The Good Stuff

All the grandchildren say the house is haunted, and they just may be right. Fifty years of Christmas Eve Quail dinners linger in the kitchen. That just doesnt' fade away very quickly. On the patio where thousands of cocktails were consumed and countless steaks were cooked on a gas grill beneath the spreading branches of the old 'acorn' tree, the ghost of Daddy Doc smiles back at me in a reflection off of the French Doors. In the Den, the footstools are gone, but it's a sure thing that my brother still can't fly. In the tile, Mom's reflection still glares at me, and she's still pissed. Somehow, it's my fault that Matt can't fly. Miss Dot sits in the lounger in the Den, sipping a cocktail and telling us all 'one damn thing'. Don't blink, you'll miss her. Yeah, this house is haunted.

Today, to the casual observer, the house appears mostly empty. The silver and jewlery were carried off some time back. Last weekend, we removed furniture. As we went from room to room sorting out memories and wading though smiles and tears, it became clear to me that this house would never be empty. Though Mom and Dad no longer lived there, and despite being stripped of it's contents, this house would always be full of history. Just stepping through the door brings back floods of memories and emotions. Though the pictures have been taken down from the walls, the memories still hover in the air.

In emptying the house, we are closing a chapter. We each come away from our home with things to remind us of Mom and Dad. Mom will always smile back at me from her secretary. I'll see her every time I use the corn bread stick mold. In looking at the swords, I'll remember her Antique Store. Dad will forever be sitting on the couch, cigarette and cocktail in hand, explaining things to me. He had a certain clarity of thought. On this, the last weekend in the house, the old grump, smiling and sitting on the couch, explained to me what the 'good stuff' is. I understand.

It Happened Out There

In one of my favorite scenes in the movie 'Captain Ron', the one-eyed captain gazes out over the blue green waters of the Caribbean Sea, and says 'What ever is going to happen is going to happen out there.' I love that line. Of course, at this point in the movie, Captain Ron has yet to be revealed as a complete lunatic.

In a similar fashion, we set out last Thursday for Arkansas. As a result of having suffered various forms of vehicular failure on most of the last few trips down south, we have recently acquired a 'new' van. It will be recalled that a year ago last December, we made a Christmas run to Arkansas that was inturrupted only 60 miles into the journey. After being rescued by my Father-in-Law, and slamming my hand in the car door, we continued on to Arkansas for a successful trip. Our next excursion was Florida for spring break. Unfortunately, on the day we left Florida we discovered that our fuel system was still compromised, and water was still able to penetrate the tank. The final debacle was this past December when we were stranded in a rest area near Marion, Virginia in a horrible ice storm. It was certainly time to retire the old Ford Van.

Our new van is a Dodge. It has a few miles on it, but it is pristine, and we bought it through a reputible dealership. It's about 3 feet shorter than the old Ford, but we don't need all that room anymore. I was anticipating much better gas milage because it has a six cylindar engine rather than the huge eight cylindar that was in the Ford. We looked at the van and drove it on a Saturday, and returned to the dealership on Monday and bought it.

On Wednesday, the dealership filed for bankruptcy protection. Uh oh.

Did we have the title in our hands? Nope. Did we have tags for the van? Nope. Did we have the registration? Nope. But, apparantly the Fates were in our favor because all three materialized over the next week or so, and I thought out troubles might be over. I was wrong.

Having secured tags, title and registration, I drove the van one day to have lunch with some of my old work pals. It's a 24 mile commute up over the Watchung Mountains. I drove it almost daily for 3 years. I was 10 miles into the journey when I noticed that the alternator was not charging. Damn. I turned around and took the van to our local garage. There was a little voice in the back of my mind snickering. The rational moron who apparantly co-habitates with the little voice in the the back of my mind suggested that 'Hey, it's not that bad. Alternator's go out. It's a maintenance thing.' That's 'reasonable', I thought, but the snickering still bothered me.

While in the shop, I decided to have the van checked for other potential problems because in a few short weeks, we would be making a trip to Arkansas in it. $2700 later, with a new water pump, a mostly rebuilt front end as well as new brakes, our 'new' van was fit to make the journey to Arkansas. Having picked the van up from the garage, we decided to drive it when we went out for dinner and a movie.

The restaurant and theater are only about 5 miles from our home. Before we even got half way, the van was surrounded by clouds of steam. Back to the garage. The little voice in the back of my head snickered again. The rational moron in me said "This sort of stuff just happens sometimes."

Finally, the day for the trip to Arkansas arrived. My bride and I both were a little apprehensive because this was the 30th day we had owned the van, and it had been in the garage for 18 of those days. The little voice in my head was placing bets with the rational moron in me as to whether or not we'd even make it out of Jersey.

Never the less, as we loaded the van with luggage and assorted crap, my mind wandered back to Captain Ron's words. The van's engine was tight, and pulled well. The tires were good. The belts were good, and the radiator was topped up. There was plenty of windschield washer fluid. Landi, Jordan, Catfish and I got in the van and pulled out. Weather reports indicated that we could expect good weather for the entire trip. Everything was wonderful as we crossed the river from Jersey to Pennslyvania. We switched the radio to the rock station that broadcasts from Allentown. Jordan was studying in the back of the van. Catfish was listening to his Ipod. Landi was knitting, and I was listening to the clatter of the lifters.......

Clatter of the lifters? WTF? The little voice in my head and the rational moron in me were laughing their asses off.

A quick glance revealed that we had no oil pressure. None. Ziltch. I switched off the engine and steered the van onto the shoulder of the road. We had gone 78 miles, and suffered a catastrophic engine failure.

Captain Ron was right. It did happen out there.

A Truely Super Sunday

Sunday was a beautiful day. It began with Mimosas and a good breakfast. Since my former employer told me last month that my services were no longer needed because my performance was not on par with that of my fellow Vice Presidents, I don't get up and check 'my' computers first thing in the morning. It's just not my problem anymore. I get up, and I have a Mimosa and cook the Catfish and my bride a good breakfast. I have found that it really is true that if you're going to drink all day, you have to start in the morning.

So, SuperSunday began nicely, and then it got better. A friend texted me. "Intellione is down.", the message read. Intellione is a huge computer that runs roughly 30% of the world's third largest collections company. When it is down, the company is down and is bleeding serious money. Intellione had been one of my boxes. For three years, I had monitored it and pampered it and corrected the miriad of problems that had made the big server so unreliable and troublesome for prior administrators. In the last two years, Intellione had been very stable and reliable. It had not suffered not one minute of unplanned downtime in over 25 months, which is why 2.0 decided that my services, and my bad attitude, were no longer needed.

These sweet moments are to be treasured.

This guy, who just days after Mom passed away, gave me a ration of shit telling me that this company doesn't have berevement time; this guy who gave me a ration of shit about taking a day off in December to attend my Father-in-Law's funeral; this guy who just last month told me that 'my performance wasn't up to par' and fired me, was being slow roasted over a raging fire of sleep deprived, caffine fueled weasels. Because he didn't have a single ally in the organization, I knew that he was alone in the debacle, swinging in the breeze. It must have been truly agonizing because I know that he would rather french kiss a monkey's ass than call me, but my friend had texted me again, and he was asking for my phone number.

There are moments in your life where you get to make a decision. Sometimes, you see a drowning man, and, even though you know him for what he is, you find the means to rescue him. You find a bouy, or a rope, in worst case you get in the water, but you find a way to help the man.

This wasn't one of those times. This was a time for popcorn...... and Mimosas

The phone rang.

Pucker up big boy.

A 1997 Model Snow Thrower.

On this date in 1997, my wife and I acquired a new snow thrower. It didn't come with any instructions, was under 10 lbs, and for 14 years we have been at a complete loss as to how to make any use of it. It has always started very easily, but never got much done. It consumed vast amounts of fuel, made a tremendous noise at random intervals, created unimaginable messes, and spontaneously spewed crap out of both ends. Amazingly, this snow thrower produces more gas than it consumes.


It's not like we had never had a snow thrower before. We had a 1986 and a 1987 model. Both are very good looking models, but neither would throw snow at all.

Last night, we got 18 inches of wet, heavy snow. It's the middle aged fat man killing snow. I expect to see two or three of my neighbours laid out dead as door knobs from heart attacks brought on by shovelling this shit. But not me. I have a snow thrower.

After 14 years of wondering how to operate this thing, my snow thrower started up this morning. It just took some bacon and some biscuits and gravy and magicaly it cleared the driveway. I didn't have to coax it. I didn't have to threaten it. I didn't have to do anything other than just get started.



So now, I sit in warm comfort sipping a Mimosa and blogging while my 14 year old snow thrower digs tunnels in the mountains of snow. I'm afraid that I'll only have the use of the snow blower another 4 or 5 years. After that, I'm afraid he'll be stolen away by a pretty girl, or distant job.

A friend emailed my yesterday that he and his wife are expecting a baby in August. I paused for a minute, and remembered a magical day in 1997, when the Packers won the Superbowl, and my new snow thrower arrived. He wasn't very big. Hell, I've caught Catfish bigger than him.

BOHICA

It began in December in an ice covered rest area in southern Virginia. It wasn't really that bad. After all, if you are well prepared when your car breaks down in an ice storm, you can simply serve cocktails until help arrives. But then, the day after Christmas, we got 29 inches dumped on us over night. I had to shovel a path for the dogs, as well as a 'spot' for the dogs so they could go outside and crap. A week or so later, they closed school for a day when we got another 6 or 8 inches. The following week, we got another 6 or 8 inches, and they closed school again, so Catfish, Landi and I went skiing. Last week, we had another ice storm and school was closed.

As I sit here in the pre-dawn hours watching the arrival of yet another snow storm predicted to dump another 10 inches of snow on us, I am troubled. On one hand, a big snow means they cancel school, and we have another opportunity to ski on fresh powder with little in the way of a crowd, but on the other hand, we've already had a lot of 'snow days'. At this rate, the poor kids are going to be going to school through July 4th.

I guess that it's just like Mark Twain said. "Everyone talks about the weather, but no one does anything about it." Radar shows the storm closing in on us, and one word comes to mind. BOHICA.

Bend over, here it comes again.

For Sale: One Conversion Van

Last years Christmas adventure began with the van breaking down due to water in the fuel in the middle of a freezing rain storm. We were rescued by my Father-in-Law, who loaned us his mini-van. We celebrated our good fortune by slamming the car door on my hand. On our return trip, we rapped both of my shins with an ironing board.

This year, events in Arkansas dictated that we make a quick, unplanned trip there. The trip began most innocently enough on a beautiful day. We thought that we had successfully sat out the bad weather that had occurred south of us. We were wrong.

It began as snow 'flurries' and ended as a 'Winter Storm'. Not just any winter storm, a major winter storm that knocked power out all over souther Virginia.

We hung tough, and drove carefully past 25 wrecked cars. We saw cars in ditches. We saw cars in the median. We saw cars balanced on the guard rails. We saw 10 cars crashed on an icy bridge at mile marker 105. The van proved steady as we drove at 35-40 mph in the ruts in the snow.

There is a good bit of stress that goes along with driving 330 miles in a storm that is going from snow to ice. As we began to escape the snow, though tired, I thought "Dang...we're going to make it."

Ahhh.....ye of little faith. Just like Janet Leigh stepping into the shower in Psycho, just like the skipper and Gilligan, just like George Clooney sailing out of Gloucester harbour...when we got into the van on that beautiful morning in Jersey, we were doomed. She got slashed and stabbed, we were just screwed.

The Van farted...and farted again...and again. DAMN! Water in the damn fuel again. We limped to the rest area, poured STP gas treatement in, and the motor died.

We're screwed. Landi looked at me. I looked at her. We looked around at the ice covered trees, and the ice coated sidewalks. We were in a Rest Area on I-81 just north of Marion, Virginia in the middle of a horrible ice storm. We called the state police,and they said they would dispatch a trooper as soon as they could. We could hear the sleet hitting the van, and we could see the icicles growing longer.

Because we expected it to take hours for the trooper to arrive, we climbed into the back of the van. The huge captains chairs are much more comfortable than the driving compartment. Using ice from the storm, I fixed cocktails as Miss Landi prepared h'ordorves.

We were setting in relative comfort enjoying the storm when suddenly, there was a rapping on the window, and a flash light lit the interior of the van. It was the state trooper. It only took one hour for him to arrive.

Once he over came the initial shock of seeing people climb out of the back of an ice covered, stranded van clutching cocktails, the trooper was very helpful and called for a tow truck. We climbed back into the van for more cocktails and snacks.

Roughly 45 minutes later the tow truck arrived, and we were rescued. The truck operator dropped us at the only hotel in the area that still had power. We disembarked clutching all manner of crap. We had fur coats. We had computers. We had the port-a-bar.

When at last we entered our warm and dry hotel room, we deposited our gear and discovered something.

Make a note. When stranded for any reason, don't forget to get the luggage out of the car before they tow it to the garage.

I don't have to make a note. I'm sure Miss Landi will remind me.

You Gotta Start in the Morning

A very wise, but tragically, ugly man told me that if you are going to drink all day long, you have to start in the morning. While that may seem obvious to some (mostly blood Garners and the stray Pardew), it will have evaded the psyche of other, less prescient souls (damn near every one else on Earth except for a singlular Hawk and Sugg).

I have long maintained that the proper way to start to day is to bite the head off of a live toad, and chase it with a Bloodymary. This is for two reasons. One, with regards to the toad, you can be sure that nothing worse is going to happen to you all day long, and two, with regards to the Bloodymary,...well...damn...I just like Bloodymary's.

Wednesday, while yet another toad may have his head biten off, I'll have to skip the bloodymary. We begin a trek to Arkansas, so I'll need to be sober for most of the driving portion of the day. The very wise, but tragically ugly man is turning 50 years old. His bride, the afore mentioned Sugg, has seen fit to recognize this milestone with a festive event that is likely to be like no other any of us have ever attended.

Forty seven years ago, it was determined that this ugly man , who was an ugly child, could not fly. I tried then to explain it to him. He defied me, and learned for himself that he could not fly. For some inexplicable reason, I got my ass beat because he could not fly. I will be making sure he does not attempt to fly this weekend.

But I digress, back to the issue at hand, we've had memorable trips to Arkansas. Last year, my bride, the afore mentioned Hawk, slamed the car door on my hand. That was pleasant. Later, we rapped my shins with an ironing board. Ahh...memories.

A few years ago at Thanksgiving, we attempted and were a dismal failure at Turkey juggling. Perhaps my favorite trip home was for Ashley's wedding. Note to self...antique tapestries are VERY DAMN FLAMABLE and don't extinguish the fire using your hands. When calling for help, everyone in the room will just look at you and say things like "hey..is that on fire?". (The flames may have been a tip off.) And ....and, when you show up covered in soot from fighting the fire, with the arms torne off of your suit jacket, Aunt Dorthy will still be pissed because you took so long getting her dinner.

So, Wednesday we will embark into winter storms to visit family, graves, and memories. There are challenges beyond the ice covered hills. We're doomed to slip and slide through the emotional wreckage of this year, but in the end blood is thicker than water. Just like when we last gathered in Memphis, you gotta start in the morning.

Just bite the head off the toad, and have a BloodyMary and everything will be allright.