22 Years

Wow, that’s a long time.

20111021It was 22 years ago that we were anxiously waiting for the snow to melt from the record 9″ of it that fell two days before. I picked up my best man and his wife at the airport – flying in from Phoenix, so they were dressed for fall in Indiana. Winter was not on the radar.

Mike’s first words to me when I saw him in baggage claim: “What the hell is this?”

And then there was the rehearsal dinner – we were supposed to be in a “party room”, and it didn’t work out that way. Heat was not working in the room, apparently it too was a little stunned by snow in October. So we had dinner in the main dining area, with everyone else.

Then came wedding day. I can’t speak for the bride, but the groom and the best man were sitting in front of my trusty 13″ television watching a football game eating pizza at 3:30 in the afternoon, until one of us (can’t remember who) looked at the clock and said “we should probably get ready.”

I had one thing to remember to bring with me – the now famous pina colada scented unity candle. Did I remember to bring it? Hell no. Mike jumps in my car, drives back to the apartment to get the candle in record time. Did I mentioned he lived in Phoenix, and may not have had the best grasp of the roadways in Indianapolis? Good thing he’s smart.

Nerves were starting to catch up with me. Fortunately, our good friend Jim (who had just finished playing in a Butler football game that afternoon) arrived with the gym bag that made clinking noises. My hero.

I almost won the bet during the ceremony that Cathy would pass out – she still denies it to this day, but she did a big “I’m gonna pass out swoop” about halfway through. But she survived. We should have had the pool set up for whether or not Cathy’s dad would get through it without incident. He had one line – “Her mother and I” when asked who gives this woman. He was circling another planet when the time came, and all I could hear was Cathy and her sister talking out of the sides of their mouths “Her mother and I”. When he returned from orbit, he said “Come again?”

It took us 20 minutes to get married. It took us 90 minutes (or what seemed like an eternity) to take pictures. The natives were getting restless at the reception; the wedding was at 6:30, so people were getting hungry. The food line was held until we arrived. Needless to say, we were hustled to the food.

The reception was a party. And a half. We still hear stories about how much fun people had at our wedding reception. The bar bill was an accurate reflection of that. About 90 minutes into it, my freshly-minted father-in-law checked to see where the bar tab was, and the response was “How much?!?!!” (extra punctuation is necessary and appropriate). Good thing the bride’s freshly-minted father-in-law jumped into the fray with subsidy offers. A good time was had by all. Those of you that were there and are reading this – testify.

Funny how after 22 years, I still remember all of this. Even funnier is that I remember most of the other things that have happened since, and there’s been a lot. So to my dearest Fartblossom I say this: It’s been a terrific ride so far, and I’m sure the rest of it will be just as much fun. For me, it’s been “friends with benefits” all along. Which is nice. We’re in what’s becoming an elite club – those of us still married after all of these years. Thank you for putting up with me (I know it’s not easy), and for allowing me the privilege of putting up with you.

Notice I didn’t mention anything about putting up with you being easy (or not)? It’s things like that you learn after 22 years.

Happy Anniversary, Cathy!

School Pics 2011

Well, we’re finally back to batting .500 – the fourth year of school pictures, and now we have two editions where we can actually not grimace when opening the package. Now, some of you are thinking “he’s only in first grade, so how did computer boy get to four?” Remember, we had two years of Early Childhood programs as a warm-up.

Our record for quality school pictures got off to a really poor start. Our first attempt in the fall of 2008, was just that – an attempt. We tried, we really did. We got him up a little earlier for school, so he could get a bath (instead of the night before) to dull down his normally freaked out morning hair.

In return for our efforts, we got this:


It’s also been referred to as “The Mug Shot”. To this day, Cathy’s cousin Thom starts laughing every time he sees it.

In 2009, we had high hopes for a better picture. Once again, we got him up early for school for a morning bath/shower to minimize hair impact. Dressed and cleaned up, we sent him off.  Later in the week, Cathy asks his teacher how picture day went (with Mrs.Mark’s awareness of the prior year’s outcome). She says “I think it’s going to be just fine, I think we got a good one.”

Well, she was wrong. Instead, we got this:


I can’t speak for Cathy, but I was getting flashbacks to a comic strip that originally ran on 9/24/1989 (yes, I’m that old):


I even threatened to start calling him Calvin.

But as good parents, we hung the already paid-for 8×10 in the family room with our other family photos. It’s funny to watch other people try to be complimentary when they see it. We had coffee mugs made with his first two school pictures (along with a handful of other stellar boy images) and gave them to select people. Thom got one, of course. Others who received them have also related stories of people trying to be complimentary when they see it. They only difference is that most of them can say they’re not related to him.

We were ready to surrender.

So when 2010 rolled around, we thought “what the hell, let’s shower him in the morning again and just hope for the best. Can’t be any worse than last year’s picture.”

To our surprise, it wasn’t. Actually, it was pretty good:


Finally, a school picture we can hang without requiring a background story. We had hope for future photos.

The 2011 edition did not disappoint – it’s the best one so far:


It’s funny, and maybe it’s just me, but he looks more than just one year older in this one. He really is growing up. I still can’t decide which of us he favors – many have said he looks like me, but I still dont’ see it. If anything, I see my mom in him.

So we’re back to .500 now – we’ll see what next year brings.

A Strange Place To Park

Like many who read Pug Hollow News, we’ve had a fair amount of rain in these parts over the last month or so. By fair I mean we’ve been enduring a monsoon every 3-4 days.

I’m coming home from a client site one evening a few weeks ago, and Cathy’s standing in the middle of the driveway looking up at the roof. She stops me, and tells me to get out of the car and look at this.

Sitting on the peak of the garage roof: a duck.

Now the last time I checked, ducks normally like to glide in for that soft water landing. I don’t remember seeing too many of them shooting for the pinpoint accuracy of my 12/12 roof ridge.

Needless to say, I went to fetch my camera. My only worry was he’d fly off before I could get back outside. As it turned out, it was quite the opposite. He sat there for quite a while, perfectly content to take in the surroundings from his high perch. The whole family was out in the driveway watching this, and he was not bothered at all by the attention.

He sat there for about an hour – until the next monsoon rolled in. Probably thought finding a place to land in water might be a little safer.

Finding Bigfoot

I used to think that Animal Planet put some relatively decent programming on its schedule; I’d catch myself watching it every now and then to see what new kind of mutant lizard-like thing the Miami-Dade Animal Control people were catching in the swamps. Mindless, yet entertaining.

It’s now shifted from mindless to just plain ridiculous. Case in point: Finding Bigfoot.

D3C_7441-640_resizeYes, that’s right, the Bigfoot Research Organization (or BFRO) is out there actively searching for a “squatch”. The team is complete with a field biologist and an expert “caller”. The leader of this little band of nutballs says he’s been on this quest for 20+ years. I frankly find it hard to watch more than five minutes of this trainwreck without looking at my wife and saying “Seriously?!?”

Except for one thing – the boy. He’s absolutely mesmerized by it. We have to DVR it, and he’ll watch it over and over again. And now he’s looking for “a squatch” in the woods of Pug Hollow.

This evening, armed in full Bigfoot-hunting garb, a boy and his mother ventured into the woods in search of the resident Sasquatch. Before setting out on this quest, I captured some video of their pre-planning meeting – it’s available on my Facebook page, and should be available soon on Cathy’s. Worth your two minutes to watch it.

There’s apparently a dress code for Bigfoot hunting – as we can see here:

  • Boots
  • Long pants and shirt
  • Backpack (complete with rations)
  • Hat
  • Binoculars
  • Night Vision Goggles

The goggles deserve a shot of their own (we thank Joni and Greta for these):

And so they head into the woods, with the boy making sure he issues a few calls into the wilderness. Because, you know, being able to issue an appropriate Bigfoot call is an essential skill for this kind of work.

When the Associate BFRO field staff (and I’m using the term associate very loosely here) returned, they had evidence of Bigfoot’s presence: they found a popped balloon tied to a ribbon (“because Bigfoot eats the balloons”) and remnants of a rotten pumpkin that also looked like it had been eaten.

And apparently the boy is pretty good at rationing food from his backpack – he was only willing to give his mother one Cheese-It while they were in the field.

I think the evidence speaks for itself. The boy’s as loony as the people on the show. But I do have a new angle for getting him indoors in the evening – because you never know when Bigfoot might be coming for a certain little boy.


The local BFRO field team went back out for one last “night hunt” this evening. Just before they went into the woods, the junior member of the team requested that they hold hands. I’m sure this was for safety reasons, as maintaining unity is of paramount importance in such endeavors.

Oh, and he did use his Night Vision goggles, as evidenced by Mom’s cell phone camera:


Look Out World – She’s On

Brace yourselves, everyone – Cathy’s on Facebook. Yes, the queen of social (dubbed that by not only me, but by many of her friends) has finally boarded the train.

lookoutworld Believe it or not, it was part of my Father’s Day present.

Each year, I ask for the same thing for Father’s Day (and get your heads out of the gutter – you know who you are). The request is simple: a no commitment, no visitor, no going anywhere, do-nothing day. I wish to be a slug, and to completely dictate how little I want to do.

This year I added two more things, neither of which costs a dime: sign up for Facebook (because I know she’d get a big kick out of it) and sign up for Twitter. I got Facebook – two out of three, I can live with that.

So what’s been the resistance? Fear of privacy, mostly. It’s a legitimate concern, one that I completely understand. People should value and protect such things.

Unfortunately, the media is rife with horror stories about how Facebook jeopardizes personal privacy, wrecks marriages and bestows all kinds of horrors on society. Yes, you surrender some of it when you join social media networks like Facebook, but it does not have to be the personal information free for all that so many paint it to be.

So with the helpful guidance of some info written by my friend Abby Butts (everyone should read these posts by the way, they’re full of really good info), Cathy got herself all hooked up. She’s done an excellent job of bolting down her account, revealing only the things she wants revealed. There’s no magic to it, it’s just simply taking a stroll through your Privacy Settings and setting the restrictions to a level with which you are comfortable. And if you didn’t know, the default settings are not very secure – at all. Just ask Cathy.

So if you’re interested, pop in on her here. At a minimum, you’ll at least be able to make an introduction from there. That security stuff works pretty well when you set it up the right way.

Grass Is Not My Friend

As some of you know, I’ve been fighting sinus “stuff” off and on for the last few years. A lot of it I’ve blamed on the boy, since he’s a card-carrying member of the Microbe of the Week Club (comes with going to school). But this year has been particularly brutal; on many days, I’ve considered paying someone to pick up a cordless drill and put a hole in my forehead to ease the pressure. Some people were willing to do it for free, but I digress.

After trying three or four (who’s counting) different rounds of antibiotics with no results, my doctor referred me to an ENT. After a hearing test, a few questions, and a peek in my ears and nose, I walked out of my first visit hearing three things I really hadn’t anticipated: deviated septum, CT scan and TMJ.


So before we could get too carried away with what else is going on in there, we schedule the CT scan. I think my tweets from the morning describe it pretty well:

Deviated septum, and some generally odd “architecture” going on my head – something that has most likely been there for a very long time. The CT was done at the ENT’s office, and I met with him immediately after it was one (which was handy). You know you’re in for fun when the doctor starts the conversation with “I’m glad we had the CT done, because there were a few things in there I wasn’t expecting to see.”

Double Crap.

I get the photo tour of my noodle, so I can see my deviated septum and the various other things going on in there. The word “surgery” has now crept into the discussion, as he’s telling me “we can go in there and do this and this, yada, yada” – my brain kind of fogged at “go in there”. I’ve heard tales of sinus surgery from others. I’ve seen the immediate aftermath of a few of them. Not pretty at all. And then there’s the “blood clot thing” – that part where my hematologist tells me she wants to know any time sharp instruments are involved. Then I get the part of the discussion that talks about the risks of doing sinus surgery, and all of the things that “could” go sideways during the excavation. We schedule a date for surgery for late June. That functional part of my head above the ill-functioning sinus cavities is now running at full speed, hovering somewhere between DEFCON 4 and 5.

And then he says, “I think we’ve also got some allergy things working in there too – let’s do an allergy test, so we can have as much info as possible before we start climbing around in there.”

My brain said “what a fabulous idea.”

Nine days later I go in for the allergy test, also in the ENT’s office (I’m beginning to think this is a racket). I come in, lay down on my stomach (BlackBerry in hand, of course) and they put the allergens in the pattern on my back. Again, I refer to my “thoughts of the moment”:

The full rundown of the things for which I tested positive – grasses (all of them), ragweed, three tree families (oak, maple and alder), mixed feathers. Grasses and oak trees were the real big winners in this test, with grasses showing a really strong reaction (hence the allergist’s comments).


Let’s see – grass is everywhere, ragweed is a real treat in the late summer, I live in a forest and my charming and delightful wife sleeps on a feather pillow.

I found this October 2009 picture of my back yard. I thought it would be amusing to identify the offending trees. Pretty funny, isn’t it?


The worst part is that this is just the immediate back yard – the front and side yard are more densely populated with my enemies. If I had to guess, the woods at Pug Hollow is probably 25% oak, 20% beech (part of the oak family), 20% ash, 10% maple, 10 % hickory and the rest being walnut, hackberry and whatever the hell else is growing out there.

Yes, Pug Hollow is trying to kill me.  Honestly, though, I’m kind of relieved to actually know what’s causing me grief. I’ve made mention to Cathy that it seems every year gets worse, and I don’t remember having these problems at the old house.

PollenForecast1I’ve been paying a lot closer attention to conditions when I feel like my sinuses are acting up, and I read the daily pollen forecast on the The Weather Channel site. For the latter half of May and the early part of June, they’ve looked like this – and I’ve felt it. I never really noticed how much stuff gets launched into the air when I cut the grass, but I do now – and it’s a lot. Frankly, it’s no wonder I’m always packed up.

So while I know that I’m “not right in the head”, I broke the news to the ENT yesterday that I think there are other things I can do before we get all crazy and start rearranging the furniture in my sinuses. The best way for me to not have post-op complications is to not have the “op” in the first place. I think I’ll try finding ways to reduce the swelling/irritation in my sinuses so that I might breathe a little easier, rather than going the RotoRooter path. That option will always be available, so for now it will be the last resort.

I’ll wear a mask when I cut the grass, along with my ear protection. I know I’ll look like an idiot, but really don’t care. Hell, I’ll wear a full hazmat suit if necessary. And while I don’t like doing it, I’m getting more comfortable with nasal sprays and rinses. Immunotherapy is Plan B. We can be more diligent about cleaning the house and washing clothes, so enemy pollen isn’t floating around. And yes, Cathy has offered to surrender her feather pillow for the good of the cause (albeit grudgingly).

I love where I live, because of the woods. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to have to find a way to fight back so I can continue to enjoy the outdoors, despite the fact that most of what’s out there is not my friend.

Better living through chemistry, I say.

The Apology

As most of you know, the boy has been participating in baseball. If you didn’t know that, you’ll want to go back and read about his first baseball game and check out the pictures.

Another thing that most of you know is that the boy has been accused of being “easily distracted”. For those who know his parents, it’s pretty easy to see that apples usually don’t fall far from the tree. I’ve said it many times, he is his mother. No, I’m not being mean here; I’m pretty certain she’d say the same thing about it.

Which brings us back to being distracted – it’s the end of the game on Saturday afternoon, it’s the boy’s turn to bat, and there’s an issue. Mom (who also serves as the team mom for this little band of baseball players) is called to home plate by the coaches to chat with the boy. It’s apparent things are not going terribly well. Upon our return to the car, there was pretty thorough, one-sided and relatively high-volume discussion between the boy and Momzilla (yes, there was a transformation) about how that was not going to be tolerated. I still didn’t have a lot of details on what happened, but that really wasn’t the time to be asking questions. I sat there quietly, it was the best and safest course of action for me.

Rather than my muddling the story from here, I’ll share this little email from Mom to the coaches. I think this closes the loop:

From: Cathy Bridegroom
Date: 05/17/2011 01:15 AM
Subject: Nicholas

Hi Guys,

I just wanted to give you both a heads up that you will be receiving a letter of apology in the mail tomorrow from Nicholas.  It is my way of teaching him that it is not okay to throw fits, pout and essentially act up when things don’t go his way.  As you both may recall, he was a bit out of sorts towards the end of the game on Saturday.  It was due to an incident on the bench minutes before you both had the pleasure of dealing with him up to bat, and he decided to “shut down.” I have found from past experience having him write notes is a good way to talk about what happened and also explain what he did was not a good choice and to make a better one in the future.  He does not enjoy the note writing experience, which in turn “motivates” him to not act up in the future or suffer the same consequence.  It may seem a bit extreme to some, but I’d rather take these teaching moments when I get them and address them pronto!

Soooo, here is what the notes say because I am afraid you will have a tough time reading them.  I equate his handwriting to a drunken chicken walking across the page – ha!

“Dear Coach, I am sorry I threw a fit and did not listen at the game.  I will not do that again.  Nicholas”  I would have had him write more, but frankly the little dear was exhausted from writing what he did.  My point was made.

Gentleman, thank you for patience and all the good you do for the kids.  It is truly appreciated.

Take care and see you at Thursday’s game provided no rain.

Good night and yes, I’m going to bed.  I’m a night owl!


This is what we call motherly brilliance. It’s also helps to reinforce those three words that he’s obviously not grasped – don’t cross Mommy.