I must admit, I thought I'd get a lot more mileage out my bypass surgery than I have. It's mostly forgotten by just about everybody, including me. When I take a shower and see the scar, I'm often taken aback and then I remember. Mostly I don't think about it. These things are so routine these days. And every body's doing it. It's no longer a novelty.

I was shaving at the Y this afternoon when I heard a voice next to me say, "I see you're a member of the club?" I turned to the voice trying to think of what club he might be referring too. "Excuse me?" I said. He pointed at his chest and I could see a scar down the middle of his sternum. Clearly, he'd had bypass surgery as well. His scar was barely discernible though, whereas mine is very visible still. I asked when he had his surgery and told him when I had mine and that was that. Just when I was thinking no one would ever notice. I've been waiting for somebody to ask what the scar is all about.

People were much more accepting of the heart surgery than they were of the prostate cancer surgery I had a few years ago. Friends disappeared in droves. Uh, oh. I fear I may have just lost you too, dear reader. As happened when I told friends of my impending surgery. It's that word. You know to which word I refer. I can only think that the fear the word is so great that some people just can't remain in proximity to it, spoken, written or walking around. They were my friends, too.

I have a hard time with the word too. Not so much with saying it, but now, as I type the word and see it on the page in front of me, I feel a bit uncomfortable. Embarrassed? Afraid? I'm not sure. I'm OK now. I was a lucky man. I am a very fortunate man. I really have nothing to be embarrassed about. So why am I?

I lost track of where I was going with this as soon as I typed the word.
Man, this is silly!

I'm going to excuse myself and say goodnight. Goodnight!


"You telling me you don't want to go?"

"I reckon that's about it. Yeah. I don't.
I don't want to go."

"You sure?"

"I'm damned sure. You bet I'm sure."

"Ok. If you're positive."

" I told you I was sure. Damned sure.
Positive. Man alive. What else do I got
to say? I do not--even if God came down
and asked me personally--I do not, now or ever---want to go to that meeting of scoundrels and lawyers. Do I make myself real clear?"

"Then I'll just go on without you. If that's alright. I'll just get on along by my lonesome."

"Thank you."

"Alright then. I'm outta here."

"Thank you. Have a nice time and please don't ask me again if I want to go."


Married to the Sea

Why, you may ask, is house cleaning so much fun?

No. I didn't say "not so much fun". I mean it. Fun. I can explain it only as a peaceful time, a time when I have the rare opportunity to get in touch with my inner self. It also has to do with Saturday mornings.

I think I got the cleaning gene from my mother who was always cleaning or cooking or passed out on the floor. Not that kind of passed out. Passed out as in tired from cleaning and needing a break. And she wasn't really passed out. She took naps that way. Whilst dusting the old rocker she might put her head down for a few minutes and catch a few winks. I once came in from playing baseball with my friends to find mom lying on the kitchen floor asleep. I thought she was dead. Scared the hell out me. I was nine.

Cleaning to me means family doing things together. Saturday mornings were always so much fun because my brother, sister, mom and I were together, each with his or her designated chores. All of us working like little beavers. In the summer my mother liked to wash down the front porch and sidewalk, while we dusted and mopped and made beds and such. That was her passion. That and waxing the floor and making gravy.

By noon the job would be done and I'd collect my pay. I got 30 cents and two bus tokens which I used for at least one double feature at a downtown movie theatre, a box of popcorn, soda and milk duds. In my early years I leaned towards westerns with Roy or Gene, Lash LaRue, Whip Wilson, Johnny Mack Brown or Randolph Scott. (I was on stage with Lash LaRue once, but that's a whole other story.)

I suppose what started all this about cleaning was the time of year. The week before Christmas was a big cleaning week at our house. The mill was closed and mom spent a lot of time at home, doing what she loved. Cleaning and baking cakes. The fragrance of Johnson's Wax and melting chocolate lingers in my olfactory memory still. I can close my eyes and see mom stirring batter or grating coconut.

I think the idea of intensive house cleaning at the end of the year has something to do with starting the new year off with a clean slate. Black eyed peas and collard greens for luck, and a clean house, help to make the season bright.

Now, if you'll excuse me I've got some sweeping to do.

The perfect tree

our perfect tree

Since he was four, my son has been the official Christmas tree chooser in our family.
I don't know how he does it, but he just walks onto the lot and immediately goes to the tree which always proves to be the perfect tree.

Oh, it's full of imperfections and flaws. It's perfect in its imperfections. (Aren't we all) The fact is, once the tree has all the ornaments and lights, it doesn't matter. It's our perfect tree and we love it. And my son, now eleven, has the fun of being the official perfect tree picker of the family. He's also now the official Decorator of the Tree, and my wife and I just sit back and watch. My wife has a little more trouble than I do with kibitzing, because her father had very specific rules as to how one must decorate a Christmas tree. I don't think much fun was had decorating trees when she was a kid.

Our tree may not get its picture in House Beautiful but my son get a great deal of pleasure from picking and decorating it. And we all join him in having fun. I figure it's good practice for life, and decision making as practiced by grownups.

Mr. Jeffries

On my way to work every morning I would pass the house where Mr. Jeffries lived. He was always outside sweeping his sidewalk or sitting on his porch reading the paper. And smoking his pipe. I could always smell the fragrance of burning pipe tobacco a few houses from his. Jack, his beagle was usually close by.

I didn't really know Mr. Jeffries. I knew he drove a city bus before he retired and that his wife had died a few years ago, and that he lived alone, except for Jack, of course. And maybe a cat. My wife said she saw an overweight tabby sleeping on the porch last week. I never saw a cat. Just Jack.

It was always comforting to see Mr. Jeffries every morning. He looked so positive about life. He exuded confidence, well-being and contentment. He'd always smile when I passed and I always said, "Morning, Mr. Jeffries. How are you this morning." He never had to think about it. "The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want", he replied. I thought that was a very nice way to put it.

Chocolate Chip cookie Craze

The chocolate chip cookie craze is upon me. I've baked cookies every day this week. I know that chocolate chip cookies are not the best thing for a person who had heart surgery slightly more than a year ago, but it's so much fun. To be perfectly honest, I'm not eating all that many. They're mostly consumed by the boys, my wife and the dog. She (the dog) has been known to eat an entire cookie sheet of hot, just out of the oven cookies--in the blink of an eye. Never turn your back on cooling cookies if she's within striking distance. I was on a chocolate muffin binge for awhile and she went nuts for my muffins.

The cookies of the day were different. Flatter and crispier, but they taste fine, and I've heard no complaints. I was just reading in the King Arthur cook book about the effects of humidity and barometric pressure on baking. The humidity is high and the barometer low today. I'm sure that accounts for the difference.

King Arthur suggests adding a teaspoon or two of espresso to the dough to perk up the cookies. I tried it and it works. The cookies were much perkier.

It's about time for me to start baking bread again. We used to bake bread every other day--before we got lazy. But with the price of 4 dollars for a decent loaf of whole wheat bread, I don't think I have a choice. Bake I must. It's the yeast I can do.

Lost Glasses (overheard conversation)

Man: "I looked for my glasses for over 15 minutes the other morning."

Woman: "Were they in your pocket?

Man: "No. I was wearing them."

Woman: "Oh dear."

Nuclear Stress and Hershey's muffins

I did my nuclear stress test today. Piece of cake. No! I mean non-fat chocolate muffin. I add chocolate chips to some of the muffins to make them more palatable to the kids. And, I use nonfat milk and nonfat yogurt. 2% milk and at least lowfat yogurt would no doubt improve the taste. As would a pound of butter. Just joking.

Silver bells

There's a feeling in the air. And I thought I heard the sound of--I must be imagining--did you hear that? Bells? Silver bells? Can you feel it! In the air?

The plaza guys are putting up Christmas banners, and it's very cold. Feels like snow though none is predicted. Buying groceries I saw people I'd never seen before.
Strangers. People who only come out for the big one. Carts packed with chestnuts and turkeys, cans of pumpkin and evaporated milk.

And the cell phone thing is marvelous. I saw two people pushing carts with both hands, talking to themselves at full volume. At first I thought they were just ordinary folks pushed to the limits by the accelerating need to buy. Then I noticed they both had headsets and were probably just checking in with home to see if they should pick up a dozen eggs or more toilet paper. An extra six pack of Michelob for friends who might drop in unexpectedly. I admire those people. No inhibitions like me. I'd never be brave enough to do that.

A women with two cute little tots pushed me aside in produce as I was trying to find some reasonably ripe bananas, proclaiming "I only have five minutes to get through the whole store!" "Oh, I understand" I said. And why are all the bananas so green these days. I don't see the overripe bananas, perfect for banana nut bread, anymore.

People are just people after all. Just trying to put food on their families.