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.

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.

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….