Archive for February, 2011

Waiting for the Bucket to Fall

Published February 26, 2011 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
“Come on pop-paw,” Rachel said, taking my hand. “I want to go see Grandma Gwen.”
I closed the Elmo book we had been reading and pitched it on the bookshelf. Rachel tugged me out of the little play area, down the hallway, through the funeral parlor past small groups of murmuring, closely huddled kin; to the side of the casket where her grandmother lay.
Rachel’s face took on a soft angelic glow. A slight Mona Lisa like smile creased her lips as her eyes began to peruse her still grandmother. Her hair. Her face. Her jewelry. The position  of her hands … I watched and wondered what this little girl might be thinking.
I was nearly five years old when my great grandpa died. My memory of him is as vague as my granddaughters’ whisperings can sometimes be. I do remember being lifted to see him in the casket; not understanding why he lay so still. I recall the cemetery afterwards, the large heap of flowers on his grave. I kept looking for his head, thinking that it must be somewhere amid the flowers.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Under the flowers,” a voice replied.
Someone had said that he was going to heaven, a place that was higher than the clouds. I wondered how he would get there. Maybe a bucket tied to a rope would fall from the sky. Then he would come from under the flowers, climb into the bucket and be lifted away. I began to search the sky, looking for the bucket. When it was time to go, I was still waiting for the bucket to fall.
“I want to hug Grandma Gwen.” Rachel’s voice pulled me back to my place next to her.
I felt awkward. “Maybe tomorrow, when it is time to tell her good-bye you can  give her a hug.”
She grasped my hand. I was expecting her to plead, “May I give her a hug?”
Instead, “Come on pop-paw, I want to go back to the toy room.”
While in my mind I am still waiting for the bucket to fall, I think this little girl has the best attitude of us all.

You must fart

Published February 26, 2011 Uncategorized Leave a Comment
Just got back from having a colonoscopy done. It really was not that bad, and the nice thing is they actually enourage you to fart – big time!
“Are you feeling okay?” the nurse inquired as the fog slowly lifted from my awareness.
“I think so,” I groggily replied.
“Okay, Mr. Lash,” the nurse sing-songingly advised, “we need one more little thing before you can leave. Actually it’s kind of big. We need for you to pass a really big fart to get rid of all the air that is still bloating your colon.”
I was beginning to like this nurse. “I will get to work on that right away.”
“Any luck yet?” the nursed asked a few minutes later as she peeped around the curtain.
“Not yet!” I wasn’t quite ready to let go because by now I assumed I was drawing an audience and stage fright was starting to set in. Claudia was keeping vigil by my bed, and I seldom fart in my wife’s presence; only in my sleep at night.
“Well, you must fart. We can’t let you leave until you give us a big fart.”
Shortly afterwards it came. It was huge, and I provided some additional abdominal impetous that shook the curtain surrounding my bed.
“I heard that!” the voice proclaimed from outside the curtain. “Sounds like you got rid of quite a lot of air. Now, we need at least one more like that, and then we can let you get out of here. The bond between the nurse and I was growing.
Soon, another thunderous rectal belch. I swear I could feel air being drawn from my eye sockets.
“I think we can let you go now, and I will personally take you to your car as soon as you are dressed and ready to go!” came the voice outstide the curtain for the final time. She looked kind of proud as she swept the curtain asside and positioned the wheel chair for the ride. I think she was actually humming a happy tune to herself on the way out.
As she helped me out of the chair and into my car, there were these last words of instructions:
“You may not drive a car, or operate any kind of machinery, sign any important document for the reaminder of the day, or indulge in any activity that may be physically strenuous.”
“Can I fart some more?”
“Fart as much as you like, Honey!” she said as she  spun the chair around and headed back to repeat the same procedure with the next lucky guy.
I’m still kind of groggy. I have forgotten what the nurse looked like, but I think I love her!
I have been asked to leave places for having farted, but this was the first time that I was being held hostage until I blew one – a really big one.

The Turd Whisperer

Published February 26, 2011 just me Leave a Comment
Our oldest granddaughter and her baby brother spent the night at our house last night. As usual we had a great time with both of them playing games, shaking rattles, and watching movies among other things. Bath time was even fun, and shortly afterwards they both settled down to a nice, uninterrupted night long sleep. Both were energized and ready to hit the ground running this morning.
As luck would have it, shortly after breakfast, Rachel decided it was time to drop a friend off at the pool – so to speak. A very good friend I might add. Judging from the size of this friend, it appeared that their friendship had been well nurtured for quite some time.
“You better get the plunger,” Claudia called from the bathroom.
I headed for the basement to retrieve the tool, thinking that I knew what I was about to encounter based on past experience with other friends.  I was aghast at what greeted me; even before I had entered the bathroom. There is no need to offer a lot of detail description. This should suffice: When Rachels’s uncles; David, Brian, and Josh were young boys, they dropped several prize winners; but none could compare with what was bobbing in my commode this morning.
So I took a deep breath, flipped the flush handle and commenced plunging as rapidly as possible. The water swirled, the commode gulped and gurgled, and the water flushed – or so I thought. When I lifted the plunger, there were now two friends swimming in circles. The darned thing had broken in half!
Round two: Flush, plunge. This time the water was not going down. I worked the plunger franticly; my shoulders were starting to burn. The stress of watching the water slowly rise to the brim of the bowl was tantamount to watching a game breaking shot during a final NCAA basketball tourney game as the last seconds ticked off the time clock. I evacuated all two of the spectators from the bathroom while envisioning the mess that would soon need to be cleaned up.
When I opened my eyes, I was relieved to see that the water had stopped just short of the rim and was settling slightly. Both turds were gone – or so I thought. One had somehow gotten sucked up inside the plunger. The survivor fell back into the pool and was defiantly bobbing about.
As I have gotten older, I have learned to try to deal with life’s frustrations more calmly than when I was young. Rage has been replaced with rational polite stubbornness. This time I decided to try something new. Claudia talks to herself a lot and talks to things in general; plants, trees, worms, the computer, the laundry… She gets thing done too, and seldom is frustrated. It was worth a try with some modification.
Round three: Whisper:  “Please, Please go down,” I begged. “This stream will take you to a place of peaceful bliss. Not only will you be re-united with your other half. You will join up with many others like yourself. You will be happy!”
Flush, plunge – gone! The commode gasped like someone having been saved by a Heimlich maneuver.  Not a drop on the floor. We (the plunger and I) were triumphant. The crowd (all two of them) roared!
Game over!
Shelly E. Lash  2/26/2011

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