I’ve already let you take a peek into Tom and Shanlee’s secret newspaper world. Remember when I told you about the little piles of torn-out ads that Tom places on the table every Sunday - and then never touches again. I usually throw them away on Tuesday or Wednesday. When adding scraps to the piles he [...]
As I do every year, I began fretting about a Father’s Day gift for the Big Irishman in early March. What do you get a man who has everything. More important, what do you get a man who has saved everything he’s ever touched. (including a big toe nail that fell off at scout camp when he was seven) I poured over sporting goods catalogs, walked the aisles at “guy” stores, and even considered purchasing some “adult toys” but decided against it because I didn’t want to embarrass the children. Finally, I had an inspiration while browsing the various nooks and crannies of amazon.com. I decided that he might really enjoy one of those Kindle digital book things because he is a voracious reader. I felt that this would be a flashy gift that makes a strong statement of our love for the Tall Guy. I polled the kids and they all agreed to throw some money into the Kindle kitty. Then I made the mistake of mentioning my great idea to one of Tom’s friends, who shall remain nameless. He questioned my gift choice, and I must say he had some good insights. He said that he wasn’t sure Tom could “handle” a Kindle. He reminded me that Tom is still unable to retrieve messages from his cell phone. And another good point - the “state-of-the-art” IPOD (a previous flashy gift that makes a strong statement) remains in its sealed case on my desk. BACK TO THE DRAWING BOARD.
Then it hit me, like a bolt of lightening, in the middle of the night - A NIGHT BLOOMING CEREUS, QUEEN OF THE NIGHT. Tom has always wanted one of these cacti, but they are extremely rare. They just bloom one night each year and their fragrance has been called, “the perfume of the angels.” So I made it my mission to find the elusive NBC,QOTN. I made 34,982 calls and nothing. People either had not a clue what I was talking about or they just laughed and mumbled words that sounded like, “fat chance.” With each dial I became more and more despondent and more and more determined. I would find one of these biatch cacti or die trying. Finally, as my button-punching finger began showing signs of paralysis, a dude who calls himself the “Cactus King” said those magic words, “Ya, I got one, but it’s gonna cost ya.”
I had a niggling feeling that Tom had once said something about the Cactus King, but I just couldn’t remember specifics. Anyway I rushed out picked up this beautiful lady, and I won’t even discuss what I paid for her.
Isn’t she a beauty. And she’s ready to
bloom - just imagine my delight.
Unfortunately, this is what a Night Blooming Cereus,
Queen of the Night is supposed to look like. I’d been had.
Apparently what I bought is a Flippin’ Fat Cactus, Joker of
the Day.
It’s starting to come back to me - I’m beginning to remember what Tom said about the Cactus King. And just for the record, Flippin’ Fat Cactus, Joker of the Days bloom only in the daylight and several times each summer.Ttheir fragrance would remind one of butt.
Dear Tom,
Some people are just meant to be dads, and you’re one of them. You have this incredible way with kids, and that’s one of the many things I really love about you. You are patient and kind, but you were never afraid to discipline our children and hold them accountable.
You’re understanding and loving, and you always keep your sense of humor. Kids love you, and I don’t blame them. I love you, too. Thank you for being a great father.
Love, Shanlee
When Esther, the amazing dog-child, came to live at our house we immediately made an important decision that would dramatically change our future. WE DECIDED TO CRATE TRAIN HER. This means that when she isn’t being directly supervised by a human, she is in her crate. (while we are sleeping or away from the house) You may think this is a very cruel way to treat a beloved family pet, but let me assure you that she actually likes it. That is her special place and she spends time resting in her crate even when we are awake and at home. We leave the door open and she just climbs in and chills, or reads books or does arts and crafts - all in her elaborately appointed crate. I think I have spent about $80,000.00 on fluffy color-coordinated comforters for her elegant abode.
Now that my D.R.’s understand about Esther’s crates (one upstairs and one downstairs) I will see if I can adequately describe the mess this decision has created in my life. Tom is a pack-rat and his motto has always been, “I will die without ever having placed anything in a trash receptacle of any kind.” Believe me he takes his motto very seriously and lives every day constantly reminding himself of its stringent guidelines. When Esther’s crates were moved into our house, his eyes lit up. I thought he simply loved his adorable new puppy. But what really brought a smile to his face, was the two new large, table-like surfaces that the tops of the cages provided. He immediately began stacking and piling. He did ask for a basket in an attempt to make his assortment of trash more attractive …. and then another basket and another and another.
Shortly after Christmas I noticed the the dog-crate basket situation had become overwhelming. I suddenly realized that he had started stacking baskets on top of baskets, and the whole mess was tilting at a very precarious angle. Finally, a neighborhood crisis brought his “house of cards” tumbling down. A small child who lives across the street wandered into our house through the open garage door. Evidently said child inadvertently bumped the leaning crate-tower of baskets, they cascaded downward - burying the poor child under tons of worthless debris. He was found several hours later and appeared to be unhurt - just frightened.
After the accidental deluge, Tom, at my suggestion, decided to do a major clean-up. He sat at our dining table for three straight days without even breaking for meals. I think he probably found enough half-eaten candy bars to keep himself alive. I’ll just share the high points of his treasure hunt.
(1.) An object believed to be the umbilical cord of a mammal that walked the earth thousands of years ago. (2.) An old golf glove that had been placed in the pile while wet. It was stiff and in the shape of a gnarled hand. (3.) Change which totaled $!,256.09. (4.) A Burger King receipt from 1997.
(5.) A “HONEY DO” list that I made for him shortly after our wedding. (6.) 178 keys in various shapes and sizes (7.) Several indistinguishable items that were very odorous. I’ll stop there. We have weeded out about 236 baskets and are down to just eleven. I’m a happy woman.
Fifty-seven years ago today, at 5 minutes after midnight, the AZW came into this world - a bouncing black-haired, almost 10 pound wonder. I was a giant baby and I think on that day my tiny 4′ 11” mom regretted ever having met my father. To celebrate this auspicious occassion, the Big Irishman brought me to our time-share in Sedona. I think he intends to spoil me rotten for three or four days. We have so much fun when we travel. We aren’t ever at a loss for conversation topics. Every time we take a trip we fall in love all over again. Fortunately,he always agrees to renew my contract when we get home.
When we left on Friday we decided to take the scenic route through Payson. Of course, right outside of the Payson city limits we found ourselves driving through a blinding blizzard. After Camp Verde, the snow subsided and our drive into Sedona was uneventful. Our room is beautiful and the above picture is the view from our terrace.
Yesterday we shopped and attended 5:30 mass at one of our favorite churches. The priest at St. John’s almost makes me regret my decision to leave the church. We had dinner at a micro-brewery and a very strange thing happened. We sat at the bar until our table was ready and started talking to a gentleman named Mike. During our conversation he told us that his wife (seated beside him) was scheduled for a total mastectomy on Tuesday. When I looked at her, she was surrounded by a soft light. Suddenly I had an overwhelming feeling that she would be just fine. This isn’t the first time that Perpetua has helped me to see and feel things that I would have missed before my transplant.
Today we are going to enjoy some Arizona wineries. This morning while Tom was drying his hair, I looked at his back and was totally overwhelmed by his strength and kindness. He is the best thing in my life.
When I signed on to be a blogger, I promised myself that I would share not only the good, but also the bad and the ugly. Well, something so horrendous has happened that I have spent most of the morning deciding whether or not to keep this promise. Finally, literary honesty has dictated my decision. It is with dread and trepidation that I share the following.
TUESDAY MORNING I AWAKENED WITH MY THUMB IN MY MOUTH. Can you even believe it? I am positively mortified. My first thoughts were, “I wonder if Tom saw me? Was I actually sucking my thumb or did it just inadvertently find its way into my mouth? Is this the beginning of a second childhood? Will wetting the bed be next?”
All day Tuesday I searched my inner self looking for an explanation. I consequently developed several possible theories ….
1. Perpetua is actually younger than we originally thought.
2. I’m sorry to say that one of our family’s “dirty little secrets” is that Esther enjoys a nice finger- suck every once in a while. My research has uncovered the fact that this is frequently a characteristic of her breed. If there is no finger available, she sucks on her back foot. How precious. I’m sure that you have all read about people taking on the traits of their pets. Could this be why I find myself in this situation? If I start whining at the door to go outside - mystery solved.
3. I do have a small hang-nail on the thumb that appeared in my mouth. Maybe this was just an attempt to soothe my boo boo. (Is anyone worried that I just said “boo boo?”)
4. The current administration (I can’t even say his name after hearing last night’s speech) has screwed up this country so badly that my elevated sense of insecurity has mandated a return to infancy.
5. Probably the most reasonable explanation for my odd behavior is the “power of suggestion.” On Monday, as I was sitting at my desk working on quarterly reports for Tom’s company, I turned on the TV just to provide background noise. Dr. Phil was discussing strange New Year’s resolutions. (Even if tortured, I will never admit to willingly watching Dr. Phil.) One of his guests, at age 23, has vowed to stop sucking her thumb before her wedding in June. I’m sure this dialog planted a seed in my mind, and my subconscious took over from there.
Tom and I are headed to Sedona tomorrow for a romantic getaway. I certainly hope I don’t experience a repeat of this thumb thing. I somehow don’t think he would find it very alluring. Wish me luck.
Several weeks ago Tom ran into the house, waving a piece of paper. He seemed very excited, almost manic. I was sure that we had received a summons to appear in court, or possibly a foreclosure notice on our house. I was mentally making a list of things I would need to pack so that we could comfortably live in our car, when he finally calmed down enough to shout, “I got drawn for elk.” For those who don’t understand the ins-and-outs of BIG GAME HUNTING, I shall explain. In Arizona, a hunter must apply for and receive a permit to hunt each type of animal. Elk permits are limited, and hunters are only drawn once every several years. An elk permit for a man is the equivalent of an invitation to dine with George Clooney for a woman. THIS IS A BIG DEAL. I have really enjoyed witnessing the preparation for THE HUNT. This process takes many, many months.
Shortly after Tom got the exciting news, the first of many meetings was quickly organized. The purpose of this first meeting was to establish a schedule for future meetings. The proposed meeting schedule was then emailed to all hunters in “The Brennan Party.” Then a second meeting was called to propose changes to the original schedule of planning meetings. Finally, the meeting dates were finalized and the hunters moved on to ”list making.” (These guys give new meaning to list making.)
We have lists of warm weather clothes, cool weather clothes, and in-between weather clothes. After each item of clothing there is a small number which indicates the importance of each item. Did I mention that 2 meetings were scheduled to develop this rating system. We also had several WBW meetings - Who Brings What. Trust in your fellow man isn’t a huge component of this group. I know for a fact, from discussions with other wives, that each man independently decided to take everything on the WTW list. No one wanted to depend on the other guy for such important items as a bottle of Jack Daniels, cards, poker chips, and a skinning knife.
Then there were the menu meetings. Yikes. Each guy was responsible for a day’s food. Lists of food allergies and preferences were modified and edited a hundred times. Tom personally took enough food to feed the whole northeast section of the state until after Christmas. The last week has been a flurry of cooking and shopping …. and meetings. Also late-night phone calls have been an everyday occurrence.
When Tom pulled out of the drive-way (the first time) the back bumper barely cleared the curb. He had to come back twice - once for those fancy toothpicks to hold martini olives and the second time for his lucky hat. I sure hope none of the guys make fun of his Pound Puppy pillow case.
The Big Irishman celebrated a birthday last week. He turned 57. In all the years I’ve known him, he has been very casual about birthdays. For some reason this one was different. I wished him “happy birthday” when he got up at 5:15 a.m. on his special day, and he barely acknowledged me. In the past he has always said that each birthday was a moral victory. Apparently one of his high school teachers told him that he would be dead or in prison by his twenty-first birthday. (Can you imagine a teacher saying that?)
I asked him how he wanted to celebrate. I was positive he would suggest that I meet him at the door in my French maid costume and then seduce him on the dining room table - followed by martini sipping and wild dancing to the music of “Hogface and The Blossoms.” You can imagine my shock when he quietly mumbled something about meatloaf, green bean casserole and turning in early.
I worried all day, but dutifully prepared meat loaf and green bean casserole. I even made Apple Crisp hoping to cheer him up. While we had a drink before dinner, he did say that 57 seemed really old. I know that he has been working ungodly hours and is very tired. I also started thinking about the fact that I have a tendency to be so focused on myself that I rarely share with him the fact that I realize every day how lucky I am that he is such a huge part of my life. He is the best FATHER that children could have. He possesses every good quality that a HUSBAND should possess. He is a supportive, true FRIEND to others and a caring BROTHER and SON. He is a very knowledgeable FINANCIAL MANAGER and takes very seriously the trust that his clients have placed in him. He is a gentle LOVER and a tender LISTENER. I trust him with all my thoughts. Thank you GOD for placing the BIG IRISHMAN in my path. I think he is a very young 57.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART !!!!!!
Don’t ever believe me when I say that I’ll blog with you tomorrow. I always have the best of intentions, but stuff happens. Perhaps you will forgive me just this once if I tell you what’s been happening in our family. The Big Irishman has departed from his previous place of employment in order to launch his own wealth management firm. It’s been a marathon, but from all indications, this may prove to be the best decision he ever made. (other than choosing me to be the mother of his children) Between setting up and decorating a new office and establishing an accounting system, I have been one busy lady. Did I mention that I appointed myself the CEO? Tom is the Grand Imperial Pubah.
I had planned to describe in detail all my adventures in Canada, but it all seems like a very long time ago. I do want to tell you a little more about my amazing honorary grandchildren - Ozzy and Tango. These two guys have to be among the greatest children on the planet. Not only are they adorable to look at, but they are fun and interesting to interact with. Their imaginations were a constant source of amazement for me. Adults could learn a lesson from the gentle way that Ozzy and Tango deal with their world. These children are examples of all things pure and good. They are a testament to the terrific parenting by Chad and Holly. Thanks again to Donna for sharing her precious grandchildren with me.
After returning from Canada, I spent a week in the Bay Area with Katie. She just signed her very first teaching contract and I helped her set up her classroom. It sure felt good to design bulletin boards again. She is teaching a preschool class for children with varying degrees of autism. I must say - Katie has a true gift. Tom and I are so very proud of her. At a later date I will be sharing with you an adventure Katie and I had during my visit. Sneak preview: The adventure involves wild animals and police.
I think George Bush becomes scarier every day. We have a section in our daily newspaper called THE VENT. It’s for people to express their opinions, however extreme. On Tuesday this entry caught my eye. “For those of you who think George Bush is a good Christian, how do you suppose Jesus Christ would choose to define torture?”
I found my Tupper purge so gratifying, that I decided to move on to the closet I share with “you know who.” Later I shall provide a brief description of “HIS” area. I suppose I should share with you a true picture of what “MY” area looked like before I began the overhaul. Keep in mind that a family of five could live comfortably in this closet. I have 94,216 items of clothing (sizes 5 to 18) crammed into the tiny bit of space that Tom has allowed me. He has positioned 814 hats side-by-side on most of the shelves we are supposed to share. I also have several purses and other feminine-type containment units scattered haphazardly throughout the space.
After a small, private ceremony during which I promised to part with at least one-third of my belongings, I attacked the designated area with vigor. First I purged all the sizes that no longer fit me. Next I isolated and dumped anything I wore in sixth grade or before. Nineteen pairs of shoes went into a large bag. These will soon belong to someone who can at least slide her foot into them. I haven’t worn a size 7 since college. Did I seriously believe that my feet would lose weight? Next I dumped every outfit I wore on a “bad date” in college. With a heavy heart, I carefully folded all my mini-skirts. After all, I’m almost 60 years old. Probably the bravest move I made was tossing anything that was missing a button. Several of these ensembles have been missing buttons since 1906.
When the dumping was done, I color-coordinated every thing that escaped my demolition. I now have a red shirt section and a blue shirt section and etc. I should have done this long ago. Once they were grouped together, I discovered that I have 16 white tee-shirts, some of them identical. OOPS!
All of my shoes now fit on a hanging shoe rack on the back of the closet door. Try to envision this picture if you will. I have 1 shoe rack. The “Big Irishman” has 8 shoe racks. Most of the little spiky things that hold shoes are empty. He has 181 pairs of shoes scattered throughout an area that covers the whole floor. All these shoes are crying because they can’t find their mates. The noise is deafening.
I have several motivational plans to encourage the big guy to tackle this outrageous mess. I’m thinking about putting a lock on the outside of the closet door. Every day when he changes clothes after work, I will lock him in. I will then let him out when he hands me 25 clothing items and 5 pairs of shoes which will be safely hidden in the garage until I can sneak them out of the house. Maybe if he does this slowly, over a period of several days, it won’t be so painful. If all else fails, I can always withhold ……………………..Cable TV.
More cuts in Medicaid and Medicare are paying for the Republican-sponsored Bush tax cuts for the rich. Has anyone else called their Congressmen or Congresswomen to complain?
