DaddyRoBlog

Two Peas in a Pod

  If only we were so lucky as to spend our cold, dreary winter days like this...

Hope for the Roses--or maybe at least for Someone who Plants Them...

I should be writing a sermon.  I tried all day yesterday to write one, but so far all I’ve managed to come up with is several false starts.

So I’m writing this instead.

I wonder why so many men, myself among them, don’t go to the doctors even when it is clear we should?  Other than the occasional physical, which I do at my wife’s (repeated) requests, I think I can count the times I’ve been to the doctor in 50 years on one hand.   And I’m not sure I’d even use all the fingers.

Right now is a case in point.  Somehow I seem to have damaged my right arm severely enough that even lifting a mug of tea is painful, and it does not appear to be getting better.   In the gym I haven’t been able to do my full biceps workout for several weeks now, and this morning I gave up on working biceps all together.

You’d think I’d go to the doctor, right?  So why don’t I?

First, I hate to take the time.  My life is pretty busy as it is, and I simply don’t want the aggravation of trying to add one more thing.

Second, that is particularly the case when something doesn’t seem strictly necessary.  I’ve always gotten (is that even a real word?) better before, so history and experience tell me I will again.  “No big deal,” I hear myself saying to myself. 

I might want to object and say, “Hey!  But this kind of is a big deal.”

To which myself replies, “Aw, don’t be a big baby!  Deal with it.”

And that is probably the third point.  At least part of meme of masculinity which has shaped me dictates that men live with pain.  It’s what we do.   It’s who we are.

Of course, we are also supposed to stoically suffer in silence, and I’ve clearly failed on that one by writing this post.  So maybe there is hope for me yet.

Hey—maybe I’ll even go so see the doctor!

The Saga Continues

  It is becoming clearer and clearer that the opossum in our garage is not just passing through but taking up residence.

Though we haven't seen him for several nights now, in the morning there is continuing evidence of his presence.  For such a small animal, he can manage to knock amazingly large things off the shelves and onto the floor of the garage.

He also regularly knocks over the electric eye (along with the little waste paper basket next  to it) which keeps the automatic garage door opener from closing whenever something is blocking it.  This means that I pull the car out and hit the button to close the garage door, but nothing happens.  I then have to get out of the car in the cold and correct the situation.  It seems   to defeat the purpose of having  a garage door opener in the first place...

But perhaps the most telling indication of the opossum's apparent ongoing residence is that Linda has named him.  Edsel.  I'm not sure why; you'll have to ask her.

I'm also not sure that is particularly wise, though it probably is an accurate reflection of the situation.  In the short term, at least, it doesn't look like Edsel is going anywhere. I don't see us doing much about that, and I strongly suspect it's too much to hope that Edsel will leave all on his own come the warm weather of spring, and that he won't wreak to much mayhem, damage, or destruction until then.

In the Beginning

December 15, 1985 was a Sunday.   I was serving as a “seminarian” (a sort of internship in the process of becoming an Episcopal priest) at St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church in Deerfield, IL.  The 11:15 service was Morning Prayer (it did not include communion), and it was Rite 1 (which uses an older form and style of English than Rite 2).  The Episcopal Church can be so confusing!

It was the Third Sunday of Advent (the four weeks before Christmas, which is meant to be a season of preparation), or Rose Sunday (the Sunday where a rose colored candle is lit on the Advent wreath).  I preached.

After that, Linda and I went back to Doc and Dill’s—the name of the people who owned the house where I had a room.   It was a snowy day, and I took the dogs that also lived in the house out to play in the snow and the ice while Linda looked out from the warm house and watched.

My sister Laura called.

Linda told me her earliest memory was of poking sow bugs and watching them curl up.

Later in the afternoon I worked out at the Courts on 22.

That evening Linda and I drove to the Lake Michigan shoreline in Waukegan.  It was cold, and there were huge ice floes stacked up along the shore line.

I asked her to marry me.

She said, “Yes.”

That, as they say, is how it all began…  And I’m so glad it did.

Milestone Number... I Forget Plus One

My younger daughter's boyfriend just asked me where my wife is.

"She should be home soon,"  I replied.  "Why?"

"Mary and I would like to take you guys out to dinner.  Are you available?"

Sounds like fun to me!

Still There

  My younger daughter drove her boyfriend home tonight, pulled the car in garage, and found herself staring eye to eye (across the roof of the car) with someone who apparently is interested in learning to ride a bike!

A Visitor in the Night

Like her sister, our younger daughter is a night owl.  That means she generally goes to bed well after we do, sitting downstairs alone doing such things as drawing, finishing homework (don't we wish), or typing to her boyfriend on the computer.

The last few nights she has been complaining that something has been making scratching noises out in the garage, and it has been creeping her out.  We told her not to worry, it was probably just a mouse.

Last night she saw was putting something in the recycling bin and told us she saw the varmit.  She said it was indeed a mouse, or maybe a rat, because it was pretty big for a mouse.  It jumped out of the very recycling bin she was about to use. 

"I told  you," I said.

"Yeah, but it's a pretty big mouse," she replied.

Well, hearing some substantial banging around myself, a little later I went out into the garage.  This is what I found.  I know, I know, I've said it before, but can you imagine a cuter little critter? 

And yes, I do know these are mean as mean can be with a heck of set of teeth, so no matter how badly I wanted to, I did not try to pet it.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I'm not exactly sure that saying exactly applies here, but the principle is sort of the same:  Recently I tagged Jan at CascadeExposures in a meme, and she returned the, uh, "favor" by tagging me in a meme called Your Blog is Absolutely Fabulous.  (The name does have a certain ring to it, doesn't it?!)

Anyway, the rules are basically that the person tagged is supposed to "list 5 of their fabulous addictions."    So here goes:

First, it's interesting that I'm writing this as I'm in the middle of rereading Addiction and Grace, one of the finest books on the subject, I think.   Though people sometimes talk about "good addictions", I don't really think there are any.  It seems to me addictions, whatever their form, always do damage and always cause pain.

But this is supposed to be a fun post, so I'll quit being so serious now and get into the spirit of it.

1.  Fishing.  If you know me even the littlest bit, or if you have even just casually glanced at this blog, you no doubt already know that fishing is high on my list of favorite activities.  In fact, even though this is one of the busiest times of the year, and even though it is very cold in Erie right now and I don't like being cold, I'm trying to figure out how I can go steelheading again in the next couple weeks.  You know, to catch people some delicious Christmas presents that I know they'll appreciate!

2.  Working Out.  I said that due to the increasing severity of my injuries, I was not going to work out last week and rest my joints instead.  I made it to Wednesday.  My joints hurt worse than ever.  Do you think I'll know when lifting heavy weights is something I really should give up and the time has come to move on?  Somehow I doubt it.

3.  Gardening.  That's something else that's pretty obvious from this blog.  Especially gourds.  Come to think of it, I have more gourd pictures to post.  Like the dreaded Cylon gourd...

4.  Sugar.  I was going to say ice cream, which is probably also true, but I crave sugar in just about all its forms.  It's that much better if there is a lot of fat in there too.

5.  OK, I'm kind of embarrassed to admit, but:  Heroes.  I watch it online.  And yep, I still really love that show.  Especially now that Sylar is a bad guy again.  He's a great bad guy.  Oh, and I'm watching Lost on DVDs with Mary.  It's pretty addicting too.  That's why we don't actually have our TV hooked up to cable, satellite, or even an antennae.  I'd never move off the couch...

Milestone Number... I Forget!

Today my younger daughter was accepted into what I believe is the college of her choice.  We are pleased.

A new chapter opens up for her. 

And another one ends for us.

A Thought

Sometimes these days I think about how, when I was younger, I was never mindful of how good it must have felt to have joints that moved smoothly and without pain.  Of course, I had no reason to be  mindful of this, for it never occurred to me back then that things would one day be so very different.  It makes me wonder what I'm taking for granted in my life now that I really should be enjoying.