Sweating The Small Stuff

here is a link to the audio version, in case you would rather listen to this blog: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iW8o8JR9hUU

Let me first begin by stating that I have full knowledge of what the saying, don't sweat the small stuff, means. It's just that for myself the saying is a bit more literal than to worry about minute details. Sweating is not just a fancy term that I am using to refer to or mean something else, but it is the actual physical act of sweating like I'm sitting in a sauna with my clothes on, (which would be a strange thing to do). I'm finding that it is the little things that are leading me to feel as if I have just participated in an Iron-Man competition, (in reality my speed would be more of a Wet-Paper-Bag competition).

If you are old enough to remember the payphone, then you will of course, also remember the phone book. Years and years ago,(back in the 80's), it became a trend to show your strength by ripping a five-hundred-page phone book in half. Doing so, also served as a form of intimidation and was a warning to all phone books that you weren't beneath tearing them apart in case any of them happened to be thinking of attacking you when your attention was averted. Now I don't want to brag here but once I was actually able to tear a ten-page document in half. Currently, I feel I am carrying on in that paramount tradition whenever I try to remove the paper cover off of the straw that comes with the drink that I've purchased. Most people can grasp the little flap at the top of the straw and tear that paper off within about half a second, but I feel like I need one of those industrial size grabbers, you know, the ones you see guys using on the side of the freeway to pick up trash. It feels like I need to order one every time I order a drink. It's either that or a new brain so that I have the motor skills required to grasp the quarter inch flap of paper on the end. "Sir, would you care for any fries with your iced tea?" "No thank you...but would you happen to have the ability I'm going to need to remove my straw from its Fort Knox-like paper encasing?" It seems to me that if one of these fast food chains wanted to really make a tremendous happy meal that they should include a new Cerebellum with each order instead of a toy. At least make it an option!

For those of us who take more than thirty- seconds to unwrap a piece of chewing gum, again, I don't mean to brag, but I have come up with an idea for gum manufacturers. They really should start making the foiled wrapper chewable and the same artificially- enhanced flavor as the gum or some strangely complimentary flavor, like broccoli, so that we could just pop the whole thing in our mouth. I chew sugar-free gum, but I wouldn't have to chew it because I lose 35 calories just trying to wrestle the gum out of the wrapper. At times I've found myself wondering if there is not a hotline number you can call for assistance and helpful tips on how to unwrap a single stick of gum.

This next one I am actually not sure could be done, but it would make my life a lot simpler if there were a television remote available that did everything with just had one button. You might think the remote is simple, (and for my kids it is), and you might wonder why, after using the same remote for the last ten years, it is so difficult? It is just that, by the time I figure it out the season premiere of the new show we want to check out is now through its second season and showing reruns. And on top of that, I am still trying to figure out where to point the thing and the perfect angle for maximum efficiency. Do I aim it straight at the television? Would it work better if I bounce the signal off a wall or the dog? Should I just skip the middleman and go outside, aim up, and hope I hit a satellite? At this point, a game of Charades is looking like a very desirable option and a definite possibility.



Why is it that the small stuff, the things that should be easy, and quickly done in five minutes or less, are the things that end up consuming the whole day? I don't know the answer, but as I continue to struggle with the things that should come quickly and as I am wiping the sweat out of my eyes from wrestling with one of these simple tasks, I am reminded not to sweat the small stuff.

My family enjoying a day at the Oregon Coast. From left to right is Megan, Me, Jessica, Kameron, and my wife, Melissa. We were accompanied by our 2 dogs, Ollie( by Megan), and Lucy(held by Jessica).

The Big Brother I'll Miss....Terribly.

As many of you know, I lost my big brother, Bob, on 5-3-14. This post is dedicated to him. It is not about my daily life and struggles with Ataxia, but about my memories of the brother I had and loved.


The date of December 19th, 1964 holds no significance for me, at least it never did before. Other than the fact that this particular day happened to be my 4-day old birthday, which I guess was important to somebody, I know it was to me, and I'm guessing that it probably was too my parents, as well. But even more noteworthy was that this was the day that I came home for the first time and met my 2 older brothers, Bob who was 5 at the time, and Jon who was 4. I distinctly remember looking at the oldest one and thinking, "is that really what I'm going to look like"? I didn't want to look like that. My mature 4-day old mind assessed him as being rather tall for his age, and kind of skinny. Now, however, this 49-year old mind can tell you honestly that I count any sort of resemblance to my big brother to be an honor and something to be cherished.

                                                Jon is holding me, and Bob is on my right.

I grew up, I suppose, like a lot of other kids who had older brothers or sisters. I idolized everything about Bob and wanted to do all the things that he did. He was the first one to introduce me to the amazing world of music, as he spun 45's on a little turntable. A few years later he was able to branch out and play cassettes on a monotone tape player. I have many, many fond and wonderful memories of those days, but the one that will always be with me was the time when I was 5 or 6 and laying on the couch because I was sick.  Bob played my favorite song for me and would rewind it when it was over and play it again and again. I asked Bob about this years later, and he didn't remember doing it, but I will never forget and every time that songs plays, I remember that day, years ago. And now In the light of Bob's passing that song will mean even more to me and probably bring tears with the flood of memories. In our later years, we started a band in our basement. Bob loved the drums and kept the timing and rhythm while a friend, Dave Yoder, played the electric guitar, and I played the bass.

          Here, Bob appears to be imagining that he is astride his first drum stool and keeping the beat.

From very early on Bob also had a profound love for cars and had a fascination with anything on four wheels. His two biggest passions surrounding the automobile were classic hot rods and trucks. He took great personal pride in his cars, and those who knew him well will remember that he was always tinkering with something and regularly washing and waxing his cars. He spent a major portion of his life driving delivery vans and trucks, his last job was driving a large delivery truck for Safeway.

MAN!....what a RIDE!!!(...." a serious but I'm thinkin Dad that maybe we should tweak the suspension")
As impossible as this may sound, things were not always defined by brotherly affection or done with the other's personal welfare in mind. I was, as most little brothers are, a severe cramp in his style. When he would have friends over he would warn me to leave them alone, but despite any common sense, and maybe a little bit of a death wish on my part, I would always try to creep as close as I could and spy. Of course, Bob would always catch me and then the process would begin with him showing his feelings concerning my latest choice of activity. This usually involved Bob sitting on my chest with a hand on each of my shoulders as he leaned over me, his face about a foot above mine. He would then snort and snuffle and work up a huge spit/snot wad in his mouth, which he would then allow to dribble out of his mouth. Being completely pinned down, all I could do was helplessly watch as the glob would inch closer and closer to my face. After a sufficient amount of time and mental torture, he would suck the descending terror back up. I would say that he was successful about 50 to 60 percent of the time.

To say that Bob had a fascination with spit is a understatement. He used to spit 2 equal globs on a flat board and then tilt it up at an angle to see which one would slide to the end the fastest. He called these, "spit races" and was always amused. I don't remember any betting going on, like at a race track, but that's probably due to the fact that we didn't have any money as kids. Another memory surrounding spit and my brother Bob had to do with a Brittany pup that he called Spit because of it's love for Bob's liquid offerings and which became the biggest and fattest puppy in the liter of 8 or 9 from my Dad's dog Ginger. He would also spit on our toy racetrack so the cars would peel out and spin like they do on the real racetracks.

                                                                 Yep, that was our Bob!

One of the classic older-brother to younger-brother interactions happened on a hot summer day when I was about 9.  My dad had not yet put up a fence, which would divide the field behind his house in two, allowing the cows to only graze on half so the other side could grow. So the three boys,(Bob, Jon, and I), were sent out to the field to be shepherds of sorts, staggering ourselves down the middle of the field. The idea being that we would prevent the herd from crossing into the wrong half. There were, however, two serious flaws in this plan. The first one being that I was deathly afraid of the cows, and the second one being that the biggest steer chose me as the weakest link and began to run straight at the hole beside me. It would mean a lot of extra running and work for us if the cows got into the wrong side of the field, but I would not run in front of the approaching steer to head it off, so Bob began to yell and tell me in a very positive and helpful way just what he thought of my shepherding skills . I was scared and stood there watching as the steer just ran right past me. Bob, who was up hill and about 30 feet away from me, emphasized his thoughts by throwing his pitchfork straight at me. I of course went into immediate evasive maneuvers and just stood there, watching as the pitchfork arched through the air and speared into my leg. He then ran, scooped me up, and became the most attentive brother ever. He carried me all the way back up to the house with instructions that I was not to tell the parents. Only one tine of the pitchfork had entered my leg and it had bounced out so it wasn't that bad.

                                 Look at that face.....could he really have thrown a pitchfork? Oh yes....


I have so many memories I just don't know where to stop. I could go on and on but instead of that I will just state how I feel. It is a devastating loss. Bob was a wonderful brother and much more than anything I could have ever wanted. But he also became a wonderful husband and then a father and then a grandfather. I will miss him terribly and I will never forget his warmth and sense of humor. Bob was also a very faithful son. He would call my parents every Sunday night just to check in and see how they were doing. Each of us has to be our own person but I cannot help but to hope that I become a little more like my big brother Bob. He was also very active in his church and had a personal relationship with Jesus Christ which brings me comfort knowing that I will see him again someday. Goodbye for now brother, I love you,  you will always be in my heart and mind, and you will be missed......terribly.

From left to right- Myself, Bob, Jon, and our younger brother Andrew

From left to right- Jon, Myself, Bob, and Andy