Many of you who know me are likely aware that my grandpa (aka “Pop”) passed away last week. It has been a long week, and it’s still setting in with me, to a degree. At 91yrs (and change), he’s just always been there. It’s pretty amazing, somewhat unusual, and very fortunate that he lived that long and still had all of his faculties. While his body was giving out on him toward the end, his mind was still fairly sharp. I hope I inherited that gene.

Many people have asked if we were close, and I guess you could say we were. In many ways he was like a father to me. As a kid I spent many, many hours on the farm “shadowing” my grandpa around. One of my favorite memories was riding in the combine with him in the fall or sitting on his lap and “driving” the old blue truck. I attended church with him for several years and, for whatever reason, also went to a lot of Farm Bureau meetings. lol! This continued as I grew older, and transitioned from just following and riding along to actually doing things. We spent many hours building fence and stalls, baling hay, bringing in crops, taking care of livestock, and going to shows/auctions/church/etc. Pop was one of the few people who knew how to get me up in the morning. While my grandma would yell at me from the bottom of the stairs until she got mad at me, Pop would come sit on the bed next to mine and start listing off things we needed to do until I finally raised the proverbial white flag and got up.

Like any relationship, Pop and I didn’t always see eye-to-eye on things. We were especially prone and well known for getting into arguments when baling hay. Usually it was because he was going too fast, baling up snakes and wasps, or complaining about the way we were stacking. Fortunately, looking back it’s kind of funny. He used to get mad because I wouldn’t see a wrench that was right next to me. He once fussed because I didn’t know “this way” meant “right”, and “that way” referred to “left”. We were from different generations, but I always looked up to him and hoped he would approve of the job I was doing.

Unfortunately, Pop got out of the cattle business - my favorite part of the farm - not long after I left for college. Then, in 1996 (around the time I got married), he quit the grain-farming operation. He still baled a little hay and boarded horses (there are 4 left there now), but the farm operations had largely ceased. Pop was pretty set in his ways, and sometimes allowed others to take advantage of him. He came from a generation that took people for their word, which seemed to attract a lot of people who had ulterior motives. In recent years, the back fields were sold off for apartment and home developments. I somewhat regret that I did not spend more time there over the past 10 years helping out with things, but as the farm ceased “normal” operations it lost some of the luster for me. I knew I was not going to be able to farm it myself, which made it more difficult for me to spend time maintaining it. That was a bit selfish, I guess. It’s a bit surreal to me now, because this is the first time since the early 1900’s that no-one directely related to me has lived on the farm. And while I’ll still likely do some things around there for a while, it will never again be (even remotely) the way it was. 

As a WWII Army veteran, Pop was part of the “greatest generation” that saw times like we’ll hopefully never see again. But all that considered, he kept a very positive outlook on life and tried not to worry, which is something I need to try harder to emulate. I am fortunate not only to have known my grandpa, but to have lived 37 years with him around. While I often joke about how he used to leave me at church, auctions, the 4-H grounds, etc., he was there for my high school and college graduations, my wedding, my first house, and the births of my children. My kids knew him and loved him, and were also touched by his passing. That is very special to me.

It’s hard to let someone go that you know and love, and it really makes a difference when losing that person changes something that has been so iconic in your life. To me, my grandparents and the farm would just always be there. As a kid, it never crossed my mind that it would ever be any different. Perhaps in Heaven there’s one just like it that my grandparents are farming right now. Only there, everything grows green, the cattle are healthy, and sun and rain comes in precise amounts. The pastor at Pop’s funeral noted that, in Heaven, we will work to tend God’s farm (garden). If that’s the case, then perhaps someday Pop and I will once again mend fence together or even put up some hay. And if so, I promise not to curse at him for going too fast. =)

So I’ll catch you later, Pop. You’ll be missed until then.

Yesterday my son brought home a little pastic magnifying glass that he had been “rewarded” as part of a summer reading program at the library. His little heart had been set on a “bug cube” for weeks, but he apparently changed his mind after his sister and another girl chose “grab bags”. Of course, life has taught most of us not to gamble what you have in hand for that which you cannot see. He, not yet having learned this lesson, traded his little cube for a grab bag.

Life lessons are funny things. Certainly we’ve all had them over the years. But I never thought my heart would ache for a little guy who chose a grab bag over a bug cube. You see, while my daughter’s bag was full of neat little bendy toys, my son’s bag contained a cheap plastic magnifying glass and a compass ring. And that’s all. What’s worse, while innocently playing “detective” at the store with his magnifying glass, the handle broke. He enjoyed his reward for all of a few hours before insult was added to injury. Thankfully, his sister chose to give him one of her bendy people. Now that’s love!

It’s an old cliche that many dads fix everything with duct tape. Unfortunately, I’m not that talented. It sticks to itself. It sticks to me. I end up using twice as much as I need, and rarely get the results I’m seeking. But you see, I have another weapon which has resulted in the misguided opinion from my kids that I can fix anything: Superglue. I have diminished several tubes of this man-made resin over the past few years, and have actually gotten some pretty amazing results. The stuff really is good (though not much fun when your fingers are stuck together)! With it, I have swelled with great pride as the smiles returned to the faces of my children. Daddy fixed the toy! Disaster averted, tears forborne, superhero status reclaimed.

So with my son’s little magnifying glass in hand, I retreated to my hero’s lair (a.k.a. my garage) last night to restore what usefulness I could to this cheap little vessel of spying greatness. I did my best to reconnect the pieces with my “magic glue”, but the results are still out. I did the best I could, but it may not hold for long. Any doctor will tell you that you can’t always save the patient. But perhaps there will be enough life in this trinket for one more adventure, and one more smile.

Of course, I realize my “hero” status is dubious, at best. As the kids get older, they’ll realize that daddy can’t really fix everything (something my wife has already tried to convey). They’ll realize my “magic glue” is available at most stores for just a few bucks, and they can use it themselves if necessary. They won’t even need me to try and fix things. But regardless of that, hopefully the sense will remain within them that I just might have that ability, even without the glue. And if things get too broken, they will know they can turn to me for help. Disasters will be averted, tears will be forborne, and superhero status will once again be reclaimed.

As we were getting my son ready for bed a couple of nights ago, he excitedly told me ”Daddy, I found a penny today! I put it on your placemat at the table. It’s for Father’s Day… you can buy yourself something with it.” In my haste, I thanked him and said that was very nice, and that I appreciated it. To myself, I was quietly wondering what I would do with another penny.

I didn’t give it much more thought until later, when I found the penny exactly where he said he had placed it. It was a nice bright cent, its copper flashing in ways that attract the eyes of little children. An untold number of grown-ups had probably walked over and around the penny that day without picking it up, it’s value to them not worth the effort of stooping to retrieve it. But for my son, a penny is worth more than it’s face value. It’s a ride on the electric horse at the grocery. Or it’s a little extra rattle in his piggy bank. I often give the kids pennies from my pocket change, and it makes their faces glow with anticipation and the thoughts of the treasures for which they are saving. My wife and I have tried to teach our kids the value of saving, giving, and spending, and the kids have taken it to heart. I imagine his mind raced with possibilities when he found it. Eventually, he decided to give it to me.

As I stood there looking at the penny in my hand, the magnitude of his gesture struck me. My eyes watered. I realized that while he would probably give me something that may have more value to me on Father’s Day, at the moment he had given me something that was of value to him. He had given, freely. He had been thoughtful, openly. And perhaps that simple gesture was the most valuable thing of all. The penny may never amount to much, but I feel certain my son will. It was the perfect Father’s Day gift. =)

I’m often accused by a few of my younger co-workers as being an “old man”. Of course, I’m 10 years older than they are, so I certainly remember many things they would not. And I’m often accused by my wife as sounding like a “grumpy old man” because I complain about things, but I only do so because I really do get frustrated by things that seem to follow no logic.

But outside of the occasional foot problem or back-ache, I generally have not FELT like an “old man”. To the best of my ability, I have remained fairly up to date with musical and “fashion” trends (that’s not to say I listen to the music or dress fashionably), and I remain interested in activities such as cycling and kayaking. I keep up with technology, and I believe with a little effort I am still within the realm of remaining on the “cutting edge” of trends.

I have to admit, though, that I sense a sea change in my life. Things are changing. And while I still don’t see myself as an “old man”, I DO sense the generational differences between myself and some of the others in my “circle”. To wit:

• I now drive a 40-year-old truck without power steering or A/C, and find myself enjoying it’s “simplicity”
• I find myself missing things from the past, such as Coke and beer in returnable glass bottles and the Charlie Chips truck
• Every time I fill up my gas tank, I recall when gas was 89¢/gallon. And I tell my wife about it.
• I told one of the guys today how I recalled when MTV and the local Top40 station came on air. I’ve told him before.
• Despite their popularity, I really don’t get “Hannah Montana” or “Fergie”, which sounds like “noise” to me
• I still listen to Motley Crue, Poison, and G-n-R and it doesn’t SOUND 20 years old to me
• I can’t drive more than 120 miles without stopping to pee
• I am repeating jokes I’ve already told
• We take our kids places, and are 5+ years older than some other parents with similar aged children
• I wish I could look at an ice cream truck and not think the driver was a pervert
• I desire enough acreage to raise some animals, and to perhaps own my own hardware store
• My ‘hobby’ of working with computers has become my ‘job’, which is now no longer my hobby
• I sometimes pass gas in public, because I can’t help it (I DO try to go off in a corner, though)
• I had to take the shocks and knobby tires off my Mt. bike because riding off road was too time consuming
• I find myself complaining about local politicians (and long for the days when I didn’t know who they were)
• I have to ask people to repeat themselves more often
• There are random hairs growing out of my ears (maybe that relates to the hearing?)

Now, those things aside, I KNOW I’m not THAT old… At 35, I can still run with the younger guys, too (when my foot isn’t hurting). But I can see the horizon and know that, soon, I’ll be driving “down hill” in my old truck. And you can bet I’ll stay in the fast lane and keep my left blinker on all the way. =)

I’m tired of it. Day after day, week after week, it never seems to cease! I don’t think I can recall a year in my brief 35 where it has ever been this hot. And not just hot, but dry. Oh sure, every now and again we are teased with a “cool” day, or a spattering of raindrops. But there has been nothing substantial since late Spring. Yards everywhere have dried up, excepting those fools like me that have paid to water the grass.

By late June of this year, I sort of figured we were in for a hot summer. It turned out that “hot” was a serious underestimation. It was by all definitions, July and August were certified ”scorchers”. Surely September would be cooler, right? Nope. Temperatures soared, remaining in the 90s for much of the month and setting records almost weekly; one of which included 20+ straight days in the 90s. Boy… I couldn’t wait for October!

October is my favorite month of the year… it means pumpkins, apple cider, colorful leaves, jackets and jeans, chili, and fall festivals. But instead, it was back up into the 90s the first weekend of October. Again, records dating to the 1930s and before were broken for highest temps in that month! We did get a brief reprieve last week where it “acted like Fall” for a few days, but today we’re back up to 80°. The rest of this week is supposed to be in the mid to upper 70s to low 80s. And while that’s certainly not the 90s, it’s still OCTOBER! Temps now are supposed to be sliding into the mid to low 60s for highs!

Of course, when you bring this up to most people, they laughingly write it off to the mysterious “global warming”. Some are serious, and some think it’s a joke. I tend to think it’s a little of both, and that many are uninformed. They simply latch on to what they hear from the media and regurgitate it as fact. I have read and subscribe fairly heavily to Michael Crichton’s research and stated theories in his book “State of Fear“. That tome demonstrates that in addition to the fact that we are actually coming out of an ice age (based upon historical data), the concept of “Global Warming” has actually become something that has been politicized and often used as a tool for those with ulterior motives. But I also believe in the “urban heat island” effect, and feel we certainly aren’t doing much to help our environment. 

All that aside, I’m just sick of the heat. Summer is over. I wish it would cool down so I can throw on my jacket and enjoy my chili and cider. But even then, check back with me in March when I complain about the cold. =)

It happened so quickly, I didn’t know what hit me. It was a typical hot summer day on my grandparent’s farm, and I was bored. I was too young to do any real work, so I usually found myself exercising one of two options: 1) build a tent out of chairs and window fans and take a nap, or 2) ride my bike.

There was a subdivision just across the street from the farm, so I would often ride several loops through those streets. I usually rode as fast as I could, of course, and most days managed to do so without incident. But I wasn’t exactly known for being a graceful child, and eventually the inevitable happened… Rounding one of the turns, I hit a patch of loose asphalt and went into a slide. My exact memory of what happened is a little hazy, but suffice to say I messed up my bike and had a bleeding knee full of gravel. I limped back to my grandparent’s house, where my grandma immediately took me into the bathroom and poured Bactine on my knee.

Bactine was introduced in 1950 to provide folks with a first aid product that was “more effective, safer, and less caustic” than the other products commonly used for first aid at the time. Whatever. I remember it stung a little, and fizzed a bit. Upon washing away the blood, I saw one spot on my knee turn white and I was sure at the time it was my “kneebone”. It didn’t stop the pain, but it mostly cleaned me up.

But that wasn’t what saved this moment in my mental archives. It was the “red stuff” that came next.

Generally known as “Methiolade” (aka Merthiolate or Mercuricom), it came in a little brown bottle with a plastic applicator that looked like a dropper, but was actually some odd form of spreader. In fact, this product contained mercury and the highly poisonous bacteriostat ingredient, Thimerosal.  But this was in the pre-Neosporin days, and apparently our parents and grandparents somehow thought burning the crap out of our cuts and scrapes was a good thing. They must have thought so, because this stuff burned like something wild. Blowing on it helped slightly, but not much. The after-effect was that you had a big pinkish-red stain on your skin around your injury. One might have called it a badge of honor, but it was usually topped off with a Band-aid which hid the injury and magically made it feel better at the same time.

To this day, I’m not so sure that Methiolade had any real medicinal benefit. In fact, I’m convinced that the point of it was that, in burning so bady, you temporarily forgot about the injury to which it was applied. They could have easily sold it as “liquid distraction”. My memories of it are not fond of it to the degree of actually missing it, and though you can still order Merthiolate online, I would never subject my kids to such unintentional torture.

But sometimes I think it’s too bad that we don’t have some form of “virtual Methiolade” we can use to distract our minds from what hurts us. Whether it be physical or emotional pain, a little “red stuff” might go a long way toward distracting us, at least temporarily, from our pains and sorrows. If we could focus or minds on something else for just a moment, we might return with the perspective that things were never as bad as we thought they were. That something which once appeared as a hole in our knee was in fact just a little fizzy spot. And with our newfound perspective, we can get back on our bikes and keep on riding.

The Senate voted today to jump-start a stalled immigration measure that would offer a path to citizenship to millions of illegal immigrants. This bill ties tough border security and workplace enforcement measures to a plan to legalize an estimated 12 million illegal immigrants and a create temporary worker program sought by business groups.

This is not good enough!!

Read the rest of this entry »