What?

So today I had an appointment at Kaiser Permanente, our local HMO. My wife has been bugging me for some time to get my hearing checked. I already have to wear reading glasses. I think the next stop is the incontinence pads, isn’t it? I digress. So it really bothers my wife and daughters that they have to repeat everything to me. It doesn’t bother me, however. They have been saying for some time that I need hearing aids. No way. Not until I’m at least 65.

My grandfather, Carl, was always the joker. Once he told me in a very serious and believable tone, “Scott, I have aids.” I must have given him the required look of shock and confusion as he pulled me closer and whispered to me, “Hearing aids,” then he gave me a wink.

Sometimes being hard of hearing is not a bad thing. With three women in the house, all listening to those Project Runway beauty shows I completely detest, not being able to hear the TV is great. Sometimes when Sheri is asking me something from downstairs and I don’t reply (because I can’t hear her as I’m sting in my comfortable chair with my fan running), it’s not because I don’t love her. I just don’t hear her sweet, soft voice. And besides, it’s nice and quiet in my head. I like it in here.

But again, I digress. So I’m in the waiting room for an ear check. Before I can be referred to an audiologist, they need to check for blockage. I was a bit nervous given my last ear encounter. Click on this link to read all about it. So, I’m in the waiting room, waiting because that’s what you do. I was there about 10 minutes. The thing about being in Kaiser’s waiting rooms is that because they are so large something interesting always happens. And today was no exception.

Across from me was an old hippie with an ulcerated leg. He kept talking about it to his old hippie girlfriend. She thought everything he said was funny. This told me she was his girlfriend and not his wife because we all know that our wives never think we’re funny. But they did when we were dating them, right guys?

The door to the exam hallway opens and a nurse walks out. Everyone says the same silent prayer, “Lord, please let her call my name and rescue me from hearing about an old hippie’s leg pus.” But to my great disappointment she says, “Katrina.” The old hippie immediately looks up at someone whom just moments before he could have cared less about. Katrina and her husband stand up and walk toward the open door. “Katrina!” shouts the old hippie, scaring us all.

She looks and curtly says, “What?”

“Can’t you say, ‘hello’ to your ex-husband?” the old hippie asks.

“Gross! Shut up,” she replied

Here’s where the conversation got real interesting. Apparently, Katrina never told her current husband that she had been previously married. Visibly upset, Katrina’s husband asked the old hippie what he was talking about. “We were married for four years, then she left me.” They had lived in Burlingame (a bay area suburb) and had both moved to Santa Rosa, unknown to each other. “We got married in ’83.” During this awkward conversation Katrina was quite visibly upset and kept trying to pass off the old hippie as some delusional old man that should not be listened to. But Katrina’s husband was very interested, for good reason. He quizzed the old hippie for about thirty more seconds before Katrina exploded on him, “He’s lying! Now will you please get in here!”

They disappeared behind the door. All eyes now shifted to the old hippie. “Wow, what were the chances of seeing her again?” he said. He then rambled on about both being in Santa Rosa, more about being married for 4 years, more about the lesion on his leg, and something about his drug habit driving her away. His hippie girlfriend didn’t seemed phased by any of this. Had she been his hippie wife, she would have.

The nurse then returned and called my name. She checked my ears and told me they looked great. And then we talked about the little exchange we just witnessed. As I left, I thought, “I bet Katrina was wishing her husband had a hearing problem.” It’s amazing to think that Katrina thought she was going to a routine appointment at Kaiser today. Little did she know that her life would change tremendously because of the words of an old hippie with an oozing leg. So would Katrina’s husband.

Forty-below Windchill

Our good friend Gloria emailed me this morning asking if I would please post a new story today. Since she, and many other Minnesotans are at this moment suffering in a polar deep freeze, and suffering from cabin fever, she wanted a little cheap entertainment. So, just for you Gloria and Dave, I bring you this next story.

I was in fourth grade and it was deep winter. It was one of those months where the temperature never seemed to get above zero. We were going a little stir crazy in the house so we decided to brave the cold and try to start up the Ski-Doo (that’s a snowmobile for all you Californians). But it was really hard trying to start it up in weather that cold. So my dad and Uncle Karl helped me by pulling the starting rope over and over and over and over. Finally the Ski-Doo sprang to life. My Uncle and father were greatly relieved because now they could rid of me for a while.

With a Ski-Doo full of gas I headed out across the open fields to the back 40 (that’s acres for you Californians). My grandfather’s fields were the perfect snowmobile winter playground. And we had just been blessed by a couple of feet of snow, piled high into drifts that were perfect for hitting at high speed and flying into the air.

I headed out over a big hill, quite cautiously. Earlier that same winter I went screaming over that same hill and hit a large flock of pheasants feeding on the other side. The force of the impact sent me flying off the Ski-Doo and one of the birds broke the windscreen and my helmet. It was a bloody mess. Once over the hill I opened up the machine and screamed farther and farther away.

I was creating my own forty-below-zero wind chill factor going at that speed so I slowed down. The severe cold had penetrated my face and my gloves. Once at the very back property line of the farm I decided I was too cold and so I decided to go back home. I also decided to slow down. That was a mistake.

Slowing the Ski-Doo caused the engine to hesitate in the cold. Then it stopped. It could not have been in a worse place. After 20 minutes trying to get it started I was exhausted and freezing. I decided that I would be in serious trouble if I didn’t head for home. So I did. Once home I explained to the adults what happened. I warmed up and thought my troubles were over. But then my dad and uncle, who were still talking about the Ski-Doo, decided it would not be good to leave it out all night. Why not? Who was going to take it way out there in the woods? The squirrels were all sleeping.

My dad decided to stay home and let my uncle go with me. He thought he knew what the problem was and he was going to show me a “trick.” My Uncle Karl was always playing jokes on everyone. For years after family gatherings I would find a clothespin attached to my shirt with a goofy word like “potty” or “buggers” written on it. It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s before I busted him at a family reunion clipping one on me. That was my Uncle Karl. I knew today the joke would be on me but I really wanted to see what it was. So I went.

It took us forever to trudge back out into the back field. We were freezing. We finally reached the Ski-Doo and now Uncle Karl was sorry he came. He didn’t know it was really as far as I said it was. He pulled on the rope a couple of times, tinkered with the engine a bit, pulled some more, tinkered some more, and then said, “Well, here’s the problem.” He pointed to a small bit of ice in the clear fuel line blocking the fuel flow. “Alright, let me show you a little trick. Turn around, don’t look.” I had no idea what he was about to do but I turned away, awaiting the prank. I heard a zip, then the sound of flowing water. “What is that?” I thought to myself. Did he bring a flask of cocoa with him?

“Done!” he said. So I turned around and found the engine compartment and front part of the seat completely soaked in some odd liquid. Then I realized that Uncle Karl had just peed on my Ski-Doo. I had no idea why he thought that would be funny. Now we had to walk back and I had to explain to my dad that not only did we fail to get the thing started, but Uncle Karl had gone wee-wee all over my snowmobile.

But then Uncle Karl grabbed the starting rope, gave it a few pulls, and the snowmobile started right up. “Quick,” he shouted, “hop on and drive me back.” Normally the ranking adult male would be in the driver’s seat but cool Uncle Karl, who had just melted the fuel line using his own potty, let me do the driving back to the house. I opened up the throttle and we made a bee-line for the house.

After about five minutes of hard driving I realized why Uncle Karl had let me drive. Once the engine warmed up, all his pee started to bake off the engine, soiling my clothes with the horrid smell of burnt wiz. He stayed nice, clean, and odor free. The joke was now literally, on me.

Once home, Uncle Karl was the hero and I smelled like his incinerated urine. Uncle Karl made me take an oath not to tell my mom. My dad laughed and knew exactly why I was changing my clothes. I did my laundry immediately and even used an extra cup of Downy. But uncle Karl taught me a very valuable lesson that day. Always drink a huge cup of coffee before going outside in the winter. You never know what you’ll need to melt.

York Minster

The thought of being in a giant European cathedral has excited me since I was a child. When I was bored in church as a kid, I loved looking at the humble stained glass windows, filled with rich colors. It often kept me from doing something very disruptive.

Sheri and I left the girls to their shopping and we entered the great York Minster. Outside is stunning enough. York was where Constantine was crowned Emperor of Rome. A statue just outside the cathedral commemorates that event. You can see my photos of the cathedral in the photo album located here.

York Minster is the second-largest Gothic cathedral in Europe. Entering the cathedral literally takes your breath away. You are overwhelmed with thoughts of where to start and what to look at. So you just stand and stare, which is what we did. Please look at the pictures to see what I mean. What made York different from other cathedrals we visited was that it was alive. It was filled with color and sound. The paint and décor in many of the cathedrals has long disappeared. But York was spared from both time and the destruction of many houses of worship during the British civil war. York is most certainly a jewel. In retrospect, York was a real, living cathedral. Westminster was an incredible tourist destination.

Sheri and I spent an hour walking around, taking it all in. We were then called to an Evensong service. We had participated in one before at St. Paul’s in London that proved to be awkward and disappointing. So we weren’t sure what to expect.

We took our places in the choir in seats called ‘stalls.’ Each stall is ornately decorated with a unique family crest. We felt a bit royal sitting in our respective thrones. Then the great pipe organ began to play, followed by the choir. I was in heaven. We were led through the service and were careful to follow along in the program we were given. It was an incredible and moving experience. In fact, it was so moving I must admit that I was moved to tears. I will never forget it.

We then spent some time in the church basement. I’ve been in many church basements, but none of them were quite like this one. First of all, it’s called a crypt. And in that crypt were stored some amazing treasures, any one of which would be a centerpiece of an American museum. We saw all kinds of church artifacts made from gold, silver and jewels. It was dazzling. But a trip deeper into the crypt revealed something more amazing.

York Minster was built on top of Roman ruins. In fact, the place where Constantine was crowned emperor supposedly is down here. It’s quite the amazing feat digging under a cathedral exposing these ruins while supporting the structure above. But to the see the ruins in person was extraordinary.

A few hours later and it was time to meet our daughters after their exciting journey shopping for clothes. They completely missed this great cathedral and I hope they will someday be very sorry for that. But now it was time to go on to the next great activity.

Storm of the Century

The “Storm of the Century” blasted Northern California beginning Thursday with high winds and rain. Five trucks were blown over on the Richmond-San Rafael bridge yesterday shutting it down. The main highway into San Francisco was closed in both directions due to debris on the road. The Golden Gate Bridge was shut down because of high winds. Here in Santa Rosa we’ve received about 5 inches of rain from the storms thus far and the chaos continues.

Just moments ago, the first bolt of lightening and thunder was heard by me in over 4 years. I will guarantee something will be written about this single lightening bolt in tomorrow’s paper. This morning we were awakened by hail hitting the house. Whoah, there’s thunderbolt number two. Thunder is better here because it echoes off the valley walls. But then again this is one storm with only 2 lightening strikes.

Those of you from the Midwest are laughing right now. Go ahead. Because when it comes to storms, Californian’s are pansies. Unless you live in the Tahoe/Truckee area, where this storm is dumping over 10 feet of snow. Thousands are still without power, and trees have crashed down on houses and cars all over the county, and homes are flooding.

Our back yard has also been affected by the storm. If you are squeamish, feel free to go on to the next story.

Here you see how the wind blew over one of our portable lawn chairs. As soon as the storm subsides I will have to tilt it back up. It also got wet.






The tarp covering my Weber BBQ blew off and is now severely wedged in our fountain. The Weber is now wet.






The little can I use to store my charcoal briquettes, keeping them dry, is now flooded with water...






...because the tempest blew off the lid, sending it flying 15 feet away. Now, exposed to the elements, the can has filled with water, soaking my briquettes. Total loss is set at $14.95.

In this horrific photo you can see where my garden light used to sit peacefully atop its pole. But severe winds blew the top off sending it flying four feet from where it should be. Can you imagine what would have happened had someone been standing there when it went flying? I can't go there, emotionally.

But most tragic of all is how the storm broke off the top of our plum tree. Notice how cleanly cut the branches are. T'was as if the zephyr used a saw, carefully pruning the tree like would have.

For all of you concerned for our well-being, fear not. We shall weather this storm. But just in case something happens where all communications are cut-off, I did not light the volleyball court at LBBC on fire. I wasn't even there. That was someone else.

Queen's Christmas Message

In the manner of the Queen, I am broadcasting my yearly Christmas message . I have been given special dispensation by the editor of yahyoubetcha.net (after months of begging) to bring this message to you.

We have had an eventful year. The house exhange trip to Wales was definitely the highlight. It was accomplished via frequent flyer miles and lodgings savings. Since the dollar measures 50% of the British pound, we cringed at gas for $10 a gallon, gas station sandwiches, which we got absolutely sick of, at $5 each, etc. But it was so worth it. We saw the Queen's wedding gown and saw her shoes-her feet looked a little big to me.
Real names of towns in Great Britain: Sickling Hall, Wormsley, Dingwall, Horkstow, Flushdike, Sheepridge Fartown, Bedburn, Urpish, etc. We didn't get to see the peak at Bishop's Barf, however, but did eat at the Fish Hotel.
We'll never forget Brittney being locked in our rental car in the Sainsbury's parking lot with the car alarm going off. She had no way to turn it off.
The girls enjoyed the trip, but often grew tired of castles and ruins, preferring the wonders of British Big Brother and Britain's Top Model, as well as the limited internet availability in hotels and bed and breakfasts. Everyone's priorities were slightly different on the trip, which caused some hurt feelings at times. I've mentioned the girls' focus, Scott was focused on castles and museums, I wanted tea room experiences and celtic jewelry. I was thrilled as a store cashier called me "luv." I decided Marks and Spencer is just Sears with a deli. We also saw the creepy Diana and Dody statue in Harrod's. They were jointly "helping" a seagull to fly from their joined hands and the inscription says, "Innocent Victims." Cringe-worthy.

The trip was a “last hurrah” of a family vacation with the girls. They are launching themselves into the universe and we don’t see a whole lot of them anymore. They are finishing their general ed credits at our local junior college Elissa hopes to work in digital arts and will be pursuing her bachelor’s degree at a school in Emeryville (right down the street from Pixar studios) beginning in late summer '08. She toured Pixar-the security and confidentiality rules were reminiscent of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. She is a server at Outback and loves the tips and friends she has there.

Brittney wants to study business at Sacramento State and wants to transfer there a year from now. Her special friend of three years, Nick, will transfer there as well. Brittney works at Starbucks and I love the free pound of coffee a week. She recently enjoyed her second mountain tent camping experience with Nick and other friends in below freezing temps. We aren't sure why.

Since I am done with school, settled in my job at work, and since they are so busy and independent, I have even admitted I am bored now. I have been painting and making hand made cards (selling some of them), reading, playing piano again. I am obsessed with the American version of The Office as well as the BBC version. I have actually been volunteering to do the girls laundry, which hasn’t happened since 1999. I have also taken over the cat’s diet-he is morbidly obese at 18 pounds, but he lost 2 pounds, so that is progress. Brittney put an award certificate over his bowl.

My job is in Adult Protective Services, which is an investigative position. I pattern myself after Columbo and it is interesting work. I get to evaluate people with dementia who walk in the street naked and visit hoarders if it is my lucky day. The job description should state that preferred skills include hardcore nosiness and skill at giving generally unwanted advice. I love my funny, talented co-workers. We also have a lot of pot lucks, which is key in this field.

Scott continues to struggle with his back and is considering surgery at this point. I don’t know what he’ll be like at 65 if he is this bad now. He continues to injure himself in strange and remarkable ways (see “Bonk on the Head”). I want to grow old with him, and have decided to put him in a secluded, padded room for his own safety at some point soon. He continues to enjoy all of his K-4th congregation.

He had a trying autumn as a pastor with two sudden deaths (ages 7 and 46) and leading the funeral services. Both incidents were heartbreaking as he knew both families well. I have never cried so much at memorial services. He did a fantastic job at both, and particularly focused on all of the kids in attendance from up front.

My mom has both short and long term memory loss, so conversations with her are very interesting. She is doing ok, but needs a wheelchair for events outside of the building. She was in skilled nursing last winter when she fell and broke her arm. She had her 70th birthday in the fall and Scott and I were able to fly out for the big event. We spent time with Tim and Jenn, Susie and their kids, which is always a highlight of the year. My dad's brother Merlin and my auntie Janet were able to fly in as well.

I am teaching 2-3 year old Sunday School, which is a crack-up. A new funny saying or incident occurs almost weekly. For instance, there is a “pecking order” about being potty trained. The ones who can do it proudly tell the younger, diapered children of their accomplishments and the younger ones feel belittled: “I am a big girl. You are a baby.” They follow each other into the ducky bathroom and watch their friends sit on the little toilet before we discover what group training activity has been going on in there without our supervision.

Typical circle time in class: “Kids, Jesus was born in a barn with sheep…” Sara: “Teacher-Danny pooped!!!!” (child points excitedly to an oblivious 2 year old classmate. All children look at Danny, but are generally unconcerned). “Ok, Sara, we’ll take care of that in a minute (back to story) Jesus was a tiny baby and shepherds came to visit him…” Sara: “TEACHER! Danny POOOOPED!!!” (more pointing and gesticulating and pinching nose). At that point, a helpful co-teacher will take the poopy child (in this case, Danny) away.

Enough kid stories. Please continue to let us know how you all are. Do you have time for everything in your busy lives? Think of a good excuse to visit San Francisco!!! We miss all of you.

Lots of love, Queen Sheri for the Peterson Family