One night last week I was on the ground level of our split level house and heard the usual whirr of the dryer on the basement floor below. It seems the dryer runs constantly. My wife does at least one load a day, more loads most days. Keep in mind this is just for her and our two sons. I do my own laundry, a habit my mother got me into as a teen-ager.
I’ve suggested we hang a clothesline and during the warmer weather dry some of our clothes outdoors. She says it will look trashy and insects will get on the clothes. I don’t know. My mother and grandmother both used clotheslines in the warmer weather.
Call it a premonition, but as I listened to the dryer that day last week I thought: “I bet this dryer doesn’t last much longer.”
Sometime on Saturday, I heard Mary go down to the basement and push the start button on the dryer. There was a low hum, but no whirr. I knew before she told me.
“The dryer isn’t working,” she called out from the basement. Within minutes she was on the computer researching a new dryer. I could have suggested we not rush into anything and consider a repair or at least ask her very handy father to take a look. But I know how important keeping up with the laundry is to her and I didn’t want to interfere. I did point out that this will be our third dryer in 14 years and that dryers in most households probably have a life expectancy of more than four or five years.
On Sunday morning, while the boys and I were still in bed I heard the sound of her van pulling out. She usually doesn’t go out before noon on Sunday, but I knew she was on a mission. She returned around 11:30. As I saw the van pull in I figured there was a 50-50 chance that she has a new dryer in the back for me to unload. Instead, she told me they didn’t have the model she wanted in stock and would have to go to another store location.
By around 4:30 she had purchased the dryer she wanted and decided to have it delivered and the old one taken away. She was disappointed because she would have to wait until Thursday. She had the day off from work on Monday and spent part of it at the Laundromat doing the dirty clothes that had accumulated since Saturday. I gave her a few things to hold me over until Sunday or Monday. The new dryer will arrive on Thursday, but I know she will have it tied up for the first couple of days catching up on all laundry that accumulated between Tuesday and Thursday.
Let me know what you think.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Black Friday
Mary, Danny and I are standing in Target on a recent Friday night. Mary and Danny are looking at belts.
“He needs a belt?” I had asked a moment before. Belts normally last me about three or four years.
“Yes,” she replies curtly. “His belt broke so he doesn’t have one.
As they look at belts, I’m holding a pair of blue sweat pants. I bought a black pair the week before and really liked the way they looked and fit so I wanted a second pair. I wanted a second pair of black sweats but Mary intervened.
“Here is a nice blue pair,” she said, grabbing my size off the rack. “You shouldn’t wear back all the time.”
Rather than fight, I took the pair of blue sweats and then went and picked another pair of black pajama bottoms. She frowned and moved on to helping Danny with a belt.
While they were looking at belts, I kept looking at the blue sweat pants with the gray stripe and tried to imagine what T-shirts would match. I don’t know whether I have trouble matching shirts and pants or whether it is just an irrational fear of being able to match. This is why I prefer black. Most of my T-shirts are gray or have gray in them and gray matches with black. Also, all my shoes and sneakers are black so buying black dress pants and black sweats guarantees that at least my shoes and pants match. Most of my ties also have black in them so each day I am virtually guaranteed that my shoes, pants and ties are a match. All my dress socks are black and the socks I wear when I’m not at work are all gray, so again black is a safe color.
Blue presents problems because there are so many different shades. Mary has noted before that I sometimes wear Navy Blue and Powder Blue or Royal Blue, which apparently is not a match. I sometimes think dark blue is black and that also causes problems, according to her. Gray is a pretty good match with blue, I’ve heard, but I lack confidence in the combination.
I’m also embarrassed to admit that I like black because I feel that it is the most stain-proof color although Mary tells me otherwise. All I know is that when I spill coffee on black pants it is much better than spilling coffee on say a blue or tan pair of pants.
Mary and Danny were trying to decide between two belts.
“You know I think I’m going to put the blue back and get a pair of black ones,” I sheepishly told my wife, hoping she was to busy with the belt purchase to notice or care.
“Do whatever you want,” she said, not looking up from the belt finalists.
What do you think I did? What should I have done?
Let me know what you think.
“He needs a belt?” I had asked a moment before. Belts normally last me about three or four years.
“Yes,” she replies curtly. “His belt broke so he doesn’t have one.
As they look at belts, I’m holding a pair of blue sweat pants. I bought a black pair the week before and really liked the way they looked and fit so I wanted a second pair. I wanted a second pair of black sweats but Mary intervened.
“Here is a nice blue pair,” she said, grabbing my size off the rack. “You shouldn’t wear back all the time.”
Rather than fight, I took the pair of blue sweats and then went and picked another pair of black pajama bottoms. She frowned and moved on to helping Danny with a belt.
While they were looking at belts, I kept looking at the blue sweat pants with the gray stripe and tried to imagine what T-shirts would match. I don’t know whether I have trouble matching shirts and pants or whether it is just an irrational fear of being able to match. This is why I prefer black. Most of my T-shirts are gray or have gray in them and gray matches with black. Also, all my shoes and sneakers are black so buying black dress pants and black sweats guarantees that at least my shoes and pants match. Most of my ties also have black in them so each day I am virtually guaranteed that my shoes, pants and ties are a match. All my dress socks are black and the socks I wear when I’m not at work are all gray, so again black is a safe color.
Blue presents problems because there are so many different shades. Mary has noted before that I sometimes wear Navy Blue and Powder Blue or Royal Blue, which apparently is not a match. I sometimes think dark blue is black and that also causes problems, according to her. Gray is a pretty good match with blue, I’ve heard, but I lack confidence in the combination.
I’m also embarrassed to admit that I like black because I feel that it is the most stain-proof color although Mary tells me otherwise. All I know is that when I spill coffee on black pants it is much better than spilling coffee on say a blue or tan pair of pants.
Mary and Danny were trying to decide between two belts.
“You know I think I’m going to put the blue back and get a pair of black ones,” I sheepishly told my wife, hoping she was to busy with the belt purchase to notice or care.
“Do whatever you want,” she said, not looking up from the belt finalists.
What do you think I did? What should I have done?
Let me know what you think.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
The Fifth beetle?
I was walking through the newsroom yesterday and noticed a very old photo of John Lennon and Paul McCartney on Entertainment Weekly magazine. At the Meriden mall later in the day, the Beatles seemed to be everywhere. Displays of the Fab Four were prominent at the book store, game store and music store. When I left the mall and returned to my vehicle, I immediately started my latest audio book, “John” by Lennon’s first wife Cynthia. It is a very detailed account of their life from the late 1950s to the late 1960s.
The Beatles version of the video game Rock Band seems to have spurred yet another renaissance for a group that arrived in America less than three months after I was born. Because I was just a baby, I don’t remember the initial Beatlemania. I did, however, become aware of the Beatles at a very young age, around 3, thanks to an uncle who called me “beetle.” I wondered why he was calling me that because they only beetles I knew were bugs and Beetle Bailey, a comic strip my father liked. At some point, I clearly remember asking why my uncle was referring to me as a bug. My grandmother, my uncle’s mother, got one of my recent pictures and then when into my uncle’s room and got a record album. On the cover, were four young men who also didn’t like haircuts. My bangs were down to my eyebrows and my hair covered my ears and collar. My grandmother held my photo next to the album cover and explained my uncle didn’t think I resembled a bug. I reminded him of his favorite band. Later, my mother would say that I hated getting my haircut so much she let it grow. A few years earlier, it wouldn’t have worked. But thanks to the Beatles some kids didn’t have to get haircuts as often.
My mom loved Elvis. She also liked the Beach Boys and the Everly Brothers. Dad liked Johnny Cash. Growing up, I don’t remember much music by the Beatles on our turntable. When I got old enough to make my own music choices, I liked The Doors, Led Zepplin, the Stones and Jimi Hendrix a lot more than the Beatles. I did think John Lennon’s solo work was cool. I thought Paul McCartney was very uncool.
About 10 years ago, my oldest son asked me why my uncle thought I was a bug. I explained it was a reference to an old, but famous rock band. He had no idea who the Beatles were until he was about 13and he downloaded a greatest hits collection on onto his i-Pod.
I started combing my hair back when I was about 12. But as I write this blog, I can easily push my bangs over my eyebrows. My hair covers my ears and is down below my collar. I wrote “haircut” in my datebook two weeks ago and never went. I put it down for Friday and then erased and replaced it with some other task.
Let me know what you think.
The Beatles version of the video game Rock Band seems to have spurred yet another renaissance for a group that arrived in America less than three months after I was born. Because I was just a baby, I don’t remember the initial Beatlemania. I did, however, become aware of the Beatles at a very young age, around 3, thanks to an uncle who called me “beetle.” I wondered why he was calling me that because they only beetles I knew were bugs and Beetle Bailey, a comic strip my father liked. At some point, I clearly remember asking why my uncle was referring to me as a bug. My grandmother, my uncle’s mother, got one of my recent pictures and then when into my uncle’s room and got a record album. On the cover, were four young men who also didn’t like haircuts. My bangs were down to my eyebrows and my hair covered my ears and collar. My grandmother held my photo next to the album cover and explained my uncle didn’t think I resembled a bug. I reminded him of his favorite band. Later, my mother would say that I hated getting my haircut so much she let it grow. A few years earlier, it wouldn’t have worked. But thanks to the Beatles some kids didn’t have to get haircuts as often.
My mom loved Elvis. She also liked the Beach Boys and the Everly Brothers. Dad liked Johnny Cash. Growing up, I don’t remember much music by the Beatles on our turntable. When I got old enough to make my own music choices, I liked The Doors, Led Zepplin, the Stones and Jimi Hendrix a lot more than the Beatles. I did think John Lennon’s solo work was cool. I thought Paul McCartney was very uncool.
About 10 years ago, my oldest son asked me why my uncle thought I was a bug. I explained it was a reference to an old, but famous rock band. He had no idea who the Beatles were until he was about 13and he downloaded a greatest hits collection on onto his i-Pod.
I started combing my hair back when I was about 12. But as I write this blog, I can easily push my bangs over my eyebrows. My hair covers my ears and is down below my collar. I wrote “haircut” in my datebook two weeks ago and never went. I put it down for Friday and then erased and replaced it with some other task.
Let me know what you think.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Skunk news
I’ve been smelling the unpleasant aroma of skunks a little more often this September. I haven’t actually seen any and it hasn’t been the strong smell of a nearby spraying. It’s more of a steady smell, even during the day. I was talking to my neighbors Ashley and Conner about it. They are around 6 and 3 and also noticed the smell. Their father thinks that because we are smelling skunks during the day there must be a nest nearby. I told Ashley and Conner if I found the nest I would pay them each a quarter to bag the skunks and carry them away. They want a dollar. I agreed.
I’m in the southeastern section of Wallingford. Just wondering if anyone else has noticed more skunk activity this year. If you have a nest that you want to get rid of, I know some kids that are willing.
Let me know what you think.
I’m in the southeastern section of Wallingford. Just wondering if anyone else has noticed more skunk activity this year. If you have a nest that you want to get rid of, I know some kids that are willing.
Let me know what you think.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Kids don't fight as much anymore
As we were driving away from baseball practice the other night my 14-year-old was telling me about two of his teammates who don’t get along. He was afraid they were going to get into a fistfight and that bothered him.
“I don’t know why anyone would want to fight,” Danny said. “I hope I never get into a fight.”
My sons are 16 and 14 and as far as I know they have never had a real fistfight with each other or anyone else. I’ve noticed this lack of fighting before and it reminds me of how much things have changed since I was a kid. My brother and I (just 13 months apart) fought often until we were about 14 and 15. He threw punch at me and hit the wall, breaking his hand and forcing him to miss most of the basketball season. He was an excellent player and loved the game and for the first time I felt really bad about one of our fights. After that, we never fought again. In fact, I don’t think we’ve even had a cross word.
We both fought frequently with other kids in the neighborhood. Our father supported us in most of these bat-tles, teaching us to never back down from a bully or we would be constantly bullied in life. He also made it clear we were not allowed to fight with smaller and younger children unless we were relentlessly provoked. He warned us that the only good fighters were people who fought a lot and that meant sustaining a lot of bloody noses.
We had punching and speed bag in our basement. My brother would pound them both regularly. He was a year younger than me, but could beat up most of my friends and even some kids older than me. I couldn’t beat up a lot of older kids, but had a reputation for not backing down even if it meant getting my nose bloodied.
My brother and I were pretty typical for our neighborhood. A kid got into a fight almost every week it seemed.
I don’t think all our fighting hurt us or accomplished much. Although Dad was right about the importance of standing up to bullies.
It just seems funny that my son can’t imagine himself getting into a fight and by his age I must have been in-volved in dozens.
Let me know what you think?
“I don’t know why anyone would want to fight,” Danny said. “I hope I never get into a fight.”
My sons are 16 and 14 and as far as I know they have never had a real fistfight with each other or anyone else. I’ve noticed this lack of fighting before and it reminds me of how much things have changed since I was a kid. My brother and I (just 13 months apart) fought often until we were about 14 and 15. He threw punch at me and hit the wall, breaking his hand and forcing him to miss most of the basketball season. He was an excellent player and loved the game and for the first time I felt really bad about one of our fights. After that, we never fought again. In fact, I don’t think we’ve even had a cross word.
We both fought frequently with other kids in the neighborhood. Our father supported us in most of these bat-tles, teaching us to never back down from a bully or we would be constantly bullied in life. He also made it clear we were not allowed to fight with smaller and younger children unless we were relentlessly provoked. He warned us that the only good fighters were people who fought a lot and that meant sustaining a lot of bloody noses.
We had punching and speed bag in our basement. My brother would pound them both regularly. He was a year younger than me, but could beat up most of my friends and even some kids older than me. I couldn’t beat up a lot of older kids, but had a reputation for not backing down even if it meant getting my nose bloodied.
My brother and I were pretty typical for our neighborhood. A kid got into a fight almost every week it seemed.
I don’t think all our fighting hurt us or accomplished much. Although Dad was right about the importance of standing up to bullies.
It just seems funny that my son can’t imagine himself getting into a fight and by his age I must have been in-volved in dozens.
Let me know what you think?
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
More shirt news
I’m wearing my son’s old T-shirts. Actually they are not the old, just slightly worn. His mom tells me he wore them a little and then for some reason decided they weren’t cool enough. If you saw Michael, 16, and I standing next to each other you’d find it hard to believe I could be wearing his discarded shirts. He and I are both about 5 feet 8 inches, but that is where the similarities end. Michael has broad shoulders, a thin waist and can’t weigh more than 130 pounds. I look at lot younger than my 39 years, but don’t have great shoulders and weigh considerably more than 130 pounds. His preference for loose fitting T-shirts is my gain and another hit against the economy. I thought I was going to have to buy new T-shirts to wear on weekends and after work. Now I have a closet full.
But it still seems strange wearing his hand me down clothes. Shouldn’t he be wearing my old clothes while I get new ones?
Let me know what you think?
But it still seems strange wearing his hand me down clothes. Shouldn’t he be wearing my old clothes while I get new ones?
Let me know what you think?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
More fast food problems
My wife phoned Friday night while I was still at work.
“How are the kids doing?” I asked.
“Fine, I brought them home Burger King so they are happy.”
She then went on to explain the logic of the purchase by telling me that my 16 and 14 year old had not had fast food in a long time. I mentioned that she came in with a Wendy’s bag on Wednesday night. She countered that the bag only contained French fries and therefore didn’t count. As regular readers know, I object to fast food on health and cost reasons.
On Saturday, Michael and Danny played in a double header that started at 3 p.m. Shortly before 1 p.m. , I fired up the gas grill. They said they each wanted one hamburger. There were also various side dishes available, but they opted for just the hamburger although I think one of them had a few potato chips.
When my wife came home shortly before they left for the game, she told them she would have sandwiches ready between games. I was at the first game, which ended a little earlier than expected, between 4:30 and 5 p.m. My wife never arrived with sandwiches and there wasn’t enough time to run to Subway. Oldest son Michael stepped out of the dugout between games and asked: “Where is our food?”
I explained that his mother was still food shopping and that I didn’t have time to run and get him anything before the second game started.
He remarked “Good planning,” and stomped back to the dugout. He pitched the entire second game and didn’t give up any earned runs so withholding food clearly did not hurt his performance.
After the game they both stopped and talked to my wife for a second and then approached me. I started to compliment Michael on his pitching but was cut off.
“We are going to Taco Bell,” he said.
Danny joined the gathering and as we were walking through the parking lot I asked: “Is anyone riding with me?”
“Not unless you are going for fast food,” Danny replied.
I wasn’t so they jumped in their mother’s van. Michael got food from Taco Bell, Danny from McDonald’s.
This probably sounds like a rehash of my rant against fast food but there is new wrinkle. About a month ago the family made another cost cutting move, scaling back on my dry cleaning. I now spend about an hour a week ironing all my shirts. It’s not the time that bothers me. It’s the fact that White Way Cleaners does such a better job. When I pick up my shirts from White Way, they look crisp. The shirts I iron look soggy.
By the way, the cost of dry cleaning my shirts for the week is less than one meal for both of them at Taco Bell, Burger King or McDonald’s.
Should I suggest that I resume having my shirts dry cleaned and they cut back on fast food. Or am I making too much out of my sons eating fast food on Friday and Saturday.
Let me know what you think?
“How are the kids doing?” I asked.
“Fine, I brought them home Burger King so they are happy.”
She then went on to explain the logic of the purchase by telling me that my 16 and 14 year old had not had fast food in a long time. I mentioned that she came in with a Wendy’s bag on Wednesday night. She countered that the bag only contained French fries and therefore didn’t count. As regular readers know, I object to fast food on health and cost reasons.
On Saturday, Michael and Danny played in a double header that started at 3 p.m. Shortly before 1 p.m. , I fired up the gas grill. They said they each wanted one hamburger. There were also various side dishes available, but they opted for just the hamburger although I think one of them had a few potato chips.
When my wife came home shortly before they left for the game, she told them she would have sandwiches ready between games. I was at the first game, which ended a little earlier than expected, between 4:30 and 5 p.m. My wife never arrived with sandwiches and there wasn’t enough time to run to Subway. Oldest son Michael stepped out of the dugout between games and asked: “Where is our food?”
I explained that his mother was still food shopping and that I didn’t have time to run and get him anything before the second game started.
He remarked “Good planning,” and stomped back to the dugout. He pitched the entire second game and didn’t give up any earned runs so withholding food clearly did not hurt his performance.
After the game they both stopped and talked to my wife for a second and then approached me. I started to compliment Michael on his pitching but was cut off.
“We are going to Taco Bell,” he said.
Danny joined the gathering and as we were walking through the parking lot I asked: “Is anyone riding with me?”
“Not unless you are going for fast food,” Danny replied.
I wasn’t so they jumped in their mother’s van. Michael got food from Taco Bell, Danny from McDonald’s.
This probably sounds like a rehash of my rant against fast food but there is new wrinkle. About a month ago the family made another cost cutting move, scaling back on my dry cleaning. I now spend about an hour a week ironing all my shirts. It’s not the time that bothers me. It’s the fact that White Way Cleaners does such a better job. When I pick up my shirts from White Way, they look crisp. The shirts I iron look soggy.
By the way, the cost of dry cleaning my shirts for the week is less than one meal for both of them at Taco Bell, Burger King or McDonald’s.
Should I suggest that I resume having my shirts dry cleaned and they cut back on fast food. Or am I making too much out of my sons eating fast food on Friday and Saturday.
Let me know what you think?
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