Ignorance is Bliss

I'm a little over two weeks away from having to have a hernia operation and I look forward to it with highly mixed feelings. My emotions run the gamut from "denial", all the way to "denial while in excruciating pain". It's weird. Sometimes I feel pretty good, good enough, at least, to convince myself that I was imagining things. "That must have been a dream!", I tell myself. "It's all better now!"

And then an hour passes and I realize once again what an idiot I am.

My anxiety has been increasing in slow waves as the reality of having to have an operation becomes more apparent. But today, I decided I have a choice (not the choices I want, but still...). I decided I can continue to be a slave to my own senseless fears; fears growing like mushrooms in the darkness of ignorance (I just made that up!). Or I can empower myself and step into the Bright Light called KNOWLEDGE (not to be confused with that other Bright Light). I decided that it's my fear of the unknown that's feeding this fear (the first fear, that is. Not the second fear). If I take some of the mystery away, it won't be as intimidating. "Knowledge is Power", I decided (I heard this somewhere). So even though I've had two different doctors tell me what's going on, I decided I will do a little investigating myself. Why let my imagination run wild?!?!??

In my thirst for knowledge, I came upon this helpful checklist of symptoms:
"A bulge in the groin."   Check!
"Bulge may appear gradually over a period of several weeks or months."   Check!  
"Bulge may form suddenly after you have been coughing, bending, straining, or laughing."   Check!
"Groin discomfort or pain."  (This seems a little redundant to me, but ... Check!)
There's more, but you get the idea.

(All this talk of "the Bulge" reminds me of a funny story: I'm in the surgeon's office. He's groping me. He's describing those very symptoms above while I can barely stand. He stops and sits there, thinking. He stares seriously at me for a minute and then he says: "Are you able to push the bulge back in?" HA! I would have laughed out loud but as you can see from above, that would have been counterproductive.)

Anyway, along with the helpful checklist, I came upon this video which manages to be both enlightening and disgusting. You get bonus points if you make it past the first fifteen seconds.

As I unfortunately found out, this is one of the milder videos.

Economics

This has been making the rounds... Too slowly, I might add. In case you haven't seen it, take a little over two minutes of your life and give it a look.

Today's Question

It's been a week since I've posted anything. I'm sure you're wondering why. I'll give you two guesses. It could be because: A) I've been so swamped that its hard to find enough time in the day. Or: B) There has been absolutely nothing going on, which leaves me nothing remotely interesting to write about. I'll wait here while you guess ....waiting....waiting...

Need a hint?

Ok. It's not "A".

More About the Weekend

As I was saying, Father's Day this year was about as perfect as a day can get. Actually, Father's Day started the day before, when I picked Rachael and her boyfriend up in the Berkshires. Although it was a quiet ride out, it was pretty entertaining on the ride back, what with Rachael and Brian bringing me up to date on the events over the last few weeks. My own private performance.

Trapped on the scenic Mass Pike. Sadly, no cannibalism to report.

Even the traffic coming to a dead stop was kind of fun. It wasn't like I was in a hurry to get home and it gave me a chance to hear even more stories... along with the added bonus of the three of us ranking on the other drivers. (A side note to Brian (who I know follows this blog religiously): don't give your language a second thought. I didn't. I was too busy being "impressed" by Rachael's vocabulary.)

Once the traffic finally started moving again, we dropped Brian at the mall to get his car. Rachael and I used the opportunity to take a quick look inside the mall to try to find me a pair of gym shorts. No luck. Who would have thought that finding heavy cotton gym shorts for an overweight guy in his fifties would be so hard?

We left the mall empty handed and continued on home. By the time we got back, it was closing in on 9 PM. If this were a weeknight, I would be getting ready for bed. But since this was Saturday, I had another whole hour to go. Plenty of time for me to fill the air mattress for Helaina's boyfriend, get caught up with them, and to try to stay awake.

Before I finally turned in (at almost 11 o'clock!!!), plans were made for for the next day, Father's Day. It was decided that we were going to go to the flea market. I was slightly skeptical based on my last experience, but the thought of being with everyone made it no contest.

So, Sunday came, way too early as it turns out. I apparently turned my alarm on during the night which woke me up at my usual 5 AM. After tossing and turning for a while, I finally got up at a more reasonable seven o'clock. I went downstairs to make pancakes for everyone and once I got nearly done, I had Sam roust them out of bed. That way, they could eat and we could get an early start. My hope was to minimize the chances of not finding a bargain, which is only possible if you leave before the more rational people that tend to foolishly linger in bed on their days off.

With some prodding, everyone finished up eating and off we went. As I drove down the highway and looked in the rear view mirror, I felt like I was transporting a crew of bobble-heads. The few eyes that were open looked pretty bleary.

We made it the flea market in good time, in what was a pretty quiet ride. But getting the early start really paid off... for me, at least.

Some people will buy sell anything.

Walking around can be a big part of the fun, but you have to be in the right frame of mind. Finding a bargain makes it even better. Sure, some treasures had to be passed up, but something tells me they'll be there for the picking some other day... even if that "other day" is five or six years from now.

The fine art of the "hard sell".

 Rachael and I came upon this guy(?). I'm not sure what the story is here. Either he just found a jacket that he is way too in love with, or a customer slipped out of his grip, throwing him backwards into the conveniently placed chair. Or, he has totally given up and is feigning being dead in hopes that everyone steals his stuff and he no longer has to drag it all home. Nice try buddy. Other than maybe your wallet, I'm not interested.

I came across someone selling baggies filled with shells. These were not the exotic, colorful shells you might buy in a store or find if you were foolish enough to go scuba diving in the tropics. These were the kind of shells that someone like me would pick up while walking along the beach. Somehow, they look a lot more attractive to me when they're scattered in the sand, waves brushing against my feet, sand pipers wisely avoiding me. Stuck in these baggies, it struck me as kind of sad. Are these people selling their vacation memories? Even sadder, they're only asking fifty cents a bag. Left behind in a divorce settlement maybe?

Nothing was screaming, "Buy me". Quite the opposite. I spent a  lot of time half-looking at things, nothing jumped out. Just when I thought the trip was going to be a bust "spending all of my money"-wise, I came upon the buck-a-book man. I remember this guy from our flea market adventures twenty years ago. Unlike some of these other vendors, it looked like he got some new inventory in those twenty years. It took a little digging but I came away with fifteen cookbooks. I passed on a few of the other, more complicated looking cookbooks. I don't need the hassle. I also passed on: "The Vagina, An Owner's Manual" (honest!). Not sure why this was in with the other books and I wasn't about to ask.

If you look close, it looks like he's smiling!

I headed back to the van with most of the other crew, fighting the urge to revisit one of the treasures I didn't buy into earlier. Fighting, but not fighting hard enough. I  went back to another table to buy an old juicer that I passed on before. For some odd reason, no one scooped this baby up. Sure, it was missing one of it's four feet, and from the looks of the two "Darrels" selling it, it may have been used for something other than squeezing fruit. Another case of "better not to ask". I figured I better grab it since it wasn't likely I would be finding another one.

Convinced I bought all the bargains to be had, we all met back at the van-  me with my fifteen cookbooks and juicer, everyone else with their "treasures". With one final stop at the spice store, we went home.

After getting settled at home, I made pretzels and Helaina brought her boyfriend home, getting back in time for me to open my Father's Day presents. Yes, even after the cookbooks, juicer, and spices, there was more to come!

Every year, I think it can't get any better and every year, it does.

Sam gave me a tee shirt that he silk screened at school. It's beautiful and I don't want to wear it because I'll ruin it. I'll have to find someplace safe where I can take it out from time to time to look at his thoughtfulness.

Jake treated me to a movie, not realizing that I would have paid him for the couple of hours we spent together, no matter what we did. Seeing the movie was a bonus.

Rachael gave me a hand carved totem that has three small faces on it. They are looking serenely down on me as I type this. She said it protects and keeps people safe. I see myself in one of the faces, and I see her, both as a little girl and as a young woman in the other two.

And Helaina bought me copies of two comic books from my long ago youth; comics that I wrote about here. When I opened them, I was instantly transported back more than forty years. I think I was even happier that she is one of the few people that bothers to read the drivel I put down here. Like Sam's shirt, I will have to find a safe place to keep them.

Their thoughtfulness was, and is, overwhelming. Each one is perfect. Each present is perfect too.

With all of this, I could have done without the juicer, cook books and spices. Heck, I don't even miss the gym shorts.

Another Goes By Too Quick

Sometimes when I have a really good time, I worry that something bad is going to happen to make up for it. I hope that's not true. Otherwise, I'm due for a really bad day after a great one like today.

More later...

Dad

Every day I think about how I was lucky enough to have had a great Dad. And  while I've (almost) always known how lucky I've been, the older I've gotten, the more I've appreciated it. For the first couple of days after Dad passed away, I would jot down any random thought I would have about him. I didn't want to forget.

I've never really had the strength to look at this list since then, but I've never forgotten. I hope I've been as good a Dad as he was. For this Father's Day, I'll share the list with you.

This is who my dad was to me:

Dad understood what I was talking about. Dad was on my side.

Dad was interested in me.

Dad listened.

Dad thought I was special. Dad made me feel special.

Dad went with me on cold winter nights to look at the stars and the moon through a telescope.

Dad took me to the movies.

Dad was my friend.

Dad took me skating at the town forest.

When I was little, Dad would get on his knees past the end of my bed and he would talk to me through a puppet. Dad comforted me and helped me cope with my fears. Dad let me know that it was ok.

Dad stayed with me when I had my tonsils out. That night when he went to go get a bite to eat, I watched out the hospital window. I hoped to see Dad… but I didn’t. When Dad got back, we watched “That Was The Week That Was” and “What’s My Line” together. Dad slept on a couch next to my hospital bed.

Dad read to me at night.

Dad once read Pinocchio to us, a chapter a night, and it was better than TV.

Dad taught a series of night classes, once a week. He would stop at a deli on the way home and bring me a Turkey & Salami on a bulky roll.

Dad taught me the meaning of “perspective”.

Dad felt that anyone who repeatedly shuts off their lights on Halloween night deserved an “egging”.

Dad had a great sense of humor.

Dad had warm hands.

Dad listened.

Dad liked to paint.

Dad loved Mom. One starry night in Needham when Mom was away, we were sitting on the front porch alone together. Dad was staring off into the distance when he told me that Mom was “a real lady”. I don’t know if he realized that he was saying it out loud.

When I was little, Dad had made a great window box scene of Santa’s sleigh. I used to look at it, and put myself into the scene.

Dad always had the movie camera ready on Christmas morning, including the bright light. We had to wait our turn opening presents, and then we would have to hold our present up.

Dad once dug a deep splinter out of my finger. It hurt a lot. I think Dad hurt too.

Dad sniffed when he was nervous.

Dad used handkerchiefs.

When Dad would grill, I got to be his “tester”. On Sunday evenings, Dad’s clothes smelled smoke flavored.

I once broke my bedroom window with my secret agent spy gun. When I told Dad, he didn’t get mad.

Dad took the train to work and home again. Sometimes I got to go with Mom to pick him up.

When our dog died, we all cried. Dad cried too.

Dad loved Christmas music. When I think of “The Messiah” and Harry Belafonte, I hear Dad singing along.

Dad took us Christmas shopping. We got to see the “blue tree” and the mechanical Santa at “The Crest”. Dad would let me pick out a corsage for Mom at Woolworth’s.

Dad would drive us around to look at Christmas lights.

Whenever I grill, it never tastes as good as Dads.

When I was little, sometimes I would fall asleep while watching TV in Dad’s bed and he would have to carry me into my bed. Once I pretended to be asleep so I could feel Dad carrying me.

When I was little, Dad would scratch my back at bed time. I had a narrow bed. I was glad the sheets were tucked in tight because sometimes Dad would lie down next to me and there wasn’t enough room for us both. I would be hanging off the side of the bed with only the tucked in covers keeping me from falling on the floor… Dad would start to drift off to sleep as he itched my back. I would have to give a wiggle to keep him going.

Dad almost always smiled.

I love Dad.

I always thought I would see Dad at least one more time.

My Life, Apparently, Is Over

My life is definitely on a downhill course. I just realized that I'm kind of excited because: 1) I've cleaned a spot in the kitchen cabinets so my food processor is now more convenient to get to, and 2) I'm now looking forward to making my own cole slaw.

Somebody please shoot me now.

More Whine

Well, my summer is starting off with a whimper, and needless to say, the whimper is coming from me. Helaina has been gone all weekend with her boyfriend and I dropped Rachael off in the Berkshires yesterday. Thankfully Jake came with me to drop her off, but when we got home, he was gone for the rest of the day.

So... kind of quiet.

Jake had a good suggestion for today though, which was to go to the flea market. Going to the flea market has dwindled to visits once or twice a summer in the last few years. But when the girls were small, we would go a couple of times a month. It was kind of an event back then. We would pack up water and juice and a snack and bring along the wagon to tow the girls around in. Often the girls would find some small treasure that would make the trip worthwhile for all of us.

So off we went today and it felt just a little strange, what with the smaller crew and all (plus my iffy mood due to my borderline depression). Walking around, it felt a little like walking through some weird carnival midway- tables lined up everywhere, people with looks of quiet desperation sitting behind them, trying to get you to buy into something you would never consider in the real world. "Hmm, a box of rusty gears with a couple of broken tools mixed in? That looks interesting..." Never mind that I've been trying to get rid or an almost identical mass of mystery metal that's been sitting in my "garage" for years.

There was an older couple sitting at a lone card table looking to unload a pile of old, dirty stuffed animals. How sad is that? Does the kid that these belong to even know what they're up to? This couple is going to sit in the hot, baking sun all day and pull in what, maybe a couple of bucks? And that's if they're not hauled away in an ambulance with sunstroke first.

A lot of people were selling used video games and even more were selling old video tapes, all baking in the hot sun. Between the sun and the fact they were made in the 1980's it made them a questionable buy in my book.

There was a table with nothing but new, brightly colored fuzzy slippers on it, each pair neatly packaged in their own wrapper. From a distance, they looked like Easter eggs. I can only imagine what someone's feet would look like after a couple of hours wearing these, with the likely toxic dye tattooing their skin. Not to mention  their feet breaking out in an allergic rash.

One table was selling used kitchen appliances, rolls of duct tape and bras. These people were apparently trying to appeal to a diverse clientele. Used kitchen appliances I can understand. This is a standard flea market item, especially the ones that are broken and you don't find it out until you get them home. And I can almost understand the duct tape, even though the sun was melting the tape inside the wrappers, much like the video tapes. But bras? Brand new bras? And I'm not talking normal ones either. These were huge. Each of these looked like a pair of igloos. Where did these people get these? Who does this? Who brings bras, never mind abnormal bras, to a flea market? Who thinks this is their chance to really make some cash?

Even worse, who in their right mind thinks: "I need a new bra, guess I'll check out the flea market." It would never occur to me to shop for underwear at a flea market. I don't care how good of a deal it was.

Was it always like this? Was there ever a time I might have looked at those bras and thought, "Hmm, that looks interesting..."?

Well, maybe, but not today.

So Long...

 Saying Goodbye for the Summer

...Very, very long.

Loss for Words

Had a graduation party for Rachael this past weekend and I was planning on writing a little bit about it, but I decided I won’t. The biggest reason is that it’s a lot more interesting to me to write about having a bad time than having a good time. I think it makes it a lot more interesting to read about it too. Maybe it's my nature or more likely, my lack of writing ability. Probably it's both.

I had a great time, and I would love to say more than that. It's just harder for me to convey those types of experiences in a way that isn't cloying. But nobody got hurt, no fights, nothing. Even the weather was good.

I could have written (once again) about how proud I was of my kids and how it was great to spend time with everyone. But I think I’ve pretty much beaten that horse to death... for now. I could have talked about meeting several of Rachael’s friends, some for the first time, and how much fun it was to see them having a good time together and what nice people they are. But then what? It wasn’t like a fight broke out at Wiffle ball or Frisbee or something.

Maybe it would have been better if I had actually used the faulty grill for the cookout. That way, if it had fallen off the post when I went to flip a burger, I could have written about the fireball or burning down Look Park or something interesting like that.

Or maybe someone, most likely Jake, could have gotten into a fight with one of the thousands that had decided to use our site as a shortcut to somewhere else. I’m not quite sure that would have been worth it though. Maybe. Maybe not.

Yup, I could have written about any of that stuff, but for now at least, I won’t even bother. Maybe I’ll write about it some other time. Maybe.