So, you are asking yourself, where have I been? Why no updates? I’m sure you’ve thought of the usual suspects. I might have been kidnapped by pirates, eaten alive by mutant cockroaches, or even (gasp) gone back to work. Don’t worry, nothing so drastic. Actually, I can sum up the reason for my absence in three easy words. Hammock, hammock, hammock.
Ahhh, ain’t life grand!
We have more Baby D pictures and man is he getting big. Here he is, pinching his big belly, riding in his new backpack with gramps, and pooped out after a long day. I have to start looking for a ticket to San Diego ’cause kid needs a visit from Auntie Chrissie!
Enjoy your Monday!
Kevin, like most men, appears to suffer from the Home Depot bug. Sometimes, we’ll be in the middle of a conversation and he’ll freeze for a moment, tip his head as if he can hear a distant voice, and then announce, “I have to go to Home Depot”. I’m not sure what brings on these fits. When I ask him what for, the answer is always rather vague. “We need that new hose attachment”, “I’m out of number 8 wood screws”, or “I want to check out the price of 2x4s” will be the reply. There’s no immediate need. The faucet isn’t leaking, we aren’t in the middle of a project or anything. Just some internal alarm goes off and Kevin must return to the mother ship.
The best I can tell, it’s similar to a women’s need to buy a new purse. For no discernable reason, I’ll pick up my purse and realize it’s all wrong. The strap isn’t broke, there’s no holes in the bottom or busted zipper but something deep within is telling me that this purse must be replaced. I get these subliminal purse messages about once a year. Kevin, however, hears the siren call of Home Depot on a weekly basis.
So yesterday, he announces he needs to go to Home Depot to buy a tube. I have a few empty spots in my garden so, in a fit of impulsiveness, I offer to go with him. Kevin seemed strangely displeased about my suggestion but I didn’t think anything of it. We hop in the car, drive to Home Depot and promptly split. I head to the garden section, and Kevin heads for, well, the rest of the store.
About 40 minutes later, we meet up and go through the weeding process that you’ve seen in any grocery store. Normally, this phenomenon occurs between mother and small child. But in this situation, it’s just me and Kev.
“What is this?” I ask and pick up an item from his cart.
“Those are drill bits,” he replies.
“Don’t you already have drill bits,” I ask.
“Yes, but these are special, they have the new tips,” he answers.
“But you drill bits work just fine, why do you need these?” I ask him.
“I don’t need them but I want them. You dad had them and they’re really cool. They make this pilot hole so you drill straight,” Kevin explains anxiously.
“Well, how much are they,” I respond.
“Um, $17.00?”
“And you already have these?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Well, lets these back then.” I proceed to pull out he next item from the cart. “What is this.”
And so it goes until we have a nice little pile of things to keep and things to put back. I’m also beginning to see why Kevin didn’t want me to come with him. Once our cart has been whittled down the essentials, we head to check out. When we arrive at the checker, he takes one look at Kevin and says, “man, you come in here a lot.”
Ok, so what does that mean when the checker at Home Depot recognizes you? Kevin actually blushed and gave a sheepish smile.
“Aren’t you the guy who was talking about a bbq and wine?” he asked as he scanned our items.
“Yeah, that was me and my father-in-law. This time I’m here with my wife.” Kevin replied.
I felt a cold shiver go down my back. Kevin and my dad are Trouble. With a capital T and that rhymes the P and that stand for Pulling Rocks for National Forest Riverbeds or something to that nature. Kevin later explained that he and Elmo had attempted to engage in witty banter with the Home Depot guy. Now, for those of you who are married to an engineer or are friends with an engineer, you’ll see where I’m going. When two engineers try for witty banter, it usually comes across as lame pun jokes about sin curves that make your fillings shiver. I shudder to think what that poor clerk was subjected to. No wonder Kevin’s face was burned into his memory.
“Yeah, I remember because that was my first day too. Have nice day.” The clerk handed us our bags and we scurried out.
Poor guy, having to deal with Elmo and Kevin on his first day at work. He was probably still in therapy. Kevin tried to downplay the whole incident on the way to the car but I’ve decided he needs some serious help or maybe a support group. It is not normal to be recognized at Home Depot. Ah well, for better and for worse, right?
It is a well known fact that I have more than a little bit of my dad in me. But lately, it seems to have increased and it’s scaring me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my dad and all but he’s not exactly the model of a “good citizen”. To back up this statement, let me merely say…. rocks.
But I’ll let you decided. The other day, I was out walking my dog. We were heading home after a very nice stroll through the neighborhood when we hit the yappers. There is one house on our way home that has a pack of small, mangy, yappy dogs. They’re little toy breed things that, fully extended, may reach the height of your knee on a good day. Every time we walk by, they rush the gate and start yipping. Not barking like a real dog, but this annoying, high pitch yap. They shove their mangy little muzzles right through the chain link fence and have the gall to bark at Artie.
Now, I’m quite sure that Artie has topped 100 lbs and I’m also equally sure he has a fair amount of pit bull running through his veins. These little hairballs probably weigh 7 lbs each or 5 lbs if you shaved off all their hair. Obviously, they are none too bright. I mean, Artie could probably chew two of them at the same time. Every time we approach this house, he turns his big brown eyes to me and seems to plead with me, “please mom, please let me eat one of those annoying things. I’ll be good for the rest of the day. Please!” There are some other big dogs on the block and it is with much shame that Artie if forced to retreat from these little yapping rodents.
And up till now, I’ve been good. I’ve tightened the leash and made him walk by without a single bite. But the other day, the Elmo rose in my veins and I found myself pausing before that fence and looking to see if anyone was home. I was tired of these annoying little rat dogs and their incessant barking. They should learn not to challenge a big dog. They needed to be taught a lesson in the facts of dog life and I was here to instruct. So I found myself peering into windows and checking for a car in the driveway.
Artie must have sensed my hesitation because he started to get excited. With his tail wagging, he turned to those little rat dogs and began to growl. You know, the kind of growl where they raise their gums and show you their long teeth. And instead of pulling him back, I laughed. I wanted to see those mutts turn tail and run. I couldn’t wait for Artie to let fly at them and send them whimpering back to their house. I wanted them to be so scared, they pee’d their, well, fur.
I was Elmo.
Thankfully, the owner was home and, hearing the growling, stuck her head out the door. “Muffums, Princess, Sir Reginald, you stop that barking right now or momma’s gonna come out there” she called through the doorway. Since we were caught, I merely raised my hand in a friendly wave and smiled. Artie was disappointed but I consoled him. Sooner or later, that owner would be out of the house, and when she was, we were going to have some rat dog treats!
You see. You see what I’ve become??? Ah well, at least my dad would be proud of my attempt!
My mom is down in San Diego with the grandkid which leaves my dad home alone. He’s been reading a ton of books by Robert Crais. (I highly recommend the Elvis Cole series.) Anyway, he sent out this email written in the Elvis Cole voice that I think is hilarious. So, here is my dad, aka Elmo Cole….
6:00 AM Tuesday, July 23
I wake up suddenly, shivering under a single sheet. The alarm isn’t set to go off until 6:30, and then I realize what’s happened. I’ve just turned 60 and my honey buns has run off with a younger guy in San Diego. No sense staying in bed because the day isn’t going to get any shorter. I smell the Peets brewing in the kitchen. I had set the coffee maker on automatic last night. My spirits begin to rise.
On the way to the kitchen I stop by the scale to weigh myself. Big mistake. I can’t believe my eyes. I’m a porker. I immediately head for the Nordic Track in the den. By 6:05 I’m already pumping the Nordic to the blues music of Lighting Hopkins. After 20 minutes, the sweat is popping off my forehead. The ceiling fan isn’t even on. No pain no gain. That’s followed by 30 reps on the AB roller. I’m sweating like a stuck pig. Then it’s into the bathroom for a hot shower. I’m back in the kitchen and it’s not yet 7:00 and feeling better about myself already. I fire up the George Foreman and throw on 4 turkey sausage links, fry up two eggs and toss a piece of stale bread I found in the frig into the toaster. This is followed by a steaming cup of Peets. I glance over at the sink at the pile of dishes. Later. Maybe the day is going to turn out OK. For lunch I make a ham and swiss on stale bread, an apple and a banana and stuff it all in my backpack. I’m definitely on the right track. Then out into the garage to pump up my H400 Cannondale .
It’s a beautiful morning on the peninsula. The sky is a deep blue and a gentle breeze is blowing off the ocean. I check to see if I’ve locked the doors three times and then head down Silver Arrow. The wind is blowing in my face and the speed is exhilarating. I’m feeling great until I realize I’m on my way to work. Bummer.
I head down Hawthorne, then right on Rolling Hills Road. A short cut through the park and the past the airport and I’m almost there. I slow down to cut through Torrance Memorial Hospital. A young pin striper is crossing in front of me and gives me a big smile. She’s young enough to be my daughter. She probably can’t see the gray hair under my helmet. There’s no justice.
Then it’s on to work. I stop by the lab with some snappy one liners to cheer up the troops. Some comedian. I park the bike in the office, strip off my backpack, flip on the computer and put my feet up on my desk. Another typical day. There on my desk sit the pictures of my honey buns and the young guy she’s infatuated with. Tough competition. I swing around and face my computer. Off in the corner sit my foam rubber Dilbert figure with the caption “Avoid meetings with time wasting morons”. Hans sticks his head in my office and says were having an engineering staff meeting in five minutes. A half hour later I’m back in my office with a weeks worth of work in my hands. Then HNS calls and wants a telephone conference. That lasts an hour and I’m exhausted. I go back to my office and turn Dilbert around to face the wall. I can’t face him. It takes another half hour to go through my accumulated junk mail and then on to email. Ninety five emails later and it’s lunch time. Just enough time to check my stock portfolio. Down another 17 percent. Redback looks like a great buy. I buy 400 shares and it drops like a rock. Maybe the afternoon will improve. At 1:30 Sandy calls and wants a capital equipment meeting. After an hour and a half of discussing next years requirements she tells us all capital equipment funds are frozen because the company is going down the tubes. What am I doing here? This meeting is followed by a R&D meeting to plan next years projects. Manfred has been invited and I can smell trouble. Three hours later and we can’t shut him up. Finally at 6:00 I stagger back to my office and strip down to my biking outfit. I’m ready to work out the frustrations of the day with an invigorating ride up the hill. About half way up my legs turn to mush and I’m getting light headed. Maybe that Nordic Track workout in the morning was a bit much. I check my elapsed time and I’m 10 minutes off my average. I can feel the pain but where’s the gain. At 7:00 I finally limp up the driveway and park the Cannondale. Into the shower for ten minutes and I’m felling much better. On the way back to the kitchen I stop to weigh myself again. I’ve gained a pound. I find myself fighting the urge to forget the whole thing head for Panda Express. I finally come to my senses. Chicken Caesar salad again. I pour a glass of Ravenswood Zinfandel and I’m feeling better. The sink is still full of dishes. Later. I top it all off with a tall Peets latté. What can I do to salvage this day by accomplishing something useful? The lemon tree in the back yard needs trimming. Forget it. Maybe turning on the TV and watching the Padres kick the Dodgers butts. No way. How about curling up on the papason and vegging out. That sounds more like it. Only two more days to go and I’m heading out to San Diego to rescue my honey buns. That will make everything better.
I have received yet another comment from a friend regarding my bum-ness. For whatever reason, no one seems to believe when I tell them that I’m actually enjoying myself. I read, paint, write, cook and take care of myself. It’s really quite wonderful. A large part of my day now consists of sitting on my new adarondak chair. To help you all understand how wonderful it is, I’ve put up some pictures of the construction process. So shut your door, hide from you boss and check out these pictures!