Two years ago I flew back to Virginia on the first Tuesday of the month, to rejoin my family, return to work, and even (perhaps) make it in time to vote in the Presidential election. Perhaps I suspected, but didn't truly know, that that morning when I left Fletcher Allen hospital for the airport, it would be the last time I would get to see Dad alive, with those bright blue eyes staring weakly out.
The last hug that morning, with me stretching across his elevated frame, I remember still. It probably lasted mere seconds, until a spasm like a cough from inside his chest induced me to let go. At the time I remember jumping back, as if I had been holding him too hard and caused him to cough; I also remember thinking it could just have been an involuntary cough from the irritation of the ventilator tube. Only later did I come to wonder if instead of a cough, that the spasm deep inside may have been a sob instead, at his own knowledge that it would be the last hug we shared.
I still remember that hug, the barrel-chested frame I had to stand on tiptoe to get my left arm over in that elevated ICU bed. I remember trying to hold it all, and eventually, having to let go, and return: to voting, to homework, to spend plans, to what everyday activities in Northern Virginia bring us every day.
I'd just like to get another hug from him now. Please.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Ho-Ho-Holiday Shopping
Our initial swing at a 2010 Gift Ideas list has been posted and we'll refresh it as other ideas come to us (or get taken down after birthdays) over the next few weeks.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Getting What We Want
How much of a say should the youngest members of a family have in a decision that affects them all? Or, put another way, After 42 years on the planet, is there such a thing as a "right to be a little selfish"?
I'm beginning the process of looking for my next car. The '02 Sable (107k miles) is going along fine, but (a) it won't for ever, and (b) Mary's van's loan is up in a few short months, and (c) if I want to get a convertible, winter could be a good time to make a deal when they're hardly flying off the lot.
I am thinking of getting a convertible. Mary and I have talked about replacing the Sable, and she's given me the go-ahead to find something really special this time. I've always liked Jaguars, but I'm not going for their $86,000 convertible. But the Volvo C70, the BMW 3-series convertibles, and the Lexus IS350C appeal to me on a number of levels. It would be a *nice* car, and it would be the drop-top I've been interested in getting.
Today I test-drove the Lexus, and here's the rub: Sarah does not want me to get a convertible. She didn't like the Mustang I rented for David's birthday weekend this summer, and if she had her druthers (and wherever did she put those druthers?) I would get another sedan about the same size (and backseat capacity) as the Sable. She doesn't like the wind in her hair, she doesn't like the small windows in the back seat, she doesn't like climbing in and out of the back seat of a two-door...plus just a general dislike of the whole concept of a convertible.
Practically every objection I can overcome logically, and in the end, she did say that if I absolutely have to have a convertible, well, it could be OK. Yet I can tell that's really not her preference--she would feel much more comfortable if I would just get the Jaguar XF and a sunroof.
So: How much say does a 9-year-old have in the kind of car I drive? Is it possible to speak of a "right" to choose my own car when I am, after all, responsible for an entire family?
Following Pieper, if it is possible to speak of a "right" to anything, like a right to be selfish and choose my own car, then there is necessarily a corresponding responsibility that accompanies the right. Just as we have the right to vote, we have the responsibility to vote intelligently after carefully considering the issues and the choices. So: if I have a right to choose my own car because it's what I want, what is the corresponding responsibility?
I've only just begun the process of looking for the next Dad-mobile. And yes, I do want to have something special, something fun, something I've wanted. Does that make me a bad person, if my own daughter would prefer another Sable?
I'm beginning the process of looking for my next car. The '02 Sable (107k miles) is going along fine, but (a) it won't for ever, and (b) Mary's van's loan is up in a few short months, and (c) if I want to get a convertible, winter could be a good time to make a deal when they're hardly flying off the lot.
I am thinking of getting a convertible. Mary and I have talked about replacing the Sable, and she's given me the go-ahead to find something really special this time. I've always liked Jaguars, but I'm not going for their $86,000 convertible. But the Volvo C70, the BMW 3-series convertibles, and the Lexus IS350C appeal to me on a number of levels. It would be a *nice* car, and it would be the drop-top I've been interested in getting.
Today I test-drove the Lexus, and here's the rub: Sarah does not want me to get a convertible. She didn't like the Mustang I rented for David's birthday weekend this summer, and if she had her druthers (and wherever did she put those druthers?) I would get another sedan about the same size (and backseat capacity) as the Sable. She doesn't like the wind in her hair, she doesn't like the small windows in the back seat, she doesn't like climbing in and out of the back seat of a two-door...plus just a general dislike of the whole concept of a convertible.
Practically every objection I can overcome logically, and in the end, she did say that if I absolutely have to have a convertible, well, it could be OK. Yet I can tell that's really not her preference--she would feel much more comfortable if I would just get the Jaguar XF and a sunroof.
So: How much say does a 9-year-old have in the kind of car I drive? Is it possible to speak of a "right" to choose my own car when I am, after all, responsible for an entire family?
Following Pieper, if it is possible to speak of a "right" to anything, like a right to be selfish and choose my own car, then there is necessarily a corresponding responsibility that accompanies the right. Just as we have the right to vote, we have the responsibility to vote intelligently after carefully considering the issues and the choices. So: if I have a right to choose my own car because it's what I want, what is the corresponding responsibility?
I've only just begun the process of looking for the next Dad-mobile. And yes, I do want to have something special, something fun, something I've wanted. Does that make me a bad person, if my own daughter would prefer another Sable?
Friday, September 24, 2010
Off to School: David's Next Adventure
Earlier this month, David got up an hour earlier than he previously did for school, got dressed, ate his pop-tart, watched a little TV, then grabbed his book bag to head off for the first day of school. But this year it's different: it was his first day as a Stallion at South County Secondary School.
I drove him to the bus stop, which is two blocks further away than his elementary school one (he's bigger now, can walk farther, I guess), and stuck around to watch him get on the bus for his first day at the only other school he'll go to.
When compared to the other "first day of school" memory, the time he went to kindergarten the first time, there were some notable differences, most significantly that as a parent I was expected to remain well out of sight while watching him get on the bus. He is decidedly getting to the age where that projection of independence is becoming important.
But there were marked similarities as well. As with the first day of kindergarten bus stop, he was definitely one of the smaller kids there, lost amid the sea of high-school seniors. And just as with the first day of kindergarten, once the bus arrived he clambered aboard with his backpack, without a single glance back at me: a boy ready to take on the world.
He seems so ready for this. He went to all of the various orientation events, so he had a working knowledge of the school layout, he knew his locker combination and had practiced getting into it, he had walked his schedule and knew where to go...so much about his first day of school telegraphed "I'm ready."
I don't think he's been awake that early since; the proto-teen enjoys his sleep too much and now is rolling out of bed with 10 or 15 minutes to go until I take him to the bus. He's gotten one progress report so far, and it's an A- in English (which for him is amazing)--his English teacher writes, "David is a delight in class [...] very kind and giving to the other students." He's been able to stay on top of the homework (as far as we can tell). From this early perspective, it looks like the transition is going well.
And I know, too, that it won't be long before the memory of him climbing aboard a school bus for each of his first days of school at a new school will be joined by the memory of him waving goodbye in the rear-view mirror as we drop him off for freshman orientation at college. It's difficult to think that that day is closer at hand (six years off) than was that first day of kindergarten. But for now, the next adventure has begun. It will be an adventure, too, I am sure.
I drove him to the bus stop, which is two blocks further away than his elementary school one (he's bigger now, can walk farther, I guess), and stuck around to watch him get on the bus for his first day at the only other school he'll go to.
When compared to the other "first day of school" memory, the time he went to kindergarten the first time, there were some notable differences, most significantly that as a parent I was expected to remain well out of sight while watching him get on the bus. He is decidedly getting to the age where that projection of independence is becoming important.
But there were marked similarities as well. As with the first day of kindergarten bus stop, he was definitely one of the smaller kids there, lost amid the sea of high-school seniors. And just as with the first day of kindergarten, once the bus arrived he clambered aboard with his backpack, without a single glance back at me: a boy ready to take on the world.
He seems so ready for this. He went to all of the various orientation events, so he had a working knowledge of the school layout, he knew his locker combination and had practiced getting into it, he had walked his schedule and knew where to go...so much about his first day of school telegraphed "I'm ready."
I don't think he's been awake that early since; the proto-teen enjoys his sleep too much and now is rolling out of bed with 10 or 15 minutes to go until I take him to the bus. He's gotten one progress report so far, and it's an A- in English (which for him is amazing)--his English teacher writes, "David is a delight in class [...] very kind and giving to the other students." He's been able to stay on top of the homework (as far as we can tell). From this early perspective, it looks like the transition is going well.
And I know, too, that it won't be long before the memory of him climbing aboard a school bus for each of his first days of school at a new school will be joined by the memory of him waving goodbye in the rear-view mirror as we drop him off for freshman orientation at college. It's difficult to think that that day is closer at hand (six years off) than was that first day of kindergarten. But for now, the next adventure has begun. It will be an adventure, too, I am sure.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Our $4,195 Dishwasher
Our dishwasher died this summer.
It had been in the house when we moved in six years ago, and I have no idea how old it was before then, but it looked like it had been around awhile. This summer it stopped draining; we had a plumber out to see if it was a problem with the drain line, because we were also worried about the kitchen sink not draining right. Nope, he said, the drain line's fine, it's just stopped working right. Oh, that'll be $95.
Sigh. So we began a ritual of handwashing dishes for the first time in years, and I got in trouble for not having bought the right brand of dish soap (Palmolive, apparently, rocks). We did the research, looked at options, and wound up going to Lowes in late July, where Mary picked out a nice new Bosch dishwasher. We bought the dishwasher ($640) and the installation-and-removal service ($100), and waited to be able to put away the inferior dish soap for good.
Came the day of installation, and Mary was home to welcome the plumber who dropped it off. He took one look at our old one and said, "Uh oh," and went to get a tape measure. He returned with the bad news: because of the way the previous owners had put down the wood floor in the kitchen (over top of the old one), there now wasn't enough clearance between the subfloor (that the dishwasher sits on) and the main floor to be able to pull out the old one, let alone get the new one to fit. He measured and, yes, the space under the counter was big enough, but the flooring was just blocking the way. His advice: we'd bought such a nice, long-lasting washer that we shouldn't return it, but we needed to (a) shim up the countertops all the way around, or (b) remove the wood flooring in front of it, so he could angle out the old dishwasher and get the new one in.
We discussed shimming up the countertops, which was perhaps the first choice as easier to do. But after talking with our contractor, Harry, we changed out minds. He pointed out that not only would there be plumbing challenges in raising the countertop, but our backsplash would possibly separate and/or tear the wallboard behind it. Uck. He gave us the name of a flooring guy; Harry's thought was we could pull out a patch of the hardwood floor, slide out-and-in the dishwashers, then replace the floor.
The floor guy came out Monday night for an estimate. Oh no no no. Our flooring is tongue-in-groove, and so once they start pulling it out, they can't put the same wood back in...they would need to use new wood, in which case it would really look like a patch there in front of the dishwasher and sink.
Now, Mary and I had talked before about maybe someday replacing the wood floor in the kitchen and breakfast room, which takes heavy traffic and looks it. So we looked at each other and then asked, Well, how much difference would it be between doing the patch and doing the whole floor?
The flooring guy made some measurements, did some calculator dancing, and came back with a figure of $3200 to do the entire kitchen and breakfast room. We looked at each other again, sighed, and said, Sure, let's do it.
So yesterday was the ear-splitting din of contractors ripping out our old flooring (and the mid-80s vinyl and plywood that was underneath it), and correctly installing new flooring in the kitchen and breakfast room. We arranged for the plumber to come back in the middle of the day to do the swapout, and so now we have our new dishwasher *and* a new floor to go along with it.
They say it's always something when you're a homeowner, and this just goes to show it for us. It's amazing how a $640 dishwasher became a $4,195 project, but it did. It's in, it works, the floors are gorgeous, and with the Bosch, it's our hope that we never have to pull it out of there someday. But if we do, we at least have the flooring installed correctly, which should mean we can do it without repeating this whole saga.
And now to replace the rest of the windows, the front door, and the backyard sliding door...
It had been in the house when we moved in six years ago, and I have no idea how old it was before then, but it looked like it had been around awhile. This summer it stopped draining; we had a plumber out to see if it was a problem with the drain line, because we were also worried about the kitchen sink not draining right. Nope, he said, the drain line's fine, it's just stopped working right. Oh, that'll be $95.
Sigh. So we began a ritual of handwashing dishes for the first time in years, and I got in trouble for not having bought the right brand of dish soap (Palmolive, apparently, rocks). We did the research, looked at options, and wound up going to Lowes in late July, where Mary picked out a nice new Bosch dishwasher. We bought the dishwasher ($640) and the installation-and-removal service ($100), and waited to be able to put away the inferior dish soap for good.
Came the day of installation, and Mary was home to welcome the plumber who dropped it off. He took one look at our old one and said, "Uh oh," and went to get a tape measure. He returned with the bad news: because of the way the previous owners had put down the wood floor in the kitchen (over top of the old one), there now wasn't enough clearance between the subfloor (that the dishwasher sits on) and the main floor to be able to pull out the old one, let alone get the new one to fit. He measured and, yes, the space under the counter was big enough, but the flooring was just blocking the way. His advice: we'd bought such a nice, long-lasting washer that we shouldn't return it, but we needed to (a) shim up the countertops all the way around, or (b) remove the wood flooring in front of it, so he could angle out the old dishwasher and get the new one in.
We discussed shimming up the countertops, which was perhaps the first choice as easier to do. But after talking with our contractor, Harry, we changed out minds. He pointed out that not only would there be plumbing challenges in raising the countertop, but our backsplash would possibly separate and/or tear the wallboard behind it. Uck. He gave us the name of a flooring guy; Harry's thought was we could pull out a patch of the hardwood floor, slide out-and-in the dishwashers, then replace the floor.
The floor guy came out Monday night for an estimate. Oh no no no. Our flooring is tongue-in-groove, and so once they start pulling it out, they can't put the same wood back in...they would need to use new wood, in which case it would really look like a patch there in front of the dishwasher and sink.
Now, Mary and I had talked before about maybe someday replacing the wood floor in the kitchen and breakfast room, which takes heavy traffic and looks it. So we looked at each other and then asked, Well, how much difference would it be between doing the patch and doing the whole floor?
The flooring guy made some measurements, did some calculator dancing, and came back with a figure of $3200 to do the entire kitchen and breakfast room. We looked at each other again, sighed, and said, Sure, let's do it.
So yesterday was the ear-splitting din of contractors ripping out our old flooring (and the mid-80s vinyl and plywood that was underneath it), and correctly installing new flooring in the kitchen and breakfast room. We arranged for the plumber to come back in the middle of the day to do the swapout, and so now we have our new dishwasher *and* a new floor to go along with it.
They say it's always something when you're a homeowner, and this just goes to show it for us. It's amazing how a $640 dishwasher became a $4,195 project, but it did. It's in, it works, the floors are gorgeous, and with the Bosch, it's our hope that we never have to pull it out of there someday. But if we do, we at least have the flooring installed correctly, which should mean we can do it without repeating this whole saga.
And now to replace the rest of the windows, the front door, and the backyard sliding door...
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