TOO STUBBORN TO GIVE UP

 As I’ve stated on several occasions, my skills as a carpenter or plumber or handyman are limited. It’s not so much that I am unable to learn those skills; it’s more that no one ever taught me them. I still keep trying to complete projects, but many times they either take too long, look terrible when I finish them, or I have to hire someone to fix the additional mess I’ve made of things. I’m just stubborn enough to keep trying. With You Tube, I’ve learned to do some things; other tasks call for more skills knowledge than I have.  

The leaves that fall each fall overwhelm my yard. They pile up in flowerbeds and along the house’s foundation with each wind that blows. I wanted to keep most of them from gathering around the basement door of my house. I scrounged around and found a couple of pieces of lattice. Neither was wide enough to cover the opening, so I used zip ties to connect both pieces. Next, I tried to stand the lattice up by weaving stakes through it and then drive them into the ground. I didn’t count on the ground being as hard as concrete, nor did I have any idea that a hammer would splinter the stakes beyond use. Admitting defeat, I slid one side of the lattice between concrete blocks and hooked the other side to a post from the deck. The thing is serviceable. 

I was successful enough to replace the deck flooring with Trex. I also put down new treads on the steps. However, the lowest one has a bow in it. I’m not sure why. I screwed the Trex to the stringer as I was supposed to do, but for some reason, a bend in the thing is there. If I place a brace under it, something else will go haywire. Every time I approach the deck, that bow is the first thing in sight.  

My brother’s daughter Mindy bought an older home in Fountain City a few years ago. She keeps a list of projects, and Jim and I tackle some of them. For what seems to be half a year, Jim has been stripping inside doors. He removed layers of paint and smoothed the surfaces. I went with him to hang the basement door before cold weather set in. We found the hinges and put them on the door and the frame. The door wouldn’t shut, so we took it down, used another set of hinges, but the darn thing still refused to close. We took it down again and thought, argued, and cursed. Mindy suggested that we go home and that she would hire someone to hang the doors. We both said, “No way!”  

After another fifteen minutes, we realized that the problem was our having put the hinges on backward. Jim and I felt absolutely stupid, but at the same time a sense of relief came in having figured out how to hang the doors.  

On the way home, Jim and I kept talking about how dumb we were. I told him to look at the bright side of things: we learned how to do something that we would never forget. That proved to be little consolation to him, and I didn’t buy it either. 

Most of the projects I’ve completed are sad-looking things. I tried to dry pour a concrete slab. It didn’t work like the You Tube video promised. I tried to cut a place out of my workbench for my chop saw. It was cock-eyed. Still, I’m stubborn enough to keep on trying to create something that looks right. My desire to be a “craftsman” hasn’t cooled, but the costs of materials could make me yell, “Uncle!” 

HOW CAN THAT BE POSSIBLE

 Believe it or not, I’ve calmed down quite a bit over the last few years. Before that, my temper or “righteous indignation” many times took over my mind and body and caused me to do or say some things of which I might not have been proud. Well, I have to admit an incident over the weekend led to that fury rearing its ugly head with full force.  

Amy and I went to bed early last Friday after a long, busy, and tiring week. Three rounds of mowing leaves, making appointments, and taking part in other activities had taken their tolls on us. I was in the middle of an unusually deep sleep when the phone yanked me from unconsciousness. Amy answered it, and from her side of the conversation, I could tell that something was seriously wrong. One of our good friends had fallen for the second time that day, and she had trouble expressing her thoughts at times. Her energy was depleted, and she lay in bed for the entire evening.  

The woman on the phone was the best friend of the stricken woman. She called her every night between 9:30 and 10:00 p.m. to make sure she was all right. After seven calls without an answer, the friend drove to the house and found the woman in the floor. The Karns Fire Department made its second trip of the day to help. During their first trip, the men didn’t convince the lady to go to the hospital.  

We arrived shortly, and the two who had driven to the house said that they needed to get home to check on one of their family members. Amy and I found our friend asleep. Our presence left her confused and surprised. We feared that she might have suffered a serious event and made the decision that she was going to the hospital.  

Amy placed a 911 call to request an ambulance. It was about 12:30 a.m. The person taking the call was understanding and asked several questions to better assess the situation. Then she told Amy that it would be some time before an ambulance came since they were all out on calls. She promised to call back when one was on its way. 

After we hadn’t heard from anyone after a couple of hours, Amy again called 911. She was told that a record of the call was on file and that an ambulance would arrive as soon as possible. At 9:00 a.m. the next morning, we were still waiting for one. Our friend needed to go to the bathroom but was too weak to make it back to bed. We called the fire department again, and they arrived promptly. One of the officers had been at the house the night before. They gently took care of her and treated her with kindness and respect. 

Amy called again for an ambulance, but now one wasn’t available because crews were with patients they’d delivered to hospitals. We’d called the lady’s children, and her daughter contacted us to find out at which hospital her mom was being treated. She was angry when we told her about the problem, and she said goodbye. In only a few minutes she called again to tell us an ambulance would be at our location in fifteen minutes. She was right. I wondered how someone in Colorado could get an ambulance when we in Knoxville couldn’t. 

Knoxville is a modern city with many things of which it should be proud. In many ways, officials have made the city and county more welcoming to visitors, and the many parks and trails offer excellent exercise sites. However, our leaders are letting us down when it comes to health concerns. The ambulance service evidently doesn’t have a large enough fleet to serve the community. How can that be possible? Why don’t county leaders demand better service or void the contract with this company and find another more reliable one?  

This failure to address a known problem reminds me of a meeting with the County Commission concerning a new subdivision. The Karns Fire Department engine dangerously maneuvered a curve on the road into which traffic would dump. The person speaking for the roads in Knox County replied to our objection of the subdivision, “There are a lot of narrow roads in Knox County.“  

That was it. The developer was given permission to build the subdivision, and folks still take their chances on the roads; the fire engines take a longer route to avoid problems.  

Our friend is recovering from her health emergency. Let’s all say a prayer that another person won’t meet a different fate because not enough ambulances are available to answer calls or have an accident as they drive on dangerous county roads to provide assistance.  

LOVING OUR CHILDREN

 A person lies down for a good night’s sleep. Just as he’s about to fall into a deep sleep, his dog is disturbed and begins to bark loud enough to wake the dead. The howling lasts for hours, long enough to make a restful night impossible. Even though the man is furious and tired, he’d never think of harming his beloved pup. Yes, that pet owner is me, and the howler is Sadie. 

The same thing held true with our children. Both of my offspring were beautiful and sweet. Then we took them home, and it were as if Satan had possessed them. Sleep was an activity that Amy and I vaguely remembered. We begged those little ones to go to sleep so we could pass out; alas, they didn’t speak English at the time. When Lacey slept through the night for the first time, Amy and I woke in a panic and ran to check on her wellbeing.  Eventually, routines were established, and life settled down just a bit.  

As the two grew older, they began to participate in organizations. Lacey was a girl scout, and we survived the cookie campaigns. She played softball for a couple of years before discovering soccer. Her talents in that sport thrived on the defensive end, and she always talked about how much fun it was to tackle a charging opponent. Dallas played baseball, mostly because I made him do so. I’d seen enough boys who didn’t know how to throw a ball or swing a bat and was determined to make sure my son wasn’t one of them. Dallas played basketball for one year, but he didn’t like the confinement of a gym and the noise of the fans. He also played on a soccer team that went undefeated. He played midfield and did a good job. When the team invited him back the next year, he declined because he wanted to get up so early on Saturday morning.  

The teen years were the most perilous. Lacey proved to be as stubborn as her dad. We battled often, and the house shook with raised voices. For the most part, my daughter “tried” to follow the rules of our home. I’ve found out in the last few years that she might have done more than we knew. I tell her now that I don’t want to hear about those escapades. Dallas was the quiet child, and his acts were minor in comparison. He didn’t like school from the first day I took him to kindergarten, and his study habits weren’t stellar; still, he managed to have a good time in school and made acceptable grades.  

All of these things probably sound familiar to most adults. Children have a way of trying parents. They are also trying to spread their wings to become independent. I suppose that doing so in the safety of home is better than at a college or an apartment. Our cries of displeasure set the limits for our children and teach them some of the unwritten rules about life.  

These young’uns, whether toddlers or teens, can bring plenty of angst through the years. At some point, probably when they have children or their own, our offspring will understand what our goals were and why we acted as we did. These days, nothing brings a smile on my face quicker than to see my grandson pull one of the same tricks that his mother pulled. Karma truly can be woeful, so I try not to laugh too much or remind Lacey is getting what she gave.  

We love our children, but they can bring out the worst in us as parents. Lucky for us, the positives that children bring far outweigh the negatives that drive us parents nuts. My wife reminds me that we have children when we are young because few of us could survive the job at our present age. Hang in there, parents; things do get better.  

SOUR NOTES

 I’ve always enjoyed singing. Jim and I sang in the children’s choir at church when we were young. For some reason, we had to sing a song alone for most of those events. Even in high school, Mike Guinn, Jim, and I sang a special song in front of the church. Two things that have been constant throughout the years are I suffer from stage fright and at least one sour note or major mistake occurred during performances.  

I played trumpet beginning in fifth grade band. At the time, Mr. Scott was our director. I’m not sure how dedicated he was to the profession, but he hung in there and taught us the basics of our instruments. I never was able to beat Sharon Newcomb for first chair. Probably a bit more practice would have helped that cause. 

Every year, the students from Ball Camp, Karns, Hardin Valley, Solway joined forces to present a concert at the high school auditorium. We met for practice several times, and Mr. Scott told us to individually keep up with the music. “Don’t rely on the person next to you for being in the right place in the music.” I took that advice to heart, much to my embarrassment. The band played some Latin American song, and at the end of the piece, students were to say “Ole” in unison. Toward the last few measures, musicians lost their places, and the entire band stopped playing. I had been counting measures and believed I was keeping up. With Mr. Scott’s quote burned in my mind, I came to the place, and with a loud, “solo” voice, I yelled “Ole!” The place erupted in laughter, and Mr. Scott’s eyes burned holes in my skull.  

Our high school choir toured each spring. In 1968, we traveled to Fall Church, Virginia. The trip was wonderful as we toured monuments and saw the seat of our government. The concert we gave wasn’t so wonderful. One selection was tricky with time changes and key changes. We’d been shaky with the song at school, but Mr. Nelson decided we could perform it. Unfortunately, we couldn’t. The silence in the middle of the piece was deafening. All of us stood red-faced in front of an audience who never expected us to fall apart.  

When my brothers, their wives, Amy and I were in college, we enjoyed singing together. Dallas was a head resident, and during holidays, we would walk to one of the community showers to sing. The sound encouraged us enough to sing at church one Sunday. I still don’t why it happened, but the farther along we went, the worse it sounded. We were off-key and the end of the piece sounded like a train wreck. We finished and quickly sat down. That was the last time our family group sang in public.  

During the last years of my teaching career, I noticed that my voice was fading. On some days, I’d begin teaching, and my voice would disappear. At other times, I could barely be heard in the back of the room. That was a surprise to my students and me since I’d always been such a loud person.  

At the same time, my singing voice was in trouble. The low note of the bass parts no longer be hit. My voice went silent at times. Instead of singing, I croaked, and gave up singing. It was disheartening to try to hit notes that just wouldn’t come out.  

I’ve been convinced to join the church choir. My voice is more than rusty, and my ability to read music has declined. Still, I’m giving it a try. I look forward to Wednesday night practices. Singing with others is fun, even if I miss notes or can’t hit others. Maybe I can retrain my voice well enough to contribute to the choir and maybe be good enough to sing in the praise band. Time will tell. I just hope that my days of hitting sour notes are over.