I drove the RV. I really did it. I didn't run off the road, knock anything over, or scratch the side. I stayed between the lines, made great turn,s and stopped at the white line. And, Angela didn't have a worry. I was sure she'd be scared to death, white knuckled, and sure I'd kill us all. But she wasn't. She was calm, nice, and complementary.
Here I was ready to spend bundles of money to have someone else teach me, and I have a perfectly wonderful and FREE instructor - Angela, of course.
Shame on me.
I should have given her more credit. I should have trusted that her transition would have made the difference - and it has. Gone is the dictatorial, seething, near-shame based trainer. Instead, I had encouragement. I heard, "You're doing great.", "Keep it up.", and "Perfect." , and what's more, I got a kiss at the end of our drive.
"How about more lessons?" I asked.
"Tomorrow," she said.
What more could a spouse ask for?
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Nurse Ratchet or It Was The Ladder's Fault
I feed the birds at least three times a week. I use a step ladder every time. It only has two steps, so it isn't dangerous. . . unless there is a two-inch gap between the porch and the ground.
Yes, such is the lesson I just learned. You see, when one's hands are full of birdfeeder, one is not always paying attention to what is happening around one's feet. I can see quite plainly now that as I climbed onto the first step, I moved my step-ladder forward just far enough to let one leg hang over the edge. When I put my second foot up, that shifted my weight, and the whole contraption went over while I discovered that gravity works. My fall was nicely broken by my left elbow as it and the porch became acquainted. Indeed, I also proved that physics is alive and well. The force of my fall and the quick stop allowed the bones of my forearm to continue in motion. In fact, they moved right out of joint and continued on their way two-inches to halt when they'd streched the skin as far as it would go. Fortunately, they did not go any further.
Angela was Johnny on the Spot, or rather it was me, Jonni, who was on the spot, er ground, and she rushed to my aid as she called the ambulance. When it arrived, they bundled me inside and promptly took me to the nearby bustling Trauma Center. A dislocated elbow was not high on the list when gun wounds and knife victims took priority. Four hours later, I made it to the photographic suite where several lovely exposures of my misplaced bones were taken. Two more hours passed before two doctors worked exactly ten minutes to set my elbow. I was then reminded what Real Pain was, and yes, I ground off about 1/4th inch of my tooth enamel. More X-rays followed and I arrived home ten hours after I was signed into the emergency room. Angela immediately took the step ladder to the garage so I couldn't berate it with, "It was all your fault."
My T then became Nurse Ratchet: If I lifted a toothpick, she told me, "Don't do that." You must realize that I was in a half-cast, so I couldn't even move my fingers more than a half inch, much less alter my wrist or arm position.
If I got a glass of water, I heard, "I can do that for you." If I sat up in bed, her strident voice asked, "Can I prop you up?" If I moved a plate it was, "You aren't allowed to lift anything that heavy."
"Yes, Mom," I said repeatedly.
You should have seen her when we crammed my arm, cast, and swelling hand into the shower-protector so I could finally clean myself. She was so solitious and careful not to cause me pain, that it took thirty-minutes to acconmplish the task.
The next day my knuckles started to turn blue, so she whisked me back to the emergency room where the cast's wrapping was removed, the felt cut through, and the whole thing redone with her hovering over the doctor's shoulders. I think Angela would have carried me to the car had not the hospital provided a wheelchair. Now, it was my elbow that was injured, not my feet or head, right? So, while I had a grimmace on my face, I was capable of walking on my own.
Once back home, Nurse Ratchet had enough pillows on the bed to prop up ten elbows, not to mention my single injured appendage. Then came the "Do you need any water?", "How's the pain?", "Can I get you anything?" AND, "Don't you get out of bed without me being beside you," "Make sure you don't trip over the dogs," and "Let me get that for you," no matter what "that" turned out to be.
Yes, my T makes a wonderful Nurse Ratchet, and I'm happy to have her. She's The Best Thing About Being Married to a T.
Yes, such is the lesson I just learned. You see, when one's hands are full of birdfeeder, one is not always paying attention to what is happening around one's feet. I can see quite plainly now that as I climbed onto the first step, I moved my step-ladder forward just far enough to let one leg hang over the edge. When I put my second foot up, that shifted my weight, and the whole contraption went over while I discovered that gravity works. My fall was nicely broken by my left elbow as it and the porch became acquainted. Indeed, I also proved that physics is alive and well. The force of my fall and the quick stop allowed the bones of my forearm to continue in motion. In fact, they moved right out of joint and continued on their way two-inches to halt when they'd streched the skin as far as it would go. Fortunately, they did not go any further.
Angela was Johnny on the Spot, or rather it was me, Jonni, who was on the spot, er ground, and she rushed to my aid as she called the ambulance. When it arrived, they bundled me inside and promptly took me to the nearby bustling Trauma Center. A dislocated elbow was not high on the list when gun wounds and knife victims took priority. Four hours later, I made it to the photographic suite where several lovely exposures of my misplaced bones were taken. Two more hours passed before two doctors worked exactly ten minutes to set my elbow. I was then reminded what Real Pain was, and yes, I ground off about 1/4th inch of my tooth enamel. More X-rays followed and I arrived home ten hours after I was signed into the emergency room. Angela immediately took the step ladder to the garage so I couldn't berate it with, "It was all your fault."
My T then became Nurse Ratchet: If I lifted a toothpick, she told me, "Don't do that." You must realize that I was in a half-cast, so I couldn't even move my fingers more than a half inch, much less alter my wrist or arm position.
If I got a glass of water, I heard, "I can do that for you." If I sat up in bed, her strident voice asked, "Can I prop you up?" If I moved a plate it was, "You aren't allowed to lift anything that heavy."
"Yes, Mom," I said repeatedly.
You should have seen her when we crammed my arm, cast, and swelling hand into the shower-protector so I could finally clean myself. She was so solitious and careful not to cause me pain, that it took thirty-minutes to acconmplish the task.
The next day my knuckles started to turn blue, so she whisked me back to the emergency room where the cast's wrapping was removed, the felt cut through, and the whole thing redone with her hovering over the doctor's shoulders. I think Angela would have carried me to the car had not the hospital provided a wheelchair. Now, it was my elbow that was injured, not my feet or head, right? So, while I had a grimmace on my face, I was capable of walking on my own.
Once back home, Nurse Ratchet had enough pillows on the bed to prop up ten elbows, not to mention my single injured appendage. Then came the "Do you need any water?", "How's the pain?", "Can I get you anything?" AND, "Don't you get out of bed without me being beside you," "Make sure you don't trip over the dogs," and "Let me get that for you," no matter what "that" turned out to be.
Yes, my T makes a wonderful Nurse Ratchet, and I'm happy to have her. She's The Best Thing About Being Married to a T.
And so we searched, and searched, and searched.
Of course this has never happened to you; but today, it decidedly happened to us. You see, we've been RVing for a few days. We've been busy with convention activities, and today we realized we were tired. So, like all pooped RVers, we gave ourselves permission to take a short nap. Snoozing was not the problem. What happened next was though.
Angela came out of the room and announced, "I can't find my hearing aid." Being a good wife, I went to help.
"Where was it?" I asked.
"Right here," she replied pointing to the nightstand where a still shining flashlight lay on the floor. "I know I put it there, and I've looked everywhere it could possibly be. I've pulled the whole bed apart, and it is nowhere to be found,"
We searched the light blanket folded at the foot of the bed, we took the pillow cases off, and we lifted the bed up so we could search the compartments below. We even searched the dogs' bed, even though they had been sitting next to me while Angela slept. No luck.
"I hate to ask, but could it have been flushed down the commode when you got up?" I asked, not even wanting to think what such a thing would mean.
"Um, no," came the reply. She had a sheepish grin on her face as she came closer to me, pulled back her hair, and revealed her hearing aid firmly placed in her ear.
"You certainly keep me entertained," I said and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Check there first should this happen again, please."
"You mean before we tear the bedroom apart?"
Ah, yes, this is one of the Best Things About Being Married To A T. They DO always keep you guessing,
Angela came out of the room and announced, "I can't find my hearing aid." Being a good wife, I went to help.
"Where was it?" I asked.
"Right here," she replied pointing to the nightstand where a still shining flashlight lay on the floor. "I know I put it there, and I've looked everywhere it could possibly be. I've pulled the whole bed apart, and it is nowhere to be found,"
We searched the light blanket folded at the foot of the bed, we took the pillow cases off, and we lifted the bed up so we could search the compartments below. We even searched the dogs' bed, even though they had been sitting next to me while Angela slept. No luck.
"I hate to ask, but could it have been flushed down the commode when you got up?" I asked, not even wanting to think what such a thing would mean.
"Um, no," came the reply. She had a sheepish grin on her face as she came closer to me, pulled back her hair, and revealed her hearing aid firmly placed in her ear.
"You certainly keep me entertained," I said and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Check there first should this happen again, please."
"You mean before we tear the bedroom apart?"
Ah, yes, this is one of the Best Things About Being Married To A T. They DO always keep you guessing,
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Lights
Don't you hate it when you have something in storage that you'd really rather have on display? I do. In this particular case, it was a set of lights that have been boxed up for several years. Angela had designed them nearly forty years ago in her David-days. So, I recently decided now was the time we needed those treasures in our living room. Angela was game. We opened the box with great anticipation only to be confronted with smoke-covered, nicotine-stained lights. There were also a few cracks in the plexiglass.
"This will never do," said Angela and promptly took them to the garage. Now, you've all come to know Angela by now, so the fact that she designed her own way to remove all the fishing line that twined around the bulbs. She invented ways to restring them too. Plexiglass was not available, so we had to use an acrilyic sheet for the broken piece. Of course, that meant not only cutting it to match, but also snipping in all the many grooves for the fishline. She did it though, of course. Next was stringing them.
Next came hanging them in them from our very high ceiling. Yep, you guessed it, Madame Inventor to the rescue. She found the bars for the wiring, strengthened them, and balanced them perfectly. That required the use of a very tall ladder--one she is not allowed to use without supervision by me. My job is to laugh, take a picture, or call 911. It's also to officially say things like, "A little more to the right," "Down a little," or "Here's that tool, Dear." You see, she's fallen twice now, and broken she's her wrist each time.
The lights were repaired and hung, but there was one hang-up: The bulbs we used back in those days no longer were being made. They had to provide enough illlumination, look perfect, and fit in the small opening available. It took two dedicated employees from a neighbor's light store to find something that worked.
We hope you think the lights are as special we do. Of course, it was Angela who made the "Voila" moment possible, so I think she's pretty special too. Ah yes, it's another one of the Best Things About Being Married to a Transsexual.
"This will never do," said Angela and promptly took them to the garage. Now, you've all come to know Angela by now, so the fact that she designed her own way to remove all the fishing line that twined around the bulbs. She invented ways to restring them too. Plexiglass was not available, so we had to use an acrilyic sheet for the broken piece. Of course, that meant not only cutting it to match, but also snipping in all the many grooves for the fishline. She did it though, of course. Next was stringing them.
Next came hanging them in them from our very high ceiling. Yep, you guessed it, Madame Inventor to the rescue. She found the bars for the wiring, strengthened them, and balanced them perfectly. That required the use of a very tall ladder--one she is not allowed to use without supervision by me. My job is to laugh, take a picture, or call 911. It's also to officially say things like, "A little more to the right," "Down a little," or "Here's that tool, Dear." You see, she's fallen twice now, and broken she's her wrist each time.
The lights were repaired and hung, but there was one hang-up: The bulbs we used back in those days no longer were being made. They had to provide enough illlumination, look perfect, and fit in the small opening available. It took two dedicated employees from a neighbor's light store to find something that worked.
We hope you think the lights are as special we do. Of course, it was Angela who made the "Voila" moment possible, so I think she's pretty special too. Ah yes, it's another one of the Best Things About Being Married to a Transsexual.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Stumped
"That tree has to come down, it's a mess," I said.
"No problem," my TS, Angela, answers, and off she went to cut it down.
I usually help with this sort of job as she has a penchant for falling off ladders.But, iIn this case, she managed without one. Besides, I was watching the grandkids, at least that was my excuse for getting out the worst of the work.
We have hardpan, so we seldom need worry about tap roots, and so, expecting no problems, the stump was roped and attached to the car. One quik "Varooom" later, and said stump and root ball was on its side. The difficulty was the darn thing was too large to manhandle, or in our case, womanhandle, to the dumpster. So, Angela pulled it over there with the car.
"How are we going to get this heavy thing in there?" I asked.
"I'm thinking about a pully system," she said.
"I'm a ramp would be easier," I suggest.
"Good idea," she replied and off she went to bang one together.
Five minutes later, she was back with a 6 foot board with a 2x4 nailed at one end. She promptly hooked the 2x4 over the lip of the dumpster and pulled the stump to within inches of the ramp's base. When the rope was taut, she gunned the car. The roots caught the ramp and the whole kit-&-caboodle went sailing over the dumpster. I think the "Thump" it made, as it landed, was easily heard a block away.
"Plan B," she said as she sawed off the offending root, repositioned everything, and stepped on the gas.
"STOP," I yelled and signaled as I watched the stump travel half way up the ramp, tilt it, and stick solid. The next thing I knew, the dumpster, ramp and stump were all heading down the roadway at 50+ mph.
"I think a slower approach might be better," I suggest when she pulled up next to me with the afore mentioned three ring circus still behind her. She agreed.
You know what they say, the third times the charm. All went well, and we were happy to shove that bundle into the dumpster, take a shower, and head out to Outback for a nice dinner.
"No problem," my TS, Angela, answers, and off she went to cut it down.
I usually help with this sort of job as she has a penchant for falling off ladders.But, iIn this case, she managed without one. Besides, I was watching the grandkids, at least that was my excuse for getting out the worst of the work.
We have hardpan, so we seldom need worry about tap roots, and so, expecting no problems, the stump was roped and attached to the car. One quik "Varooom" later, and said stump and root ball was on its side. The difficulty was the darn thing was too large to manhandle, or in our case, womanhandle, to the dumpster. So, Angela pulled it over there with the car.
"How are we going to get this heavy thing in there?" I asked.
"I'm thinking about a pully system," she said.
"I'm a ramp would be easier," I suggest.
"Good idea," she replied and off she went to bang one together.
Five minutes later, she was back with a 6 foot board with a 2x4 nailed at one end. She promptly hooked the 2x4 over the lip of the dumpster and pulled the stump to within inches of the ramp's base. When the rope was taut, she gunned the car. The roots caught the ramp and the whole kit-&-caboodle went sailing over the dumpster. I think the "Thump" it made, as it landed, was easily heard a block away.
"Plan B," she said as she sawed off the offending root, repositioned everything, and stepped on the gas.
"STOP," I yelled and signaled as I watched the stump travel half way up the ramp, tilt it, and stick solid. The next thing I knew, the dumpster, ramp and stump were all heading down the roadway at 50+ mph.
"I think a slower approach might be better," I suggest when she pulled up next to me with the afore mentioned three ring circus still behind her. She agreed.
Monday, February 20, 2012
It was a very small window.
Angela is getting into breaking and entering these days.
A couple of our RVing friends have managed to become locked out of their fifth wheels. Each have called on Angela to help. Despite being nearly 70, she's lost none of her agility. In the first case, I didn't get a picture, but I did on the second. She used a picnic table for the launch pad for the first window, for the second, it was my back. There was a bit of a hop, then only her legs were sticking out. When I was able to straighten up, all I could see was her feet disappearing inside. A few minutes later, the door was open and my T was on her way to get our toolbox. It never takes her long to do a repair, or if, as in the second case, a part was needed, she can jury rig something that will work until our free wheeling friends can move on down the highway.
Monday, October 10, 2011
It was only a curve
RVing has its moments. First of all there is the beauty of the USA and the companionship of other RVers, both of which makes any problems seem small. Of course there is the cost of gas and repairs, but that pales with the advantages of taking your grandkids and doggies along for the trip, having your own kitchen, and a comfy bed without the fear of bedbugs. However, we have a large coach, and there are just some roads that leave a lot to be desired. One could say the same for many highways, of course. When one is driving an RV, there is decidedly a Rattle-Bang senerio that makes one wonder if the whole thing is just going to come apart in the middle of the roadway. No manner of packing can make all the noises go away when traveling many of our by-ways. This particular outting required that we drive through a short area of mountainous roadway. We knew it would be full of turns, but we have easily maneuvered those in the past, and had no worries. However, Angela had recently had rotorcuff surgery, and her arm was still healing. Up the hills we went, managing each switchback without pain or difficulty for her, the coach, or the car we were towing. And then came THE CURVE. It wasn't just a sharp curve, it was a downright scary curve. This little devil had no curbing or rail, and the stinker had a dropoff that would give anyone with a fear of heights the willies. Angela motored into it slowly, using all the caution she could. She cranked the wheel and was careful to stay in her own lane, even though she had to maneuver as close to the line as possible, to give our tow vehicle the room required to follow safely. The coach was safe, so too the dolly, but one wheel of the car slipped off the road. Of course, when that happens,the object in trouble wants to drag the whole kit-and-kaboodle down the incline. Angela swiftly got on the gas and dragged the car along the curve, fighting the dangerous pull and forcing the car to follow us. Let me just say that there was no vegetation left along that 10 foot portion of the curve from where the wheel left the asphalt until it returned to its correct follow-the-big-coach position. Both of us let out a long breath and wiped a bit of sweat from our brows. "That was fun," Angela said. All I could manage was a smile and a head nod. The remainder of the curvatious route was MUCH easier. When we reached the bottom, we found a pull-out that was a tad too small for us, but offered a bit of refuge none the less. Both of us piled out to see how much damage there was. None. None, I say. We could hardly believe it. We figured the frame would be bent on the tow dolly, and that we might have an axle problem with the car, but all was well. You see, it was all because of my Talented T and all of her experience on the grand prix and cross country tracks she had experienced back in her David days. Of course the fact that she is an excellent driver in general also helped. She is just a marvel, and I am glad to know that this was just another Best Thing About Being Married to a Transsexual.
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