Oliver's questions answered

Sunday morning brought an answer to what happened to our whiny cat, Oliver. After imagining all sorts of encounters with local critters, the truth came out during my Sunday School class.

Two weeks ago the 132 year old church had a scare when smoke began billowing out of the ducts immediately after the heating system was switched on. Turned out a raccoon was using the attic of the church for a refuge from the cold weather and had succeeded in gnawing through a couple of wires which caused the smoke.

Stanley, a WWII Marine Corps veteran and a member of my class, decided the coon needed to be caught before some real damage occurred. He brought his live trap and set it out behind the church house and baited it with something smelly. Apparently, Oliver couldn't resist the lure of the decaying tidbits, and sprung the trap on himself. Now the goal of a live trap is to capture a critter without inflicting any terminal injuries...all that is required of the animal is to sit down and wait to be released. Oliver is not a patient pussycat and kept trying to butt his way out of the cage, hence the damage to his nose by the time Stanley checked his trap. No wonder he acted so embarrassed...a self-inflicted injury!

Tending the Wounded

As we get older, there are milestones we come to in our journey through life. This week I came to another one when I had to accompany my Lovely Bride to the dermalogist's office for something called a "Mohs" micrographic procedure to remove a cancer from her face. One of the inherent problems with being blonde, fair of complexion and living in a sun-drenched environment such as Texas, is that skin cancers become a matter of when...not if. She has always had a multitude of adorable and highly interesting freckles, but this was just a spot at the corner of her eye next to her nose which her glasses kept irritating. The process entailed cutting away the visible tumor and examining the edges, or margins, of the mass to see if there was any cancer there. If there was, the knife came back out, more tissue was cut away, and the microscopic examination conducted again. This ensures all the cancer is removed along with the minimum amount of healthy tissue. Once the margins are found to be free of cancer cells, it is just a matter of stitching the patients face back together. One problem with this procedure is the time involved...for the LB it was a little under five hours, and I aged a lot more than that as I waited and held her hand. Two days later, other than some bruising and an itchy incision, there aren't many obvious signs she had anything done.

She decided to stay home from work Friday to rest and recuperate a little. While home, she passed the time by taking some photos of some of her house critters, including one chronically whiny cat named Oliver. Oliver has been with us since birth, and has had an interesting existence which once included a trip to a feline orthopedist for hip surgery after an ill-timed encounter with an over-enthusiastic Labrador puppy.

Saturday, Oliver didn't appear until late in the afternoon. He acted pretty embarrassed, and was sporting a very swollen and bruised nose. Didn't seem to be in much pain, but the question on our minds was what did he get tangled up with? All I can think of is maybe he got himself kicked or stepped on by a cow while roaming through one of the neighboring pastures. What else could give a cat a bloody nose while doing little other damage? Anyone have any ideas, please send them along.

These pictures of Oliver were taken Friday and Saturday afternoons.

The Same Old Thing

I need to give up on trying to post regularly. I just have fallen back into my routine of getting up before the sun, going to work, and coming home to Naruna sometime around sundown. No trips to exotic locales, no meals at fancy restaurants, and few encounters with out-of-the-ordinary folks whose stories are not protected by federal law. Nothing new. Nothing different. I go to the same job every day and then come home to the same wife every night.

Since I am in this terrible rut, I have to be bored out of my mind, right!?! Wrong! Yesterday there was a high school student, doing a rotation through the Operating Room, who asked me why I was still working in the OR after more than 37 years. The answer which slipped out before I had time to think was, “I can’t imagine doing anything else.” Nothing else gives the same feeling as taking a patient who has a problem, helping fix whatever is wrong, and then sending them home better for having visited us. If you don’t feel like you have made a difference and accomplished something after a day of that, there is no hope for you.

And the wife I come home to every night is the same girl I fell head over heels in love with so many years ago. I still don’t know why she decided to say yes more than a third of a century ago when I clumsily brought up the subject. She stood beside me no matter what came along, traveling around the world, having babies and raising them far from home and family. She took care of them by herself when I ran away on those unaccompanied tours to exotic parts of the globe, and she learned there was nothing she couldn’t do if needed. She balanced family with volunteering and serving others, so that when we retired from the Army, she knew more General officers than I ever met.

No matter what foolish things I tried over the years, she nursed me back to health and some degree of mobility. She continues to experiment on me with exotic recipes, even when worn out from cooking for her kids at school…all 400 of them. Since we first met, we have been able to sit beside each other, read a book or newspaper, never feel the need to say a word, and still feel we have communed and had “quality time” together.

So when I say I am doing the “same old thing” every day, that means a lot.

Cowboy Up!

I really need to start posting on some sort of regular basis. It has been a month since I last laid down any thoughts for you to pick through. Of course, in a place like Naruna, excitement doesn't come along just every day.

There are the little minor adventures, such as Larry's blue heeler who got caught in a hog snare, and to add insult to the injury got sprayed by a passing skunk. This would not normally have affected the general population of Naruna, except the dog insists on following Larry to church. With the week long Revival Meeting kicking off this past Sunday, every one quickly got their fill of this gimpy, smelly dog. The sad part was that the dog only wanted to be everybody's friend and kept trying to quietly slip up next to the ladies sipping on glasses of cold ice tea and wearing their Sunday-go-to-meeting finery. The poor dog couldn't understand why none of those good church folk wanted to associate with him, a poor sinner. Positively un-Christian!

I guess the big Naruna news is the Revival meeting, or Revival Crusade as it is being advertised. Last year the little Baptist church in Naruna had a four day revival, and everybody had such a great time, it was decided to extend it to a full week this time around. All the ladies of the church keep cooking and feeding sinners and saints alike. There is a gospel singing group, complete with a young lady playing the fiddle, and a high-powered Evangelist imported all the way from Dallas. They keep filling the little 130 year old church, and people are making decisions and being saved! Makes all the getting ready feel worthwhile. I'll try to put up more info as the week progresses.

Saturday night, the LB and I headed for the south end of Burnet county and a fund-raising event for a local organization, the Hill Country Children's Advocacy Center (or HCCAC). This is a group which serves seven counties in the Texas Hill Country as a centralized agency performing forensic exams of abused children. One of the biggest traumas for abused children is having to repeat their story over and over as they pass through the system. HCCAC works to minimize that trauma. Just at a time when economic downturns are causing a surge in child abuse, the center lost a significant grant this year. The Cowboy Up for Kids event is one way the community is trying to make up that deficit. www.hccac.org/howhelp/events_dinner.html

We headed out into the countryside, turned down a dusty road, and arrived at a huge tent amongst the mesquite and scrub oak just as the sun was setting over the hills. A group of musicians, replete with well-worn boots, hats and more than one handlebar moustache, were onstage tuning and warming up. Tables filled with items for a silent auction lined the sides of the tent, and a number of big ticket items were arrayed around the dance floor in readiness for the live auction. A bar, with the obligatory longnecks and margarita machine plus bottles of wine for the more refined in the crowd, was fitted into one corner. An oldtime chuckwagon was parked at the back of the tent, and several wood fires were being tended outside. Closer scrutiny showed numerous large dutch ovens either nestled in the coals or suspended over the flames.

Quickly I secured cold beverages for us, and we began to circulate through the crowd, stopping to exchange greetings with acquaintances, while checking out the auction items. The LB located several interesting things and jotted down her opening bids. I was starting to relax and think I might get out without spending too much money, when she discovered that one of the live auction items was for a miniature donkey party for a dozen of the children at the center. Her only question was, "Can I come to the party, too?" I knew I was doomed. She would not rest (nor let me rest!) until I had secured this prize.

Dinner was the next agenda item, with steaks grilled over the open fire, with sides of potatoes and green beans ladled out of steaming pots. Home made rolls baked in the coals in heavy dutch ovens rounded out the meal (and my belly). Just when we couldn't eat another bite, the cooks brought in dutch ovens full of home made peach cobbler. Wonderfully miserable!

As the live auction got underway, and the first few items sold for less than their stated value, I became hopeful...maybe it wouldn't really cost that much. At last, "our" lot went on the block, and a determined looking fellow from Hamilton, Texas quickly tossed out the first bid. As I looked him over, I couldn't help but wonder if he too had a wife who was a donkey junkie? I waved my program in the air, upping the stakes, wondering how determined he would prove to be. Back and forth we went, trading the lead, until finally...he caved! Ha...ha...ha. I had bested him, and all it cost was...my God, what did it cost!?! I kept repeating my mantra of, "It's for the kids, it's for the kids," as I tried to catch my breath and write out the check.

The Chocolate Mint Explosion

The LB and our Middle Child decided to repaint what had been the Youngest Child's bedroom. Since she left home over six years ago and hasn't tried to move back yet, they felt it was safe to do some updating, and maybe add a few modern touches to make it over into a serviceable guest room.

In principal this sounded good, but when I was asked to help pick out paint, I knew something was amiss since my choices are always "white" or maybe "off-white". When asked why she needed me, the LB confessed that the salesman told her if she wanted the color she had selected, she had to bring her husband in with her before he would mix it. This aroused my interest to the point where I agreed to tag along.

At the paint display, we found ourselves at opposite ends of the samples. I was in front of the beiges and eggshells, and they went over to the dark side. Quickly, I was over-ruled (like I really thought I would have a vote!) and the decision came down to which flavor of paint they wanted...milk or dark chocolate?

Back in Naruna, furniture was quickly pushed into the center of the room, switchplates and outlet covers removed, and painting clothes put on. The first splashes of dark brown were applied to the mint green the Youngest Child had smeared on the walls while in high school, and after the first feelings of queasiness passed, it looked like nothing so much as a splattering of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Thankfully, the brown went on quickly and before long it was drying and revealing its true milk chocolatey nature.

After the first couple of coats dry sufficiently, it will be time to do some taping and trim work. I may even be allowed to help out with that since I won't have to make any strategic decisions...just put the paint on the wood!

The Texas State Fair

Last weekend the LB and I headed up to Dallas to visit family and the state fair. We have gone to the state fair everywhere we have lived; South Carolina, Kentucky, Hawaii, etc.; but had never been to the Texas fair. This has really eaten at my Lovely Bride, especially since we were both born in Texas, raised in Texas, attended schools in Texas, married in Texas...you get the idea.

I think what finally pushed her over the edge this year was when she found a list of events which was headed by "The Donkey & Mule Show". I don't know if I have mentioned it before, but my LB is not always rational when it comes to the subject of donkeys. After we went to see the movie, "Mamma Mia", our youngest daughter was told she had to have a "wedding donkey" whenever she finds the right guy. Finding that right guy may be more difficult after he finds out about his future mom-in-law and her donkey fetish. The LB is the only woman I know who carries plain granola bars in her purse just in case she runs into a little donkey in need of a snack.

When she discovered the state fair was hosting a show with all sizes and varieties of donkeys, she would not be deterred. She had to attend! And guess who was to be her sidekick for the weekend?

Dallas is usually not my favorite city in Texas, which probably stems from a bad experience with a blind date to the SMU football game during my freshman year at Texas A&M. However, one good aspect of Big D is the multitude of places to dine out. Naruna is a wonderful place to live, but if you want something to eat, you cook it yourself. I decided that if we were to be cruising the midway all day, we needed a decent meal beforehand, so made reservations at Lawry's. This is a great place so long as you are interested in large hunks of beef, presented with a little flair. We had a good meal, a good visit with family, and a good night's sleep before heading to Fair Park early the next morning.

The first stop after entering the fairgrounds was the Equine Pavillion, where all the donkeys were hanging out. Big donkeys, miniature donkeys, unhappy donkeys and sleepy donkeys. After roaming through the barn and failing to find any unsupervised donkeys small enough to slip into her purse, the LB decided to watch some of the competitions in the arena. Exciting as this was, and as cute as the little donkeys were, eventually we moved on to the exhibits and then to the main attraction...The Fried Stuff!

We wandered through the hundreds of food booths, in search of the perfect fair food. You could sample chicken fried bacon, fried banana splits, deep fried S'mores, deep fried grilled cheese sandwichs, and the list goes on forever. The possibility of suffering a grease overdose is everpresent, so careful planning is called for. We started with a smoked turkey leg and some fresh squeezed lemonade... health food. Our first fried food was a battered and deep-fried Moon Pie, drizzled with chocolate syrup and dusted with powdered sugar...a gooey and wonderful mess! Of course, no trip to the fair would be complete without a real State Fair Corny Dog since this is where they were invented and first served. The corny dogs were washed down with some fresh brewed root beer. After riding the ferris wheel, we found fried Jelly Bellys for dessert as we headed for the parking lot and home.

I can already tell we will need to allow more time next year for sampling(and digesting) all the interesting foods. Road trip, anyone??

2nd Anniversary

Warning! A great deal of whining and psychobabble follows:
Today marks the second anniversary of my most recent serious attempt to kill myself. I must quickly state that none of these attempts have ever been deliberate or premeditated...they just seem to happen. This has not kept family members from labelling me as suicidal or at least not very smart when it comes to engaging in risky behaviors.

Two years ago at about this time of day, I was lying in a bed in a large metropolitan trauma center, full of IV drugs, with more catheters and tubes than I had orifices, and was unable and unwilling to move any part of my body because everything hurt. I was in this condition after literally getting lost in the fog on the way to work and failing to navigate a curve I had gotten around without incident twice a day for the past eight years. When I awoke, my motorcycle was on top of me with the headlamp shining up into the fog, and my helmet was sitting upright in the center of the road. After awhile, a couple of guys on their way to work came along and called the appropriate agencies. A quick ride to the local hospital(where I happen to work-embarrassing!), was followed by a helicopter ride to what is dubiously called "the next level of care". After spending 5 or 6 days in the big city hospital, it was decided I was probably stable enough to survive surgery and to begin putting some of the more annoying broken stuff back together.

Now it is two years later, there have been a few more surgeries, and a couple more are still on the not too distant horizon. My body still feels much the same as it did two years ago, with everything still hurting, just not as bad. I still have to stop and think before starting up or down stairs about which foots goes first. Changes in the weather frequently mean sleepless nights with no pain free way of lying down, and a headache only attracts attention when it isn't "the usual".

Whining aside, I have returned to most of my pre-crash activities, and have had some real adventures. Going to Italy this summer for the first time was a fantastic experience, and even though it was physically demanding I would go again without hesitation. With the current economic situation throughout the world, I am glad we went when we did, even though it seemed costly at the time.

The one activity I haven't picked up again has been riding a motorcycle. I have been offered the opportunity a couple of times by friends, but I have pled physical infirmity. My old and beat-up BMW Airhead is sitting in the garage, still minus its fairing. I have intermittently worked at fixing it, but until recently haven't accomplished much. I want to ride it again. I feel I NEED to ride it again. But can I bring myself to actually climb aboard, fire it up, and head off into the sunset?? How much of my desire to ride again comes from being schooled in the John Wayne School of Stoicism & Moral Fiber?..."Get up and climb back on that hoss that just throwed you, Pilgrim!" As long as the bike isn't completed, the mental confrontation and anguish can be delayed and postponed.

I have decided I need to get the bike back together and running. That is the first hurdle. Until I clear that one, I won't think about the next which will be whether to go back to riding again. Now where is the number for that bike shop?