This was supposed to be a very different column. One about how dogs mean so much to us. How those four-legged critters — with their dirty feet and ability to eat three-week-old shrimp shells, only to cough them up on the rug — can woo us over and become irreplaceable parts of our lives. And I guess it’s still about that. But it was supposed to be about my brother’s dog, Oreo — a member of his band of rabble-rousing K-9s that I call the “country cousins.” She was an old girl — 17, for goodness sake — and had been part of our family for so long that the loss was felt by all when her body gave out and she had to be put to sleep. Oreo was a big, dopey bear — you half expected to see her lugging around a honey pot and breaking into song. She had a permanent grin stretched across her face … like the one a child gets after walking into Disney World for the first time. It screamed, “WOWWWWW!” and Oreo would have that grin staring at a moth. She enjoyed life, even just sitting on the porch doing nothing, and there’s a lot to be said for that.
A Farewell to Summer (even if we still have the heat)
Goodbye, summer. We hardly knew you. How quickly those sun-drenched months came to a close this year. Always seems like there will be so much time — so much FREE time to just settle in, relax and enjoy the slow life. But the slow life isn’t ever slow. And before you know it, it’s gone. It’s September already. September! The doorway to fall. Sure, it’s still 95 degrees outside and your underwear melts to your waist every time you walk outdoors. But September signals it’s over. Kids go back to school. Work gears up again. The streets feel busier and more bustling. People get more serious, more hurried and less relaxed. Vacations are just a distant memory. In September, the light starts to change. Can’t you see it? The sky is bluer and brighter. The shadows linger longer across the land. The sun drops quicker from the sky like it’s late for a dinner party, and the dusk drowns the world in browns and golds.
Hurricane Planning and All Those C Batteries
Yes, it’s time. As storms line up in the Atlantic and Hurricane Earl tip-toes by us, we should all review our hurricane planning. Don’t be caught unprepared and unaware. Come up with a plan, buy some supplies and listen to the advice of experts. And in that spirit, let me offer up a few of my own helpful tips that will get you ready should the big one strike. • Batteries — Make sure you have enough C batteries. Tons of C batteries. Enough to power the International Space Station. Why C batteries? Because if your house is like mine, every portable lamp, every radio and every other piece of survival equipment you have actually runs on D batteries. And you won’t have a single one of those. My C battery stash — so large the floor in my closet is sagging under its weight — is thanks to my aunt. Every Christmas she buys my daughter a toy that can run for 5 years on a single C battery. But because she expects we will keep it until the next millennium or maybe because she owns stock in Duracell, she also buys dozens and dozens of backups. Every year! So all of these batteries are sitting there, waiting to be used and leaking battery acid all over the shelf. And when a real storm comes and I stumble about in the dark looking for them, I will realize the irony of stocking so many unusable batteries, then have a […]
Hear my latest commentary on WJCT
Listen to my latest commentary on WJCT, the NPR-affiliate in Jacksonville, Florida. This was from a column I wrote called, “Dad on a Fence,” and it ran on air Aug. 30, 2010. [podcast]wp-content/uploads/dadfence.mp3[/podcast] If you’re having trouble listening, try click this link: https://www.nutshellcity.com/dadfence.mp3
A Dad Working on Emergency Reaction Time
In a brand new hotel in Chapel Hill, N.C., I realized something this summer: My family is woefully un-prepared should disaster strike. In the wee hours of the night, as we slept on virgin pillows and virgin sheets, we were suddenly awoken by the most wretched of noises. It sounded as if a pterodactyl was throwing up in the bathroom. Loud and rancorous, it assaulted the ears — a pulsing, throbbing, piercing noise. BLURT-BLURT-BLURT. My first reaction was anger. How dare some North Carolina pterodactyl disturb my slumber. The nerve! There’s nothing like, and nothing worse, than the disorientating fog of being awoken in the middle of the night. You slowly come to your senses — grab a bit of awareness out of the air — and then remember that pterodactyls are long-since extinct. The blaring noise was really a fire alarm. “How dare the hotel be on fire!” I remember thinking.
Feeling Old and Out of Touch: Thanks Mindset List
You want to take a trip down memory lane, and feel really old at the same time? Here’s how you do it. Get on the Web and search out Beloit College’s Mindset List for the Class of 2014. A small college that dates back to when Wisconsin was still a territory, Beloit puts together a fascinating list every year to give us some insight into “the cultural touchstones that shape the lives of students entering college this fall.” You know, stuff that we older folk used to find commonplace, but today’s incoming freshmen will scratch their heads and say, “What you talkin’ ‘bout, grandpa?” Because, think about this, most freshman now hitting college campuses like the one I work at were born in 1992. NINETEEN-NINETY-TWO!!! As the list points out, these little dudes and dudettes never had to worry about a Russian nuclear missile hitting the U.S. A read through it gives you an idea of how much things have changed, and how quickly. What was once standard in our lives are now little more than historical relics or forgotten pieces of the past.
I’m Trying … I’m really Trying! … to Eat Healthier
Whoever thought eating healthy would be so dang hard? It’s enough to make you throw up your hands and scream, “Bring on the Pop-Tart sushi!” (In case you were looking for signs of the end of civilization as we know it, I give you Pop-Tarts World — the nutritional apocalypse. It’s opening in Times Square and will sell, I kid you not, Pop-Tart sushi. I gained a pound and lost a year off my life just reading about it online.) Thanks for kicking us while we’re making progress, food companies. Here we are becoming interested in what we eat, and adjusting to organic squash and multi-grain pasta. Then you have to go and give us that. I’ve always been a relatively healthy eater, but in the past year I’ve turned even more so. Or at least I’m trying.
Submariner for a Day
As you stand atop the ballistic missile doors of a nuclear-powered submarine it suddenly occurs to you … I’M STANDING ATOP THE MISSILE DOORS OF A NUCLEAR-POWERED SUBMARINE!!! And the shock is almost enough to send you jumping into the water. Well, if not for the patrol boat down there with the front and back 50-caliber machine guns. But the thought of 24 Trident intercontinental missiles sitting just below your tennis shoes will send a shiver down your spine and get your teeth a chattering. I think I chipped one. The back story: I got the chance this past weekend to tour the USS Alaska, which calls Kings Bay Naval Submarine Base in Georgia home. He’s a big boy, that Alaska.
A Man in Search of a Hobby
Maybe I need a hobby. I was thinking about this as I sat listening to my brother. He collects vintage motorcycles, restores them, loses sleep over them, caresses them lovingly like Kobe beef, says things like, “you sure have a pretty tail pipe,” and then spends most of his waking hours buying parts from far-off lands so he can get them to run for all of 13 seconds. Then they stall and the engine has to be rebuilt. These are really old bikes. When I say “vintage,” I’m not talking about 20-30 years old. I’m talking about the kind of motorcycles the Hun used to invade China back in 176 B.C. Well, maybe not that old. But these British bikes certainly pre-date me. I don’t typically pay attention to all these conversations with my brother about timing chains and oil gasket breaches, so I can only guess they hail from around World War II. With my brother, though, it’s not enough to merely collect and restore bikes. And it’s not enough just to ride them. So instead he has taken up racing — what you call “hobby expansion” or “hobby extreme.” That’s when putting something on a shelf or in a garage simply won’t do. This way you can consume more time and money on your hobby, and further infuriate your wife. (Guys who want to prove that they’re really into their hobbies have steel plates holding their legs together. My brother does. That way people know you’re hardcore about […]
A Dad in Need of a Hug
I’ve been told that a daughter needs a father’s affection. That it is essential — vital even — to growing up right and not bringing home guys who look like alien biker thugs with gum disease. I never thought of myself as an entirely affectionate guy, but that all changed when I had a daughter. I became a puddle of mud. A bottle of syrup. A big soft-serve ice cream. A loving, doting, slobbering, hugging, kissing, sweet-mouth talking lump of sappy blubber. But here’s the thing: I might be affectionate — a sad sack of Mr. Snuggles — but getting the little partner to join in ain’t so easy. When it comes to her dear old dad, she’s affection-resistant. She’s the type of girl many dad’s dream about — adorable, sweet and pretty, yet at the same time a rough-and-tumble, high-energy, grade-A tree climber. She’s strong and agile for a 4-1/2-year-old, and can dole out a mean punch.