Sometimes Even I Have A Heart

My Dad drives me nuts.

     Today I'm buffing the oak floor. (This is why I retired from my job, so I could spend all my free time buffing the floors.
     "Tell me about it," my wife says as she washes what clothes need washing or makes what beds need making or cooks what foods need cooking. Anyway...)
     The buffer is kind of loud (okay, it's a LOT of loud), and it makes a high pitched sound. A little TOO high-pitched for these old ears, so I wear ear protectors to muffle the sound. You've seen them used in gun ranges, if you're the kind of person who goes to gun ranges. If not, you've probably seen them in movies or TV. If you haven't seen them there, then you need to watch something else besides the Kardashians.

      As I'm buffing the floor, my Dad walks in and sits in his--my--favorite chair. My wife, out of habit, turns the TV on for him. So he sits there, while I buff the floor.
     I know he can't hear the TV but he sits... and sits... and sits.
     Finally, he wins.
     I feel sorry for him, turn off the buffer and...
     ...find something else to do.
   
 

Raising My Father

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

jimduchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

     

A Happy Wife

I'm in the great room by myself, sitting in my favorite chair, and watching something other than baseball for a change.

     How did I get so lucky? I don't know. My Dad must be taking a nap or something. He's 96-years-old. Maybe I should check on him. But--dang it!--I'm really enjoying myself, because my hitting the trifecta of television-watching is so rare.

     My wife walks in. She gives me a big smile, walks over, and picks up the remote. As she changes the channel, she asks, me "Were you watching this?"

      My answer?

     "Not anymore."

     That's the price I pay for hot coffee in the morning, hot meals three times a day, and the occasional something hot at night. (And I'm not talking about cocoa.)

     I look at my wife. She looks happy watching her reruns of NCIS. I think she has a crush on Mark Harmon.

     Oh, well... as long as it makes her happy.

 

"A happy wife is a happy life."

 

 

Raising My Father

RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com

jimduchene.blogspot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

 

Payback's A What?

The night before last, it was the usual story. I go downstairs and find all the lights on. The kitchen lights are on, the lights under the kitchen cabinets are on, and the lights in the great room are on. Even the TV is on, but there's no one there. My Dad is MIA.

     I could ask him, "Dad, why do you always turn on all the lights and then leave?" But he'll just deny doing that. It's like with the microwave. We tell him, "Dad, be sure to cover you food when you heat something up."
     "Why?" he'll want to know.
     "Because it splatters all over the inside of the microwave," we'll tell him. That's a pretty reasonable answer. One that anyone would respect.
     When we find the interior of the microwave splattered with food soon after, we know who the culprit is.
     "Dad," I'll ask him while my wife is cleaning up the splatter, "did you use the microwave without covering your food?"
     "No," he'll answer.
     "Well, somebody did."
     "It wasn't me," he'll insist. "I always cover my food when I use the microwave."
     Now there's only three of us in the house. My wife, my Dad, and myself. Sometimes my grandson stays with us, but he's only three and is too small to use the microwave. I know I don't use the microwave without covering my food. I know my wife doesn't use the microwave without covering her food. Now, who does that leave as a final suspect?
     But, back to the night before last, sometimes it's not worth the aggravation. I turn off the lights and TV and go back upstairs.

     It's now the next afternoon. My grandson and I are watching cartoons in the great room. We have been watching cartoons for about thirty minutes, eating snacks. My grandson watches cartoons because he likes them. I watch cartoons to recuperate from taking care of a three-year-old ball of fire who's full of energy.

     From the corner of my eye I see my father walk into the house. I then hear the mumbles, the grumbles, the clicks, and the smacks. The ooh ooh oohs, the ah ah ahs, and all the other sounds my elderly Dad likes to make. Sounds, I must admit, that are beginning to make their way into my vocabulary now. (Why can't I ever seem to completely clear my throat?) I see him slowly walk into the great room and he stops just to the right of the television set. I point my eyes forward.
     He doesn't say "hi" to me. He doesn't says "hi" to his great-grandson. He has just one thing on his mind. Baseball. It's no skin off my butt if he doesn't acknowledge me when he enters a room, but it irks me when he doesn't greet his great-grandson with a hello or a smile or a "How-de-do!" At my father's age, how many more great-grandchildren can he honestly expect to see come into this world?
     "Boy, that SpongeBob..." I tell my grandson. 

     I hear a mumble, then another mumble, then a smack, smack, smack! My father walks behind us, toward his favorite chair. He doesn't sit down. He stands next to the grandfather clock located in the corner. I hear a mumble, then another mumble, then what could be construed as a grumble.

     When I don't acknowledge him, my father grumbles louder, making it known that he is there, standing next to the grandfather clock, checking the time on the grandfather clock with the time on his watch. Making sure they're synchronized. Is he concerned with the time because he has to meet up with the rest of SEAL Team Six so they can go to Russia to take out Putin for breaking the truce in the Ukraine? No, he's checking out the time because there's something he wants to watch on TV.
     His mumbles and grumbles and clickings and smacks get louder. Why he can't just ask us if we'll be done soon, I don't know. In his younger days, my Dad wasn't one to keep his opinions to himself, much to the embarrassment of my Mom.
     I see him look at the clock and then at the TV. Between the mumbles, he says "It's four o'clock." He must be telling the grandfather clock, because he's not telling me, and there's no one else here he could be talking to.
     Personally, I know it's four o'clock. I don't even have to look at my watch to know this. I hear another mumble, "Blah, blah, blah... gol'mighty, it's four o'clock already. Blab, blab, blab... I think there's a baseball game about to start," he says, still talking to no one.
     The grandfather clock tick, tick ticks in agreement.

     This is a long way for me to tell you that I know what he wants. He wants me to change the TV to the baseball game that starts at four. And I know I sound like a broken record, but why can't he ever watch anything in the little father-in-law house he lives in in the front of our property? That's why we bought it, to give him and us some privacy when we need it. Besides which, he just got a brand new TV. The screen is close to 40 inches. Compared to what I usually have to watch, it looks more like the movie screen at your local cineplex. I don't want to make you cry or anything, but the TV I usually end up watching is so small I could use it as a Christmas ornament.
     My father has a very comfortable leather recliner. It's real leather, top of the line, made by one of the top companies. He has a night stand right next to the chair, so he can place his drinks and snacks with a minimum of fuss and bother. When he's cold, he can crank up the heat. When he's hot, he can crank up the air conditioning. Or, if it's somewhere in the middle, he can just turn on the fan. Whatever he wants, it's totally up to him. But what he wants is for the world to come to a standstill just so he can watch TV in my great room. It doesn't matter that this is my and my wife's house, he wants the temperature set to where he wants to set it.
     Well, I decide, he can watch the game on his TV today, or he can watch a replay of the game on this TV tomorrow, but he can't watch it here today because my grandson's watching SpongeBob.

     My father continues to stand next to the grandfather clock. All I keep hearing is "Blah, blah, blah... four o'clock. Blah, blah, blah... baseball game." Why the words, "Hey, do you mind if I change the channel?" never cross his mind, I don't know. I'm not a complete jerk. If he were to ask, I'd take my grandson upstairs and we'd make do with the smaller TV. Between my 3-year-old grandson and my 96-year-old father, my grandson is the easiest of the two to take care of.
     But instead of asking, my Dad just keeps his head swinging around as if it's on a swivel. First, it's checking out the TV, then it turns to the grandfather clock, and finally it lands on me. The TV. The grandfather clock. And then me. This went on for what seemed like hours, but was probably more like a few minutes. This began like the Shoot-Out at the OK Corral, and became the Wait-Out at the Stubborn-Old-Men Corral. It was like we were in a Mexican standoff from the end of  one of Quentin Tarrentino's movies. It was my Dad, my grandson, and me. My Dad's baseball, my grandson's SpongeBob SillyPants, and my Thinkheadedness.
     After some more times passes, my father finally gives up. Probably because he is losing game time, probably because he figures he doesn't have that much time left in this world to waste waiting for something he's not going to get. He knows I'm not my wife. If she were in the room, he'd already be seated in his--my--favorite chair, watching his precious baseball instead of spending time with his great-grandson. She'd also make sure he'd already have a wealth of snacks in front of him. Instead, he  has to mumble and grumble and bumble his way back to where he came from. I hear him the whole way there.
     Blah, blah, blah. "Four o'clock." Mumble, mumble, mumble. "Baseball game." Yadda, yadda, yadda. "I'm changing my will." Smack, smack, smack! "I'll outlive you AND your bad heart"
     Hee, hee, hee.

     Well, I won... or did I?

     The next day I go downstairs and find my father watching TV. ALL the lights are on. I turn off all the lights except for the ones directly around him. I go upstairs and return thirty minutes later. The lights are on again. I turn them off again. I go upstairs for another thirty minutes and return. The. Lights. Are. All. On... Again. Every time I turn off the lights and go upstairs, he must get up and turn them all on again.
     He must be paying me back for yesterday.
     It's the only thing I can think of.

     After getting tired of all my Dad's shenanigans, I feel I deserve a good cup of hot coffee, so I head to the kitchen. I bring along the new Sports Illustrated magazine I just bought. It's the annual swimsuit edition, but--ahem--I got it for the articles.
     My father is still staking his claim on the TV in the great room. I make my coffee, walk outside to the court yard, and sit down. Just as I start to look at the pictures--I mean--read the articles, something catches my ear.
     Hmm... the game?
     Does my Dad have the game on so loud I can hear it outside? Well, we do have the audio on loud so he can hear it, but it's not loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
     I put down my coffee and start to walk back into the house. I turn around when I finally hear that the noise is coming from my father's house. Slowly, like a cat-burglar, I walk to one of his windows and peek inside. The lights in his closet, his bathroom and his bedroom are all on. I circle his house and see that pretty much all of the lights in his house are on. Even his TV is on, and the channel is on the baseball game. He has all the lights on in his house AND he has all the lights on in my house. Hmm...

     I may have won the battle but my Dad is winning the war.

 

 

Raising My Father

RaisingMyFather.blogspot.com

jimduchene.blogspot.com

@JimDuchene

 

My Dad Has Complaints? I'VE Got Complaints!

My father continues to complain about his dentist.
     He was telling my wife that he wants a new dentist. He's only been going to this one for decades, but, besides feeling that this one takes his money when he's not looking, he is positive that he has also screwed up one of his teeth. Once my father gets something in his brain, that's all he thinks about.
     The problem is this, my father has one tooth that he fiddless with all the time. I'm talking about ALL the time. He pokes at it with tooth picks, flosses it, pokes at it with his fingers, and then complains to us that it hurts.
     My father is closer to being 100-years-old than 90. I don't know how many times I've felt like telling him, "Dad, your teeth are about to celebrate their centennial. Be happy you still have them." I should also tell him to quit gargling with his tea before drinking it, but my wife says I should just mind my own business.
     Meanwhile, a friend of mine is adding some personal aggravation to my life. Well, he's not really a friend, he's more of a co-worker. An EX-co-worker. We're both retired from the same company, but I can't say we were ever buddies. I'm not the only one who feels that way. He wasn't well-liked by most of the people he worked with, and that hasn't changed since he's retired. Once a month, some of us retirees get together for breakfast or lunch. It's always the first Friday of the month. The last time we got together, I invited him along.
     I was gently asked not to invite him again.
     He's a funny guy, but he is c-h-e-a-p! Jack Benny cheap. When his wife turned 60, their children wanted to throw her a party and were mad at my buddy--their dad-- because he didn't want to chip in.
     When he was complaining to me about it, he said, "I told them, 'Hey! I'M not the one throwing her a party. Why should I have to chip in?'" While he may have had a point, the right thing for him to do would have been to put up his share, even if it was just for his kid's sake.
     "You're right," I told him, just so I could change the subject to something where I could end the sentence with, "See you later."
     He must get it from his father.
     Once--many, many moons ago--my buddy asked me to help him with a fence he was repairing on some rental property he owned. His father was also helping him, so I thought, "Why not?" While it sounded like work, it also sounded like fun.
     "What the heck," I thought, "at least I'll get a free meal out of it."
     I mean, who asks someone to work for them and doesn't pay them back with some suds and sandwiches? As it turned out, not only did I work for free, but when we were done we went to a restaurant afterward and my buddy asked for separate checks.
     I found out later that his father charged him $10 an hour.
     Which is a long way to tell you that last year, my son-in-law tried to start his own construction company. Everyone tried to talk him out of it, but a man's got to do what a man's got to do. If there's one thing I've learned in life it's that the more people try to talk someone out of a bad idea, the more determined that someone is to do it.
     In my own personal experience I know that when I was a kid, I never cared to listen to anything my Dad wanted to tell me. I knew everything, so what could he teach me? It's amazing that the older I got, the smarter he got.
     Still, my son-in-law is young. He has time to fail and bounce back. His father, on the other hand, is old and broke, and that's who my son-in-law decided to go into business with. Besides some blue-collar know-how and a construction license with a low number, his father has nothing to indicate he was someone you would want to be tied to financially.
     I told my son-in-law to go into it slowly. Have a game plan. Some money in savings. All that stuff. I--as a man who has made a lot of money and, I'll admit, has also lost a lot of money--do have a little knowledge about life and finances. But my son-in-law--being 30, still young enough to believe in his dad--did what his father told him was a great opportunity.
     This is the same father who, after inheriting over $3,000,000 and several houses when his parents died, squandered it all, and now has to live with my daughter, her husband, and their son. The father's only income is supplied by Social Security and the only thing he owns is a truck. He has no more, and he has no less.
     How does this connect with my cheap buddy I was telling you about earlier? Well, while he was still working, my buddy began buying rental property. He could afford it from all the money he saved not paying for birthday parties for his wife. The thing about owning rental property is, when something breaks, you have to fix it. And my buddy was one who would always look for the cheapest solution to any problem.
     That's where my son-in-law comes in. Starting a new business, he and his father were willing to work cheap. Using my connection with my buddy, my son-in-law and his father did jobs for him as he needed them. They would also get their own jobs, make their own deals, and do their own stuff. This went on for about four or five months.
     One day, my buddy hires them to install a floor for a very nice lady. When they were done, she seemed very happy with the work they did, signed off on it, and had no problem paying my buddy. My buddy, in turn, paid my son-in-law, who then gave his dad his share of the profits. In the meantime, my buddy continued to call them for other work.
     Sixteen days after they installed the floor, my buddy calls my son-in-law and tells him that the very nice lady is now not so nice and not so happy with the work they did.
     They go back and forth, back and forth about it. Blah, blah, blah this. Blah, blah, blah that. My son-in-law tells my buddy that he will redo the whole floor... but not for free. Free is what my buddy wants. My son-in-law tells my buddy that the lady was happy sixteen days ago. What's changed since then?
     Well, my buddy "hees" and "haws" and "therefores" and "woebegons" and things went down hill after that. My buddy would only say that thing's weren't right, but he wouldn't say exactly what it was that wasn't right. Even more than that, he couldn't explain why was it right sixteen days ago, but not why it wasn't right now.
     In the end, my buddy tells my son-in-law that the customer is always right, but the truth is, for my buddy, the customer is always right as long as it doesn't cost him any money. He tells my son-in-law that he is going to advise the nice lady to go after my son-in-law's bond. A bond, in the state where I live, is like insurance, but a kind of screwy insurance. When my son-in-law got the bond, he and his father signed it, assuming nothing would go wrong. Nothing wrong with assuming, but you know what they say, "When you assume, forget that making an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me' stuff, sooner or later you're going to get screwed."
     Weeks later, my son-in-law and his father got a letter from the bond company. Basically, the very nice lady was filing a not so nice complaint against the work they did. It went back and forth, back and forth--yadda yadda this, yadda yadda that--and ended with my buddy throwing my son-in-law under the bus. To make matters worse, my buddy even wrote the bond company a letter on behalf of the unhappy customer.
     My buddy did what he had to do, right or wrong (mainly wrong) to clear himself of any responsibility or wrongdoing in the matter. In the letter, he wrote a lot of stuff against my son-in-law and his father. Some of it was true, and some of it wasn't (mainly wasn't).
     Personally, I never saw the work that was done, but my son-in-law had the foresight to take pictures of the finished job. (You're welcome, America.) I saw those pictures and it appeared to be a good job. Everyone was happy for the sixteen days prior, so I really can't say what happened to change that nice lady's mind, because I don't know. In a court of law, I would be useless. In politics, I could be president.
     As far as I'm concerned, bond insurance is a rip-off, but it's needed in my state. How it works is this: you make monthly payments to the bond company. If a customer doesn't like the work you've done, they file a case against your bond company. Now, this is were it gets iffy: any expenses that the bond company incurs investigating the complaint is paid by the holder, in this case my son-in-law. In other words, anyone they hire to go inspect the work, write the reports, pad their expense account, the holder has to pay for it. If the bond company finds that there is, in fact, a problem with the quality of the job done, they will pay the customer what they think is fair and the holder has to reimburse the bond company all of that money. The bond company is final word. Like my wife. They're also like our government, in the sense that they're never out any of their own money.
     Sure, you could try taking the bond company to court, but their lawyer will just show the judge the document you've signed agreeing to  pay for any and all of the bond company's expenses EVEN if they are in the wrong.
     They never lose.
     During the bond company's investigation, my buddy tells the investigators some truths and some lies (mainly lies). On and on, back and forth, Kay and Peele.
     The more I hear about it, the more it seems to me that the very nice lady just wants the job done for free. She told my buddy that she did not like the space between the tiles and wants it all replaced. She told the investigators that my son-in-law only showed her three different samples and should have shown her more. My son-in-law's arguments were that she never asked to see any more samples, was happy with the spacing between the tile when she was signing off on the job. She paid her bill without complaint, and was living in the house for the week the job took to get done and not once did she complain about anything.
     Sixteen days later, she wants it redone.
     The company found my son-in-law and his father at fault, and the judgement went against them. The bond company mainly based their finding on my buddy's letter and testimony. If he had just kept quiet or stayed out of it, or backed up his employees, perhaps my son-in-law would have had a better shot, but that's neither here nor there. Well, it's less here and more over there as they now have to pay the bond company various fines and other costs.
     Like most broke people, my son-in-law's father has all kinds of suggestions for how to get out of it. He wants his son to file bankruptcy, to sign his (my son-in-law's) house over to his (the broke father's) girlfriend, or...
     ...to not do anything.
     "Let them come after you," he told my son-in-law. "They can't get blood from a rock."
     All this advice, coming from a 63-year-old grown man who lost several houses and several million dollars, and is now forcing his grandson out of his room because if he didn't live with my daughter and her husband, he'd be homeless.
     I once asked my daughter, "Why doesn't he just move in with his girlfriend?"
     "Because she's not family, so she doesn't have to take him in," my daughter answered discreetly. She's a wise one, my little girl. Just like her dad.
     About what was going on with the bond company, I told my daughter for her to tell her husband to suck it up and do what has to be done. I told her that from what I've heard so far, her husband's father was not looking out for them.
     "He's got nothing, so he has nothing to lose," I told her. "He can live in a park if he has to. If they take away your house, where are you and the baby going to live?"
     They could live with me, it they had to, but I didn't tell her that because it would just give her father-in-law another great idea.
     Now, I know nothing about construction, but with all this brouhaha going on, I'm learning. So I thought the advice I gave her was sound, both for her family and her finances. Sometimes you just have to take the hit so you don't take a bigger hit down the line.
     What I found funny is that her husband--a good guy-- told her, "You should have waited to tell your Dad. My Dad and I are trying to work it out."
     My daughter told her husband, "It's not a hard question on whose advice to take. Do we take your dad's advice or do we take my dad's advice. Since my Dad doesn't live with us, I say he must have some good advice."
     That's why she's my favorite.
     Unless my other kids are reading this.
     When my son-in-law's father received his inheritance he bought motorcycles, antique cars, two houses in Las Vegas, and two in the county where I live, which is a prosperous county, judging by my property taxes. Now, what does anyone need with four houses?  He used that inheritance to travel all over the world and spent, spent, spent it all with his second wife, Mrs. Arm Candy. The story behind this story is that he left his first wife for a female cliche who was really only after his money. She did the same thing to a friend of my son-in-law's father.
     After spending all of this friend's money, she left him and hooked my son-in-law's father like a guppy when he suddenly became "rich." Unfortunately, after my son-in-law's father went broke as well from trying to please her, she dumped him.
     Now, three million dollars is a lot of money, but it's not A LOT of money. It's a lot of money if you're smart, but it's not a lot if you let your Anthony Weiner lead you around. I told my daughter that if it had been me, I could have lived off of the interest.
     Besides all that, before moving in with my daughter and her family, my son-in-law's father borrowed money from them. He needed six thousand dollars.
     "I don't have six thousand dollars," my son-in-law told him.
     His father's great idea was for my son-in-law--his son--to cash in a Life Insurance Policy that his grandparents (The dead ones with the three million dollars they were able to leave to their son. I bet they also had some good advice to give when they were alive.) had gotten for him.
     Did my son-in-law do it? Did he cash in a Life Insurance Policy that should have been saved for his wife and kids?
     Let's just say that my son-in-law feels sorry for his dad.
     If any of my kids ever felt sorry for me in that way, I'd ask my wife to shoot me.
     In the meantime, my daughter had another baby--a girl, this time--and that baby has to sleep with her parents because her grandfather--the broke one--doesn't seem to be leaving any time soon.

 
 

Raising My Father

RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com

jimduchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee

@JimDuchene

 

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Idina Menzel! Will sing the national anthem at the Super Bowl! Then she'll sing "Let It Go" in tribute to the NFL's domestic violence policy.

   

This Just In!

The Lego Movie! Snubbed by the Oscars! "We didn't want to reward any movie based on a choking hazard," said the Academy.

   

This Just In!

Grey Anatomy's Patrick Dempsey! Divorcing! "You don't know how much marriage has interfered with my dating life."

   

This Just In!

Lance Bass! And his boyfriend! Engaged! "For our wedding reception, he wants to serve Chicken Alfredo, but me, I want Cream of Sum Yung Gai."

   

This Just In!

Miley Cyrus! Goes topless at a Hawaiian beach! Whole world yawns!

   

This Just In!

It's official! Bush versus Clinton in 2016! It's deja vu all over again!

   

This Just In!

Gasoline! Still not free!

   

This Just In!

"Mrs. Trump, did you marry Donald for love or money?" "Both. I LOVE money."

   

This Just In!

O.J. Simpson to take time off from looking for his ex-wife's killer to hunt for the person responsible for deflating Tom Brady's footballs.

 

This Just In! A friend of mine showed up to my Super Bowl party wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey for some reason.
 
This Just In!
"I Put The Seahawks At The One-Yard Line! WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?" -God

   

This Just In!

I saw a little girl crying at my proctologist's office. I guess Bring Your Daughter To Work Day isn't for everybody.

 

 

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