Next Stop: Everest

I installed a ceiling fan in the baby’s room yesterday. There are no words. Just that, I installed a ceiling fan in the baby’s room yesterday which is tantamount to me telling you that I performed a successful brain surgery on myself.

The electrician was at our house fixing a number of gross electrical hazards and I asked him if he thought I should try to pick up a trade in order to be more marketable in the job world. I think I was much more comfortable with keeping this discussion on a theoretical level rather than actual reality where the harsh daylight tends to expose way too much. So he asked me if I was handy to which I told him that I was the opposite of handy. A lot of silence ensued (other than my wife laughing in the other room). I took this to mean that I don’t have a chance at either and he didn’t know how to let me down easy.

Later on in the morning, my wife asked him if he would install a ceiling fan for us and he said he would for an extra $50, but he challenged me to do it and told me that he’d be there to walk me through it step by step.

“There’s your chance, “ he said.

At first, the thought of actually trying to do this frightened me, but inspired me at the same time. So I said I would do it.

He said, “Good man,” which made me feel really good about myself just saying yes like I did. I realized how easy it was to say yes to things and decided in my mind to say yes a lot more often. It was really exhilarating.

I went to Lowe’s and bought the fan. Check. I took it home and opened up the box. Check. Then, I started reading the instructions. Wow. Cue the screeching brakes. I felt like a four-year-old trying to decipher the Hammurabi’s code. It took literally seconds before the pool of nay-saying rose to the top of my head and I figured out what to do.

I told the electrician to do it.

He tried to convince me, but I was dead-set on giving up and he made some mention about that probably not boding well for my future in trades to which I agreed and then left the house to bury my sorrows in fast food.

Then I called Richelle to tell her how it just wasn’t happening for me, but with a few pushes and prods from her I decided I would try again.

And then I did it. Thank the Lord. The electrician held my hand through the whole thing and I’m sure it was a little bit like watching a caveman assemble a modern car, but I actually physically installed a ceiling fan.

It’s hard to describe how good that feels.

What to do in case of heavy clawing noises

The other night, Richelle and I were sitting in the living room talking when we heard these heavy clawing noises coming from around the kitchen area. We couldn’t quite place what it was, but it was freaking us out. I was getting visions of a large, pissed-off, human-sized rat trying to dig and chew its way through our ceiling. We were both feeling this mild panic rising up between us. So finally Richelle turned to me, thumbed in the direction of the noise and said, “You gotta’ go check.” “Why me?” I said. I like to imagine myself being incredibly brave and heroic at those moments of my life in which I feel that I’ll need it. But this did not at all feel like one of those moments; because it seems to me that if a rat grows to a certain size that its sounds become indistinguishable from that of a trapped wild boar who hasn’t eaten in a month, that this should be a time when it is perfectly acceptable for everyone, man, woman or child to steer clear. Not only that, but it was disturbing to see how willing my wife was to throw me in harm’s way when she felt our lives might be at risk. It turned out that the noise was coming from a pot in the kitchen where Richelle’s mom was starting to boil some live crabs; apparently the water temperature had moved past the comfortable hot-tub feeling for them so they were requesting a little breather. Actually, Richelle was the one who finally discovered this. Chalk this up for men’s equality, I never moved from my spot on the couch. But I did start to feel really, really bad for the crabs.

On the Bright Side

I keep thinking about my classroom. Carved into the edges of one of my tables is a blaring "Fuck You" which seems to burn its way into the side of my head no matter how hard I try not to look at it. I've racked my brain for ways to get rid of it. I even bought this light blue acrylic paint from the craft section at Walmart and tried to lather over the words in an attempt to blur the message.

But all this has done is left a soft baby blue "Fuck You" almost completing the project- as though the artist was unhappy with the starkness of the message and thought it needed a cheerier look. I have no idea who did it or even when the project was finally completed. I tend to be a little observationally challenged in that way. I feel like I owe someone extra credit based on the amount of work they were putting into this. That had to have taken a lot of dedication.

Sometimes, life can send you a message like this which makes it impossible to look away. I call it the kicked-in-the-face feeling. And the best response you've got is to decorate it with a happier color.

What to do about the dog?

I get nervous about my dog’s chances of survival if I should ever pass away. Richelle seems to talk about him as though he would be a useful way to stave off hunger if we ever had to go without food for any length of time. But whenever I talk about the necessities of feeding him, giving him water, taking him to the vet or the groomer, she gets this sound to her voice like we should seriously be keeping the “putting him to sleep” option on the table.

As I’ve told Jack many times in our private conversations, “If I ever die, just throw yourself on the funeral pyre.”

Notes to Interrupt the Ceremony

I’m using a lot more four-letter words in my thoughts lately. There are so many things going on that my mind has stopped trying to keep up with them. The plan B’s are needing plan C’s which are falling back on plan D’s and I think a domino effect may be happening (I just saw the movie Adjustment Bureau so my paranoia radar is working overtime).
But I found out I got a RIF notice on Friday from my school district. This is a reduction in force notice meaning they are needing to reduce the number of people who they are employing usually because of financial reasons and I am one of the people they are needing to cut in order to make that happen. That and Che Che and I are starting on our second full round of in vitro this weekend which is a spiritually, financially, emotionally, physically expensive process that has a massive chance at a simple “no, not gonna’ happen” at the end of it.
So we’re going to spend every single cent of our money on a thing that may not really happen for us any way and we also might have a lot of trouble earning a lot of that back because our jobs may be lost. It seems to be that while our heads are on the chopping block that someone needs to interrupt the beheading ceremony to let us know that our present circumstances may not be the only bad news to focus on.

Pete and I at the Taste of Chicago

"I guess I just miss my friend."

Joel T with Three Little Pigs Sandwich at the Silver Palm in Chicago