(In Pt I, I wrote about Fluffy being a strange cat.)
“In life there are times we have to make difficult choices and sometimes it hurts. But you move on.” That’s a quote from Nashe's mother. It could have come from almost any parent. It’s something we want our kids to learn. It was one of my dad’s top priorities—preparing me to step up and make the tough choices, to do what needed to be done, no matter how unpleasant. But when life presented me with a chance to pass that lesson on to my kids, I choked—and that’s why Fluffy was the most expensive “free” cat I ever had.
Fluffy completely stopped eating and drinking, so we took our kitty to the vet—who wanted to keep Fluffy overnight. The next morning (Saturday) he called to say Fluffy had suffered kidney failure and was almost certainly a goner. We’re not sure it’s related, but the cat liked to lie in the middle of doorways and high-traffic areas. He got stepped on more than once by people carrying laundry baskets and other large items—they just couldn’t see him.
After hearing the news, my wife asked, “Isn’t there anything we can try to save him?” It just so happened there was. For $1,800 the vet would try “something”. Considering our bills at the time, I wasn’t going to spend that on the cat. Even without bills, that was too much (or so I thought).
While I asked the vet to put Fluffy down as gently as possible, my wife broke the news to the kids. When I joined them, my daughter had her right index finger pressed against her temple, close to her eye. She used to do that when she was upset, but not yet crying. She asked, “Isn’t there anything we can try to save him?” I couldn’t lie. I explained what the vet said. She asked if we could please do it. That’s when a responsible parent would have said no. But just as I couldn’t lie, I couldn’t tell my little girl that saving her beloved cat wasn’t worth $1,800. A good dad would have used that moment to teach a life lesson. I went the other way—I told her we would try. I guess I did teach her something that day. It was just the exact opposite of what I’d been taught.
Sadly, Fluffy didn’t make it. The vet was very sorry and gave us a discount. So Fluffy didn’t cost me $1,800, but he could have.
This story has an odd ending. My wife wanted to bury Fluffy in our backyard. When she picked him up Monday from the vet’s office he was frozen. She and the kids (and their friends) said their goodbyes to a frozen Mr. Fluffy. Instead of waiting for me to dig the hole, they did it that afternoon. But they didn’t quite make it wide enough. You see, he was frozen, and his tail was sticking out just a little. When they were trying to fit him in the hole, they (and the kids’ friends) heard a distinctive little “snap”.
You know how little kids are. Hearing the cat’s tail snap was startling—and made all of them shriek (gross!!!) and laugh. So Fluffy’s funeral was not all tears. The kids were sad, of course, but there were giggles too and happy stories about their adventures with the cat. Without realizing it, my kids learned that saying goodbye to loved ones is part of life and that life goes on despite the sadness. They would smile again and hold onto their memories.
(Note: Did you notice that my daughter used exactly the same wording my wife did when she asked if there was any chance to save the cat? Coincidence??? Hmmm…)
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Hard Work (how I got that $5k)
I'm a fairly hard worker. In fact, I have to work at not being a workaholic. I blame my parents (and grandparents, it can't be my fault). My dad kept me plenty busy digging ditches, cutting down trees, building sheds, etc., etc. (there was always a project)--and then there were the routine chores and helping in my grandmother's store. I never received an allowance, but that is not unusual. However, sometimes I needed money. So I found time and ways to make it.
In the 2nd grade I sold Fireballs @ school with ridiculous mark-ups (my grandmother made me stop). When I was 9 I sold fresh ears of corn door-to-door using my little red wagon (the police made me stop--something about needing a license). The summer I was 13 I found old railroad ties and dragged them home one-by-one to sell as landscaping timbers--this was one of my favorites. I'd wrestle the old ties up onto the tracks (they're heavy) and drag them over the rails using a rope. Technically I was tresspassing on railroad property and, again, the police told me to stop (which I did after I got them all home). I even tried my hand at babysitting. The parents really liked my German methods (the kids not so much).
The summer after 5th grade I started a handyman business--I wanted to make sure I had money to pay for a class trip to Williamsburg, VA the next year. My parents said they couldn't afford it, so I decided to fund it myself. I typed up flyers using an ancient typwriter I found in our attic and I got a LOT more work than I expected (from households that didn't have the benefit of free child labor--LOL). I made more than I needed for the trip, all tax free (the good old days). But when it came time for the trip, my folks wouldn't let me go--money wasn't their only concern. So what I made went in the bank.
When I started working fast food @ 16, I was a dull boy--all work. My co-workers tried to get me to relax. But I was getting paid, I didn't want to mess that up. I'd heard we were entitled to a .25 raise after six months, so when the time came I asked the manager about it. He said he had something else in mind for me and asked if my birthday was coming up. I told him it was, in March (did you get that everyone, my b-day is in March). I didn't know what he meant, but the something else turned out to be a promotion to assistant manager. That violated company policy--you had to be at least 18 (I was turning 17). But everyone thought I was older (and I didn't know the policy). That caused me some troble later.
Anyway, I worked a lot of hours, so I was fortunate to have money for necessities (dating) and still be able to put money in the bank. Thank goodness I didn't need time to study.
This all explains how I was able to loan my older brother $5,000 when I was 18 (and then make his wife cry). Of course, eventually I blew all my savings on something frivolous (tuition) and I've never fully recovered. ;P
In the 2nd grade I sold Fireballs @ school with ridiculous mark-ups (my grandmother made me stop). When I was 9 I sold fresh ears of corn door-to-door using my little red wagon (the police made me stop--something about needing a license). The summer I was 13 I found old railroad ties and dragged them home one-by-one to sell as landscaping timbers--this was one of my favorites. I'd wrestle the old ties up onto the tracks (they're heavy) and drag them over the rails using a rope. Technically I was tresspassing on railroad property and, again, the police told me to stop (which I did after I got them all home). I even tried my hand at babysitting. The parents really liked my German methods (the kids not so much).
The summer after 5th grade I started a handyman business--I wanted to make sure I had money to pay for a class trip to Williamsburg, VA the next year. My parents said they couldn't afford it, so I decided to fund it myself. I typed up flyers using an ancient typwriter I found in our attic and I got a LOT more work than I expected (from households that didn't have the benefit of free child labor--LOL). I made more than I needed for the trip, all tax free (the good old days). But when it came time for the trip, my folks wouldn't let me go--money wasn't their only concern. So what I made went in the bank.
When I started working fast food @ 16, I was a dull boy--all work. My co-workers tried to get me to relax. But I was getting paid, I didn't want to mess that up. I'd heard we were entitled to a .25 raise after six months, so when the time came I asked the manager about it. He said he had something else in mind for me and asked if my birthday was coming up. I told him it was, in March (did you get that everyone, my b-day is in March). I didn't know what he meant, but the something else turned out to be a promotion to assistant manager. That violated company policy--you had to be at least 18 (I was turning 17). But everyone thought I was older (and I didn't know the policy). That caused me some troble later.
Anyway, I worked a lot of hours, so I was fortunate to have money for necessities (dating) and still be able to put money in the bank. Thank goodness I didn't need time to study.
This all explains how I was able to loan my older brother $5,000 when I was 18 (and then make his wife cry). Of course, eventually I blew all my savings on something frivolous (tuition) and I've never fully recovered. ;P
Monday, January 30, 2012
I Can't Win!
That's what I would say in response to the situation I'm about to share below. But I can't say that anymore, because I DID win something. Knitter extraordinaire Kristie (of North of 49) held a giveaway during the holidays and I won a beautiful knit scarf, handmade from verrrry soft wool (Cascade 220). It's my wife's, but I have borrowed it once or twice--I've never really been a big fan of wool before, but this changed my mind--it's really soft. Thank you, Kristie!!!
Speaking of my wife, yesterday she told me she's really lucky to have me. Before you let that warm your heart, I should point out that her birthday is in a few weeks. Her motives are suspect. But even so, I felt like I couldn't just leave that hanging out there without saying something back to her. So I told her I was lucky too. Then she put her hands on her hips and asked if I was trying to upstage her. Since she didn't want to be upstaged, I smiled and said, "Okay, I'm only almost as lucky as you are." Next thing I know, I'm getting smacked and hearing what sounded like "Chuckie" running away (remember the sound of those creepy little running footsteps???) and she was gone. Hit and run!
I couldn't have been more accommodating in that exchange, right? Yet somehow I still got a little smack on the arm--I can't win!!!
PS - For the sake of the post, I'm pretending I don't know why I got hit and also pretending I didn't intentionally provoke it. It was all good fun, honest--we were both laughing. Teasing almost never gets me in trouble. Almost. ;)
Speaking of my wife, yesterday she told me she's really lucky to have me. Before you let that warm your heart, I should point out that her birthday is in a few weeks. Her motives are suspect. But even so, I felt like I couldn't just leave that hanging out there without saying something back to her. So I told her I was lucky too. Then she put her hands on her hips and asked if I was trying to upstage her. Since she didn't want to be upstaged, I smiled and said, "Okay, I'm only almost as lucky as you are." Next thing I know, I'm getting smacked and hearing what sounded like "Chuckie" running away (remember the sound of those creepy little running footsteps???) and she was gone. Hit and run!
I couldn't have been more accommodating in that exchange, right? Yet somehow I still got a little smack on the arm--I can't win!!!
PS - For the sake of the post, I'm pretending I don't know why I got hit and also pretending I didn't intentionally provoke it. It was all good fun, honest--we were both laughing. Teasing almost never gets me in trouble. Almost. ;)
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Starving Monkey
I'm in the doghouse. Last night I decided to have a graham cracker. When I grabbed the box from the cabinet, I noticed a familiar problem. The top flaps were both ripped nearly off and the wrapper inside was ripped open all the way down. In my house, that happens to almost every box or bag that contains food. Cereal, cheese, crackers, chips (including chocolate), whatever, you name it.
Upon seeing the condition of the packaging, I mentioned to my wife (as I laughed) that she and the kids open food packages like they're starving monkeys and I would be happy to help by opening things for them. She laughed, but then realized I included her (and was offended).
The left side of my brain is telling me to make this a running joke with her and the right side is telling me to never mention it again. Left or right, which way to go??? =)
PS - To be fair, they shred the packaging of non-food items as well. It's as if everything is a Christmas package and they can't wait to rip it open.
Upon seeing the condition of the packaging, I mentioned to my wife (as I laughed) that she and the kids open food packages like they're starving monkeys and I would be happy to help by opening things for them. She laughed, but then realized I included her (and was offended).
The left side of my brain is telling me to make this a running joke with her and the right side is telling me to never mention it again. Left or right, which way to go??? =)
PS - To be fair, they shred the packaging of non-food items as well. It's as if everything is a Christmas package and they can't wait to rip it open.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A Near Disaster
(Typing is still a little painful, so I'm sharing a story I wrote long ago and decided not to post. In other words, a reject. My apologies, I'll try to do better next time.)
A few years ago, we had an odd experience while visiting my wife’s sister in Pennsylvania. My in-laws were there for an extended visit. The sister had asked my wife to send the parents $1,000—but to make the check out to her (and of course she wouldn’t let my wife talk with her parents to confirm the need). We decided to visit them.
When we arrived, we entered through their garage and I could see a reflection of their fireplace in one of the prints hanging in their hallway. It was fall and a great day for a fire. Before long my wife went off to the other end of the house to play with one of the nieces—the other niece was at a friend’s house—and I stayed in the kitchen making small talk with the adults. Our hostess settled in at her kitchen table with her back to the garage door and her hubby was in and out. I wasn’t sure what he was doing.
As we talked, I noticed a reflection of fire again in the print on the wall. But the fireplace was behind me. I was facing the garage. How could I see a reflection of the fireplace? I quickly realized there had to be a fire in the garage! As I thought that (but before I said it), my brother-in-law looked at me and asked, “What? Is it a fire?” We started running towards the garage, but he turned left and went out the back door. A 3rd sister’s BF and I went into the garage and found a fire burning in the middle of what appeared to be a homemade fort.
The brother-in-law had put fireplace ashes in a paper bag, in a cardboard box, in a wooden box (all open on the top). There was a 5 gallon gas can right next to it on one side and a can of paint thinner on the other. All of that was surrounded by 4 bicycles, an old coffee table, golf clubs and assorted junk. I cleared a path and we got to the potential explosives before the fire did. Then we cleared everything else away from the fire and it burned harmlessly. A few minutes later the brother-in-law came running in with a shovel in his hands—he said he thought we might need it. Good thing we didn’t.
My wife thinks the brother-in-law was actually trying to knock off his wife in a “tragic” explosion. The 3rd sister thinks the engineer-turned-salesman is simply a moron. I lean towards him being an idiot, but I’m not sure. I wonder how he knew I was going to say there was a fire. I wonder why he put hot ashes in the garage (in paper and cardboard) when he normally put them in a metal container in the back yard. I wonder why junk (and explosive material) was completely surrounding the ashes/fire. I wonder why it took him so long to get the shovel.
What do you think? Was it stupidity or a poorly planned attempt to knock off his wife? Within two months he left her to go live with his girl friend (whose much older, wealthy husband had just had a major stroke and was completely dependent on her—she stuck him in a home, divorced him, and took half his fortune).
PS – My father-in-law said he didn’t need any money.
A few years ago, we had an odd experience while visiting my wife’s sister in Pennsylvania. My in-laws were there for an extended visit. The sister had asked my wife to send the parents $1,000—but to make the check out to her (and of course she wouldn’t let my wife talk with her parents to confirm the need). We decided to visit them.
When we arrived, we entered through their garage and I could see a reflection of their fireplace in one of the prints hanging in their hallway. It was fall and a great day for a fire. Before long my wife went off to the other end of the house to play with one of the nieces—the other niece was at a friend’s house—and I stayed in the kitchen making small talk with the adults. Our hostess settled in at her kitchen table with her back to the garage door and her hubby was in and out. I wasn’t sure what he was doing.
As we talked, I noticed a reflection of fire again in the print on the wall. But the fireplace was behind me. I was facing the garage. How could I see a reflection of the fireplace? I quickly realized there had to be a fire in the garage! As I thought that (but before I said it), my brother-in-law looked at me and asked, “What? Is it a fire?” We started running towards the garage, but he turned left and went out the back door. A 3rd sister’s BF and I went into the garage and found a fire burning in the middle of what appeared to be a homemade fort.
The brother-in-law had put fireplace ashes in a paper bag, in a cardboard box, in a wooden box (all open on the top). There was a 5 gallon gas can right next to it on one side and a can of paint thinner on the other. All of that was surrounded by 4 bicycles, an old coffee table, golf clubs and assorted junk. I cleared a path and we got to the potential explosives before the fire did. Then we cleared everything else away from the fire and it burned harmlessly. A few minutes later the brother-in-law came running in with a shovel in his hands—he said he thought we might need it. Good thing we didn’t.
My wife thinks the brother-in-law was actually trying to knock off his wife in a “tragic” explosion. The 3rd sister thinks the engineer-turned-salesman is simply a moron. I lean towards him being an idiot, but I’m not sure. I wonder how he knew I was going to say there was a fire. I wonder why he put hot ashes in the garage (in paper and cardboard) when he normally put them in a metal container in the back yard. I wonder why junk (and explosive material) was completely surrounding the ashes/fire. I wonder why it took him so long to get the shovel.
What do you think? Was it stupidity or a poorly planned attempt to knock off his wife? Within two months he left her to go live with his girl friend (whose much older, wealthy husband had just had a major stroke and was completely dependent on her—she stuck him in a home, divorced him, and took half his fortune).
PS – My father-in-law said he didn’t need any money.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Ancient Prophesy Comes True
After the blood-letting, the medicine man read the signs and then turned to young Ricademus with an ominous prediction for his future--crystals will grow and you will know great pain.
Some of you may remember the story of the near-deadly kiss I received when I was 14. The resulting illness and blood work revealed I had extremely high uric acid levels. It was not due to diet, it was just my genes. The doctor explained that uric acid causes gout and I would likely have attacks unless I was extremely careful.
I was a kid and didn't give it much thought. Well, that's not completely true. When a future girl friend's mother tried to nag me into eating things I didn't like (liver, nasty gravies, etc.), I would smile and say I wished I could, but it would give me gout. It was fun to watch her reaction. She didn't know what to say--who ever heard a 15 year-old kid talk about getting gout???
Too few years later I limped around with what I (and my doctor) thought was a sprained ankle. I thought I hurt it playing soccer. Eventually we figured it out it was gout. I'd gotten a little dehydrated, which elevated my uric acid levels and allowed gout crystals (little shards of glass) to form in the ankle--which was weird, because gout normally targets the big toe. I resolved to drink lots of water (rather than take a pill every day for the rest of my life) to keep that from happening again.
It worked well.
Then in August I had a kidney stone. In October I hurt my knee. At the start of January my elbow started to hurt (a LOT). After another misdiagnosis, I remembered uric acid and asked my doctor if it could have caused each of those problems. It did. Drinking a lot of water is no longer enough. I have to start taking a prescription every day to keep my uric acid level in check. I have no problem taking pills, but I don't like that this is forever. I hope I remember.
If you take a daily pill, do you have a routine that helps you remember? Do you keep the bottle next to your tooth brush? In the kitchen? With your secret stash of chocolate???
If you are supposed to take something daily, I hope you remember it every day so you receive the full benefit. Take care of yourselves!!!
Some of you may remember the story of the near-deadly kiss I received when I was 14. The resulting illness and blood work revealed I had extremely high uric acid levels. It was not due to diet, it was just my genes. The doctor explained that uric acid causes gout and I would likely have attacks unless I was extremely careful.
I was a kid and didn't give it much thought. Well, that's not completely true. When a future girl friend's mother tried to nag me into eating things I didn't like (liver, nasty gravies, etc.), I would smile and say I wished I could, but it would give me gout. It was fun to watch her reaction. She didn't know what to say--who ever heard a 15 year-old kid talk about getting gout???
Too few years later I limped around with what I (and my doctor) thought was a sprained ankle. I thought I hurt it playing soccer. Eventually we figured it out it was gout. I'd gotten a little dehydrated, which elevated my uric acid levels and allowed gout crystals (little shards of glass) to form in the ankle--which was weird, because gout normally targets the big toe. I resolved to drink lots of water (rather than take a pill every day for the rest of my life) to keep that from happening again.
It worked well.
Then in August I had a kidney stone. In October I hurt my knee. At the start of January my elbow started to hurt (a LOT). After another misdiagnosis, I remembered uric acid and asked my doctor if it could have caused each of those problems. It did. Drinking a lot of water is no longer enough. I have to start taking a prescription every day to keep my uric acid level in check. I have no problem taking pills, but I don't like that this is forever. I hope I remember.
If you take a daily pill, do you have a routine that helps you remember? Do you keep the bottle next to your tooth brush? In the kitchen? With your secret stash of chocolate???
If you are supposed to take something daily, I hope you remember it every day so you receive the full benefit. Take care of yourselves!!!
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Clipped Wing
I'm having trouble posting and commenting the past few days (4??) thanks to a very painful elbow. I don't know how it happened--unless my keyboard at work isn't at the proper height, which is a pretty lame way to get hurt. It's not that bad. It doesn't hurt at all when I'm asleep, so it's only a problem 70% of the time.
I am reading posts. But typing is no fun, so my posts and comments will be few for a while.
Don't get used to it! ;P
I am reading posts. But typing is no fun, so my posts and comments will be few for a while.
Don't get used to it! ;P
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