Florence Nightingale he ain't

I barged in on my husband while he was in his study yesterday. He jumped in surprise, swung around from his computer and said “What?”. His face was red, so right away I figured he was up to something. Turns out he was reading my blog.

Now, normally it is a matter of pride for him that he doesn’t read my blog. I don’t take it too personally. He is more of a facts and figures kind of guy. My blog isn’t really his kind of thing. He also likes to point out that he hears me go on and on every day, he certainly doesn’t need to read it too. I understand, there’s only so much of me one person can take.

ME:     Why are you reading my blog? Have you been reading it secretly?

HIM:    No. I was just wondering if you blogged about the duct tape.

ME:     No, I didn’t. I think I’m a little too embarrassed on your behalf to do a blog about it.

HIM:    Oh.

ME:     I'll blog about it if I have your permission.

HIM:   (Silence)

Well, everybody knows that silence in response to a request for permission equals permission. So here goes the duct tape story.

First a little background to let you understand my husband’s attitude about what constitutes first aid treatment. He was a roofer and re-modeler for the first 18 years of our marriage. Sometimes the need to get a roof covered before a storm comes through overrides everything else…. including trips to the emergency room. He has…

• Pulled a nail out of his thigh that he got from resting a nail gun on his thigh with a heavy leather glove on. Apparently the glove triggered the gun on its own. I think he may have visited the doctor a few days later for a tetanus shot.. but only because I insisted.
• Sewed up a cut on his forearm himself. He said he needed to cover the roof and the blood was getting in his way.
• Closed numerous cuts and wrapped smashed fingers with duct tape in order to keep working.

His need to keep the job rolling (along with being a cheapskate) has driven him to extreme measures. He deems duct tape to be an acceptable alternative to proper bandaging.

Enter the dog… Chance. He has been scratching lately. Took him to the vet a few weeks ago.  The vet couldn’t find an explanation (think we need a new vet). Over the Labor Day weekend the stupid dog scratched a raw spot on his shoulder (or are they called flanks in a dog?).

The vet was closed and I had to travel to California on Tuesday, bright and early.  I left my husband in charge of making an appt. for the dog… right away. I distinctly remember saying those words.

I call Tuesday night to see how the dog is doing and find out that the vet is out of the office until Thursday. He set the appt. for early Thursday evening. I expressed concern about waiting so long and got my husband to promise to watch the dog carefully, keep cleaning the hot spot and put powder on it. I NEVER UTTERED THE WORDS DUCT TAPE.

Late Wednesday I get a picture from my daughter by cell phone. Apparently, my husband thought it would be a good idea to give the dog a duct tape yoke to keep him from scratching. I kid you not. He put some medicated powder on the sore, covered it with some paper towel and duct taped the whole thing up.  He was very upset with my daughter for sending me the picture.

Not having the benefit of being there in person to give him the evil eye, my pleas to remove the tape went unheeded. I rushed home Thursday from the airport to find my poor dejected dog begging me with his eyes to undo the horrific, gooey bandage my husband had put on him. It was not a pretty process. I had to cut his fur in some spots to get it off. Plus he had sweated underneath the duct tape and stank to high heaven.

Dogs don’t talk, but Chance looked at me with his sweet, brown doggy eyes, thanking me for rescuing him and pleading with me never to be left alone with the madman again. I of course called the husband up on his cell to give him a piece of my mind, (not peace).  He reported to me later that he had been in a room full of people who heard me yelling through the phone, word for word.

Chance, you ask. Well, he is doing fine. He has a cone on his head, a laundry list of medications and a sock on his foot to keep him from scratching.  He will recover and his fur will grow back.

My husband's defense …. “I duct tape myself all the time.”

That doesn't sound right.

One of my former co-workers used to say “exspecially”. Well, I'm sure she still does, I'm just not there to be annoyed by it. Every time she said it I winced inside. It distracted me to the point that I didn’t pay any attention to what came after the exspecially. I’m guessing she wanted to exspecially highlight the information that came after exspecially. She was unknowingly defeating her own purpose. I always wondered if she thought the rest of us were dropping the “x”.

Another of my co-worker’s used to slaughter a common figure of speech. This one just made me laugh inside. He would say “Well, it’s not rocket scientist”. Particularly humorous because he said it when questioning somebody else’s mental prowess. Ironic, huh?

I'm no grammar fanatic but I do read a lot. I know what sounds right to me. There are three common phrases that I notice people use in a slightly different way. Before doing a little bit of research I would have bet money that I was using all of them correctly. Turns out I am using one correctly, one incorrectly and the last is in transition, so either usage is correct.

“All of a sudden” vs. “All of the sudden” The correct usage is all of a sudden. It's actually an idiom, which by definition has a different meaning than the words used to convey that meaning. Even though neither one makes grammatical sense, one has been deemed correct.

"Speak my piece" or "Speak my peace" So long as this phrase is spoken and not written, everybody agrees. The trouble starts when it is written down. This is the one I have been wrong about. It is "speak my piece". I still think peace makes more sense. I picture somebody having a clear conscience after sharing some deeply held opinion or getting something off their chest that's been bothering them. They are at peace. Piece is too neutral. If you are speaking your piece.... it could be a piece of anything.... nonsense, idiocy or some inconsequential fluff.

"You've got another think coming" or "You've got another thing coming" According to some linguistic type article I read, the correct usage is "think". But language is a fluid thing. The first documented usage of "thing" dates back to 1919 and in the ensuing 90 years "thing" is much more commonly used than "think". Over time "think" has become, if not outright incorrect, at least outdated.

Repeated usage makes it correct. Now that I've spoken my peace, I'll end this post all of a sudden. You have another thing coming if you think I have more to say.

How Do I Look?

So I asked my daughter this morning if my shoes looked OK. I was worried about the color. They are white sandals and my outfit was mostly black with some small white flowers all over the skirt. She answered me with a sideways tilt of her head and raised eyebrows.

Me ----> "What’s the matter with them?"

Her ----> They’re kind of 90’s aren’t they?

Hmmm, I might have bought them in the 90’s. I can’t remember. Maybe I need to start affixing expiration dates to my clothing and shoes, except for anything made of wool or cashmere. My grandmother told me items made from these fabrics are “timeless” and worth the investment.

Ever since our 25th Anniversary party in May I have been looking at old pictures with a new perspective. As a surprise my daughter put together a wedding album for us. It got passed around to everybody. There were quite a few comments about the mullets and the outdated styles worn by our wedding guests. What can I say? Everybody had a mullet back then. We also had leg warmers, ankle boots and white leggings. I make no apologies.

Let’s fast forward 25 years and see what the next generation thinks of your skinny jeans and big baggy purses with chains and baubles hanging off of them everywhere. They will wonder why you wore shirts that don’t cover your bellies. I bet they’ll get a kick out of how your pants hung halfway down your ass too. And croc's... I defy anybody to explain why they were caught dead in a pair of those godawful shoes. Today’s fashion is tomorrow’s fodder for ridicule.

You'll know you're there when you get there

Every Friday during the summer here in Michigan, the roads leading north are crowded with people making their way “UP NORTH”. They are headed to their cabins, or to a rental on the lake, or camping. They carry bicycles, canoes and ATV’s. They haul boats and campers. They leave right after work on Friday and come home again late Sunday night.

Up North travel doesn’t end after summer is over. Campers and boaters pass the baton to hunters in the fall and to the snowmobilers for our 5 months of winter. The weekly trek up I75 never ends. The hunters don’t carry anything visible on the way up but if they are successful they proudly tie the poor, dead deer to their vehicle for all to see. It’s a grisly sight, but if the population wasn’t controlled by hunting, the deer would become a hazard to themselves and to motorists. There just aren’t any predators left to hunt them.

There’s some debate over where the “Up North” border lies. It’s hard to define but you can feel it when you are Up North. The air is not as heavy, the smells of pine and cedar fill the air, the landscape looks more wild. My tell-tale sign is the sudden feeling of freedom, as if somebody has lifted a huge burden off my shoulders.

The worst two weekends for traveling Up North are Memorial Day (we made it through another winter) and Labor Day (we’d better enjoy it before it’s over). If you don’t time it right your travel time can be doubled.

So here we are in the dwindling days of summer. Between Mom’s surgery and all the visitors, we haven’t done any trips Up North this year. This is our last chance. We have a pop-up camper and if my husband hadn’t hurt his leg we would be taking that Up North this Labor Day weekend. Instead we are going to have to settle for a small rental at KOA, they call them Kamping Kabins. (I never noticed before but they need to be careful about abbreviating that.)

I’m looking forward to sitting around the campfire, walking along the lakeshore and hiking. Well, a leisurely stroll through the woods anyway. I don’t think you get to call it hiking if you wear your flip flops. Going to take my lounge chair and a good book and enjoy summer while I can.

Highway Robbery

Speaking of groceries … since when did you have to either take out a second mortgage or pawn the jewelry you inherited from your grandmother in order to buy a few weeks worth of food? Yesterday’s excursion to our local chain grocery store cost us $282 and we barely bought any meat. If you subtract the beer and my little air freshener gadget it still came to $255.

I think I haven’t noticed because lately we only pick up a few things here and there. But we were low on quite a few things and with the faint hint of an autumn nip in the air, a person gets the urge to fill the larder for winter. In an effort to save some money we bought some stuff from Sam’s Club but having an 18 year old son in the house defeats the purpose of bulk buying. He sees 20 boxes of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese as a personal challenge not as a long term food buying strategy.

One thing that bothers me about groceries is the healthier options cost more money. If the words "Low Fat" or "Fat Free" or "Organic" are anywhere on the package, you will pay a premium. Shouldn't it be less expensive if you leave the sugar and fat out of it?

To create the illusion of savings I don’t give the clerk my “Savings Card” until everything is rung up. My bill magically went from $318 to $282. False satisfaction, I know, because their real purpose is to track all my purchases for their marketing geniuses to analyze and devise new ways to entice me to spend even more money. I feel like such a pawn.

*Disclaimer in the interest of full disclosure. In no way did the contents of my basket resemble the healthy assortment of food in the picture included in this post. My defense is that it's hard to find a picture of a grocery cart containing Little Debbie Nutty Bars, Doritos, Diet Coke and Cocoa Krispies cereal.

Hangin' up the Glove

My dear husband’s muscles, ligaments and tendons seem to be turning to silly putty. He is not taking it well, either. He is (was) very athletic. This is a man who played baseball, basketball and football in high school. When you are the oldest of three brothers you have to work hard to establish and maintain your superiority.

He was a roofer for 20 years, climbing up and down ladders with bundles of shingles. The only reason he gave that up was his knees were starting to get to him. He still has an athlete’s build. Every few months he develops a little belly pooch but it bothers him. He diets and exercises for bit and then loses it. He is an active, fit man.

I never would have suggested he participate in the company softball tournament if I had known what was going to happen. I admit to wanting to show off, via my husband’s athletic prowess. And from all accounts, he was on his way to being the star of the team. My co-workers tell me they already had him slotted in the power batting position and all agreed he was the strongest player that showed up for the first practice.

So, what happened? Well, while running and stretching to catch a groundball he tore his calf muscle, his Achilles tendon and has a hairline fracture. Nobody bumped him, he didn’t fall, twist or do anything out of the ordinary. It’s really bizarre.

He will get the results of his MRI tomorrow. Until then we don't know if he will need surgery, (thank goodness we're insured <-------- health care reform plug). Physically he will recover, but mentally he is taking it hard. It's a wake up call that from here on out his body will continue to be in a far different place than his mind. Because in his mind he is still young, energetic and invincible. His muscles, ligaments and tendons beg to differ.

Pretty Boy

I grew up during the 60’s and 70’s. I don’t have anything against long hair. But, little boys should have little boy hair. There, I said it. A little bit of length is OK but this is ridiculous.




















I doubt that the sons of Kate Hudson, Celine Dion, Cindy Crawford and Elle McPhereson are trying to make some sort of social statement with their hair. Either their parents are too wimpy to give the kids haircuts against their wishes or they are using their children as some sort of living canvas to prove what unconventional parents they are.

What does Celine have to say about her son’s hair? “Rene Charles makes his own decisions most of the time. My son makes his own decisions about his hair. I've asked him about 25 times, if not five million, 'Do you want mommy to open your face a little bit... Do you want me to trim a little bit?' No. When he's ready, I'll cut it. Anyway, my husband has no hair - so it balances out."

Well, letting your son make his own decisions may lead to trouble some day. I think. Maybe. Will you let him enter school only when he says he is ready? Does he decide what he will eat every day? Is he consulted on everything? That’s no way to parent, you nitwit. Quit asking him and start telling him he’s getting a hair cut.

Oh and Kate… if you’re going to make the kid wear long hair, at least run a comb through it. Unless you are trying to go for that cavekid look. If so, mission accomplished. You should have named him “Oog”.

I wager these boys will come home begging for haircuts once the schoolyard bullies get a hold of them. There’s something to be said for the normalizing influence of one’s peers.

I feel the same way about piercing the ears of little baby girls. Mothers who do this are treating their daughters like little dress up dolls to accessorize as they like, even if it means permanently altering their bodies.