Warning: this post contains references to defacatory material; proceed at your own risk!
Last week, mrs tg and I arrived home to find that our dog had found one of our grandchildren's soiled Pampers and torn it up on our living room rug. In the ensuing cleanup process, I observed that it probably was a mistake for the diaper to have been left where the dog could get it (rather than thrown away in the lidded trash can).
I should share some background. Early in our marriage, mrs tg was not a good housekeeper. Actually, that is a gross understatement. Indeed, to suggest she isn't a very good housekeeper today would be true enough, but she may be among the most improved housekeepers on the planet.
So, she became rather defensive over my implication that she was partly responsible for the mess strewn across the rug. Now, it isn't as if a dog can be held accountable for acting like a dog. But in her mind, this incident was completely his fault. She accused me of treating her as if she still routinely indulges the unsanitary habits of her youth. Yes, this was now an aberration, but it still would have been nice had she been able to say, "Oh, I'm sorry, I should've taken care of that," acknowledging her role in the (fecal) matter.
I somehow managed not to vocalize my thoughts, because had I actually let out with a "What.EVER . . . ," in the course of that cleanup, well, the shit might have really hit the fan.
Yesterday, at lunch time, I found another diaper on the family room floor. I managed to indicate it to her as I calmly threw it away, again steering clear of the condescending smugness that I'd surely have indulged in our earlier life together.
The point of all this isn't that my wife needs to be more consistent in taking care of diapers. Rather: if I eschew condescension, any real issues will probably provide a better opportunity for their resolution.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
When things don't go according to plan . . .
. . . sometimes they work out for the best.
Here I was this afternoon, lolling around the house, waiting for our group ride. I'd planned to go out yesterday morning with another friend, but the rain squelched that one. I considered just heading out on my own. Today was a little warmer than it has been, but still mild for late July (it's been an incredible summer, really), so an early afternoon ride would've been fine. Anyway, the group planned to go out at 4. I should've had my antennae up a little higher when one of the e-mails said "I'll text on my way back" into town. But I did check e-mail for further discussion: no word generally means no change. About 3, I noticed my cell phone was dead, so put it on the charger so I'd have it ready in case of an emergency. I took my time getting dressed, ate a sandwich, and packed enough Clif bars and electrolyte tablets for a longer ride. Then I casually pedaled to our meeting point.
Except when I got there, there was no one to meet. Whipping out my phone to check the time, I see a text message that I hadn't gotten while it was on the charger: they went out at 3:30.
Ugh!!
One of those things. I thought, "If I'd wanted to ride by myself, I would've gone out earlier in the day and been almost finished by now!" It wasn't really anybody's fault, though it still left my nose pretty out of joint. At any rate, I really needed both distance and hills. I haven't ridden more than 62 miles this summer, and that ride was 6 weeks ago. And I haven't done much hill training. So the Cheat Mountain Challenge is looking pretty well beyond me if I don't do something about it soon.
I ended up doing about 75 miles, with about 6 good (for around here) hill climbs - short, but with some grade to them. I was limping home with cramps in my right thigh for the last dozen miles, but it was just the prep ride I needed. I found out later that the group only did about 35 miles, which wouldn't have served my needs nearly as well.
Here I was this afternoon, lolling around the house, waiting for our group ride. I'd planned to go out yesterday morning with another friend, but the rain squelched that one. I considered just heading out on my own. Today was a little warmer than it has been, but still mild for late July (it's been an incredible summer, really), so an early afternoon ride would've been fine. Anyway, the group planned to go out at 4. I should've had my antennae up a little higher when one of the e-mails said "I'll text on my way back" into town. But I did check e-mail for further discussion: no word generally means no change. About 3, I noticed my cell phone was dead, so put it on the charger so I'd have it ready in case of an emergency. I took my time getting dressed, ate a sandwich, and packed enough Clif bars and electrolyte tablets for a longer ride. Then I casually pedaled to our meeting point.
Except when I got there, there was no one to meet. Whipping out my phone to check the time, I see a text message that I hadn't gotten while it was on the charger: they went out at 3:30.
Ugh!!
One of those things. I thought, "If I'd wanted to ride by myself, I would've gone out earlier in the day and been almost finished by now!" It wasn't really anybody's fault, though it still left my nose pretty out of joint. At any rate, I really needed both distance and hills. I haven't ridden more than 62 miles this summer, and that ride was 6 weeks ago. And I haven't done much hill training. So the Cheat Mountain Challenge is looking pretty well beyond me if I don't do something about it soon.
I ended up doing about 75 miles, with about 6 good (for around here) hill climbs - short, but with some grade to them. I was limping home with cramps in my right thigh for the last dozen miles, but it was just the prep ride I needed. I found out later that the group only did about 35 miles, which wouldn't have served my needs nearly as well.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Too much on my plate
I'm looking forward to two upcoming events. On August 1st I'll be participating in a memorial golf outing for the son of our very dear friends. Jeff passed away several years ago, leaving behind a young son. He was also my friend, as well as our friends' son; I was certainly closer to his age. Like most left behind after a suicide, I agonized over what I might have done to intervene in his life. Of course, I understand I was not responsible for his death. Jeff enjoyed sports, and I golfed with him, and his dad and his brothers, on a couple of occasions. Now his family organizes a golf outing each year around his birthday. Proceeds go to his son's education fund.
Next up after that will be the Cheat Mountain Challenge, a 108-mile bike ride in West Virginia that finishes with an ascent of Snowshoe, on August 15. A group of my cycling friends are doing this ride, and it fits right in with my long-term goal of riding a century in every state. It should be a gorgeous and challenging ride.
Here's why those two things, between them, represent too much commitment:
With only ten days to get ready to keep from completely embarrassing myself on the golf course (best ball, fortunately, but I'd still like to contribute), followed by two weeks to keep from killing myself riding up a mountain, I sure could use a break in the weather!
Next up after that will be the Cheat Mountain Challenge, a 108-mile bike ride in West Virginia that finishes with an ascent of Snowshoe, on August 15. A group of my cycling friends are doing this ride, and it fits right in with my long-term goal of riding a century in every state. It should be a gorgeous and challenging ride.
Here's why those two things, between them, represent too much commitment:
- I haven't swung a golf club yet this year.
- I haven't ridden my bike further than a metric century (100km, or 62 miles), and that was in early June.
- There's rain in the forecast for four of the next five days
With only ten days to get ready to keep from completely embarrassing myself on the golf course (best ball, fortunately, but I'd still like to contribute), followed by two weeks to keep from killing myself riding up a mountain, I sure could use a break in the weather!
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Emotional rollercoaster
Last night I was reflecting on the gospel passage (Lk 15, 4-6) about the shepherd who leaves the 99 in the flock to chase after the one stray, and the joy that results when he is found.
Our former son-in-law, who asked me to sponsor him in the RCIA process in '06, soon thereafter divorced our daughter. Since a brief attempt at reconciling that made clear he hadn't dealt with his underlying issues, he hadn't been in contact with any of us in over a year. Even aside from his relationship with our daughter, we've missed him. He was part of our family, we've hurt deeply over his absence. Suddenly, he and our daughter are on friendly terms again, and he is back in our lives. What a joy!
Today we've learned that our youngest son-in-law is likely joining the Army. It's a great decision for him and his young family. Though I never mentioned it to them, I've always considered military service the most likely way for him to provide them with financial security and stability. Still, the thought of our three youngest grandchildren moving away saddens us greatly. We know that this is just a transition, that they will still be an important part of our lives, but being distant grandparents for the first time is definitely going to take some getting used to.
Our former son-in-law, who asked me to sponsor him in the RCIA process in '06, soon thereafter divorced our daughter. Since a brief attempt at reconciling that made clear he hadn't dealt with his underlying issues, he hadn't been in contact with any of us in over a year. Even aside from his relationship with our daughter, we've missed him. He was part of our family, we've hurt deeply over his absence. Suddenly, he and our daughter are on friendly terms again, and he is back in our lives. What a joy!
Today we've learned that our youngest son-in-law is likely joining the Army. It's a great decision for him and his young family. Though I never mentioned it to them, I've always considered military service the most likely way for him to provide them with financial security and stability. Still, the thought of our three youngest grandchildren moving away saddens us greatly. We know that this is just a transition, that they will still be an important part of our lives, but being distant grandparents for the first time is definitely going to take some getting used to.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Sometimes you can go home again
A wonderful week in MD. Our office was closed last week, so it was a great opportunity for us get away for a week. I decided not to mess with taking my bike, so got up early on Sunday morning for a short ride (20 miles or so), after which we got on the road. I was surprised at the traffic volume, but it mostly moved pretty well.
The first couple of days were mostly decompression. Visited with mrs tg's dad and some friends in the neighborhood. Went to visit her mom's grave, then my dad's, which is an interesting and potentially expensive story.
Took my running shoes, and ran on alternate days (first time this year; man did my legs hurt for the first few days!). Wednesday, went to an afternoon game at OP@CY; the O's blew a 4-run lead in the 9th to lose in extra innings. This team will be good if their young arms develop as hoped. In the evening, stopped for excellent crabcakes at the local seafood restaurant.
Thursday, helped get the yard ready for a party on Friday. My band mates from high school & college were coming over. The last time we were all together was probably my wedding! Played guitars, grilled out, swam in the pool, had a great view of the community fireworks from the driveway. What a grand day!
Saturday, my cousin had a get-together at his place. I met my new baby cousin, and spent a fabulous afternoon and evening with my side of the family. Another wonderful day!
Sunday, great weather and smooth traffic for the drive home.
The first couple of days were mostly decompression. Visited with mrs tg's dad and some friends in the neighborhood. Went to visit her mom's grave, then my dad's, which is an interesting and potentially expensive story.
Took my running shoes, and ran on alternate days (first time this year; man did my legs hurt for the first few days!). Wednesday, went to an afternoon game at OP@CY; the O's blew a 4-run lead in the 9th to lose in extra innings. This team will be good if their young arms develop as hoped. In the evening, stopped for excellent crabcakes at the local seafood restaurant.
Thursday, helped get the yard ready for a party on Friday. My band mates from high school & college were coming over. The last time we were all together was probably my wedding! Played guitars, grilled out, swam in the pool, had a great view of the community fireworks from the driveway. What a grand day!
Saturday, my cousin had a get-together at his place. I met my new baby cousin, and spent a fabulous afternoon and evening with my side of the family. Another wonderful day!
Sunday, great weather and smooth traffic for the drive home.
Dad's grave site
First of all, I was sure I must've blogged about some of this background info before, but can't find it to link to it.
"Dad" is a more complicated word for me than for most. When I refer to dad, I'm almost always referring to my adoptive father, who married my mom when I was about 3, I think, as opposed to my biological father - whom I've never met - or stepfather.
Anyway, dad was a tortured man, an alcoholic whose glory days of high school and semi-pro athletics were past, and whose adopted son was never going to be the athlete he had been. When he took his own life when I was 14, in some ways he did me a favor. I no longer had a dad who treated me with disdain. Mom went on to get involved with my stepfather a couple years later, who had some positive and terribly negative influence on my life, and I inevitably grew up despite all that, with the warped sense of normalcy that I've learned so many of us share.
In recent years, I've unsuccessfully tried to visit dad's gravesite on several visits back home, usually on the weekend. He was buried in '74, and while I was pretty sure where his grave was, I never could locate it. But now the cemetery office was open, so I had the specific location of his plot. I still couldn't find it.
I called over one of the workers, who showed me where to look on the markers for the plot numbers. It turns out his marker had sunk. "No problem," he assured me, they could raise it for me. The guy had only worked there for about three weeks, and when he and his coworker went to pry it up, the concrete base was broken in half. I'm pretty sure it happened right then, when they were prying it, but they hadn't cleared it sufficiently for me to be certain.
They don't use concrete anymore, because it deteriorates over time. So to mount the bronze marker on granite in place of the current concrete will cost around $800. Dad had other kids from previous marriages, but I've never known any of them, and my sister and mom have long since passed on. I haven't decided whether it makes sense to spend the money on his marker. That I know of, nobody other than me has visited the grave in at least two decades, so I figure there's no rush. In the grand scheme of things, I think I'll keep that money in pocket until after we replace our 45-year-old furnace and central air unit.
"Dad" is a more complicated word for me than for most. When I refer to dad, I'm almost always referring to my adoptive father, who married my mom when I was about 3, I think, as opposed to my biological father - whom I've never met - or stepfather.
Anyway, dad was a tortured man, an alcoholic whose glory days of high school and semi-pro athletics were past, and whose adopted son was never going to be the athlete he had been. When he took his own life when I was 14, in some ways he did me a favor. I no longer had a dad who treated me with disdain. Mom went on to get involved with my stepfather a couple years later, who had some positive and terribly negative influence on my life, and I inevitably grew up despite all that, with the warped sense of normalcy that I've learned so many of us share.
In recent years, I've unsuccessfully tried to visit dad's gravesite on several visits back home, usually on the weekend. He was buried in '74, and while I was pretty sure where his grave was, I never could locate it. But now the cemetery office was open, so I had the specific location of his plot. I still couldn't find it.
I called over one of the workers, who showed me where to look on the markers for the plot numbers. It turns out his marker had sunk. "No problem," he assured me, they could raise it for me. The guy had only worked there for about three weeks, and when he and his coworker went to pry it up, the concrete base was broken in half. I'm pretty sure it happened right then, when they were prying it, but they hadn't cleared it sufficiently for me to be certain.
They don't use concrete anymore, because it deteriorates over time. So to mount the bronze marker on granite in place of the current concrete will cost around $800. Dad had other kids from previous marriages, but I've never known any of them, and my sister and mom have long since passed on. I haven't decided whether it makes sense to spend the money on his marker. That I know of, nobody other than me has visited the grave in at least two decades, so I figure there's no rush. In the grand scheme of things, I think I'll keep that money in pocket until after we replace our 45-year-old furnace and central air unit.
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