This morning, enjoying an early cup of coffee on the porch with Sheila, I told her that I woke up this morning upset about not having the ambition to do some work. When she asked if that meant I was going to get started on my desk, I replied, “No, I was simply upset about being upset about not doing anything.”

Beginning to work on a letter of appreciation in the front room, I remembered that I didn’t have a cup of coffee with me. I walked through the house to the kitchen, saw my bride and remembered that I needed a check, which she wrote for me. Putting it in the envelope, I took it to the mail box. Returned home, sitting at the computer, I remembered that I hadn’t gotten the coffee. Back to the kitchen and, seeing Sheila, I asked her if she knew what was so great about me. “No.” “My ability to forget what I intend to do at any given moment, and don’t laugh. It takes years, decades even, to develop this ability.”

Eric and Maria visited over the weekend and it was wonderful to have them. Eric and Maria even went to church with us. I told him and the minister that I had come to believe that the only time Eric would spend in church with me would be at my funeral. Eric responded that he was just coming to check out the church to see if the aisles were wide enough for my casket. 

We also ate more than we should that weekend, beginning with barbecue Sunday afternoon. Sheila made three pies on Friday (apple, peach and blueberry) and four more on Saturday (three pumpkin and one pecan.) Maria claims Sheila could make money selling her pies. Yes, we also had other food, including a roast turkey with dressing and all the trimmings.

One reason, incidentally, for the festival of food was that it was Stephen’s birthday and roast turkey is his favorite food. But any excuse will do.

Other July visitors included Renie, Christopher and tribe: Mariah, Nicholas and Joseph. Mariah, at 14 has turned into a beautiful and shapely young lady. I don’t know where she gets it, not from her parents. Must be a leap over them to Grandpa Dannenmaier – whoops that’s me, but I’ll accept the honor if all readers agree.

We were concerned about Nick’s arrival considering the month he spent with us last year: no television of visual games during the day, no junk food, just three healthy meals a day and if you didn’t like one, you could wait until the next. (Nick did hold out until supper one day – he had quite a list of foods he wouldn’t eat, which he handed to Sheila. It included all vegetables among other things.) He had rather more enforced exercises than She and I knew about. Before he left he was up to three mile walks and catching minnows in the creek – not common spare time activities Austin. But Nick seemed honestly glad to see us and took off hunting minnows and other things on his own – well, with company but without protest.

As usual, little Joey was just plain fun. He is convinced that uncles are for climbing on and spinning and carting young nephews upside down at a moment’s notice. 

While here, Renie invited Shane and Megaera to meet them in Colorado for a vacation in the Rockies. Sheila warned Megaera before they left that the mountains would be cold, to take plenty of clothing, but who listens to mothers? Rumor has it that Shane almost froze at night, but he’s not talking. On their return, they went through St. Louis and found the Missouri Bakery. As thanks, they brought a cheese cake back for Sheila and a gooey butter cake for me. I know they did, I saw Megaera and Shane dividing up the cheese cake between them and when I went looking for my gooey butter cake, it wasn’t where I put it. I found the remnants, and darned little of them, in the kitchen. Megaera, Sheila, Stephen and Andrew all confessed to enjoying it. 

Considering my age, I have been a bit concerned that Obama might extend his “Cash for Clunkers” business beyond automobiles. After all, my next birthday is 80 and I’m a bit step beyond my best achieving years. Mentioned this to my child bride for reassurance, she mused, “I wonder how much they would pay me to take you off the market?” As reassurances go, this is not the best I’ve ever received.

It has been a great July. After receiving fresh corn, tomatoes, cucumbers and blueberries from my neighbors, I was able to reduce my guilt. My Concord grape out produced itself this year. I was able to give baskets of grapes to everyone who had given me anything, plus some to people who had nothing to give. It’s nice to receive, but it’s wonderful to give.

Our son Stephen has been on a roll recently. The other day I was complaining about how much money Medicare and Blue Cross had spent on me in the past two years. Stephen, listening to my conversation with Sheila, spoke up and said, “Let’s face it, Dad. It costs a lot to restore classics.” Then, today, again talking to my bride, I complained about all the medicines I’m taking – seven pills a day (counting two “baby” aspirin) and still not being allowed to do any meaningful work. Again, Stephen interrupted a conversation with, “To save an old wreck you have to put it up on blocks.” When we finished laughing, I gave him a job to do. 

I have been promoted (?) from three days a week in Cardiac Rehab to two days a week in what I fondly call the Cardiac Club. Receiving my certificate I said that I had it on good authority that Mary Ann and Tammy had gone to the administration and demanded combat pay if they kept having me for three days a week or else they were going to put in for psychiatric disability as a result of emotional stress. Mary Ann said the administration had promised to keep that secret.

Stephen caught six mice in his corn bin. Not wishing to either free them or kill them himself, he took them to the front yard and the cat. Baxter, who leaps our fence with ease, accompanied him. One by one, Stephen turned the mice loose. Our cat was uninterested. Baxter caught and killed four of them, only one escaping his attentions. I have an otherwise worthless seventy pound Rottweiler who is a mouser! (If the numbers don’t add up, the one the cat sniffed at ran free also. 

For murder mystery lovers, Sheila and I recommend M. C. Beaton’s Hamish Macbeth mysteries.  There is always humor, the murder victim is always a person you don’t like and the murderer is one who you are happy to see punished. We consider her “A Highland Christmas” the best of all. 

I was sitting on the front porch on our recent 90 degree Fathers’ Day, in clothing that would have had me arrested in any city, reading a card my bride had given me. It said, “You don’t know how I feel when your arms are around me.” I looked at her and asked, “Hot and sweaty?”

Sheila has been “hinting” that a two seated rocking bench at the Mennonite store would be nice to have, so, this morning, She and I drove up to price it. There was no doubt it was comfortable, sturdy and would fit on the porch. When I found out the price was $129, I told her I could afford it, it would be her birthday present. Then, looking at Mr. Yoder, I said, “Her birthday is coming up on the 29^th. Sheila said, “My birthday is in July, not June, and it’s on the 21^st not the 29^th.” I said, “I was thinking of our anniversary.” Her reply, “We were married in August.” “Well, August the 30^th.” “No, August the 17^th.” Then she looked at the amused owner and said, “We’ve only been married 30 years, he’ll learn in time.”

Returning home, relaxing on the porch, my bride said, “I’ve always heard about those husbands who can’t remember birthdays and anniversaries. You are so much better. If I played my cards right, we could celebrate birthdays and anniversaries every month, on the 17^th, the 21^st, the 29^th….”

Sometimes, Sheila’s sarcasm is not overly subtle, so we wandered on to the Mennonites – who are wonderful newcomers to the Furnace – and churches we have attended. I confess my problem with all of them is that I seldom see them relate Christianity and its beliefs to the problems we face in the world today. Sheila and I agree that Christianity is under steady attack in our nation and that we need more ministers – and churches – to speak out against these attacks cleverly concealed under innocuous sounding laws such as the Hate Crime legislation, late term abortion “rights” and diversity rulings - all of which sound good, but have been and are used to attack practicing Christians. 

Just as a side note, I believe it is much easier to attend church than it is to be a Christian.

I hadn’t seen Dr. Smith in some time and Megaera was ill, so I paid a visit to him. He thinks I come because he is an excellent doctor and my friend, but the truth is that there is a Publix grocery near him which sells fresh fish and spiced meats which are unavailable nearer and has a sinful bakery counter. Among Sheila’s purchases was a nine dollar package of fresh cod. She cooked it that evening. We took some for our evening meal and left the majority on the stove for the boys. Later, walking into the kitchen for a second helping, I found it all gone. But Stephen and Andrew had yet to come downstairs for supper. I had a very angry wife and a very satisfied mongrel shepherd – Yukon.

Incidentally, on the way to Dr. Smith, Sheila insisted that I take a different route which she claimed was shorter and less hazardous. True, the first two miles were easy, the next fifteen were on highway 47, which has the sharpest curves and the highest accident rate in middle Tennessee. Then we were on four lane divided highways, crowded, with a legal speed of 55 and a “keep up with the flow” speed of 75. Total trip, 49 miles – I checked. Coming home I took my preferred “long” route, two lane highway, gentle curves and little traffic. Total distance, 36 miles. Ah well, it wasn’t as bad as the time she took me a hundred miles in the wrong direction while serving as my navigator in Massachusetts.

Among the welfare animals (they produce no good, wantonly destroy our garden and consume our resources) which wander our yard is a rabbit, Suzy. I keep hoping she’ll run away, but she likes free-loading. The other morning, while sitting on the porch after feeding the dogs, cats and birds I looked over at the dog food tank. Sheba was asserting her authority by being first at breakfast and Baxter was sitting about five feet away waiting his turn. Then up hopped Suzy. She looked over at Sheba and then hopped over to Baxter and sat down next to him, turning her head to look up at him before beginning to groom herself. Our animals may be useless, but they do have a camaraderie of uselessness – much like too many people. 

In the spirit of Valentine’s Day I purchased my bride a five dollar box of chocolates the other day, not realizing that I was buying a lovely four and a half dollar box and six chocolates. On the way home, we shared one. In the morning I noted that she had erred and left the box on the kitchen table. Andrew was standing by and I congratulated him, saying it was nice that he and his brother had left their mother’s present alone. He said, “Well, Stephen and I did share one.” Opening the box, I saw only three remaining. Commenting on the one Sheila and I had eaten and the one he confessed to sharing, he quickly said, “Stephen had another one.” No one confesses to another’s sins so quickly as a brother or sister.

Telling this story in the Cardiac Club, it elicited numerous stories of children and grandchildren from our members and aroused a few memories of my own. One of my favorites concerned my nephew John, then about five, and his sister, Julie, an enterprising three. My sister reported that she had to keep punishing John for pummeling his little sister, then, one day she was in the front room cleaning. She could see John and a friend sitting on the front steps talking when Julie came out of the house, swung a fist, hit John in the back and ran in the house crying, two steps ahead of an angry brother. That day it was Julie who received the spanking!

Unlike many forgetful, neglectful and otherwise despicable husbands, I always remember Valentine’s Day. As soon as I’ve finished reading the news on the Internet, made my coffee, fed our welfare livestock, walk into the bedroom to dress for the day and see the card with the heart on it lying on my pillow, I rush to my bride and say, “Happy Valentine’s Day” and give her a big hug and a kiss. What more can a girl want? After all, she is my Valentine….

As my bride prepared lunch the other day, I settled in the family room to set up a movie for us to watch while eating. I looked forward to lunch that day. She had purchased a frozen diet meal of shrimp and rice which is a favorite of mine. To my surprise she came in with cheese and crackers. She had dropped my shrimp and rice. It turns out I’m not the only one in the house who enjoys shrimp and rice. Baxter and Yukon, our pure-bred mongrel shepherds, had cleaned the floor beautifully.

I fear I might have black fly disease. For the unsophisticated: black flies attack deer. Deer, who catch the disease black flies carry, die a slow death; tired and starving. Black fly disease is not supposed to affect humans.  I have been assured that even infected venison is safe to eat. When walking last year, I received numerous black fly bites. These only annoyed me at the time, but now I find myself tired a lot of the time. The medical profession is making a fortune off of me, with operations and treatments. But they are overlooking the real culprit, my problems have nothing to do with a broken chest, bad arteries or age. I have black fly disease. After all, I am a dear human.  Ask Sheila.

For some reason my son Eric brought four sets of colorful cotton pants for me on his last visit. They were for night wear. Either he saw me walking about on an earlier visit in the long underwear pants, slightly worn, that I purchased in 1982, or my bride had made disparaging comments about them to him. Anyway, Sheila has appropriated two of these. This morning, a cold one, she was walking about in them when we were preparing to go to the Cardiac Club. I got dressed, or undressed, to go (I don’t believe in excessive or heavy clothing when I have to weigh in every time) when I noticed my bride had changed into her jeans. Driving to the hospital, I asked why she changed. “Because they are pajamas, not outer wear.” “Why did you tell me to wear them yesterday when you refuse to wear them today” I asked? “Well if I went in there in pajamas, Mary Ann and Tammy (the nurses in charge) would check me for a fever and then send me to a psychiatrist, but if you wore them they would only say, “That’s Bill,” and forget it.

Mary Ann likes to write advice, especially diet advice on the blackboards. This morning one board was empty so I decided to help her out when she was distracted by business. I wrote, “Every one knows that cream is very light. It floats to the top in milk bottles, so, if you wish to lose weight, pour whipping cream over everything you eat. You’ll float on the scale.”

I saw Mary Ann read it, look at me, and shrug.  Why she looked at me, I don’t know.

Recently, I received the bill for my most recent hospitalization at Vanderbilt. Sheila took me in on a Thursday morning and I was released on Friday morning. When I received the bill, I read it to Sheila and Stephen. Total cost for the surgery, $31,962.58. Stephen, after recovering from the shock, laughed and said, “That’s the cost of restoring a classic.”

An article I read recently mentioned “organic” foods. Could anyone please tell me the last NON-organic food they ate, not counting salt? I, for example, have never eaten a limestone sandwich or a granite cookie – other than some my son Stephen made recently out of oatmeal.

Anyone who enjoys murder mysteries spiced with humor should read some of the Hamish Macbeth mysteries by M. C. Beaton. Hamish is a constable in a small town in the north of Scotland. He uses common sense to apply the laws of the land, but always catches murderers while in the process of solving village problems. It reminds me, in a way, of Cumberland Furnace. There are important things and unimportant things. Sheila says that is why they claim we are Celtic in our approach to life. (My friend Dick Gildrie claims that is why the working people of North and South Carolina did not support the American Revolution – they had no intention of obeying the King’s laws anyway.)

As liberal as I have always been, I would never expect rampant sex discrimination to appear in my household, but it reared its ugly head recently. Our friend Joyce invited Sheila to vacation in Hawaii with her in March. I appointed out that Sheila hasn’t been feeling well recently, but that I could accompany Joyce. This suggestion was ignored by both. I can only believe that sex discrimination is overcoming common sense in this case. 

Actually, this will be the second consecutive year the two have taken off together for a week. Joyce belongs to some organization where she pays so much a month and then receives a free week for two at some vacation spot. Once before it was a trip to Austria, last year it was a cruise to Mexico, now Hawaii. Joyce must believe, and Sheila agree, that Sheila has no responsibilities at home. What about me? Who is to cook and care for me during this week? Shows how little care the two have for my welfare. Reading this, Sheila said, “poor baby,” all while laughing. I would believe in her concerns more if she wouldn’t laugh while I was explaining some grievous injury I had, or was, suffering.

Truthfully, sexism appears to be rampant in our house. Megaera babysat two young loves, Chelsea, aged seven, and Dillon, all of four, for a friend the other night. This meant that she brought them to our house while Stephen played with them and she watched television. As she had them all night, she promised them pancakes in the morning, pancakes having been my ritual over the years on Sunday morning. The next morning Chelsea was up bright and early. She stood and watched as I located pancake mix, poured it in the bowl, added milk and an egg and then stirred. She begged to help, so when I was satisfied, I passed her the fork and she stirred happily while I heated the skillets and added butter. Then I cooked them, putting them on her plate. Sheila was standing there watching and, at my request, added syrup and cut them up for her. After the first bite, Chelsea looked up at my bride and said, “You make great pancakes!”

Family Matters

By

William D. Dannenmaier

Driving to church the other morning, Sheila complained about the cold and said I should light the stove in the bedroom. I replied that I had wondered why she had been cuddling so much recently, but that I wanted to hold off until the first of November. After a moment of quiet in the car, Stephen said, “And if it stays cold enough, Dad will keep.”

That evening, walking into the bedroom after a strenuous afternoon and evening watching football, it seemed warm. I looked. Yes, Sheila had found time to light the stove by herself. It is good that she is a self-sufficient woman, even if one willing to suffer for a while hoping someone else will do the job. 

I met my cardiac surgeon the other day. I found him autocratic, arrogant and authoritative. I complained about this to Eric when he telephoned to see how the meeting went and received little sympathy. When he stopped laughing, he said, “Well you should know!” Later, in a meeting with Dr. Smith, I made the same comment and received Eric’s reaction, with slight differences in wording following the laughter. One expects more understanding from a family doctor, if not from a son.

The computer we use for the internet is causing all sorts of delays and problems, I don’t know how much longer it will work. I complained to my bride that it must have a virus and she replied that it was not a virus it was “corrupted.” I knew it! As soon as the Obama, Pelosi, and Reid mob began taking over, bringing to forefront all of the Clinton people as well as Daschle and others, CORRUPTION; the creeping corruption has even spread to my computer.

Tuesday, returning from my walk, I stopped at the bridge over the creek and looked up towards the house. What a beautiful sight! My hill was all colors of gold and red with the green of the pecan tree dominating the center. (The pecan in my back yard is at least a hundred feet tall, dominating the house and all else.) I told Sheila she should take a picture of it. Too late now! Wednesday morning we awoke to 20 degrees. All day we had green rain in the back as pecan leaves floated down. This morning, Thursday, I looked up again from the same spot and all I saw was the black and brown of branches with the exception of a little red from white oaks on top of the hill. Entering, Sheila was looking at the leaves covering the back. She commented on how beautiful the yard was. I agreed. Between the dogs, cats, visiting children, chickens and drought (in order of destructiveness), it was the first time our backyard had been green all summer.

I have another appointment with my surgeon tomorrow. We shall see what comes. In anticipating that I might be kept, Sheila has packed a suitcase of clothing for me to take along. In a slightly different anticipation, I’ve considered buying a package of good tobacco on the way home. If he says there is no point in bothering with surgery, I’ll enjoy myself. In delayed obedience to him, I have thrown away two packages of tobacco in the past month – one of them three times – and have not had a smoke in a week, and that was the first and only one in several days. I shall also get a prescription for Viagra from Dr. Smith and make an appointment with the funeral director. 

My meeting with Dr. Pretracek ended with him sending me to a different surgeon. He said my chest situation is too risky to attempt surgery. On the positive note, he reinforced Dr. Blazer’s comment, that he had never seen a chest more divided. He believes the other surgeon, a specialist in stents may be able to help with the clogged artery. I bought tobacco on the drive home. 

Joking with older brother Joe the other day during a telephone call, he stopped me with, “This is WW II humor.” I agreed. It was also Infantry humor in Korea. When you have no control over the future, and know it, you might as well laugh.