A BEAR OF A DAY

Afew weeks ago I saw the play All I Really Need to Know I Leaned in Kindergarten. One of scenes has a Holocaust survivor deliver a line something like, "You're confusing a problem with an inconvenience. What you have is an inconvenience, not a problem." Ah, yes. Last week I was bemoaning all sorts of problems. But they were really nothing. I have a new scanner to replace the one that passed away. I have a new desk chair with all the casters on. (I have only a small wound where I scraped my hand putting it together.) The body shop has put a new, properly painted bumper cover back on my car. There is only a very small mark on the windshield from the flying lumber. The church plumbing seems to be in repair, and I haven't fallen out of bed in a week. I really don't have problems. I wish I would learn that. I am running out of time to learn that lesson. As the old Pennsylvania Dutch saying goes, "We grow too soon old, and too late smart." True, true.

Last time I mentioned the accident that happened to Benny. Little Benny has only been with us two months. Everything seemed to be fine, until one night I noticed a gash in his forehead about an inch or so long. I have no idea how that happened. I couldn't find any sharp object that might have cut him. But there was the wound. I knew he'd have to have stitches. Poor thing. He's resting in my bed right now, and he's looking pretty good. You have to look closely to see where the stitches are. It's a good job if I do say so myself. I learned a thing or two about stitches from my grandfather who was a tailor. Yes, I stitched up Benny myself.

Now don't go getting upset and call up the AMA. I was not practicing medicine without a license. Benny is not a human being. He isn't even a real animal. He's a Teddy Bear, one of many that I have. Here's his picture.





Benny was a Christmas gift from Mrs. D. and Ang. I named him Benny after Jack Benny, the famed star of radio and TV. He studied music at the same school I studied at, The Chicago Musical College. (They've changed the name to The Chicago College of the Performing Arts, part of Roosevelt University. I have been upset at the name change since the Musical College was founded in 1867, almost 80 years before Roosevelt was founded.)

I didn't have a Teddy Bear when I was little. I had a Panda. They were very popular back then. I bought my first Teddy Bear around 1981 at the Burdines store in Miami. (Which now part of Macy's. And so is the famous Chicago store Marshall Field's. Why can't they leave the name of things alone? I'm listening right now to a radio program saying they are thinking of renaming Wrigley Field where the Cubs play. Blasphemy! Back to the bears.) These were the Bialoski Bear line. I added a name (not changed the name) so that MY particular bear is named Alexander Bialosky Bear.





I have several children's books with stories about Bialosky, a Bialosky address book, and a Bialosky baking book, and a Bialosky 25th Anniversary Calendar. You will note from the picture that Alexander is an avid reader.

Since Bialosky, I seem to have accumulated quite a collection of bears. Here's some more pictures. First, the three Holy Bears.




Next Monk Bear and Chorister Bear.




Then Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus Bear.



And here is Wizard Bear with his favorite Hary Potter pillow. I found him at the Bear Orphanage (resale store) and rescued him. Last year I was at the Teddy Bear store and found the Wizard outfit for him.





And then there is another newcomer, Vermont Teddy Bear. My brother-in-law found him at the Teddy Bear Orphanage. He's a bit of a problem since he is always raiding the pantry to get at the maple syrup.





And finally for now, the bears.






I have some other characters who live with me, but I'll save their mug shots for another time.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.


Wayne

FATE AND THE TOILET SEAT

The Romans believed in fate, sometimes personified as the Fates, three sisters who spun out life from a distaff, measured it, then cut it off. Your fate was your fate. There was nothing you could do about it. Even the gods couldn't control the Fates. Naturally, as a Christian I don't believe in fate. I'm not sure how things like providence and predestination might fit with fate, but I just ignore that branch of theology. However, recent experiences have suggested the possibility that some sort of powers somewhere don't like me. Maybe it's space aliens pointing a bad-luck ray in my direction or maybe a wizard from Slytherin House practicing jinxes on me, but something fiendish is happening.

I've mentioned the accident at the dentist's office that left my car dented and the expiration of my scanner. I have not mentioned two casters breaking off my desk chair or the flying piece of lumber that hit my windshield on the interstate, but I shall omit those tales of woe and only recount today. This day, this very day, has been a disaster from the get-go. You've heard about getting out of bed on the wrong side? Well I got out of bed on the right side (literally) but the wrong way. I swung my legs out of bed and just as my right foot touched the floor, I got a terrible cramp in my leg which promptly folded under me landing me on the floor. As I went down I somehow kicked the laundry basket. It went up in the air and dumped dirty clothes on me, the bed, and probably several places I haven't discovered. Fortunately, I avoided the basket itself as it made its return trip to earth. Off to a great start.

The bed disaster was followed by the breakfast fiasco. I follow a regular morning routine–first taking pre-breakfast meds. Second, turning on kettle and preparing tea pot. Third, morning ablutions. Fourth, pouring boiling water on tea leaves and preparing breakfast and lunch. Fifth, with the tea now properly steeped, breakfast and with-food meds. Today I hobbled to the bathroom to take pills. Hobbled to kitchen to start the tea. Hobbled back to the bathroom. Hobbled back to the kitchen, poured boiling water, made breakfast and lunch, poured out first cup of tea. Except it wasn't tea, only hot water. I hadn't put any tea leaves in the pot. Well, that had to be remedy, but it threw my routine out of sync. It wasn't until this evening that I realized I had forgotten one hobble back to the bathroom for pills. I did not take the ones for arthritis (so now my knees ache as well as my leg) nor the little pink "serotonin uptake inhibitor" (my happy pills). Wounded, aching, and grumpy, I was ready to face the day.

I had to get to church early to fix the toilet seat in the ladies room before the ladies started turning up for the 11:30 service. Somehow a bolt had broken, and there was no way to replace just the bolt. I had purchased a fine, new seat yesterday, so it was going to be a quick job, fifteen minutes, tops. I got out my trusty collection of hex wrenches, found the one that fit, put it on the nut, turn, turn, turn, twist, twist, twist, and nothing. I tried again. No progress. Maybe I was turning it the wrong way. It's hard to know when your doing something upside down. I worked it out in my head. Yes, I was turning it the right way. Again, turn, turn, turn, twist, twist, twist. Still nothing. I grabbed hold of the bolt with my left hand and turned the wrench with my right to discover that the bolt was turning with the nut. The dreaded frozen nut problem. I tried holding on to the bolt with pliers; no good. I got a pair of vise grips and set about adjusting it to hold on to the bolt. Unfortunately, the adjusting knob on the vise grips seemed to be rusted so I had to use the pliers to turn the knob. No matter how I adjusted the knob, the dagnabbed grips were either too loose or too tight. And when I finally did get it on and then got the wrench on the nut, there was absolutely no improvement. This called for a more advanced approach–WD-40.

The solution to a good many problems is a squirt of WD-40. I may try it on the keritosis on my hands. It can't be any worse than the poisonous stuff the doctor prescribed. Of course the WD-40 is kept in the shed with the lawnmowers at the far end of the property. And first I had to find the shed keys. I'm not sure why. If you sneezed too hard, the shed door would fall off. I think the purpose of the lock is to hold the door on rather than keep people out. I also went to get a safety light so I could see better. There is no light in the ceiling of the ladies room. There are only four bulbs over the mirror and they don't shed much light into the stall. And of course working on the underside of the toilet adds to the darkness. To my dismay, the miracle cure WD-40 did not help one little bit. There was only one solution left: tear off the plastic doohicky (technical term) that holds the other end of the bolt. This should be simple, I thought, since the bolt is already loose and turning around inside and, besides, the other one fell off all by itself which created this problem in the first place.

There is a cardinal rule about repairs: NOTHING IS EVER SIMPLE! I tried everything I could to tear that sucker off–screw drivers, cold chisel, claw hammer, and vocabulary no man of the cloth should ever use. Nothing had the slightest impact on it.The designers of armored vehicles should talk to the toilet seat people. They're on to something that's nearly indestructible.

I was ready to admit defeat. I had been at this little project for almost two hours except for a break to practice the hymns for the noon service. I was sitting on the floor of the ladies room when three-year-old JC appeared in the open doorway. "What you doing?" he asked. He's a wonderful kid, smart, curious, and verbally precocious. I get along well with him since we have several common interests–trains, tools, cookies, and taking things apart. He knows I have a train set at church for him (although he really prefers the street cars in my office.) Yesterday he went through my tool box sorting everything according to his own classification system: white things in one compartment (he actually uses the word compartment), screws and nails in another, everything else everywhere else. (His grandfather taught him well.) He is also aware that I know where the cookies and crackers are kept. And today, discovering me obviously taking something apart–paradise.

Unfortunately for him, there would be no taking things apart right then. The adults had to work on designing a new church brochure. Looking back, however, maybe if I had given him a wrench he could have gotten the toilet seat fixed. After all, he knows how to work the DVD so a bolt and nut would be child's play. Sometime in the midst of the design work the phone rang. It was the body shop that was going to fix my car. Would I please bring my car back in? The dealer that sold me the car was unable to tell the body shop what the paint number was for my car, so they were unable to paint the bumper cover which was necessary to repair my vehicle. Upon hanging up, I uttered a blood curdling scream and cursed idiocy, incompetence, and moronic car dealerships.

By now I was losing my grip on things. I asked everyone coming to the service if they happened to have a hacksaw blade on them, for it was clear that was the only way to get dad-gummed thing apart. Shockingly, no one was carrying the required hardware. Isn't anybody prepared for an emergency anymore? Suppose terrorists from People for the Ethical Treatment of Eggplants took you hostage because you had once made ratatouille. Wouldn't it be nice to have a hacksaw blade up your sleeve so you could free your self from a dungeon? Well, the hacksaw would have to wait as would the ladies whose facility was temporarily out of order.

I dashed out after lunch to get a hacksaw blade. This would be simple. Aha! I had forgotten the cardinal rule of repairs. NOTHING IS EVER SIMPLE! The first store had no blades. The second one had them, but they had been placed on the display rather after the fashioned employed by some folks in putting tinsel on a Christmas Tree. They appeared to have been thrown higgley-pigley on the rack in no apparent order, none of them matching the little signs that were supposed to tell you blade was on what hook. I finally found what I wanted and got back to the church far later than I had planned. (Thanks Curt and Rita for guarding the building until I got back.) A few minutes of sawing (which amazingly resulted in no injuries) and the bolt was off. A few more minutes and the new seat was on. A few more minutes and help arrived with tools to remove the bolt. (Merle is a great guy, always willing to lend a hand. If he hadn't been bowling with the church group, he'd have been right there doing the job himself. Thanks!)

Now there was time for a bit of pastoral work (writing a report that should have been done a week ago) and conducting the evening service. "Now, the day is over. Darkness draweth nigh." And finally I arrive back home only twelve-and-one-half hours after I left. Peace, perfect peace–except for two messages on the answering machine. One is from a church member complaining about something I have absolutely nothing to do with. The other is from my insurance agency wanting me to call. Now what?

It will all have to wait until tomorrow, because I want to get today's story down while I can still remember it all. Oh, wait. I've left out the part about the gash in Benny's forehead that needed stitches. I'll save that for another time.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.


Wayne

CURSES!

I had a short blog with some pictures for this week, but my scanner stopped working. Now I have to find a scanner that will work with Windows 98SE. I'll get you, Vile Computer, and your little scanner Fritzo, too.
BWAHAHAHAH!

SNAPE-LIKE

OY VEH!

It's been one of those weeks that runs from one crisis to another. Time is exceedingly tight between Ash Wednesday and Easter, but a bunch of things turned up that demanded solutions immediately. Each step to provide solutions ran into hurdles and barricades. Who would believe that the price quoted to run a tiny help wanted ad in the local paper would be quoted at over $400. I think the same ad three years ago was only about $60. Are they nuts? And to top it off, I was at the dentist this week and someone backed their truck into my car smashing the bumper. So it's been hours with the insurance company and more hours still to run and fussing with a body shop, and on and on and on. As Snoopy would say, BLEH!

I needed some diversion, so I was browsing some Harry Potter sites when I came across one of those on-line quizzes, Harry Potter Character Compatibility Test. I could tell the test was very well constructed. It was quite like a Meyers-Briggs or even a MMPI personality test. So here are my results. (If I've put the code in correctly.)

Harry Potter Character Combatibility Test created with QuizFarm.com

You scored as Severus Snape You are Severus Snape. You are solitary, subtle, and secretive. Very few people truly know you. You do not give your loyalty easily. It is difficult for people to analyze you, for you refuse to betray your inner feelings. Severus Snape 75% Albus Dumbledore 72% Neville Longbottom 72% Luna Lovegood 69% Percy Weasley 66% Remus Lupin 66% Hermione Granger 56% Ron Weasley 50% Bellatrix Lestrange 47% Oliver Wood 38% Harry Potter 34% Lord Voldemort 28% Sirius Black 28% Draco Malfoy 28%

So I am most like Snape. That doesn't surprise me. Nor does my similarity to Dumbledore, Longbottom, Lovegood, or Percy Weasley. I am relieved to find I am unlike Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black, or Lord Voldermort. I knew I wouldn't be much like Harry himself, (I am not the heroic type.) I'm not at all sporty like Oliver Wood. I'm too much a loner to be the faithful, but stupid sidekick, Ron Weasley. I can see that I would have some characteristics like Hermione, but I was never a swot, and I hope I have never been as insufferable as she. The puzzling thing is that I am 66% like Remus Lupin, the Werewolf-teacher-outcast, and 47% like Belatrix Lestrange, the insane devotee of Voldermort.

Well, I have always admired Helena Bonham Carter who played Belatrix in the movie. No, let me rephrase that. I have liked some of the characters she played, especially Lucy Honeychurch in A Room with a View. I understand her true personality is quite different from the characters she played in the Merchant-Ivory films. Her portrayal of Belatrix was about as much over the top as possible. No subtlety in that performance.

Well, acting aside, I can't see the least connection between my personality and Belatrix. We should be about 0.1% compatible.

Remus is another story. He's a decent person–which I'd like to think I am. It's just that unfortunately he happens to be a werewolf. We are meant to have pity for him. Strangely, I think that was also true of the way Lon Chaney Jr. portrayed the werewolf in the old horror movies. It wasn't his fault he killed people. He didn't ask to be a werewolf.

Now, Severus Snape is an intriguing character. From his very first appearance in The Philosopher's Stone, Rowling tried to make him a dark, malicious character, but with a tiny hint of something better about him. Try as she might, however, most readers never believed he was as bad as he seemed. You'd never believe there was anything good about Voldermort, or the obnoxious Dolores Umbridge, or Lucius Malfoy, but Snape was different. As nasty as he could be, as much as he wanted to be completely in league with Voldermort, there was always something pulling him away from the dark side. Only late on do we discover it was his unexpressed affection for Lily, Harry's mother, that tugged at him emotionally.

The quiz characterizes Snape (and myself) as being solitary, subtle, and secretive. That's true. It also says, "You do not give you loyalty easily." What that misses is that once the loyalty is given, it is inviolable. Snape was completely loyal to Dumbledore. I think that is true of me, though maybe not so absolutely. I don't make friends easily or even willingly because I believe one owes a very high level of commitment to a friend, loyalty, if you will. I certainly don't have the emotional or spiritual resources to make a deep level of commitment to a whole bunch of people. Neither did Snape.

Isn't it interesting what you can find about yourself in fiction.

May the Lord God bless you on your way and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne