RaisingDad

Listen up, ladies.      The way to a man's heart isn't through his stomach, it's with the remote control. Let a man have control of the television set, and you'll have a very sedate beast.      At least that's the way it is with my father, and that's how I usually find myself sitting in the great room watching the premium baseball channel with him, instead of something more interesting, like Championship Knitting.      The cable company calls the MLB channel "premium," which is another word for expensive. It's not something I would purchase on my own, but my wife and I get it for my father because it makes him happy.      And keeps him out of trouble.      Speaking of trouble, my father has developed a bit of it when it comes to reading and understanding his bank and financial statements.  He's been diagnosed pre-Alzheimer's, and one of the symptoms is having a problem with numbers.     ...

I like cars.      What I don't like is going to a car dealership to look at them when I'm not in the market for one, but I'll do it anyway.      Why?      I've already told you: I like cars.      I like looking at them, I like seeing what new features the car companies continuously come up with, and I like imagining myself behind the wheel of one. Unfortunately, I don't care to deal with the salespeople. They're nice, don't get me wrong, but I don't like to waste their time.      When they come up to me, I'm quick to tell them I'm just looking, but I'm sure they hear that from everybody who goes in there to buy a car. No one wants to seem too eager to part with their money, I suppose. If the dealership is busy, they'll usually leave me alone. If it's not, then they don't.      Leave me alone, that is.      When I am in the market for a car, I...

Like I've told you, my grandson is at an age where he can talk, but is still too young to grasp certain concepts.        For instance, we were recently at the library. My grandson is a good-looking kid, and I'm not just saying that because he looks like me. Only his eyes are blue, whereas mine are brown.      "Where did you get those beautiful blue eyes!" the librarian, who had some pretty blue eyes of her own, asked him.      "They came with my face," he told her.     Raising My Father RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com  American Chimpanzee @JimDuchene     

"Growing up, my father was king of his castle, but now that he's moved into my castle, it's a constant elbow-nudge between us for that top spot, and my wife's no help, because she caters to him all the time," I explained.      "That's nice," the veterinarian said, but he really wasn't interested. "Now, what you want to do is lift the tail and, with your thumb and forefinger, squeeze here like this. That will express the anal glands."      My father's dog suffers from clogged anal glands, and, sadly, that was the only problem my vet had a solution for.      Later, when I complained to my buddy Maloney about it, he told me, "You think you have problems? My mother-in-law is always feeding our dog table scraps, no matter how many times I ask her not to. My dog's gotten so fat, he can't walk from the kitchen to the living room without taking a nap."      Good ol' Maloney. There's no problem I have that h...