the trade secrets, left the company, and became competitors. He couldn’t sue them as one of them was a lawyer and knew the ropes. He lost $1.4 million.
He sold his hunting shack, which had no running water or electricity, for $835,000. Paid in cash by the owner of a large Milwaukee welding business. He used that money to help settle his debt from the failed business.
He is 43 and just had his first child last summer. He was a stay at home dad until his savings account dwindled to $3,000.
He raises and trains Labradors.
He rebuilds classic cars.
He competes in extreme sports. Now, this came as a shock to me because he’s pretty fat and looks a bit dumpy.
He was one of the five original people who did the helicopter drop skiing. Three of the others went on to be famous.
He competed in motocross ice races. He also competes in cross country ski races of 50 km.
He took his Ford F350 out on the frozen lake and raced it, beating a real race car and ticking that driver off. As he was attempting to get off the ice, the front end of his truck fell through and he had to be towed out. $1100 damage to the truck.
He finished a ski competition in 1985 in the top ten in the country, so he tried out for the Olympic ski team, but did not make it.
He was a mountain guide for Mount Ranier. He was also on their Search & Rescue squad.
During one Search & Rescue, he brought back a dead body only to meet the widow at the bottom and had to notify her of her husband’s death.
He is a sea and whitewater kayaker. He took an expedition of kayakers to Mexico and hired a Mexican who lived in a hut to watch their vehicles and gear when they were out at sea. The Mexican he hired drank isopropyl alcohol, so they paid him in tequila.
He worked for Jansport and took a hiking expedition to Peru. There he introduced the mountain guides to a backpack with wide straps. The guides were used to strapping their packs using twine, which dug into their skin. They at first put the packs on upside down using the narrow part of the strap until he showed them the proper way to use the backpack. They were very grateful.
With all of his extreme sports, he cracked a disc in his spine and did not realize it until he sneezed one day and lost all sensation in his arms and legs. The disk snapped into his spinal cord. He now has it fused.
As a kid, he used to hang around the Green Bay Packers and would help clean their locker room.
His uncle was the priest that performed the marriage ceremony for Vince Lombardi’s daughter.
His cousin played football for the Green Bay Packers.
His dad used to own 154 Packers season tickets, but has pared down to 50.
He grew up on a 4,000 acre game farm where the Green Bay Packers used to hunt. They were not good shots.
During all this talk, all he got done was the packing of a couple of boxes. I told him he didn’t have to have eye contact when he talked because we’d never get our stuff packed out. When he left, I told Bob how amazing all of his exploits were and asked what he thought of him. Bob replied, “He’s a bullshitter.”
Friday, January 30, 2009
Moving
We have moved so often, but it never seems to be easy. We are moving for the 19th time, this time to Fort Monroe, Virginia.
First, my husband called the Great Lakes transportation office and requested a move date. They told him to fill out an online form and we’d hear from them. He filled it out and we got a computer generated response that said the earliest we could move was 12 business days from the date of the application. Bob called them to explain this was a short-notice assignment and the woman (with attitude) told him that he may have to report to work but wait for his furniture.
He asked to talk to her supervisor and she said to “Please hold, major.” He corrected her and said “I’m a major general.” I could hear her gulp from across the room. She put him on hold and no one came back on the line. I think they were running in a panic trying to find someone brave to take the call. A similar thing happened to me when I worked at Wisconsin State Fair as a receptionist as a teen and I ticked off a caller. He wanted my supervisor, so I covered the mouthpiece and told my co-worker to pretend she was my supervisor. She got on the phone and he told her that he had heard our conversation and to get the real supervisor. I was reprimanded.
Bob hung up after being on hold for about 5 minutes without a reply. When he called back, he was notified that the move date he requested had been approved. It’s funny how things can work out.
The movers come on Monday and we are hauling bags of things to Goodwill and sorting out things to stay in Wisconsin and what to pack in luggage for the trip to Virginia.
I am also having flashbacks of some of our unusual moves. Like the one from New York where the moving van was covered in graffiti and they finished packing that truck just after midnight. As it drove off towards the city, we thought we had seen our stuff for the last time. Then there was the mover in Kansas who crapped in our toilet and clogged it, but just closed the lid and let us find it hours after they had left. Oh, and the move from El Paso which I did myself where the mover arrived drunk and passed out in our basement atop a moving blanket. He was fired, so then I worried he’d come back seeking retribution.
I also remember our move from Germany where the movers were from the former East (the wall had come down just a few years earlier) and they stole all our NFL stuff and jeans. But at least I haven’t had an experience like my friend Jan, whose wedding dress was packed with her husband’s weights, which rusted all over it.
The movers come on Monday. The toilet plunger is at the ready.
First, my husband called the Great Lakes transportation office and requested a move date. They told him to fill out an online form and we’d hear from them. He filled it out and we got a computer generated response that said the earliest we could move was 12 business days from the date of the application. Bob called them to explain this was a short-notice assignment and the woman (with attitude) told him that he may have to report to work but wait for his furniture.
He asked to talk to her supervisor and she said to “Please hold, major.” He corrected her and said “I’m a major general.” I could hear her gulp from across the room. She put him on hold and no one came back on the line. I think they were running in a panic trying to find someone brave to take the call. A similar thing happened to me when I worked at Wisconsin State Fair as a receptionist as a teen and I ticked off a caller. He wanted my supervisor, so I covered the mouthpiece and told my co-worker to pretend she was my supervisor. She got on the phone and he told her that he had heard our conversation and to get the real supervisor. I was reprimanded.
Bob hung up after being on hold for about 5 minutes without a reply. When he called back, he was notified that the move date he requested had been approved. It’s funny how things can work out.
The movers come on Monday and we are hauling bags of things to Goodwill and sorting out things to stay in Wisconsin and what to pack in luggage for the trip to Virginia.
I am also having flashbacks of some of our unusual moves. Like the one from New York where the moving van was covered in graffiti and they finished packing that truck just after midnight. As it drove off towards the city, we thought we had seen our stuff for the last time. Then there was the mover in Kansas who crapped in our toilet and clogged it, but just closed the lid and let us find it hours after they had left. Oh, and the move from El Paso which I did myself where the mover arrived drunk and passed out in our basement atop a moving blanket. He was fired, so then I worried he’d come back seeking retribution.
I also remember our move from Germany where the movers were from the former East (the wall had come down just a few years earlier) and they stole all our NFL stuff and jeans. But at least I haven’t had an experience like my friend Jan, whose wedding dress was packed with her husband’s weights, which rusted all over it.
The movers come on Monday. The toilet plunger is at the ready.
Friday, January 23, 2009
The Cruise
We got on the ship and the first thing they did was steer us to a food buffet. The buffet had a number of stations, with Asian food, Italian food, fried food, and a couple of salad bars. My pants were already too tight, so I went to the salad bar.
As I was proceeding through the food line, I noticed that the ship had a lot of elderly passengers. They were all too excited to be eating and were quite pushy. While in the salad line, I was hit by a wheelchair. It practically took out my Achilles tendon. I turned to the old man who was pushing the old woman and told him to back off. I never saw them again on the ship, they were probably afraid I was a member of some unfriendly gang.
Our room was cozy. That’s another way of saying very small. But it was adequate.
At dinner the first night, we made friends with a Canadian couple and we ended up sitting with them every night for dinner and hanging out at the Piano Bar after dinner with them. They were a lot of fun.
The first day, we were at sea. So, we sat in the sun for awhile and then hit the gym. It was packed. There were a lot of out of shape people on treadmills walking slower than turtles crawl. I think they were trying to convince themselves that they were getting in shape after gorging themselves on the ship’s food. There were two men who worked at the gym, they wore very tight black shirts, were in their 20’s and in good shape. All they were interested in was selling some type of products that worked with your metabolism, which they would measure for $35. They did not seem to notice people dropping weights, using machines incorrectly and not wiping down the equipment after use. I had a hard time working out due to the injury I suffered after the wheel chair strike.
We went to Puerto Vallarta on our first stop. We were with our new friends from Canada, Jim and Sharon. We stopped at a place on the beach and had Coronas and it was wonderful sitting in the sun, at the shore watching the Pelicans. Then a vendor came by and we bought some stuff from him. Word spread among the vendors on the beach that a table of buying suckers had arrived and they flocked like seagulls around us. “Chiclets?” “Blankets?” “Silver?” “Windchimes?” It was overwhelming. We went to another area much further down the beach and had a few moments of peace before being inundated yet again.
The next day was Mazaitlan. Jim and Sharon were on an excursion, so Bob and I were on our own. It was a fun day walking on the beach and trying to avoid the vendors. They all used the same phrases that at first made us laugh, “Can I have a Mexican minute Senora?” “Almost free, Senor.” It got to the point where we could finish their sentence. We stopped at an open air restaurant/bar that played loud beach music. This place was elevated above the beach and the vendors were not allowed to come in. So they stood below us shouting up. There was one man who did a trick for money. But it was a stupid trick that only drunks could like. He had a boat paddle with three painted silver rocks on it and he would hold it up.
The last stop was Cabo San Lucas. This was our favorite city because it was really modern, with nicer buildings and restaurants. There were a bunch of Pelicans there as well and I got carried away taking pictures. They are so cool looking, I wanted to pet one but Bob told me not to even try or we’d see it on “When Animals Attack.”
The last two days were at sea returning to San Diego. By now, Bob and I had nicknamed the pushy people who lived at the buffet the Piranhas. They would use blocking strategies as you would approach the buffet. It made us laugh at how worried they were that the food would run out. The gym was empty, those who started with good intentions had decided to just hang out at the buffet. So that was great for us. The gym had glass that looked out to sea and the whales were migrating, so it was just beautiful to work out.
Then, too quickly it was over. We said goodbye to our new friends, and while disembarking, had to fight the Piranhas one last time. I started to laugh hysterically and one of the men on the ship said he had enjoyed my laugh throughout the cruise and asked me for one more laugh. I complied.
As I was proceeding through the food line, I noticed that the ship had a lot of elderly passengers. They were all too excited to be eating and were quite pushy. While in the salad line, I was hit by a wheelchair. It practically took out my Achilles tendon. I turned to the old man who was pushing the old woman and told him to back off. I never saw them again on the ship, they were probably afraid I was a member of some unfriendly gang.
Our room was cozy. That’s another way of saying very small. But it was adequate.
At dinner the first night, we made friends with a Canadian couple and we ended up sitting with them every night for dinner and hanging out at the Piano Bar after dinner with them. They were a lot of fun.
The first day, we were at sea. So, we sat in the sun for awhile and then hit the gym. It was packed. There were a lot of out of shape people on treadmills walking slower than turtles crawl. I think they were trying to convince themselves that they were getting in shape after gorging themselves on the ship’s food. There were two men who worked at the gym, they wore very tight black shirts, were in their 20’s and in good shape. All they were interested in was selling some type of products that worked with your metabolism, which they would measure for $35. They did not seem to notice people dropping weights, using machines incorrectly and not wiping down the equipment after use. I had a hard time working out due to the injury I suffered after the wheel chair strike.
We went to Puerto Vallarta on our first stop. We were with our new friends from Canada, Jim and Sharon. We stopped at a place on the beach and had Coronas and it was wonderful sitting in the sun, at the shore watching the Pelicans. Then a vendor came by and we bought some stuff from him. Word spread among the vendors on the beach that a table of buying suckers had arrived and they flocked like seagulls around us. “Chiclets?” “Blankets?” “Silver?” “Windchimes?” It was overwhelming. We went to another area much further down the beach and had a few moments of peace before being inundated yet again.
The next day was Mazaitlan. Jim and Sharon were on an excursion, so Bob and I were on our own. It was a fun day walking on the beach and trying to avoid the vendors. They all used the same phrases that at first made us laugh, “Can I have a Mexican minute Senora?” “Almost free, Senor.” It got to the point where we could finish their sentence. We stopped at an open air restaurant/bar that played loud beach music. This place was elevated above the beach and the vendors were not allowed to come in. So they stood below us shouting up. There was one man who did a trick for money. But it was a stupid trick that only drunks could like. He had a boat paddle with three painted silver rocks on it and he would hold it up.
The last stop was Cabo San Lucas. This was our favorite city because it was really modern, with nicer buildings and restaurants. There were a bunch of Pelicans there as well and I got carried away taking pictures. They are so cool looking, I wanted to pet one but Bob told me not to even try or we’d see it on “When Animals Attack.”
The last two days were at sea returning to San Diego. By now, Bob and I had nicknamed the pushy people who lived at the buffet the Piranhas. They would use blocking strategies as you would approach the buffet. It made us laugh at how worried they were that the food would run out. The gym was empty, those who started with good intentions had decided to just hang out at the buffet. So that was great for us. The gym had glass that looked out to sea and the whales were migrating, so it was just beautiful to work out.
Then, too quickly it was over. We said goodbye to our new friends, and while disembarking, had to fight the Piranhas one last time. I started to laugh hysterically and one of the men on the ship said he had enjoyed my laugh throughout the cruise and asked me for one more laugh. I complied.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
The Snow Thrower
When Bob returned from Afghanistan, the first thing we did is go out and buy a snow thrower. They used to be called snow blowers, but I think the name was changed after that joke about the snowman being happy to see the snow blower.
He was like a kid setting it up and excited for the first snow to fall where he could use it. An hour after setting it up, we had a cord of firewood delivered. Bob moved both cars out of the garage so the rather simple man who sells this wood would not do any damage to our vehicles. The wood man backed his pickup full of wood into our garage for unloading. He swung his door open and whack--hit the brand new snow thrower. The simple man's girlfriend (who I originally thought was his son) said, "Gee, looks like we just bought a snowblower." (she apparently is not aware they are now called snow throwers.) Bob's jaw clenched, but we just let it go.
The first snow he used it on was not enough to satisfy him, so he did our walk and driveway and then the street in front of our house and cleared all around the mailbox. In the two weeks we've had the snow thrower, it has snowed all the time. Bob has kept our driveway clear and also did our neighbors' house three times while they were gone. He ripped up one extension cord that lit our outdoor Christmas decorations when he ran over it. The next extension cord he replaced that one with is missing and I fear the same happened to it. The snow banks are so high that the Christmas decorations are buried where all I can see is the star that topped the tree. I guess that will all be found in the spring.
When we came home from our visit to New Hampshire, Bob said that he hoped there was snow. And there was, before he unpacked his suitcase, he was out there clearing the driveway. Last night we had another inch and he's out there again with his new toy. Bob's brother suggested that we clear a spot on the lake and make a skating rink. I know it's only a matter of time until I see Bob out there, guess I need to dig out my skates.
He was like a kid setting it up and excited for the first snow to fall where he could use it. An hour after setting it up, we had a cord of firewood delivered. Bob moved both cars out of the garage so the rather simple man who sells this wood would not do any damage to our vehicles. The wood man backed his pickup full of wood into our garage for unloading. He swung his door open and whack--hit the brand new snow thrower. The simple man's girlfriend (who I originally thought was his son) said, "Gee, looks like we just bought a snowblower." (she apparently is not aware they are now called snow throwers.) Bob's jaw clenched, but we just let it go.
The first snow he used it on was not enough to satisfy him, so he did our walk and driveway and then the street in front of our house and cleared all around the mailbox. In the two weeks we've had the snow thrower, it has snowed all the time. Bob has kept our driveway clear and also did our neighbors' house three times while they were gone. He ripped up one extension cord that lit our outdoor Christmas decorations when he ran over it. The next extension cord he replaced that one with is missing and I fear the same happened to it. The snow banks are so high that the Christmas decorations are buried where all I can see is the star that topped the tree. I guess that will all be found in the spring.
When we came home from our visit to New Hampshire, Bob said that he hoped there was snow. And there was, before he unpacked his suitcase, he was out there clearing the driveway. Last night we had another inch and he's out there again with his new toy. Bob's brother suggested that we clear a spot on the lake and make a skating rink. I know it's only a matter of time until I see Bob out there, guess I need to dig out my skates.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Irritated with the Airlines
The airlines have gone so cheap that flying is like being in a cattle car.
First, they eliminated the checking of bags without a cost. Passengers are trying to avoid the baggage fees by packing all their belongings for a trip into carry on bags. So, you see them with a roll-on bag expanded as far as it can go. Then there are those who use backpacks and stuff them so full that it is like another body attached to them. As one passenger turned, he almost took the head off of another passenger with his overstuffed backpack. There are women with purses the size of a 50 pound bag of dog food. I watched one man board the plane with a backpack strapped to his back, overstuffed roll-on and a shopping bag.
This makes the boarding process takes much longer and there just isn’t room for all the carry ons. By the time half the plane is boarded, all overheads are full. So, the passengers that come on later, open the compartments, study them, and then attempt to jam their carry ons in.
The unloading of the plane also takes longer as these people strap themselves down with man-purses, bags, and packs in order to exit. I also suspect some of them are wearing three layers of clothes and have their extra shoes in their pockets.
The next irritation is that the airlines are trying to make more money by selling aisle seats and window seats for an additional $15. So, a couple traveling together gets middle seats about 10 rows apart. We were able to get on a waiting list for seats together and got the very last row of the plane. This row is the one next to the toilets and the kitchen area (that is puzzling, toilets next to kitchens). So, we are trying to doze with the toilets that flush with that lovely powerful suction sound.
If you want to sit in an exit row, you have to pay an additional $15. I have never felt too secure that those sitting in exit rows would ever really try to help anyone but themselves, but now that I know the seat is sold to the highest bidder, I am assured of this.
There are no more free snacks on the planes unless you are in first class. I sure do miss that bag of 10 peanuts. You are allowed to bring your own food on the plane, which results in a greasy smell aboard the plane.
If you are a frequent flier with 25,000 miles you would think it would give you a free ticket. That’s how it used to be. You can still get a free flight, but you will have to spend the night in an airport somewhere or fly on a red eye. And if you don’t book it at least 90 days in advance, you pay a $100 fee. And the miles expire. One more irritation from the airlines.
We are about to fly again tomorrow and then have another trip planned next week. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the nightmare.
First, they eliminated the checking of bags without a cost. Passengers are trying to avoid the baggage fees by packing all their belongings for a trip into carry on bags. So, you see them with a roll-on bag expanded as far as it can go. Then there are those who use backpacks and stuff them so full that it is like another body attached to them. As one passenger turned, he almost took the head off of another passenger with his overstuffed backpack. There are women with purses the size of a 50 pound bag of dog food. I watched one man board the plane with a backpack strapped to his back, overstuffed roll-on and a shopping bag.
This makes the boarding process takes much longer and there just isn’t room for all the carry ons. By the time half the plane is boarded, all overheads are full. So, the passengers that come on later, open the compartments, study them, and then attempt to jam their carry ons in.
The unloading of the plane also takes longer as these people strap themselves down with man-purses, bags, and packs in order to exit. I also suspect some of them are wearing three layers of clothes and have their extra shoes in their pockets.
The next irritation is that the airlines are trying to make more money by selling aisle seats and window seats for an additional $15. So, a couple traveling together gets middle seats about 10 rows apart. We were able to get on a waiting list for seats together and got the very last row of the plane. This row is the one next to the toilets and the kitchen area (that is puzzling, toilets next to kitchens). So, we are trying to doze with the toilets that flush with that lovely powerful suction sound.
If you want to sit in an exit row, you have to pay an additional $15. I have never felt too secure that those sitting in exit rows would ever really try to help anyone but themselves, but now that I know the seat is sold to the highest bidder, I am assured of this.
There are no more free snacks on the planes unless you are in first class. I sure do miss that bag of 10 peanuts. You are allowed to bring your own food on the plane, which results in a greasy smell aboard the plane.
If you are a frequent flier with 25,000 miles you would think it would give you a free ticket. That’s how it used to be. You can still get a free flight, but you will have to spend the night in an airport somewhere or fly on a red eye. And if you don’t book it at least 90 days in advance, you pay a $100 fee. And the miles expire. One more irritation from the airlines.
We are about to fly again tomorrow and then have another trip planned next week. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the nightmare.
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