Grandson Repair and Reclamation

The other day I was complaining that my Grandson was disrespectful by getting damaged. He can’t do chores. I ended up having to do them because I’m not allowed to hire a live-in cheerleading mower assistant.

We took the boy to an orthopedic surgeon, which for the record does not work for free. They charge more than a plumber on a national holiday. They charge more than a lawyer with a condo in Aspen. We drove “up north” to the ortho-dude office in “Mount Carmel” even though I’ve never seen a mountain of any kind in this state. Maybe there used to be a mountain and it was sold to pay a surgeon.

We took the grand-malingerer to the clinic and filled out 57 pages of forms. We eventually got in an exam room. When the surgeon came in the room the female spousal entity lit up like a menorah on the last day of Hanukah. She was as happy as a squirrel in a bird feeder. She was smiling like Hillary when Bernie dropped out. The wife thought the doc was pretty but I don’t know why she’d think that. What’s so great about a rich man with muscles and a head full of hair? While she was all googly-eying the doc I actually listened to him. He determined the kid needed surgery. I’d said the same thing that morning, but nobody stared longingly at me. We scheduled for Friday because Doctor Hunk could get him in and fix him first, because, hey, he has great hair.

Friday came along and we checked in to the surgery center and coffeeteria. I think the hospital is Latin for “The Dreadful Center for Hopelessly Long Waiting Times”. It was 0700 hours because we were first. Boy got all prepped, gowned, pasteurized, and homogenized. He had to be ready because we were first.

Hospitals follow the book of Matthew when Jesus said “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.” A man went in because he was an emergency or was paying cash. We got bumped by a lady for mowing her foot off or something equally trivial. I’m pretty sure another man went in because he and the doc had a tee time. A local politician’s 2nd cousin’s wives plumbers’ neighbor got to go in and get something done to something. I made many trips to the complimentary coffee bar. I noticed that in the hall a couple of women were trying to break their own bones so they could visit Doctor Perfect Hair with the muscles.

About 1400 hours we were up. The kid went in for his one hour surgery that only took 2 ½ hours. By the time he came out of the OR he was malnourished, dehydrated, and as bored as a Senator without a pay-off.

We finally got released and headed home. I’d had enough coffee that I could have flown, but I trudged along on Highway 1. With the many miles to drive and my overly-caffeinated brain I thought up some alternatives to the way it went at the hospital.
Driving so far and waiting all day to get repaired is stupid. Why couldn’t we just stay at home and get a call when they’re ready for us? They could give us one of those pagers like at Olive Garden and we could drive on up when it goes off. Better yet, how about a RV with a surgical suite? They could plan a route just like FedEx and pull up, roll you in one door and out the other. They could partner with Dominos and deliver pizza at the same time. It would work.

Maybe set up operating rooms at the golf course. Doctors seem to end up there anyway. “Let’s see, a broken femur? You go to hole 3. Clavicles are on the first tee. Uninsured? You’re in the sand trap. Watch out, Osteopath playing through.” The malpractice lawyers can hang out in the clubhouse
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They could even schedule you like the cable company. “The surgeon will be at your location Monday between 8:00 AM and 12:00 PM to repair your hip and fix your internet. Please be washed up, gowned, and off of the Wifi”.

If all of that won’t work, maybe just improve the conditions at the hospital. Everyone is either bored or nervous, so give families something to do. Put exercise bikes connected to generators in the waiting rooms. People will get healthier and pass the time while generating 110 volts AC. You can even take the electricity generated off of the bill. “Mr. Smith, you generated 7 megawatts so we’ll be taking $42 off of your bill. Mrs. Jones, you had 14 family members pedaling like crazy. The surgery bill is paid and we owe you $873. Please come again.

Any of these can work better than the current system. Maybe he who is first can at least move up to the middle. Also, Dr. Dreamy needs to go somewhere, anywhere, else.
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My Proof of God

Bob, I’ve known you for a long time. I’ve always been proud to call you my friend.
You made the statement the other day that you’re an atheist. I recognize that you have the right to believe, or not believe whatever you want. It’s one of our most basic freedoms. I acknowledge that, but as your friend I have the right to tell you when you’re wrong.

Bob, you believe that there’s no God. You’re wrong.
I’ve heard a way to understand the existence of God. Draw a large circle. Imagine the circle represents the entire universe. Imagine all of the knowledge that can be absorbed in the universe. Imagine all of the knowledge of physics, and mathematics, and history, and everything else possible in the entire universe is represented in that circle. Now imagine all of the knowledge that you have. If all of the knowledge that exists everywhere is illustrated as a circle, then the knowledge we each possess is a mere pin prick in that circle. What we know is nearly insignificant when compared to what could be known. In all of that knowledge that we do not possess, is there room for God? Is there room for knowledge of God’s existence in all that we don’t possess? Yes, there is. It’s only logical that there is room for God in the universe of knowledge.

I think we all have a need for God. I think that people in all cultures have always sought God. I think it’s coded in our DNA. That means every cell of our body is seeking God. It’s a form of magnetism, just like iron seeks a magnet. We came from God, and we can’t truly rest until we reach God.

The way I think about it is like this. If I understand Newton he stated there is a gravitational force between objects. No matter how far apart you move them the force between them remains. If they have an attraction when next to each other, they will still have an attraction when one is moved to the other side of the universe. The force will be small, but it’s there. That’s the way it is between each person and God. We have a force between us that draws us.

Let me put it another way. All water flows to the sea. Any water anywhere will end up in the sea. It’s where it belongs. It will flow hundreds of mile to become part of the ocean. It always does this because the sea is where it belongs. Even if it evaporates it will condense to liquid and flow to the sea.

We belong with God and we move ever so slowly to Him. Our souls will never rest until they join God.
How can I make these assumptions? I can because of what we do. We seek. We always want more, and seek out “more”. You and I went in the service because we wanted “more”. We each had a need to find whatever is out there. None of us are ever truly content with where we are, or who we are. In some way all of us are always seeking. We marry to find more, and to be more fulfilled. We work to get more. We read to accrue more knowledge. We drink, or do drugs, or gamble in our quest for more of a thing: More peace, more acceptance, more love, more of something.

My point is that we spend out entire lives looking for more and we’re never satisfied. The only people I know that are truly satisfied are those that have found God. You can see a look of peace on the faces of those that have found God.

You know what I mean. You may think that they’re idiots and that they’re lying to themselves because of their inner peace. You may think their fulfillment is delusional. I propose to you that the rest of us are delusional and idiotic. We look for all the wrong things to fill an emptiness that we have from being apart from God. We deny where the invisible force, the magnetism, is drawing our souls.

Bob, you don’t believe in God but you must acknowledge the possibility of God. If you do that, then you know your belief can be wrong. That is the first step to God. It’s the first step to fulfillment. It’s what you’ve been seeking.
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Be Strong- Wear Plaid!

(Photo credit to originator)

Here is wisdom. A real man doesn’t worry how he appears to others. A man is emotionally and mentally strong. He does as he must, but he chooses his path and how he gets to his destination. His feelings, if “man-feelings” really exist, are his and his alone. He doesn’t care what you think.

I saw a guy the other day that is a brave, strong man. He didn’t have big muscles or a monster truck. He had the wardrobe of a warrior. I hope he’s reading this because he’s a great example to men everywhere. His clothing said, “I know who I am and I don’t care what you think. Bring me pie, then go away and leave me alone.” He wore a pith helmet, which was part of the Air Force tropical uniform that I never had occasion to wear. His clothing was an assortment of every color and texture ever to leave a textile mill. The clash of colors would make a designer’s head explode. It was awesome. He reminded me of times when men were macho and tough.

I watch a lot of old TV shows from the before-time when Hollyweird had a soul. I get to watch things like “Matlock” and “Diagnosis Murder” and “Leave It to Beaver”. In the evening I enjoy Carol Burnett and Johnny Carson and every Star Trek series ever produced.

Johnny Carson is particularly entertaining. The jokes and banter are dated and hearken back to a simpler time when you could hurt peoples’ feelers without remorse or legal action. A safe zone was unheard of in that era. Johnny told jokes that hurt feelings and he dressed like he defied anyone to laugh. He even wore a plaid sport coat when sitting with Don Rickles, the king of insults. Rickles insulted everything and everyone but never dared insult Johnny’s jacket.

Johnny wore a plaid sports coat because he could. It’s like my “Dupo Fire and Rescue” shirt. Sure, it’s got a few holes and a couple of bleach spots. I like it anyway. It understands me. That shirt really gets me. I don’t care what others think of it.

It’s like when I was a kid and had to wear a suit and tie to Stokes Chapel church. I’d rather be impaled on a pike than wear that get-up. I’d look across the congregation and see the men in bib overalls and brogans. I’d see the women’s disapproval and the male indifference to that disapproval. Sometimes a man would wear a white shirt and tie with the bibs, showing that he’d had to compromise with the wife. The other men would be sad he’d lost his manhood. It left an imprint on me.

Sure, it’s only clothing. It doesn’t mean anything. You can be a man and dress in a socially acceptable way. You can do that but eventually you’ll lose your manliness. First you wear a shirt with a collar because your spouse is quieter that way. Then, before you know it you’re carrying her purse and shopping for female hygiene stuff. Eventually you’ll be doing housework and crying for no particular reason. Your body will cease making male hormones and you’ll be a girlie-man.

I remember back when I used to be a man that didn’t care what others thought. I ended up at a posh resort on the Mediterranean. The place was full of society types and old European money. I’m proud to say I’m the only person on that fancy beach wearing cut-off fatigue pants and cowboy boots. They weren’t even the fancy boots; they were the clean-the-stalls, kick-dirt-clods boots. I didn’t get many looks from the women but the men envied me like I’d envied the guys at church.

So why care? I’m trying to save you, the young male. I’m trying to keep your “Y” chromosomes from mutating to girlie-man genes. I don’t want you to be reduced to caring what others think. If you start to dress well it won’t be long before you’re moisturizing and talking about feelings. Don’t think it’ll be easy. People everywhere will try to change you. The girlie-man conspiracy has even tried to eliminate ugly plaid jackets. Stand strong and wear what you want, not what they put in the magazines and on Wall-Mart racks. Dress like you want, and defy wives and others. Rock that pith helmet and plaid. Never, ever wear a tie with your bibs. That’ll be the end for you.

I choose to close now. I have to hide the tie my wife bought me.
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Saving is Losing

Save it for a rainy day. That’s the advice. The axiom is all about delaying gratification so that you’ll have the money or food available when you really need it. There’s even a fable about an ant and a grasshopper that illustrates the point. I’m here to tell you; don’t do it.

I subscribed to that philosophy, except for the money part. For money I follow the Federal Government rule. That rule states to make sure you spend every cent as quickly as possible so that you’ll get more because you need it. It also insures that you get a bigger budget next year. It works for me except for the more money part, I never get more money but I’m hoping that someday I will.

I have a few possessions that I’ve saved for a rainy day. I’m thinking that I made a mistake. I’ve pretty much cheated myself for years.

One of my cherished possessions was a gift from She-Who-Rules. One Christmas she bought me a really nice custom knife with an embossed leather sheath. It was really fancy and would’ve looked great on my belt back when I could see the belt below my gut. I got the knife out the other day and it had rusted. I’d saved it for a rainy day and would never get to enjoy it.

I also have this pair of boots that are pretty fancy. They’re made from an exotic species that may be extinct by now. I’ve had them for years but kept them put up for a special occasion. Back in the day they cost upward of $25 at Hart’s Kosher Shoes and Deli. Anyway, I put them on and they looked real good but the stitching started breaking when I walked. The exotic animal hide cracked. It seems I saved them for nothing. All those years ago I could have enjoyed the comfort of eradicating a cute little forest creature to have awesome footwear. The rainy day I was saving for must have come while I was napping.

It’s like when we went to an estate sale recently. The estate owners had passed away, and the kids hired one of those companies that get rid of things. The inventory included all kinds of collectables still in the boxes. There were ancient kids’ toys still new in the box and decorative plates that never decorated anything. The heirs even sold nice picture frames complete with the photos of the deceased. I’m thinking the benefactors wouldn’t be amused that their cherished knick-knacks went for $1.99. Saving stuff just didn’t pan out for them.

My friend Bud is a saving kind of guy and has all kinds of things put back for the apocalypse. He’s even kept everything his parents put back for their apocalypse which probably includes what their parents put back. It may go back generations. Some nephew is going to either get rich from all the brick-a-brac or fill a landfill somewhere. He’ll curse the junk left behind for a rainy day that hasn’t arrived for eons.

I went back and looked at Aesop’s Fable about the wisdom of saving. It has more than one interpretation. In some cases it’s the ant and the grasshopper, and in others it’s the ant and the cicada. I think the moral of that version is that bugs can be loud and annoying. There’s a version that portrays the ant as a selfish miser trying to make the other insects starve unless they pay severe markups or maybe subscribe to an overpriced service or something like that.

The point is, don’t think saving is always good. You can save that t-bone steak in the freezer forever and say “Man, that beef would have been really good if I’d have cooked it while I still had teeth” or you can enjoy the steak. I don’t want to be on my deathbed and think that I should have worn those boots more. I don’t want my nephew to sell my good knife for a Pokémon card.
Let’s all change our view of the ant and the grasshopper, or cicada, or whichever noisy insect we choose. I say don’t be a greedy ant, enjoy your stuff today. Don’t wait for rain that may never come. Be a cicada today and let the estate sale companies get their own stuff.

Put it another way. Don’t let your boots rot or your knife rust.
Fini.