National Grandparents Day

Star Date 11092016

What a fun day…it would be, if I actually got to see my baby Logan on this, NGD. Hmmm. doesn’t look quite right when it is shortened. For some who find this date to be more historical than that of being a grandparent, it is. I could break in to a where I was when I heard the news, but I would rather focus on being a grandparent, as would Charlie. I have already had a couple texts with T, this morn. Her present to me…beyond the obvious…is hoping for a nap. As am I. Although the Fitbit states I received 9 hours and 57 minutes of sleep last night, I could see a nap in my future. Difficult to say, as granny Jess is nesting a bit, currently. A week away and not looking forward to work is not typically a good combo. Say, as compared to homemade chocolate cake and bourbon that got to live in a port barrel. Mmmmmm. Being home, though great, does put us back in to a certain reality. I get to do all my pre-op testing tomorrow. There’s Charlie’s party to plan for. My country’s 500th anniversary to plan, Charlie’s murder to plan, and Guilder to frame for it. (reference The Princess Bride) Fun stuff…ish.

Sat out on the back patio for a bit today. Sun was mostly out, yet a nice breeze…and humidity was down. For those who are not aware, this combination is a rarity in Pitts. We rather enjoyed it…Jess, Ma, Charlie, and me. The four of us together are quite a pleasantry. I was stuck on the song in my head. I whistled it a bit before Ma jumped in, humming along. Jess picked up on the words. I need to start by saying I am the least Beatles fan if there were others. Just sayin. Turns out the song was Help!…not to be confused with Wham! (Deadpool):

Help me if you can, I’m feeling down And I do appreciate you being ’round Help me get my feet back on the ground Won’t you please, please help me

This is all I was whistling…unbeknownst. Fitting. Stupid Beatles and their stupid songs.

Fast forward. Ma and Jess are going to a farm. There was quite a discussion about chickens and the raising of, on our property. Coops and roofs. Location. Number of chickens. …which ranges from 16 down to 3…or vice versa for those who use old math and count from lower to higher. I think we are splitting the indifference and going with 7. No cocks. Teehee. Whatever the case and number, Ma and Jess decided to go to a local farm …and Whole Foods. That gave me the  unnecessary task and time to mow the upper and lower forty. It was kind of both my mother and wife to say they got all the poop from Tank…who…is aptly named. I too went on a poo hunt. In my wanderings I found no less than 4 piles of Tank masses from his ass…es. I promptly picked up so as to avoid the helicoptering that would occur, should I have found them with the mower. Alas, and much to my shitgrin…er chagrin…the Honda mower…although powerful..succumbed to the power of the poop. Chopping and swirling with its double blades. A true shit show. There is nothing quite as pungent as a freshly mowed poo. The first drop from the dog is no comparison to a freshen that has been kissed by a sweet evening rain…only to be debulked from the lawn with the precision of Edward Scissorhands attempting to wash his face. Yes…debulked….as in a tumour. As a wet poop does not leave the blades of grass in its entirety. Nay. In its stead, it mushes and pushes farther into the grass follicles…ever taunting the mower wheels and my shoes. Always there. Never a care. This too, we share. Where? Over there. Seems so unfair. All too rare. Was that a bear? Nope. A hare. Do I dare? I do not Nair…I shave. Infrequently. Ahhhhh. there is nothing like the feeling of a freshly shorn scrotum…it is quite breathtaking, I assure you (ref to Austin Powers – Dr. Evil).

Fast forward. Dinner with my Shaak family. BBQ and delicious bourbon. I know. Right? I was amazed…as I am sure you are…bourbon does go with everything. Conversation was good and fun…even with my better half and mom back on the homestead, churning their fresh butter…or whatever they do after farming. I just hope they washed their hands. Jess and Ma were missed. Sunday dinner made it official. Back in Pittsburgh. Home. Plans for the party were discussed a bit, but without my real brain….in one Charlie and out my ears.

Rewind and Fast forward. A couple months back I was in the mood to listen to Zac Brown. So ….being a mostly handi-capable adult, I did. I got stuck on a song…as I oft do. It is Bittersweet and is from their Jekyll & Hyde album:

Can’t tell where the sky begins and the water ends No clouds to hide the sun Waves playing me a symphony upon the sand I lay drifting on the ocean with this bottle in my hand

Sat down on the boardwalk for a little while Your memory my company Something about this place had a way to make you smile You always loved this island breeze

The wind whistling across my bottle still can’t blow away the sorrow That tomorrow you won’t be here with me So I raise it up and toast the day we met I won’t forget the way you love me, the amazing way you love me

It’s bittersweet, you see You’re not here but I can feel you Every memory is on the tip of my tongue Close my eyes, see your face, hold on tight to yesterday Praying when I wake, it was just a dream It’s bittersweet

Doctor said there’s nothing we can do Took my hand said take me home To the only place with half a chance to take the pain away Make me feel alive before I go

You said life is only borrowed So let’s wash away our sorrow That tomorrow I won’t be here with you Go and live your life with no regrets and don’t forget how much I love you I love you

It’s bittersweet, you see You’re not here but I can feel you Every memory is on the tip of my tongue Close my eyes, see your face, hold on tight to yesterday Praying when I wake, it was just a dream It’s bittersweet

I brought you back just like you wanted So you don’t ever have to leave And when I poured you across the southern sky, I couldn’t help but to cry I know you finally got your wings

Bitter-bittersweet Bittersweet

The wind whistling across my bottle still can’t blow away the sorrow That tomorrow you won’t be here with me So raise it up and toast the day we met I won’t forget the way you love me, the amazing way you love me It’s bittersweet

A couple months ago. Before I was introduced to Charlie. Before Charlie was even called a spot on my MRI. Just thought I’d share. You should oughta take a listen in the case that you have not. Do not be confused by the country genre for which it will claim to might be. This is not. What it is, is sad. Based on a real life of someone the band folk knew (not me).

And now for a little more upbeat. Since starting this thingy thing, a couple of friends have been added that likely should have been on here all along. So…I have to go back in time, pre-Les for today’s spotlight. Wait till you see how I tie all this together…yep…dog sh** and all.

Spotlight friend. Steve E. Along about the time that Scott and family moved to a different church, there was an influx of folks from a neighboring or sister church…does that apply even to a non-cathoholic? Hmmmm. I rectum it may. Anywhozalbees, the Ellises were one of the families who came over. Steve was a year ahead of me in school, but we hit it off. I do not recall any initial meeting, just …as many might guess, a similar sense of humour. Steve and I were pretty tight. He would come over to our house for sleepovers and I would go to his. Steve had Atari…you know…Asteroids…Joust. …and tiny poodles. And milk allergies. Wood floors. I had …well. Pong. At least three gallons of milk in the fridge at any given moment. Wall to wall carpet…including the fancy indoor/outdoor in the family room. And a dog named Pooch. Pooch was found under a car, a street over. Dad brought him home. He became our dog…whether or not he actually wanted to be. I suspect…given the amount of time he spent with us, that he wanted to be with us. Pooch looked a lot like Benji if Benji had sex with an over-sized wiener dog but had Benji’s wirey …yet soft and supple…hair. Pooch was not that far off the ground. The first time Pooch saw Steve, it was love at first sight…well…at least of Steve’s leg. Pooch would force himself on Steve for years. All any of us could do was laugh. In fact…even Steve laughed. Sidebar. A few years back, when Steve and I reconnected, I signed the email “Love, The Pooch.” I might have added something about missing his leg. Steve came along at a time that I needed. …I would like to think I did the same for Steve…though Steve did not lack in the friends department. Steve and I would ride our bikes everywhere. Baskin Robbins…No…still no milk for Steve…sherbet. Rainbow. We would go to the Long’s drugs. We would go to the mall, back when it still had an arcade and movie theater. We would spend hour after hour there. And then we found Spencer’s. Why is this important. Four words. Truly Tasteless Jokes. What? Charlie says that’s only three words. I will add awesome as my fourth. This was a series of books that were…as stated…truly tasteless. Wrong. Bad. Certainly for a couple of good church-goers. Yes…we would sneak these in to church. So many laughs. Fast forward. Toward the end of Pooch’s life, Mark was the only one left at home to pick up the Pooch remains. Yep…tying it all together…only to blow it up…quite literally. Have I mentioned that Steve and I might have become pyros had Jesus not taken the wheel (ref Carrie Underwear…wood..whatevs). Sidebar. Prior to large church gatherings, Steve and I thought it fun to bore a hole in a ping-pong ball or several. Insert just the white/red tip of a light anywhere match, until no more tips could fit through the hole and into the ball. Then throw said ball on ground to see what would happen. That was in junior high. Dangerous…nope…pyrotechnical pioneers. Prior to this, Steve and I spent a fair amount of time burning things and bugs and other things and stuff with magnifying glasses…when we did not have access to matches and lighter fluid. So many fires. Back to Pooch. I do not recall the thought process behind the events, but between Steve, Mark, me…with mom watching from a safe distance…we proceeded to take firecrackers and …yep…blow shit up. Literal shit. First one firecracker…then two…then three. Better times to be had? Not on that day. We all four of us laughed till we cried. Pooch remnants everywhere. Fence. Retaining wall. Dad’s BBQ. Side of house. Walkway. Fast forward. Steve and I lost touch after college and such. Life got in the way for both of us. …probably best, as we would still be blowing shit up. I survived junior high and high school because of Steve and Scott.

Back to the party. FYI…spoiler alert. Deadpool makes its television debut on HBO on …..you guessed it…1 October. How befitting of a Charlie send off.

I am tired. Tomorrow is test day. Pee in this, not that. No we don’t need that kind of sample. Nor that kind. Yes, we know you have a tumour, Mr. Skeelays. CT. Bloodwork. ECG. Chest x-ray. The works. Including the undercarriage anti-rust coating. And…if I act now…the free set of Ginsu steak knives. They slice. They dice. They chop. They cut. Watch me saw through this penny and now cut easily through this tumour…er…tomato. I forget. It’s not a bad day. These are tests that I do not have to study for and ultimately cannot fail. That said, Bittersweet hits me all too often. I am reminded that just yesterday as we were somewhere betwixt there and here, I am reminded that I should write down passwords and logins, lions, tigers, and bears…oh my. (ref Wizard of Oz). Reality. Back home. Tests. Doctor. Wait. I was talking with a future spotlighter…initials Rob Hawks…earlier today. I have no doubt that though Jess was doing everything she could to tune me out…she could not. She happened to walk by to catch the following:

Rob – So…how do they cut this thing out? Like a big cut down the side of your head?

Me – Uh…I was told they will have to attack it by entering through my rectum.

Jess – (walking by, eyes rolling) figures.

Rob & Kevin – laughing as if it was the first ever time we’d said rectum.

Jess has put up with a lot in the last couple weeks. Her life has literally changed from everything she thought it was and or could be…or should be. Amidst my stupidity, jokes, et al. There is Jess. Vigilante…er…vigilant. It is clearly not for the money, and soon, not for the good looks as I could look like an avocado that had sex with a much older avocado (ref Deadpool).

Final thought. Doctor and tests = reality. My coming weeks are of planning and doing. Do be a doer. Don’t be a don’ter. (ref Pain and Gain). I hate the administrative functions of daily life. I don’t have things written down and or in some form of digital back up to my brain. I never thought I would need to have such things written out for such things. …more importantly for Jess. At least not for many many years. We never saw this coming. So. I am committing on this digital backdrop, that I will not disappoint my wife …in this forum…But again…how much does it suck to have to do this? I have two words for this: Real. Ity.