Priorities

This pretty much says it all.

Feuding Sisters

The wife's younger sister called us yesterday morning: "I'm going to let The Boy and his girlfriend live here — they don't have anywhere else to go." I thought to myself, "seems like we've been here before." But the wife went:

BOOM

At this point, everything they said was raw emotion, and really not transcribable.

The kid came up, supposedly to collect his clothes. But the first words out of his mouth was "Where the hell are my CDs?" The weird thing is, I was sure he collected them last time he came over. Needless to say, this did absolutely nothing to improve the emotional atmosphere. He insisted he didn't have them, and that Lobster had seen them in the minivan before we took it to have the air conditioning looked at. I suggested they could have been stolen from the van, and he gave me a look that said he didn't want to think about that but it was too logical to ignore.

The A/C in the van, by the way, is toast. The insides of the compressor came apart and distributed themselves through the system. $2500 to fix a van that would be worth somewhere between $1000 and $1500 afterwards.

More about rain

I got curious about how much water a storm cloud can hold. Turns out to be a LOT. I decided to go with an inch of rain over a square mile: (5280x12)² cubic inches. That's about 17,378,725.5 gallons! Some of the tropical systems we got in the last month brought a lot more rain than that, and over a much wider area — easily multiple billions of gallons.

Those big dark clouds hold a mind-boggling amount of water.

Dog 1, Squirrel 0

Current music: Audible Experience with Kinetica – Orbital Grooves Radio

This actually happened some time B. B. (Before the Blog), but it's still amusing. It concerns one of our dogs, a highly-energetic Austrian Shepard mix named Buster. I call him Buster T. Butthead. In absolute terms, he's a moron. He's a dog. I repeat myself. But in dog terms, he's been known to display some smarts and even wit at times.

There was the time, for example, when he was lazing in his plastic doghouse when I came out to toss some peelings down into the woods. The back of the doghouse was facing me, so I veered over there and drummed on the roof. He came shooting out with a "What?!? What?!?" look. I laughed and walked on to toss the peelings. I heard a thumping noise, and turned around to find he'd turned the doghouse to face the garage; he had a big doggie grin that as much as said, "You won't catch me like that again!"

We usually keep him tethered to a 40-foot run in a shady area out back, letting him loose on occasion for a few days — until he forgets why he's been tied up and starts destroying the landscaping — then he goes back on the tether. During one of the tethered periods, a squirrel started coming out of the woods to visit him. The squirrel figured out, fairly quickly, that Butthead could only go so far and would stand just outside that line (kind of like in those Foghorn Leghorn cartoons) and chatter at him, just to tease him. Butthead would charge him, getting caught on the tether at the last moment. Then when he wasn't watching, the squirrel would run past him and go up the tree.

So one day, the wife let Butthead loose and watched him. He ran around for a while, then went back down to his doghouse and laid down like he was on the tether. Sure enough, here comes the squirrel. Butthead jumped up like he was on the leash, and the squirrel hopped back to the (supposedly) safe line. He stood up to watch the fun, but this time the dog just... kept... coming. She said the squirrel had about half a second to look surprised before it was All Over. Butthead carried the corpse around front and deposited it.

Since I'm at the office all day, I had no clue this stuff was going on. I didn't know about it until I saw the dead squirrel next to the driveway. That's the only time I've ever heard of a dog plotting to nail a critter.

I thought we had lots of rain here...

Current music: Jazzmusique

This is just amazing.

Officials say that more than 26 inches of rain fell in Mumbai on Tuesday.

One weather official said conditions were particularly bad because the rain had coincided with high tides.

Twenty. Six. Inches. It's pretty serious — at least 200 people dead by drowning or mudslides.

The Guinness World Records doesn't mention the greatest daily rainfall, but it lists the highest monthly total at 366 inches (also in India) — in July 1861.

It's about to rain here, but not 26 inches worth.

ADDENDUM: Our rainfall for July was 10 inches above normal on the 15^th — about an inch short of the record (for here), and the month only half gone. But Mumbai got twice that amount in a day. You can tell I'm still boggled about it.

FAR Manor Food Service

Current music: RaveTrax Radio
Being a little short of cash this week, I had the wife pick up a few frozen dinners last time we went out for groceries (Marie Callendar is a babe! she fixes my lunch), figuring I could grab one on the way out. That worked out yesterday, anyway.

Last night, I'd started a batch of beer (rosemary stout, now fermenting nicely gurgle gurgle) when we get a phone call from the nephew who is just now getting his act together. Seems he was helping out a couple of people, driving them different places (sound familiar? not The Boy this time, anyway) and ran himself out of gas, out of food, pretty much Out. So he calls us, naturally, wanting money. Wife tells him no, but she would bring him some food & put some gas in his car. She wasn't feeling all that great, so I volunteered to go instead. I was at a convenient break point since I'd just finished boiling the rosemary and needed to let the water cool below 165°F before pouring in the mix.

Fortunately, for him and us, he very recently traded in his pickup truck for a car. Payment is the same, insurance is like $280 less, and he said the $25 I gas-carded to fill his tank was less than half what he was used to paying to fill the truck. So he got: my frozen dinners, a box of oatmeal & toaster goodies that I was going to take to work, most of a loaf of wheat bread I made last weekend, and the deli turkey. Of all that, I miss the breakfast stuff most, and it won't cost $4 to replace (I buy store brands).

So while talking to him, I found out why The Boy had been bumped out of the band: I wasn't the only one who had noticed him losing interest in his music after hooking up with his girlfriend. Pity. All that talent, and he's just letting it go to waste.

Beating the Heat

The heat index is reaching 100 or worse around here, and naturally the A/C is broken in my car. And naturally, making payments on FAR Manor means I can't afford to get it fixed. Seeing as the hot weather comes with a pronounced lack of rain, at least for a couple of days, I decided I'd be no worse off (and probably better) riding the motorcycle instead.

Morning was no problem; I wore a long-sleeved shirt (no jacket, which is very rare for me when riding) and was warmer than I expected. Already it was upper 70s and muggy.

The afternoon ride home required a little more preparation. I keep a t-shirt in the lateral cabinet under my desk; I put it over the seat mid-afternoon. With the sun not beating directly on the seat cover, it was no warmer than the air.

On the way out the door, I poured a cup of water in my helmet, sloshed it around, then put it on. What the lining didn't soak up went all over my shirt, exactly where I wanted it. Then I opened the vents and got moving.

Except for a couple of red lights that lasted much longer than needed, I was actually fairly comfortable most of the way home. The air blast cooled my wet chest, the long sleeves kept the sun off my arms, and the face shield kept the hot air blast off my face. The shirt was dry after about 25 miles, but by then I was on the shady part of my ride home and I only needed the wind.

Maybe I can install a swamp cooler in my car.

Meet the new boss

Current Music: Creation Steppin' Radio
With all the other stuff going on around FAR Manor, I haven't really thought much about impending changes at work. I don't plan to go into deep detail about the workplace, partly because they haven't created a blogging policy. I'll have to talk a bit about the industry, though, for you to make any sense of the following. It's the supply-side of the cable (CATV) business; the company I work for makes cable modems, eMTAs (cable modems with telephone lines built in), and CMTSs (what the cable modems and eMTAs talk to at the other end of the cable). I've been writing the manuals for all but one of the products.

There's a lot of noise from analyst-types about the "triple play" in the cable industry -- that is, data (cable modems), telephony (eMTAs), and digital TV. Lately, I've been devoted full time to the latter. We're building a box that can take a bunch of digital video streams, moosh them around in pre-determined ways, and send them down the cable to your home theater or whatever.

Lately, we've been selling so many eMTAs that the management felt it necessary to divide the company along product lines -- eMTAs on this side, all the headend (cable company) stuff on the other. Just as my former boss hired a contractor to take the eMTA load off me, I got moved to the eMTA side.

I'm not complaining (for a change) -- it looks like I'm going to have an honest-to-God budget and the freedom to roll out web and video editions of documentation. I've been griping for about 7 years that we need to put our documentation online; looks like it might finally happen.

It's a bloom! It's a wave! It's... FUNKY CACTUS!

One of the fringe benefits of FAR Manor, that I don't enjoy nearly as often as I ought, is a small outbuilding. It's one of those prebuilt sheds with sheet metal siding that they bring in on a truck and drop off; it's then up to you to add the Comforts of Home™. The original owner, the guy who bought the house, had it brought in and ran a small print shop in there. Thus, it's well lit (six flourescent fixtures, two tubes each) and has 120/240 volt power & an extension for the home phone. I use it for its workbench and sometimes veg out on the love seat I brought in.

Today and tomorrow are set to be the hottest of the year so far, mid-90s, so I finally broke down and went in to put the room air conditioner unit in the window. And here's what the cactus in the next window over was doing:



The light-colored part on top is all new growth. Sheesh, I just gave it a little water two weeks ago, you'd think it wouldn't be all that surprised. :-P

Here's a close-up:



Plants can do some weird things sometimes... and now the mint is blooming, shooting out a small blue cone-shaped flower. I'll post a pic of that when it fills out.

Come and dig my herbs

Current music: di.fm Goa-Psy

Like I've said, it's not a 24/7 suck-a-thon here at FAR Manor. I started a few herbs last year: mint, Greek oregano, rosemary, and sage. The first two went into a flower box that I could bring inside for the winter; the others went into the ground. Turned out there were two sage plants in the little pot, so I separated them and planted them both.

Everything thrived, so I added some more this year: parsley, marjoram, basil, and thyme. Given all the rain we've been having, everything is continuing to thrive. Basil especially seems to like lots of light and lots of water -- if it doesn't rain, I pretty much have to water it every day. I made some pesto with it already (it was GREAT by the way), and it took all of two days for the plant to sprout replacement leaves.

I've included a macro shot of the oregano in bloom. I think it's cool how the buds look like tiny green roses. Actual size is about 2mm across.

Lobster on the Boil

Current music: Transonic - Space After (on Groove Salad)

In all the excitement with The Boy, I neglected to mention that Lobster has been rather scarce this week. Scarce, as in I hadn't seen him at all. Wife-o-licious saw him once or twice as he came in long enough to grab something and leave.

So some phone calls happened. The fast-food joint he works at sent him home because he was too tired to work (think going face-down in the fry machine... bad news). Then they called here to tell him that someone had called to say the police had an APB out for him, for one. We were getting ready to go look for him ourselves, when his mom called and said he was over there. Yay!

Shortly thereafter, she calls again and says he's screaming and carrying on, so we pile in the van to go over there (expecting him to have flown the coop). He was still there, though. Wife called the sheriff to verify what I'd already guessed: the "APB" call was hot air. I have a pretty good idea who it was, but no proof.

So now we get the real story. He's been hanging out with The Boy and Boy's girlfriend pretty much all week, taking them wherever they want/need to go, and finally getting tired of being used like that. He was parked a little ways down the road the other night when Boy said he had walked all the way (told ya he was lying). Funny that he didn't take a guitar though... although I think with his hormones carbonated by the girlfriend, he's temporarily lost interest in his music. They stayed at one place for a few days before getting kicked out, and the girlfriend's crash pad doesn't have room for them. I don't know what The Boy is going to do about sleeping arrangements, but so far he hasn't tried coming back home.

So Lobster, at least, is realizing that he needs to keep his own head on straight and not enable his so-called friends (even if I'm talking about my own son here) to continue on their wrong path. Just in time; school starts in about 3 weeks. Funny, Lobster tells me there are several adults working at the fast-food place who still act like The Boy. "Yeah," I said, "and they're still working in a fast-food joint. That's fine for high school, but don't you want more out of life?" He nodded.

Well, I have a brother who was 30 before he got his act together, and my nephew is just now getting at least a veneer of respectability at 23, but neither of them have the diabetes complication. I just have to keep remembering it's in God's hands.

Answered prayer

Current music: Groove Salad

One of the last coherent thoughts I had before falling asleep last night was praying that The Boy would get serious about dealing with his diabetes, and wondering if I was even getting through to God.

So at 3:30 this morning, we were wakened by a tapping on the window. He'd returned to pick up a bag he'd packed Saturday — apparently he was planning the move-out before his tantrum. Before I could say anything, he filled a zip-lock bag with ice and put his insulin in it. He claims to be living with "a rich guy" about 30 miles away; he also claimed to have walked the entire distance and was going to walk back. Riiiiiiight -- if this "rich guy" is buying him clothes and letting him stay with him, why didn't he loan the kid a car? He's either staying close by or had someone waiting for him a little ways down (probably the former; he would have taken a guitar if he wasn't going to walk too far).

He also told me he was probably going to marry his girlfriend once he's 18... probably to shock me. I wanted to counter-shock him by telling him to not have kids, but refrained because of his bullheadedness. Given his ego and congenital lying, and her being not so bright, that combination would give us something much like GW Bush.

The important thing is, he's at least thinking about what he needs to survive for now. Maybe he'll stay out of the hospital.

The Boy leaves... again

Current music: radioio80s

The latest chapter in the soap opera that is my son.

Since he's been home the last few weeks, we've been going around & around with when we expect him to be home, who he's with (especially the girlfriend who's three years older than him), what he's doing, all the basic parental stuff. Naturally, to him this is thoroughly unwarranted interference in his private life. Any restriction whatsoever means we don't want him going anywhere or doing anything. Then there's the constant lying, and justifications when he's caught, and constant demands to use a vehicle (and paying for gas is always "later"), and never getting home when he says he'll be here.... You get the idea.

The problem with the girlfriend is that he keeps bringing her here to stay for the night. She has a place to stay -- her mom is a serious piece of work, but she's staying with a friend -- so there's really no reason for her to be here constantly. Especially when we tell him to not bring her here for the night (well, we got here at 6:30 a.m., so it wasn't overnight, was it?). Then she hands him cigarettes, in plain site of The Wife, after we've both told her specifically not to do that.

So Saturday morning, we took her back to her place and started toward the retail district for lunch. Wife says, "I guess we'll get a restraining order to keep her away from you, since she's contributing to the delinquency of a minor."

BOOM

Within three seconds, he was in a full-blown tantrum, screaming obscenities at us and demanding that we stop the car and let him out. He actually opened the side door, at 45mph. I thought he was going to jump -- I saw him jump -- which would have killed him most likely, but he didn't. I told him we'd stop at the next intersection since there was another vehicle behind us and he continued to scream and curse and demand we stop right now until we actually got to an intersection about a mile up the road.

He turned, kicked at the door (a slider, not a swinger), then jumped out, screamed at us a little more, then slammed the door and started walking back the way we had come (presumably to the girlfriend's). That's the last we've officially heard from him, although he called Lobster and asked him to bring some clothes over. He didn't say anything about insulin, though.

Speaking of insulin, I found his glucose meter and had a look at it. He took his last reading on Friday, and it was over 400 then (very bad news). I figure he'll be in the hospital in two weeks... I hope it's a wake-up call instead of a permanent sleep. He can't stay with us and continue to treat us the way he has, I just pray he gets his act together sooner than later.

Fire in the hole(s)

So a week ago, wife-o-licious was mowing the lawn while I was splitting logs (more on that later) and ran the mower over a yellow jacket hole. These little barstids seem to think that just because they dig a hole in the ground, they own the ground around it. She got stung on the hand, which swelled up rather alarmingly but just on this side of having to do something about it. The hole was easy to locate, being next to an above-ground root, but with all the rain we've been having there wasn't anything we could do about it immediately.

Now last weekend, I'm splitting logs again. We had one group come and cut down some trees in the back yard that were leaning toward the manor, while another was cutting pines down in the woods. So group #1, not wanting us to get paid by group #2 for the timber, cut the logs into 6-foot lengths instead of the 12-foot lengths we requested. I decided I'd split the logs down to 6 inches so we can rent the biggest baddest chipper-shredder that Home Depot has to offer and make lots o' mulch. So I dragged a log out of the brush at the edge of the woods, and quickly noticed yellow jackets swarming not eight feet away. I high-tailed it out of there, coming back a little later to locate their hole.

Finally, a dry early night. Yellow jackets go down with the sun. So armed with a flashlight, a gallon of gas, and a box of matches, we marched to battle. It was a rather one-sided affair: locate the hole, pour in two quarts of gas, toss a lighted match in its general direction. FWOOMP! Burn baby burn!

I paid way too much for FAR Manor. I'm not sharing it with any wasps besides the one I married. :-P

More wetness

We weren't finished drying out from Cindy when Dennis came by. Oh sure, the center of Dennis was over in the next state or two, but that didn't stop us from getting just shy of 4 inches of rain in two days, and another half-inch the next day.

Being on top of a hill, FAR Manor isn't prone to floods. (If there's ever a flood that nails us here, call for Noah.) However, we do have a gravel driveway, and the heavy rain washed much of it down to the bottom. It actually took less time than I expected with a shovel and rake (no implements of destruction, unfortunately) to fill in the newly-created creek bed and knock down some high spots. If Wife-o-licious runs over it a few times with her barge (aka Nissan Pathfinder), that should pack it down good & solid.

Drying out

The tropical system formerly known as Cindy came wandering by here overnight. I got all the plants in last night, figuring they didn't need to float away.

A bunch of rain, some thunder, very little wind. My rain gauge had almost 4 inches of water in it, although there was probably 1-1/2 inches sitting in it from previous rains this week. So we came in on the low side of the predicted 2 to 4 inches of rain.

Not much flooding this time, certainly nothing like last year. But it's only early July, and we've already had as many tropical systems come to visit as we did last year. Looks like Dennis the Menace is already a major (Category 3) hurricane a couple of days in front of hitting the Florida panhandle, and each forecast update has shifted its track this way. Luuuuuuvly.

Background info

I didn’t actually write anything on the blog in June 2005, so I’m using June for background information. If you’re new to Tales from FAR Manor — first, thanks for stopping by. Second, you might want to read down the list to get an idea of who’s who and what’s what.

FAR Manor’s Denizens and Peripheral People

This post has been superseded by the page, Who ARE These People? — I’ll leave this page up for anyone who has linked to it for whatever reason, but it’s not likely to be updated. Last update was October 2009.

Like any soap opera, Tales from FAR Manor revolves around a core group of people, depicting their relationships, with occasional guest appearances from outside folks. These are all real people, although I’ve changed the names primarily to protect the minors.

FARfetched is, of course, your narrator and correspondent: a particularly handsome and intelligent devil, lurching into middle age and mostly pretending it’s not happening. If only it were easy to trade excess poundage for more rest and more free time. My trade is technical writing, and I’m a bit of a gearhead.

Mrs. Fetched, aka “the wife,” SWMBO, or Wife-o-licious, is... well, my wife. I’ve only been married once and have no intention of repeating the experience. We’ve been married 24 years now. She’s a Type A, and I’m not, and that’s all I think I need to say here. It’s because of her that we live at FAR Manor; the property used to belong to her parents and they went berserk when it went up for sale. So they drove her crazy, and she about drove me crazy telling me we had to buy this place (which happened, over my objections, but I still have to pay the mortgage). Her primary work is her parents’ chicken houses, although she does get some video editing work on occasion (I’m her free tech support).

The Boy, aka “Offspring #1,” is the older of our two children. He turned 21 at the beginning of this year (2009). He’s a Type II diabetic, although they initially thought he was Type I at his onset in March 2004. After losing a good bit of weight (he now weighs less than I do, good job!), the docs switched him from four-a-day insulin shots to pills and one shot per day. He’s very talented in visual and musical art, and plans to be a rock star eventually. At least he’ll be able to design his own album covers. Currently, he’s working night shift in a nearby chicken processing plant (we can’t get away from the $#@!! chickens), cleaning the machines. He’s emotionally a lot like his mom, which I think is the source of a lot of the conflicts between all of us. But I could be wrong.

Daughter Dearest is the second (and last, we made sure of that) child. She’s 20, and a sophomore at Reinhardt College University. Her talents are music (very good soprano, she started singing as soon as she could talk a little), photography (she borrows my camera), and burning up Facebook. She helps her mom at the chicken houses, when she’s home. Emotionally, she’s more like me I think.

We also have two cats and four dogs, which is enough cats and five dogs too many.

The peripheral “cast,” as it were, includes:

Snippet is The Boy’s current girlfriend. She’s 18 and the grandbaby-mama. She can act mature when she wants to, although she’s quite capable of acting her age (or less) — motherhood seems to be giving her the beginnings of a little perspective, though.


Mason is our first (and so far, only) grandson. He’s about six weeks old as I type this, growing like a weed and starting to take an interest in the world around him. His early life will likely be the source of much material for the blog.


DoubleRed is our current boarder. She’s easily the oldest of the non-family who has lived at FAR Manor since we moved here, but in very few respects the most mature. She likes to let her problems become everyone’s problems by dint of freaking out and whining until everyone around her gets tired of hearing it.

EJ has been a friend of The Boy’s for a long time, and has always been polite and responsible (attributes we wish most of his other friends had). He was one of our boarders, probably the only one we really wouldn’t mind keeping.


J is a friend of The Boy’s, about the same age, and into many of the same things, unfortunately. However, he doesn’t have as much of a problem being helpful and doesn’t wave his issues in our faces. He had a job, had a car, then wrecked the latter and thus had to quit the former. What is it with kids and lead feet anyway?

M.A.E. (Ms. Almost Einstein) is The Boy’s ex-girlfriend. She lived here from July 2005 to October 2006 — and for all the weird stuff that goes on around here, it’s probably one of the more stable situations she’s been in. She matured some while she was here, and I don’t think she’s as unintelligent as she believes. She’s living with a guy now, has a girl (Emma), and very happy about it all.

Big V is Mrs. Fetched’s younger sister. She lives fairly close by. We mostly have a pretty good rapport, although the events of the Summer of Discontent massively strained it for a while. Her two sons are Cousin Splat, about six months younger than The Boy, and P.O.D. (Prince of Darkness), who is 25 or so, married, and not quite growed up yet. Like The Boy, Big V also has diabetes, and does an even worse job than him of managing it. She will probably loose one or both feet sooner or later, probably sooner.

SPOW (Serious Piece of Work) is M.A.E.’s biological mother. Her nickname should tell you everything you need (or want) to know.

Lobster is a former boarder, our first actually. He and The Boy met at the private school they went to back when. He lives wherever he doesn’t have to follow anyone else’s rules, lost his job at KFC, lost his truck to repossession, lost another job at Wal-Mart, and has mostly dropped off our radar.

Mr. Sunshine is Mrs. Fetched’s (and Big V’s) brother. Like most of his family, he doesn’t have much respect for other people’s opinions, and has led a my-way existence for most of his life that has taken him absolutely nowhere. I’m afraid The Boy is heading down the same road, but with even less going for him because Sunshine finished school and has at least some vo-tech education. This year, he’s a truck driver… Lord knows what he’ll be doing next year. He also has a wife (Jam) and two boys (Brand X and Evil Lad NOT) at home (plus a daughter, long since married off).

There are others who haven’t appeared here too often; I’ll add descriptions as necessary.

Planet Georgia

If you Google for "two Georgias," you will find links to lots of articles that contrast Atlanta and the rest of the state. In the over 20 years I’ve lived here, I’ve found a different — more metaphysical than political — pair of Georgias. It’s like one of those Stephen King stories about how the barrier between worlds wears thin in some locales. C.S. Lewis wrote of this phenomenon in That Hideous Strength, where a nation (or state) can be torn by the conflict between two visions of how things should be.

One one hand, there’s the Georgia that gave us progressive heroes like Henry Grady, Jimmy Carter, and Martin Luther King, Jr.; poets like Sidney Lanier, musicians like Ray Charles, the Allman Brothers, Otis Redding... the Georgia that lives up to the words, “Wisdom, Justice, Moderation” on its state seal.

It seems impossible that the same place could inflict upon itself (and the world) a state legislature that is a perennial laughingstock — or worse, the likes of J.B. Stoner, the lynching of Leo Frank, and the sordid events of 1912 in “Historic” Forsyth County. This is Planet Georgia, where the “old times” of Jim Crow and even slavery are not only not forgotten, but held up as an ideal; where there are enough knuckledraggers, who like the old state flag with the Confederate emblem, to swing elections. Here, the only place you can find wisdom, justice, or moderation is on the state seal.

Unfortunately, in the struggle for the soul of the state, Planet Georgia is currently prevailing. I don’t know if things will change for the better in my lifetime.

In, Out, In, Out...

It didn't take more than a couple of nights for the boy to realize he can't get too far without us either loaning him wheels or driving him everywhere (naturally, he prefers option #1). With three days left in the school year, he missed the first of them. The principal let all concerned know that he wouldn't pass 11^th grade if he blew off the last week of school, truncated though it is. Since he slept in (he's 17, can't even get himself out of bed, and thinks he can take care of himself — yeah right), he decided he needed to spend the rest of the week with us. So he made it the rest of the week. Whew!

So we laid down some rules that we expected him to follow while he lived with us. As I read them off, I got the expected (but still annoying) “no... no... no...” He Just Doesn't Get It.

Meanwhile, he kept trying to change the subject to his CD collection. SWMBO, after listening to a couple of them, decided to confiscate the whole bunch. He thought she'd destroyed them, and he has been demanding $500 to replace them. He owes us a bunch of money for repairs to the van (after bopping a street sign) and my car (tearing the muffler off), and was hoping to weasel out of it that way. I told him today that he'll get the CDs back after he pays us back. “Why can't you give me the CDs and I pay you back later?” Because you've proved you can't be trusted, that's why.

He seems to think he ought to be able to live with us, use our vehicles whenever he pleases, come in when (or if, like last night) he pleases, and be rude to us when (not if) he pleases. Nope. I'm about >< that far from just not selling him my car at all. He can find something else (I know of two cars for sale for half what he needs for mine anyway).

He has also had the temerity to call SWMBO “crazy,” sometimes to her face. Huh. She's not the one who lives in a delusion, is obsessive, has violent outbursts, and thinks he can try the same failed tactic and succeed.

During all this “discussion,” I turned to the wife and said, “Taking a job in China teaching English or something sounds appealing right now.” She laughed.

Boy moves out, for now

The boy staying with the in-laws lasted exactly one night. Our nephew decided to have an undergraduate party to celebrate the impending end of school, and invited about six friends and relatives. Naturally, the guests invited friends, and so forth, and suddenly the body count was closer to 20 than 6.

My sister-in-law, not the most stable isotope in the periodic table, wasn't terribly thrilled that The Boy was actively participating in the party expansion (getting girls no less), and when they decided to go down to the pond on her dad's farm, she did what everyone else in the family does when they have a problem: call me. So I grabbed the cellphone and called his. Turns out they haven't gone anywhere... or at least, no farther than the bottom of the driveway. Sheesh. But at least he found out early, there are worse people than his mom to share a house with.

So while we're out attending a graduation ceremony on Saturday, and he starts calling us asking which car he can borrow to go to a movie. The answer: “none.” He's still not allowed to drive for some unspecified amount of time.

“But I made plans!” (Like that’s supposed to make us realize that taking away privileges for disobediance is Just Wrong.) Unfortunately for us all, he found the spare key to The Barge, the mid-size SUV She uses for the farm, and left. After all, he made plans, and that made it OK, right?

Needless to say, we weren’t happy campers when we got home and found The Barge missing. SWMBO told me to call him and tell him to get home right now. I did, he did, then he immediately told us he needed another car to pick up his friends at the theater. He Just Does Not Get It.

“I’m moving out tonight,” he says. “Fine with me,” She says. He walked out the door and started down the road (10 miles to anywhere from FAR Manor, remember). After letting him walk a few minutes, I called him and asked him if he wanted me to take him down to get his friends. He was OK, so SWMBO and I jumped in the van. He didn't want her coming, but didn't try to force the issue. We got his friends, took his girlfriend to Steak&Shake (where he works), then left him with the friend who said he could live there.

It gets better.
Today, he calls, wanting a vehicle so he could go to band practice. He decided to talk to his mom, kind of a surprise, and managed somehow to talk her into letting him use the minivan this afternoon. We went over there to drop it off and had a talk with him & the people he's staying with. He's probably going to come home in a few days... probably once we say he can drive around again.

I'll admit to having mixed feelings about the situation. Things are certainly quieter with him not here — I don't have to listen to his constant whining about needing the car for any excuse he can cook up. On the other hand, I really don't want him leaving just yet; he has the survival skills of an opossum on a busy freeway combined with the teenage angst that makes him not care. OK, maybe I'm exaggerating about his lack of survival skills, but he certainly hasn't demonstrated to us that he can take care of himself.

BOOM

The sky went BOOM last night about 3 a.m. The storms weren't bad in terms of wind or hail, but there was lots of lightning. But it kept us awake, until SWMBO thought to say, "did the boy come home?"

We got up & checked. No boy in bed, no minivan in the driveway. I called his cellphone, got his voicemail after about 6 rings (the cell coverage out here gets a bit flaky when the towers are getting hit by lightning, imagine that). Told him it was 3 a.m. and we needed to know where he was.

I got the call about 8 a.m., after She went to deal with the in-laws' farm. “I'm fine, I just got real tired coming home and stayed with Blake.” After reminding him he should have called, and pointing out that his mom was less than pleased, I went on to work. The other BOOM happened shortly thereafter.

So about 40 minutes later, I've stopped for gas before hitting the office and he calls me, trying to keep it together and not managing too well. “I guess I won't be seeing you anymore. I can't take living with Mom and I'm leaving.” And he was; actually walking down the road (and you have to go like 10 miles to get anywhere around here). I got him to agree to call the preacher to talk to him, knowing he wouldn't, and figured he wouldn't get too far anyway before he cooled off.

Turns out he's going to live with my sister-in-law. Not a bad arrangement; he's nearby and the accommodations won't be too dodgy. They're not the most stable people on the planet, but that seems to run in the family on Her side. Must be something in the water... but since I've been drinking the same water for 20 years now, I worry about me sometimes too....

Inconstantcy

So I got home last night, wife & kids are sitting there watching The Incredibles. No broken furniture (yes, the boy has gotten that mad) or other signs of warfare. Turns out that SWMBO expected me to tell him he lost the car. Yeah, right, like he would have come home at all.

Then, in the morning, she lets him use the car anyway because she's going to need the van. He started a new job at Steak&Shake today, about a week earlier than scheduled because “something came up” according to the manager (i.e. somebody quit). So he's picking up Lobster from KFC tonight.

This is another problem we've had around here: on several occasions, She blew up, pronouncing dire judgement in absentia while breathing fire and brimstone. Later on, I told him he can't do XYZ because She said so, not knowing that statement has become inoperative (as they say). I end up looking like an idiot. After a couple of those, I just quit trying to have anything to do with the discipline end of things. I'm not going to back her up if she's just going to kick me in the ass.

So tomorrow he's losing the car. This time for sure. Yeah, really. (Well, at least for a day or two; it'll be t-storming so the bike stays in the garage.)

And in the middle of typing this, my daughter (also a teenager) decides my back needs some zit removal. What a life.

The nuclear option

I suppose this is a good a time as any, my imaginary and real audience, to briefly introduce some of the cast of this unending one-act.

First, the wife, whom I will usually refer to as SWMBO or Her Imperial Highness on crappy days and Wife-o-licious on better days. Our teenage son is much like her — which is the source of much conflict and the basis of tonight's post. Then there's Lobster, the kid staying with us. (Don't ask me why I call him that; I don't think I know myself.)

Finally, my car. It's a lowered Honda Civic with a rather excessive sound system — in other words, a teenage boy's wet dream. The only reason I have such a thing is that our nephew needed to sell it so he could get a truck for his new job, and I needed a car with good gas mileage. The boy has pretty much appropriated it, tries to tell everyone it's his car, although he's only paid $60 toward the $1500 he agreed to. Lately, he's been driving it every-freeking-where — I don't think he goes anywhere without putting 200 miles on it.

So this afternoon, he agreed to help in the in-laws' chicken houses. Unfortunately, his concept of the verb “to help” is to do about a quarter of the job and then take off. After he was told not to go anywhere. Reeeeeeeeeeeal smart.

So he calls me up, wanting the gas card. “It's on E.” Well, duh, that's what happens when you spend every free moment and some not-so-free moments driving around. Wife says, “He's not driving that car anymore. He can take the van.”

To make sure he gets home, I told him, “I'll bring the card. You get gas and go straight home. I'll get Lobster.” The way I figure it, he's not driving the car anymore, so I'm not buying him gas here. So I'm in the KFC parking lot, borrowing the wireless signal from the Super8 motel next door, and avoiding the screaming match that is surely going on as I type. I'll probably still take the bike to work on dry days; it gets slightly better gas mileage than the car (42mpg vs. 40). Besides, he tore the muffler off the bottom of the thing a while back, going down a driveway we told him not to go down.

Nobody listens to nobody. That's probably two-thirds of the problems we have.

Just ahead of the storm

The siding on the gables was rotten at the bottom — I think the wood was wicking up rain running down the roof. They put flashing underneath, but didn't seal the bottom of the siding. The original stuff lasted 20 years, anyway.

On one gable, the builders put the flashing behind the plywood, so the plywood rotted too. More fun with the crowbar. Hey, it's not every day you get to take a crowbar to a house you didn't want. So Sunday, I was putting up the siding when I heard thunder. God, please give me some time, I said. Hurry up, He rumbled.

I finished putting the siding up, finding I'd cut the last piece backwards. Screw it. Up it went, I'll cut another piece later. I called the daughter, tossed down some tools and foam insulation then carried the drill down with me. The first gust of wind knocked the insulation out of her hands and we gathered it up. Got everything in the garage, then got inside.

About five minutes later, the bottom fell out. Rain came down in buckets, and the lightning was banging around pretty heavy. One shot hit 'way too close to the house for comfort; the power dropped out for a second and came back on. We got the computers and TV unplugged first, fortunately. As far as I'm concerned, lightning could have fried that TV to a crackly crunch... but then the rest of them would have been whining to buy an HDTV to replace it. Yeah right, like we have any freeking money for that kind of crap.

So a day later, the muscle aches are about gone. Riding the motorcycle to work has its benefits.