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Home Alone – Day Six

I’m sorry again kids. It’s going on 11pm and I’m just getting home. It wasn’t a bad day, just long… but way too long for a video.

My hearings went well, if a little long. There’s some bleed over to tomorrow to finish things up, but that’s ok.

Mom will be glad to know the bank got the appraisal back from the appraiser. It was more than we thought, so one possible stumbling block is out of the way. She’ll also be glad to know I can/will call to lock in our interest rate tomorrow.

I went over to Memere and Pepere’s house after work (a little after dinner time) and helped get them set up for Pepere’s recovery after his surgery tomorrow.

Keep Pepere in your thoughts this weekend. I think it might be a little harder than they thought.

I hope you’re staying cool. I hear it’s WAY hotter there than here. I hope it’s not putting a damper on the fun.

Well, I’m off to bed. I hope you have a great day tomorrow (today by the time you see this :-)

Home Alone – Day Five

I’m really sorry kids, but no video tonight. I have it “in the can,” so to speak, but I found some things I have to take out – mostly work stuff I’m not really allowed to post in a public forum. It’s after bedtime, I just got back from dinner with Uncle Eric, Aunt Lisa, your cousins, and grandma/grandpa… so I don’t have the time or energy to do it now.

So… tomorrow you may get a double-dose of dad, if my hearings don’t run late.

Home Alone – Day Four

This video could be the best one yet!
Or not.

I promise you this: I have lots more to talk about.

Interesting? You must decide.

Home alone: Day Three

This one may kill Cheryl. You’ll have to watch to find out why.

Home alone: Day two

I went out on a limb on this one and it broke.

Still, it’s all I’ve got so it will have to do. Another video means another warning… and this time it concerns a TERRIBLE accent. I was going for mock tragedy and got something else. If it’s not watchable, you’ll know it pretty soon. Don’t feel bad about turning it off.

 

Home alone: day one

This is a warning to all friends, family, acquaintances, folks who see me on the street and swear I’m their cousin Bill from Wisconsin, and strangers:

This could be the worst video you see on the internets all day.

My self-esteem isn’t so low I think I’ll win the race to the bottom for long, with the volume of “stuff” uploaded daily. In fact, I may not be in the lead now but I’m not going to spend a lot of my time (and your’s) worrying about it.

This is a message to my family… the first of many, as they traverse “The South,” making their way towards the capital of our great nation.

If I may digress… one wonders if our nation is great, how can it’s capital – it’s very symbol – be reviled in every conceivable way?

Anyhoo, in this video you will see me playing one of my many roles… this one the confident, self-absorbed and self-amused father/husband. Since I started treatment for a misbehaving thyroid my wife says I’m funny again. I’m terribly sorry if this makes her seem a liar.

Closing the book

I keep records. They’re not the vinyl kind. Those I might be able to sell on eBay. Oh, if only I had that Michael Jackson album I got as a gift when I was a kid. It would probably be in mint condition – possibly never touched by a needle.

No, these are the boring kind of records – not that Michael Jackson was a…

No, I just can’t do it. It’s just too easy. It’s a corn dog dipped in corn syrup with popcorn. (Maybe that’s a little too corny.)

… Thriller for me.

Ack! Someone stop me before I hurt someone.

Think filing cabinets and a slightly anal personality when it comes to documents. Nowadays I scan most incoming documents, but for some things I keep the paper. One example is our cars. We (I) keep sales contracts, transfers of title… all of the good stuff you get when you buy a car. Then we (I) add to it as we go. We (I) keep documents and records for maintenance and repairs, neatly organized by date.

No, that was not an excuse for Cheryl to laugh at me.

You better stop reading before I ratchet up the real excitement. If you’re pregnant or suffer from a heart condition, we strongly recommend you get off this post at your earliest convenience..

When we sell a car or trade it in, we close the book on it. We pull the paper on file, pack it up, and archive it (a box in the garage).

None of this is important to the post though. Consider it a test of your patience. Only those who prove themselves worthy will get the meat and potatoes of the post (which none of us eat regularly).

We’re cutting expenses. Long or short time readers know we’ve hit a bump in the budget the size of a small redwood. (You medium folks are out of luck. You really should consider committing one way or the other.)

To that end, we dumped one of our cars – the one we had to finance after our (paid off) Honda CR-V was totaled by an uninsured driver. We piddled away most of our own insurance money on trivial stuff like medical care. We didn’t (re: couldn’t) put anything down so we were making the highest possible payments.

Normally I’m a buyer. I like to get a car, drive it till it won’t drive no more, and only then get another. This way I figure I get the most bang for my long term buck. However, saving money in another three years does us little good if we go broke in less than one.

Plan A isn’t going so well. In fact, it isn’t going anywhere at all. Our modest home has been for sale almost a year. In that time we’ve had less than a dozen visits from potential buyers.

So it’s on to Plan B. If we were smart, we would have implemented Plan B concurrent with Plan A. Alas, I’m a poor planner. Plan B is to slash monthly expenses everywhere possible. So now we have a lease instead of a car loan. Now our house is off the market and we’re extending the mortgage payments out until we’re around 70. Now we’re cutting most of the fun out of our budget.

We’ve been closing the book on a number of things lately, besides our barely used car.

Fortunately, not all of the fun stuff in life has to fit in a budget.

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On a related note, is there anyone out there in the market for a perfectly good kidney? It might have a few stray cancerous blood cells floating around, but otherwise it’s solid. Maintenance records are available upon request… lots of records, in fact.

Oh Canada!

I’m ashamed to admit I’m not sure if there’s customarily a comma in there, but I specifically left it comma free in this case.

Our neighbors north of the border have a birthday today. As my wife’s family might say, it’s Fête du Canada – Canada Day.

And I must say Canada, you hardly look a day over 140!

In the back rooms of Creationist Theory offices, it’s the 6231st day of the creation story, when God said the northernmost lands of the new lands should be considered one land, and it should be called “Canada,” and it was good.

Ah, but I kid the Creationists. We kid because we love.

History books outside of Texas tell us it’s the anniversary of Canada’s Constitution Act in 1867. This was when some British folks said the northernmost lands of the new lands should be considered one land, and it should be called “Canada.” I understand it was, at a minimum, ok on the creation scale.

Despite their conservative government’s best efforts in recent times, I hear it’s pretty good these days.

As I understand it, independence actually came later (early 1980s later), but who are we to tell our friends when they were born.

So to my friends to the north, and everyone of Canadian descent (re: my in-laws), Happy Canada Day!

All this time

A few months ago I reached a relatively low point in my life. I wasn’t dying, starving, lonely, unemployed, or bankrupt so I use the word low lightly.

I visited my psychiatrist six weeks ago. (I’m not ashamed to admit it, I have one of those.) After the last few years chatting with me, even she was a little concerned by my appearance.

My sleep situation was worse than ever. I was sleeping between 10 – 13 hours a night with naps in between, possibly 15 hours a day all told, yet I felt like I’d got none (or very little). Efforts to slowly start exercising again left me in much worse shape. My blood pressure was inexplicably low. I was suffering from pretty bad reflux/heartburn, confirmed by a tube they stuck down my throat – despite a relatively good diet and avoiding the common triggers. This came after a brief ECG scare, suggesting irregular heart behavior, which turned out to be a false alarm. Leukemia hung in the background, never affecting my health, but seemingly biding it’s time for the best time to strike. I set a personal record for body mass. Since I didn’t get any more dense (Cheryl might argue the point), I set a similar record for volume. My natural tendency to slip towards depression made it all seem worse.

I couldn’t stay awake – anywhere. One of my doctors said I shouldn’t be driving. Cheryl became the designated driver in the family. I couldn’t focus at work for more than a few moments at a time, despite lists I made for myself to put me back on track. Trips to the printer left me week in the knees, my legs trembling, like I was going to collapse in exhaustion. Any sound reaching my cube was a distraction, pulling me from my work. Fighting these distractions made the headache gods VERY angry. Folks whispered about the time I spent working from home. For the first time in my life I was told my work was slipping. My daily routine shrunk to working, getting ready for work, and sleeping.

Many doctors, bad guessing, and failed treatments leached away my one remaining defense – hope. Even though poor sleep was clouding my judgment and slowing every step, I felt like there was no “big thing” to point at and say, “that’s what is wrong with me.” However, it felt like I was nearing my 990th paper cut.

Three months ago, I went to see my primary doctor. She ordered blood tests and a follow-up.

Two months ago, shortly after seeing the psychiatrist, she said my thyroid numbers had more than doubled in less than a year, suggesting hypothyroidism. She ordered more blood tests and another follow-up.

Three weeks ago the new, more extensive tests came back the same. I started taking thyroid hormones.

Things haven’t changed a lot, but they have changed. I’m sleeping a bit better. Work has been easier. Exercise doesn’t seem impossible. Cheryl signed me up at the Y so I could work out with everyone else (the whole family goes). My energy level remains low over all, but I have bursts where I feel more like my old self – like right now. Maybe best of all, I have something to point at.

I have hope.

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Even though I’ve gone silent for quite some time, I know a few folks I consider friends have had tough times: tumors, hospital stays, and worse. On the off chance one of you stop by (you know who you are), you’ve been in my thoughts.

Life and cream soda

My Lightning lost game seven to the team of my youth.

I’d like to introduce Chara’s long stick to his large intestine as much as the next Lightning fan, because Florida is my home now. When I say I’m going home, I’m always referring to Dunedin, not Boston or Billerica.

It took a long time for this place to become home. We moved from a neighborhood of young families and friends to a less than half developed, walled in compound in a remote corner of God’s waiting room. (In case you were wondering, compound is a term of affection, referring to the suburban subdivision.) It was lonely until a young family built a house across the street and a strange hybrid of friend/bully moved to the neighborhood. It was me, him, my younger sisters, and the retired people. When I think back on it, I think my relationship with the kid across the street had more in common with the fear of being alone and recurring domestic violence than a friendship.

My crowning achievement occurred after I earned the freedom to venture into adjacent compounds. It was when I received a well deserved beat-down from a girl my age (about ten if I recall). That’s all I have to say about that.

Life ebbed and flowed from there. My family went through the stuff any normal family goes through: broken bones, beloved pets dying, a mother having a mental breakdown in front of her kids, complete with paranoid hallucinations, and a sister with a rare blood disorder requiring her to miss a year of school.

We also had our good times: boating on the lakes and out in the Gulf, anchoring off pristine beaches inaccessible by any other means. We went hiking through the numerous county parks, learning the surprising diversity of life and ecosystems for such a small, flat peninsula on the coast of west-central Florida.

High school was such a social disaster I don’t want to talk about it. Two redeeming consequences of high school were I met my future wife, and it got me into UF. But despite all of this living and education, I was still as dumb as a rock who decides to take a swim in deep water. Then I got married, got my first job, got married, left my first job on good terms and got my second job, had a child, had several heartbreaking children who never made it into this world, and finally had Adam. (Not many folks know this: he started out as a twin but his little sibling didn’t make it to term.)

A Facebook friend from my high school years recently mentioned my intelligence back in the day (referring to my daughter’s academic success). It’s funny how differently we see ourselves. I still don’t feel like the smart guy in the room, but I see a world of difference between then and now. I wish I had half the confidence I do now. I wish I had a fraction of the experience to lean on.

Yep, in many ways I bet I’m just like you.

Sometime during all of this, Florida became my home. I don’t know when it happened, but I know why. This is where I became me. It was this place that pinched, stretched, and shaped the wet clay of my young soul.

I am at home now, finally feeling up to writing after a rough patch which included a spell of forgotten medication and a dip into the deep end of depression. It’s been one of those ordinary weekends that make up most weekends, where I try to make a little magic from the mundane. I made a trip to a favorite market with Adam after a pair of haircuts. I made a snap decision wandering the isles. It was time to introduce him to one of my childhood favorites: cream soda bottled in glass. He had to know precisely when the bottles would be cold enough to drink/enjoy after we got home. It was an afternoon of giddy anticipation. When dinnertime rolled around we got out our little-used bottle opener and popped a couple tops. The sound of pressure, released suddenly… the liberated gas seemingly visible as it made its escape… the sudden, light smell of soda wafting towards my sensitive nose… it all seemed to transport me in time, if only for a flash of a moment. Grasping the neck, Adam and I took a generous sip and signaled our approval with a satisfied “ahhhh.”

It was a good day to be a dad at home with his kid.

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