The Anecdotal Life Part. 20

A hodge-podge of happenings: Am at local library in Beulah, Michigan. Have to run into the eight cornered town here to get the net and run is the word this week. Am painting parts of the porch, washing down the siding, trying to spruce up the place for the 4th, running between two sisters, running down the trail to argue with the DEQ about a pending boat launch, running farther up the trail to check on one of the few remaining stands of wild orchids, running to laundry, pharmacy and as always running to Ace Hardware for you name it and ,as always, trying to decipher "Chapman Piloting" book on everything about boating.
It's cold and I'll take it knowing I have to go back to Annapolis to begin the final move out of an apartment with a beautiful view, but into my own small townhouse. I wish I could have dealt with the apartment, but I felt like I was in rabbit warren.
Also, though I got used to being at the top of the building, I missed having some dab of ground to mess with.
It's great having my right hand back and being able to make things. Birdhouses for now and soon I will be able to get back to painting. I want to try a big tree that was in front of the Fairmont Hotel in Santa Monica. Making things and writing is where it's at.
Copyright: June 28, 2006.

The Anecdotal Life Part.19

Well, I made it this far. I am in Michigan now and for me it's better than being in Jamaica, but actually the minute I crossed the Ohio border I relaxed. The air is cleaner , everything is cleaner, and maybe it was an unusual day, but the turnpike seemed like a ghost town. Biggest surprise was the price of gas at $2.68.
Not a lot happening in Ohio, though its a tad livelier in Oberlin where a very liberal college is located. I stay at the Oberlin Inn that is haunted by former faculty members and relaxing current faculty.
One former member was sitting next to me. He was in his nineties, owned and sailed a boat, and had a tennis partner. I think I made a mistake when I gave him my email. He was all over that.... Hmmm.
At any rate now I am in Michigan in a small town named Grand Ledge and I am trotting back and forth between Grand Ledge and Grand Rapids. I always forget how flat Michigan is. I swear you could lay on your stomach and see clear to Iowa. Though I wouldn't recommend it since all you'd see is a lot of very good dirt. Nothing wrong with good dirt , but it's just not a thrill after the first mile or two.
I always like to take a good book along for night-time reading. Well, you'd never guess what I hauled along with me. It practically needed it's own set of wheels. "Chapman's Piloting" is not light nor good night reading. It's very anxiety producing.
The chapter on navigation was my worst nightmare. Just when I had myself convinced (and very falsely convinced) that the math would be within my mental capabilities, I came across the calculations and devices needed to make those calculations. All that stuff for simply finding out where you need to go. Never my long suit. I had just spent an hour or so off course on the highway in New Stanton, Pennsylvania. Lovely town however. Whenever I stop to ask questions, people always give me a wild-eyed look, and say, " You are from Annapolis going where!!?"
To heck with it. Tomorrow I will be in Beulah, Michigan near Traverse City at our very own Crystal Lake and I will really know where I am and why.
Copyright: June 25, 2006.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 18

I am experiencing internet difficulties, moving hassles, and need to travel north to Michigan. I will try to do a Sunday blog.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 17

The other morning ABC held a discussion between two fathers. One's advice, which he delivered with so much assurance that I paused to consider it as valid, was that a father should get right in there in their children's faces and lives and be involved in what they do.
I was in physical therapy for my hand at the time with two other fathers sitting at the table. I thought about my father and laughed.
When I told them "pop" pretty much made sure if he had a spare minute that I get involved in what he was involved in. Since he coached Football, Basketball, Baseball, loved airplanes, all machinery, and every kid in town, I found myself as soon as he could toss me up on my bike, ferrying lunches to the baseball field, skipping into the gym dodging basketballs and all the "shirts and the skins", hotfooting it down to Ford Field to watch every football game, meeting all the players who trooped through the house, playing with every kind of ball for whatever kind of game, getting a ride to the airport every darn Sunday, eating strawberry ice cream only until I was ten and finally organized a butterscotch and chocolate revolt, and figured that was the way the world was for everybody. The two other fathers said their fathers had to work too hard to have much time for them and I understood that. My dad had a big job and we had to respect it.
Neither my father nor my mother planned or organized our play when we could break free. They turned us out the door and only intervened if we did something stupid or were seriously threatened by someone. I watch parents now in Little League and it makes me sick. Can't those parents go find some fun on their own? How will those kids learn to think or decide for themselves if they are not left on their own? Granted the world seems to be a little screwier, but I don't think kids should think they are the center of the universe and I think they need some unstructured, unobtrusively monitored time of their own. So Happy Father's Day to all the dads and maybe you shouldn't feel too guilty if you are not always right in there with some activity your child has. There's ways to let them know you are around and care.
Copyright: June 18th, 2006.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 16

A day late and a dollar short writing this blog. However, it's not because it has been uneventful. Trying to move, learning what all those black boxes are on the boat's flybridge, and keeping up with my blog has made for an interesting dance. The house is exhausting, frustrating, confusing, but a great deal of fun when it come to the creative end of it. Especially the patio, which we are doing mostly in reds with other Mayan colors and motifs. Lots of painting and stenciling going on.
Luckily for me the captain on the other side of the pier was willing to jump aboard with another overwhelming lesson. He is kind, but precise about his instructions; yet he senses when enough is enough. Lesson 2 helped me understand Lesson 1, but it took several people to unravel Lesson 2 itself.
That GPS system must have been invented by a chinese philosopher. I made the mistake of asking (and I asked merely to sort out some of the confusion of what I was hearing), "what is the difference between true north and magnetic north?" What a sinkhole that was. Later in the day I called my brother-in-law in San Francisco who used to sail the bay and asked him the same question. He laughed; then emailed me four pages on just that point. I ran with those four pages to a female boat captain in our apartment house. She was clear, but brief, and threw a copy of "Chapman's Piloting" into my lap to use as long as I needed it. Hmmm. Have you ever seen the size of that thing? I think I know how the elephant's child felt running about endlessly asking everyone questions.
I now believe that north is almost anything you want to make of it. However, if you don't get it right in your calculations, you may think you are headed for the Golden Horn, but will actually end up in Keokuk with your luggage headed for Luxemborg.
The calculations terrified me, but when I calmed down, I could see that a blind jackass (namely me) could do the math; IF--they understand the process. Which is not to say I understand the whole four pages. Which means I have more questions to ask underscoring my ignorance.....and it seems there is no end to mine.
Copyright: June 15, 2006.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 15

During the moving process I will continue with excerpts from my book, "Choo Choo and Cohorts". Occasionally, I will get back to current anecdotes as they arise. This week has been fairly peaceful so this excerpt is from Chapter 2, "Malignant Darling". This is the end of the chapter. "It ought to be unusual for a two and a half-year-old to know angst or to contemplate the nature of evil, but that satanic meteor named Jonathon clarified those concepts early on for Choo.
Yet he always forgave him, always watched mesmerized as this miniature Lucifer recreated the world according to his own dark definition, hauling Choo unwillingly, but helplessly from one pile of rubble to another. All of which Choo paid for , each and every time, philosophically and hopelessly, mired in a friendship encouraged by both mothers, and really, would he have walked away?
As he grew older he accepted Jonathon's hypnotic hold on him and his own deeply embedded fascination with catastrophe."
Now I am off to wash and wax my boat and try to con someone into a second lesson. It is our jillionth beautiful day this spring. I always call it "Michigan weather".
Copyright: June 11, 2006.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 14

This is an excerpt from a book I intend to self-publish called "Choo Choo and Cohorts" It is the innocent beginning of a horrifying series of calamities that two children invent. Well, at least one of them anyway. You'll meet him in the second chapter. This is the first chapter called "Westward Ho".
"My sister, Diane, turned her back on her two-year-old son to deal with the monthly milk bill. She usually tied him to a chair, a very heavy chair, but he seemed too sleepy for trouble and she was too busy to take precautions.
Choo instinctively saw his advantage and tiptoed over to the window, grasped the sill and stretched to peer out. All he could see was a big, beautiful, white truck in front of him. Enchanted, he slipped out the door and padded quietly along the stone path, still wearing his blue sleepers. He hated changing clothes. We used to pay his sister, Elizabeth, a dollar every time he needed a diaper change, and it was worth it. Now, however, avoiding any clothes hassles and nearing his goal, he swung open the gate and smiled up at the enormously inviting white truck. He clambered onto the running board and hoisted his rotund, small body up on the front seat.
As usual, part of the ensuing debacle was Gram's fault. She'd spent the previous evening baby sitting all three of them and regaling him, in particular, with a story about the time she and her friends swiped midnight rides on the town's only trolley.
With the keys dangling in front of his eyes, he grabbed them and the opportunity to emulate Gram in one movement. All he had to do was push and pull and turn things like he'd seen his father do.
Choo was, for the moment, perched at the top of a terrifically long, curving driveway, at the end of which was a new mailbox, a ditch, a road, the neighbor's driveway, their garage and newly added breakfast nook attached like a breezeway between the garage and the house. Past all that was Peterson's pond and then the lake. So Choo pulled the last lever blocking his progress and sailed west, not into the sunset, but down the long, long driveway, gaining a ferocious amount of speed in his descent."
And my dear friends, because that's probably the only people reading all this, I shall publish this book beginning in August, much to the consternation of good old Choo and you can find out what transpired... or expired.
Copyright: June 7, 2006.

The Anecdotal Life Part. 13

Well, Good morning! I once saw an Indian (imitation) sweatshirt that said"Running Bear" on the front and "Barely running" on the back. I'm the backside this morning. Apparently, my sluggish gallbladder had a fit over all the 4000 calorie meals we had at the wedding, all the nuts we kept slamming down between times, all the cake and ice cream and chocolate, a lot of that, and on and on...
The pain started at 4:30 a.m., Friday, one day after I got home. So I had to drive myself to the doctor in Dundalk, get stuffed into an ambulance and was transported to the Bayview Hospital emergency ward in Baltimore.
Well, usually you could die waiting in these places. Since I came in on the gurney they saw to me pretty fast, but then I got caught in the wait mode when it came to the C.T. scan. A trauma case had to be given precedence. I got in for the scan by 4:30 p.m.
However, this still wasn't your average ward in terms of compassion. Huge kindness quotient in each soul that approached me. They'd ask each and every time; is there anything I can do for you , anything to make you more comfortable? At first, I just lay there staring at them and they'd think of some little thing on their own anyway.
Once the pain meds kicked in I could sit back and observe. It's a lively business they're in. My favorite event was a little elderly man who was terrified and not quite on top of his game in terms of awareness. As small as he was he had a loud commanding voice they could use over at the O's baseball stadium. He would holler out boldly and continually, "Doctor, Doctor, Doctor," until someone would respond. It would scare the tar out of you. On the initial round a nurse got in his face and said equally loudly, "You can't do that here!". He would respond amiably, calm down some and start chatting, still at forte however. He had some kind of nurse. She got his number on the first go-round and thereafter, everytime he burst forth, she'd yell over from wherever she was. "Did you have another bad dream?" He'd shout back," Well, yes I did", and tell her about it and they'd shout back and forth awhile; she'd tell him to back to sleep and he'd promptly do so. During one episode she told him he had pneumonia. "Well!" he said sounding completely baffled, "How'd I get that?" As I remember it, she said she didn't know , but that they'd fix it and he allowed as how that sounded like a good idea. They had arrived at a congenial modus operandi and it made for interesting listening. This would occur on the half-hour. He never yelled the same word. He was fairly creative in that department.
The radiologist threw in his own peculiar brand of humor. He wasn't going give me a chance to panic. He yakety yakked his way along with his face right in mine and at the end, when I did get a word in edgewise, I asked," did you see anything?" He said," girl friend, we saw everything you got." Well!...that shut me up.
My roommate had her own little quirks. You know how some people sleep with their light on? Mildred slept with her buzzer on. She kept rolling over on it. I would plead with her; the nurses kept running in there to hoist her off of it, but it was hopeless. The doctor told me it would be a good idea to stay all night, but when one of those hopelessly perky little aides came in at 11 p.m. and said " You're looking good! The plan is for you to go home! Isn't that nice?" I knew darn well that wasn't the plan, but grabbed it. Mildred was definitely " at one" with her buzzer and I would be better off making tracks for home. I rolled off the gurney, stumbled into my clothes ( wierd ones I'd grabbed in a hurry ) and got the guard to get me a taxi to my truck in Dundalk, ran from the taxi to the truck in a bone drenching downpour, and I was home in bed in Annapolis by 12:30 p.m., sans Mildred and her buzzer. My two cats piled in, glad to see me and we slept.
Copyright: June 4, 2006.