Danmancle's Blog

I think I peed myself. That or I spilled my coffee, or I am just having a warm fuzzy feeling.

It’s really hard to tell when you’re wearing 3 pairs of pants, 4 shirts, a hoodie, a winter jacket and gloves because it is 14 degrees outside and the wind is blowing.  That was the scenario several weeks ago on my job site. 

What’s even more difficult was knowing that I would have to burrow through the layers once I got to the always “attractive” porta-john that serves as my on site luxury “lounge”. 

And then it happened. It had happened once before, years ago.  I was younger then and only going to job sites occasionally. I was a novice in job site protocol. It took everything short of shock therapy to heal from the horror.  Yes – there were nightmares, cold sweats, flashbacks, and then just when the healing was taking place, BOOM it happened again, just weeks ago. The memory is painful to narrate.

There it was, finally, the sight of the two porta johns side by side, the “Puplex”.  You can usually see the “Not Occupied” green sign from many yards away on a clear day.  But this was different, it was a blizzardy, windy day.

During the brisk walk, head down against the cold snow and blowing wind, timing is the key to completing the task at hand.  Walking fast, wind in my eyes; head down to keep out the arctic blast – must be getting closer – Ah there it was – the green sign – good to go- faster pace now- almost there.  Finally reach the handle (of the door), pull fast, throw open the door and jump in and ….”well hello there, come here often?…Uh did someone forget to turn the “occupied” handle to make the sign turn RED?! 

Holy crap – wow, face to face –well not really Face to face. These are not made to hold 2 bodies – just poke my eyes out now!  Just back away – literally in a billionth of a second. Now I know how the little girl in Body Heat felt! 

Does my employer cover this? It is job related.  Workman’s comp?  Disability coverage?  Psychological trauma, pain and suffering? 

3 times a charm would not work in this case.  Scarred for life. 

If you ever go to a construction site, I will be the only guy in history you will see knocking, pounding on a porta john door shouting – “Hello – anybody home?  Hello is anybody in there?  Hello – “candy gram” it’s me again, Hello,  I gotta pee…” 

And if anyone needs to know – the blue water does freeze!

As all of my “Danmancledites” know by now, I work several hundred miles from home and go home every other weekend. This past weekend, however, I remained in NY in great anticipation of my first grandson. I already have by far the world’s most adorable granddaughter, so having an adorable grandson to match made it worthwhile staying in town.

 His mother, my daughter, is not actually my daughter by birth as are my other two daughters, but is my daughter by marriage (insert Brady Bunch metaphors) after she was in college. This means, I cannot be held responsible for any childhood trauma nor indicted for any known genetic imperfection of which she has none – unless nail biting has its own chromosome. 

Therefore, I can only be judged by my charming personality, constant wit, occasional bribes, immense admiration, and by how I treat her mother, all of which currently earns me a front row seat with the welcoming committee. 

The problem is, the little bugger refused to come out and play. His due date was 3 days ago (as of this writing)  which has helped his maternal grandma , my lovely wife, earn extra Delta miles coming and going waiting for the little man to make an entrance. Of course he does have his mother and grandma’s sense of timing – they both feel that being “fashionably late” is a noble trait! 

The little man’s mother is known for her dry wit and incredible straight faced “gotchas”, so truly he has his mother’s genes in his little play. 

But then again, why bother at all. Why not stay inside? He has all the food he needs. It’s nice and warm in there. He can move around, and stretch, kick back (just ask his Mom), do as he pleases. Once he hits the home stretch in that birth canal – it will be like the first time down the giant water slide at Emerald Pointe – one fast scary ride to who knows where. Once he hits the fresh air it’s cold, he gets poked and slapped and his food supply gets cut off – wow what a way to start. Heck I’d stay inside as long as I could too. 

Well, he has all our attention, and what he can look forward to is a large group of family and friends that will love this little guy more than he will ever know or appreciate, and I can’t wait to share in his soon to be awe-inspiring life – 

He just needs to get this party started.

Lewis & Clark, Batman & Robin, Sherlock & Watson, Lone Ranger & Tonto, Yogi & BooBoo All great dynamic duo adventurers, but none better than the twosome of Piggy & Dam.

Such is the moniker inherited when Peg’s 3 year old niece uttered our names when I was introduced to her 14 years ago. So thus was born Piggy & Dam. Of course, now we call her Pickles, so I guess we are even.

As I continue to work over 600 miles away from home, we look forward to our every other weekend together as mini vacations and wonderful adventures.

In the past 6+ months, some of our weekend adventures have entailed the following:

Going to a wedding in a barn in Indiana, and going to a very special inspiring wedding in Tennessee.

Hosting a wedding shower and a baby shower (not for the same person).

Travelling to 2 baby showers for the same baby in NY (first one rescheduled due to blizzard)

Spending an afternoon with our adorable granddaughter and an afternoon delivering a bed for our soon to be adorable grandson.

Enjoying wonderful lunches and dinners with in-laws and watching movies with not so wonderful outlaws.

Staying in a magical suite in Mid Town Manhattan and playing in the snow in Central Park.

We have taken plane rides, and train rides, and cab rides, subways, walked to impressive places. We’ve gone to museums and ball games and walked in parks.

We’ve seen great movies and great plays, and ballroom danced the night away.

We dressed up as Downton Abbey characters (I in my Mr. Carson tux if you please) and went to a spot-on, splendid Sunday afternoon tea in a fancy hotel lobby with 6 people named Steve.

We have eaten in fancy restaurants, walked the beach in the Gulf of Mexico in 30 mph winds (sandblast facials), eaten PB&J sammiches while painting rooms in the house. Hosted our children, visited our children…

Whether we are just hanging out at home, or planning our next rendezvous, having my partner in crime by my side, our weekends are like looking forward to the next chapter of a great book.

Who knows where the next chapter will take us – it doesn’t matter…

I’m with PIGGY, and DAM(n) it’s fun!

Actually, I am back on two fronts – I am back working in NY and back to writing my blogs, although there is no correlation.

After spending 6 months working in Aiken South Carolina, I am now back working in NY. I hate being away from home and Peg like this but until I win the lottery or decide we can just live on love – I will go where I am sent. Gone from the Bambino, Nacho, Peewee  crew , back to the Tony, Carmine, Guido, and Johnny crew. Gone from Huddle House and Krispy Kreme to Diners and Dunkin Donuts.

I am also back to writing my blogs more regularly, I hope. I’ve missed it. I will simply attempt to write what I see or feel more regularly without worrying about some great topic. So all of you who have followed along (I think there are 3 or 4 of you) feel free to provide me with ideas. It is therapeutic and keeps me from thinking about being away from home too much.

I have a professional writer friend, Joni– maybe she can give me ideas. Although she wrote a great mystery once but has still refused to tell me who the killer was.  She even goes to writer’s camp. I wonder if the pillows at writer’s camp are shaped like erasers. When it is time to go to bed, instead of shouting “lights out” do they yell  “OK pencils down!”? Are they given 12 commas, 2 question marks, and one exclamation point  before breakfast and told to use them before lunch?  Instead of 3 legged races, do they have to conjugate verbs while running with an egg on a spoon?  Who gets picked last for volleyball, the one with a dangling participle? Do they have to get a semicolonoscopy as part of the camp physical? Are they banished from camp for ending a sentence with a preposition? Do they have to cook “some mores” instead of smores? Do they have to run laps for using a misplaced modifier? Packing for writer’s camp must be ominous – how many pencils do I take? Is one eraser enough , do I have to take white out or will they supply? Is there a camp doctor for writers block?

I could never go to writer’s camp, I am allergic to paragraphs. I prefer the beautiful run on sentences with just lots of commas. Just stick a comma in every now and then and its fine with me.

So, you can see I have not been to writer’s camp so we will blog along together come what may.  Stay tuned, maybe we can have some writing adventures together.

Now that I am working in New York for awhile, it seems that it would be a great idea to take the train into the big city and take advantage of the great cultural resources that are so readily available-the world of art and culture all in one great place – The Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Then it hit me – I do not need to take a train to see amazing exhibits of world cultures.  I don’t have to take a bus to experience the world  of art – I only have to walk the length of a football field.  The art world and cultural exhibits are already right here on my job site, right under my nose so to speak.

I am speaking of course of that veritable mosaic of art – the port-a-john.  I am constantly amazed at the penmanship on the walls of this iconic art holder. Who needs Monet, or Van Gogh, or Rembrandt?  I stand daily in the midst of creativity.  Who needs modernism or cubism when I can behold “shithouse expressionism”?   I don’t need the Mona Lisa.  I can see the moanin Lisa (at least that what it says under her phone number). This is like being a viewer of the early cave dweller wall carvings. History captivated for all mankind (at least until Sunday when they hose it down). The sharpie honed hieroglyphics clearly indicate a primitive use of a new language.

Some artists must surely have had a background in medicine since there are so many anatomical references with what I assume to be the names of patients under specific “body parts”.  This cave of art extends into the mystical world of super yoga – at least it must be to relate to some of the positions shown in the colorful native artful renderings- is that really possible? The art culture also appears to be very maternal in nature as there are constant references to mother on the mural.

So many renditions about nature, and people, and animals, people with animals (animal husbandry?).  There are extensive geographical references with editorial comments related to different nationalities and where they should travel. The Natural History Museum has nothing to compare.

Not only do these renderings dispense culture, but the walls are a tribute to the political systems as well, with all parties represented amidst the art. It’s like having my own political “caucus” every day.

I don’t have to take a train or bus to see various cultures – I just have to pee.

It’s true – there’s no place like home.  Having been working away from home for almost 5 months now, it brings a lot about home to mind.  Although I do get home every other weekend, it is not the same “visiting” my own home for a couple of days every couple of weeks.  It makes me mindful of how special being home is. 

It is not the house, mind you – it is the home that I miss.  Specifically, being away from the most wonderful person in my life is unkind.  Home is where the heart is – that being said my home is always with Peg. 

The thought of being away, able to do whatever I want, whenever I want with nobody to tell me what to do or monitor my behavior is overrated.  Going out for fun is only fun when Peg is with me.  I’m not “whipped” as they say – I just know that at this stage of my life, sharing every thing I do is just as important as the “doing”. 

I am constantly reminded how amazing our family has been – meaning our daughters and their families.  So very often we hear the heartbreaking news other friends and extended family members share regarding their families.  We have been blessed abundantly with three unbelievably, amazingly, awesome girls.  No father could ever be prouder or more humbled.  They know that unconditional love is forever, whatever, whenever, and they will share that same love with their children. 

I do not speak out of sheltered naiveté. None of us waltzed through our lives to this point unscarred or unhurt.  Knowing the difference makes “home” all the more meaningful and wonderful.  Being placed in a situation that keeps me away only reinforces the knowledge that being home is a goal to be worked toward and cherished and not to be taken for granted.  Sure, I can be a big jerk and she can be a witch but we can be these things openly, and understand that it is an issue or a moment but not a game changer. Being able to be myself and not worry is part of being home. 

Dorothy said it best to Toto “there’s no place like home”. I wish I were there.

It has been a long time since my last blog. It’s time to get back on the proverbial horse and keep riding.

I have gone back to work since my last entry. I took on what has turned into 2 contract project management jobs-one for 6 months in North Carolina, and now currently in my 3^rd month inNew York (Long Island). In both cases I am representing a steel fabricator to monitor the steel erection phase of these 2 large buildings. One was a manufacturing plant and the current one is a mall. One of my golf buddies used to introduce me to a new golf person who would join our misfit golf bunch by saying, “Danny is the guy in charge of big erections”. Somehow I’ve never minded. 

Spending months on a construction site is like being dropped into another universe. It has its own culture , or lack thereof-especially my current location. Both locations provided me with a beautiful 17 foot trailer equipped with – well nothing. And the ultra chic full service bath known as a porta-john. Life is good. 

The culture in my current location is extreme. Constant yelling, very vulgar dirty language, demeaning comments, arrogant “in your face” attitude – and that’s just in the check out line of the grocery store.  Their use of the language is much more intelligent than I originally thought. Where else can the F word be used simultaneously in the same sentence as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb – impressive word skills.  I often catch myself turning in to one of the natives – I begin speaking as a Long Islander – it is scary. Hey youze guys , ya, youz!!  you talking to me? Don’t youz look at me you dirty @#$!&6$…and so my day begins. 

It has taught me a good lesson though:

Different language, different vocabulary, different attitude – but they all are just people doing their jobs trying to feed their families, trying to make a life for themselves and their kids. They appreciate having a job and so do I.  I just hope the next one is back on Earth.

For 292 days I have been a resident House Husband.

I always thought after watching Mr. Mom with Michael Keaton that I would make a great Mr. Mom – or in my late years – a House Husband.  Do you know that it is an actual title and has a definition: “a house husband is a husband who does housekeeping usually while his wife earns the family income” – ouch!

There are house husband reality tv shows; house husband (from now on we will shorten to HH) Facebook accounts;   HH My Space accounts;  HH Twitter accounts;  etc.  Wow – I belong to a tribe! I should come up with a great HH tribal name…

I have learned so many things over the past 9 months.

It is good to maintain a schedule. I would be the first to tell you that I could sleep til noon without a schedule. So I still get up every morning as if I was going to work – well actually I am, except now I can work in my underwear.  I awake every morning and take the bread-winner her morning coffee before she is off to corporate land and see if there are any specific household chores or shopping list required – after all – I still need supervision.  Without daily tasks I would be like a 4-year-old left on his own in a zoo– not a pretty site.

I have become good friends with many cleaning products – they actually have a purpose – who knew?

I like Ellen much better than Oprah.

I have become excellent at ironing while watching sporting events on tv.  It is amazing how much dead time there is during a game (except soccer – but no one scores in the first half anyway).  Golf is the best ironing sport – it’s always the same picture.  Every time I look up I see a golf ball.

Commercials are great for house work. There are so many now, I can go to the bathroom, make a cup of coffee, put away a few dry dishes, put the clothes from the washer to the dryer and be back before any action was missed.  I can do enough work during a day’s worth of commercials to impress the “boss” with my accomplishments.  It helps to throw in a look of exhaustion also and always make sure the tv is off when she comes through the door.

I know when the garbage trucks come, when the mail carrier comes by, when the UPS man comes. I now know which neighbors stay home, and who cuts their grass on which days, when school kids get home, This is all very important stuff… and a little creepy…

I know when it is the best time to go to the grocery store.  When I call for a Dr.’s appointment I can say I don’t care what time – whatever.  The YMCA is never crowded during the day – just a lot of old men. Lunch time is not a good time to visit the animal shelter, or the car wash.

Did you know there is a reason why the tag on clothes states “wash in cold water with LIKE colors in delicate cycle”.   Come on – we can develop 3D televisions – can’t we make all clothes be washable together?? I owe my “boss” a new white blouse.

I have not yet fallen prey to a strict routine i.e. laundry on Monday, cut grass on Tuesday, ironing Wednesday, mop kitchen on Thursday – oh my, I think I have…  Since I do get time off for good behavior,  getting a call to go golfing does bugger up a set routine.

Being a HH has affected my golf game, and for that I apologize to my golf buddies.  The angst of not having a “real” job makes me more angry on the course (well, it can’t “make me” but I use it as an excuse).   I briefly started to throw my clubs, and began to also throw out a few more colorful “adjectives” while playing.  I recently realized how stupid and disrespectful I had become (when one of my thrown clubs slipped and hit one of my friends) and am changing back to my usually moronic but kinder self.  But, I can explain the best temperature to iron rayon while lining up a putt!

I have learned so much as a HH, but would gladly give up my tribal membership for another chance on the other side…oh wait I have to go – the timer on the clothes dryer just rang – can’t let them stay in there and get all wrinkled now can I…

Most of our trips over the past 12 years consisted of flying/driving to a destination point, unpacking and staying in a central place as a hub. This was going to be different. This time the unemployment issue caused us to be creative. This trip we would drive from place to place and stay with as many relatives that would take us in. It was a total of 9 nights lodging and 2,430 miles driven.  Amazingly we got 48 mpg in Sweet Pea (the Prius).  We drove to visit Peg’s relatives and friends in Michigan including a special drive to upper lower Michigan.  Visualizing Michigan as a big mitten – we went to the tip of the little finger, and back home again.

Many things can occupy one’s mind on a road trip including the tidbits of info written on passing vehicles and intermittent “warning signs” posted roadside.  A few come to mind:

“…Crossing” – There were several signs indicating things that would soon cross our paths that might give us pause to slow down and be vigilant such as “truck crossing”, “deer crossing”, “bear crossing”, “children crossing”, “ped crossing”,  and “tractor crossing”. Honestly not a thing crossed our roadway path except one big turtle. It would have been much more exciting to have seen a bear cross the road – or better yet a bear riding a tractor… that would be a Kodak moment.

“Caution Falling Rock” –  I have seen many signs indicating concern for falling rocks over the years, but never just A Rock!  So, if the rock falls do they 1) remove the sign since the deed is done? Or 2) put THE rock back for the next group of drivers?

“Emergency parking 1 mile ahead – limit 2 hours” – Does the state DOT not understand the word emergency?? Am I supposed to plan the blown engine or flat tire to coincide with the neatly arranged area of roadside established for my panic induced episode.  Maybe they include counselors or insurance adjusters at these precious points of curbside zen.  And please, someone explain how you put a time limitation on an emergency.  Does the EMS staff come prepared with stop watches?  I’m sorry doctor could you please hurry up with that CPR – we only have 3 minutes left on our emergency time.

“Caution – patrol dog” – How fun it was to see that car pass by us with those words painted on all sides. I’m sure McGruff was driving and probably had nephew Scruff riding shot gun.  I felt much safer on the road.  There must have been a fast cat up the highway because McGruff  passed us like we were standing still.

The trip was wonderful for many reasons but as this was a “nostalgia trip” for Peg, the greatest moment for me was to see the absolute joy on Peg’s face when she stood on a sandy beach on Lake Michigan and remembered her times racing  then toddler Shannon in the sand.  Peg simply glowed with happy memories – and made one for me.