Until I Get Over Myself
I’m sorry, but I’m just a wee bit livid right now. Excuse me while I work something out real quick.
Do I know how WordPress works? Yes. Did I see the little Microsoft Update tab show up down bottom on my task-bar? Briefly. Did I click on it to see what was up? Ka-duh, no. Did I think it would be a problem? Obviously Not. Have I configured my new laptop so that when potential issues arise I’ll be ready? Not completely. Does Microsoft believe that no one in their right mind would be trying to write a post at 3 o’clock in the morning on a Tuesday night Wednesday morning? Apparently. Did I take the time to hit “save draft” after I had typed my 567th word? no. Did Bill Gates give his staff permission to shut down my computer ALL THE WAY FROM REDMOND, WASHINGTON WHENEVER THEY FEEL LIKE IT!!!! Damn straight. Do I have anybody to blame but myself? I wish. Will I blame it on Bill Gates and the continuing effects of the ever increasing Military Industrial Complex anyway? Hell yes!
I guess you’ll have to wait a couple of more days to hear about my bad haircut.
Sibling Revelry
Wouldn’t it be great if everyone dear to us knew how we felt about them? I have several times in my life thought to sit down and write to each special person in my life, telling them in great detail how they have touched and bettered my time here. I have done so on occasion, and it has been met with heartfelt gratitude and appreciation. After writing one such letter to my father, he called me and thanked me for putting the words down on paper, so that he might have the chance to read them again, rather than attempt to recapture those wispy sentiments that would surely have slipped into forgotten-ville or less-meaningful-land. Anyhow, my brother, Geoff, who is master of all things that are this blog, chose to do this very thing for each one of his siblings in 2008, save my sister, Stacey, the youngest, whose birthday precipitated this wonderful, post-August tradition for praising his siblings on their birthday, and will, thus, have to wait until late next month to be lauded. We thought it fitting then, that our brother be the recipient of such a gift as he has bestowed upon each one of us. We also thank him for letting us crash his blog. -Laura-
From Leta:
HEADKNOCKER
July 23rd, 1964. Envision a small family standing in front of an elevator smiling and waving goodbye to their mom. She was seated in a wheelchair, smiling back. The father informed the small boy and slightly older girl that the next time they saw mommy they would have a new brother or sister. The girl was overheard saying woohoo! OK, now let’s get to Aunt Bonnies house so we can go swimming!!! Such are the feelings of a self-absorbed eight year old.
Fast forward a few years to a bright sunny day. Picture a shopping cart and seventeen kids running around playing. Now picture one of those kids (the birthday boy) climbing into the shopping cart while the skinny neighbor shoves it off the curb and into the street. Lastly, picture older sister running into house screaming to mother that youngest brother had cracked his head WIDE open. (A footnote should be added at this point that states sister is a very big exaggerator). A quick trip to the emergency room, 4 or 5 stitches and all was well.
Circa 1985. Same birthday boy, same emergency room. The doctor looks at the patient and asks just how he received his injuries. Well the back injury occurred when the wedge he used at work, to split wood to cook bbq, slipped and flew up into the air and hit him in the shoulder blade. Second injury was later in the day. Same wedge slipped and hit him in the leg. Doctor told him it was a good thing he didn’t work all day or he may have ended up killing himself with that wedge. Patient chuckled and told the doctor not to worry. He was a little accident prone….had his head sewed up seven times before he was 3, the first time happened when this neighbor kid with a shopping cart…
Jump ahead quite a few years and read something called a blog written by none other than birthday boy. What’s this? A picture of a van….and it is surrounded by……shopping carts.
Happy Birthday Geoff!! Thanks for the opportunity to share with your readers a few little tidbits about you. One day soon I hope to have pictures of the Hoppity Hop Hill of Doom and a few others that you have mentioned along the way. I Love You, Leta.
From Steve:
YEE HAW!
So the year/years are somewhere between the late 60’s to maybe mid-very early 70’s; time slips my mind; maybe early fall, and all the guys in the neighborhood decide to go to the Circle K at the cross roads. Somehow after leaving the store all had acquired many cans of tobacco…raspberry, mint, etc. Geoff, as I recall at the time, might have been 8-9 at best. So that afternoon brought all of us back to Marwood Park and delving into the fruits of our labor. Late the next afternoon would find both me and Geoff out in Dad’s shop being confronted by Dad and wondering how on earth we had acquired so many cans of tobacco without a dime to our name. Long story short, both of us were threatened within an inch of our lives that we would never dip tobacco again or we would suffer the consequences. Jump ahead a few years to high school and big brother picking up the habit of dipping on a regular basis. Wasn’t long before little brother (maybe with a little help from me) decided that if he wanted to be cool and have all the girls after him he had to carry a can of tobacco in his back pocket. So began the family legacy of Skoal cans on the bedroom shelf. Plans were that if we could get enough cans saved possibly we might get U.S. Tobacco to send us a couple of rolls or maybe even a case if we could amass enough cans. All we had to do was spell out “SKOAL” on the football field at Zach White. As the years passed the cans grew by leaps and bounds and shortly after I moved out we had saved over 5000 cans. Unfortunately neither me nor Geoff ever did anything with those cans other than leave them as we moved on to be cleaned out by a wonderful woman; our Mother.
My brother hopefully today will be a pleasurable day for you as you celebrate your Birthday with family and friends. Here’s hoping that you experience the same joy in this day that you bring to others. I love you….Steve
From Laura:
SUNSET OVER THE STATE LINE
I could spend pages writing about my brother, what he has meant to me, how I idolized him growing up, how I longed to be included in anything he deemed worthy of his time, how I used to sneak into his closet and abscond with his favorite concert t-shirt, as if the wearing of it would somehow transport me to his level of coolness, how much I appreciated his protective shield when it came to my first forays into dating, how his musical influence on me continues to this day - but the attempt would only serve as a fruitless effort to describe him fully. I will share but one important insight into what kind of brother he was, is, and what kind of man he remains. Keep in mind that he was just 21 when he imparted the following pearl of wisdom upon me.
The most important lesson I ever learned from Geoff came to me at the age of sixteen. It was my first night working at the State Line restaurant, a place that became for Geoff, myself, and my sister, Stacey, a home away from home as we racked up almost thirty years there collectively. Geoff had been working there for over five years when he scored a job as a hostess for his little sis. I was in awe that first night. Not only was I making real money that I would have to pay taxes on, but I was able to hang out with my brother and all of his cool friends. People I had known and admired from afar, and some I had only heard about as we sat and made our mixed cassette tapes together. At the end of the shift, he drove me home. We pulled up to the house and sat in his car before going in. “So what’d you think?” he asked me, knowing full well I was about to pop with excitement. I went on and on about the evening, asking him about so and so, and what he or she was like, and were they as nice as they seemed or really secret jerks who shorted the busboys on tips when they checked out? I got nothing. No gossip, no stories, no pent up resentment for the waiter or waitress who might have rubbed him the wrong way. Absolutely nothing. Instead, he said this to me: “You know, Laura, I’m not going to say one word about anyone. I want you to meet these people and make your own judgments about them. Whether you like them or not shouldn’t have anything to do with whether or not I do. You’ll have to make up your own mind.” I remember even as he was saying it, realizing the profundity of his words, that I would carry that with me the rest of my life. And I have. Happy Birthday, Geoff. I love you mucho. Thanks for always treating me with love, kindness, and generosity.
From Stacey:
BACK IN THE DAY BEFORE THE DAY
My brother Geoff has always been the life of the party and the comedian in the family. He has a knack for making friends and making people feel comfortable. He is a loving, devoted father and husband, the likes of which I have rarely seen. When it comes to his sisters, he is fiercely protective and known not to budge when it comes to demanding respect of them from others. I am lucky enough to be one of those sisters and have always loved having my big brother looking after me. Our family is very close and always has been. We have been referred to as, “the Walton’s” by those who are not as fortunate. To us, this has always been a compliment.
Growing up, Geoff was a “cool” big brother. He was a handsome, Tom Cruise look alike that all the girls had a crush on. He was an athlete as well and played on the Coronado football team. This was a very cool thing to do. Because he was on the football team, he would have to sell “spirit ribbons” each week before a game. Of course, he hired his little sisters to help him with the task. I was in junior -high at the time and would gladly take his spirit ribbons to school with me in an attempt to help him out. Believe it or not (I’m not making this up) girls would buy these ribbons from me because my brother had TOUCHED them. That’s right, because his hands had once held them. Can you imagine?
Even with such adoration from females and a genuine respect from every male in school, Geoff never let it go to his head. He has always been a sensible, down to earth guy. In his 20’s, Geoff became the manager at a very popular restaurant in town. He got me my first job there. My first night of work, someone made the mistake of commenting on “the cute new girl” to my brother. It was quickly made very clear that this person would in no way be allowed to get close to me. About five years later, this person and I had begun dating. We had to call an emergency meeting with my sister Laura to figure out how we were going to tell Geoff. After much discussion and a few cups of “liquid courage,” Geoff came in. We explained to him that we had been dating for a while and that we were serious about each other. We waited with apprehension to get “approval.” Geoff gave us his blessing (what is this, the Godfather?) and we were together for a very long time. It still brings a smile to my face to think about that night. It wasn’t that I needed his approval, but I wanted it. C’mon, he’s my big brother!
I have so many great memories of you Geoff, that I could go on forever. I remember playing “socks off” and “trip” when we were little. We didn’t need to buy games, we made them up. Remember 52 card pick up? I remember you teasing me with the promise of giving me your “Beth” 45 in order to get me to do just about anything. I remember being in Santa Fe and that you and Laura were the only friends I had—and that was GREAT! I remember sitting on the back porch playing Yahtzee while we listened to the “new” Fleetwood Mac album. I think back to having you home with us and seeing your beautiful children and I smile.
I am so blessed to have you for a brother. I love you more than you know and I know that I don’t say it enough. I also know that I am the worst at staying in touch, but I hope you know that I think about you always. I hope that this birthday is the best one yet and that you are truly happy. I love you big brother, for all that you have taught me, given me and protected me from. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!! Stace
From NukeDad:
Thanks guys! Wow! This beats expensive presents or cards filled with cash anyday! (mostly) Here are links to my posts on Leta, Steve and Laura; Stacey, yours will be up in about a month. Leta, I even linked the Hipptiy-Hop story for you. I love you all.
Coming To Terms
NUKEBOY2 ON THE MEND
I have a post in my draft box right now from 5 days ago. It’s about NukeBoy2’s seizure last week. It’s 1200 words and I’m only about 2/3 done with it. I don’t know that I will ever post it. I may, but for right now, it just seemed to me to be a bit much. Most of you know the basics: NB2 suffered a seizure last Tuesday and spent that day and most of the next in the hospital being poked and prodded. I posted an update Wednesday morning when the initial MRI results came in and said I would inform you of the final results when they came in that afternoon. I did that, to an extent, on twitter and through email. For those that didn’t see it I can tell you that the MRI showed that he did in fact have a seizure; confirming what the Pediatric Neurologist was reluctant to. It didn’t show what caused it and they really don’t have any idea. Which leaves us worse off than when we climbed into the ambulance last Tuesday. I’ve thought endlessly about this over the last few days, and I imagine that I will think about it for many more. How many more? I don’t know, maybe all of them; or until we get some kind of answer as to what caused it. Then there is always the worst case scenario; he has another seizure. Then they can poke a little lighter and prod a little less and still come up with no answers. That’s the crux of this whole thing; there is just so much about the human body that we still don’t know.
AT LEAST HE HAD A VIEW OF THE HELI-PAD
I’ve done a good job of poking fun at myself over my medical issues on this blog, but it will be impossible for me to do that with this. At the same time, those of you that frequent this blog know that on occasion I can be humorous, and on the rarest of occasions, almost giggle-inducing. I like sharing tidbits about my life and my family, and I will continue to do so; we can be a pretty entertaining bunch at times. So for that reason, we’ve decided that we will do our absolute best to not be held hostage by this “diagnosis.” I put it in quotes because there hasn’t really been a diagnosis. We will do our best to live each day normally, and with minimal worry and what-if’s. I am currently trying to think of a nickname for “he who must not be named.” Well damn, there it is; henceforth, the “next (if there is one) possible seizure”, formerly known as “he who must not be named” will be known as “VOLDEMORT.” That way we can casually ask NB2 about it without it becoming too stressful. I can say things like; “Voldemort hasn’t been sneaking around, has he?” or “If you see Voldemort lurking about, sock him in the nose.” Much like an old friends little sister used to announce the arrival of her lunar cycle by simply stating: “Helen’s here.” I wrote a post about it, actually; you can click on the link to read it if you want. I wrote in when I first started the blog so I know most of you have never read it. I thought it was actually pretty clever, and I know it was somewhat effective as the only one who commented on it was Joeprah and he thought I was talking about my mother in law. I love my mother in law, she’s great! I don’t know why I’m linking to him, the guy hasn’t posted since April. It’s like he’s got another gig or something. I think it will also help NB2 to not have his parents walking up to him every 2 minutes to muss his hair and ask; “How are you feeling? Everything alright? How are you doing?” I don’t want him to feel like he’s any different, but I need to make sure that he understands the situation. I certainly don’t want him walking around in fear all of the time. We’ll take it day by day and do the best we can because, well; that’s about all we can do. Melodramatic? Probably. Realistic? Unfortunately.
Hospital Update
To fully tell this story will take more time than I have right now, but I wanted to let everyone know where we are. NukeBoy2 had his EEG yesterday, and his MRI and MRA this morning. The MRA is when they inject a dye in the body to see the blood vessels. Those were completed this morning, and the Neurologist just left a few minutes ago. EEG is normal, MRI looks normal so far; they are still downloading some of the images and getting them together. She (neurologist) is still reluctant to say that this was a seizure. I don’t know what else you’d call it, and, apparently, she doesn’t either. The preliminary MRI shows no sign of stroke, which is great news. The EEG also came back normal; again, good news. Blood work looked normal but they are running a few more tests. They won’t have final MRI results until this afternoon, but odds are we should be able to go home today. All. Good. News. Except this: they don’t know why this happened, and they say there is a 30% chance that it will happen again. I feel worse now than I did yesterday; are we now to be held prisoner by a condition that has a 70% chance of never happening again? A condition that we don’t even have a name for? “If he has a second episode then we can get a better idea of what we’re up against”, the neurologist said. I understand that, but I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around it. This thing came completely out of the blue, and there are no signs that it even happened; now we have to wait and see if it happens again? For how long? A month? 2 years? Until he graduates? For the rest of his life? I’m relieved that he is back to normal; I am terrified of the future. Hopefully we’ll get more definitive answers this afternoon when the full MRI/MRA results come in, but you’ll have to forgive me if today my glass is 1/2 empty.
Insomniobesity
Is it possible for jet lag to last for a week? Maybe the better question is; can you get jet lag from only 2 time zones away? Is there a minimum, say, 3 time zones at least? I mean, it’s not like I flew to Hawaii and back in 5 days, I went from eastern standard time to mountain time and back; that’s it. Still, I feel like Tyler Durden-the Edward Norton side. Time is irrelevant for me right now. I go to sleep at 4 or 5 in the morning and rationalize that it’s only 2 or 3 in El Paso. Problem is, I haven’t been in El Paso for 6 days, and my body is starting to notice. I’ve had these cycles before, brought on by an irregular work schedule for the 20+ years that I spent in the restaurant industry; but I can’t use that as an excuse this time. I hope to be out of this cycle by Tuesday or Wednesday, which is why I thought I would blog about it at 3 am on Monday morning.
Random Tangent Moment: sorry, this is why I never write with the television on but this new laptop is holding me captive on the bed as it sits in my lap. TLC has a show on right now called “I Eat 33,000 Calories A Day” documenting the struggle of the morbidly obese. Being overweight myself I can empathize, however; how does one who weighs 672 pounds and is bed-ridden get access to 33,000 calories a day? They just showed a caretaker bringing in a tray full of food that had a salad, large bagel, bottle of salad dressing (Italian, I think) and a JAR of mayonnaise. First off, I think I’d give him a small cup of dressing on the side. Next, the bagel shouldn’t even be on the tray, let alone accompanied by a JAR of mayonnaise; I mean, the guy weighs SIX HUNDRED AND SEVENTY TWO POUNDS! I’m not saying you chop him off at the knees and make him drink Slim-Fast shakes all day, but good gravy, HE’S STUCK IN BED!, bring him a diet coke and a salad with NO dressing. Trust me, if it sits there long enough, he’ll eat it. My daughter asks for Doritos for breakfast every morning, but I certainly don’t give them to her. Well, there was that one day…. My point is; this guy is being enabled to the point of ridiculousness. They’ve offered him stomach reduction surgery if he’ll lose 112 pounds, and he can’t, or won’t, do it. 112 pounds? Skip afternoon snack #4 one day. Forget the mayo slathered bagel. Burp. OK, that’s it; I can’t take this anymore, they’re getting ready to change his diaper and I’m sure it’ll be 3 times as hard to watch as it was to hear.
Wedding Beer Blues
Well, I figured I’d better get something up here since I’ve been home for more than 24 hours. My trip back home to El Paso was great; I got to see family and old friends and I gained some family and friends while I was there. Little sister Stacey and Alvaro (the bride and groom) are now basking on the beaches of Mexico in their haz-mat suits and masks, walking gingerly through the villages and beaches trying to avoid the Swine Flu, or H1N1, or whatever the heck they’re calling it this week. Is it still a pandemic? Isn’t it supposed to wipe us all out quicker than Captain Trips in The Stand? I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop but the first one isn’t even tied yet. They say it’s a pandemic, then they say don’t offend the pigs in Arkansas by calling it The Swine Flu. I guess it’s OK to offend the letters H and N, though, they don’t have any lobbyists in Washington, D.C. looking out for their interests. Where’s Johnnie Cochran (Jackie Chiles?) when you need him? Oh, yeah; that’s right, he’s in the middle of re-negotiating his representation contract with Michael Jackson.
It was a fabulous time and I’m sure you’ll be hearing plenty more about it in the near future. I was glad to get home to NukeMom and the NukeKids On The Block; I missed them terribly. We are already planning a trip back for next summer so they can all enjoy the best Mexican food in the world just like I did. And BBQ. And Michelob Ultra. Well, maybe no Ultra for the kids, but NukeMom would probably enjoy one or two. Or thirty; like I did. OK, OK; it wasn’t thirty, it just felt like it. I learned a couple of things about Michelob Ultra while I was home: 1) Ultra sounds very similar to ‘otra’ ; which means; ‘another’ in Spanish. The bartender; Moises, spoke limited English, so my journeys to his domain turned comical (I thought I was being funny) when I would say; “Otra Ultra, Moises!” and would walk away with one, or sometimes two beers. This became problematic later in the evening when I was trying to remember how many beers I had had and whether or not I should order ‘otra’ one. I lost count when I had to take a shoe and sock off and decided that one more wouldn’t hurt anybody, which brings me to realization number two. 2) Michelob Ultra presents itself as a ‘light’ beer that can be consumed while playing a round of golf, working in the garden, or even running a marathon. Put a six-pack in your pockets during your next Triathlon. Being that I haven’t partied like it’s 1999 since, well, 1989; I was a bit rusty on the execution. My math dilemma notwithstanding, Ultra can pack a punch if it is consumed in even numbers or small groups. I don’t drink beer anymore; well, not in any quantity at least. An occasional beer or two on the porch every couple of months is about the extent of it for me. That being said, I guess you could classify me as one of those ’social drinkers’; one who only consumes alcohol (in limited quantities, mind you) at office parties, dinner parties or the occasional neighborhood get together. With that in mind, understand that I will not allow you to say that I was “drunk” at my sisters wedding no matter what WeaselMomma tells you (Click on my favorites). If you’re going to accuse me of anything, accuse me of being too social. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. Try and reply to a tweet at 1:30am after consuming copious amounts of Michelob Ultra and your fingers will swell to the size of Johnsonville Bratwursts and the keyboard keys will look like Pez candies. Nope, typing after that many Michelob Ultras isn’t recommended. Realization number 3) If you go to a party and the bartender only speaks Spanish and they have a choice between Ultra and Bud Light; I’d go with the Bud Light. The math is so much easier. Trust me on this one.
You Can Go Home Again
You arrive full of expectations and preconceived notions of what people will say. “He has gained weight”, “God, is he going bald?”, “He’s just like I remember him.” The span of 7 years hasn’t been long enough to erase some of the unease you harbor of your time here; or, moreover, the heartache accrued since you left. Nor does it give justice to the flood of good memories that make you realize that you miss your home more than you care to admit. The drive in is uneventful; the star on the mountain still shines, the train yard downtown is still an eyesore, but the college has a new parking garage. The river still runs along the freeway separating the 3rd world from your world; looking like a scar on a child’s knee. You wonder how different things will look in the light of day, but now, shortly after nightfall, you realize that things are the same as they’ve always been. You enter the house; the house that you grew up in, and are instantly stunned by how small it seems; the sink closer than you remember, the den not as big as on your 10th Christmas. You look at the bookcase and remember where certain book titles are stored; placed there when they were bought decades ago, having moved not an inch since. You go out with friends and relive some old memories, then relate the new ones that you’ve collected. When you return home you enter quietly so as not to wake the woman who raised you all those years; the woman you know is awake in her bed, doing her best to be just as quiet as you are. You enter the bathroom to brush your teeth and remember that the top drawer sticks a little, that the floor was replaced in 1988 and that you feel right at home. You return to the bedroom that you occupied as a teenager, taking in the decorations while at the same time you’re picturing where your stereo sat, where your bulletin board was, what was on it and wonder where those long lost pictures are today. You see a baptismal certificate for your great-great grandmother hanging where you once hung a poster and ponder the dichotomy. You reach for your glasses and realize that one arm has come off; the screw still in the case. You wonder why after 4 years your glasses would choose this moment to fall apart, and then your question is answered when you find yourself in your fathers workshop; knowing the exact location of the screwdriver that you need. You look in the spot that you’ve seen it a million times before and gain a sense of accomplishment for having known where it would be. You grasp it and hold it in your hand; remembering whose hands held it so many times before you. The hands belonging to the man that showed you how that screwdriver, and all of the other tools in that shop worked, and you’re thankful for having been blessed with such a knowledgeable teacher. You wonder if you’re reciprocating with your own children and think that maybe you could do a better job. You fix the glasses and return to your childhood bedroom intent on sleep, but know that the power of these memories must be documented now; they’ll be lost if you wait until tomorrow. You grab your new laptop and jot down your memories before the battery dies. When you are done, you close the lid content in the fact that despite what the naysayers espouse; you can go home again.
Remembering Claire
Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Weasel Family today as they cope with the loss of one of their own. Claire Elizabeth Elaine passed away 2 weeks after her birth in 2002. Please take a moment today to remember WeaselMomma and her family.
(Update) What a doofus I am. Apologies to the WeaselFamily for getting Claire’s middle name wrong. I’m still working on the badge not being visible issue. Sorry for the mistake, WeaselMomma; although, I know you don’t mind too much; I’ve just given you gig ammunition for the next few years.
