Round Two…and Todd’s Wish come true!

Point One: It seems that the rat community in Frontier Heights–my strange little ‘hood–has put out an APB for a missing rat.  There were little rat prints on the deck this morning–I suspect this advance scout was looking for a fellow disease carrying rodent.  Tonight I will capture this advance scout.  Now I understand how Gargamel must have felt about Smurfs–small blue creatures must be caring some kind of disease or radioactive contamination.  

Point Two: Todd you have asked and it has come true; it must be a Christmas Miracle™!  Take a look–

I wonder if PETA knows about this?  For those of you looking for something that, and I quote: “…is ideal for dispensing of both rat and mouse subjects…” just head over to Kent Scientific.

A post for Todd…

With the weather changing, we have been visited by one of the locals from the rodent population.  Sara, being a rat person–it is her desire to own a rat and teach it to speak (sort of a like the rat whisperer or Jane Goodall for rats),–was a little leery about setting traps; she also was concerned our literally retarded dog–he had meningitis, real bad–might try to catch his tongue in a trap.*  Finally it was too much for me so I set my traps with a little peanut butter last night.  I thought to myself, “self, what kind of rat eats during a snow storm?”  Apparently this guy:

 

Goodbye Rat King or Queen

While I am not a fan of killing things, it is satisfying to get rid of something that could bring harm to your family–rats, after all, were the species that transmitted the bubonic plague to humans through their proxies fleas.  In fact I think that the Department of Health owes me a medal or ribbon for stemming the tide of a potential plague outbreak.  In a world where everyone gets a trophy or medal simply for existing and having parents that can afford to pay for you to play sports, I do not think it is too much to ask from the DoH;)

My real point to this post, circuitously as it has turned out, was to inform Todd that I have joined the ranks of the rat catchers.  While Lake Stevens rats may not measure up to China rats, you have to start somewhere.

*I was trying to get as many punctuation marks into one sentence that I could; is there an order of operations for punctuation?

Fun Geography Game

Follow the link.  On a side note, I had this saved as a draft for a very long time.

Why Government Regulation does not always work

Last month I was shocked to see $35.54 extra on my Verizon phone bill.  It seems somebody signed up for long distance and internet fax services on my number instead of their own.  Instead of informing me of a change in my electronic debt, Verizon took the money out of my account.  When I saw this in my register at my bank, I was very upset–in fact it made me more than ever want to cancel my useless land line.  On the phone with Verizon I talk to Tony and explain that I did not authorize Verizon to increase their EFT and informed him I would appreciate a reversal of these charges that are not mine.  Well, Tony said he could put a block on these charges but could not reverse the fees–I had to call the random companies that can piggyback onto anyone’s phone bill.  To this I informed Tony that in the state of Washington I can contest this charge and put a stop payment on the EFT.  This seems to be a silly way of dealing with this issue and it would make more sense for Verizon to resolve this issue.  Tony goes and takes a leak and finds a “manager” that magically authorizes a credit to be put on my account.  Fair enough, now I will not have a bill for next month.

Enter this month: Verizon charges my account while a credit that is OVER the monthly charge sits on my account.  Should I be surprised?  What happens when the government de facto allows a company to become a monopoly but then to offer the olive branch of competition with these crazy services that can add onto Verizon’s bill.  I am resolved to cancel my land line forever and to demand my money back.  Tomorrow I will waste at least 30 minutes of my life on the phone…to the phone company.  

And one more thing; a company that claims to offer 21st century technology with wireless and internet connectivity cannot figure out a way to have email support for their land lines.  I know there are regional rules, but can they not route emails to the operators that already deal with these issues?  Pfft!  Verizon will see not even a red cent from me…I will let someone else charge me money for things I marginally need.

On Wisdom Teeth…

It has been almost a week since the extraction of my lower wisdom teeth; if you were to ask me beforehand if I would still be taking pain medication, I would have laughed at you and given you a nougy (not only am I a poor speller in formal English, my lack of skill spills over into the colloquial.)  For some reason my right tooth did not want to go quietly into the night.

Let me back up; the sleepy-time medicine did not work for me nor did the laughing gas–I am sure I could still do long division and differential equations if I had a graphing calculator.  Luckily the novacain worked.  The left tooth was no problem, but the right tooth put up a fight; in an act of selfishness, the tooth somehow nicked my artery and made me bleed…real bad.  Did I mention it was about 5:45 pm at this point?  The normal time for dentists and oral surgeons to go home.  After some phone calls, my dentist got me into an oral surgeon.  Sara drove me to Mill Creek–from Everett–to have an oral surgeon’s assistant pull all the gauze out of my mouth and cause it to fill with blood–hmm, this man was sent because the dentist could not stop the bleeding, maybe some care would be part of the protocol.  After vacuuming blood from my mouth, packing the hole with bone wax, and sewing it shut the oral surgeon insisted that I go the the ER to make sure I did not lose too much blood (ETA is about 8:00 pm.)

By the time we arrived at the ER, I felt like I needed some pain medication.  I have a fairly high tolerance for pain–partly because I hate pain medication–but I knew after all of the finagling that happened in my jaw that I needed some medicine.  On arrival my pain level was at a 2.  By 10:40 pm when the nurse finally gave me two Percocet my pain level rose to about a 7.

Had I known that I would be forced into the black hole of medical care, I would have had them put me out to take out my wisdom teeth.  Many people learn something after such a traumatic experience, the only thing that I learned: Percocet does not constipate you like Vicodin.

A little bit softer now, a little bit softer now…

Good summer to you all; I have been derelict in my blog writing.  My apologies.  Here is a quick rundown of my summer thus far:

• Summer Basketball (usually 4 days a week 10-1230)
• An AP World History summer institute
• Reading Bound Together and Harry Potter
• Saw Josh Ritter and Andrew Bird
• Trying to teach Bradie to poop on the potty
• Thinking about teaching again
• Visiting my parents in Olympia (they just moved)
• Wondering why my school district gets out so late
• Polishing my list making skills

There is a quick list; I am sure I will expound soon, but I have a letter to write to my friend first (snail mail!)

Hope

Tonight I have finished Gilead; I am not sure that I can properly reflect on this book yet, but I can say it has blessed me to read it.  The picture of fatherhood through the lens of my culture–i.e. the world I inhabit that often times feels shallow and thoughtless–is faded and bleak as if it had been forgotten in the parlor of an old house, the sun beating down on it unrelentingly.  With frequency bordering on the absurd, our culture repeats the stories of detached fathers, inept fathers, absent fathers, or insert-your-own-disheartening-adjective-here fathers.  These stereotypes are so ingrained in the zeitgeist, marketers have latched onto them in advertisements–see the H & R Block TaxCut commercial in which the wife encourages the husband to “talk to the box” to get customer support, chiding him for picking the wrong tax preparation software (my quick interweb search did not turn up a clip.)  

Gilead gives me hope; hope that being a father is much more about relying on God’s Grace than redeeming and restoring the faded painting in the parlor.  Painting a vivid and honest picture of fatherhood, Marilynne Robinson tells the story of a father writing to his son.  The honesty of struggle, thoughtfulness, honor, and trepidation spills onto the pages of Gilead; Robinson reveals the image of fatherhood in the light of total depravity and un-understandable Grace.  It is in that tension that we all must live; without it our picture hangs in the ceaseless sun, faded by the brokenness of a world without hope, without grace, without forgiveness. 

God has given me two children to love.  Although I am still frightened by the world they will inherit, I am not frightened of being a father.  God’s Grace covers me and it is my prayer that my children will allow it to cover them.

Bradie Says…

Mommy, don’t pee in your panties!

Advice that everyone should follow.

To my Dad

It has been one year since my father died.  Lately I find myself thinking  a lot about him and am reminded of him constantly.  Last week I watched The Alaska Experiment; they drop several people into the Alaskan wilderness for three months with minimal supplies and see what happens–there is a Chris McCandless appeal to the story.  One of the contestents received a phone call that his father is very ill and in the hospital; before his trip, the man sat down with his father–his father had cancer–and had a frank discussion whether the man should return if the cancer spread.  The answer: stay in Alaska. This decision did not stick, thankfully, and he left with 11 days left.  The last scene was him holding his dad’s hand and laughing; he soon thereafter died.  I cried throughout the whole decision-making process.  It reminded me of my decision to go to Virginia last year; I would not trade those three weeks for the world.  I got to love my dad and have my dad love me in the last days of his life; it was beautiful.

Another reminder of my dad came while riding the bus this morning.  I decided to listen to the Vinyl Cafe podcast “The Wedding Dress.”  For those of you without Canadian cred or an NPR nerd patch, the Vinyl Cafe is a variety show of sorts from our friends in the North.  There is a focus on music and stories; in particular, Stewart McLean has two recurring characters that he writes about, Dave and Morley.  In this episode hilarity ensues–I will not give it all away.  After a particular awkward moment, Dave is talking with Katie, the college aged daughter of his wife’s friend.  She is preparing to give the maid of honor toast after her mother remarries; while they talk, she asks about Dave’s daughter.  He starts telling Katie about how his daughter will be planting trees this summer again and that he thought the first time she did it she would hate it.  Katie asked, “Well, why did you let her do it?”  To which Dave responds, “I don’t know; I guess that’s what parents do.  We love our children; we hold them close, and before we are any where near ready, we have to let them go. It’s sort of about love, but it’s more about trust…maybe it is all about trust.” I will not ruin the story for you, but these words spoken by Dave, I imagine, were the exacts words bouncing around my dad’s head every time I would call him.  Whether I was hiking the Grand Canyon or sleeping in random yards, my dad had to trust…to trust God.

In the midst of all of these reminders, I am reading Gilead by Marilynne Robinson–a truly gifted writer.  The novel is a series of thoughts and reflections written by an elderly father to his young son.  After discovering he has a terminal heart condition, the life-long pastor decides he wants to leave something for his son to remember him by.  In the last section that I have read, the pastor is explaining about his recent sermon about Hagar and Ishmael and Abraham and Isaac.  In both stories God calls Abraham to cast out his sons into the wilderness and both times angels intervene to save the children.  He goes on to say: “It seems almost a cruelty for one generation to beget another when parents can secure so little for their children, so little safety, even in the best of circumstances.  Great faith is required to give the child up, trusting God to honor the parents’ love for him by assuring that there will indeed be angels in that wilderness.”  In the last weeks of my father’s life he had to let God’s providence wash over him, covering the fear for his children with the Grace of God.  

For a long time I have wanted to collect stories and thoughts about my dad from the people that knew him best: his shipmates, his family, his coworkers, and his friends.  I do not think my heart will rest until I start collecting these stories. Now that I have written this down for the world to see, I can have a sense of accountability.  Often I find myself telling my students that just because something is hard and complicated does not mean it is not worth doing; it is time to follow my advice.  I hope that by putting these stories together, I can create a book of sorts for Bradie and Beau.  When it comes time to tell them about Papa Carl, I can dust off these collected stories and say, “You have a Grandfather that loves you very much.  Here are the stories about his wilderness and the angels that intervened for him.”

Bradie Sings Her ABC’s

Update…Go!

After my last chemo treatment on Thursday I have suffered no vomiting or trips to the ER to get tanked up on IV fluids, yeah!  I am still tired and I move a little slow, but I feel much better than last time.  Thank goodness for my chemo nurse Jane telling me to take all of my anti-nausea medicines until I feel better, not just one at a time. 

And I wonder, still I wonder…

…who’ll stop the rain.  I woke up yesterday with some awesome tooth pain.  After calling my oncologist to make sure I could get dental work, calling my dentist to make an emergency appointment, and going in for a blood draw to check my blood cell levels; the consensus is that my body does not like me right now.  All of this hither-tither resulted in my first–and I hope last–root canal.  

If you look at my previous post about teeth (link) you will understand that there is a strong theological connection between failing teeth and falling humans.  I am baffled that no theologian of note has used this metaphor; when the old has gone and the new has come (II Corinthians 5:17), I am looking forward to new teeth.  There is an interesting book by an Anglican theologian named N.T. Wright called Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Ressurection, and the Mission of the Church that examines what happens when we die.  Wright, from what I gather so far, believes that we will be resurrected and have new bodies; I am excited to have perfect teeth and both my testicles–hmm, would I need testicles after being resurrected?  Despite my degression, I think my point is valid: the metaphor of failing teeth illustrates the human condition.  It is not until we recognize the weakness of our teeth–admitting we cannot fix them and we need help–that we need something to heal them–the dentist.  If I was not tired I am sure I could fit grace into the haphazard exegesis, but for now I am satisfied that this is my rough draft.  

Tomorrow my root canal will be completed and Thursday I will have my last chemotherapy treatment.  Over the last month and a half I have made up for all the times I have not gone to the doctor or the dentist; I should be good for a while.  I am not sure how my wife does it; she has basically three children to take care of and she still manages to wake up everyday.  Thank you Sara for loving your husband; you deserve a pony or a monkey.

Bradie’s First Hike

Bradie and I went for our first hike; this is her “let’s get this hike thing going face.”

After testing just one walking stick, Bradie picked up another nodding her head and saying, “I look more authentic with two.”

After several hours of work, Bradie tested her handy work: a new bridge over the creek.  Not bad for a toddler.

Lastly, Bradie threw her walking sticks at the mountain lion we ran into to save her father.  What you see here is her running to help me up and get us out of the wilderness.  She could give Bear Grylls a run for his money.