Harry Stories, Part 1

We got the call late last night: Harry Anderson, Cindy's grandfather, was in the hospital, exhibiting what her mother Kris had been able to decipher from the doctors as "pre-stroke-like symptoms." Apparently, after suffering from brochitis for the last two weeks, Kris came home to find Harry somewhat "lethargic," unable to move his left arm, with numbness and a tingling feeling in his hand. She packed him off to the hospital, and as far as I know, that's where he's at right now.

This, of course, is exactly why Kris moved to Florida last year, selling her home in Park Ridge to us. It is comforting to know she can be there to care for him, to see that he gets the medical attention he'll need now and in the years to come, even if she infuriates Cindy with her inability to accurately question the doctors and get thorough information about Harry's medical condition. I'm not sure I could do what Kris has done – essentially abandoning her own life to take care of her parents – but I admire her for it, and am grateful to know that's she's there.

I can't recall how much about Harry I've shared here on these pages. Sure, there's been the occasional Marine Corps reference, and I know Brother Cale knows him and has had the chance to spend some time with him, but that's about it. Harry is, for better or worse, about the only "father-in-law" figure I'm likely to have in my life. Polarizing figure that he may be for his immediate family and for his granddaughters, I love the guy and I've appreciated all the time he and I have had the opportunity to share together.

A few years back, I had the opportunity to edit portions of his autobiography, Once More, self-published but available at Amazon.com. It is, by and large, an engaging read, and over the next few weeks, when I'm not writing about meat or meat-related travels, I'll try and share some of the tasty bits from Harry's book.

But you really should buy your own copy...

LOST: Pittsburgh Edition

HOUR 1: The plane creaks and groans as it drops out the sky, hitting the ground with a thunderous whump. I awake, disoriented (is that a dog licking my face?) what the hell is going on, where are we? Around me, an island of deserted space, my fellow travelers equally lost and disoriented. People are crying, disoriented, terrified. It's Pittsburgh, a voice reassures us.

HOUR 3: John, the man standing near in me in the line, is excited -- he has made an amazing discovery! John (who I don't trust, who may be carrying knives in his suitcase) has enlisted a young man further up the line to help him with his discovery. I think they're trying to keep it a secret, this thing. Not a thing, more of a hatch, really. When I finally get them to show it to me, it turns out to be the door to the men's room.

HOUR 4: The fat guy, Hubley, finds some food. The Middle Eastern electronics expert claims to have tortured people in his past, but I'm sure he just means while playing "World of Warcraft."

HOUR 6: The young ladies in line behind me, Kate and Claire, discuss their outfits for tomorrow. Kate insists that SHE is the lucky, for she has a change of underwear. "Life is always better with clean underwear," she says.

HOUR 7: Charlie finds some heroin in the model airplane in the terminal. Claire is concerned he will use it. John returns from his "Hatch" to announce that the airlines will be getting us hotel rooms.

HOUR 8: Something probably normal and boring happens with the two middle-aged lesbians, the douchebag in the red jacket, the 3 Pakistani programmers, the Australian businessmen, and the 24 other all white businesssmen on the flight. Also, Kate (who is really Kelly Kapour from "The Office") keeps talking about her underwear.

So I'm standing in the airport in Pittsburgh last night, thinking how sucktacular "LOST" would be if it was about normal people with normal lives. I'd wound up there after quite the day of travel.

The upshot:
-- at ORD by 10am
-- noon flight delayed to 130pm cst
-- board flight at 130pm cst
-- sit on tarmac until 4pm cst
-- flight departs
-- around 7pm est, flight begins to circle New York airspace
-- around 9pm est, flight runs out of gas for circling, is turning back to Pittsburgh
-- 10:30pm est, arrive Pittsburgh
-- 10:35pm est, stupid "LOST" fantasy plays out in my head, girls talk about their underwear
-- 11:15pm, arrive Best Western Green Tree, in south suburban Pittsburgh
-- no liquor, no food available
-- watch bad tv to 2pm est
-- up at 5am est
-- arrive Pittsburgh airport 630am est
-- board flight 8am est
-- sit on tarmac until 11am est
-- uneventful flight
-- arrive LGA 12:30pm est
-- having missed all meetings I was supposed to be in NYC for, I seek early return flight to chicago
-- none available
-- go to office, blah blah blah, work, "fuckthis", whatever
-- 445pm est, limo to airport arrives
-- back at LGA, waiting for 755pm est flight to chicago
-- current departure set for 845pm est

Did I mention I love travel? And LOST is pretty damn good.

More Photos

As long as you're getting all dreamy about superhunk Earnest Borgnine, dream about a place to hang your hat, circa '60's style:
Sweet Home Decorating Ideas

And if you thought your 1989 asymmetrical or big hair haircut was awesome, check out what kids in Russia were wearing that year:
Russian Fashions 1989

Guy with the glasses reminds me of Cale. Zebra sweater should never be worn by anyone.

45 Pictures of Earnest Borgnine

Because hey, you never know when you'll need one:
Earnest Borgnine photos

gOprah!

So the girls just got back from seeing a taping of Oprah. It'll be Thursday's episode, Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat." Gals said is was a so-so show (beats me) but they enjoyed seeing Oprah do her thing. Then, because today was primary day, Oprah reminded everyone to go vote, and added that she hadn't see the following video from Wil.I.Am of the Black Eyed Pea's, and so she said she wanted to watch it with the audience. So they all watched this together, and got all teary, and it was a wonderful Oprah moment.

When it was all over, Oprah used her tears to cure a small blind boy and heal the sick, just as you'd expect.

Things That Matter

With house guests on the way from our past life in Minnesota, I've been thinking about what has been called my more "maudlin" choice of topic here on the site, that being my rumination on "our three lives" and the friendships therein. Today, I realize, it's broader than the friendships, though they're an obvious illustration of what I'm wrasslin' with, namely, sorting out the things that matter from the things that don't in this here short life. It's probably a simple enough task for a lot of folk, but I don't recall it ever being so for me. I tend to over think things, probably too often. But it all sort of became real clear this afternoon for a fleeting minute there, and it's the simple realization that not everything matters, not everything has to matter, that some things, when they cease to matter, you can just drop them. Because there's a lot of other things that do matter that should get the proper time and attention. Like the meat odyssey. And the good folks we do know that care how we're doing. And those two things are probably all wrapped up together anyway.

Big News

You know, I always liked the thought of living in England.