My Life As A Hobby

  I stood outside the shower, naked, wet, and confused. That’s because my wife bellowed from the bathroom door, “Hey, stop! You can’t do that!” My first thought was, can I get in trouble for just taking a shower? Apparently. So, I responded by asking the question that any sensible person would ask: “What did I do?” She growled at me like I had put sulfuric acid in the washing machine. “I’ve told you before - do not dry off with our good towels.” During the course of our marriage, we’ve had heated arguments about some idiotic things. And this was shaping up to be another one of them. I didn’t care - I wasn’t willing to let this go without a fight, because I had logic and reason on my side.  Let’s get ready to rumble! Round one was about to begin.  Before the verbal sparring started, I’ll be honest: I have heard her admonitions before. A few weeks ago, she threatened to put sugar in my gas tank when she caught me stuffing one of her precious towels into my gym bag. Than...

  It all began with a trip to an orthopedic doctor to see if he could do something to eliminate my lower back pain. And it could’ve turned into me potentially becoming part of medical history.    Let me explain. After the obligatory x-rays and 40 minute wait in the examination room, the doctor finally came in with the x-rays in hand.   “So where’s the pain?”, he asked.  I responded, “well it began right here.” And I pointed to the left side my lower back, and said it keeps going right along where a tramp stamp would be.” For those of you that aren’t  all cool and hip like me (and don’t have a young daughter-in-law to explain things like this), a tramp stamp is a tattoo that runs the length of the lower back, just above the panty line. It’s actually a quite descriptive and very accurate term.  The physician, a younger chap, exploded into laughter.  “I’ve never, ever, heard that part of your body called that.” he gushed.  “Well, whe...

At first glance it wasn’t much of a gift. Just a cheap pocket knife, made out flimsy metal and plastic. It probably came from a flea market or an arcade game at a pizza parlor.  Yet of every gift I received at my surprise fortieth birthday party, it was this one that had the most meaning to me.  Crows are known to give humans “gifts” to show their affection . Sparkly things like a shard of glass, a tab from a soda can, or a bright colored piece of yarn. While these may be of little significance to us, the crow believes it’s something of high value. So it was with this pocket knife.  To the giver of this gift, my then eight year-old son Brad, it was a valuable piece of his life he gave to me on a significant occasion, the celebration of my fortieth trip around the sun.  I loved it, not so much for what it was, but who gave it to me and why.  I recall the gift giving portion of the party clearly. When his time came, Brad walked forward and gave me a small pa...

I have a tiny place on a lake. And for all the good that lake life offers, there is one thing about it I can’t stand. It drives me  crazy, and frustrates me faster than a politician’s speech.  You would think by now I would have it down pat. You would think that after 15 years of being on the water it would have become second nature, as natural as breathing.  But no, I still can’t do it very well.  Oh, I’ll get the job done,  but it will take about a half hour to bumble through it. And by the time I’m finished, my blood pressure will be near stroke level.  As most of you have certainly guessed by now, it’s backing a boat trailer into the water.  Maybe if I did it more often, I would’ve developed some trailer backing skills. But since I only do it twice a year, I remain woefully inept. It just doesn’t seem natural to me: cut left to go right, and cut right to go left. Then add in my mild case of dyslexia, and I don’t have a chance.  I’ll even s...

  Today was a big day. Especially if you were one of the 150 five year olds in color-coded T shirts marching down the aisle of an overflowing Baptist church. Because today, my friends, was kindergarten graduation day.  As a supportive grandparent, I was there - along with the hundreds of other relatives who filled the pews. I looked around, and figured that for many folks, this was their first visit to church since their last child has graduated.  I’d bet the only time Jesus’ name was invoked in a lot of those homes was when someone broke something or the opposing team scored.  I can’t help but believe that our future would look brighter if the pews were this full on Sundays.  I digress. Today’s event was a to-the-point and simple, thank goodness. The children filed in and went to their color-coded area, carefully herded by their homeroom teachers as skillfully as any border collie could. A short introduction by the principal, followed by a couple of well-...