Last week I wrote about Jean punishing me, at least in my opinion, for what I consider minor transgressions. This week the process continues. Each year, when I close up the cottage for the season, I lock up my file cabinets and hide the keys. There’s nothing particularly valuable in there, but they contain copies of tax returns and other personal items I would rather not see distributed on the streets. When I locked them up last year, Jean was with me and I asked her to help me remember where I put the keys.

When Rona and Barry moved out of the cottage a couple of weeks ago, I went in and the place was cleaner than when I left it. I looked in what I considered my usual spots and no keys. I went through every drawer in my desk and every wicker basket and still no keys. I went through all my dresser drawers and, you guessed it, still no keys. I went through all the drawers and hiding places in the condo and also came up empty. I went through the dresser drawers on Green Street and nothing. I asked Jean where I put them and she said she conveniently (my word) didn’t remember.

We talked last weekend about it and she asked if I looked on the side of the pantry at the Green Street house where she hung her keys. I said no but that could be where I put them. On Monday she went down to the house to do some yard work and I waited for her to return to ride bike. She called in a little while and said she wasn’t going to ride, so I decided to go out to Pierce Cedar Creek Institute to do a little work. We passed on the street as I was leaving and I told her where I was going. On the way, I stopped at the house and looked on the side of the pantry but, alas, no keys.

After I left Pierce I went out to the cottage and looked in the liquor storage box (it’s liquor we don’t drink so you are all welcome to look it over and see what you want) where I hadn’t looked before. No blankety blank key there either. I went through every drawer again and even shook out my underwear, socks, and anything else that could hold a key. I did find a key that slid into one of the locks but it didn’t open. I came back to the condo and was telling Jean that I looked for the key at Green Street, couldn’t find it, and then turned the cottage upside down. She got up, ran to the bedroom, and came back with the keys. She said she found them down at the Green Street house, put them in her pocket, and forgot to tell me. I still can’t understand how she could keep a straight face telling me that tall tale.

I’m a day or so late with this week’s rambling ‘cuz I’m a little under the weather. I felt kind of dragged out at time trials on Wednesday, was a little sluggish on Thursday and, as Friday wore on, I got worse. I figured I knew what it was and it wasn’t going away on its own, so Friday evening I headed for the Walk In Clinic. Being on the hospital board, I thought it would be good to see how things were going down there. I was in and out and on my way to the drug store within an hour. The service was great, everyone was very nice, and they confirmed what I thought I had. After three days of drugs, I’m feeling a little better, but not quite back to normal. I’ll do a follow-up with my doctor tomorrow and get this whole issue put to bed.

Last evening Becky and Judy were over and they were on the deck with Jean. I think they wanted to get away from me so they didn’t catch what I have, but that’s 99.9% improbable. After a while I walked to the screen door and thought I might go out and sit with them for a couple of minutes. They must have known I was coming ‘cuz, as I got there, they were talking about panty hose and girdles and what kinds of things got pushed around and hung out when you put them on. I did an about face and decided maybe the fresh air wouldn’t do me any good.

Just (Getting A Kick Out Of Orange Pee) Jack

For some of us it takes longer to learn those things that make life go along smoothly. I’m not out of the “husband of the year” running yet, but I’m probably not in the top third of the contenders either. I thought things were going fine, but the other day Jean tried to hide my running pants and running hat. I was looking all over for them so I could go out and run, and I saw the very end of one of the pantlegs sticking out from under the covers. I opened up the bedding and found my hat that was also in the bed when Jean made it. I’m guessing Jean is trying to teach me to either get my clothes off the bed so she can make it or to make the bed at least 1/2 the time myself.

On the other hand, Wednesday I ran out of Crystal Light, so my drink container wasn’t on the top shelf in the fridge. That’s the shelf where all the tall things go. Before I could get anything back in there Jean had moved eight short things into tall stuff territory. A day or two before that, I took out the Crystal Light to pour myself a drink and, before I could return it to the fridge, Jean had put something in its spot. In one week she broke condo rules 15 and 37. It’s chaos, simply chaos.

I went to the gym to workout this past Friday morning before I went out to the cottage to mow the yard. On my way out Pat Purgiel was standing at the counter and told me he was there to freeze his thing. I told him it’s his thing and he can do whatever he wants to with it which made a couple of the girls behind the counter giggle. He said that he isn’t getting much use out of it lately so he wanted to freeze it for just a couple of months. He is 60 years old so that’s not unusual. He thought I had misunderstood what he was saying so he tried to explain that he was freezing his Health and Wellness membership but I’m not buying that one.

I’m really getting tired of riding the bike in the wind the past two Saturdays. Although I did do a couple of short rides during the week in almost perfect weather. I went out Thursday afternoon in between meetings and it was fantastic. The temp was around 75, the air was fairly dry, and the wind was light under 10 mph. I caught myself daydreaming a couple of times, but was still sailing along at a pretty good clip. I rode out Coats Grove Road and got chased by two dogs. Actually it was three, but two of them were together so that just counts as one, doesn’t it? The first one was a Black Lab mix and didn’t really come that close or give me much of a scare. The second was a Dalmatian followed by a mutt. If the Dalmatian had taken a slightly better angle, he would have had a just jack sandwich for supper. I kicked it up and outpaced him, but my heart was pumping a mile a minute.

The friends have moved out of the cottage so I’m getting it back to where I like it and I can find what I’m looking for. The moles have taken over the yard again, so I’m declaring war, also again. It doesn’t matter what I do. They will win. I know it, but I keep trying to cut down the population a little. I dug up the flower beds by the driveway. They had several perennials planted there, but I didn’t know which ones were flowers and which ones were weeds. I’m sure the previous owners would have me arrested if they knew, so please don’t tell them. As a peace offering, I delivered a letter to them that was in my mailbox at the lake, from one of their really close friends who didn’t know they moved three years ago.

Judy came over yesterday afternoon, couldn’t get her foot out of her bike pedals, and fell in our driveway. She said she did it slow motion and her feet ended up straight toward the heavens with the bike still attached. We spent the next half hour out in front watching Judy ride around in circles in the cul de sac taking her feet out and putting them back in. Becky and Judy came over last night for pizza and we watched “A Night In The Museum”. I’ve learned that you don’t want to watch one of those mysteries where the plot is laid out in the first 15 minutes. All three of them have practiced talking most of their lives so they’re good at it. It takes them 15 minutes to get it out of their system, so whatever is said in the movie during that time I can’t hear. I usually say something sarcastic like, “Do you want me to hit the mute button so the TV doesn’t interfere with your conversation?”, but It doesn’t do any good so I’ve quit that ploy.

Jean and I ran together this morning (surprise) and Becky stopped by after her mountain bike ride. I was watching a dog show and we all know Becky loves dogs. The dogs were going through an agility course that included sticks pounded into the ground at one foot intervals that the dogs had to weave through. Becky said that looked like it would be fun. Jean thought Becky meant it would be fun to weave in and out of the sticks. Becky said that she meant it would be fun to teach a dog to do it. Listening to them is like being with Lucy and Ethel on the I Love Lucy Show.

Just (Surrounded By Free Entertainment) Jack

This week’s title has a couple of meanings. First of all, on Friday I signed an agreement to sell the cottage to the same people that wanted to buy it last year. The agreement is again subject to them selling their place at Gull Lake, so here we go again, waiting for the call that may never come. It does double our chances of a sale, but that may take it from 10% to 20% or 1% to 2%. At any rate it’s at least something.

The other meaning has to do with this pesky old hip injury. The last couple of weeks it hasn’t hurt at all, so I thought things were on the mend. On today’s run, I went six miles and visibly limped when we got back. It took several blocks of walking to stop the gimp, and it came back as I got up from the brunch table after sitting for a few minutes. Pat and I talked constantly during the run (imagine that) so maybe it took my mind off the pain.

The web site is nearly ready for human eyes. I’ve uploaded 160 separate posts so far and I have just a couple more to go. Then Matt and I will talk about (e-mail) the format of the site. So far I’ve broken it down between e-mails, eulogies and ramblings. I’ve also set up a category of stories with pictures. I’m going to try to add pictures to the eulogies so readers know what they looked like. The expectation is that most of you would be interested in the e-mails and wouldn’t care much about the eulogies or ramblings. It’s coming soon.

It’s been interesting going back and posting all of those old e-mails. Through the years I’ve copied almost all of them to a word document called e-mails to friends. The “Word Press” website allows me to copy them from word to the post screen, then edit them and add pictures if I want. I look back to the e-mails I sent while I was recovering from the bike wreck and I’ve edited some of the sentences. I know what I was trying to say, but you had to read so much in between the lines or guess what was going on in my brain that they only made sense to me.

I had forgotten what some of them said and I was entertained when I went through them. It’s funny (not to me) that, through the years, I’ve whined about a lot of injuries. The hip has been a problem for quite some time so maybe it’s more than just a sore tendon.

Our golf game last Sunday was entertaining. We all (Jean, Becky, Jan Kietzmann and I) had some good shots and some awful shots. We had just enough good shots to bring us back again. Even when I play a lot, I’m still just mediocre which fits in well with my swimming, biking and running. We had fun and finished up with drinks on the deck of the 19th hole.

Bill, Larry and I went on a 38 mile bike ride yesterday in the wind. We did the northern part of the 24 hour challenge route. Riding East across Sisson Road, then Brown Road was brutal. I’ve had a slight bug the last couple of days so I was lethargic and my legs were burning from the time we started until the time we finished. Of course I whined about that. What else could you expect? Once we turned onto Velte Road, the riding got a little easier and when we went straight West, we were pushed along nicely.

Congratulations to the girls who did the Indianapolis Half Marathon yesterday. Jean says all had a decent race and everybody had fun. How long do you think it will take for all the real stories to come out? “What happens in Indianapolis, stays in Indianapolis” will be difficult with 11 women keeping the secrets, and I say that with the utmost respect of the opposite sex.

Just (Sitting Here With My Foot In My Mouth) Jack 

Several of you have asked if I sent out an e-mail last Sunday and I answer that I didn’t. By now, you all know that I write for therapy. I enjoy writing the stories as much as at least a couple of you enjoy reading them. But I’m not a writer. Writers can get an assignment, take out a piece of paper (nowadays a computer) and write a story. I’ve never been very good at that. I write from inspiration, and if it’s not there, I don’t write.  

Last weekend I was in one of those blue funk moods. I know it will take time to sell these two places we have, and it will happen, but I hate being in limbo until something gives. So a realtor called and asked if she could show the place at Crooked Lake to some cash buyers. I set it up to be shown at 10 last Saturday morning. I know it’s an inconvenience to Barry and Rona who are living there, but Rona called back and said that would be fine. The realtor called the next day and said that they would have to reschedule to Monday. I was a little miffed, but I talked with Rona and she said fine but it would be best if it were three. I called the realtor and she said three would be fine. Rona called us Monday at 4:30 and they still hadn’t come and she wanted to get over to the house they are rebuilding to pick out counter top material. I felt like crap for the inconvenience to her and her family.

I’ve not been a great fan of the war, although I admire the men and women who are over there fighting. When I see the President and Congress posturing politically over the current funding bill, I assume the worst. I believe that it will be politics as usual. The Democrats will insist that it will be a showdown, and what I expect to happen is that, after a veto, a spending bill will be passed that has no teeth and the next two years will be like the last two years. Then there’s the State of Michigan and its current budget crisis. The same political posturing seems to be going on there and, ultimately, our kids will suffer from education cuts.

It’s not that I’ve been short on ammunition either. Last night, at our Friday “drop in”, the conversation started out G rated and quickly turned to a discussion of breast reduction surgery (men are lobbying to have that become illegal) and one of our school teachers talked about being asked by one of her eighth grade students why there are flavored condoms.

One of the guys this morning at coffee asked if I had been sending out e-mails the last few weeks. Since I changed my e-mail address, his have been bounced back since I’m not on his list. I told him and the others at the table that I’ve been working on setting up a website (with my son, Matt’s help) to post the e-mails each week. It’s under construction and not really ready for viewing, but I’ve been busy filling the archives with all the old e-mails. I’m back to January, 2004, and have entered a combination of e-mails, eulogies and a section I call ramblings. Currently in the ramblings is TriStory, the original story about how the Trilanders group was formed, Trilanders 2001 and Trilanders 2003 among a few other things.

I’m not setting it up to show off my writing, but rather to provide a place to read the e-mails if you haven’t received them. I get a few kicked back from spam blockers from time to time when I use words that are common in many of the spam e-mails you receive (if I tell you which ones, I’ll get this epistle blocked). Also, if you have dial up, some of the ones I send with pictures take forever to download so I have a section called stories with pictures. A few of you have been added to the rolls recently, and when I make a comment about “my buddy from the Y in Florida” you have no idea what I’m talking about. So I have a section called “Reader Favorites”, which for the time being are “Writer Favorites”. In all, I have 132 posts and, once I get them all in, I’ll let you know how to get on line. No fees. No Advertising. No pop-ups. Rated PG.

Speaking of pictures, along with the e-mail I sent on June 6, 2004 “Week 10 Back In The Groove”, I attached a picture of a half eaten doughnut twist. I’m sure you have deleted them all, but if anyone saved that one, could you e-mail it back to me?

Better go. I rode 47 miles today with Diane. My legs are tired so I’ll probably take Larry and Jon’s advice and stand in a tub of ice cold water for recovery. Either that or it’s nap time.

Just (Back Up And Running) Jack

I have become a huge test strip to determine if a pool contains chlorine or not. As I said in my last e-mail, Tuesday I went to the Hastings High School pool and swam. I had been told that they don’t use chlorine so I was confident that things would be different and I would find a place to swim until the lakes are warm, which may take a while with the weather we’ve been having.

I lasted until about 4 PM before the first welts started to appear. I swam one lap (50 meters) without my nose clip and that’s all it took. My nose stuffed completely and I thrashed around all night trying to breathe. Jean must have had just enough wine because she never heard me. I can tell you without question that the high school does use chlorine. I’ll spare you the gruesome pictures. I couldn’t find anyone who wanted to take pictures of a naked 60 year old man with a rash.

I’m down to three options. Swim in it anyway and endure the reactions…not a good choice…insanity may win out. Buy a $15,000 to $20,000 endless pool that  disinfects with baquacil…expensive and I don’t have a place to put it. Or offer to pay the difference in cost if one of the pools switches to something other than chlorine or bromine…probably won’t happen. I guess there is a fourth and that’s to quit swimming. That’s probably the one I’ll choose. I can still swim in the lakes when it gets warm enough and continue with a crappy swim time in the triathlons. With my recent hip problems that should complement my crappy run times nicely.

I’m showing the cottage today at 2 PM. I’m not getting my hopes up, but I did have two calls yesterday so people are out looking. This will be the best time of the year, but the next door neighbor just listed her place for significantly less. That kept me awake one night until 2 AM, worrying that no one would want to pay that much more, but I’m guessing it’s less for a reason and I know our place isn’t overpriced. If it doesn’t sell, it’s still a nice place…bigger than we need and more than I want to take care of, but nice.

I used to play golf a lot and belonged to Hastings Country Club for years. It sounds like a high prestige place but it’s still only a golf course. A great course in prime condition, but the membership’s down and there aren’t nearly the social activities that there were years ago. Buying the condo, we get a free membership for a year. I was telling Jean that with her maintaining the house on Green Street until it sells and me maintaining the cottage until it sells, riding bike with our group on Saturdays and running with the running group on Sundays, we probably won’t play enough to make it worthwhile.

We’ve never been big on decorative pillows or stuffed animals on the bed. Many people are and they really look nice, but we haven’t done that. If it was up to me, the bed would only be made in the morning if company was coming or we had just laundered the sheets. Friday night we stayed up until midnight watching a movie and talking with Becky.

I had a couple of glasses of wine and so did Jean. I got into bed and there were pillows all over the place. When Jean came in I said something like “What’s with all the pillows?” For some reason it set us both off and we started laughing. We laughed for a good five minutes and I had to sit up once just to catch my breath. We either had more wine than I thought or we were releasing stress from having the two places for sale with nothing happening.

The hip still continues to cause problems and I’ll soon do what I should have done long ago and see my doctor. I’ve been putting it off hoping the injury would heal and not wanting to get a cortisone shot, but that’s probably what it needs. I’ve never had a problem with shots. But since the bike wreck, I’ve been poked and prodded so many times that visiting my doctor, who is also a friend, stresses me out. I don’t know what happened but I would be physically shaking the many times I saw him during that first year. Add it to my long “weirdness list”.

Just (About To Cave In And Ask For Help) Jack

Several people have told me that the pool at the High School doesn’t use chlorine. We’ve asked around and no one seems to know for sure what they use. I don’t need to resurrect the nasty pictures of my skin after the last time I swam in a pool with chlorine; many have asked that they be left off the e-mail list if I ever try to make them look at those again.

So today I went up to the High School pool and swam. Since I haven’t been in a pool in six months, I didn’t get carried away, but I swam for about 45 minutes. I didn’t do any speed work; just long, slow laps with a minute rest every 500 meters or so. We’ll see if they really do use chlorine or bromine ‘cuz I’ll start itching places other people don’t want to see me touch. If I do start itching, Jean may call Diane for a sleeping pill either for herself or me. I thrash around in bed enough without the constant scratching.

I get e-mails every week from Inside Triathlon among many, many others. It’s their on-line magazine and often has interesting articles. It started out HI JOHN (no one calls me John except telemarketers who don’t know I’m really Just Jack), and continues with the teaser line “And their off…”. You all know from my writing that I’m not a grammar geek with the run-on sentences and commas where there should be semicolons or nothing at all. But it drive me crazy that we’ve gotten so dependent on spell-check that we don’t think about what we’re writing.

Any fifth grader could tell you that “their” is a possessive pronoun that is either used alone or used to describe a noun. Their hats; their team; their unmentionables. Not only is it a possessive pronoun, it’s a personal pronoun and we all know personal pronouns don’t use apostrophes (theirs, not their’s). As Inside Triathlon is trying to use the word, it’s really a contraction of the two words “they” and “are”; a quick way of saying “And they are off…”.

There are two dangers in criticizing someone else’s grammar. First of all, since many of our friends are school teachers or former school teachers, I’m likely to get this e-mail back with all kinds of red marks and underlines with a big “D-” on the top and a note that reads “You know you could do better. I would like to meet with you and your parents and talk about your future in this class”. That ship has sailed many times in the past so don’t waste your time.

The second danger is that those of you who don’t see anything wrong with the Inside Triathlon usage will look at me as the class dork who really doesn’t know much, but points out the mistakes of others and ridicules them to make myself look good. As I said before, I’m not very good at grammar and I admit it. But I also don’t write for a globally distributed magazine. Any criticism of this e-mail should be directed to my website www.whoreallycares.nut .

For those of you who haven’t heard, the National Conference On Global Warming meeting that is scheduled to meet in Hastings on Wednesday has been canceled due to the blizzard forecast. It has been rescheduled to the same week as Ironman Wisconsin, trying to coincide with our one week of really hot summer weather.

Just (I Want To Ride My Bike Outside) Jack

The condo is on the golf course, as many of you know, so we see a lot of golfers getting an early start to their season. The weatherman, or is it weatherperson?, says that we will have cold weather by the end of the week with highs in the thirties. I’m assuming there won’t be many people on the links until the warm weather comes back. That’s when I get to show that I’m a mediocre golfer, which goes along with being a mediocre triathlete, a mediocre baseball player, and basically mediocre at all my athletic endeavors.

I’ve said this all before, and I’m really not just trying to put myself down unmercifully; it’s just a fact of life. Some people are born with athletic abilities and some aren’t and I’m one of the aren’ts. Whether it’s hand-eye coordination, speed, agility, flexibility, or a combination of those things, I was in the back of the line and the pickings were meager by the time they got to me. I’m not complaining either. Being mediocre means that you don’t often win, so you don’t have a lot of pressure. If, by some stroke of calamity, you do win, it’s a bonus.

It’s genetics and there isn’t much you can do about it. Neither of my parents were athletic, none of my grandparents were athletic, my brothers aren’t athletic except that Bob (aka Bobbie Butane) has good hand-eye coordination; don’t play pool or darts with him for money. But genetics gives other things and they count in making us who we are.

I’m a good test taker. Throughout the years there have been many of my friends who are smarter than me, but scored worse on tests. When I enlisted in the Air Force, they gave me a battery of tests to see where I should be placed. The recruiter called and told me I had scored as high as you can get on each of the four areas. One part was electrical and I know nothing about it. If you plug it in and it doesn’t work, change the bulb. If that doesn’t work, check the circuit breaker. If that doesn’t work, call an electrician. Another part was mechanical. When I was younger I could change my own oil and filter, change spark plugs, and that’s about it. If it quits working, take it to someone who knows what they’re doing.

When I graduated from Western Michigan University, I sat for the CPA exam a couple of weeks later and passed it the first time. Back in those days, the pass rate on the first try was around six percent. One of the guys I studied with at Western was very bright and always knew the answers when we studied together. The last time I knew he had taken the CPA exam four times and still hadn’t passed all the parts.

So, getting back to the athletics, I look at myself as a filler. The winners wouldn’t have as much glory if they were the only ones in the race. They need us mediocre athletes as fillers. Would you rather be first out of one, or first out of twenty? Well, I’m one of the nineteen fillers. I have had some really bad races, but I’m rarely last. In a field of twenty, I’m usually around tenth. But even if I were last, it wouldn’t matter; at least I’m out there. As one girls said when she finished the Iceman in 1999 after everyone had left, “At least I beat everyone who is home on the couch”. I’ve never forgotten that.

Throughout the years I’ve come to the conclusion that participating, for me, is social and the most important part. Yes, it’s great to win races, but swimming, running or biking with good friends is what I want to be doing. To me, the training rides and runs are more fun than the races. You can do your own thing and, when it’s all over, everyone is the same; a participant, not a winner or loser. At age 60 the joints don’t work as well and I’m getting slower; not faster. But I don’t care; I’m still in the game.

Just (I Do Wish This Hip Would Quit Hurting) Jack

Jean and I never really argue, nor do we fight, but we both let the other know how we feel about what is or isn’t going on. Yesterday Jean said, for at least the hundredth time (and I’m not exaggerating), “We ought to get the screens on the windows and the slider doors. It’s so nice out and we need to warm up that basement”.

As you know by my rantings and ravings, Jean is very visual. She can’t picture things in her mind so if you’re trying to describe something to her it’s like talking Spanish to an Eskimo. When she looks outside and sees the sun shining she says things like “It really looks warm out there”.

Knowing this, and knowing I had no chance of winning any argument, I went by paragraph 81 on page 63 of the husband’s playbook, and argued anyway. I told her that it was 53 degrees outside and 63 degrees inside. I know the sun was shining, and if you stepped out on the deck it was warm, but if you open windows, 53 degree air is going to go into a 63 degree house and there was no chance it would warm it up.

So when she said “But it’s warmer on the deck than it is in the house”, I tried to explain that the deck was on the side of the house that was sheltered from the wind and tried to explain the science of radiant heat off the vinyl siding. Once I said radiant heat I could see her mind shut down. To her it sounded like a Mr. Wizard show from the fifties and she would rather watch The Adventures of Spin and Marty on the Mickey Mouse Club.

Immediately she threw in the “fresh air” card. I explained that fresh air is nice, but if it’s 5 degrees outside, fresh air is too fresh. That didn’t work either. I know she really believes that 53 degree fresh air is better than 63 degree stale air. Luckily Judy walked in and the conversation ended.

The runners came this morning and ran from our condo. There was enough food to feed fifty people. Now we have to figure out how to hide the leftovers from me so I don’t stuff myself all week. I made beer soup, a recipe I got out of a brewing book. There are three bottles of Irish Red #5 in it, but the alcohol all evaporates out of it. It does have a base beer flavor, and I’m not sure whether it’s the malt, hops or yeast, but it is quite good. I’ll make it again and tweak the recipe a little until I’m satisfied that it’s the best I can make (at least to me).

This last week was the Tour de Pennock. It’s five days of riding a spinning bike (or in my case, my Trek on a fluid trainer) two hours each day while watching parts of the Tour de France. My rear end got a little sore by Wednesday, but things got better Thursday and Friday. After we finished Friday evening there was a pot luck. Again, there was enough food to feed any army. There’s always lots of pasta and other carbs to replace the ones you’ve burned up. My problem is that I don’t stop there and I pick at the leftovers for days.

I vow each week to restrict my caloric intake and lose a few pounds by triathlon season. As with all diets, my vow lasts about a day and I’m back in the same old rut. With no will power and genetics against me, I’m fighting a losing battle.

Just (Slap Me If I’m Eating A Cookie) Jack

b/t/w If you drive by the condo you’ll notice that the screens are on all the windows and the slider doors.

I’m 60, as you all well know since I whine about my age often, and I’ve been married 37 plus years, although not to the same person. So you would think that I’d see it coming, but, I got “schooled” again by one of the best.

The weather is chilly, but sunny, so it looks nicer than it is. I hope I’m not betraying my “man-brothers” when I say that I’m almost basket-balled out. So yesterday afternoon I was antsy for something to do. I thought about putting on the screens, but the wind made it too chilly to stand out there and do that when I know the weather will get warmer, and we won’t have the windows open much until then anyway.

We have a spot down in the basement that would work nicely for a bar area. I know, we’re past the party stage of life, but being close to the country club now, we may have to rev up the old Margarita machine and cap off an evening of golf now and again. And if we don’t use the bar, it still will make that area functional rather than empty. I said something about wanting to go to Watson’s on 29th Street to look at their bars and stop by Best Buy to pick up an Ethernet card and a network cable for Jean’s computer for Tuesday when they hook up our phone and DSL. Jean made an offhanded comment about riding along with me, like she wasn’t really interested but she didn’t have anything better to do.

Before I knew it we were in World Market looking at dishes, bowls, decorating ideas, and other girl stuff. After what seemed like a couple of hours there, I found myself transported to Pier One Imports where we spent another lifetime looking at the same stuff. I looked around and we were surrounded by people who appeared to be newlyweds so the guys didn’t know any better, and the occasional guy like me who must have been paying for a recent sin. Once we got in those stores I had a hard time finding Jean. I think she was hiding out so I wouldn’t come up with the “let’s go” line every two minutes.

I was joking about most of what I said last week about the silverware, the cupcakes, and the pantry. But the pantry shelves have been straightened out, Jean hid the cupcakes, although I did eat the rest of the can of frosting, and all of the silverware from Green Street is now intermingled with the “girly” silverware. Not only are the regular forks and salad forks mixed together, but each fork space contains a couple more forks from each of four different patterns including some three tined forks which I hoped I had seen the last of.

So I must have touched a nerve and yesterday, although she didn’t say it, Jean was probably thinking “Criticize my homemaking skills again in front of my friends and next time you’ll wish we were only going to two stores”. I’m not out of the “husband of the year” running yet, but I’ll have to watch what I say from now on. On the bright side, it makes all you other guys look good. Sometimes someone has to “take one for the team”.

Just (Overwhelmed By Scented Candles And Decorative Plates) Jack

It wasn’t all that long ago I wrote about having to train Jean with a list of “mobe rules”, something that allows two people to live in confined quarters without shooting each other. She struggled just a bit with them but finally was catching on. She didn’t spend much time at the mobe this year and, now that brother Bob owns it, neither will I.

I thought that the mobe rules would spill over into the new condo, but I was mistaken. At the condo Jean put all new silverware in the silverware drawer in one of those plastic things that keeps the forks separated from the spoons, etc. I’m not thrilled with the silverware pattern, but I won’t complain even if it is a little “girly”. There are two sets of forks; the regular forks and the salad forks. They look identical except that one is about an inch shorter than the other. So when Jean empties the dishwasher, they are mixed up. Some of the salad forks are in with the regular forks and vice versa. That’s just not right. But it does give me something to do putting them back where they belong.

The food pantry is a total disaster. First of all, the top and bottom shelves both contain something other than food. If it’s a food pantry, everything should be what? You guessed it…FOOD!!! The first time I looked in there, there was salad oil on one shelf, olive oil on the next shelf, and the flavored oils and spray Pam on still another. Chaos, chaos, chaos!!! Training will start tomorrow at 0700 with a surprise inspection and some food placement drills. We’ll see how much more help she needs before basic training is over. I think my chances of making a soldier out of her are in the single digit percentages.

And another thing, again something I’ve mentioned before. My name is Jack and I’m a food-a holic. So today Jean baked cupcakes for her “birthday group” and left four of them on a plate at home in plain sight. She might just as well have left four shots of whiskey for an alcoholic or a baggie of crack for a drug addict. She’s an enabler and there ought to be a law against it. I haven’t touched them yet, but they’ve only been there 8 hours. We’ll see how long they last.

This week’s message is a couple of days later than usual. For one thing, we have no phone at the condo and the Green Street house is at 50 degrees, so it isn’t that pleasant to sit at the computer and write for any length of time. Your fingers get so numb you hit two or three keys at once. Today was warm so I’m taking advantage.

As to the question from a couple of weeks ago about Becky’s mishap with the saw horses, I guess I had the details all screwed up and Becky corrected me. It was her father who made the saw horses, not her father in law. I didn’t get any response when I asked for anyone who had heard of that happening to them or someone they know. One writer, and I won’t mention any names but her initials are Lynette Doele, said that it hadn’t happened to her but a mammogram isn’t much fun either. I suggested she pinch herself between a couple of two by fours in that same place at let me know which was worse. I haven’t gotten a report yet but I’m guessing I would have heard the screams even from Gun Lake.

I saw a robin today, but I’ve seen them all winter so it doesn’t seem that big of a deal. Spring is just around the corner???

Just (Sick Of The Winter Weather) Jack