My daughter said she was thinking about taking a college philosophy class.
I swallowed, hard.
My exposure to Philosophy 101 in college was a single day many moons ago. I figured it was going to be a blow off elective course. I mean, easy, right?
But when the sweater wearing professor came in with pointed shoes, coke bottle glasses and five pens in his pocket protector, well, there’s your sign.
He walked straight to the lectern, cleared his throat and started.
He didn’t introduce himself, say hi, nothing.
He could have at least said, “Hey y’all! What a dad gum good lookin’ class this is! I’m Professor Nerdman, and this here is Philosophy 101! You’ll all need this textbook I’m holdin’ up right here and I’m passin’ round a syllabus for ya now.” Continue reading Philosophy of a One
“You’re going to cry when I graduate, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
That was enough to satisfy my youngest daughter, Jessica, back in September. She’s the last of my eight children to graduate high school.
She graduated Friday.
We have a few college graduations left, but by and large, the work is done. The time is finished. The investment complete.
I cried, not why she thought I would, but I cried… Continue reading 31 Years, 3 Months, 1 Week, 2 Days
“Breath! Breath deep!”, the nurse said. “Good! Control your breaths. Control. Breath deep. Control!”
The deep breaths continue until the pain momentarily subsides. No class, no education, no preparation can adequately prepare someone for the pain. Sure, it wouldn’t be forever, but right then, in that moment, it feels like it will never end.
Sharp, awful waves migrate from the back and end in the private area of the body. It’s so intense that all appearances, inhibitions and concern for dignity flies straight out the window. Nothing short of hope and relief from the excruciating pain can bring comfort.
The nurse, a seasoned veteran, has seen it all, yet she never consistently predicts the responses beforehand. A sonogram gives the approximate size, length and weight beforehand, but everyone’s different, so there’s no way to know up front how long or what the response may be. Continue reading Push, Push!
It started as a wild hair. I moved a swarm of bees at work to keep them away from some employees who are deathly allergic.
Besides, bees are important to the environment, so you don’t want to kill them. I learned along the way how to get a swarm to relocate them. At first, it was a fiasco, but after moving a few over a couple of years, I got better.
Not to be a braggart, although it’s bragging, but not a prideful bragging, just an accomplishment bragging….OK, so I’m tooting my horn with a fog horn beecause I did it beeuatifully!
And, (brag, brag) I’ve only been stung once a couple of years ago when one got under my hard hat. That bee kamikazed its stinger right in the bald spot! Yeah. It hurt! Big red lump on the bald spot for a week!
The wild hair (no pun intended) has turned into an interest. I bought a bee box from a feed store and waited. Patiently. Continue reading Welcome to the Bee Box
Anticipation was high. All the mother’s anxiety was higher.
Water bottles? Check. Halftime orange slices? Check. After game snacks and juice boxes? Check.
Spectators set up lawn chairs battling for the best open places on the sidelines. This would be an epic contest, one replayed on family home movies for years to come.
Coaches were nervous. After all, their reputations were on the line. If their teams didn’t perform, well it would be obvious to everyone, and most importantly themselves, that they were failures as coaches, maybe even failures at life, like, forever!
The referee wanted to take control of the game of four-year olds in 4 vs. 4 game that doesn’t require World Cup refs. It didn’t matter. His nervous habit of rubbing his acne took the air out of his mystique. Plus, he was only thirteen, 5 feet tall and maybe 97 pounds.
The players weren’t stressed a bit. Although two players had to go potty before the game. Probably just nervous energy.
Continue reading Little Rascal Soccer
My first career was in public mental health, including the part where people are committed to state psychiatric hospitals. I met a lot of super nice people during this time from law enforcement to medical personnel to social workers to the clients themselves. Truly, everyone needs a little help from a friend at times. That’s life.
Many I knew on a first name basis because they were in and out of the clinic, and most became friends on a professional basis. Even when they were struggling, you couldn’t help but like them! One was an older lady who was intelligent, charming and graceful.
She quit her meds though and shortly thereafter, her family brought her in. It was bad enough she had to go to the state hospital for her own safety.
After she got out of the hospital, she was back to her charming self.
We always got along well, but after the commitment, she decided she didn’t like me anymore. Not one, single, BIT! Continue reading Grocery Store Delimma
Seven years ago, my oldest daughter wanted a little pet. An inside cat was out of the question. So was a dog. At least until I had a momentary lapse of sanity.
We went to a flea market to look around. If I’d known how things were about to play out, I would’ve walked right by the old woman sitting under a shade tree selling puppies.
She was selling little breeds. Without hesitation, all four daughters zeroed in like heat seeking missiles to a cage with four puppies, half Chihuahua, half Japanese Chin.
Half Chihuahuas! God made Chihuahuas as a practical joke on rats. They’re noisy, obnoxious, cranky little animals that on their best day look genetically defective.
These, however, looked like the furry Japanese Chin part. Before I knew it, the heat seeking missiles exploded. Shawnna was holding the runt of the litter, all nine weeks old, in the palm of her hand talking to it like it was a little baby.
I’m convinced now the old lady selling them set the hook right then. I just didn’t know it right then. Continue reading Flea Market Flea Bag
I know it’s unrealistic, politically incorrect, and uncool, but I loathe cell phones. Lucky people live where there’s no cell service!
Maybe it’d be OK if it was JUST a phone, but it’s a camera, recorder, computer and alarm clock. There’s more technology in a smart phone than all the systems added together used to send the first man to the moon! And whoever heard of microchips? Chips are supposed to be made by Lays, not drain the living life out you!
Plus, Europe says it causes cancer! And then you pay a ton of money for unlimited talk, text and gigabytes of data. Nobody should be bit by a giga!
Maybe it’s just me? Maybe if I grew up not knowing anything but internet and cell service, I would fully appreciate cell phones?
In my old-fashioned, decrepit way of thinking, cell phones are like Congress: you get a lot of talk, end up paying a lot and get virtually no return on investment! (Virtually…see how I snuck in tech word there? No wait, it’s virtual. Nevermind.) Continue reading #Bring Back Rotary Phones
I had a car full — all four daughters and wondering wonder why I never remembered ear plugs for a road trip.
There was a noise lull, which is usually a sign something’s about to happen. I was obliviously enjoying the semi-peaceful, kinda quiet moment, when a screeching, high-pitched voice shrieks, “Yella one!!!” Then she hit me in the arm, frogged me right in the muscle!
Being the strong, hard as a rock muscles, manly man that I am, I whimpered, “Ouuuuuuch!”
Wincing in pain I rubbed the muscle while bent over the steering wheel like an assignation victim.
“What did ya do that for!?” Continue reading Yella One!
Sometimes words unexpectedly flow, but then they’ll shut off like moisture in a desert, or is that dessert? Either way, writer’s block.
What to write? Come on brain! Just do it pen! This blank paper needs to be stained with ink!
Lean forward. Lean back. Headache. Aspirin. No ideas.
Words usually talk to me. Not today. Nothing. Just flat brain waves.
Silence, so I talk to the words. Fingers began moving almost involuntarily over the keys punching out my aggravation. I start scolding words for their impetuous, defiant resistance.
You sorry words need to get yourself together! There’s no need for you to give me the silent treatment! Uh, uh. Not at all. And some of you little words are just getting way too big for your britches!! Continue reading Writer’s Block