Tuesday – Lake House Epic
Sep. 29th, 2009 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
Last week as I was preparing to leave to visit my father's lake house for a few days, someone told me they hoped I would "have a blast." I smiled politely and thanked them, because I knew they meant well. The truth is, that it is physically impossible to "have a blast" with my side of the family. I can have a blast with my husband's family easy enough: they are mostly of Scotch-Irish decent and like to drink, so boisterous merriment comes easy to them. My father, however, is a cranky old Swede. The best you can possibly hope to have in his company is "a nice time."
We had a nice time, for the most part, despite the weather and a few other things.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
I left on Tuesday, September 22nd, which just so happened to be the first official day of autumn. I didn't think twice about scheduling a trip to visit the lake this late in the year, because autumn never starts on time in this part of the country. Most years, it waits until at least mid October to show its face. This year, because I'd made plans to travel, it showed up in the form of a cool front complete with threatening gray skies and drizzling rain. This forced me to pack twice as many clothes as I would have otherwise; swimsuits in case it got warm, and jackets in case it stayed cool. I'd taken the days off, and by God I was making this trip come hell or high water (the later seeming the most likely on that particular day).
Jeff and I had decided to take the trip in separate cars. His days off are Tuesday through Thursday, but he had just come off of a night shift and wasn't fit to travel without some sleep. He would join us Wednesday morning at the lake. Almost an hour into my 3 ½ hour trip, I noticed I had a voicemail on my cell phone. It was my father calling from the lake house.
"If you haven't left the house yet, you may not want to," he said. "The whole point of your visit is so I can take my boy on a boat ride, and I can't get the boat to start. We thought it was the battery but we bought a new battery and it still won't start. You may as well stay home."
I called him back to tell him I was coming, anyway, and that my mechanic husband would be there the next morning to take a look at the boat. My dad told me he didn't see the point, but that I was welcome to come if I insisted. I did.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
A 3 ½ hour drive in the rain feels much longer than a 3 ½ hour drive in the sunshine.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"The battery terminals weren't on tight enough," Jeff told my father the next day. It was still overcast and cool, but the rain has stopped.
"That's it? The terminals? I thought I tightened them pretty good."
"That's it."
My father sighed. "That really upsets me. You'd think I would have been able to figure that one out on my own."
"Don't worry about it, Ray. It should work fine now. See if you can start it."
"Is the boat fixed?" my 5 year old son asked as my father started up the boat.
"Yup, it's fixed."
He disappeared up the hill toward the house, and arrived back at the dock a few minutes later with his swimsuit in one hand and his lifejacket in the other, both items held up on his shoulders so we could see he had his gear and was ready to go. He looked crushed when we told him it would be another hour or so. His grandfather needed to take a nap first.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"Your father has been talking like he plans on dying or something soon," my stepmother told me while he slept. "Have you noticed how much weight he's lost? It's muscle, because he just doesn't do much anymore. He can't. He's exhausted after a few minutes. When we bought the battery, he told them 'This is probably the last battery I'll be buying from you.' He's been saying things like that a lot lately."
My father was healthy, active, and vibrant until the spring before last when he was hospitalized with bronchiolitis obliterans organizing pneumonia, or BOOP. The doctors call it BOOP, too, because even people with their training and avanced degrees don't have the time or patience to go around saying "bronchiolitis obliterans organizing pneumonia" all the time. For awhile it looked like my father might not pull through, but he's a stubborn old man and stubborn old men are tougher than they look. As far as the doctors are concerned he has recovered, but the pneumonia left his lungs permanently damaged. He sleeps with an oxygen tank, and the stooped old man he is today doesn't look like the man he was before – he looks like that man's father, not my own.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"That doesn’t sound good," Jeff admitted when I told him what my stepmother said. "On the other hand, you have to keep in mind that this is your dad. He's a bit of a..." he paused as he searched for the right description.
"Drama Queen? Yeah. There is that." I mulled over this for awhile. My father is the old man who cries wolf. He's never seen a glass that wasn't half empty – at least half empty. Some glasses are way more empty than that. Even the full ones are likely to be knocked over and spilled at any moment, as far as my father is concerned. Still, regarless of how much weight I should put behind his dramatic declarations of impending death, there's no denying that his health is in decline.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
"If you ever want to come up here, even if we're not here, just let us know," my dad told me as we loaded the car back up. "I even trust Jeff with the boat if y'all want to take it out."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
We left Thursday afternoon, this time together though in separate cars. After the first 45 minutes on the road, our cell phones were able to pick up a signal again and we could stay in contact. We stopped for a pit stop about at a Waterburger 60 miles from home, which stretched into supper once our son realized they sold hamburgers in that building, and it didn't just have restrooms in it like we said it did.
"Your dad can't maintain that place," Jeff said over dinner. "Did you notice the gutters were clogged with leaves? He can't get up on a ladder to clean them. And those holes in the walls from where the foundation had to be repaired, you can tell he wants to fix them but he's just can't. We need to help him. He built that beautiful little house and now he can't keep it up the way he needs to."
"He said we could come up any time we want. Maybe he meant that so we could pay our way by helping keep up the place while we're there."
"Maybe. I guess can some up on my days off once in awhile and work on it. Someone needs to."
I grinned at him. "You know, it's kind of a big deal that he trusts you with his boat. When he let you drive it today on the lake? That was your driving test so he could see how you handle it. He doesn't trust Randy or Ron or my stepbrother. Just you and Dale." Dale is my stepsister's husband, who happens to own a boat of his own. Jeff spent his summers growing up on lakes in the Pacific Northwest, so he's been around them enough to know how to handle one.
Jeff shook his head and laughed. "He doesn't trust his own sons? That's messed up."
"He knows his own sons well enough not to trust them. You and Dale both have experience with boats, and my brothers don't. He doesn't trust his wife's son, for that matter. And he didn't say I could drive the boat, either. Just you and Dale."
"That's still messed up, but okay. Cool. We get to use the boat."
"Between patching the holes in the drywall."
"And cleaning the gutters."
"That will be our rent for the use of the boat, I guess."
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
After the 3 unseasonably cool and wet days at the lake, Friday showed up flaunting sunshine and muggy heat, much to my chagrin.
"We need to go back to Grandpa's boat, because I didn't catch any fish," my son told me. No fish were hanging out at the dock, and the water was too choppy to take it out to the good fishing holes on the lake.
"Did you want to catch a fish to eat?" I asked.
He looked at me like I was dense. "No, I want to catch one so I can put in a bowl and keep him," he explained patiently.
"The lake fishies aren't the kind you usually keep in a bowl. People buy those kinds of fishies at the pet store. Lake fishies are kind of boring to look at."
"But I want to catch one and keep him. We need to go back, okay?"
"Maybe in the spring when it's warm, we'll see about going back."
"Okay. In the Spring."
I guess I need to invest in an aquarium between now and then.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
Last week as I was preparing to leave to visit my father's lake house for a few days, someone told me they hoped I would "have a blast." I smiled politely and thanked them, because I knew they meant well. The truth is, that it is physically impossible to "have a blast" with my side of the family. I can have a blast with my husband's family easy enough: they are mostly of Scotch-Irish decent and like to drink, so boisterous merriment comes easy to them. My father, however, is a cranky old Swede. The best you can possibly hope to have in his company is "a nice time."
We had a nice time, for the most part, despite the weather and a few other things.
I left on Tuesday, September 22nd, which just so happened to be the first official day of autumn. I didn't think twice about scheduling a trip to visit the lake this late in the year, because autumn never starts on time in this part of the country. Most years, it waits until at least mid October to show its face. This year, because I'd made plans to travel, it showed up in the form of a cool front complete with threatening gray skies and drizzling rain. This forced me to pack twice as many clothes as I would have otherwise; swimsuits in case it got warm, and jackets in case it stayed cool. I'd taken the days off, and by God I was making this trip come hell or high water (the later seeming the most likely on that particular day).
Jeff and I had decided to take the trip in separate cars. His days off are Tuesday through Thursday, but he had just come off of a night shift and wasn't fit to travel without some sleep. He would join us Wednesday morning at the lake. Almost an hour into my 3 ½ hour trip, I noticed I had a voicemail on my cell phone. It was my father calling from the lake house.
"If you haven't left the house yet, you may not want to," he said. "The whole point of your visit is so I can take my boy on a boat ride, and I can't get the boat to start. We thought it was the battery but we bought a new battery and it still won't start. You may as well stay home."
I called him back to tell him I was coming, anyway, and that my mechanic husband would be there the next morning to take a look at the boat. My dad told me he didn't see the point, but that I was welcome to come if I insisted. I did.
A 3 ½ hour drive in the rain feels much longer than a 3 ½ hour drive in the sunshine.
"The battery terminals weren't on tight enough," Jeff told my father the next day. It was still overcast and cool, but the rain has stopped.
"That's it? The terminals? I thought I tightened them pretty good."
"That's it."
My father sighed. "That really upsets me. You'd think I would have been able to figure that one out on my own."
"Don't worry about it, Ray. It should work fine now. See if you can start it."
"Is the boat fixed?" my 5 year old son asked as my father started up the boat.
"Yup, it's fixed."
He disappeared up the hill toward the house, and arrived back at the dock a few minutes later with his swimsuit in one hand and his lifejacket in the other, both items held up on his shoulders so we could see he had his gear and was ready to go. He looked crushed when we told him it would be another hour or so. His grandfather needed to take a nap first.
"Your father has been talking like he plans on dying or something soon," my stepmother told me while he slept. "Have you noticed how much weight he's lost? It's muscle, because he just doesn't do much anymore. He can't. He's exhausted after a few minutes. When we bought the battery, he told them 'This is probably the last battery I'll be buying from you.' He's been saying things like that a lot lately."
My father was healthy, active, and vibrant until the spring before last when he was hospitalized with bronchiolitis obliterans organizing pneumonia, or BOOP. The doctors call it BOOP, too, because even people with their training and avanced degrees don't have the time or patience to go around saying "bronchiolitis obliterans organizing pneumonia" all the time. For awhile it looked like my father might not pull through, but he's a stubborn old man and stubborn old men are tougher than they look. As far as the doctors are concerned he has recovered, but the pneumonia left his lungs permanently damaged. He sleeps with an oxygen tank, and the stooped old man he is today doesn't look like the man he was before – he looks like that man's father, not my own.
"That doesn’t sound good," Jeff admitted when I told him what my stepmother said. "On the other hand, you have to keep in mind that this is your dad. He's a bit of a..." he paused as he searched for the right description.
"Drama Queen? Yeah. There is that." I mulled over this for awhile. My father is the old man who cries wolf. He's never seen a glass that wasn't half empty – at least half empty. Some glasses are way more empty than that. Even the full ones are likely to be knocked over and spilled at any moment, as far as my father is concerned. Still, regarless of how much weight I should put behind his dramatic declarations of impending death, there's no denying that his health is in decline.
"If you ever want to come up here, even if we're not here, just let us know," my dad told me as we loaded the car back up. "I even trust Jeff with the boat if y'all want to take it out."
We left Thursday afternoon, this time together though in separate cars. After the first 45 minutes on the road, our cell phones were able to pick up a signal again and we could stay in contact. We stopped for a pit stop about at a Waterburger 60 miles from home, which stretched into supper once our son realized they sold hamburgers in that building, and it didn't just have restrooms in it like we said it did.
"Your dad can't maintain that place," Jeff said over dinner. "Did you notice the gutters were clogged with leaves? He can't get up on a ladder to clean them. And those holes in the walls from where the foundation had to be repaired, you can tell he wants to fix them but he's just can't. We need to help him. He built that beautiful little house and now he can't keep it up the way he needs to."
"He said we could come up any time we want. Maybe he meant that so we could pay our way by helping keep up the place while we're there."
"Maybe. I guess can some up on my days off once in awhile and work on it. Someone needs to."
I grinned at him. "You know, it's kind of a big deal that he trusts you with his boat. When he let you drive it today on the lake? That was your driving test so he could see how you handle it. He doesn't trust Randy or Ron or my stepbrother. Just you and Dale." Dale is my stepsister's husband, who happens to own a boat of his own. Jeff spent his summers growing up on lakes in the Pacific Northwest, so he's been around them enough to know how to handle one.
Jeff shook his head and laughed. "He doesn't trust his own sons? That's messed up."
"He knows his own sons well enough not to trust them. You and Dale both have experience with boats, and my brothers don't. He doesn't trust his wife's son, for that matter. And he didn't say I could drive the boat, either. Just you and Dale."
"That's still messed up, but okay. Cool. We get to use the boat."
"Between patching the holes in the drywall."
"And cleaning the gutters."
"That will be our rent for the use of the boat, I guess."
After the 3 unseasonably cool and wet days at the lake, Friday showed up flaunting sunshine and muggy heat, much to my chagrin.
"We need to go back to Grandpa's boat, because I didn't catch any fish," my son told me. No fish were hanging out at the dock, and the water was too choppy to take it out to the good fishing holes on the lake.
"Did you want to catch a fish to eat?" I asked.
He looked at me like I was dense. "No, I want to catch one so I can put in a bowl and keep him," he explained patiently.
"The lake fishies aren't the kind you usually keep in a bowl. People buy those kinds of fishies at the pet store. Lake fishies are kind of boring to look at."
"But I want to catch one and keep him. We need to go back, okay?"
"Maybe in the spring when it's warm, we'll see about going back."
"Okay. In the Spring."
I guess I need to invest in an aquarium between now and then.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-29 10:58 pm (UTC)I like how you ended, about catching a fish to keep:)
no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 02:41 pm (UTC)I'm not sure how happy that fish is going to be in a goldfish bowl.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 12:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 02:47 pm (UTC)I don't much care for doctors. :P
no subject
Date: 2009-09-30 04:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-01 10:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-04 02:21 am (UTC)I think I'll get my son a goldfish and hope that quenches his desire for a fish friend. I'm not so sure a lake fish will do good in a goldfish bowl. :P
no subject
Date: 2009-10-05 04:22 pm (UTC)Yeah...a lake fish just doesn't fare well in captivity...