If You'll Allow Me To Ramble. . . .

I'm writing this sitting on the porch after a perfectly lovely thunderstorm. This is the second one we've had in the past 24 hours, and I'm sure that we've received more than an inch of rain total. The problem is, who cares if it rains in the city? The only thing it does is keep the lawns pretty, which if you remind me, I'll rant about some other time. On the way up to Alex, I can't tell you how depressing it was to see mile after mile of curled up, dried out, worthless corn. People's work for this year down the drain, and therefore yet another year of borrowing to make up for the lost income. Ugh. I could never be a farmer. Aside from the fact that I inherited absolutely no skills from my farming mother and grandfather, I would worry myself into the grave in years like this. Forget the overall wearing, salt-of-the-earth, plain spoken crap of the popular imagination. Farmers are the smartest, most multi-talented, resilient, hard working people on the face of the planet. It's too bad that they're all being forced out by economies of scale and corporatization. We're eliminating a whole class of working heros.

So yes, the oars did make it home, as did all the kids (eventually) and the dogs. We have a routine when we go on vacation where we drop the canines off at Opa and Oma's for their doggy vacation. This year there was an added wrinkle in that our nephew Douglas stayed with us at Mt. Carmel. Added to that, on the way home, he, KyKy, and the Madster were to be dropped off in Roseville for a Saturday at the Evil Grandmother's for a photo safari involving the St. Paul Camera Club. We don't have enough room for six people plus all our junk, plus rowboat oars in the crapmobile, so we farmed things out. One neighbor took 'Nika home. Another neighbor took home some of the stuff we couldn't fit in the crapmobile. TOYH, KyKy, The Madster, Douglas and I, took the crapmobile back to hillbilly land (Springvale Township) where I had left the Taurus. When we got to Oma and Opa's, I took the mutts home in the Taurus and TOYH dropped the kids off at the EG's before finally making it back to our humble abode. Got that? Just be assured that everyone made it back in one piece.

I was the first one home Friday night, then 'Nika was dropped off, then TOYH showed up with the detritus from our vacation. When I got home, there were 13 new messages on the answering machine. Half of those messages were from an old college roommate of mine who is in town. His name is John Lulewicz. The only reason I am telling you his full name is that I lived with him for 4 years. And for 4 years I heard him spell his name to people over the phone, "L-U-L-E-W-I-C-Z." (pronounced lu-lev-ich). After having that drilled into my head, I have to take any opportunity I am given to repeat it. When I moved in with him I was 20 and he was 30 at the time. A 30 year old seemed like a grandparent to me. John proved me wrong. His nickname in the house we lived in was "John-Boy." Everyone, including his girlfriend at the time called him John-Boy. Why? Because he never acted his age. He was the most care-free 30 year old who has ever lived in the history of the planet. Don't get me wrong. He was not irresponsible. He was not wasting his life away, he was working on his Masters of Public Health. He is one of two people I have ever known in my life of whom I can say "In him there is no guile." (J & F, the other is Russ L.) What you see is what you get, and as an added bonus, he'll give you the shirt off his back. I could tell John-Boy stories all night, so when things are getting really dull on this blog, ask for a John-Boy story.

Unfortunately, John-Boy is in town because of the bridge collapse. He works for OSHA in Milwaukee and he is, as he told me, "Making sure nobody steps on any nails," during the recovery and clean-up. This is a step away from his Master's Degree research, which was lust. I guess I should say L.U.S.T. - Leaking Underground Storage Tanks - LUST. You know, tanks burried in the ground holding potentially toxic chemicals i.e. gas station tanks. You know, lust. In true John-Boy fashion, he volunteered to work the graveyard shift in this 24 hour a day operation. That means he is working midnight to 8am and probably sleeping only a few hours a day at his hotel. It just so happens that I reconnected with another former roommate of ours, Kirk, and when we got together a couple of weeks ago, we talked about John-Boy. Sadly, I don't think we'll all be able to get together because John-Boy's last shift ends at 8am on Monday. He and I are going out for breakfast (sorry Jon, I'll be late for work) and then I'm sure he'll get a couple of hours sleep and then head home to his family. It occurred to me that as an OSHA employee, JB should not be driving from Mpls to Milwaukee sleep deprived. I think I'll bring this up at breakfast. Oh, and Jan Marie, if TOYH and I come to visit in Chicago, we will be delayed cuz we're stopping in Milwaukee. Guaranteed.