Category Archives: It’s My Life

The Water Bottle

waterbottle.jpgIn 1981, I watched the first round of the NCAA tournament in the hospital. Which reminds me of my evil nemesis, now vanquished. The Water Bottle.

I’ve always been mechanically inept. For the most part. There are things I can do, including some basic computer hardware stuff, and I’m great at putting up shelving. But for most other things–not so much. 

The premier demonstration of my ineptitude was that infernal water bottle I tried to install on my ten-speed back in high school. It was a white plastic water bottle, with a few pieces of hardware to attach it to the bike. Installation didn’t require an engineering degree. The instructions were clear, or as clear as they can be when written by someone in Japan with minimal English skills. It should have been a simple task. My brother Stu could have done it in three minutes, blindfolded. Upside down. While being kicked by wild horses.

And yet….

And yet….

I couldn’t figure it out. I struggled mightily with that belligerant water bottle, trying to figure out how to attach it to the bicycle bar. I’m sure that, in my frustration, I kicked some things around and perhaps flung the bottle once or twice at the garage wall. My tribulation worked absolute no patience, such was the insidious evil of that bottle.

Finally, I gave up in frustration. The thing simply didn’t work. What other conclusion could I draw? I could not, with even my best effort, conquer the water bottle. It was most assuredly demon-possessed.

For some reason, I kept the bottle around. And there it was, six years later, now a college graduate, when I woke up with back spasms. The pain was intense. I couldn’t make it to the phone to call work, nor to answer it when my coworkers called to see where I was. So I lay there on the floor (I did make it to the floor) for three or four hours before my fellow workers came to check on me and the landlord let them in.

During that time, nature saw fit to call. I could see the toilet, just 10 feet away, but I couldn’t get there. What to do? Well…hold it. But that only works for so long, because nature is relentless, and God designed the human body without an internal evaporation system. So I had to think of something, and as it turned out, I thought of several options, none of them dignified.

Then I noticed the water bottle. Right there beside the bed. Probably never used. Certainly never used for its intended purpose, attached to a bike. Waiting, for such a time as this. My  ill fortunes now created an urgent purpose for that despised container which had so vexed my teenage soul years earlier. Why did I even keep this object of past torment? I don’t know. But now, it provided an answer to a pressing–and let me assure you, it was pressing–need. 

My only concern was–would it overflow? It didn’t. 

An ambulance came and took me to the hospital, where I remained for six days. People went back and forth to my apartment, retrieving my bathrobe and clothes and other stuff. Then I finally came home.

And there, sitting on the bedroom floor, was the white water bottle, cap firmly in place. And that was not Mountain Dew inside, fermenting for the past week.

I emptied it into the toilet, and decided I probably didn’t want to ever ever EVER use that water bottle. So I threw it in the trash.

And so ended the sad, purposeless, unfulfilled, but ultimately critically useful life of The Water Bottle from Hell.

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Bottoms Up

Trilyte300.jpg

There it is, 4 litres of Trilyte. In a few minutes, I must begin drinking it, 8 ounces every 10-20 minutes, until it’s gone. I left out the flavor packs, because I was told they are very sweet and can cause nausea. A mistake? When I pour that first glass in a few minutes and take a sip, I’ll know the answer to that.

So, let the fun begin.

UPDATE: Okay, that wasn’t so bad. Not nearly as bad-tasting as I expected, though all things considered, I’d rather have Gatorade. Gagged a couple times at first. The key is to take baby sips. I got ambitious on the last mini-gulp and almost spit out the whole thing, but managed to hold it. Good for me.

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One Consequence of Turning 50

Last week I turned 52. So I’m two years past-due for one of the rites of AARPdom.

On Tuesday morning, I have the distinct pleasure of undergoing my first colonoscopy. Which means tomorrow is prep day. No food. Just liquids. Juice (no pulp), Gatorade, Jello, chicken broth. I can’t do the broth. Doesn’t appeal in the least. Then, around 5:00, I start drinking 4 liters of stuff which my body will try to get rid of ASAP. I understand that this is the really fun part.

So yes, I’m looking forward to starting another week.

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There Will be Blood

This morning I went to Family Practice to give some blood for a regular test. I hate giving blood, even the little bit they need for these tests. Makes me grow faint. I usually end up with my head between my legs, eyes blurry, feeling weak and very un-macho.

Which is what happened this morning. As predicted. Based on long experience.

I am such a wimp. Guys, in general, are wimps when it comes to this kind of thing.

Pam went with me, both to hold my hand and to give her own sample of blood. She went first, just pumping the stuff right out and watching while she did it. Then, as if no life-strength had been sucked from her, she stood up while I underwent my ordeal.

Girls can be so disgusting sometimes.

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Getting Rid of the Hiccups

After we ate yesterday at Dog & Suds, Pam got the hiccups. And it reminded me.

I was probably in fourth grade at the time. Some TV show–it might have been Candid Camera–sent someone around asking people, “How do you get rid of the hiccups?”

One person said, “I think of seven bald-headed men.”

Sounds silly, but: it worked me me. I kid you not. I would start thinking about bald guys in our church, and the hiccups would go away. I didn’t even need to reach seven.

I’m serious. This worked for me. For years.

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$3.17

That’s how much we just paid for gas. Three dollars and seventeen cents. Per gallon. Right down the road at the 7/11 here in Oklahoma City, a few minutes from the airport.

I don’t care if it was cheap, as in low-quality, gas. We were just filling up the rental car before returning it to Avis in the morning. I haven’t seen $3.17 gas in a long long time.

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Friday Nite in OKC

MinistryCOM ended today. Tomorrow, Pam and I head to Branson for a few days. So what of our Friday night? We headed to Bricktown, a renovated area near downtown Oklahoma City with lots of restaurants, the Triple A baseball stadium, and other stuff.

  • Ate at Earls’ Rib Palace.
  • Walked around for a while.
  • Took a boat ride on the canal.
  • Got some ice cream at a Coldstone Creamery knock-off (good, but not as good as Coldstone).

Then we went to the Oklahoma City Memorial from the 1995 bombing of the FBI building. We’d been told that at night, it was lit up real neat. It was. An interesting memorial, but I desperately needed something to tell me what the various parts mean. I’m sure it’s on the internet somewhere.

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Prelude to MinistryCOM

Thursday and Friday, I’ll be in Oklahoma City for the MinistryCOM conference, billed as the “National Church Communications Conference.”

I attended two years ago in Phoenix and last year in Nashville. This year, I’m doing a workshop about writing. Twice (once each day). Really looking forward to that. Don’t get many chances to talk about my craft.

Most MinistryCOM attendees do communications for megachurches. It’s a highly competent bunch.

Then Pam and I are taking some vacation. I’ll be tackling three novels:

  • Cross, by Richard Patterson.
  • The Fifth Woman, by Henning Mankell
  • Die Trying, a Jack Reacher novel by Lee Child.

Probably won’t get through all of them, but it’ll be fun trying.

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We’re Prepared

I was told yesterday that one of the almanacs is predicting one of the coldest winters ever.

We have a new furnace and roof. Bring it on.

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The Van Wert Fair, 2008 Edition

Last night, Pam and I made our annual pilgrimage to the Van Wert County Fair. We figure this is the 20th (if not 21st) year in a row for us. We started coming at least one year before we were married, in 1989. Both of us had come to the fair for many years as kids. Probably crossed paths and didn’t know it.

We went with my brother, Stu, and his wife, Joyce. Their daughter Paula put in a couple appearances, tearing herself away from the tractor pull, which her husband, Tom, was engrossed in.

We were more interested in the Air Dog show–something new this year: dogs taking a running leap into a pool, trying to catch a toy thrown into the air by the dog’s owner. They had a contest. Each dog got two tries. If the dog caught the toy before hitting the water, they wrote down the measurement (one dog went 22 feet). The dog with the best combined measurement won.

I forget which dog one. But our favorite was a pit bull that leapt with maniacal abandon. The best pure jumper was a dalmatian. This was definitely a great addition to the fair.

Ate the usual stuff: Rager’s ham sandwich, a funnel cake, and finished with cherry ice cream. Tried a couple new things this year: the Venedocia Lion’s Club sausage sandwich, which rumor said was better than Rager’s (I’m not so sure), and a big helping of vanilla homemade ice cream.

Everything’s in the same place every year. The pony ride moved, but they posted a big sign to tell people, lest their world be traumatized.

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