The Ranch Closes Shop

3/2019

(Please excuse the lack of any serious revision or editing. My Wife has just returned from a week of packing and I’d life to spend some time with her. The intermittent eye moistness isn’t helping things either.)

:’(

-Tomorrow (3/15), the Big Valley Ranch closes up shop. Harold and Tina bought the place, roughly 2000 acres back in the mid-60s. Back then, before the opening of the North Cascades Highway, land was mighty cheap.

-It remained a vacation place till the early 80s when they decided to move back there full time with their two daughters: Wendi and Holly. The move was tough for Wendi but it was the best thing that ever happened to an impoverished yet plucky young man about Wendi’s age, who lived in the town next over. The best thing. So many of my life’s high points happened here.

-I got to go to prom. Harold even loaned me an old suit. I was sick as a dog but Wendi explained that we WOULD be going. And so we did.

-Much (much) later, Wendi and I got married at the Ranch. The gazebo under which we said our vows now sits in our backyard.

-Things took their natural course and Xander came along. The Ranch seemed Designed by God to be every boy’s dream: cows, horses, 4-wheeler, swimming in the river, streams, fishing and kayaking in the 3 ponds, a big house and best of all, doting grandparents. He and his slightly older cousin Hunter practically grew up there.

-My son gained a lot of life lessons there:

His 1st birthday party was there.

“Helping” out G’Pa Harold with Ranch duties.

He broke his first bone: the right wrist, falling out of an apple tree when he was about 5 years old.

This last summer, at 15, he broke the same wrist; this time riding the quad.

Again, last summer, he also got his first driving lesson using the Ranch truck. It was a good long while before lesson #2.

-About a decade ago, the Heaths decided to build an old person’s home across the road. Unlike the old Ranch House, their new home had no stairs and a wonderful guest wing. Which we used. A lot. The whole family did. Harold and Tina were insanely welcoming to friends and family. Many summers, the Ranch hosted family reunions.

-I’ll admit that I pestered my friends to make the 5 hour drive. It was hard to describe the Ranch without actually seeing it. Those that acquiesced admitted that it was a special place. Naturally, when their children came along, that was all the more reason to visit.

-A few years back, we said goodbye to Harold. After that, even the much diminished Ranch (down to 200ish acres by then) seemed too much for Tina to manage. The logical (if painful) decision was made to sell it. And after a long time on the market, it finally sold last December. The generous buyers, the S Family, allowed Tina to stay till the 15th of March.

-It’s not easy to move but Tina had lots of help. Wendi made 5 trips in the last two months; even finagling TWO different Silverdale Js to come with but there were many Vs and relatives who pitched in. Ranch hand (and so much more) A deserves some sort of medal for all his assistance. Tina is much loved and will be supported in her new life. She currently has a condo in…uh… downtown Winthrop and will eventually decide whether to build a house on her one acre plot on the other side of downtown Winthrop. We’ll see.

-In the meantime, I am thankful for the wonderful memories the Big Valley Ranch provided to me, my family, and friends. And further, I wish all the best for the S Family as their Valley Life starts. They have wonderful things ahead of them.

And thank you to all who shared this wonderful piece of the Methow Valley with us.

Take Care.

March 2019

Saturday-Late Afternoon 

 Well, it’s still better than my first 24 hours of Boot Camp or working on the fishing processor. 

(Author’s Note: See earlier email) 

   Wendi is midpoint through her 4th trip to the Ranch since NY’sEve. Xander and I are on our 2nd. Slackers. 

   But we wanted to be there at The End so we made the trip yesterday. The trip did not have an auspicious start.

   Friday morning, I woke up late with a nasty cough. And a son lying in bed on his phone. Not packed. Chores undone. 

   So, Dad Weekend Explosion #1. 

   The trip was dull. We missed the Kingston Ferry by one car. (mutter, mutter) There wasn’t any hurry; it’s just the principle of the thing. Had SOMEBODY taken care of the dishes with a bit more alacrity, we would’ve make the 9:40. Just saying.

   When we got to Winthrop, we swung by Winthrop River Run Lodge, where a month or so ago, Wendi rented a room for $300 so we’d have somewhere to stay. ‘Cause the Ranch would be empty. ‘Cause Tina’s moving. (Have I mentioned that before?) 

   But, since even a partially denuded Ranch House is better than some motel, we’re here at the Ranch. Actually writing this in the T.V. Room:

   (You’ll need to use your imagination a bit here.) 

   And since we paid for the room so long ago, and the refund window closed at the beginning of the month, Room 18 is legally mine till tomorrow at 10:00. So we stopped by, got the keys and christened my temporary home by dropping Massive Anchor. Used lots of toilet paper so as to get my money’s worth. Very nice. 2-ply and everything. I’ll be sure to include this in my Expedia review.

   After this little 7 minute interlude (possibly the most expensive bowel movement of my life; at least I pray to God this is so.). It was time to stop dithering. 

   When X and I walked through the front  door, the tension was....very tense. The past couple of days had been very hard on the Heath Women. Here’s the rundown.

1) Tina is not emotionally ready to leave this place. For the past 35 years, she has been the Grande Dame of the Big Valley Ranch. This has been her identity. Part of such an identity included being in control. Control of pretty much everything around her (‘ceptin’ maybe her daughters). 

2) The memory loss is getting worse. Ditto some behavioral changes. For the past, well, forever, we kept thinking (hoping really) that it was the stress of “A”, then “B”, and what about “C” and now most likely “D” and so are on. But she keeps telling us the same things over and over along with constantly checking on what Wendi was working on. Wendi was working on what they had agreed to earlier that morning.

3) Parts A and B meant Tina was constantly checking on Wendi’s progress and more often than not, criticizing her work. It also meant Tina wanted to explain the history of 

Every

Single 

Item

going into a box. 

  News flash! The movers arrive this Thursday.  Correction! They already showed up last Thursday in order to move the rosewood table in storage up at the shop.(You know, the one she promised to Gregg a couple months back.) However, the A-Team got their moving truck on the road up to said shop and then spent the rest of the day (along with Albertano’s help) getting unstuck. Then they went home to Wenatchee.

So yeah, that went really really well.

   At this point, Tina seriously considered  cancelling next Wednesday’s moving crew. Granted, Moronic Movers LLC. didn’t really inspire a whole lot of confidence but she had no backup plan so...you know.. WTF?

   Wendi talked her off that ledge but the following day (Friday)  also stunk. While X and I were taking our sweet-ass time driving over mountains, Wendi met her breaking point. Tina accused her one dutiful daughter of being sneaky and trying to steal things. What things? What items could bring on such a serious allegation? Not her jewelry nor her art. Nope, she accused Wendi of trying to steal her trash. 

Her trash.

   Because when you have items which are no longer useful, wanted by no one, and will only be a burden to those you inflict it upon; you have trash. 

Here’s an example.

Above are the partial desiccated remains of 2 or 3 games from maybe the Carter Administration. The little note in the upper right corner? “Albertano, want any of this?”

   No, he wouldn’t, Tina. Nobody wants this; therefore it is trash.

   And yet, she spent a ridiculous amount of time gathering multiple nuggets of rubbish (“nuggish”? “Ruggets”?) into one larger pile of dreck on the off chance that Albertano has an extremely well hidden hoarding addiction.

   He doesn’t.

   And Wendi’s reasonable reaction to this fact is to just throw it out. Throw it all out. Tina won’t hear of it. A veritable stab in the back. King Lear had more devoted daughters. Lizzie Borden was more dutiful.

   So Wendi got kinda sick of this. Especially with all Tina’s friends stopping by, doing a modicum of work, commenting on How Very Much remained to do only to met with Tina’s strong assurance that “The moving company will take care of it all on Wednesday.” 

   Uh...This is the same crew: just two guys, who managed to spend all day last Thursday being stuck in the mud? THAT elite Band of (Boned-Headed) Brothers? 

   So that was really tense. Wendi was ready to just leave. 

   And then the Hardy Boys showed up! All sparkles and sunshine. Through hard work and a pathologically positive in the face of all reality , I was able to prepare dinner from the various left overs still in the house.

   They were able to eat it the same way.

   Last night, we all turned in early. I spent my evening listening to both Heath Lady’s troubles though most of my time was spent with the wife. Where she listed her many, many grievances. Many but not all directed at her mom. Plenty of grievance to go around. Here, have a bag’s worth of your very own.

And all this on her birthday, no less. 

   And with another cold sore coming back. 

   Were her imaginary Ford F-150 to crash, she’ll have all the makings of a C&W song.  

Well, this Jeremiad has turned into quite the monster. Don’t want to write anymore. Just want watch the make-believe TV and sleep. The latter mostly Can barely keep my eyes open. I’ll just leave you with the mildly uplifting fact that Tina apologized to Wendi this morning. And Albertano, Xander, and I took some stuff to storage today. Yea! Progress made. 

We also saw Tutu’s new Condo  but that riveting story will wait for another day.

Tune in Next Time! 

Goodnight!!

Part 3

Xander and I have gotten home. Despite suggestions from both yours truly and Tina, Wendi is there at least a couple more days. Tina’s gonna get moved before the Sackville-Baggins take possession on Saturday no matter what. Sure, Albertano could pack, ship and unpack every single item by Wednesday; that would have suited Tina just fine but Wendi will do a better job than the guy who already has 2.5 full-time jobs.. Besides, somebody needs to be around to tell Tina when she’s being a moron. The only other possible candidate is cheesed off at her mother for giving away “her” Ranch truck. She’s sitting this move out.

Here are a couple/three anecdotes that pretty much sum up the weekend. The first details the brilliant idea that didn’t happen.

1) You know how we rented a motel room and then decided not use it? Well, I had this glorious plan to find the Lamest Object(s) Possible to leave in the hotel room. This object, along with the room’s immaculate condition, might spark a new Valley Legend. An empty can chicken broth. A 2’ stack of post-its. An spotless ash tray. A single cowboy boot. A bag of paper clips. There were scores of possibilities in the “Up For Grabs” pile. 

Well, ran out of time this morning. I’ll just have to take comfort in the strange look I got when dropping off the room keys.

B) Saturday morning, family friend Susan came over to pick up the recycling and to check in with Tina. Sitting in the Living Room, enjoying their coffee.

Susan: You know, Tina, you’ll need to get a garbage can.

Tina: Oh, hadn’t thought about that.

Wendi: (Internal cackling)

C) Saturday late afternoon. Everyone decides to move some clothes to the new house. There is some heated discussion over how much to take to the condo and what all to put into storage. (Which is literally just across the road from the condo.) Tina wins the argument that she’ll need both her Winter and Spring Wardrobes at hand. (Author’s Note: When the Top 10% refers to “(season)+Wardrobe”, us Common Folk should just translate that as “clothes”.)

D) Wendi is very much in the “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll care of it.” stage of moving. This led to me dragging Harold’s very old, very heavy sound system out to Wendi’s Honda Fit. At this point, I was very much behind schedule and very much hating Harold’s stereo system so I wasn’t being too careful. We were just going to  chuck it all once out of sight. So, the tuner, and CD player were tossed into the back of the car. The speakers were a different matter. 20? 30? pounds each and I loathed every ounce. To show my distaste, I picked up the first speaker by the power cord and started moving it haphazardly to the back of Wendi’s car. 

Which would have been fine if it had been a permanent power cord. It wasn’t. And in 1/4 second, I focused my superhuman abilities on not having the %#€¥ing thing crush my foot. Mission accomplished! 

Sadly or Delightfully (your call), during the same microsecond, my right hand suddenly found itself. It holding up heavy-ass piece of 70s Era sound equipment. They’re called Newtons Laws; not suggestions. 

Long story less long: I punched myself in the face.

Ah, good times.

E) This facial assault based levity was just what we needed. Earlier, we actually went up to the condo to drop off the above mentioned wardrobes. (AKA: duds) The condo was...nice. But, it sure wasn’t The Ranch. (Yes, yes, I know. What is?) It was just an ordinary duplex. For an ordinary grandma. 

I could see X- an having a hard time not breaking down. Tutu really didn’t need that so I just took him home post-haste. 

Home.

Parked in the dark; we wiped away tears. I told him he could grieve all he wanted. But not in front of Tutu. Better a broken toe or self-inflicted upper cut than adding to his grandmother’s distress. He knew.

F) And our last family interaction before heading back to Silverdale. Well, Xander had one final small box to shove into the back of the extremely full CR-V. 

(Not in any way) Shockingly, Tina followed him out and actually started looking into the CR-V! The automotive equivalent to all the “farms in the country” where all the bitey dogs go to. Wendi appeared as if by teleportation (always her superpower of choice) in between the mom and the car. Somehow, she gave the appearance of 5-foot tall daughter, blocking Tina’s view and said in a loud, commanding voice (AKA: her voice) that she would finish the arduous task of shoving that box in the  final 3 inches. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Sadly, what was blocking Wendi’s attempts at subterfuge was all the BValley firewood I’d jammed into every little nook and cranny.

“Really?! Firewood??” 

 Not the best time for a reasonable explanation so I fell back on the old tried and true: stupid grim followed by a guilty shrug. Works every time.

There you have it; a 5 second drama with cluelessness, deception, snooping,  greed, all culminationing in everyone present annoying the hell out of Mrs. Hardy. 

Discretion, valor all that.. No time for mopey goodbyes. We got the hell out of there. At the end of the driveway, I parked, took my last photo of the Big Valley Ranch. After that, I got back into the car, and drove back to the nice-okay world. 

BTH

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.