Conversations with my bride are often interesting. For example, the other day I brought a bunch of grapes into the room to eat while I was reading. Before starting, I received a telephone call from a friend who wanted me on his talk show. It was pleasant talking to him, until I noticed the last of my grapes disappearing – Sheila was sitting next to me. I brought in some more and, as she reached, pointed out that they were my grapes. “I’ll trade you some chocolate for some grapes,” she said. I asked where she had chocolate. She replied, “I don’t, but you do in your drawer.” “In other words,” I responded, “you will trade me my chocolate for my grapes.” “Yes.” Then she looked at me and said, “Isn’t it a good thing we didn’t know each other too well before we got married?’’

Stephen keeps exotic tropical fish. Part of their diet includes worms he digs from the garden or, being short of garden worms, some he purchases at the store for his fishing trips. He told me that there is an interesting difference between the two groups of worms, despite the fact that they look exactly alike – to him. He reports that when he drops a garden worm in the aquarium, the fish go after it immediately, but when he drops in one he has purchased the fish ignore it, only casually going after it once it is lying on the bottom of the aquarium. Isn’t it interesting? We haven’t the foggiest idea of why.

AustinPeayStateUniversity announced a display of art work by former students. Each person was permitted to submit three works and a university panel would decide which of them should be displayed. All three of Sheila’s entrées were accepted for display. One won a ribbon. The Art Department Chair told her that another one received very favorable comment and invited her to display her work at a permanent display room they were opening downtown. Sheila said I shouldn’t talk about this because she doesn’t approve of bragging, but I’m doing the bragging. When Sheila was debating whether she should continue painting or not earlier this year, I told her that her problem was her strict background had taught her nothing she did was “good enough.” That I thought her work was excellent – except for a lack of female nudes. To prove me wrong, she resumed painting. The ribbon and compliments prove me right again. I usually am, as I have always told my children, who should listen to me more carefully. 

One has to admire the city of Dickson. Authorities across the nation are warning people to stay away from crowds. Schools are being closed and shoppers are wearing masks to avoid contamination with the killer swine flu. But not Dickson. Dickson held its 34^th annual charity fundraiser “Christmas in the County” arts and crafts festival Saturday at the DicksonHigh School. Accepting quiet but firm pressure from my bride, I attended along with her. I can’t remember a more crowded event. The halls were lined with tiny cubicles for artists to display their work: charcoal drawings, oil paintings, stained glass, wood carvings, jewelry, needlework – you name it, it was there along with the creators. To walk down the hallways was an adventure, the cubicles, artists and admirers filled all but a narrow lane while those trying to walk along stood in lines as in a mess hall except that the lines were moving in two directions. Thus, while bumping into the person in front trying to go west, you had to shove past the other person in front trying to go east. The dining room and the gymnasium were equally bad, with narrow pathways between cubicles lining the walls and positioned in rows created where students ate lunches and played basketball during the day. Yep, no fear of swine flu or any other contagious disease in Dickson. Dickson has courage. I wondered if the event was sponsored by the medical association.

A lady from church announced with pride that her daughter and son-in-law were expecting a second child after the great difficulty they had in securing the first. As an addendum she commented that the first was now crawling and standing. There were numerous responses to her announcement. All of the women said, “How wonderful!” ALL of the men responded, “Knock her down, once that baby starts walking it only gets worse.” So much for no sex differences.

Recently, Julie sent an e-mail saying that after an agonizing two weeks she and her husband, Pete, decided to move Ethel from nursing care into hospice care. For those who don’t understand the difference, if she had been in the hospice at the time of a recent incident she would not have been taken to the hospital, but would have been permitted to exit this life and join her beloved husband, John, in the next. 

I can tell lots of “Ethel” stories. Ethel ruled Joe and my lives with a firm hand for years, not always with our blessings. 

Our parents lost their home to foreclosure in 1936. Fortunately for them, as Dad had no job and they had no money, a home in a University City slum just west of St. Louis was given back to them. They worked for weeks to make it livable. During all of that time, twelve year old Ethel was responsible for caring for nine year old Joe and five year old me. I learned to hate creamed corn: I think it was all she knew how to cook.

As a babysitter, Ethel was a disciplinarian. One of my first deep cuts was when I dived under our parent’s bed to escape her wrath. She managed to clean the blood off the floor and me before they returned. On another occasion, she placed Joe in a chair opposite the back door and me in a chair on the side with orders to “stay.” As I prepared to dash for the door – and freedom – Joe made his dash. A perfect throw of her purse hit Joe in the back of the head and laid him out on the floor. I settled back in my chair. One obeys a big sister. 

In University City, on weekends, it was common for Ethel to walk us places. The library was about a mile from the house, church was about a mile and half, the St. Louis Zoo was two miles. We made those trips regularly.

Older, I recall walking to HemanPark, again a couple of miles from home, to play tennis. The watchman came out and asked to see our passes. Ethel said, “I’ve forgotten mine, did you bring yours Bill?” I didn’t know what she was talking about and shook my head. The watchman knew very well we didn’t have passes – we couldn’t afford them, they were fifty cents a year – but told us we could play this time, but not again. 

As we grew older and Joe’s romantic life increased, he gave Ethel lipstick stained handkerchiefs, which she would wash in private to keep Joe’s social life from our mother’s attention.

Ethel took five solid classes every year she was in high school plus physical education. She made all “A” grades until her final year when she was given a “B” in physical education. Dad was furious that the grade prevented her from receiving a perfect record, the only one in school history, but the principal would do nothing about it. She received a full four-year academic scholarship to WashingtonUniversity, however Dad would not permit her to accept it, saying she wouldn’t fit in (She had only one dress her senior year. Mom would wash it when she came home from school and hang it in the kitchen where it would dry overnight.) Instead, she attended Harris, a free teachers’ college designed to prepare teachers for the St. Louis Public Schools. There she did very well, joined a sorority and was elected president. 

Graduating from Harris, Ethel taught fifth grade in LongfellowSchool. One boy would crawl through the aisles pinching the girls. He was Roman Catholic and the Catholic school was across the street. She talked to his parents about the need for a good religious education and they transferred him. Soon he was back with a note from the priest that he felt his school was inappropriate for the boy. Ethel sent him back with a note saying she couldn’t believe that a Catholic priest would refuse a Catholic education to a Catholic child. She never saw the child again.

Ethel joined the UnitarianChurch, which had an active singles group. There she met John and the two of them demonstrated their thanks to the UnitarianChurch and its singles’ group by changing to the MethodistChurch following their marriage. 

St. Louis did not permit married women to teach, so their marriage was concealed from the school officials. By then I was old enough to appreciate the irony of a school system which permitted a woman teacher to live with a man – provided they weren’t married. 

The following year Ethel taught in SappingtonCountySchool. The two of them moved to a small cabin. It had a double log wall. In between the two walls it was filled with mud. This cabin had been built when Indian attacks were still possible. If the Indians set fire to the cabin, only the outer wall would burn and the inhabitants would be safe inside because of the mud barrier.

Soon thereafter Ethel and John moved to Minneapolis for John to complete his doctorate in Chemistry. The story I enjoyed was the time that Ethel, well into pregnancy, and a neighbor across the hall in the apartment who was in the same shape were doing their laundry in the basement. One of the two remembered a bottle of Mogen David wine her husband had purchased and went and got it. They agreed it tasted just like grape juice and the two of them drank the bottle. The janitor, a burly Swede, carried each, in turn, up to their rooms and put them in bed. One of Ethel’s friends happily told her that she had telephoned at that time and a man’s voice with a heavy Swedish accent had answered Ethel’s telephone saying, “She no bane come to phone now, she in bed.”

When John completed his doctorate, they moved to Peoria.  I was busy working nights and attending college days, so I had much less contact with Ethel. Then I joined the army. Ethel wrote me a letter every day that I was in combat – six months. They were wonderful letters, full of family humor, the kind that I could read to comrades and that we would all enjoy. For example, she told about their dog eating the Christmas tree ornaments off the tree.  Another time young Johnny took a full box of graham crackers and made a path through the house. He was happily tramping down his path when Ethel caught him.

She was pregnant at that time and we discussed names, I liked Julia which she accepted. A story in one of her letters related how, about eight months pregnant, Johnny then three, ran down the street with her chasing him. He darted up a small rise to a lawn. Following, she slipped and fell. She wrote, “There I was on my hands and knees swearing up a storm about what I would do to that boy when the mailman walked past.”

Those who haven’t been there don’t know how important such letters were. Letters kept us sane. Incidentally, she kept track of the letters, numbering each one. I received about two for every three she wrote.

Ethel’s life in Peoria went beyond raising children. One year a teacher had to be fired on morality charges at Christmas and the director of the Peoria schools asked Ethel if she would step in. She did. It was a slum school, having many children of black prostitutes. She told me that at the end of the day the little ones, first graders, would line up and kiss her goodbye. She said that one night when John, a very formal person, came home he gave her a kiss on the cheek and she said, “Oh John, how nice. That is the cheek the children kiss.” 

Ethel was a great teacher. She remained in teaching until retirement and then BradleyUniversity hired her to supervise and advise student teachers.  

Julie and Pete have made a difficult decision in moving Ethel into hospice care, but I am convinced it is the necessary and the right decision and Joe agrees with me. This is very difficult. We all have many friends, but friends move and change: families are forever. Sisters (and brothers) are a part of one’s life. Losing Ethel will be losing a part of me, never to be replaced. But she would not want to continue in the hopeless, always worsening, state she is in. So, goodbye Eth, God love you, if anyone belongs in heaven, you do. 

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.

Currently, we have one rabbit (Suzy), three banty hens, three worthless but loving dogs (Sheba, Yukon and Baxter) who love to be underfoot and sleep in doorways and three cats, Uff Da, Diablo and more about the third a bit further down. We have also had, for brief periods, frogs, turtles, raccoons and possums. These last two types were caught in a live trap we kept in the back by the chicken yard as a safety protection. When my two legged trials were younger, I would keep the varmints for a few days so the children could see them before releasing them a few miles away – I don’t like to kill anything. Stephen continues that practice for the same reason. 

Two or three weeks ago, Stephen came in and said, “You’ll never believe what I’ve caught this time.” Bored (we’ve caught our own cats and our own rabbit at various time), I asked “What?”

He brought the trap to show me. Inside was a white kitten with tan ears and tail, barely past the stage of opening its eyes. Backed as far from Stephen as it could get, that tidbit of a cat was hissing and showing its teeth. 

Where that thing came from, I haven’t the foggiest idea. I know it did not come from any of the three nearby houses, and the next house is at least a quarter of a mile away. Perhaps it was dumped, even so it is a long up-hill climb through brush and woods from the road to our chicken house.

Continuing a stupid practice we have followed for years with stray kittens, we brought the little beast into the house, trap and all. The way it was hissing, we didn’t try to get it out of the cage, but slipped some food and water into the cage for it. It would have none of that! It was not until the next day that the tiny terror decided the food might be better than starvation, but it still backed away and refused to eat if we approached.

Finally, we decided it was safe to open the cage and introduce it to friendly handling, a litter box and other in-house amenities – food and water dishes placed in convenient (for the kitten) spots. 

That kitten became a holy terror, a streak of lightning. It dashed from one place of safety, such as under a book shelf to another – under something else. On the way it would attack dangerous objects, such as bare feet and the tails of our disinterested dogs. With time, it became more courageous, dashing over and under things, from under the bookshelf to on top of a chair to under the computer table. It found hanging wires, such as the telephone cord, and those beloved dog tails particularly fascinating. One of my favorite incidents occurred while she was attacking Yukon’s tail. Finally, Yukon, trying to sleep, tired of having her tail batted about and raised it over her body. Like a flash this several ounce dynamo of cat leapt after it, only to land in the center of Yukon’s stomach. This aroused Yukon. With unexpected energy, she raised her head and looked at the kitten as it scampered off.

I named this newest member of the menagerie, with her white fur and tan tail and ears, after  Skitter, a pure bred Siamese and my pet for seventeen years (also the meanest cat I’ve ever owned). Stephen and Sheila have other names. Stephen’s name for her is Mayhem, Sheila’s prefers “Ferocious Engine of Destruction” as her name. Certainly both fit.

Where was her common sense? What were her morals? 

When people think of the word “morals” they normally, at least in the United States, think in terms of rules of behavior based on the Ten Commandments and the teachings of Jesus. But there are other sets of morals.

For many, money is their idol and constitutes their moral base. The more money, or possessions indicating money, that you have, the better you are as a person. At an easy level, consider some of recent revelations of the bonuses paid to themselves by leading industrialists. Less easy, as the news media avoid the subject, consider the leaks of how some of our leading politicians, such as Senator Dodd, have acquired wealth and privilege, while doing “good” for the nation.  I read one report that claimed that AIG distributed over eight million dollars to Congressmen, half to Democrats and half to Republicans.  Obama was reported as one of the recipients. Money is moral.

For others, power is what is important. At its most generally despised level, we find spouse abuse. Typically reported among the lower classes, abusers find righteousness in the ability to dominate, to abuse, their spouses. But it is not limited to the poor. While employed at WashingtonUniversity I did industrial consulting. The owner of a trucking firm telephoned and reported that his firm was losing millions of dollars every year. (He was a member of an extremely wealthy family.) We set up a battery of tests to evaluate his entire workforce. My assistant, an attractive young woman, did the testing. She reported to me that he offered to double any salary the University was paying her, but that she would never work for him. She said he treated his employees horribly: shouting and swearing at them. Employees also did horribly on tests. None of his mechanics scored better than the bottom ten percent of the population on the Bennett Mechanical Aptitude test, none of his secretaries could type faster than twenty words a minute. No wonder his trucks were always broken down and he was losing money. But he had power. (For the interested, we discussed this in the office and my boss, King Wientge, an experienced and accomplished psycholgist, said that he had best report the results, not me, inexperienced in such problems. He later told me that he had a very frank talk with the man, whose first response was to say he would fire everyone.)

Then there are those for whom notoriety is all important. If you make the front pages, then you are good. Watch the faces of some of the criminals, including murderers, during their trials. They are important: they are on television and they enjoy it. But you don’t have to be a criminal to enjoy prestige. Consider all the “beautiful” actors and actresses. As long as they are on the front page of the tabloids and the news media, life is good – any publicity is good publicity – and they receive it by exposing their bodies. For many, that is all they have to offer.

It appears that Jessie belonged to this group. Obviously, she valued her looks and her body. To expose what she appears to have valued most, could have led to the nude picture of herself that she sent to her boyfriend. His bragging rights led him to distribute it, sort of a “see what I have” approach. Then Jessica discovered, to her horror, that such fame could lead to unpleasant consequences. She was unable to tolerate this, and hung herself. But, how much of her behavior is a result of her home life? Time spent with parents, what they support and praise, is important.

Once, while teaching and doing volunteer work at the mental health clinic, a mother and her ten-year-old son came to my office and demanded my time. She said she had heard that I did free work and she needed help for her son, who was failing in school. Not only did she irritate me, I was in a hurry. The result was calculated cruelty on my part. I looked at the boy and asked, “When did you last read a book?” “I don’t.” “Do you go to the library?” “No.” “Do you have a library card?” “No.” “When was the last time your parents complimented you and for what.” After a long pause, he said, “Last summer, for riding my bicycle.” I turned to the mother and asked her, “Why should he care about school if you don’t?” 

Jessica’s mother is now starting, or attempting to start, a campaign to get the government to control the Internet and cell phones, I suppose to install government morals. There are cruel questions I would ask her. How much time did you and your husband spend with Jessie while she was growing up? Did you go camping together, or to plays or concerts together? Or were you and your husband busy with work, so as to provide measurable luxuries rather than that of companionship? Did you send Jessie to Sunday School or attend church with her, church where Ten Commandment type morals are taught? If not, who taught her the values and morals she learned?

I’m sorry, for Jessie’s mother, but the federal government in WashingtonDC cannot raise a child. It takes a family to raise a child to competent and happy adulthood, typically it is easiest (It is never easy!) in a family which includes both a mother and a father. It is from family that children learn what is important, what is moral.

Recently, my brother Joe must have been slightly annoyed by one of my blogs. It was a bit critical of Obama’s reign: his announced plans and accomplishments in contrast to his campaign promises. I quote Joe’s memo to me. “Darn it Bill, quit quibbling. Now that we are out of Iraq and Afghanistan, friendly with Cuba, have eliminated our dependence of foreign oil, opened up our closed government, and have a vice-president who speaks only the truth you have to admit we NEEDED change. But now we have it and everything is great.”

Sheila asked me if I understood the “toxic asset” plan. I said I thought so, that it appeared rather simple. Banks which made bad loans as a result of Congressional pressure (read Frank and Dodd with Pelosi’s leadership) now had money tied up in property that wasn’t worth much. Congress would buy (with taxpayer money) these worthless notes held by the banks so that the banks could make more bad decisions as to whom they should loan money. This would, of course, require the employment of large numbers of new federal workers, which would satisfy Obama’s promise to increase employment – he never said he would increase PRODUCTIVE employment. Then in another year or two, Congress would have more toxic loans to buy up. A great plan, it only requires new and higher taxes.

Almost two years ago, we agreed to take a large black rabbit – with cage – which someone at the Cardiac Club had to unload. After a few months, we were concerned about the poor beast spending all of its life in a small cage. For a change, we rigged a line across the back yard with the cage at one end. Then we put a harness on the rabbit, permitting it the partial freedom of running across the yard and sleeping in its cage. The problem was that the rabbit kept getting out of its harness and running the yard – and my garden – freely. By fall, the garden was destroyed and the rabbit was adept at avoiding us. So, we decided to simply let it run feely in the yard, which it enjoyed. It would come close to us to be fed – it liked apples and sunflower seeds, but avoided being touched. This spring I pointed out to the family that there was no point in my attempting to have a garden, much less to raise spinach and green peppers, with the beast running free. The problem was catching her to put her back in her cage. The other evening, when I, once again, told Stephen this, he went out and came back in a few minutes later, stating the thing was safely caged. It seems that when chased, which Stephen had experience in doing, our rabbit ran to the smokehouse and leaped into a hole that led under the building. Our Stephen placed a large rock over the hole. When the rabbit, being chased, raced for the hole and leaped to enter it, there was the rock. Stephen said he simply went over, picked up a stunned bunny, I suppose with a headache, and put her back in her cage.   We are still laughing about it, but I don’t suppose our caged bunny is.  I plan on planting my green peppers in the next day or two.

Pluses to Bill. At the ripe old age of twenty, he could distinguish, at least at an intellectual level, between lust and love.

An activity this past week brought that occasion back to mind. Three mornings a week I exercise at the CardiacRehabilitationCenter. A primary activity requires walking on a treadmill. This is probably the most stupid and boring task of ever invented. It would be intolerable if we didn’t have some fun conversations and a television going.   One morning my neighbor on an adjacent machine and I paused our conversation to attend to two curvaceous young women in minimal clothing who appeared on the television screen. When that vision disappeared, I asked my neighbor, “Do you think they can cook?”

That is the heart of our current problem with the divorce rate. Too few people recognize the difference between lust, love and marriage. We all know what lust is, let’s jump beyond that. Love is something more, it is a caring which goes beyond friendship. We all have many friends whose successes please us and whose difficulties cause us to grit our teeth, but love goes beyond that. A loving relationship is one in which you stand ready to assist and make sacrifices for someone else in times of trouble in addition to rejoicing in their successes. You are concerned about them, and your concern goes beyond words.  People have many friends, but relatively few loves.

Marriage is a step beyond love: it is a partnership. As a partnership, it does not necessarily include either lust or love. Two sisters lived a block from me: one a year younger, one a year older. I thought of asking the younger for a date, but never did. I was surprised when their parents divorced following the departure of the last daughter from home. Later I learned that for years those two people had never spoken to each other. It was a working marriage, but a loveless marriage. Such marriages, I hope, are rare. 

In marriage, first comes friendship, then comes love and, finally, if we are lucky, then comes marriage. Lust is mixed in there also. Sheila’s showed signs of irritation on our way home following our two minute wedding ceremony - I invited my son Bill and Sheila’s two friends who had attended the wedding to go to dinner with us. When I quizzed Sheila about her slightly concealed unhappiness as we were driving home, she said, “I didn’t marry you to go out to eat.” 

Unfortunately, even good marriages fall apart. During the years I taught at college, too many older students said to me, “I had a good marriage, but I blew it and it’s too late to go back to it now.” At the time I attributed their failures to the fact that for the first time these young people were living on their own, irritated at and blaming the other for the often dreary tasks that accompany adult life. But I now think such problems are a minor cause of divorce.

I believe that our society, as it has evolved, bears a responsibility for the high divorce rate. In today’s world, both men and women are employed, rarely in the same workplace. In the morning, the man gets in his automobile and drives off to his job, the woman does the same. They each spend the day doing different things. Each has workplace acquaintances and friends, largely unknown to the other: not out of any deliberate act, but as a consequence of their working lives. Young couples who, as a consequence of living in the same area, attending the same schools or attending the same church and evolved through the pattern of lust, friendship and love become strangers to one another. Or, if not strangers, at best acquaintances. 

However, this estrangement provided by modern society can be overcome, and overcome happily. In this, I’ll defer to my bride, who has provided me with the happiest thirty years of my life.

Let us begin by saying that I have loved to swim since my brother Joe taught me how when I was nine. I swam at every opportunity. When I first came to know Sheila, she confessed that she didn’t know how to swim. I taught her. Since then we have swum together at all opportunities. We worked in different offices, but used our lunch hours to swim. In fact, we were on our way to the swimming pool when she told me she would rather go to the hospital. The result was Stephen. 

Early in our marriage, a former student challenged me to take sign language, which she taught. Sheila joined me and became considerably better than I at communicating with the deaf. 

Since then Sheila and I have taken courses together in computer programming, automobile mechanics and Korean. Even when I was taking a course which did not interest Sheila, she often took a class at the same place and time so that we could travel together. (Incidentally, taking courses together was not only profitable personally; it was also much less expensive than going to night clubs or movies.)

Our non-class activities included camping together, attending business meetings together and going to church together. Not all of our “together” experiences were items of first choice to me, and probably the same was true of her, but it gave us a common ground of experiences which solidified our relationship AND our marriage.

We also spent, and spend, time in household activities together, both before and after we had children. When I was cutting wood, there was Sheila, dragging the limbs through the snow to the house where I could cut them up for firewood. My bride insists that I include our cooperation in household tasks. She mentioned washing dishes and laundry. I am more appreciative that she is always there with glasses of ice water and warnings about my over-doing things when I am digging in the garden or pushing the lawn mower.

My point to all this is that despite different primary duties, married couples can overcome the separations imposed by our economic society and enjoy activities that continue and enhance the friendship and love – and lust - that brought them together in the first place. But it requires consideration and cooperation from both. 

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 Meanderings

By

William D. Dannenmaier

This morning, gossiping while I was getting dressed, my bride, huddled under the covers, said, “I was having some happy thoughts earlier this morning, but then I fell asleep again and now you’re up and getting dressed.” It shows what near thirty years of marriage will do to romance.

There are some nice things about being confined to house arrests in-between hospital and doctor visits. Son Stephen had planted all of the trees and bushes I wanted planted this fall, following my instructions. Three cooking cherry spouts are now planted down by the blacksmith shop and four blueberry bushes along the driveway in addition to a replacement butternut walnut in the center of the front yard. 

Three or four years ago I planted a pecan tree, on my property between myself and the church. A neighbor, observing this, commented that I would never live to get pecans off of that tree. I said, “I know, but your grandchildren and perhaps mine will enjoy the pecans for years after I’m gone. 

I’ve never understood people who plant and do things that are only for their own, immediate, good. I don’t expect to see cherries on those seedlings Stephen planted, which is why I had him plant them in places where some other person would be unlikely to cut them down, but the birds will enjoy them whether I do or not. I do, however, hope to get blueberries in two or three years and stop freeloading off of Bob and Kathy Connors’ bushes. 

Sheila is busy hunting for a Bible given to Megaera by the church when she graduated from junior high school. Megaera can’t find it at her home. Sheila says she is positive she gave it to Megaera when Megaera moved, she knows because she didn’t want to because it is such a truly wonderful study Bible. She ended her conversation on the subject saying she had hoped Megaera wouldn’t take it, that it takes a truly evil person to want to steal a Bible from a daughter, and I married her.

Stephen had an A grade going into his final on one class and then missed the final. He went on the wrong day. I overheard his conversation with the professor, whom he telephoned to discover what he could do about making it up. He simply told the Prof that he had gone on the wrong day. The Prof made an appointment to discuss it with him. A problem is that Stephen is a very private person. I told him that the Prof didn’t know if he was out on a drunk or whatever.  I thought that was unfair. The Prof had a right to know that on the day of the examination I was in the hospital for heart surgery, surgery serious enough that I had postponed having my glasses repaired or purchasing new overalls because I saw no use in wasting money if I turned up dead. Our house was in a state of total confusion at the time. As Stephen admitted to me, all he could think about at the time was my surgery. Of course the Professor has the power to decide, but the people I have known in the teaching profession would treat a student who missed class because his father was in surgery would treat the situation quite differently from one who missed because he had partied the night before – a dubious excuse I heard many times was “it was my grandmother’s (grandfather’s) funeral.

It has always been my policy to tell my children and those who worked for me WHY I was doing something or wanted something done. The result has been mixed for the children, some teachers don’t like to explain why they are doing something. Perhaps they don’t know. I recall one boy asking me in my sixth grade class why we had to study a particular subject and my answer, if not intelligent, satisfied him. I said that the Board of Education required this to be taught and they paid me to do it. It was not a democracy. If I wanted to keep my job, I’d do it. The result for me has been that of my eight children, seven of them still correspond with me routinely and the secretaries, assistants and co-workers all liked me. One young woman, my office assistant at WashingtonUniversity, was given the choice by her father of spending a year in Europe, of working on a Master’s Degree at any university she chose, or of continuing to work with me. I learned this when she showed me a new Pontiac convertible her father had purchased her as a consolation prize for staying with me. (She enjoyed me discussing with her all the details of the industrial testing work I was doing and why I was selecting which tests.)

Ramblings

By

William D. Dannenmaier

I read that the multi-millionaire Huffington has been awarded several million dollars – I think ten – to keep her blog or Huffington Post out of bankruptcy. It seems only reasonable. She worked hard enough to discredit the Republicans and elect the Democrats. Perhaps her efforts should be rewarded. If that is true it may be a legitimate expenditure of taxpayer money. I wonder, were I to apply for a thousand dollars for help on my frequently broken down computer to keep my blog going, if I would receive it.

The difference with which our leaders and the news media treat the wealthy and the poor in our country - founded on equality - is interesting. Driving to Nashville for an interview with Dr. Petracik, I saw an older man, at 78 I hesitate to call someone who appeared to be in his sixties “old,” walking down the street in one of the poorest parts of town. His hair was disheveled, long, white and dirty. His beard was similarly long, white and dirty; and his clothing was ragged and dirty. It occurred to me that if he were to stand outside the courthouse and proclaim that he had invented the Internet, that man-caused heat was warming the universe – without regard to five consecutive years of global cooling – and that humans were destroying the earth the police would probably pick him up and take him to a mental hospital. On the other hand, when a multimillionaire, a former Democratic candidate for the Presidency, does it, people pay him hundreds of thousands of dollars to give speeches, award him a Nobel prize and the press honors his every word. 

Two recent blogs address the subject of global cooling. Debra J. Saunders in an essay entitled “When the Warmest in History Isn’t” (December 1, 2008, Townhall.com) reports that a recent report from the NASA Goddard Institute which said that this past October was the warmest in recorded history was based on erroneous data. Two bloggers discovered this. The error was acknowledged within twenty-four hours, but not before it had been released to the believing public. Reports I have read, and cited by Ms Saunders claim that the earth has been cooling for the last five years. 

More amusing, after thought, was an article in the Telegraph.co.uk. Stephen Hockman, a lawyer and former member of Bar Council, is calling for the establishment of an International Court for the Environment which would have the power to punish companies and countries which contribute to global warming and/or fail to protect endangered species. My first thought was, “another international body paid for by U. S. taxpayers and designed to punish the United States.” Other ideas included an attempt to abolish automobiles and return to horses and feet, but the least charitable was the idea that Mr. Hockman foresaw himself in a high paying job with glamorous secretaries and subservient assistants running a court he had talked a bunch of jackasses into creating – again at our expense. My suggestion is that if this is approved, it be housed in the Congo and all members be required to establish residence there.

Several recent news articles have noted the opposition of the automotive executives of the Detroit Three and of the automotive unions to the idea of declaring title eleven bankruptcies, which would not destroy the companies – as it did not destroy the airlines – but would require their reorganization. Two articles I have read, most currently “Recent Musings” by Burt Prelutsky (Townhall.com, December 1, 2008) mention that workers currently cost the companies $78 per hour. Mr. Prelutsky, I think a bit unfairly, extends this to figure the cost of a worker at $156,000 a year. In an attempt at fairness, I figured some of this went to retired workers, so I recalculated at $50 dollars per hour for a person actually working and came out with a salary average of $104,000 per year. Not bad. A bit better than teachers. On the other hand if the products of the automobile companies were as good as the products of the public schools, most of us would walk.

To return to the opposition, I have been told by my lawyer children that Chapter 11 bankruptcy would require a complete reorganization, probably costing these million dollar executives their jobs and restrict pension payments to fifty thousand dollars a year. Until now, I have been unable do discover what pensions retired workers receive. It is 90% of their working salary, plus medical and dental costs for themselves and their families. No wonder the Unions are opposing this! Ninety percent of $104,000 per year is $93,600 in income, plus medical (I pay $390 a month for my Medicare and Blue Cross insurances.) We would impoverish those millions of retired workers by reducing their incomes to 50K a year! On the other hand, my most liberal son says he doesn’t understand why someone working for $10 an hour at a store should be taxed to pay $93,000 dollars a year to retired automotive workers. I agree with him. For once!

Thanksgiving is now past. My bride baked eleven pies (four apple, four pumpkin and one each of blueberry, pecan and peach). She also baked a turkey with dressing and cooked a mountain of mashed potatoes, string beans, carrots, and macaroni and cheese. We also had a large fruit salad from our own fruit, deviled eggs – a dozen – and a Black Forest cherry cake. A visiting friend brought another pumpkin pie. In addition to the “boys,” Stephen and Andrew, Megaera and Shane came early, actually the night before so that Megaera could learn how to make dressing the way Sheila does – Shane loves it. Additional guests included Cindy and her daughter Cory with JoAnn and John with their daughters and JoAnn’s sister later in the day. No turkey is left and I can’t speak for the other remnants, which are stored in the fridge, but remarkable to me were the pies. When I wandered out at five this morning, one whole pumpkin pie, two half apple pies and half of the peach pie were all that were left of that total of twelve pies. 

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.   

Fun and Family

By

William D. Dannenmaier

So many of my favorite writers are black (Dr. Walter Williams, Dr. Thomas Sowell, Dr. Larry Elder and Star Parker) that I had to check the mirror to see if I was still white and male, but we won’t go into the check I did for that. 

Senator Biden has proclaimed that all global warming is caused by human activity. With this assertion he joins that other renowned scientist, Mr. Gore. If we accept their expertise and intensive research in global warming, it raises another problem. If we are successful in getting people around the globe to stop “polluting” the atmosphere, at what temperature will global cooling end? Is there a danger of entering another ice age? Or what about another glacier age? While Senator Biden and Mr. Gore may welcome the thought of ice covering Alaska – eliminating Sarah Palin’s home state - they should remember that the glaciers extended southward to include half of Missouri. Some of those states that will be covered include states which support Biden for Vice-President. He should be concerned about this. 

Has anyone else noted that most of our historically esteemed recent Presidents (Truman, Eisenhower and Reagan) have been non-lawyers and persons with roots among working people while those renowned for mediocrity or worse have been lawyers? Incidentally, Obama and Biden are lawyers, Palin grew up in a working class family and McCain, while in a privileged family also worked for a living.

Sometimes one wonders about one’s friends. Coleen Small sent an e-mail response to Sheila’s letter saying they would pray for me but would certainly pray for Sheila. She said, “without Sheila Bill would be….well….difficult.” Is that a compliment? It is so irritating that were I to visit Kansas City in November instead of going to the hospital I would think twice about staying at her house or eating her cooking. Fortunately, this momentary pique will wear off and I will forgive her before my next visit.

Only the Democratic Party, the main stream media and 10% of the population approve of our Democratic Congress. Of the candidates of President and Vice-President, only Sarah Palin is not a member of Congress. Is it any wonder the Democratic candidates and their main-stream media are so critical of her? She doesn’t belong to the “Club.”

A recent article claimed that a study had shown, that next to entertainers, lawyers were the least trusted professional group in the country. Several other polls I have read say that only a small percentage of the people think Congress is doing a good job, 10% in one poll, 14% in another. Yet our Presidential and Vice-Presidential winners are two lawyers from Congress who are strongly supported by Hollywood. Politicians should be grateful that people never permit their thought processes to interfere with their voting or their hope for change to be embarrassed by a long history of evidence.

Jim and I were discussing politics, as usual, at the Cardiac Club, not having had time to start arguing. (Jim is a born-again Democrat and has been active in government as an economist - he has a doctorate in Economics.) Anyway, Jim interrupted my thoughtful analysis of Obama to ask about my health. I said I wouldn’t know anything until the 31^st, but anticipating problems I planned to vote immediately. Then, knowing Jim’s political savvy, I asked what would happen if I died after I voted, but before the election. Jim’s answer was consistent with my beliefs. “If you were a Democrat, we would vote you again in your new status, but as a Republican, we’ll simply eliminate your vote.”

Physical and mental abilities may decline with age, but stupidity survives the years. It may even improve with age. Three days before writing this, I used the four-wheeler to take trash to the dumpster. On my way home I noticed people working on our nine acre community center and a group of their youngsters wandering about: children between the ages of five and eight. I drove over and offered rides. It was glorious! One child at a time we sped about the former pasture, over bumps and small depressions, the child giggling and laughing. After all were satisfied, I came home. The next morning I could barely get out of bed: not passion, pain. The back still hurts, but much less now. The next time I take children for rides, I shall be more careful about the jounces.

Son Eric and Maria visited over the weekend. As always it was a delight to have Maria. Eric and I argued politics, as usual I could not get him to see the intelligent side of things. We did agree on one thing, we both detest the idea of the public paying for twenty years of bad management by Detroit automobile makers. 

My immediate plans don’t exist. I was to visit the surgeon in Nashville on Tuesday and have surgery to repair my sternum on the 20^th. He ordered another test first, so I spent Thursday in the hospital from seven in the morning until six-thirty that evening. I think the late exit was a sneaky bit on Dr. Blazer’s part. Initially, he told me the operation would begin about nine and end in three hours. Sheila claims I mentioned that was good, as I had some leaves I needed to rake in the afternoon. Dr. Blazer didn’t say anything at the time, but I didn’t get home until well after dark. I was warned before I left, that I should be prepared for an order to go to the hospital at any time.

Incidentally, a crew of six or seven nurses spent Thursday playing with me. I recall one telling me if I lifted my head again she would get duct tape and tape me to the table. Anyway, they all impressed me. Like Mary Ann and others I have met who work for Dr. Blazer, they were quick and efficient in their work and pleasant, ready to give and take humor. 

Anyway, the result was a telephone call canceling my visit on Tuesday and surgery on Thursday. Instead, I have another confrontation with the surgeon on Friday. Sheila is busy preparing a suitcase for me with the concern that I might be kept in the hospital on Friday or receive a telephone call saying, “Come now,” sooner – we were warned that might happen. 

Meanderings

By

William D. Dannenmaier

Media stars complained that Sarah Palin was sending the same message every time. That is a problem for a person who has values and beliefs. They don’t change daily. Perhaps that is why the media personalities favor Obama, he is for change. He changes on economics, he changes on Iraq, he changes on so much it is hard to keep track. But he can be depended on for something new every time he talks. 

My son Bill reported that the damage to the homes he and his brothers Chris and Eric own in Galveston has been much worse than expected and he wondered if Stephen and Andrew could use their spring vacations to come and help.  I asked Andrew and his immediate answer was “Yes.” While Stephen was preparing to leave for school I asked him if he would go, provided his half-brothers paid his transportation down and back. I liked his immediate answer. “Certainly, one has to help family.” 

Some may recall that early in Obama’s run for the Democratic nomination he visited Africa. Accompanied by photographers and news media, he recalled his family heritage which included a visit to his half-brother. In a follow-up visit by a reporter from a European newspaper, the half-brother was reported as living in a hut on a dollar a month and said that his one wish was to get enough money to go to school to be a mechanic, so he could earn a decent living. (Dinesh D’Souza, Townhall.com, September 8, 2008) If one considers it, the faith of some people is amazing. Obama, a millionaire, will not send his half-brother the few hundred dollars that would enable him to obtain the education that he needs to escape poverty, yet people believe that if he elected, he will do great things to help people he doesn’t know.

Following a small incident at the Cardiac Club, I am again under house arrest until I receive approval from my cardiologist – no exercising, no lifting of objects over 10 pounds, and a report from Sheila on my daily diet, heart checks three times a day, etc. I telephoned Dr. Smith’s office to protest (Dr. Gary Smith is my G.P.) in anticipation of visiting him immediately. His delayed reply was that he had broken his foot. I e-mailed in return that he should stop kicking the wall when he heard that I planned an office visit.

Sheila had a laugh on me today. It was time to take the trash to the dumpster, so I began carrying the bags out to the four-wheeler, when Sheila bustled in, pushed me out of the way and carried the heavier bags and put them in the trailer. As I drove down the driveway and headed to the dumpster, I was laughing to myself that it hadn’t occurred to my bride that I would lift them out and throw them in the dumpster. After I arrived at the dumpster and had thrown in a lighter bag, Andrew pulled up in Stephen’s car. Sheila had sent him racing down to unload the trailer. She enjoyed that petty victory over me out of all proportion (in my opinion) to her triumph.

I would never, ever, under any conditions suggest or even hint that my bride doesn’t anticipate needs, consider resources and plan in detail her delicious meals, that’s why I was a bit surprised when, as I asked her what was for dinner. She looked up from where she was bending over varied packages in the bottom of the refrigerator and said, “I don’t know. Probably what’s in this package as soon as I find out what it is.”

Still on the topic of brides, I noticed an empty Hershey’s wrapper the other morning, and accused Sheila of eating chocolate without sharing. Her reply, “I know you believe it is immoral to eat chocolate before noon, but I don’t. So I helped save a moral dilemma for you by not mentioning it.” When I replied that she was flip-flopping on morals, she said, “Absolutely not. I’m firm in my morals for me and I’m firm on my morals for you.” Husbands can’t win.

The other morning I awoke completely refreshed, noticed that Sheila was up and hopped up myself. Entering the kitchen, I noticed she hadn’t started my coffee so I began that, but decided a trip to the bathroom was more essential. On the way there, I encountered my bride returning. Going back to the kitchen, I started on coffee and then looked at the clock. It was 11:30! I had slept all of two hours. I quit on the coffee and returned to bed.

On a political note, I have enjoyed the picture of Pelosi and Reid standing together, not a Republican in sight, and proclaiming the success of their Wall Street Bailout. The picture occurred on the same day that headlines announced that the bill had failed in passage. Now, Pelosi puts the Republicans as responsible, forgetting to mention that 40% of the Democrats she leads voted against it. For once, members of the House of Representatives have represented their constituents’ wishes!

All in all, the month of September was not the best for either McCain or me. Our refrigerator quit cooling, the gas heater in the study was disintegrating, the microwave showed problems and I was unable to get the doctor’s approval to return to normal activity until he has put me through some tests and I have seen a surgeon. Now, we have a new refrigerator, a new gas heater, a replacement microwave and Sheila has been talking about how attractive some of the men in the Cardiac Club are.