My Son is Sitting At the Kitchen Counter Weeping….

9/2/2014

And more weeping tonight. Though I feared I already knew the answer, I had to ask. Through tears and clenched teeth, he replied: 

Some dick took my Lt. Surge Pokemon Card! 

Well, that certainly is dickish behavior. The chain of evidence on this Crime of the Century is a little…. tenuous but he is sure that “Billy” has it. Billy, who only went to M&M for a couple weeks during the summer but who is now back to his (unknown) school. Completely incommunicado.

When quizzed on the value of this particular card, my son said with complete confidence that it was, “Worth more than this house!”. 

Well, once I got over my tears, I decided to see what this World Wide Web had to say about this Lt. Surge Pokemon Card. 

There’s this Amazon website; I’ll try them.

……Hmmmm….

Seems Alexander was a little over optimistic on his evaluation. 

Now granted, that price does include $6.99 for shipping but I’d have to say that, even in a down market, our little modest chateau is probably worth a bit more. 

Now, were Xander to lose some of our very valuable Magic the Gathering cards. That would be tragic! 

…..

The French have a saying, Esprit De L’Escalier. "The thought on the stairs". When you think of what you should have said or done after the party’s over and your leaving. 

Oh, to go back in time 90 minutes. 

Son, I know this card is important to you so I’ve decided to spend great amounts of money to get you another. 

……

Son, we’ve love to get you that car but we’re still paying off that Pokemon Card. 

…..

Sweetie, it’s wonderful that you were accepted by MIT but we’ve just got a few more years before the card is all paid off. How about Trucking School? 

…..

Son, we’re so glad you have found the perfect girl. As far as covering the honeymoon, we’ll pay up to a weekend in Aberdeen. 

Sigh. 

Reading

1/2019

It was something that ran in the family. We read; to ourselves and each other. This was Mom’s influence. All us of cherish the memories of Mom reading Winnie the Pooh stories to us.

“We’ll be friends forever, won’t we, Pooh?”

“Even longer.”

And I’d wager money that all four of us Hardy Boys; even the ones in their dotage (that is, all of those not me.) could tell you what a Tweedle Beetle fight is called.

So, this tradition continued with the latest crop of Hardys. We picked only the best for young Alexander. Who can forget the riveting plot of Pat the Bunny?

Richard Scary told my son all about living in a busy busy town.

And things that go.

And of course, Sandra Boynton was a big hit. Moo, Baa, La La La!, Barnyard Dance, But Not The Hippopotamus! among many, many other classics.

Sadly for his parents, the boy is currently at an age where bursting out into children’s poetry isn’t really his thing.

Sadly for the boy, his parents are at an age where bursting is pretty much mandatory.

Hey! Come join the lot of us!

And she doesn’t know-

Should she stay? Should she go?

But YES the hippopotamus!

Naturally, he and I liked to keep up on current events; reading the weekly paper that both his Dad and Grandmother worked for back in the day.

But he always had an interest in the hard sciences.

As he got older, we started chapter books together and like me, he tended towards fantasy. One series, coupled with a fortuitous loss of a tooth, inspired Alexander to write his first letter to a celebrity. (See Thrilling Celebrity Visit)

He did get a letter in reply (along with two silver dollars) but whether he wishes to share its contents with the wider world is up to him.

He missed meeting one of his favorite authors by a mere 9 months. As he gets closer to driving age, Grandma Jeanne’s descriptions of my attempts behind the wheel get more and more amusing to him. (But strangely, less amusing to me.)

He enjoyed that and the hundreds of other articles she wrote about the Hardy Family’s adventures in the country.

Years passed. The books got longer and more mature. We read about Moses in the reeds. Mary at the Tomb.

Odysseus and Circe. King Arthur and his family issues.

George Washington returning to his farm after giving up his sword. Rosa Parks on that bus. How to build a fire, an emergency shelter and a nest egg.

He (literally) and I (figuratively) held our breath waiting as Digory read:

Make your choice, adventurous Stranger,

Strike the bell and bide the danger.

Or wonder, till it drives you mad,

What would have followed if you had.

He and I learned what pork cracklins were, thanks to Wiley and his Grandpa. About commitment from Sam Gamgee. Bravery from Atticus Finch.

“Seriously now son, you know we never use this sort of language now, right? Ever!”

“I heard you the first 8 times, Dad.”

And we agreed that Holden Caulfield really is just awful.

Alexander even comforted me as a tried to read that chapter in Deathly Hallows. You know, that ..(uh)…“part” where that really sad “thing” happens.

(Pats me on the shoulder.)

“It’s okay, Dad.”

And it was.

But neither the White Witch, nor Sauron are implacable a foe as Father Time. The Boy’s growing up. Starting to look at colleges. His advanced classes give him lots of homework each night. The 30 minute sessions, five nights a week dropped down to 20 minutes four nights.

And then three.

I could tell the writing was on the wall. (Yep, we read “Daniel” also.) I wanted to end it with something magnificent.

And, well….lengthy.

So, we went with Neil Gaiman’s series The Sandman. Why settle for just one genre, time period and mythology when you can have them all?

And it’s ten volumes.

But we finished it last night. My attempts to interest him in the further adventures of Sandman’s way cooler older sister fell flat. Seemed slightly annoyed at the offer.

No, that ship has left the station. That train has sailed. We are in a slightly new phase of life. We are now “reading colleagues”. I no longer have the authority to tell him, “This is a great book. We shall read it together starting tonight! Put your jammies on.” No, we’ll share what we’re reading; perhaps persuade each other to try this or that. As I said, a new phase.

I get a whole new crop of youngsters every September and that’s nice. Not the same but nice. I’m positive I’ve created scads of DiscWorld fans. Even more with the ability to make Star Wars figures out of origami. There are worse legacies.

No, right now this late (late) middle-aged Dad is looking forward to having a son who isn’t too cool to play Pooh-Stick. Or above bursting into children’s poetry at random times.

Until that glorious time, he’s got me.

Stomp your feet!

Clap your hands!

Everybody ready

For a Barnyard Dance!

Now, get up and go embarrass your children. You’ve earned it!

The Goal: Amour

10/14/2018

The Place: Somewhere in America 

The Time: Very Late on a Saturday Evening

The Actors: Husband and Wife

The Goal: Amour 

The Problem: An Oblivious Teenage Son

Dialogue

Husband and Wife:  Is he still in the tub? I told him to get out ten minutes ago. 

  X, time to get out! 

Sounds of the spawn getting out of the bathroom. Loudly stomping to his room. Loudly closing the door. Loudly...well everything. 

  Okay, he’ll be lights out any minute now. My lovely...

Sounds of son loudly, oh so loudly tramping downstairs. 

   What is he doing?  Is he watching TV? It’s almost midnight! 

Husband goes out to see what’s what. 

...

Husband comes back after a suspiciously long time. 

Wife: So he’s finally in bed?? I can’t believe he took this long. Tonight I told him to take a bath by 10:00 but he was still playing xBox.....

....And then he looked at me like I......

.....But he said he was in the middle of a fight and just needed five more minutes....

Husband: (Wife takes a Breath) I just stepped on a cat turd. It was right next to the litter box so I win the complaint contest. 

Wife: ......

Son: (Attempting to open the door to tell us good night. Due to past unpleasant experience, the door is locked.) Good night. See you in the morning!

Husband and Wife from Under The Covers (Instinctive habits being hard to break) Goodnight, son!

Husband and Wife in a Sotto Voce: Ya clueless ding dong.

Wife: (Laughter) You did whhhhat? Don’t- Why- Get that nasty foot out of this bed. 

Husband: I knew what it was instantly and hopped to the bathroom and cleaned my foot. Then I went back, wrapped up the turd in toilet paper and flushed it. That’s why I took so long in getting back.

Wife:....(More laughter) But what about the carpet? 

Husband: Well, you can clean it tomorrow. Now where were we?

Wife: (In between peals of laughter) You are trying to woo me and you say “You...can... clean...the carpet....tomorrow??

Husband: No response.

End scene. 

Yes, Dear Reader. That is the end of this sad little tale. 

I just leave you with a bit medical advice. Hopping on a leg suffering from sciatica CAN cause debilitating cramps to crop up at, shall we say, inopportune times. Be careful.

A Call to Arms

2018

It was a failure of imagination. Yes, that describes it well.

You see, my son couldn’t imagine anyone else daring to drive on his Ranch Roads while he raced the Quad around. 

This, despite the fact that he saw me driving down to the nursery to check on some trees. 

I guess I too, lacked imagination. Yes, I was concerned about the possibility of Xander racing around and me driving the same road... 

So I traveled at about 2 MPH with both my headlights and emergency blinkers on. And even considered honking my horn every 5-10 seconds but, you know, talk about overboard. 

Well, as I slowly start making my way back across our pasture, just going over the small bridge which goes over the spring run off when who should come flying right at me but my son, Xander “No Survival Instinct” Hardy.   Had I not been on that tiny bridge, it wouldn’t have been a problem. He could have just gone past me on either side, but the spring run-off has created a ditch about 6-8” deep. 

   So, he did get over the ditch, kind of. To my surprise, he stayed on the Quad but came down very hard after his brief Evel Knievel impression. 

I don’t recall him ever looking so terrified; both during his brief flight and as I got out of the car and stormed towards him.

  After apologizing profusely, he said his wrist was hurting; It didn’t look bad to me but the fact that he asked me to ride the Quad back was disquieting. 

   And that bastard, my brain, kept replaying the same 5 second clip of near disaster.

By the time we got back to the garage, and upon hearing the boy’s 20th apology, I finally yelled at him, “I’m. not. $%#+ing. angry. I’m. +^£¥ing. terrified! They look the same on a parent!!”

   So we put some ice on and wrapped it up. By this time, cousin Hunter had show up (yes!) along with his current girlfriend (boo!). 

    Tina and I thought maybe we should have somebody look at it so we called the Winthrop clinic and they were able to squeeze him in at 4:30. Off we went. I didn’t expect too much hassle. The wrist looked a bit swollen but not terrible. Maybe a sprain or perhaps a dislocation. Both of which could be treated right then and there.

   But no. Once the nice doctor unwrapped it, I was able to provide a more medically sound diagnosis of “That ain’t right!”. 

My colleagues concurred but didn’t think they could handle snapping it back into place.

So, after doing a better wrap up, giving X and shot of pain medication (in the ass-cheek to my son’s great indignation) and checking with the two large (we’ll, large adjacent) county hospitals, it was off to the Mid-Valley Hospital in Omak. 

   After a very long check in process (why exactly do they need my wife’s SS#?!?) they took many X-rays. Yup, it was broken.

  With the terror subsided; the fatherly annoyance came back. Every time a medical professional stopped by, he or she would politely ask about the cause of said broken wrist. Swear to God, his first response was something like:

   “Well, my Grandma has this Ranch and it has all these dirt roads and I love to go quadding. You ever go quadding? Well, it’s my cousin Hunter’s...” 

By the 3rd or 4th iteration of the story, I had browbeat him into, “I crashed on a quad.”

Eventually, the nice doctors were able to yank everything back into place and get a better temporary cast on. 

(“Be brave, son!” shouted the father from hallway.) 

  Sadly, Walmart was out of the pain medication so we drove home. However, Tina contacted our local pharmacist Bob Ulrich, who; despite being asleep 10 minutes earlier, drove to his pharmacy in Twisp to fulfill the RX. 

Local pharmacies rock! Support them!!!

So, when we got home, I wrapped up his cast in a garbage bag and sent him to take a shower in GPa Harold’s Old Fart shower.

Then it was reading and giving him 1/2 a dose of the medication. I’ve checked on him twice so far to see that he’s still breathing and will do so at least one more time.

  In theory, I will be returning to Silverdale tomorrow, Xander will start Rivercamp on Monday while the Mrs. and I fly down to Vegas for 4 days of wild romping.  

   That’s not going to happen; at least the first two. Doubtful the trip will happen either. Before he gets his permanent cast, we’ll need to take him to an orthopedic surgeon sometime next week but of course, they don’t work on weekends. We’re in a holding pattern just waiting to see whether the KP surgeon or the Omak surgeon can schedule us first. If I had my druthers (and why not?), I would prefer the Tacoma option as that would be in network which might save us a bit of money. 

  This is not how I pictured things going. You’d think I would be used to it since:

A) A summer trip to Vegas from 6 or 7 years back was mildly messed up by another broken wrist (that time it was Tina’s) and... 

B) Xander first broken bone happened at the Ranch as well. (See below) This evil place can even bring down the Man of Steel.

   I could go on further but it’s now nearly 1:00 and I would just love this shitty day to be done. Tomorrow, I can worry about next week. What will we do? Not a clue. 

  Just this last thought. Being the only child of two overprotective parents, Xander has gotten the idea that this whole universe was placed here for his education and enjoyment. (With an emphasis on just one.) And since that’s the case, he doesn’t spend much thought to keeping himself safe. I wasn’t joking about the lack of danger sense. Well, I really hope this near-death experience has scared the crap out of him. Made a profound difference in how he views and approaches the world. Maybe even change his life a bit.

I call it his

  Road to Dumb-asscus Conversion. 

(Copyright 2018)

Let’s hope.

Must sleep now.

Near Death Experience

2/4/2018

Well, I nearly died last Sunday. And, after a few days, I have calmed down enough to put the trauma down onto (virtual) paper.

So, there we were, at the Bs; doing laundry while watching the Seahawks miss. field. goal. after. field. goal. 

Mr. Sears Home Service swears he’ll get the washing machine fixed when he comes out for THE SEVENTH TIME next week. So we had a couple loads to do until then.

I was chowing down on some nachos when my Beloved deposited Basket O’ Clean Laundry #1 at my feet. Not really sure why it’s right there; perhaps she thought I needed a footrest. Whatever the reason, I bravely decide to continue on my nachos. And that is when I nearly died.

....

For some reason, J decides to hop up, boldly stride over to MY laundry basket and BRAZENLY grabs a handful of Hardy Laundry. 

Just like that! Nary a By Your Leave Good, Sir; just grabs another family’s (another MAN’s) clothing.

Who does that?!? Seriously, who does that?Maybe it’s an Iberian Peninsula thing. You could ask around.

Regardless, this isn’t something we do in America.

“You need to fold them right away or they’ll get wrinkles, Mr. Hardy!” 

J was so intent on her mission to Kill Her Guest that she didn’t notice I was sitting there frozen, nacho halfway to my mouth. 

‘Cause I sure wasn’t thinking about wrinkles. No, that wasn’t my utmost concern. What was foremost in panicking brain cells was:

My Bright Red Extra Sexy underwear; seen only by Wendi and God (the former very much appreciating them but the Latter’s opinion is...well, UKKNOWN), is SOMEWHERE IN THAT BASKET!!  It could be in that pile that J just grabbed! She might; in her delightfully clueless way, be about hold up my clean but very naughty unmentionable. 

“Oh, Mr. Hardy! What’s this? Is there something wrong...Is this supposed to....? Ooooh...Oh my!

L would look at said undies for two seconds, swivel his eyes back to the TV and Never Look Me in The Eyes Again.  

Xander would similarly get VERY interested in whatever was on the tube. 

And Wendi would start laughing. Cackling!

And, right there in the B Living Room, I would die. 

Just PLOP! DEAD, right there. 

“Local former teacher is DEAD for unknown reasons. Dumb-ass Foreign Teacher has NO idea for cause of death.” 

....

All these thoughts took about 1 second to race around the brain before I sprang into action.

“My..clothes! Those mine!” 

Despite my eloquence, J started folding. Just like that! No thought for proprietary! What kind of a monster would do that?

After about 3 seconds of attempting to make her stop using only the Power of My Mind(!), I decided to start on the World’s Fastest Folding Job on the remaining items in the basket.

The next minute-minute and a half’s results were not my best laundry-related work but they certainly were the fastest. I would fold 5 or 10 ten things while completely focusing on J’s hand as it reached for another bit of clothing. As I said, not my best work.

(Fold, fold, fold) Janet plucks out....Xander’s pants!

(Fold, fold, fold) .......One of my...tee-shirts!

(Fold, fold, fold)...Looks like...socks!

Finally, 2/3 the way to the bottom: triumph! Tighty Redies were found! 

By me. 

Into my More Cowbell shirt it went. And then it was onto the remaining 1/3 at a much leisurely pace. 

And breathing. 

One final coda was finding some of Wendi’s tawdry-wears at the bottom of the basket. Those also got slipped into the stack.

The rest of the game was good; though the outcome was a disappointment. The Seahawks losing a very exciting game, Wendi and Xander heading home by halftime and me guarding that %#¥€! basket as if my life depended on it. 

Which it kinda did. 

So that’s the story of my (most recent) near-death experience.

 Let this cautionary tale teach you Life’s Most Important Lesson: friends don’t fold friends laundry.

Gotta go to work now.

Summer 2017

9/02/2017

Summer 2017

            Well, it’s Labor Day (the saddest holiday of the year) and I am scrounging around for any reason to avoid going into work so why not do an end of summer write up? It’s a great way to dwell upon the all the interesting happenings of the past two and a half months.

            Summer started (as all proper summers do) with a trip to a local casino to watch an 80s cover-band by the name of Mullet. It was a pleasant evening and my ears have almost stopped ringing.  Of course, Wendi and J (AKA: “The Instigator”) had to get a photo.

            Speaking of All Things 80s, Wendi and I decided to crash the Liberty Bell High Class of ‘87’s 30th High School Reunion. Okay, “crash” isn’t correct as we had permission from the reunion’s organizer. We had such a blast at our 30th last summer, we figured why not. It was fun though only about half the class showed up. Seems both comforting and disturbing that ’87 is still dysfunctional three decades later.

            However, of greater importance is the fact that TM: one of the class’s popular members, told us that Wendi was “hot” and I was “boyish” and “personable”. It’s been 31 years but I am finally admitted among the ranks of the cool kids.

One more item checked off the bucket list.

            In terms of amount of time spent, our biggest task was Xander finishing his summer homework. When he joined his high school’s AVID program, he was given some books to read and write about: Catcher in the Rye, Animal Farm, and Lord of the Flies. Plus, he had a boat load of AP Human Geography work and decided to take a Health class to free up an elective during the school year.

Actually, Xander only was required to read ONE book for English but the syllabus wasn’t very clear on this point.

            Let’s just let that sink in, shall we?

            Most of you know that this spring, we adopted two cats from the Human Society. Well, Tanith and Brooklyn really became a Major Force in our lives this summer. If we thought packing for Xander was a lot of work, he had nothing on those two fur-balls. And, of course, trying to find a cat sitter can make a person quite desperate.

            The most profound change they’ve made is in moi. I’ve become one of those old farts who talks lovingly to his cats. Yep, I’ve become a Crazy Old Cat…(uh)...Gentleman*.

(*Yet despite this and my continued love of musicals, still straight. Go figure!)

            Other things? Well, I spent a good amount of time and money learning to pick locks. For all my effort, I’m in no way good at it but I have opened every lock in this house and had a bit of success with a Master Lock. It just took 30 minutes of frustration each time but I now know this is possible and will get better at it with continued practice. In an actual emergency situation right now, my lock pick of choice would a specialized tool known simply as “a rock”.

            In a similar self-improvement development, I also spent some time trying to improve my memory. This being brought on by a rereading of Moonwalking With Einstein. Again, slight improvement it’s a comfort to know this goal is definitely doable with diligence. And I will not go quietly into that night of failing memory without putting up a fight.

            Ah, actual news you can use. The one Game Night we managed here in July was topped off by a contest between American Coke (high fructose corn sweetener) versus Mexican Coke (cane sugar).  To my surprise, most of us (2/3s) could tell the difference.  Wouldn’t say that one was better than the other; just slightly different.

            Need another reason to find me annoying? I am completely in the thrall of my Fit Bit. I reached my “One Million Steps For The Summer” goal with a couple of days to spare. And then celebrated with cake and ice cream.

            No, not really but I gotta say that this little watch thing has had a bigger impact on my life then any other piece of technology since…. maybe the iPod Touch from 8 or 9 years ago. I’m moving more and that’s good. (About 16K steps for yesterday’s hike along the Elwah River.)

            My one cautionary note is that the last time I forgot to wear the Fit Bit before going out, I mainly just sat there stewing the whole day. To borrow from Socrates, the unquantified walk is not worth walking.

            In early August, a whole mess of Heaths met at the Ranch for a Reunion. Despite the 1,000 degrees and forest fire haze, it was a pleasant time for all. Well, except for the one young lady who got a mosquito bite and spent the rest of the day crying. (And no, this wasn’t Wendi.) I feel…. embarrassingly glad that my wife is the offspring of Harold’s third wife. (AKA: The Keeper.) Harold’s first and second families had very different lives than Wendi and Holly.

            One treat for Xander during this long hot weekend was Uncle Gregg taking him out sailing at a local lake. Thus Uncle Gregg continues to run up the score in the “Which Hardy Men Remembered Xander’s Birthday” contest. Truth be told, it’s not really a contest anymore. As my Beloved has often reminded me; my side’s Menfolk are a just a truckload of dullards.

            On a somber note, please be grateful that you’ve been spared the disaster that so many of our fellow citizens have experienced this summer. You never really appreciate what you’ve got until you’re faced with a soul-crushing calamity which can cause you to question the very existence of a Benevolent Creator.

            I speak, of course, of being forced to go see Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets. Thanks, J The Instigator!

            The other experience of note was already written about: going to OR to see the eclipse. It was a whole lot of preparation, money, and travel for just a few minutes of wow but, well…WOW!  Glad Xander insisted we go. And I’m nearly ready to forgive The Beaver State for not letting me pump my own gas.

            One last item. This will be the last mass email like this; at least for the foreseeable future. I’ve had some comments that not everyone finds everything I find fascinating all that fascinating. Well, rather than risk giving offense, I will simply find another medium to work out my many issues (writing or otherwise).

Well, time to move on.

Brian

(AKA: Mr. Boyishly Charming With The Hot Wife)

A Tragic Tragedy Told in Three Parts

9/3/2016

The Scene? Suburb House, Anytown, USA The Time: Today

-Part 1-

Son and father are getting ready to leave for the Library. Son picks up his shoes from the shoe rack, turns them over, exposing some sort of.... organic material in the treads. The exact nature of said material is not known. Careful not to touch what, he assured his father is probably just mud, the boy slips his shoes on and precedes to start to wipe his feet vigorously on the rug just inside the door.

“Uh, son!?! If that's what it could be, why are you doing that inside the house!"

“0h, right!”

-Part 2-

Boy enthusiastically throws open door, crosses threshold, and immediately starts wiping on our Welcome Mat.

"Son, think about what you're doing. Dog crap is not welcoming!"

Son. (Sigh) Looks exasperated at his nitpicking pop.

-Part 3-

A few moments later, father walks out the door when son, who had been standing quietly on the porch, yells out “0h, wait! My key!'' and rushes past Dad. In 20 feet from door to desk, the young man manages to leave a small dollop of organic material on the Living Room floor. He is too embarrassed and apologetic to notice the single tear slowing making its  way down his father's cheek.

-End Scene-

Class Reunion 3.0

8/9/2016

(Written Sunday, sent to a few classmates for vetting that evening, posting to our class (Liberty Bell High-Class of 86!) FB group early Monday.)

I will try to keep this reasonably short but a favorite writer of mine once told me she had to write about something in order to figure out how she really felt about it. So, my confusion is your...uh...…. gain(?)

First and foremost, in answer to a hotly discussed question from Saturday night, Al Bosco (or “Bosco”  as he known to his legions of fans) is the singer for the band Magic Carpet Ride. Here is the URL:

http://magiccarpetrideinc.com/?page_id=34

It was very bittersweet as we left W/R's last night. Both Friday and Saturday were delightful; even more so than Reunion 2.0.

It's.... amazing that Wendi and I can talk for hours with people we literally

haven't seen in a decade or two (or even three). This may shock you all but we are actually quite quiet people. Tested and found to be way over on the introvert scale. (My Beloved is a therapist after all.)

What brought us out of our shells? Of course the first answer is all the stories. How did I miss PH flying feet first down the hall? Of more importance, how did R end up with soooooo many tales involving me doing really dumb things? Memory being a fickle b***h, I tended to view my years at MVMS and LBH as the story of a “Plucky Young Fellow overcoming adversity in order to Get The Girl and Ride Off Into the Sunset.”

Sadly, it seems to be more a tale of God Has a Soft Spot for Dumb­ Asses.

(Shrug)

I can live with that. Probably best to be reminded of such things at least every decade or so.

Another reason we were so hesitant to leave Saturday night, despite the great fondness mosquitos have for Wendi, is that it was a delightful reminder of where we come from. Our roots. We are coming up on two decades living in Silverdale; well over twice the years spent as a Valley resident but we aren't really “from”  Kitsap County; we just live there. Does Silverdale even have mayor? Not a clue but I can tell you what was on the agenda at the last Twisp City Council Meeting. Where we grew up will always be our spiritual home town and you all helped renew this bond.

Our son will graduate in five years with several hundred classmates; most of whom he probably will feel very little connection with. To my mind, that negates any advantages a big school can offer.

Nostalgia isn’t the worst of vices and I suspect its hold on us will only strengthen as the years go by.

The final reason for not wanting to leave? Maybe it's just me but sometimes I will put off going to bed because that's a bit like hitting the "fast forward" button. My head hits the pillow and the day is over and it's on to something else. Leaving felt a bit like that. We knew that once we left for home, we wouldn’t see most of you till 2026.

And, this crazy thing called life being what it is, Saturday would most likely be the final time we saw at least a few of you. Just because that's the way life works doesn't mean we couldn't attempt to stop the world, if only for a little bit. A few bug bites (on Wendi) were a small price to pay for just one more story, one more memory, with so excellent a group guys and gals.

Final regret we had. To those few classmates we didn’t get to speak with, we'll try to do better in '26. No doubt, we'll be sporting Facebook brain implants, Google Glasses (version 11.5) and jet packs so that will hopefully make it easier. Everything will be better with jet packs.

Though, even they will pale in comparison to T's awesome Mustang. You take care of that car young man, you hear?

In fact, you all take care of yourselves, okay? You won’t want to miss "Sappy Essay 4.0" now would you?

Thank you.

Even More Appreciative of Good Friends/Good Times, (and to be honest, my hair),

President Brian

Of Brian and Wendi Fame.

Semper, Semper

8/2015

Today, one of my long wished for dreams came true. 

No, not that one.

Not that other one either.

Nope, today Xander and I took a tour of US Coast Guard Station Seattle. This is where a young fresh faced Seaman Hardy served from '89-91. Not sure on the math here but in the...uh..decade since I wore the wore the uniform, some things have changed. The boats are bigger, more high tech. 

"Good God! They forgot the helm on this boat!

Uh, Mr. Hardy, we use joysticks now.

I knew that!" 

And there is a whole lot more security now also. Sign of the times.

But what hasn't changed is more important: the mission.  They still save lives, protect property, monitor the environment, guard the borders, etc,.

And occasionally give tours to (appreciative) old farts waxing nostalgic about how things were back in the day.

I was delighted to note that one of their "olde timey" photos on the wall featured two Coasties I served with. 

Okay, delighted and disturbed.

If you want see Uniformed America at its best, it can be found at Pier 36 in Seattle. Give them a call. I get the feeling they love giving tours. I know I loved being there. 

Brian 

Semper Paratus 

Selling the Ranch

6/30/2015

Well, tomorrow marks the first two weeks of summer. Based upon all the fun-looking things posted to FB, the Hardys have been slacking. Sigh. This is what happens when I’m in charge. 

First of all, Xander is now officially too old for M&M summer camp. He’s quite delighted but I am scrambling trying to keep him occupied. There have been rumblings of going swimming with neighborhood friends and he came very close to going to Wild Waves. Sadly, Xander’s continued need to improve his writing skills put the kibosh on that plan. Maybe sometime in the future when he isn’t working at Sylvan or swimming at the Y. We just got his report card yesterday. Definitely more practice at writing. 

One activity we’ve just started is OT for his terrible handwriting. Right now, it’s one hour a week down at Port Orchard Group Health campus. Wish we’d started earlier but…..

Let’s see; Sylvan, OT and swim lessons. Okay, we’re not just sitting around watching the bug zapper. 

Fun stuff? Yes, there has been a bit of that also. Xander spent the first 5 days of summer at the Ranch. Always a good time. Last day of school, he and I met Tina in Darrington to exchange the kid; about a 3 hour drive for each of us. 

Wendi and I had two childfree days where she worked and I…worked. But at least I was done in the classroom by Friday early afternoon (a personal best) and got to see the Avengers and Jurassic World. I’ll take it. Then Saturday, we drove over to the Valley for our niece’s wedding. Best wishes, Alana. Hope marrying at 18 isn’t a hasty idea. Granted, we Hardys waited well-over a decade to get hitched so maybe we’re not the best judges on this. 

Something the boy and I are now doing on a semi-regular basis is working his shoulders. Robin the OT told us that you don’t get better handwriting by strengthening your dominant wrist but your dominate shoulder. So, we’ve been tossing the soft ball around (something we already do but now it’s with an academic purpose). Also, Xander is tossing a tennis ball at a fixed spot on the side of the house and (in theory) catching it. Further, I have introduced him to Manly Art of Chopping Wood. We’re actually out of wood to chop right now. Maybe one of the madrona’s will keel over from sheer Wendi Hatred. We can hope. 

Speaking of my Beloved, she’s decided to quit Group Health. This process will actually take a long time as she’ll want to meet with all of her patients to discuss this. So, we’re talking months, not weeks. Months in which we will try to save as much money as possible. Which means I need to spend less. 

Whoops. 

You know what would help us save a big stack of money? If we could earn a boatload of cash by selling a couple of art pieces Tina gave us a few years back. That would be really cool. But in order to do that, it would be good to actually know how much they (two lithographs by David Roberts) are worth. Mother in Law has no idea; she bought them in the 60s from a wealthy friend with a cash flow problem. Doesn’t remember how much she paid but is sure they’re worth something. 

So Brian has spent the past week investigating the exciting world of art appraisers. And by that, I mean “Pissing My Life Away Doing The One Thing Actually More Boring Than Watching a Bug Zapper”. Well, we’re close now. We took the pieces over to Seattle yesterday and gave Erin the Appraiser a stack of money to work her magic.

This process seems to be working in the opposite direction. 

Be that as it may, we’ll get the report in a week or two. Lord Willing, whatever worth is assigned to them will be at least as much as we paid for the appraisal.*

Xander’s been racing through all the Doctor Who DVDs he checked out from the Library. It’s amazing how enthralled he can be by 25-35 year old BBC programs. (Oh, I mean programmes.) And he’s now figured out how to watch them on his computer. That’s…..learning, isn’t it? 

At the end of the week, we head for Hawaii. Whoo-hoo! Just a few days back, I rented a car using our Hilton time share points. That’s a first time I’ve done that. For our last trip to the Aloha State in 2012, we waited too long to get a car. Now, a Jeep Grand Cherokee will be awaiting our arrival at the airport. That’s the plan anyway. And the $15 total fee we paid is 1/4 what the single taxi ride from the airport to the resort cost us our last trip. Take that….Taxi Person!

Naturally, I am working vigorously on my tan. Does anyone have one of those paint sample things? Because I may have gone from “porcelain” to “pearl”. Getting to “ivory” would be a nice end point before hitting the beach. Got to "represent" Puget Sounds and all. 

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Sigh… And now the big news. When visiting Tina a couple weeks back, she told me she would be speaking with a realtor soon about putting the Ranch up for sale. Tina plans to stay in the Valley but I’m not sure what her living arrangements will be. She’s probably not sure herself. We haven’t spoken since then. Based upon the selling of the old Ranch House (where the oldest photos below were taken), she estimates the sale will take 1 to 3 years. I’m hoping for a long sale for purely selfish reasons but my head says the old Ranch House was on the market during the Great Recession and the economy is much better now.  

Well, I can’t say I blame her. Not logically. It’s a huge responsibility with costly ongoing upkeep. And she’s just one 70-something grandma living by her self. Yes, Tina has every right to simplify her life but I will miss the trips east. 

Correction,  I won’t miss the long trips; just being at the Ranch.  So much of my life, starting as a terribly uncouth high schooler in the mid-80s, took place here: prom, sneaking in a bedroom window after prom (Note to self: Don’t send this to Tina.), getting married, every Christmas since the late 80s and then watching my kid discover the Ranch’s magic for himself. And saying good-bye to the departed.

And, like all good things, getting the most out of this wonderful experience by sharing it with friends. 

It will be hard to say good-bye. This place has been an island of stability for most of my life. Okay, its occupants have filled that role as well. :) 

So, I plan to spend as much time as possible with my family over at the Big Valley Ranch this, well, summer, fall, winter, and so on. As long as we’re not trespassing on somebody’s else’s property. Xander hasn’t managed to catch all the fish in the ponds so we’ve got some work to do. 

Time to drive the boy forth….

Brian 

* File This Art Predicament Under: One of Brian’s Problems That None of His Friends Give a Shit About.