Stress and Grease Free

I have been hurtling down the highway in my motorhome heading for Florida, so I have had a lot of time to think about deep, serious questions.

I was asked recently what profession or job I would want to do if I had it all to do over again. This is the adult equivalent of the old question asked every child: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

I still do not have a good answer to that question, but I am actively looking. Just recently I saw a real possibility. The sign on the side of the soda dispenser at the Subway in Tolland, CT, cried “Hiring, Hiring, Hiring.”

The pay was $8.65 an hour with medical benefits. Included was a large discount on food (a dubious value.) The real draw for me was the promoted “stress and grease free environment.”

I have been looking for a stress free work environment for some time, so this would work well. I have not thought a lot about “grease free.” I kind of like grease. I don’t want to worry about my cholesterol at work. But I had bacon on my sub so how grease free could they be?

Stress free work is hard to find. Until the other night the position of waitress was high on my list of possibilities. The Friday’s in Scranton, PA, provides an ESP button on every table. Push the button and it pages the waitress. I asked the waitress about it and she was lukewarm about it. She said a good waitress does not need it. And she has some trouble with tables of teenagers and people who just want to be funny. Clearly she was annoyed by the pages. Clearly it adds stress to her job. So I crossed waitress off my list.

At the Chick-Fil-A in Virginia I saw what appeared to be the perfect job: “Sampling Hostess – Part time, 3 days a week.” I know. You’re thinking that three days a week would be a lot for me, but maybe it is not a whole day. I’m thinking maybe three hours a day. The real plus is the sampling. I love sampling food. I could probably do that for more than three hours a day.

The rest of the ad read, “You must be very outgoing, friendly, energetic and like working with people.” I am not exactly the outgoing sort. I like going out – by myself. Would that do? I can be friendly if I have to be. Would I have to be friendly to people that I don’t know? Energetic? Not a chance. But you can’t be everything! Do I like working with people? Exactly what people do they mean? And what do they mean by “like?” And “working” is kind of a tough one for me.

You will notice that the ad said nothing about “grease free.” I’ve been thinking about that and I now think it is an important element of any future job for me.

So I have come up with the perfect ad for me. I want to work in a “stress, grease and work free” environment. I will keep looking until I find out. I will not settle for less.

Rollover Minutes

I was really busy in the kitchen on Christmas morning. I am an early riser so my job is to get the turkey in the oven. I tucked that bird into the heat and I was on to other kitchen stuff. I even made some breakfast for my dear wife. All of this preparation created quite a mess.

“I’ll clean it up. I don’t want you to run out of energy. We have a long day ahead of us,” she said.

I replied, “No, I’ll clean up. Use me up while you can. Do you think I have rollover minutes?”

Many wireless cell phone carriers have rollover minutes, but I do not. I have a small window of useful energy minutes in any given day. And even that window requires frequent energy renewal breaks (eating.) The window runs from 6 AM to 1 PM. After that I am done. Done, done, done.

One exception to the general rule exists. If I suck down a really big caffeinated Diet Coke at lunch, the window is extended for fifteen minutes. However, during that time I cannot stop talking and flailing my arms and legs. So those extra minutes are not particularly productive.

I want more minutes. Where could I get some? Someone said to try Red Bull, but it has been suggested that Red Bull would probably launch me into outer space.


I wonder if I would get back in time for my nap?

Christmas Debris

Even the treetops are done with Christmas. I took this photo one handed while pumping gas – true multi-tasking. The balloons look so stuck. They have lost their shiny edge and are now part of Christmas past.

Christmas sure produces a lot of debris. The wonderful, aromatic spruce tree will soon be dried up tinder stuck in a snow bank. All the fancy wrapping paper and bows are now wadded up and waiting for trash day just like the turkey carcass. And what about all the boxes?

Many of the boxes will go out with the recycling, but some will be saved for next year. Not all stores give out boxes with purchases. On December 10 my Sears store was "out of boxes." Out of boxes!??!! Were they not expecting Christmas shoppers? Did they not have enough time to plan for it? Were they caught by surprise?

So we will need some boxes in reserve for next Christmas. Which brings me to a question about box etiquette. What do you do when the person who opens the gift and ooh’s and ah’s about the name of the store on the box? For example, my wife’s favorite store is J Jill. When she gets excited about the J Jill box, what do I say if the gift is not really from J Jill? Do I ruin her excitement by telling her the truth or do I add to her Christmas joy by remaining mum?

I hate a moral dilemma right in the middle of a major holiday. I would rather be out on the treetops.

Male Nurse

I have crossed one more profession off my “what would you be if you had it all to do over” list: nurse.

You know about the severe nursing shortage in this country. It could be remedied easily by an influx of young males. But male nurses make up only about six percent of all nurses. Expensive studies have been done to determine exactly why males do not go into nursing. I could have saved them a lot of money. I know why. I learned when my wife was sick recently.

Males do not possess sufficient sympathy genes. It’s not that we don’t have any sympathy. When my wife gets sick I am very sympathetic for 24 hours, but then the genes wear out. They get tired. We just don’t have staying power when it comes to sympathy.

We get distracted easily and get off mission, especially if it is not our own mission. I can be providing the very best of nursing care when some very important game comes on the TV. I did not even know that the TV was on. Who knew that Ellen Degeneres would be preempted by some bowl game?

I can only prepare one of each meal: breakfast, lunch and dinner. I have only one tried and true recipe for each.

We get worn out quickly. Do you know how much work there is to be done in a household? As a modern male I share the work load at home – and my share is about twenty percent – or less. You mean I have to fill up the dishwasher and empty it later on? Both? I have to clean up after every meal? I actually have to do the laundry and not just put my own stuff away? One hundred percent of the workload is inhuman.

I am not sure how to remedy this situation. It appears to be a natural dilemma of the species. Quicker healing would be good. Robots hold promise. Until then, I have provided my wife with a male nurse action hero. He will spring into action on day 2. I hope that he is more useful than I am.

Fleece Navidad

The invitation to the small dinner party said that dress is “holiday – comfortable.” This certainly has caused confusion for me. Is it possible to be comfortable on a holiday? So much is expected that I am usually anxious.

I searched my closet in the “holiday – comfortable” section and came up empty. It was too far into the back of the closet and I could not see very well. I tripped over some old cowboy boots and a dusty Halloween outfit, but I don’t think that is the holiday they are talking about.

Maybe I could go as a St. Patrick’s Day reveler. I have some green Mardi Gras beads that would look great with my green fleece jacket and blue jeans. Or I could go as an Easter guy with my yellow fleece jacket and blue jeans. Maybe I could go in my Valentine outfit of my red fleece jacket and blue jeans - when I put my palms together at my waist I look like a big heart.

No, I can’t go as any of those holidays. I have to stick with the program. So tonight I am going to break out my red fleece jacket and blue jeans – red for holiday and jeans for comfort. Luckily none of the other dinner guests saw me on Valentine’s Day. I would not want to be caught wearing the same outfit twice.

Maybe I will dress up the outfit a little bit. I have some nice blue fleece gloves – or green fleece gloves. And I could add a matching fleece hat – in blue, green or red – I have all three.

Here's what I have chosen:



Do you think that they will let me in?

Fleece Navidad!

A Small Day

Yesterday was a small day – perhaps the smallest of days. I woke up in one of those dark places. No I am not talking about Buffalo! I’m talking about a dark place of the soul, or the mind or the ankle. Any old body part will do.

And I want to place blame.

The dog did it. When in doubt, always blame the dog. The dog cannot respond.

The snow did it. It was snowing when I woke up and it was snowing when I went to sleep. In between, it was snowing. I have been transported to the Yukon. We have had more snow so far this month than we had all of last winter.

The winter solstice did it. It came one day early just to upset me. It deprived me of light with these short days. What is the opposite of light? Dark. Exactly my point. This blame stuff is easy to prove.

I tried to be productive but eventually I surrendered and treated the day as a snow day. Two movies and a nap later, dusk was rushing in. It must have been about noon.

I shoveled the snow and wondered what could help me. I needed a lamp to light my way.



Oh, I guess I've got one.

I needed a life line.



Got that too.

Sometimes the best that I can do is find a piece of beauty...



and hold on for a bigger day.

How I'd Love to Strangle Thee

O Christmas tree! O Christmas Tree!
How I’d love to strangle thee.
O Christmas tree! O Christmas Tree!
How I’d love to strangle thee.
You piss me off ‘most every year.
But this is it, I shed no tear.
O Christmas tree! O Christmas Tree!
How I’d love to strangle thee.

~ lost verse to a Christmas carol

from the very dark ages

The best thing about buying a Christmas tree is that you do it only once a year. It’s like that prostate examination. You know you have to go, and it is always as bad as you remember.

The real problem for me in this process is that I am a perfectionist. So you take me to a place with hundreds of frozen trees that are piled up against each other, and ask me to pick out the best one? How many days do I have?

I figured out a way to make the buying process easier: I bought a house with low ceilings. So the tree has to be short. All my life I have wanted the tallest of trees, even though I have never had a house that would accommodate one. So I always overbought. The tree was too tall, too wide, too bushy, too prickly, too this and too that. Now I buy small – small tree, small problems.

I also have changed my method of choosing. I no longer have to see every tree at the nursery. I go on a very cold day and I hold up trees. The first one that my wife likes, we buy. I call that maturity. And learning how to survive.

Notice that I said “we.” Buying a tree is a matrimonial experience in my house. That way, I can make it painful for more that just me. My wife dreads the tree buying day because she has experienced so many bad ones with me. She watches to catch me in a good mood – not always an easy task. She feeds me so that I am not roaming on low blood sugar. She praises whatever small task I do so that I feel like a hero when tying down the trunk lid.

I get it home and wrestle it out of the trunk and past the storm door that wants to refuse entry to anything so wide and green. Now comes my favorite part.

I get out the tree bag in which I will wrap the tree for removal at the end of the season. This bag will stop those pesky pine needles from inserting themselves throughout my house. I find them in my ears in August. I am so smart to be so prepared.

The giant white trash bag comes with the instruction to insert the bottom of the tree into the hole in the bag. But there is NO HOLE in the bag! What happened? Did they run out of time at the factory? So I have to cut the hole – not a happy job for a perfectionist. Where should the hole be? How big should it be?

With the help of my ever patient wife, I get the tree into the stand. I then twirl for a half hour like a ballerina with my arms around the tree so that the best side will be showing. Is the Nutcracker about buying a Christmas tree?

There my story ends. I turn over the decorating job to my wife. I know better than to let my perfectionist, squirrelly brain get lost into decisions about ornament and light placement. I have learned a few things the hard way over the years. I will save my energy for the taking down part. I love to dismantle and destruct. It requires very few decisions.

Oh, I almost forgot. There is one more great part to this story. In the Spring I get to burn this tree! And I sing, “O Christmas Tree! O Christmas Tree!” as the flames shoot to the treetops. Few things make me happier.