Satisfied with the legs that are not broken...
The lady who worked on my braces today was cool. She was nice, polite, and apologetic when she injured me. The doctor came over and confirmed what I already suspected: my jaw structure is such that it is going to take a long time to move my teeth. Maybe we should just extract my teeth, and let my jaws break the food. I think they could do it. Anyway, she had some new ideas to try to bring my teeth into alignment. All I wanted when I started this adventure was to extend the life of my teeth. I didn't know it was going to be a journal article... again. (When I was five I had some disease that paralyzed me from the waist down, and they were concerned it would move up my body. With help from my sister, who pushed me delicately, I learned to walk again in record time. Supposedly, it was written up somewhere by somebody.)
So, as much as I hate to floss and brush my teeth a zillion times a day, I now have a spring between a couple of teeth. Yes. A spring. This miracle device of technological advancement is intended to pull some teeth to make space for the problem child. One of my molars just refuses to move. In fact, it apparently rejected the wire the last time I was in, which is why I was in such pain. The wires shifted and protruded into my cheek. This is why we shouldn't bow to vanity. God uses Karma to punish you.
Ultimately, I'm going to be in braces for a while. I don't know why that surprises me. Every time I decide to do a project, I set a timeline, and never meet it. When I first went to the orthodontist, the doctor I spoke to said it would be about a year... a little longer. It's been months, and my teeth haven't budged. Looking for the silver lining, at least I don't have to pay for the really expensive tooth-rebuilding procedure for a while. Maybe stock will recover by then.
God, please don't let Annie have my jaws/teeth...
Long in the tooth, but harmless as can be...
Engineering school is very demanding. Maybe not more than any other school, but we thought so. We covered our sanity by trying to find times to completely unwind. Rolla is not a large town, and there isn't much to do at the last minute. Sure, we had great fishing and spelunking opportunities, but that takes planning. If you wanted a last minute thrill you went to the train bridge. And you brought beer, which must be consumed on the way.
The train bridge was an old wooden bridge that in the dead of night still had one train that transported goods. You could sit on the bridge with your legs dangling down and as the train came over the hill, it looked like it ws going to take your legs off... never mind that the bottom of the bridge was below your legs even for a talk gangly person like me. It was a thrill. When you had a good drive, he would even blast the horn as he went below the bridge.
Well, on this particular night, we decided to go to the train bridge. We had smuggled in some beer (God, no!) to our rooms. Flanders and I had rallied the troops for the event, and had chosen coats to meet the occasion. We had Lord only knows how many beer bottles stuffed down our sleeves. We couldn't walk without clanking. Curse our good nature. We had recently brought up to our RA (irony: we both became RAs) an issue with a fellow floor member that concerned us. We walked out our doors and were met by our RA and the Assistant Director of Residential Life. We held very still. We covered the issue, and went about our business. I later found out that they knew about our stuffed sleeves, but couldn't prove anything from what the saw, and were just hoping to make our beer warm. Not something I did as an RA.
We finally exited the building and began making our way to the bridge. Unfortunately, we had gained a tag-a-long that we didn't really want. He was the animal nerd from the Far Side. "Hi, Guys. What are you doing?" But, we didn't want to hurt his feelings (until now), so we let him join us. On the way to the bridge we had our share of bad ideas. Before we got to the bridge, our tag-a-long indicated that he had lost his keys. Good Lord. I'm a geek, but this was unreal. We went back to where he thought he lost them: a day care center where we had... er... decided to enjoy the play area.(Hey! they had cool equipment!) We were scouring the area for the keys, when the cops pulled up. We politely told them that our friend was here earlier and lost his keys, and we were trying to help him find them. They left. It was 2:00 am. What the heck? "Hello officer, we're stalking small children, and planting cameras for that purpose..." "Carry on..." I'm not commenting on cops in general, just those. I've had other bad communications with them, so pardon my disgust.
We never got to see the train on that trek. But, in my opinion, it makes a good story....
Thank the Lord for college...
Choo-choo...
Daddy: I'll let you watch the horse movie while you eat.
Annie: Nooooo. I have to act it out. I can't do that while I eat.
Daddy: Well, we can pause it while you eat.
Annie: Nooooo. Then I can't watch anything while I eat.
Daddy: You don't need to watch TV while you eat, it's a special thing for you to do.
Annie: *humph*
Daddy: The movie is long. By the time you finish eating you will still have time to act out the rest of the movie.
Annie: Ok.
I do admit that I love to watch her act it out. When Colleen and Annie play during kindergarten at recess Annie now plays the part of the horse in this movie. Colleen plays Spirit. The growth in imagination is wonderful.
If you ever get a chance, read the book The Neverending Story.
The movie only covers half the story. The first half of the book provides a metaphor for the need for imagination. The second half of the book covers the danger in letting imagination dominate one's life. It's great stuff. On top of that, it was written (I think) in 1979. This was before the advent of so many of the dynamic media choices we have now. The book is written in two colors: one color for things that happen in one "world" and another color for things in the "other world". It's absolutely great.
Anyway, I like Annie's adaptation of her imagination.
Flying on the back of a dragon... or horse... or whatever...
I have my computer, my phone, my calculator, my notebook, my secure access card, and any books that I might need. The redwood tree behind the computer is a great back rest, and I listen to nature all.day.long… God, I love my job… And I’m productive, too. I call in to conference calls where I pace the deck while listening and giving my two cents worth. I’ve spent the day doing circuit analysis, and answering e-mails. There was a good reason that I went to school for ten years…
Very happily employed...
Tired of rude people...
The House is Mostly Clean
A source in the Hockanson home informs us that the house is virtually clean. The source refused to give a real name, but only released a code name: Lilo. He claims to have witnessed said cleaning from the top of a black recliner. According to the source, the owner of the home has been methodically cleaning and organizing the main rooms of the house. The kitchen is clean, including the difficult to clean Jenn-Air cooking area. The floors have been swept and vacuumed. The sheets on the bed have been washed and cleaned. Trash and recycling has been removed to the soon to be condemned garage.
In an unprecedented move, not only have an incredible number of laundry loads been processed, but they have been put away immediately following cleaning. The informant indicates that the laundry continues to be pushed through as fast as possible, and believes that there is a chance it will all be complete tonight.
Also of interest is the removal of cobwebs. There is some concern that the daughter will miss her pet spider(s), but hopefully will not notice their absence. While dusting has been kept to a minimum, the house seems to have all appearances of being clean, right down to freshly scrubbed kitchen sinks.
It should be noted that the study, play room, and daughter's room are still a chaotic shambles.
Bookies across the country are giving unfavorable odds that the cleanliness will be maintained for more than three days.
In unrelated news, ecologists believe there is a reversal in the global warming trend due to reports that hell has indeed frozen over...
It's a start...
My Immortal
by Evanescence
i'm so tired of being here
suppressed by all of my childish fears
and if you have to leave
i wish that you would just leave
because your presence still lingers here
and it won't leave me alone
these wounds won't seem to heal
this pain is just too real
there's just too much that time cannot erase
when you cried i'd wipe away all of your tears
when you'd scream i'd fight away all of your fears
and i've held your hand through all of these years
but you still have all of me
you used to captivate me
by your resonating light
but now i'm bound by the life you left behind
your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
your voice it chased away all the sanity in me
these wounds won't seem to heal
this pain is just too real
there's just too much that time cannot erase
when you cried i'd wipe away all of your tears
when you'd scream i'd fight away all of your fears
and i've held your hand through all of these years
but you still have all of me
i've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
but though you're still with me
i've been alone all along
when you cried i'd wipe away all of your tears
when you'd scream i'd fight away all of your fears
and i've held your hand through all of these years
but you still have all of me
It's just a song...
I've created a separate category for posts from my past. This is the first, as is appropriate, given that Flanders helped me title it.
When living in my first river home, Flanders and us (Elizabeth and myself) went in financially on a boat. He came down this particular weekend to go out fishing. Unfortunately, it was raining. Not that we were afraid of water. Case in point: Flanders decided that we could catch a lot of fish at night if we had a submersible light. We went into a slough and prepared to catch fish. There was a swamped tree that stuck up in the middle. We pulled up cautiously to the protruding tree. I reached out to grab the protruding branch. Flanders pulled back on the throttle. I grabbed the branch victoriously, just before it broke under my weight. I went into the water. Die hard that I am, we went back to the house, I changed clothes, and we went back out. We didn't catch a damned thing.
Anyway, Flanders came down to go fishing, and it was raining. We went into town to find a new video game that we could play during the rain. The salesperson suggested a game called Myst. It cost $50. I asked what the expected time for solving this game. "People play this game for ages and can't solve it." Good. We're arrogant, but we would take this.
We awoke Saturday morning and made breakfast (the wife was gone, and had no comment on our choices). We made chili and eggs. What!?!? It was great! We could look out of the window and see the beautiful river even in the rain, but played our game. We solved it in six hours. Freakin' Myst. We made the best of it, though. The chili and eggs kicked in, and we manfully challenged each other to make the best stink. The animals left the room, and eventually stood around the door to escape the stench.
Yeah, well we solved what were supposed to be some difficult puzzles, and we cried for the pain we put each other through. Deal with it. We're guys...
They're my memories. I can like them if I want to.
They have been through some trying times. The only chicken that we still have from the original set is Lila. During Annie’s early years, she would go to the coop when I didn’t know it, and leave the gate open. Coyotes thought this was a wonderful thing, and picked off a few. Also, we had a problem with mites briefly that resulted in the chickens killing each other (they are not really nice creatures). The good news is we have eight chickens now that are thriving. They produce more eggs than we can generally use, which is nice for friends and neighbors.
When we bought the last set of chickens (Spring 2004), they were growing in a bin in the garage. Annie wanted to take them for show-n-tell, so I packed them to school. Unfortunately, one excited child stepped on one chick. I didn’t think he was really hurt at first, but then noticed that after a growth spurt one of the chicks was very small compared to the others. Further inspection indicated that she couldn’t walk well. Annie’s concern resulted in this chick, later named “Goofy” was moved to the house. She slept next to her, ate next to her, and was in general a very concerned parent for Goofy. Goofy continued to grow… slowly… Finally, the time came to move Goofy to the coop. This was a combination of her being large enough, and my being tired of the chicken stink in Annie’s room. She seemed to be doing fine in the coop for several weeks. She still didn’t walk well, but she seemed to be surviving. Then, one weekend when Annie was at her Mom’s, I went into the coop to find that Goofy had moved on to a better place. I didn’t know how I was going to tell Annie. But, I did, and she shed a few tears. We talked about how Goofy was probably in a place now where she could walk on both legs, and Annie seemed better. Although, at wierd times, she would tear up a little and say she missed Goofy.
The rest of the chickens are doing well, and seem quite content. When Colleen and Annie accidentally left the gate open, they stayed around the coop, and went back in in the evening. The coyotes seem to be frightened by the smell of the coop, which really needs to be cleaned.
Three more chicken stories: Our original rooster, which we thought was a hen until it started crowing, flew the coop. We believe he ventured off to Highway 9 with the rest of the renegade chickens, and is on the side of the road smoking, and basically being a rebel. We liked having a rooster, and so one day, when April (my second ex-wife) was gone, I saw a sign for a rooster that needed a home. I talked to the lady, picked up a Banty rooster and hen, and put them in the coop. They seemed to be fine, and didn’t say anything to April. Later, we were outside, and there was a terrible squawk from the coop (the rooster was very young). I feigned a look of concern, and we walked up to the coop. She was concerned that there was a sick chicken. She looked at the chickens, and said that there was something wrong. They got small (Bantam chickens are small). I laughed so hard, I thought I’d cry. She ultimately figured out what I had done. Yes, I’m aware my sense of humor is a little off.
Story #2: The next two come from my childhood (that’s right mom and dad, get ready). One of my jobs when I was a kid was to clean the chicken coop. We had (as I recall) about twenty chickens and bounced between one and two roosters. The inside of the chicken area had a dirt floor, and I hated cleaning it. In my brilliance, one time I decided I wasn’t going to do it. I scraped off the top of the grime, and put fresh straw down. I played in the barn for what should have been enough time to clean the coop, and then went back to the house. My wise father never said a word. A month passed, and it was time again. Of course, I never brought it up, but Dad said it was time. He then added “and this time, do it right.” I was mortified. He knew, but hadn’t reprimanded me before. I was soon to found out that the punishment was the true cleaning of the coop. After that long of time, the chicken… er… residue had begun to ferment. I ran out of the barn a number of times as a result of the strength of the ammonia smell in the coop. Note to self: Never put off ‘till tomorrow what you can do today.
Last Story: This is one of my favorites. Growing up on a farm, one of the harsh lessons you learn early in life is that things ultimately die. To preface this, there is a reason that some countries/places like “Cock Fights”. Roosters are very territorial, and there is a reason that they have that extra spike on their feet. Our roosters, when I was a kid (we handle our rooster frequently, and he is not aggressive towards people), had a tendency to be ornery. Case in point: Big Red. It was my sister’s job to feed the chickens and get the eggs. This include a tool in the form of a five-gallon bucket. Big Red was sly. He would wait until your back was turned, and then launch at you. If you looked at him, he would pretend to be busy scratching at the ground or picking something out of his feathers. My sister was busy doing her chores, and lost her attention to Big Red. At the last moment she realized her mistake and turned to find Big Red launching himself at her. Instinctively, she whipped the bucket around and caught him across the head. Big Red went down, and didn’t move. She came back to the house in tears, “I killed Big Red.” My Dad went to the coop, and returned to say, yes, he’s dead. Years later, we discovered that Dad had decided that Big Red was just too durned aggressive. When he went to check, Red had shrugged it off, and was fine. Dad decided he just wasn’t a safe rooster, and finished the job. Hey, life is about learning.
Fowl, but liking it.