I'm sick.
I know what you're saying. Oh, hangnail? Sniffles? Blister?
No, I can tell you that I am actually sick this time, and prove it to you: I am not complaining, and I've stayed home from work for two days.
As I am sure you have read over the years, I am a bit of a wimp when it comes to the minor ailments in life. I moan and groan and act like a giant baby, which my wife just simply loves.
But this time is different. I am sick, sick, sick. There is no complaining. Can't complain when you are unconscious for 54 of a consecutive 60 hours. I have the flu or a flu-like virus.
Doesn't really matter because it has laid me out with a major league haymaker.
It's kinda like the guy who is standing there in front of the pile of rubble that used to be his house, and the reporter asks, "Do you think it was a tornado?" Does it matter?
I went to bed Saturday night, not realizing what was in store for me. I woke up around 5 a.m. and noticed I was soaking wet. I mean soaking.
I reached up to my forehead and felt sweat just streaming off my face. I was sweating like Louie Anderson in a cranked-up sauna. Not my typical Sunday morning.
I stood up at the side of the bed, sweat dripping down my face. I took a step. Wow, who knew someone was waiting to hit me in the left hip with a baseball bat.
Took another step. Right hip. I sat on the edge of the bed and decided to pass the time by coughing for the next hour, occasionally holding onto the dresser so that I did not hurl myself out of the window.
My wife woke up. "Are you OK?" she asked. "I'm finACKACKACKACKACK." I said.
I changed clothes and climbed back into bed. I slept off and on for a few more hours. Soon, the kids were up, and they apparently want breakfast every morning.
I opted to get up, hoping that being vertical would help.
It didn't.
I downed some medicine and headed back to bed. I woke up a few hours later, soaking wet again. This wasn't going to be good.
I decided to take my temperature. I don't remember the exact number, but it was somewhere around 120.
The rest of Sunday was pretty much the same - cough, sleep, sweat, medicate, repeat. It was the least enjoyable afternoon of Sunday football I can recall.
By late Sunday, I tried to eat something. Four saltines and I was stuffed. Back to sleep.
Sunday night/Monday morning was one of my more exhilarating night's sleep, because time had become a swirling warpzone of reality and NyQuil-based visions.
Several times I woke my wife up to ask her if various scenarios were taking place. ("Hey, did I just see Chevy Chase head to our kitchen to cook us eggs?")
Monday morning played out much the same way that Sunday did - sweaty, coughy, fevery and drowsy. It's like I was four rejected dwarfs.
One thing I noticed: I was told by a doctor to stay away from crowds, including work.
He told me the kids could stay at the house because, as he said, "You don't have bubonic plague."
But he said to avoid contact with them until I was better.
Turns out, when you sweat your clothes soaking wet four or five straight times, it's quite easy to have people avoid contact with you.
My wife, being as kind as possible, said on a few occasions, "So wouldn't a shower feel nice?" "Why not go take a hot shower?" She finally dropped subtleties. "Hey, you kinda smell like Peyton Manning's shoulder pads. Into the shower, stinky."
So I'm told that this thing can go anywhere from three to seven days. Seeing as how I am writing this on day three, I would greatly prefer it to be on this side of the estimate.
I'm going to continue trying to do this without complaining, because I need to be a soldier and brave my way through this.
Besides, I can't use up all my complaining. What happens if I get a hangnail?
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Chronic nice
I often spend time in my column complaining about people who commit major societal infractions.
While not criminal acts (unfortunately), they are acts that are violations of the laws of civility, such as not returning a grocery cart to the proper spot or taking too many items to the express checkout or not waving a courtesy thanks when you someone lets you in traffic or conducting a 6-hour bank transaction at the ATM. That kind of thing.
So I feel I should give credit when credit is due, and it is certainly due after my trip through my kids’ school car pick-up line.
The kids get out of school at 2:15 p.m., and there is usually a pretty good line waiting to pick up kids by about 2 p.m.
I was midway back in the pack, having arrived for line about 2:05 p.m. (Side note: On Fridays, I help out in Parker’s class. I usually get there about 1ish, and there are often quite a few cars lined up, waiting for school to let out at 2:15 p.m. Personally, I think if you are going to get in line before 1:45 p.m., park the car, head to the office and say these words, “How can I help?” Just a hunch there is probably a volunteer task or two at the school that could be assigned. I’m just saying ...)
Anywho, I was in line around 2:05 p.m. and was using my time productively.
Because I was going to be sitting still for 10 minutes or so, I opted to work on cleaning my car. There was a substantial amount of trash in the backseat.
The reason for this is simple: I have kids, and clearly they fill their backpacks with refuse so that they can hide it on my floorboard when I am not looking. Of course, I could not go about my car cleaning task without some entertainment, so I cut the car off to where the engine was not running, but I could still play the radio. And it was kind of warm out, so I went ahead and cranked up the air to get some circulation going. I think you see where this is heading.
As I saw the first batch of cars heading out of school, I hopped in the driver’s seat and cranked the key. My car responded, “click click click click click click click click click click click.”
I said a word under my breath so that no one at the elementary school would hear. I shut off the air and the radio, as if this would somehow magically charge my battery. “Click click click click click click click click.”
I rolled up my back windows and tried again. “Click click click click click click.”
Admittedly, I have no idea what that was supposed to do. I could have tried it, say, with my shoes off. Same correlation to a dead battery.
At this point, time was of the essence. I had a matter of moments until the line started moving, and there was going to be a big block of an SUV sitting dead in the middle of the road, stalling the flow of the car line. I figured I would try and push the car out of the road so at least the line could keep going. I hopped out, and Nice Person No. 1 appeared.
The woman behind me saw what was happening. She began backing up as much as she could to give me room to back my car up. I pushed my car back a few feet so that I could get clearance to push it forward. When I started pushing forward, I made a stunning realization: SUVs are heavy.
Then, Nice Person No., 2 appeared. I caught the attention of a guy walking across the street. “Hey, can you give me a hand?” I called.
He jogged across the street and helped me push the car out of the way. He then offered to help me jump start the car, since his car was parked right there. Wow, two nices in one.
In a matter of seconds, our cars were hooked up by jumper cables. I gave one turn of the key, and my car started right up.
Of course, I was now out of the car line, set back a good 10 minutes from where I had originally been. I backed up the car, and enter Nice Person No. 3.
As I sat perched at an awkward angle on the edge of the road, the driver made a kind of pointing motion, asking if I would like to cut in front of her. I am guessing she saw me with my hood up moments prior and could deduce I was not just gaming the system.
When I pulled back into car line, I made sure to extend my arm and give a great big thank you wave, just to make sure she saw.
It was pretty amazing to have one of those daily headache experiences and still come away actually feeling pretty good about the day.
Some nice folks helped out and showed a little kindness to their common man.
Hopefully, someone will do something nice for them. Like take their grocery cart back for them.
While not criminal acts (unfortunately), they are acts that are violations of the laws of civility, such as not returning a grocery cart to the proper spot or taking too many items to the express checkout or not waving a courtesy thanks when you someone lets you in traffic or conducting a 6-hour bank transaction at the ATM. That kind of thing.
So I feel I should give credit when credit is due, and it is certainly due after my trip through my kids’ school car pick-up line.
The kids get out of school at 2:15 p.m., and there is usually a pretty good line waiting to pick up kids by about 2 p.m.
I was midway back in the pack, having arrived for line about 2:05 p.m. (Side note: On Fridays, I help out in Parker’s class. I usually get there about 1ish, and there are often quite a few cars lined up, waiting for school to let out at 2:15 p.m. Personally, I think if you are going to get in line before 1:45 p.m., park the car, head to the office and say these words, “How can I help?” Just a hunch there is probably a volunteer task or two at the school that could be assigned. I’m just saying ...)
Anywho, I was in line around 2:05 p.m. and was using my time productively.
Because I was going to be sitting still for 10 minutes or so, I opted to work on cleaning my car. There was a substantial amount of trash in the backseat.
The reason for this is simple: I have kids, and clearly they fill their backpacks with refuse so that they can hide it on my floorboard when I am not looking. Of course, I could not go about my car cleaning task without some entertainment, so I cut the car off to where the engine was not running, but I could still play the radio. And it was kind of warm out, so I went ahead and cranked up the air to get some circulation going. I think you see where this is heading.
As I saw the first batch of cars heading out of school, I hopped in the driver’s seat and cranked the key. My car responded, “click click click click click click click click click click click.”
I said a word under my breath so that no one at the elementary school would hear. I shut off the air and the radio, as if this would somehow magically charge my battery. “Click click click click click click click click.”
I rolled up my back windows and tried again. “Click click click click click click.”
Admittedly, I have no idea what that was supposed to do. I could have tried it, say, with my shoes off. Same correlation to a dead battery.
At this point, time was of the essence. I had a matter of moments until the line started moving, and there was going to be a big block of an SUV sitting dead in the middle of the road, stalling the flow of the car line. I figured I would try and push the car out of the road so at least the line could keep going. I hopped out, and Nice Person No. 1 appeared.
The woman behind me saw what was happening. She began backing up as much as she could to give me room to back my car up. I pushed my car back a few feet so that I could get clearance to push it forward. When I started pushing forward, I made a stunning realization: SUVs are heavy.
Then, Nice Person No., 2 appeared. I caught the attention of a guy walking across the street. “Hey, can you give me a hand?” I called.
He jogged across the street and helped me push the car out of the way. He then offered to help me jump start the car, since his car was parked right there. Wow, two nices in one.
In a matter of seconds, our cars were hooked up by jumper cables. I gave one turn of the key, and my car started right up.
Of course, I was now out of the car line, set back a good 10 minutes from where I had originally been. I backed up the car, and enter Nice Person No. 3.
As I sat perched at an awkward angle on the edge of the road, the driver made a kind of pointing motion, asking if I would like to cut in front of her. I am guessing she saw me with my hood up moments prior and could deduce I was not just gaming the system.
When I pulled back into car line, I made sure to extend my arm and give a great big thank you wave, just to make sure she saw.
It was pretty amazing to have one of those daily headache experiences and still come away actually feeling pretty good about the day.
Some nice folks helped out and showed a little kindness to their common man.
Hopefully, someone will do something nice for them. Like take their grocery cart back for them.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
New addition
It’s a girl!
Yes, the Gibbons family has a new addition, and she weighs in at ... I am guessing about the same weight as a golf ball.
Our newest addition is a red-footed tortoise that my parents gave my daughter for her birthday.
While her brother is the go-gettingest animal kid around, Allie has always been more reserved around animals, usually content to watch them from 10 to 12 rooms away.
So you can imagine our surprise when Allie came in contact with a small tortoise a while back (they met on the Internet), and she developed an intense love for tortoises.
The appeal of tortoises versus other reptiles is pretty easy to see.
For one thing, tortoises move at a speed comparable to that of a rock. Plus, they have these looks on their faces that say, “Hey, I’ve got no beef with you. Let’s just chill out and eat lettuce.”
When the tortoise arrived, Allie was immediately smitten. Her face lit up as she held the tortoise, examining her all over. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?” Uh, sure ...
The next step was to name the new tortoise.
After all, you can’t have a family member without a name. (Just ask our son, You There.)
Without hesitation, Allie said, “Her name is Glissa.”
Glissa, as you know, is the Icelandic goddess of merriment, who, in ancient lore, did battle with Frogoff and came to victory with the use of a lightning bolt made from a ram’s horn. Or it was a name my daughter pulled out of the air. I can’t remember.
One of the first things we had to do was find a suitable home for Glissa.
Allie suggested we construct an elaborate pen out back for her, as she would need room to roam. I reminded Allie that Glissa could roam three feet and it would be a long journey, so an aquarium would suffice for now.
Once we got Glissa set up in her new home, we had to find a suitable place to put it.
Allie wanted her on her dresser, but that was somewhat high up.
As I explained to her, she would not be able to feed her and visit with her up there.
Thus, Glissa lived in our kitchen for her first few weeks as a member of the Gibbons household. Rather fitting for our family, I suppose. “Hey, come on over for dinner. You’ll be seated next to the tortoise.”
I am pleased to report that Glissa has since made it to the dining room table. I anticipate her being on the den coffee table by Thanksgiving.
Glissa is an interesting creature.
I told my wife that Glissa has a personality akin to Maggie the Attack Basset. She is low-key, yet interested in those around her.
Glissa will come and check you out, and is certainly interested if you are bringing food. (I recommend grapes.)
She also has a habit of climbing up on her little house, making an about face and rolling off. I am guessing that accounts for excitement in a tortoise’s world.
So Glissa has settled in quite nicely.
Both of the kids – Allie and You There – like to get her out and let her roam around and explore.
One nice thing about having a tortoise – you REALLY have to be asleep at the switch to let one get away.
They are in no hurry to get anywhere. I have had bath towels conduct more aggressive escape maneuvers.
We are told that Glissa could live 50 years, and that she will eventually grow to more than a foot long. It’s kinda cool to think that my grandkids could have the opportunity to grow up with Glissa being part of their lives.
And if Glissa has always been part of their world, they will no doubt have a love of animals from the start. Just like Uncle You There.
Yes, the Gibbons family has a new addition, and she weighs in at ... I am guessing about the same weight as a golf ball.
Our newest addition is a red-footed tortoise that my parents gave my daughter for her birthday.
While her brother is the go-gettingest animal kid around, Allie has always been more reserved around animals, usually content to watch them from 10 to 12 rooms away.
So you can imagine our surprise when Allie came in contact with a small tortoise a while back (they met on the Internet), and she developed an intense love for tortoises.
The appeal of tortoises versus other reptiles is pretty easy to see.
For one thing, tortoises move at a speed comparable to that of a rock. Plus, they have these looks on their faces that say, “Hey, I’ve got no beef with you. Let’s just chill out and eat lettuce.”
When the tortoise arrived, Allie was immediately smitten. Her face lit up as she held the tortoise, examining her all over. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?” Uh, sure ...
The next step was to name the new tortoise.
After all, you can’t have a family member without a name. (Just ask our son, You There.)
Without hesitation, Allie said, “Her name is Glissa.”
Glissa, as you know, is the Icelandic goddess of merriment, who, in ancient lore, did battle with Frogoff and came to victory with the use of a lightning bolt made from a ram’s horn. Or it was a name my daughter pulled out of the air. I can’t remember.
One of the first things we had to do was find a suitable home for Glissa.
Allie suggested we construct an elaborate pen out back for her, as she would need room to roam. I reminded Allie that Glissa could roam three feet and it would be a long journey, so an aquarium would suffice for now.
Once we got Glissa set up in her new home, we had to find a suitable place to put it.
Allie wanted her on her dresser, but that was somewhat high up.
As I explained to her, she would not be able to feed her and visit with her up there.
Thus, Glissa lived in our kitchen for her first few weeks as a member of the Gibbons household. Rather fitting for our family, I suppose. “Hey, come on over for dinner. You’ll be seated next to the tortoise.”
I am pleased to report that Glissa has since made it to the dining room table. I anticipate her being on the den coffee table by Thanksgiving.
Glissa is an interesting creature.
I told my wife that Glissa has a personality akin to Maggie the Attack Basset. She is low-key, yet interested in those around her.
Glissa will come and check you out, and is certainly interested if you are bringing food. (I recommend grapes.)
She also has a habit of climbing up on her little house, making an about face and rolling off. I am guessing that accounts for excitement in a tortoise’s world.
So Glissa has settled in quite nicely.
Both of the kids – Allie and You There – like to get her out and let her roam around and explore.
One nice thing about having a tortoise – you REALLY have to be asleep at the switch to let one get away.
They are in no hurry to get anywhere. I have had bath towels conduct more aggressive escape maneuvers.
We are told that Glissa could live 50 years, and that she will eventually grow to more than a foot long. It’s kinda cool to think that my grandkids could have the opportunity to grow up with Glissa being part of their lives.
And if Glissa has always been part of their world, they will no doubt have a love of animals from the start. Just like Uncle You There.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Build a fort
Here’s something interesting I learned this weekend: It takes about 30 minutes to level a playground set with an ax.
And hours to explain to police why you did that in your neighbor’s yard.
Ha! Kidding. Took down one in my own yard. Fort Frontier is no longer. Fort Frontier was erected over several weekends in 2003. It took several weekends because the directions were written in English, translated into German, then translated into Japanese, then translated into some sort of Incan code, and then churned out back into English, giving you such direction as, “With counter flange No. B, secure last beam cross to plank.”
The fort served the kids well during its tenure. Its stability was never its strong point, though, and it was starting to lean more and more and wobble more and more when the kids would swing on it. Further inspection revealed some wood rot. Even further inspection revealed a wasp nest, which resulted in me being stung, which resulted in my really wanting to take an ax to it.
So Parker and I headed into the backyard to take it down. I explained to both of the kids that I was going to tear down the fort, and they were fine with it, mainly because they saw this as a fine avenue to lobby for a trampoline. Or a roller coaster. One is possible. The other would be cool, but I feel certain would probably be against some City ordinance.
I took my first swing with the ax and was pleased with the result. A splintering CRACK! resonated through the backyard, and one of the main supports crippled from the power of my awesome ax swing. Then Parker said, “Daddy, you’re using the wrong end.” That’s when I explained to him the dual uses of an ax head – wood splitting fineness and blunt force trauma. He nodded and stared at the ax, as though it had just turned into a far more useful tool.
After about 10 minutes of smashing up Fort Frontier, I stopped so that I could (a) catch my breath and (b) regain the feeling in my arms. It had also suddenly become, by my estimate, 305 degrees with 600 percent humidity. “Daddy, can I pull some of the wood out of the pile?” I told him that was a good call, and I would just ... sit here ... for a sec ... and watch ....
In no time, my mini heat stroke/double shoulder annihilation was over, and I was ready to get back to the task at hand. For the remainder of the destruction, I would opt for a more refined attack rather than the maniacal swinging that I tried at first. Some prying here. A well-aimed whack there. Before I knew it, Fort Frontier was on the ground in a pile of tornadoish rubble.
“So what are we going to do with the wood?” my son asked. I told him that we were going to throw it out. “But we can use it. To build a fort,” he said.
Uh, pretty sure we just un-forted the wood.
But Parker would not be denied. And his sister soon joined. There would be a fort, and it would be glorious!!!
I told them I would help them fashion a fort out of some of the lumber. I am fairly certain you are not allowed to claim to have had a childhood if you didn’t build a fort out of scrap lumber and tree limbs.
We got up the next day bright and early, ready to construct. And the best way to jump start your day – drop what used to be the roof of Fort Frontier on your toe. Better than coffee!!! The roof would be repurposed as two of the walls, touching a willow tree and our fence. Some boards would serve as the roof, and the kids installed what they insist was the most comfortable hardwood floor ever. Willow branches covered the front and roof, and the old slide was attached to the tree. It looked like something people live in after a hurricane hits El Salvador. And my kids’ thought on it? “THIS IS THE BEST FORT EVER!!!”
They played for the rest of the day in Fort Refugee. And it was the most cool fort for them. They even had a neighbor come over, and she concurred that it was, for lack of a better term, awesome.
It made me smile to see them so happy. It was nice to see them get so much joy from what was a very simple thing. Perhaps we grown-ups should take a little from that. We need to manage our expectations and embrace the little joys of life. In essence, sometimes we need to build a fort.
And hours to explain to police why you did that in your neighbor’s yard.
Ha! Kidding. Took down one in my own yard. Fort Frontier is no longer. Fort Frontier was erected over several weekends in 2003. It took several weekends because the directions were written in English, translated into German, then translated into Japanese, then translated into some sort of Incan code, and then churned out back into English, giving you such direction as, “With counter flange No. B, secure last beam cross to plank.”
The fort served the kids well during its tenure. Its stability was never its strong point, though, and it was starting to lean more and more and wobble more and more when the kids would swing on it. Further inspection revealed some wood rot. Even further inspection revealed a wasp nest, which resulted in me being stung, which resulted in my really wanting to take an ax to it.
So Parker and I headed into the backyard to take it down. I explained to both of the kids that I was going to tear down the fort, and they were fine with it, mainly because they saw this as a fine avenue to lobby for a trampoline. Or a roller coaster. One is possible. The other would be cool, but I feel certain would probably be against some City ordinance.
I took my first swing with the ax and was pleased with the result. A splintering CRACK! resonated through the backyard, and one of the main supports crippled from the power of my awesome ax swing. Then Parker said, “Daddy, you’re using the wrong end.” That’s when I explained to him the dual uses of an ax head – wood splitting fineness and blunt force trauma. He nodded and stared at the ax, as though it had just turned into a far more useful tool.
After about 10 minutes of smashing up Fort Frontier, I stopped so that I could (a) catch my breath and (b) regain the feeling in my arms. It had also suddenly become, by my estimate, 305 degrees with 600 percent humidity. “Daddy, can I pull some of the wood out of the pile?” I told him that was a good call, and I would just ... sit here ... for a sec ... and watch ....
In no time, my mini heat stroke/double shoulder annihilation was over, and I was ready to get back to the task at hand. For the remainder of the destruction, I would opt for a more refined attack rather than the maniacal swinging that I tried at first. Some prying here. A well-aimed whack there. Before I knew it, Fort Frontier was on the ground in a pile of tornadoish rubble.
“So what are we going to do with the wood?” my son asked. I told him that we were going to throw it out. “But we can use it. To build a fort,” he said.
Uh, pretty sure we just un-forted the wood.
But Parker would not be denied. And his sister soon joined. There would be a fort, and it would be glorious!!!
I told them I would help them fashion a fort out of some of the lumber. I am fairly certain you are not allowed to claim to have had a childhood if you didn’t build a fort out of scrap lumber and tree limbs.
We got up the next day bright and early, ready to construct. And the best way to jump start your day – drop what used to be the roof of Fort Frontier on your toe. Better than coffee!!! The roof would be repurposed as two of the walls, touching a willow tree and our fence. Some boards would serve as the roof, and the kids installed what they insist was the most comfortable hardwood floor ever. Willow branches covered the front and roof, and the old slide was attached to the tree. It looked like something people live in after a hurricane hits El Salvador. And my kids’ thought on it? “THIS IS THE BEST FORT EVER!!!”
They played for the rest of the day in Fort Refugee. And it was the most cool fort for them. They even had a neighbor come over, and she concurred that it was, for lack of a better term, awesome.
It made me smile to see them so happy. It was nice to see them get so much joy from what was a very simple thing. Perhaps we grown-ups should take a little from that. We need to manage our expectations and embrace the little joys of life. In essence, sometimes we need to build a fort.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)