Well its been 21 days since my last writing and one would have to imagine that it is impossible to be so busy that you can't take a few moments to write a small blog at least once in that time span. Well think what you will but we have been busy.
My wife and I just finished our move from NJ to Vermont. This is now our 6th move in 24 years of marriage. If you'd like to test your marriage (and I'm not sure why anyone would like to test their marriage), try moving. What's that you say. Having kids is harder; poppycock (I always wanted to write that) having kids was fun - raising them was a little more trying but moving is compressed pressure. Now, I have to admit, if my wife and I were telling this story together she would be injectung things like (what did you do?) etc. as I tell this story. Now you know why I blog. If she would like to tell it from her perspective let her write her own blog.
Imagine trying to sell your house in a market when both Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac are gasping for air like an asthma patient in a dust storm. You have to be nuts. Meet Mr. and Mrs. Cashew. In any event we put our house on the market and it sold in 4 days. Isn't that a stupid expression!!! It didn't sell in 4 days. We had an offer within 4 days which we accepted. Then all hell broke loose. The banks started crumbling like ancient Greek columns in an apocalyptic earth quake. The stock market dropped like bombs during the London air raid. With every passing day my stomach would flip thinking that the kids had found a way to override the worlds computers in an effort to prevent us from ever selling this house while belly dancing and tangoing (is that a word) their way through university.
The inspection happened and we had been told that it went very well. Well is very relative. We should have had an inkling of things to come when the radon inspection took longer than the creation of heaven and earth. Now I realize god is God but from now on I'm calling god for a radon inspection. The inspection came in with the normal riders like your house is falling down because I saw a crack in the downstairs window but we muddled our way through those issues. Then it was suggested that the buyers needed to obtain a chiminey inspection. This advise was offered up by the law firm of Dewey, Cheatum & Howe. Lo and behold, this law firm also happens to refer chiminey inspectors called Just Inspect. Let the cavity search begin. Just Inspect unlike what the name suggests also happens to perform the repairs of whatever work is found and even has the audacity to suggest that if the report of their findings is helpful in a real estate transaction that they be considered for the work. (I am shocked, shocked that their is gambling in this casino). You guessed it. Our chiminey's needed work. Lots and lots of work. In fact the suggested repairs would equal that of the Icelandic national debt (prior to bankruptcy).
Pass the Tums and my checkbook.
Let that not be the end of the story, because our lawyer (his paralegal) decided to just ballpark the figure and reduce our monies due by $15,000. and just when you'd think everything was done the Dewey lawyer called to say that there was garbage on the front lawn. Can you imagine that on garbage day there would be garbage outside the house. Oh yeah and leaves in a leaf bag in October - its an outrage!!! And these people have the vote. ughhhhhhhhhh!!!!
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Thursday, October 9, 2008
The Strap!!
When we were kids our family was fairly unusual in that both my parents worked and therefore punishment was meted out by both adults without degree of offense or time of day. They were full ranging and could be merely an assignment of all duties on the "duty chart" (that will be another story), through the bevy of increasingly more action to the ultimate strap.
The strap was used as the ultimate weapon and was feared much more than the wooden spoon or clip in the back of the head. The strap was my fathers belt and would be dispensed in measured increments evenly to both hands. If you were the offending party you were usually warned by the "don't make me get up" or "do it again" provocation which always seemed to me to be an order so I was always surprised that you got a licking when you did it again.
In any event, one of the most serious infractions in our childhood was playing on the street. Now, I don't care what anybody says, but there wasn't any place to play but on the street or in the stairwell, or in the electric shed or all of the other places which were named to be off limits. Nevertheless, these were the rules.
Now my borther Mike had been given a second hand bike which at the time was probably 10 years old and was fine but needed work, so one day we spent the morning and afternoon working on the thing tuning it up and getting everything in perfect working order. We pieced it all back together and Mike was going to take it for a ride. Each time we'd role it out we'd find one more thing wrong with it and would re-double our efforts. Finally, it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon and Mike settled on the seat and shoved off using the sidewalk for momentum and scooted out on the street. The bike was running like a charm and I was so excited I started runnning after him jumping and laughing and yelling at him to go faster. I was so excited that I paid no attention to anything else until Mike scooted around a car which I came face to face with staring right over the hood ornament into my father's very annoyed eyes. That look accompanied the strap. No look - no strap. It was that simple. He merely pointed up towards the apartment and I knew immediately what it meant.
I headed up the flight of stairs with the understanding that with each step I was dead man walking. When I finally got to our apartment I marched straight to our room as would be expected but that's when I got to thinking. I was going to get it anyway so why not make it hard on everybody concerned. So I opened our closet door and hoisted myself onto the shelf. I gathered all of the clothes and boxes around me so it wasn't evident and lay very still.
When my Dad finally came into the apartment I could hear him taking his time knowing that with each passing moment I'd be ever more apprehensive about the coming consequence. Finally I heard our bedroom door open and silence for a moment. TED!!! came the voice. I shifted slightly but was resolute in my course. I could hear the footsteps as he looked under the bunkbeds. TED!! it came again with just a slight amount of annoyance. He opened the cupboard door but I wasn't there. JESUS MURPHY!! came the exclamantion as he proceeded to search the rest of the apartment. He came back to the room a second time and opened the closet again and as he searched there were more suggestions that I was only making it worse on myself. The annoyance was growing more and more and vesuvius was about to errupt. Now when I get really nervous I start to laugh. Sometimes uncontrollably but it always starts with just a giggle so when he opened the closet door for the third time it was unintended.
My Dad reached up and grabbed me from the shelf and I was jerked off and stood on the floor in the center of the room. He did this while spitting out that now I had done it. Now I was finally going to get a damn good tanning. All this while fumbling to pull of his belt. He told me to hold out my hand which I did while we wound up from the bleachers for the first swing. At the last minute I pulled my hand away and the belt caught him right across his own leg. I burst out laughing (that is a really bad reaction sometimes). LET THE BEATINGS BEGIN.
In the end my hands did recover and he was annoyed at me for quite a while. So it didn't make him feel any better either and let that be a lesson for you....
The strap was used as the ultimate weapon and was feared much more than the wooden spoon or clip in the back of the head. The strap was my fathers belt and would be dispensed in measured increments evenly to both hands. If you were the offending party you were usually warned by the "don't make me get up" or "do it again" provocation which always seemed to me to be an order so I was always surprised that you got a licking when you did it again.
In any event, one of the most serious infractions in our childhood was playing on the street. Now, I don't care what anybody says, but there wasn't any place to play but on the street or in the stairwell, or in the electric shed or all of the other places which were named to be off limits. Nevertheless, these were the rules.
Now my borther Mike had been given a second hand bike which at the time was probably 10 years old and was fine but needed work, so one day we spent the morning and afternoon working on the thing tuning it up and getting everything in perfect working order. We pieced it all back together and Mike was going to take it for a ride. Each time we'd role it out we'd find one more thing wrong with it and would re-double our efforts. Finally, it was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon and Mike settled on the seat and shoved off using the sidewalk for momentum and scooted out on the street. The bike was running like a charm and I was so excited I started runnning after him jumping and laughing and yelling at him to go faster. I was so excited that I paid no attention to anything else until Mike scooted around a car which I came face to face with staring right over the hood ornament into my father's very annoyed eyes. That look accompanied the strap. No look - no strap. It was that simple. He merely pointed up towards the apartment and I knew immediately what it meant.
I headed up the flight of stairs with the understanding that with each step I was dead man walking. When I finally got to our apartment I marched straight to our room as would be expected but that's when I got to thinking. I was going to get it anyway so why not make it hard on everybody concerned. So I opened our closet door and hoisted myself onto the shelf. I gathered all of the clothes and boxes around me so it wasn't evident and lay very still.
When my Dad finally came into the apartment I could hear him taking his time knowing that with each passing moment I'd be ever more apprehensive about the coming consequence. Finally I heard our bedroom door open and silence for a moment. TED!!! came the voice. I shifted slightly but was resolute in my course. I could hear the footsteps as he looked under the bunkbeds. TED!! it came again with just a slight amount of annoyance. He opened the cupboard door but I wasn't there. JESUS MURPHY!! came the exclamantion as he proceeded to search the rest of the apartment. He came back to the room a second time and opened the closet again and as he searched there were more suggestions that I was only making it worse on myself. The annoyance was growing more and more and vesuvius was about to errupt. Now when I get really nervous I start to laugh. Sometimes uncontrollably but it always starts with just a giggle so when he opened the closet door for the third time it was unintended.
My Dad reached up and grabbed me from the shelf and I was jerked off and stood on the floor in the center of the room. He did this while spitting out that now I had done it. Now I was finally going to get a damn good tanning. All this while fumbling to pull of his belt. He told me to hold out my hand which I did while we wound up from the bleachers for the first swing. At the last minute I pulled my hand away and the belt caught him right across his own leg. I burst out laughing (that is a really bad reaction sometimes). LET THE BEATINGS BEGIN.
In the end my hands did recover and he was annoyed at me for quite a while. So it didn't make him feel any better either and let that be a lesson for you....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
