The New Puppy

"We don't need another dog," Angela said.

"Of course we do, we used to have three, and now we only have two," I said.

I wait. I wait another week. And then, my Angela came through. She said, "there are Bichons in the paper."

"Really?" I said. "Let me see that."

"That's a local call, you know," she remarked.

"Umhuh," I remarked.

"You could go this afternoon," she pointed out, "after your PT appointment.
"Yes, I could. I guess I should call," I pointed out.

"Umhuh."

She knew that if I went to look, we'd have a puppy, and so we did. I picked TinkerBelle out at three weeks old, and I checked up on her every week. I even took the grandkids with me twice, so they could see the puppy grow.

Tink was the first of the litter to venture out of her box, and she let me turn her over for a tummy rub from the first time we met. Eight-weeks went by so slowly, I could hardly keep myself away, and Angela loved the phone pictures.

I brought her in the house and she was first overwhelmed by Cassandra, the one year old puppy, and then our new baby dog made a pass through Angela's arms for a big snuggle. Next, the kids got to hold her, and  finally, her feet touched the floor and she was able to explore a bit. Angela beamed as much as I, and the grandkids agreed she was "a cupcake," as the eldest remarked. "That's because her collar has cupcakes on it, and that's how sweet she is." There goes that adult-concept-thing again in our five-year old granddaughter.

"I'll add the third lead to the leash," Angela said.


"That would be great." I said.


Here's just another Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.

Her's two of our doggies taking a snooze: Chloe Petunia, the one year old, and TinkerBelle, the baby.

They are Bichon Frise with puppy (hair) cuts.

.

The Big Birthday Bash

I just love watching Angela work. She is a whirling dervish. No kidding. She never stops. She seems to be in several places at once. I look one way, and there she is setting up tables, I look the other and she's hanging a banner or a balloon. When the blow-up pools, yes plural, are filled, the playhouse open, and the  swing set dusted off again, it's time for the kids to arrive. There are nearly as many parents as there are kids, but that makes it all the more fun for the grown-up and the kids. We get to catch-up, while the little ones are allowed a little more freedom. Mommies and Daddies are close-by for small boo-boos, and call-out like "you are too little to do that," or "watch out for the littler ones." Our grand-kids are turning 3 and 5, and their vocabularies are turning 22 and 24: The now 5-year-old tells me, "the surface is slippery," when she comes out of the pool and steps on the cement porch. The now 3-year-old wants to know, "why can't the world stop turning so the breeze doesn't blow so hard?" When words and concepts like "empathy, levering myself up, and grip-strength" become common-place, Angela and I wonder what their teachers are going to do with them when they start first grade, not to mention kindergarten.

Angela watches the kids in the pool while others sit and talk, she helps hold the kids up to the monkey-bars, even the toddlers. She catches the older ones who's "grip-strength" doesn't last long enough for the 5 handholds. She pushes swings while Mommies fix hamburgers. She finds more paper for coloring while Daddies hand out hot dogs. She monitors games of chase so the little ones can catch the big ones, and she hands out spoons for the sandbox when the other toys run out. She even settles a few kid-sized arguments before they turn into traumas Moms and Dads need to deal with. When she finally sits down to eat, it's time to open presents. She happily takes her lunch to the new location to watch. Yes, I was there, talking, eating, sorting out kids, but mostly I was getting towels, band-aides, and food from the house. Other times I was being the potty-monitor so little behinds got wiped and small, wet feet didn't slip on the entry tile.

Yes, Angela is my overseer of all good things, and that's just another Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.

Getting my exercise

We have an exercise room, and we do use it, sporadically. One of us gets The Bug, and we exercise every day for, oh, let's say two months. Then, we begin to fall off our regime until the next time. I bet the same thing happens to you sometimes, doesn't it? Well, our exercise room has had an old and fading carpet since we moved in more than twenty years ago. We've talked about changing it, but nothing came of that particular plan other than adding equipment. So, guess what, Angela got "The Bug." No, not to exercise, but to change the carpet. We're also in the midst of working in the garden, replanting grass on our two acres and doing lots of weeding (my elbow injury let the wild things grow for a couple weeks, and we got behind). Evidently, she felt we didn't have enough on To Do lists, so she asked for my help. Usually, my help means "hand me this, bring me that, &/or hold this." That is not what needing my help meant this time. We had to get all of that heavy equipment out of the room. Let me emphasis the word heavy. The bicycle was no problem, even the stepper wasn't too bad, but the darn treadmill was quite a challenge. You see, I may have pointed this out before, but Angela doesn't have the same strength she used to have as a man because she is a woman now -- duh! I'm just going to say it was a bitch, okay? Sorry for those of you who said, "No." Anyway, even that paled next to the Universal Gym. Taking it apart, well part of it anyway, lead to two backaches, two strained shoulders, and a couple bruises in unusual places. Moving, even the pieces, was heavy work.

The carpet came up easily, even the tiles lifted right out, but the linoleum under that was less enjoyable, and see a prior post to understand what I think about taking the glue off. Damn, it was a beast, and Angela did most of that, this time. Next came the Pergo wood floor. Outside of a few blue words, we got it in in under a day. Well, except for the small/tiny bathroom, which Angela did all by herself. That was a mistake as that little project resulted in several trips to the nurse's station in one of our bathrooms for hydrogen peroxide, bacitracin, and a variety of band-aids and gauze patches. We moved all the equipment back in, oh, my pulled/strained muscles, bruises, and promises to never do this again.

But, the last thing to be returned to the room was my Star Trek display cabinet. So, I got to go through keepsakes again, and that was more fun than I can tell you. Yes, I boxed up a few things, but most of it is still in the cabinet. I hope it doesn't take another change-of-the-carpet for me to go through it all again, but I'll enjoy the new arrangement/display until the next time.

I guess I was getting my exercise fixing up the room, but I'll soon be having to use all that equipment again -- as soon as my muscles stop complaining that is. Anyway, I'm actually glad Angela got this particular "Bug," and yep, this is another Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.

Hundreds of dollars saved

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?

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.

It may have been the ladder's fault, but I think (?) I'm enjoying my T being my wonderful Nurse Ratchet. Mostly though, I'm happy to have her because 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,

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.

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.

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.

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.

Oh Brother

Let me tell you that I was SORE. I was sore ALL OVER in fact. Worse, I was in that state for several days. Why? We decided to put down a new floor.

In my earlier post I noted that Angela recently had rotor cuff surgery. This all happened a few weeks before that.

Angela's arm was beginning to give her some pain, but you already know that she can't be without a project for long, and I greatly appreciate that fact. So, since we'd been talking about replacing our aging linoleum floor for months, we decided to go ahead.

First, one must take up the old before putting down our new tile. I won't even go into the joy of trying to find that bit of ceramic bliss. Trust me when I say the choices for anything with any hint of gray in it was quite limited. Anyway, cutting through the layer of linoleum was easy, lifting it off the floor was less so, but still no strain for either of us. Then came the reason for my sore arms, body, and psyche: taking up the glue.
Lots of adhesive remained on the floor. Angela quickly discovered scraping away at it was too painful. Oh yes, we spent money on miracle removers, all guaranteed to turn the glue into liquid. Don't believe the hype. They all fall into the category of Buyer Beware. Save your money and just put down copious amounts of water, let it soak, and develope some muscle as you scrape away the gunk. Even so, Angela just couldn't do it. I quickly volunteered and made her go work on "something else." I had no idea four days of scraping that impossibly difficult to remove stuff from our cement foundation would leave me hardly able to lift my arms, much less anything else. Arnold the Swartz would have been sore; Hercules would have been sore; and I was beyond sore. Angela was most complimentary, or course, but I saw the twinkle in her eyes and the quiet chuckle that followed her "nice job, atta girl, and nice bicepts."

When I finished, she patiently set about cutting and laying the tile. It was my turn to say the same phrases along with the twinkle and chuckle. The tile wasn't so heavy that it hurt her arm, but she did have to get into a few awkward positions, so she had her share of Ouch moments.

Now we sit back and enjoy the new look of our pantry, laundry room, and third bathroom. A little shared pain never hurt any marriage.

Nurse Jonni again

Angela recently had day surgery. We arrived at 6 a.m. and returned home around 2 p.m. I've already confessed to not being the best nurse in the world. So, it's a good thing that Angela is not the type who requires anyone hovering over her. I'm great at checking in on her every hour, especially when she's sleeping. How easy is that. Unlike me, she doesn't get sick from anesthesia, so while I left a bucket close by just-in-case, there was no need for it. She doesn't want a drink brought to her, she prefers to get one after every trip to the potty. So, after surgery, in this case for some rotor cuff repair, she just slept from the moment we got home until dinner time. I expected her to be ravenous. Nope, she just wanted soup. Easy again. Oh, I tucked her in a couple of times as she slept, but I don't get any stars for being a good nurse or even a Nurse Ratchet. Oh well.

She's recovered now and doing her physical therapy. She's busy creating websites since she can't do any major projects for a few weeks. Believe me though, she has plenty lined up all ready. I'll keep you posted as they go along. I'm sure you can see that all this is just another case of The Best Thing About Being Married To A Transsexual.

Trouble right here in River City

Okay, okay, I've been gone a LONNNNNNG time. Here's the deal: I changed my email address and blogspot wouldn't let me in. Their sign-in had the new email address, but my account said it wasn't changed, so I couldn't get in with either email address. So, I'm sorry, but I am still trying to fix that. I finally got in using the old email address that I had changed because THEIR system didn't automatically put in the new address FINALLY after weeks of attempts!

Otherwise, the trouble is we seem to have a beastie or water under the kitchen floor. Whatever it is, we have a little hillock that rises between our kitchen and dining area from time to time. The tiles sound hollow, which means they're no longer attached. It's probably water, but I'd rather it be a gopher, rabbit, or mole (we have all three living on all sides of the house, so why not under?). Whatever it is, we're going to have to fix it. Dast-Oh-Dear, as the heroine might say.

Now, we just finished putting new tile down in the pantry, utility room, and small bathroom (that'll be another blog). THAT was a BIG job. Now, we can only hope we can salvage the tile from this area or we'll have to get new tile for the whole kitchen and dining area. Of course we won't be able to match this fifteen-year-old tile, we all ready know that. Dang. I like this tile. We don't want to do that because one, it'll be expensive, and two, we will soon be starting the cooler rainy season. Okay, Fresno isn't known for lots of rain, but we know that if we start a long project now, we'll end up with an unusually wet fall - so says Murphey's Law - right?

The good news is, I have a reliable tile person in Angela, the bad news is she tour her rotator cuff and is facing surgery. What now? We'll delay this must-do for awhile. My T does know how to take a day off now and then, so I'll just have to stretch that into a month of recovery time. I'll keep you posted on how that goes IF I can can in.

They Touched My Heart - A Birthday/Anniversary to Remember

Angela and Audra threw me a surprise birthday on Saturday. Oh, yes, I had an inkling something was afoot, but I wasn't sure when, what, or where much less that it was to be a surprise party. They'd arranged for friends to take me off to see art galleries in a nearby town. One even convinced me she had a dinner party to go to later, so I was sure nothing was going on that day. Cars were parked well away from our home, so I had no suspisions until I opened the door. I confess to being totally surprised to see so many good friends inside.

My feet hadn't crossed the threshold before Angela presented me with a full-sized, blown-up version of a walker, complete with many well-known saying about the aged. Before I could move into the room, I had to first maneuver through a trail of orange cones - to prove I could get along with my new contraption. The livingroom was decorated in my favorite sea-green. I was quickly turned around to view the dining room table, very modern, of course, to see not a birthday cake, but a perfect replication of our wedding cake! Angela had had it made to specs, thanks to pictures from our album, and yes, it cost her a small fortune (but it was soooo yummy). There were three layers instead of four - lemon, chocolate, and spice. They were all good, but the spice was wonderful, to die for, and the flavors matched our original. Only the white cake layer was missing, but from the way folks chowed down on what was there, the one exception wasn't missed. You see, our 45th wedding anniversary is a month away, and Angela decided to combine wedding and birthday. They also served a delicious meal.

Audra, not to be out done, had compiled a video using pictures from our various family albums following me from birth to grandma. It was great fun to see all the old pictures, not to mention noting how thin I used to be. There were lots of questions and comments of course and a few laughs as well. Everyone oh'd and ah'd over the wedding pictures and the sailboat we lived and traveled on for two years.

The grandchildren and doggies were well mannered and adorable. Brooke, the four year old spoke with the adults using all her three and four syllable words, and the two year old Bree entertained everyone with her delightful smile and descriptions of how she helped put up the decorations. As for the doggies, there wasn't a bark or growl, an underfoot toy, or a anything beyond lots of tailwagging and puppy kisses.

When I stood to give my little speech, there wasn't a person in the room that I didn't have a short story about. All mean a great deal to me, and they had given special parts of themselves and helped me along the way over the years. All of them had welcomed Angela into their lives without hesitation.

Angela and Audra had pulled off their first surprise party and touched my heart in ways they can't imagine. Angela's loving thoughtfulness about the cake, and Audra's time and effort producing the powerpoint life review were remarkable. They touched my heart.

Up and Over

This was a I'm Glad It Wasn't Me day.You see, we were busy loading up the RV when Angela put the tow dolly on the back of the coach. Every thing was going just fine until she decided to load-up the car without ole vigillant eyes, me. Oh, she's put the car on alaone before, and she's even winched up smashed up race cars into place. I knew this was nothing particularly new. But, since we've had this rig, I'm usually out there giving the Left - Right - Move-up and Stop signals. Not this time, though. So, you can guess what happened. She went right up, over, and off without stopping. She came into the coach with a rather sheepish grin and said, "I, uhm, need your help outside."

That was putting it mildly. When I got outside, I couldn't stop laughing. There was my car (of course) straddling the tow dolly. The front wheels were not quite on the ground because the automobile was resting on its frame. "Now what do we do?" I asked.

"Well, the first thing we are going to try is to jack up."

"Uhm-huh," I said doubtfully. "Even once it's up, you have to get the wheels in place. So, we're going to be using lumber to make a ramp, right." She nodded, and we proceeded to raise the car, place lots of 4x4s and 2x4s beneath the wheels followed by a long piece so she could drive back into place. Naturally, we didn't have exactly matching piles of wood, but we managed.

I held my breath as she took her seat and grabbed the wheel. The engine started and ever so slowly, she backed squarely into the sweet spot. I motioned STOP, and it was done. We both let out a looong breath.

"Boy, it was a good thing you weren't driving when this happened," she said as she climbed out of the car.

"Me too," I said, laughed, and then gave her a kiss. "But I get to tell everyone."

A Crappy Weekend

Okay, I confess that it wasn't all crappy, but . . .

You see, it all started durring a lovely RV outing. We had a wonderful time with everyone in our delightful RVing Women's group. The food, conversations, and doggies and kitties were great, but Saturday was very wet. I love my dogs, but neither wet fur and muddy feet, nor removing stickers are high on my Fun Monitor. After a riotious Trailer Trash dinner with the group, we returned to our coach to prepare for a quiet, dry, peaceful night. Angela went out to dump the tanks while I took the puppies for a walk. When I returned, Angela was still outside. I opened a window and asked, "Need help?"

"Nope," came the reply. Ten minutes later, however, she said, "Okay, I need you outside."

That did not bode well. First of all, it was raining madly, and it was 11:30, well passed Angela's bedtime.

"It seems the RV park's sewer hook up for our rig is backed-up or blocked," Angela said. "The rain could be the cause, but if that was so, the whole park would be in trouble. So, that means we're stuck with the problem. Of course, the office is closed too."

She didn't have to tell me that meant we really had a problem. What were we going to do with a sewage hose full of well, sewage? The good news was that the park link in the spot next to us was working. But, it was 40 feet away. Fortunately, we carry extra sewage hose for this sort of problem. Unfortuately, we usually know about the issue before we are hooked up for two days and can make the alterations before any thing fills the hose.

I could see by Angela's bussling around, getting out hoses, and thoughtful expression that it was going to be me holding our 'difficulty" for this switcheroo. I had visions of spending all day Sunday cleaning up a huge, smelly, yucky mess, even though it was not technically our fault.

With a great deal of care, Angela removed the sewage line from our rig and with much trepidation coaxed a bit more sewage into the park's input, unhooked it, and dripped more yuck into the near overflowing gap. Then, with a towel wrapped around it, just for me, she handed me that end too. Now, a 20' long 3" diameter hose filled with gunk is heavy, and rain was rapidly dropping into the upturned ends - splash, splash, splash - as I stood there with my hands full and my nose turned away.

She gingerly put extensions on each connection, hooked up to the rig, and then we inched our way over toward the new hole. She connected it slowly, but nothing happened! Dang. Okay, worse than Dang. You see, the new receptical was ever so slightly uphill. We have an 8 foot declining contraption to help with that, BUT, we now had 60 feet of hose slanting the wrong direction. It was not going to drain.

After the cloud of blue words dissipated, we got down to pulling lumber out of the rig's storage areas, looking for rocks, sticks and anything else we could use to overcome the problem.

It took half an hour more, but in the end, sewage was flowing, we'd had a nice warm shower and a few laughs. We crawled into bed and I said, "I'm so glad you thought of that towel."

Yes, it's a great thing to be married to a T.

Pop! Zzzzzt! Fire! Dast Oh Dear! Damn!

Yes, that's what happened. First came the POP, then the Zzzzz. I went to investigate figuring the dog had pulled a kid's toy over and broken it. No such luck though. I stepped into the laundry room and flames were shooting out of an outlet. Now, that gets one's attention immediately. I'm all ready paranoid about fire (having been in a couple of small ones), so this was frightning to me. I yelled for Angela who was outside, yanked out everything that was plugged into that wall, got the fire extinguisher, and yelled for Angela again, "Fire! Fire!"

The flames were gone as quickly as I'd seen them and called out the door, but Angela came rushing in, "Fire? What? When? Where?"

I pointed to the singed area around and below the socket. "We're going to sound like that Abbott and Costello Who's on First routine in a minute," I reply. "We had 2 inch flames pouring out of there a minute ago.".

"We need to check other sockets all over," she said. So, we went through the house, garage and shop to see if there was any other damage.

Of course, there was all sorts of electrical units that smelled like fried eletronics. My computer was first on the list. "Dast Oh Dear." Thanks goodness for back ups and thumb drives. A clock was a goner, so too the toaster, blender, DVD player, and other small appliances. Every now and then we still find something else that was damaged in the episode. "Damn."

Angela fixed most of them, including my computer. Bless her little Novel Engineer heart. The rest we just replaced over time. Wanna know what the cause was? A gopher. He ate through our land line from the transformer to the house! PG&E had to replace the whole thing, so we were without power for several days (thank goodness for our RV coach - no it wasn't plugged in at the time).

Yep, this is just another Best Thing About Being Married to a Transsexual.

Making our own sunshine with a tow dolly

It has been foggy and overcast for days now, but I always see sunshine when Angela and I are working on a project together. Angela is always fixing, inventing, or making something, because she's the one who has the talent. She can repair anything, and if we need something we can't find in the retail world, she'll come up with a new object to fit the need. Here's a small example: we sold our truck when we bought the RV coach, so we no longer had any way to haul large objects. So, she invented a way to convert our tow dolly into a flatbed carry all. It took some time to design and build, and it is a large, heavy object to carry. But, with it attached, we can now go to the lumber store and bring home almost any sized load.

Yesterday was another dull, grey day outside, but she was out there fixing the lights on the tow dolly. My job was just to hold things in place, pass her tools, and tell her how wonderful her work was. I found that even though it was cold and generally unfriendly outside, we made our own sunshine with our laughter at getting into awkward positions, curses at problems, and perseverance when something didn't work at first.

Yes, this is just another example of the Best Things About Married to a Transsexual. I'm very glad she's mine.

She's just a social butterfly!

Ah, yes, there was a time when I was considered the social one in the marriage. David, now Angela, was not anti-social, exactly, he just didn't participate in conversations much. He always sat just outside of the circle, usually with his arms crossed. He answered with "Yes" or "No," and that was his version of participating in the conversation. Now, since the transition, her elbows are on the table, she's scooted right into the circle, and no talking can go on without her input. She's introducing herself to people all the time. She's suggesting fun things to do, and she is the Hostess With The Mostess when we have guests. She's a good cook too and an even better housekeeper. I guess I'll have to hand over my social butterfly wand and let her take over! Yes, here's another Best Thing About Being Married to a Transsexual!

It's just a little switch

I was dusting today. Simple, huh? Welllllll, let me say that doing so resulted in a mornings worth of work. You see, while doing my house cleaning, I dusted over a light switch and turned it to the OFF position without noticing that I had done so. Horrors! Dast, oh dear! Damn!

This particular switch controls the electricity to all the lights and plugs in the living room, dining area, kitchen, utility room and smallest bathroom. When none of these rooms would light up for me to continue my cleaning, I called for Angela, our Miss Fix-it around here. The rest of the morning was dedicated to testing switches, throwing fuses, running down electric cords and all other sorts of electrician-type stuff that I don't understand. All to no avail, I might add.

When every test had failed, and while we contemplated the need to call a professional out on a Saturday, we both took a break. Angela happened to pass by the switch. She stopped dead and called me, "Oh, Jonni . . . Could you come here a moment?" When I saw her standing there, I immediately realized what must of happened. Too bad neither of us thought to check there first.

She switched it to on, and "Voila! Let there be light!" she said. She is a miracle worker, isn't she? I helped put everything away and quietly slunk off to my computer.