My Dad is No Ward Cleaver

December 30th, 2008

In the harrowing tail of the Attack of the Bookshelf, below, I mentioned my father’s personal mishap.  I was thinking the other day that when some people think of their dad or grandfather, they sometimes think of a particular actor or character that reminds them.  Oftentimes, they don’t think of this until long after their father or grandfather is gone.   My father is still with us, thank goodness.   He reminds me of Clark Griswold, Chevy Chase’s character, most of all.   Aside from getting tempted by strangers, which wouldn’t be characteristic of my dad, the heart of the character us to keep plugging along and making the best of things no matter what crazy thing happens.

Crazy Dog t-shirts has a shirt that I wished I had seen before Christmas, but I think I will put it away and give it to him before hand next year so he can wear it all through the holidays.  It reads: “The Griswold Family Tree…It’s All About the Experience.”   That is exactly something my dad thinks all the time.  It doesn’t matter if you get anything actually done, does it?  When in doubt, tie your problems to the rough, right?  Trust me, there is just no possibility that he will see this shirt and buy himself before then.   He sometimes still just hits “reply” when I send him an email and doesn’t type anything back in response.   Online shopping is something we will have to work on in another couple years.



Early 20th Century Furniture…Not Harmless!

December 30th, 2008

Last night I suffered from a severe blogging injury.  It is not a predictable one like carpal tunnel.  As you know, I am much more creative (clumsy) than that.  I stayed up late working, and I went to bed in the dark.  It is just your straight, typical hallway and I have done it many times before, so I had no reason to fear.  Than…BAM!  I didn’t know what hit me.

offending-shelf.gifActually, I did.  I thought i was turning to walk into my bedroom and I actually hit the edge of a book case.  It is an oldie with a protruding top edge (which you will see in the photo at left) so maybe I thought it was the door frame. Needless to say, I almost poked my eye out.  I thought I had hit my cheekbone so I put my hand on my face, thinkng erroneously that would somehow help, and I felt blood. Naturally I lost all composure.  My knees don’t buckle from the sight of blood (or just the feel of it since it was dark), but when you have an injury that you expect to bruise but not bleed, you have a brief internal freak out.  It is not like I picked up glass with my hands or anything. The mind did not turn immediately toward my face, but wondering how much lead paint was under the fifty layers that had been applied to the shelf over many, many years.

Anyway, I ran to the bathroom and saw blood coming out of my eye in the mirror like tears coming out the wrong corner.  It turned out that I hit the bookcase so hard that the protruding molding cut me!  I now have a cut so dangerously close to the side of my eye, the start of it looks like a natural line coming out of the outer edge.  No one gets a crow’s foot in that direction (though of course I have an unaged face with out a hint of any of that nonsense yet a la Dorian Gray of course!).

This morning I woke up with a black eye and a long line that has scabbed over that may be a scar but I am hoping not.  It keeps bleeding again throughout the day if I wince, smile or squint.   If it does scar, maybe I will just make up a story about an encounter with a shark or something where I almost lost my eye. Or maybe I will tell people that indeed my eye is fake, but is so realistic the way they are making them nowadays.

Bookcases made in the first half or quarter of the century do not hold a lot of good fortune for my immediate family, despite my love of books. When my father was a child, he broke both arms falling out of a built in bookcase. I can see having a bookcase fall on top of you, or fall DOWN frm a bookcase while you are climbing it for some strange reason, but falling OUT was new to me. He explained that he was playing hide in seek and crawled into the bookcase, but decided to hide in something higher than the bottom shelf where they were less likely to look.

The moral of the story is that nobody in my family should own a bookcase.  We should just have our books on a sofa table with book ends.  With the amount of books I have, I would have have them on the floor and around the entire room like a decorative border.

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