more normal than not

When I was 9, my parents called me in from playing outside on a hot San Jose night to watch the men land on the moon.

I sat and watched them land….and then jump out of the LEM…and walk on the moon.

I watched Neil Armstrong make his “one giant leap” comment.

I watched all this with as much amazement as a 9-year-old could sustain….and then I got outside again as fast as I could to run and throw dirt clods.

I knew it was a big deal, even then…but I had work to do outside.

I had a life.

Last night…and most of the day….I listened to or watched shows commemorating the D-Day invasion.

This year marked 70 years since our armed forces landed on the beaches of France to battle the Nazis.

I can’t relate to that, really.

I was 15 when the Vietnam War ended, and coming out of the Vietnam War period, the military wasn’t a popular option as a career for a young man, so I never even thought about serving my country.

I never served…or was asked to serve.

How could I relate to what these men had experienced?

Watching the shows last night, though, I related.

Watching these older fellows talk about their experiences made me miss my own father.

They were so straight forward and just seemed like good people.

Of course, they were the ones they let on TV.

But they all seemed like good guys.

They made me wish that I was up in Washington at the Memorial…having a good visit and shaking some hands….thanking them for their service.

I don’t have a real connection to what these men did during D-Day….because I don’t have to have a connection.

It’s like when a parent always fills your needs…and you never have to understand what any of the things they did to make that happen cost them.

You just know that your needs are filled…and that’s as far as it needs to go.

That’s as far as you take it.

“Gratitude” takes too much time, sometimes….especially when you want to do the adult equivalent of running outside to throw dirt clods.

Watching these men made me realize that I’m not required to understand what they did…because they were successful at “what they did”.

I can take it for granted because I’m still free…and can take it for granted.

“Sacrifice” on that scale isn’t on my radar.

I doubt that many of these men who fought for us will still be with us when the next anniversary of D-Day comes around.

They were in their 20’s when they were at war….they’re in their 90’s now.

I doubt that many will still be here next time we honor what they did.

I’m glad I paid attention to them…at least for a little while.

I still can’t relate to what they did.

None of it is close to anything that I’ve ever experienced.

I should thank them for that if I ever get the chance.

“Let Them In” David Wilcox

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zl58kpKLsFk

We watch these shows on TV about people buying houses.

That’s pretty weird, when I think of it.

Sort of voyeuristic or something.

Why should I care what somebody else is doing?

The thing about these shows is that so often it’s a young couple who are looking for their first home….and somehow, they have a budget of 400,000 dollars.

That’s a lot of money.

How does that happen?

I watched one last night where the woman was a food blogger.

She must have a heck of a blog.

I need to bake some cupcakes, too….so that I can get that rich.

Anyway, they have all this money…and they’re looking for a house.

Not just any house, either…usually it needs the “granite and stainless”….and it needs to be big.

These houses that this particular couple were looking at were in Austin….and most were way over 2500 square feet…with big vaulted ceilings and huge open floor plans.

Huge houses for a young (childless) couple just starting out.

That’s insane…but, somehow, not uncommon.

Why do we need these big houses?

If we have a bunch of kids…like the Duggars….it would make sense.

But two people don’t need a giant house.

I guess that I’m sort of a hypocrite, though. I have so much stuff….so many books…that we could use a big house….or a good, cheap storage facility.

So I guess that I’m sort of a hypocrite.

It’s the stuff…not the life…that demands a big house.

I am amazed when I see these people with the idea that they need all this room…with it’s additional heating and cooling issues….upkeep issues….look for these giant houses.

IT’S CRAZY, MAN!!!

Then…when they find the giant house…some of them complain that they’ll have to buy a bunch of furniture to fill it with.

They orientate their needs to fit the big purchase.

And this one couple could do it all with the proceeds from a food blog.

That is amazing.

I could cook some crappy looking cupcakes…take a picture of them on a nice granite counter top….and then really clean up.

I didn’t know it could be so profitable.

I have been barking up a lot of wrong trees.

I should concentrate on baking some crappy looking cupcakes.

Here’s a couple of videos about tiny houses.

Jenny says that “editing” is the new skill in the coming years.

If you can edit your life down to the point where the tiny home is the good option….pare it all down….simplify, simplify, simplify…that would be pretty great.

Pretty great…and pretty hard.

Pretty great….and pretty elegant.

Google “tiny house” or get on YouTube and check out all the videos….check out Lloyd Kahn’s website …there is a lot of information out there on tiny homes.

There is so much in the world that’s more interesting than “stainless steel and granite”.

You don’t need a giant house.

I don’t want to bake a cupcake so that I can take a picture of it.

I just want to eat it.

Every bit of it.

I think that sometimes we do things over and over to remind ourselves of something.

We do things repeatedly….thinking each time we do it, “hmmmmmm….this feels kind of familiar….” and then one day we get up, repeat ourselves one more time, and finally admit that there may be something going on.

I wonder if I’m a little OCD or something?

Nahhhhh….no sense over-diagnosing things.

That would be kind of obsessive.

I feed the cat the same way every morning.

Before I can do anything else, I feed the cat to get it to shut up.

When I come down in the morning, she grabs the lip of the window in our kitchen door and starts yowling for me to pay some attention to her….like this was going to be the one morning when I didn’t serve her needs first.

So I get the can of cat food from the box on the porch, pop the top, set it down, pet her and grab the old can, go inside and rinse the top off and put it in the recycling and then fill the old can with water so I can rinse it out later.

(Who am I kidding? I leave it in the sink and Jenny finishes rinsing it out later…..)

Everyday.

Everyday.

Ev….er…..y…….day.

I realized this morning that I pet her the same way every morning, too…..starting at the head, quick shoulder massage, tickly squeezing down the full cat length, and then gently pull on her tail to finish the deed.

The same way….a way that sounds weird when I describe it but only takes a second in practice.

Then I go inside, put the water on for coffee, pour a coffee cup half way full with orange juice, take my vitamins, rinse the cup out, grind the coffee and put it in the french press, put some milk in the cup, and go upstairs to write this blog until I hear the kettle whistle and I can run through the darkened living room and maybe step on a Lego.

Stepping on a Lego really shakes up my day.

There’s a comfort in doing things the same way everyday.

I used to read about Sisyphus sometimes.

He was made to roll a boulder up a hill because he was kind of dishonest.

When he got to the top, the boulder would roll back down.

Over and over.

Everyday.

All the time.

My cat food routine is a lot more pleasant than that.

It’s no boulder.

It’s kind of pleasant.

I wonder if Heaven is doing the same pleasant thing over and over, but never being aware of the repetition?

(“Pleasant” is such a great word….so gentle….)

Maybe it’s doing the same thing over and over, but never feeling like you were missing something, that there was someplace else that you needed to be?

Maybe it’s knowing that there’s no place that’s better….and you can finally relax?

I don’t know…it’s early, I fed the cat, I’m taking my first sip of coffee…and Nate just got up.

Nate just got up….and the randomness begins.

What am I talking about with all this “same” talk?

Nothing stays the same.

IT’S ALL GOOD….

 

“20 million things” Lowell George

So…I had my procedure.

From what I can gather, from my limited range of experience to draw a conclusion upon, everything went well.

As far as I can tell…everything went well.

It was a little worse than having my teeth cleaned…and, apparently, I only have to do it once…so that’s a good thing.

That’s a good thing.

You know, though…if you listen to enough people who know enough people who had a cousin who knew somebody who was laid up for weeks after the “procedure”….you’d be scared out of your mind.

If you listened to everybody…and then tried to condense all that information into one chunk that you could carry around with you before the “deed was done”…you would be terrified.

Maybe terrified is too strong a word.

I am not terrified of much.

Maybe “pointedly concerned” is a better way of describing the situation.

Maybe it was “focused angst”.

“Terror” is too strong a word.

Actually, it was a lot worse than having my teeth cleaned.

When it was done, they gave me a prescription for Vicodin.

I don’t know what that does for me.

Jenny didn’t think that I should take any after I told her that I wasn’t in a lot of pain or anything.

So now I probably will never be able to know what taking a Vicodin does.

I should have kept my mouth shut…moaned and groaned more or something.

I think that Jenny thought that I’d be one of the people who got hooked on prescription pain killers.

Maybe I’d stop thinking about buying that piece of land and spend all our money keeping myself supplied with Vicodin?

Who knows.

Anyway, the procedure went well.

For something so personal and invasive, it was surprisingly gentle.

Maybe that’s just the drugs talking?

They did give me something to put under my tongue that the doctor described as being like drinking two beers.

I wish they had just kept me supplied with Guinness.

That would have been a lot more fun.

They would have had to tell me to stay still, though.

The male doctor and the female resident did the deed.

I felt like I was in good hands.

I guess that what I’m saying is, for anyone who worried about me, that I’m OK.

But, really, enough about me.

Now what the heck am I going to write about?

I could write about the resurgence in the interest in vinyl LPs?!

That’s always good for a blogs worth of words…..

Or I could write about one of the vehicles breaking down….but nothing’s broken….

Or, because I’m sitting here and it’s still on my mind, I could write about the “procedure”.

Man….life is a real mystery, isn’t it?

You click along….and then one day….BAMMMMMMMMMM (sorry….didn’t mean to surprise you)….and then “bammmmmmm”….the end of the line.

If you aren’t competent with the “slowing down” part, you better take matters into your own hands and nip it.

That must have been what Barney Fife was talking about….Nip it! Nip it in the bud!!

 

(Don’t google anything looking for an image to use in the blog about the “procedure” ….there were things that I didn’t want to know in all those pictures…..MY EYES!!! MY EYES!!!!)

I heard a story a while back that I thought was pretty great.

It seems that a young boy’s sister was pretty sick, and needed an operation to save her life.

One complication that they were having prior to the operation was finding a suitable blood donor.

No one had compatible blood.

But, when they checked her slightly older brother, they found, to their excitement, that his blood was the same type and could be used during the operation.

When they went to him to explain the situation, they told him that they needed his blood to save his sister’s life.

He stared into the grownup’s eyes for a moment, and then quietly said that he would do it.

They drew what blood they needed from the brother…and when the operation was over, and the sister’s life was saved, they went to him to tell him the good news.

“Your sister is safe! The operation was a success! You saved her life!”

A look of relief came over his face. It was as if the weight of the world had come off his shoulders.

And then he had a question….

“When do I die?”

 

He thought they were taking all his blood to save his little sister…and was ready and willing to make that sacrifice.

That’s a great story.

 

I’m going to the doctor’s office for a “procedure” this morning.

I won’t go into details about what the procedure entails…or even what it’s called…but I will say that it’s about having children…or not having children.

OK!! It’s mostly about “not” having children…not having any more children.

I’m not going to ask “When do I die?” when the deed is done, either.

It’s not that big a deal.

Actually…it is that big a deal….some stranger messing around with me is a big deal.

I don’t relish the thought of somebody…even somebody with some training or maybe a certificate of some type….messing with my special purpose.

For the sake of my digestion, I’m going to tell myself that it’s not that big a deal.

Apparently, it is a really quick procedure.

That kind of bothers me, too.

I’d like it to be over fast…but it would be good if the Dr. would take his time.

“Be Careful!!!!!!!”

He (or she…and that’s another thing to worry about) should be really careful down there.

I’d tell them, if I get a chance, “Hey…it might not be a big deal to you, but it’s a really big deal to me. Be careful down there in my secret garden. Be careful.”

 

Jenny’s had 4 children.

That’s a big deal.

I can walk into this appointment in my flip-flops, and snip, snip….I’m done.

Finished.

I better be careful what I whine about because compared to having a baby, this deal is easy.

But, dang….it’s kind of scary.

 

“Get away with those scissors!! Get away with those scissors!!”

 

 

before

 

 

after