Spring has sprung, the grass has riz ...

Having a house is better than having an apartment. Weather was just beautiful today: clear, cool, dry, sunny. We'd gone to Home Depot yesterday and began planning our landscaping. Sum total of purchases was hoe, rake, yard broom, clippers and a watering can. We laid plans for a return visit for pots, tomato plants, herb seeds, soil, fertilizer, and flowers flowers flowers. Petunias, maybe marigolds (but Wife hates them) and lots of others that I don't know the names for. Top of wife's list is a pot and soil for her "yoelka" -- the live pine tree we received for Christmas. It's growing like crazy in its little pot. She wants to get it into something bigger before it turns into a bonsai.

So when I got up this morning the bug hit to go dig in the dirt. It's been more than a decade since I've had any dirt to dig in. Sounds like a chore to a lot of people I'm sure but I was happy to be outside raking up the pine needles from the flower beds, hoeing up the dirt around the flowers, raking things smooth. I trimmed our dead palm branches. Before I could remember past efforts, it was too late. Give me clippers or a watering hose and I sort of lose control. I trimmed lots of stuff ... names of which I don't know ... that had been frost damaged or fungused or that I thought just didn't look quite right. Several plants are now at ground level or lower. But ... the three flower beds I attacked all look better than when I started. And did I tell you the azaleas are blooming. Spring in February; I love Houston.

I'm a happy camper.

Plus we played nine holes of golf today.

And yesterday I stopped at a bike shop and got two new tires and two new tubes for my bike. Well, not my bike actually. It's my daughter's bike, but I sort of appropriated it when she moved to college or something and I've never given it back. Today before golf I got the tires changed, found my bike shoes and helmet after considerable looking and when we got back took it out for a spin. It'll only hit about 1/2 the gears, but the brakes worked, the wheels were only moderately out of round, I could get in and out of the clips on the pedals. It was nice to get out for a ride after probably seven years of never touching it while I was in the UK.

All in all, having a house is much better than having an apartment.

I hate this game; I love this game

Wife vowed some weeks ago that she'd never play golf again. Those of us addicted to the game, of course, completely understand the feeling and, in fact, have made the same vow at least two or three times per season ... sometimes even two or three times per round.

She does like to drive the cart though. So three weeks or so ago on a nice Sunday I coaxed her out with the offer to let her drive. I played my way up to the green on the first hole and then suggested she just bring her putter along and hit putts on the green with me. She did, and she's a pretty good putter, so that worked fine. We followed that pattern for three or four holes then I suggested she just bring her pitching wedge and hit from where I was close to the green. She did and not badly and then hit a putt or two and things went well.

The following Sunday she hit a few from the fairway and by the end of nine holes was hitting driver off the tee. She managed a par on one of the par threes after hitting it in the sand on her first shot. (For you non-golfers that's good in anyone's book -- not the sand, dummy, the three.)

This past Sunday saw us back out there. I think I've got her convinced "Golf is not a game of perfect" as they say. Of course, for a card-carrying perfectionist, that's a pretty big leap of faith. But ... She hit one ball, I kid you not at least 180-yards off the tee on one hole and right down the middle. She hit two shots with a sand wedge out of two separate fairway bunkers that must have flown 70-yards. That's a pretty stout wallop with a sand wedge. And then on the same par three that she had parred the previous week -- this tee shot: Of course, then she also three putted from there proving that she is, indeed, human. On our final hole she blasted a 7 wood from 100 yards right on to an elevated green and even left a pitch mark (hole) in the green she hit it so high. I think I've got her hooked.

Splat -- parts two and three

Must be Spring ... at least here in Texas -- sorry, Northerners. We have a few azaleas blooming in front. We're having a warm, warm rain here tonight. A better tip off though: aggressive birds in the neighborhood.

I reported in my last post (among other things) that we'd had a bird strike our tinted window in back. Well, he didn't learn the first time. Wife heard another crash and again claimed that something must have fallen or that someone had set off a bomb outside. Later that night I look out the kitchen window and ...



... dusty birdy imprint on the window. Now we know why we saw feathers outside the window in the grass. We thought maybe the hawk or the owl had dined near the house. Now it looks like it's just feathers jettisoned in the crash.

And today ... bird boom again. Couldn't get a picture of that tonight, but you've probably got the image in mind now anyway.

Related topic: we've had a couple hawks floating around the house -- a mating pair maybe? I love 'em even if it means we don't have a lot of squirrels to watch.

And did you know that woodpeckers eat seeds? I thought they just ate bugs out of the bark. But, no. We've got a red-headed woodpecker (I think) that has become partial to the seed in the bird feeder we hung on a branch of a near-by pine quite close to the trunk. We laughed and laughed at him hanging on to the tree and leaning over backwards to the point of having his head upside-down in order to pluck food from the feeder. Where there's a will there's a way.

Random thoughts on a Sunday morning

Off color jokes (those of you with weak stomachs, look away): I recorded the "Blue Collar Comedy Tour 2" last night and watched it this morning. Follow the link to see some of it on YouTube. I laughed until I choked. Ron White: "I got fired from my last job. It was at the pickle factory. I got fired for putting my finger in the pickle slicer. .... She got fired too; we both got fired." Larry the Cable Guy: "I like to use the handicapped toilets in public restrooms. They keep 'em cleaner. And they got them rails in case you need a power squeeze." Jeff Foxworthy: "Show me a three-year-old in nothing but underwear walking around in a flea market sucking on a baby-bottle full of cola and I'll show you a future NASCAR fan."

Bird-strikes: Wife heard a crash some days back. At first thought that something had fallen in the garage ... like, say, a rack full of sailboards hanging from the ceiling? Nope. Golfer hitting a window with a golfball? Nope, windows in tact. Branch falling off the trees and hitting the roof? Well maybe. Nothing else seemed to be out of place, fallen over, fallen off, fallen in. A couple nights later, I see on the window looking out on the patio the following image caught in the reflection. Case closed: a bird had done a full on face-plant into the window. A pretty big bird. He probably thought some other bird of his species was encroaching on his territory and flew to the attack, not realizing our tinted windows are pretty good mirrors from the outside. Imagine his surprise when the encroacher fails to back away. Gotta give the guy an "A" for perseverance, he just kept on coming. No dead bird on the patio, so he must've gotten over the concussion and flow off later.

More off color jokes: Wife came in this morning holding two eggs about the size of golfballs -- maybe a little smaller. She says, "Can you believe it? They call these Large Eggs." I say, "Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you that they measure eggs like penises. No one's EVER gonna buy a Small condom. They start at Large."

Valentines' Day: Worked up a sweat last night. We went to The Club with a couple friends of ours who live down the road. All four of us worked in Kazakhstan in mid-90s. We had a nice buffet dinner and took a couple turns on the dance floor to golden oldies. Wife forced me to practice our cha-cha moves before we left. I actually got through the whole routine once without a mistake at the club. DJ was smart enough to play "Smooth" by Santana with Rob Thomas -- one of our favorites. Also got in a couple salsas. A good time was had by all.




Times past: I recorded Bette Midler in "The Rose" a couple days ago and watched it this morning. I forgot how really good the movie is and how really hard it is to watch. They should make Amy Winehouse watch it until she pukes, ala 'Clockwork Orange". [I read this morning she's back in a hospital in St. Lucia. Something about running out of her drug substitute.]Years and years ago I saw Bette Midler in concert at the Concord Pavilion. She is just fabulous. What was her back up group? The Harlettes? She did one number in electric wheel chairs while wearing mermaid tails, I remember. I had season tickets for the Pavilion that year. I saw Donna Summer (far better than expected), Barry Manillo (which should have been awful and wasn't), and Chicago. It was a good summer. Wife-at-the-time had bugged out with a friend for a tour of Europe. Daughter had one week of my cooking and informed me she was going to Grandma and Grandpa's. All I remember is the concerts.

Sometimes I Just Don't Write

My normal MO is to not post anything when everything's gone to sh-t. Fortunately that's not the case over the few days of no writing. Just no time or energy to write.

Here's a stream of consciousness summary:

Good news: Love our new car. Bad news: it was due for its 15,000 maintenance. Wife took it to Mercedes dealership today -- $500 for service and $200 more for a new key since guy we bought it from only had one to give us. Not wholly unexpected, but still ... grrrr.

Good news: I found in a box in our garage a hometown newspaper from May 1968. In it was an article that my dad wrote about my track exploits at a decathlon in high school. Those of you that have known me long, know that I wrote a short story about that meet and in that story I allude to the article. I thought it was long gone, and yet this week here it is ... in newsprint that's 40+ years old and still readable. Bad news: I scanned it, but can't figure out how to get it into the blog to make it readable.

Good news: I booked tickets to fly to Columbus to see my darlin' daughter be Lady M in MacBeth. It'll be my first chance to see their new house. Bad news: Ohio in February -- nuff sed.

Good news: Job's going good. Lots to do. Interesting stuff. Bad news: I'm spending all I'm making and a lot more besides.

Good news: Good news. Bad news: Less than good news.

If it seems too good to be true ... or ... Impulse buying can be fun

We're a two car family ... at last. Wife's had her little heart set on a Mercedes Benz. Her first car: a Mercedes Benz. Nothing like starting at the top. I was, shall we say, less than enthusiastic. She is, shall we say, very persistent.

We saw a Merc C230 some weeks ago. Actually, I liked it. Asking price (at the Toyota dealership where we bought our Camry) was something like $24,000, maybe a little bit more. More than I paid for the Camry, but then she hadn't started her "show no mercy; if they're not bleeding, keep negotiating" negotiations. We walked away.

The search continued on and off. We got moved to the new house. We spent tons on furniture and stuff. Things started to settle down. There's a fly-by-night car dealership down the road. On a drive-by we notice a couple Mercedes there. We stop on a Sunday, and kick the tires on a couple C230s. The cars don't even have asking prices on them, but we decide to give it a second try.

We go back the next Friday. Both C230s are gone. In their place is a 2007 C280 4Matic, white, loaded, clean. We talk with Roger. He's asking $25,000 or something like that. We laugh and say, "adios". He says, "Well, maybe $24,550." We say, "We'll come test drive tomorrow."

Saturday: Roger is busy trying to sell a Dodge Viper, so Lenny helps us. We take a test drive in the Mercedes. I, personally, love the damn car. It only has 15,000 miles. It was a lease car originally. It's got everything: four-wheel drive, automatic transmission, electrically adjustable front seats with memory, sun roof, satellite radio enabled, iPod enabled, side airbags, heated seats (OK, stupid for Houston, but the car originally was sold in Colorado), 3-liter V-6 fuel injected engine. Very, very nice. About six times, maybe seven times better than the Camry, I'm afraid.

I turn the process over to Ms. Cut-throat. I walk away and talk to a guy and his girl-friend who just got back from test driving the red Dodge Viper. He says that he's a Corvette man, but thinks the Viper is cooler. He has to cover his jeans with Vaseline in order to squeeze into the driver's capsule. You don't drive this car; you wear it. He's taking pictures with his phone. I say his girl should be laying on the hood to get the full effect. He says that she just posed for Playboy last week. I say that completely changes the image I had of her laying on the hood. I quickly walk back to see if there's anything left of Wife's salesman.

The price is now thousands lower plus tax, title, and license. Wife says, "We're going home." Relieved, I say, "Great."

We get in the car and she says, "I want that car."

I say, "Me too."

We do a minimal sort of online research and find that Wife's price looks really, really good. Really, really too good. Why do they want to sell that car for that price? Well, Landmark Chevrolet, the largest Chevrolet dealership in the world (according to their billboard) is out of business in Houston. Times are tough. We go back and make Lenny show us a clean CarFax sheet: no reported accidents, no flood damage repaired, no problems ... that anyone's publicly reported. We decide Wife will beat on them again on Monday and we'll see what happens.

She beats on them on Monday. Price is the price. She walks away, hopefully, again. She calls on Tuesday, asking "Are you sure that's the price?"

Answer: "Yes."

Rebuttal: "I'll take it." Monday night I show Wife how to write her first check.

Tuesday, I call insurance company and find that the insurance is $20 per year more than the Camry. Very acceptable. Wife hits dealership again and gets them to confirm that factory warranty is still in effect for another 35,000 miles. She also finds out that the car's due for it's 15,000 mile maintenance,which will cost about $300. That's acceptable. She pulls the trigger on the deal and almost writes a check for $1,000 as earnest money, but her hand is shaking so hard that she has to tear up the first check and start over. Second time's a charm. She calls insurance company and gets that process initiated. She can make final payment the next day and the dealership will help get her home with both cars.

Cut to today: deed is done. Final check written on the first try. Dealership only has one key for car so that's probably another $100 well have to spend to get me a key. She picks me up at Park-and-Ride and I don't recognize her in the new car.

She drives us home after filling the tank for the first time ... $25.00. Not bad.

It's a very, very cool car. Now -- is it too good to be true? Time will tell.

Tales of woe and sundry disasters

Yes, again it's been some days since my last post, so you know disaster has struck.

Well, not really. On Wednesday last week while at work, I thought I had the beginnings of a toothache. It had been coming on for a few days, but diligent flossing and brushing seemed to have kept it at bay. Wednesday afternoon though, it cranked up the intensity. I begged a couple Aleve from a co-worker. In 15 minutes the shooting pain was down to a mere feeling of pressure. An hour after that, it seemed as though some gremlin was pounding a ten-penny nail up through my back molar and into my left eye socket. In a word: maxpainful. Strong hearted lad that I am, I toughed it out until about 3:30pm at which point even the mighty were felled. I bailed on work and staggered to the bus stop. On the way home it hurt badly enough that my left eye wanted to wink closed and stay that way.

At home the flossing and brushing and swirling with Scope began. Russian folk-medicine-wise Wife prescripted a scalding hot saltwater mouth rinse with salt scavenged, er, harvested from a special salt lake in deepest Siberia or somewhere. Amazingly, to those of us not given to holistic crap, er, leanings, it helped. It didn't cure the miserable cold that I had on top of it, but I definitely felt better.

And not good. I got some sleep on Wednesday night, but not much, even with a handful of antihistamines to battle the clogged sinuses. The alarm on Thursday morning was a non-starter, except to leave a voicemail with my boss saying, "Fuggit it. I'm close to dead." Up again at 9am I online-researched dentists in the area that also were covered by our insurance. A call to the closest one landed an appointment at 10am the next day. In truth, the Pain had subsided quite a bit. More flossing and rinsing occurred. I got through the day laying on our (lovely, comfortable, red leather) couch and watching reruns of House. Another dose of antihistamines and some aspirin on Thursday night led me to a good night's sleep.

Up and going on Friday I make it to the dentist just down the road. Pain is back but only at 5 of 10. Head cold is back on the order of 7 or 8 of 10. After filling out multiple forms covering the doctor's ass for everything including a direct nuclear strike on his office, I get a 45 minute wait in the reception room reading six month old People magazines.

Taken to the operating theater by a really pleasant lady whose name appeared to be Amanda, I settle into the chair. "Amanda, how long have you worked here?" I ask.

She replies, "I'm not Amanda. I'm Tracy." (or something).

I say, "Your uniform says 'Amanda'."

Tracy-Amanda says, "Oh, I stole it because she's not here today and mine's not as nice as hers."

OK.

X-rays happen using a machine that looks like someone's beat on it with a hammer.

Doctor arrives in scrubs and tennis shoes. Nice enough looking old coot, meaning he's about an hour older than I am. "What's the problem?" "A toothache in the back upper left and a cold -- in that order." "Open wide. Hmmmm."

He takes a small ballpeen hammer and raps the four teeth on the upper left side of my jaw. Except for making me slightly deaf in that ear, there's no pain. He takes an implement that seems like a cross between a bent safety pin and a dagger and jabs each tooth and wiggles. Still no pain. A glove-clad finger presses gums inside and out. No pain. He jabs a hopefully unused chopstick in my mouth and says, "Bite please." I'm pleased to bite. "Open." No pain. Chopstick gets inserted and released from all four top left teeth. No pain.

"You don't have a toothache."

I smile wanly and say, "So why do I feel like I have a toothache?"

"Your sinuses are so swollen they're impinging on the nerves running through your upper jaw. Haven't you noticed how swollen your left cheek and eye socket are?"

Well, no. I just thought it was my usual bags and wrinkles.

"Double up on your antihistamines. Use salt water rinse because that sometimes helps relieve the pain. If you still have pain in a couple days, go see your doctor for antibiotics."

Thankfully he didn't say Siberian salt rinses or I would've had to kill him.

I go home, double up on the antihistamines and throw in three aspirin for good measure. I'm feeling better. Friday night is peaceful.

Saturday morning, all's good and I manage to get out for 18 holes of golf ... suitably medicated which leads me to a 54 on the front nine. The zombie like antihistamine state wears off on the back nine, encouraged by a sandwich and a couple of beers at my house as I troll by. I shoot 46 for 100 total which isn't bad on this course.

Sunday dawns bright and clear. Beginning-golfer Wife and I play nine holes. She gets a par on number 8, a par three. A good drive into the green-side bunker, a chip out to within 10-feet using a pitching wedge, then a well stroked slippery downhill putt into the dead center of the cup.

Life is good ... with a suitable supply of medication. I'm back in the blog-saddle again.