The More Things Change…The More Things Change

Things are different with me these days.

I have changed quite a bit over the recent past due to two distinct reasons.

Growing up, my family escaped the worst of nature’s wrath. As a child I watched a neighbor’s tree get ripped from the ground but nothing really happened to our house. We had various flooding events as I grew up but again nothing really impacted us.

Tropical Storm Alison flooded my apartment but very few of my possessions were destroyed. We only had about 8 inches of water and it came in so slowly that I was able to get my valuables off the ground. My car needed a good washing. That was about it.

Katrina and Rita didn’t directly impact us either.

Ike knocked out another neighbor’s tree and destroyed part of their house and both cars but we were only out of electricity for about 6 hours. We had a little water seep into one room.

My parents were without power for about 2 weeks but they sat on the patio and grilled, came over to do laundry, and everyone was relatively ok. I had other friends who lived in a cul de sac full of outdoorsy folks so they had a huge block party with everyone emptying their deep freezers and firing up the grills and smokers.

Then the Tax Day Floods came. My parents were not flooded out of their home  but they were flooded in. It was impossible to reach their door without a boat. It took over a week for the water to drain. Getting my dad’s medication was a bit of a challenge. I was worried about what would happen if I needed to get to them or get them out in an emergency.

Just like that, things were starting to hit much closer to home and it seemed as if these events were experiencing a crescendo.

Still, afterwards everything went back to normal and such concerns faded to the background again.

Enter Harvey.

We are closing in on one year since Hurricane Harvey hit Houston. It’s amazing to think about that because of how much the storm still seems to linger over so many of our lives.

There are homes yet to be repaired. There are people yet to determine what to do with their houses and where they’ll live. Some kids are still waiting for their schools to reopen.

Before the storm, a new strip centering being built meant everyone wondered if there would be a Starbucks or a Kohl’s but now then news of a new real estate development project is greeted with questions about flood mediation. Citizens that never once thought about things like how an empty patch of grass helps control water flow have become comment thread activists on the NextDoor app. We’ve all gotten a crash course in city planning and civil engineering.

Looking back Harvey does not seem like an isolated incident. Rather, it seems like the most recent in a series of ever-building events.

Reality hit me at about 4:00 am on the morning of the storm when I left the house looking for batteries and a flashlight. It was the first in a flurry of shots I would receive over the coming days and weeks.

The experience of trying to provide and protect my family during and after the storm, of trying to manage the logistics of things like finding pharmacies and grocery stores that were both open AND accessible, of finding gas, of finding something to put the gas in, of learning how to use a generator, of trying to keep Oliver cool and entertained…all of that has changed me.

Before Harvey I had some tools in the garage, a couple extension cords, a decent drill, an old roll of duct tape, and that was about it. I had a couple flashlights, one broken, and another in need of batteries.

Since that Saturday morning, I’ve amassed a generator, a dozen cords, fans, a stack of power bricks, flashlights of every variety, batteries, cases of water, half a dozen gas cans, and I just invested in a freezer. I have a pair of thick tactical boots that served me incredibly well throughout the storm and afterwards.

If I see a sale on water, I grab it. If I see a clearance price on a power brick, head lamp, batteries, I take it.

I pay closer attention to things like how much of my medication I have at any given time and try not to wait until the day before to call in the refill. I keep tabs on things like how much paper towel, water, and batteries I have. I have a full tank of propane and now I have a smoker…as much for the joy of outdoor cooking as for being able to cook without electricity. I’ve always been a bit of a weather buff but now even more so.

Of course all of this “prepping” may be for pointless. Let’s face it, Another will come and when it does there will only be so much we can do. The storm could flood my house wash away my precious stockpiles.

Yet, I do these things because I’m different now.

So too have I noticed a sharp change in myself for another reason.

Columbine, Virginia Tech, Fort Hood, Aurora, Tucson, the Sikh Temple, Sandy Hook, Boston, Charleston, San Bernardino, Orlando, Dallas, Ft. Lauderdale, Vegas, Sutherland Springs, Parkland, Santa Fe, 2-inch bulletproof glass at the bank, metal detectors at the ballpark, “see something say something” and everything in between have chipped away any sense of comfort I had when out in public.

I am different now.

Mind you, I was not raised in a fantasy world where crime didn’t exist. My comfortably middle-class upbringing did not obstruct my view of reality. People got shot, robbed, raped, stabbed, and beat up. A schoolmate’s father went into a rage one night and murdered his mother as my classmate watched.

But I was never so aware or alert as I have become as these events have occurred one after the other. Much as with Harvey, the Santa Fe shooting seems like another step in a seemingly endless progression, one that keeps getting closer.

So now when I get out of the car I look in all directions. I go inside and scan the room. Where are the exits? Is it crowded? Does anything seem “off?” My ears are wide open listening for shouting, loud pops or bangs. I try not to focus so much on my shopping list that I lose track of where I am in the store, who is around me, and whether or not I can move freely and quickly if the need arises.

I like to take Oliver shopping with me. We have a ball describing things we see, singing, greeting other shoppers and store employees. Best of all, we usually come home with a toy.

On such a day out we found ourselves at the local Wal-Mart.

This particular visit began much like any other. I got out of the car; glanced around the parking lot, and pulled Oliver from his seat. We danced our way into the store and got as far as the frozen food section before we heard a wild alarm and people shouting. It was much louder than the ones heard when a customer walks out with a shirt that still had the security tag on it. It was scary. People around me ducked for cover, one woman fell flat on her stomach, hands over her head.

Oliver shouted, “Daddy! What’s that noise!?” Instinctively I grabbed him tight and turned my head towards the source while also slowly walking in a direction from which I could quickly make a dart for the exit if things went south.

I made a game of it by telling him it was the “Wal-Mart Police” who must have “arrested” a little boy for being too crazy in the store. (Everywhere we go has its own police force. There’s McDonald’s Police, Kroger Police, Target Police, Zoo Police. They all arrest crazy toddlers who drive their fathers bonkers. That’s how I roll. Sue me. Haha)

Whatever it was turned out to be nothing but for a few moments I thought things were going in a different direction.

That moment reaffirms my insecurities about letting Oliver out of my sight as much as it does my concern of taking him out. I don’t want him to go anywhere without me. Granted, a big part of this is because I want to spend every second I can with him. He’s my son and beyond loving him, I really do like him. He’s three years old and already my best friend.

The other side of that is the fear of something bad happening and me not being there for him. The idea of sending him off to school is nerve-racking.

And it isn’t like I could necessarily “save” him from anything. What am I going to do? I don’t carry a gun. I’ve never even held one and despite having memorized every training montage from every Rocky movie I have yet to “eat lightning or crap thunder.”

I have a hard time swatting a roach. (What? They’re freakish creatures. Some of them can FLY! Did you know that?! Evolution isn’t all it’s cracked up to be sometimes.)

The fact is that if something is going to happen to Oliver then it should happen to me. If he’s sick then we’re sick. If he’s happy then we’re happy. If he’s frustrated then we’re frustrated. If he gets to go to the zoo then I get to go to the zoo.

We’re in this together.

And just like that, Reality comes back to throw another stiff jab.

I can stockpile all the AAs and water bottles in the world and I can keep Oliver in my arms 24/7 but I can’t really keep anything from happening can I? I can’t really prepare for anything can I?

I couldn’t have prevented Harvey from flooding my house anymore than I was able to keep it from happening to my parents down the street. If my house was going to flood it was going to flood.

If someone had shot up that Wal-Mart then all I would have been able to do is scoop Oliver up and try to get the hell out of there. Maybe we would have. Maybe I would have tripped over my own feet and fallen into the display of value size Heinz ketchup while dozens of people trampled us on their way out. Maybe something worse happens.

And so I am different now.

I am different because while I always accepted that I have no control over any tragedy that life may bring I had never truly allowed that feeling to get deep inside of me. I pushed all that aside, tucked it away deep in the back of my mind and as such my lack of preemptive action didn’t really mean much.

Now? I wallow in the ironic futility of so much preparedness.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t live in some constant state of fear. I’ve not spent the last ten months stockpiling arms and MREs while researching how to capture rainwater and fashion gas masks from Downy dryer sheets. (Gain smells better, don’t you think?)

There are no plans to build a bunker beneath The Cathedral.

It just makes sense to always have an extra box of AAs around, mostly so I have enough to keep Oliver’s trains chugging.

Why wait to run out of water or anything really, and have to pay full price when you can stock up during a sale?

I can’t wait to get the new freezer on Saturday. It was purchased as much for being able to take advantage of sales as anything else.

I’ll be able to stock up on Oliver’s Eggos du jour. My dad can buy all the Digiorno frozen pizzas he wants and come Thanksgiving, I’ll be able to grab an extra one for later in the year!

But reality is never so far away that it’s truly in the back of my mind. The freezer, like everything else I’ve collected over the year, will come in handy when the next storm arrives.

Every generation debates whether or not the world has changed, whether things were “different back then.”

The world might be different. It might not be.

But I am different now.

 

Be Well and Kind,

jason

 

 

The Season

I have grown up with a father who cherishes baseball. Some kids were told bedtime stories like “Goldilocks” or “Three Little Pigs” but I was cradled while being regaled with stories of him hanging around Yankees spring training in Florida, of Mickey Mantle’s heroic feats, and of Earl Weaver’s passionate belief in The Three-Run Homer.

Some kids grew up quoting chapter and verse while I grew up citing batting averages and RBIs. As popular as “The Goonies” and “Star Wars” were in my house, “Bad News Bears”, “Major League”, “Bull Durham”, and of course “Field of Dreams” were constants.

Music? Terry Cashman’s “Willie, Mickey, and the Duke (Talkin’ Baseball)” was heard as often as the Beatles and Bob Dylan.

His decorated broadcast career included several years as the “Spanish voice of the Houston Astros” so the Astrodome became somewhat of a second home. I marveled at that incredible scoreboard and was shocked when it was torn down in favor of more seats. My childhood was shaped by watching Jose Cruz, Craig Biggio, Ken Caminiti, Jeff Bagwell, Billy Doran, Nolan Ryan, Mike Scott, Brad Ausmus and so many others. When watching at home, the TV volume was always down so I could listen to dad or to Milo call the game on the radio.

Every year we looked forward to spring training. Dad took me to several and those were among my most favorite family outings and come the regular season, I rooted along whether my beloved Astros won or lost.

When the team announced they were moving out of the Astrodome I was shocked but understood. By that time I had come to loathe Astroturf and looked forward to our boys playing on real grass…like God, Nature, and Sparky Anderson intended!

I still vividly remember listening to the radio when the team finally announced Minute Maid’s field dimensions. I scratched out a quick diagram and could not, for the life of me, figure out how it was going to work. 315 to left, 404 to left-center, right-center 376, right 326 and what? A flag pole sitting in centerfield…on top of a hill?! Is that even legal?!

I immediately picked up the phone and called my best friend David to ask if he was listening to the radio and we just couldn’t make sense of any of it.

All these years later it is still the most beautiful and dumbfounding stadium I’ve ever seen. The team seemed to enjoy the move too. We had fantastic lineups throughout the 90s and 2000s that included guys like Roy Oswalt, Billy Wagner, Moises Alou, Randy Johnson, Andy Pettitte, Daryl Kyle, Mike Hampton, and Roger Clemens. They came close to winning the series in 2005; I even had tickets…..to game 5. Ha.

Which brings me to this season…this incredible, magical, transcendent season.

Young Master Oliver in his favorite seat in the house as we make our way inside Minute Maid for one of the many games we enjoyed This Season.

There has never been a question about what my son Oliver and I would be doing at game time. I come home from work and we play a bit, bath, dinner, and then time to cuddle in front of the TV to watch the game.

Every night I would hold him and tell him stories of the great Ken Caminiti and his superhuman plays at third base. I’d run down Jose Altuve’s batting stats. He was told tales of Lunhow’s master plan and how it was all coming together. I’d do my best impression of dad and provide play-by-play for Oliver as he drifted off to sleep. On off days we watched “Major League” and “Field of Dreams”.

 

Then Harvey happened.

My parents’ home, just a few blocks from mine, was completely flooded and while I am so very happy and grateful to be living under the same roof again, this isn’t how I hoped it would happen.

FEMA claims, inspectors, disaster relief…all these things came to be regular themes in our lives but so too were evenings spent watching the Astros.

Now my son AND my dad were sitting with me watching the ballgame…I am indeed a fortunate son.

While everything else was swirling around my family, the Astros were the constant. The Astros provided a calm, joyous diversion that connected three generations together. My dad was once again spinning yarns about baseball of days gone by, when girls were girls and men were men…when starters never came out of the game and how we could indeed use a man like Joe DiMaggio again. I have so thoroughly enjoyed watching Oliver with this little pillow running to the sofa only to stop realizing he had to make a choice: cuddle with his dad or with his grandfather. It was adorable…even when I lost out. Sitting there in front of the TV with my son and my dad, the games took on an otherworldly and poetic nature.

The Astros did this. Baseball did this. The Season did this.

I have a great pal, Jon, who has never really cared about baseball…or sports in general. As the Astros moved into the playoffs he surprisingly found himself wrestling with his rabbit ears and scouring the web for game streams. He would send rapid fire texts throughout each game asking why Hinch yanked a pitcher or telling me how stressed out he was watching each pitch.

He asked questions about rules, about why the catcher keeps walking up to the mound, about why runners are safe or out in any given situation. The exchanges remind me of all the questions I ask him about computer coding, hardware, or things like gun laws and mechanics. Through the season he and I exchanged knowledge in a way I think is perhaps becoming a bit too rare. Our thoughtful explanations and respect of what each of us knows, and more importantly of what each of us doesn’t know, was a real joy. We are better for it…and I think I turned him into a baseball fan!

The Astros did this. Baseball did this. The Season did this.

Just as important, over the course of this season I was brought together with friends I had not seen in years. I literally reunited with my dear friend Chris at the ballpark…where David and I happened to be sitting enjoying a game. Of all the seasons, of all the games, of all the seats, we happened to be just one section over and Chris happened to spot us. Beginning that evening, Chris and I have chatted almost daily…about baseball, about our families, movies, music, our past together, and everything in between. There are no words for how grateful I am to have him as a friend again.

The Astros did this. Baseball did this. The Season did this.

Throughout the season David and I spent hours breaking down the team, strategies, Hinch’s pitching decisions, and almost every discussion ended with “In Lunhow We Trust.”

My dear friend David and his beautiful wife Tina getting to know Young Master Oliver…where else but at the ballgame.

 

Of course all our exuberance and hope was tempered by the unspeakably tragic and inescapable fact that his brother, one of the dearest people I’ve ever known, was fighting an inexhaustible battle with a cancer diagnosis whose prognosis was far less optimistic than our beloved Astros’ season. Each moment we spent rooting for our team, so too were we rooting for Kevin. A passionately Astros fan, all of this became so much bigger than just nine guys playing ball. Somehow how our team allowed us brief moments of escape from this cruel reality but also did it provide a means of facing it. As bittersweet as the team’s amazing success is for us, I’m not sure any of us could have managed the grief without our team.

The Astros did this. Baseball did this. The Season did this.

During the season I was also brought face-to-face with someone else I’d not seen in many years: Dave and Kevin’s cousin, Jennifer.

We met in 2nd grade and from that point until our early 20s she was a fixture in my life. I have no memories of my school years that don’t include her in some capacity. She was actually the one who introduced me to David and to Kevin and Chris and so many others that have meant so much to me and have made such unmistakable imprints on my life, my universe, and everything.

After about 15 years of not seeing one another, what did we talk about? Baseball. The Astros. This Season.

Conversations with someone I never thought I’d see again came as naturally and as easily as if we had never lost touch. So in some ways, while everything around us has changed, perhaps nothing has changed at all.

The Astros did this. Baseball did this. The Season did this.

There were a lot of tears shed last night by a lot of people. I know that when the last out was registered a lot of us held our brother, cousin, son, husband, father, friend Kevin very deeply within our hearts and souls.

I also know that I will always hold, very deep in my heart and soul, that I spent last night with my dear and precious son in my arms and my hero to my right as we watched our team win a world series.

My dad, my son, my friends…we all shared something this season and especially last night. We all received something special from this team: comfort, closeness, escape, inspiration, and joy. And yes, I think we’re stronger for it.

The Astros did this. Baseball did this. The Season did this.

Be Well and Kind…and Thank You Astros!

Jason

 

Sometimes you just gotta laugh

I go through life with an old sitcom-style laugh track in the background. Maybe it’s because I grew up watching Three’s Company, All in the Family, Good Times, Diff’rent Strokes, and the rest on TV.

Hurricane Harvey provided very few moments of laughter but there was one. There was one moment that when I look back a hearty laugh arises from my worn soul.

The rain broke and gave way to the vile humidity and oppressive heat that Houston loves to bathe us in. From that perspective at least, everything was back to normal.

Inside the house though there was anything but normal. My recording studio, The Cathedral, had become a staging area for my family’s “recovery” efforts. Bags, boxes, piles of stuff were stacked and thrown everywhere. With no power, there was no way to make a dent in the mountain of laundry that was growing by the hour. All my guitars had been packed and stacked in a corner while amplifiers and recording equipment had been moved from their places when I thought we were going to take on water.

It was hot, dank even, inside the house with only two fans to move air in any given room that we happened to be in at the moment. We all carried flashlights and LED lanterns from room to room, the wife fashioned one by wrapping one of those headband lights around a gallon jug of water…pretty nifty!

We had however, and thankfully, gotten water and sewer service back so my mom was busy cleaning up the kitchen, washing whatever dishes had piled up.

Now a couple years before, shortly after the wife and I purchased our home, I installed a new (what was supposed to be an upgraded) faucet. I was never a fan of it myself. It didn’t swivel smoothly and the buttons that shifted from shower to standard flow were very stiff and required a lot of effort to get either button fully engaged. My mom had been struggling with them the whole time since moving in.

Anyway, it was a crazy day. To say that the scene was cacophonous would be more than a bit mild.

Every conversation and movement was against a backdrop that included a growling generator, all of us shouting to be heard over it and each other. My son, “Young Master” Oliver, chimed in as only he can. That boy’s voice can bring tears of joy and laughter as easily as it can bring pain and torment. That day, as every during this ordeal brought more of the later for certain.

So there we are. That’s the moment.

Mom cleaning up in the kitchen, the wife doing her best to keep Oliver busy and quiet, Dad wanting to know what everyone wants for dinner, and every time I stood still for more than 3 seconds I was assaulted with questions, statements, concerns, what if’s, how to’s, and so many desperate pleas from Oliver to just hold him…it was absolute chaos.

I left to go on a “run” looking for roads out of the neighborhood that led to gas for that generator, milk, and anything else that would be of use in this new environment that wasn’t quite Mad Max or Walking Dead but certainly a bit too reminiscent for my tastes. I honestly have no idea what I went to grab or do, but I left for a few minutes to get something or other.

When I returned, my dad was walking out of the house ready to leave for the one restaurant I found that was both open and accessible. As he greeted me at the car he said “I dunno son, talk to your mother. There’s a problem with the kitchen faucet…something about the pressure or water coming out…I don’t know what it is.”

I walked in, assuming it was those damn buttons again and against that grinding generator that was just a few feet away from the kitchen window I found my mom looking more than a little dejected and concerned. I asked if it was the buttons and she said “oh no son, I’m so sorry! I think I broke the faucet!”

How do you break a faucet? Surely it’s not broken. Surely.

Now my mother can be a bit frantic and anxious, she worries a lot about everyone’s well being and she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders sometimes.

I was certain her discomfort in that moment was born more of the overall situation and that the faucet was just “stuck” or something….but when she turned the faucet handle I immediately realized this was not the case.

The faucet took off like a missile, water shooting up beneath it propelling it towards the ceiling. I would describe it as majestic……if it weren’t my damn faucet ascending towards the heavens and water exploding all over the kitchen.

My mother starts to shout about how she’s so sorry and that we need a plumber, and she will never use the faucet again, and that my whole world has been turned upside down by her mere presence in my home.
In the background the generator’s snarl seems to get even louder.

Is it toying with me?

Oliver’s screams from the other room are combated by the wife’s pleas that are failing to placate his unwavering demands for who knows what. Peppa Pig? Do you want Peppa Pig? No?! Dinosaur? Do you want your dinosaur? What about George? NO!? What is it? Oh god help us all, what is it?!

Amidst all the turmoil I rush to turn the water off and, robbed of its propellant, the faucet clatters into the sink.

I desperately try to reassure my mother than she neither broke the faucet nor has she introduced even a sliver of discomfort or inconvenience to my life. I remember confidently saying “Hold on Ma, it’s nothing. Just let me grab the toolbox.”

I sprint through the recovery area, out the door, into the garage, grab my tools, and sprint back through the obstacle course like I’m auditioning for American Ninja Warrior: Que Pasa Harvey Edition.

 

 

Back in the kitchen I examine the faucet and see that it has a tiny hex bolt that holds it to the base. Obviously it’s just come loose.

Obviously.

My mom is in rapid fire mode. She must have twisted it too much. She must have used it too much. She must have pulled it too much. Call a plumber. She’ll pay for it. (Where we would get a plumber in the midst of a state of disaster I have no idea but that’s not a topic for this moment.)

I again reassure her that it’s nothing. Just a quick flick of the wrist to tighten the bolt and we’re back in business.
I find the right hex key, tighten things up and BAM.

Fixed!

“Ma, look. It’s done. There’s nothing to worry about. It was just loose.”

And with that, I turn the faucet handle.

And…..sky rocket in flight!

Damn thing took off like a Saturn missile…water EVERYWHERE. The faucet seriously almost hit the ceiling this time.

I can’t help it this time. Now I’M the one screaming…the wife hears from the next room.

What’s going on?!

My mom is screaming about a plumber.

The baby is screaming about I don’t know what.

I quickly shut the faucet, get under the counter and cut the water altogether.

And the generator chugs along….seriously, I think it’s getting louder.

My mom, frantically, desperately even, is begging me to call a plumber and to let her pay for it.

I try, as best I can, to calm everything down and say “Ma, there are no plumbers right now. I just need to run over to Home Depot real quick. We’ll have a new faucet in half an hour. Just let me do this.”

“I’ll pay for it!!!!!”

“That’s fine Ma, I just gotta run to the store.”

I go to grab my keys and realize, “crap…dad took my car.”

“Honey, where are your keys?!”

“What?!”

“Your keys! To the car…where are they?!”

“WHAT?!”

The generator is mocking me right now.
I run back towards the wife and ask about the keys. They are, of course, where they “always” are…but I never drive her car so that means nothing to me.

Turns out they are in her bag, on the stool.

Gotcha.

Now I’m in business. I race over to Home Depot, covered in water. I run in and ask the guy where the faucets are. I get a “um…I think…wait…let me ask…”

“Nevermind, I’ll find them.”

When I do I’m greeted by about 538 different models.

Awesome. This is what I need right now.

I pick one out after giving the decision about 9 seconds of thought. I bought a Moen…because you know, buy it for life. 😉

I pay and race home.

Mom is waiting for me.

She’ll pay for it.

Plumber.

Oliver screaming. Wife, “where did you go?”

F#*CK(#NG GENERATOR.

I start at the business of taking apart the Saturn Faucet. There are parts everywhere, water everywhere, toolbox on the counter….all the tools I mistakenly grabbed are now tossed about the floor and counters.

Dad comes home with the food.

“Foods here! Come and eat! Wait, what are you doing son?!”

“What?! HUH?!”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

I hate this generator.

My mom starts answering the question…she broke the faucet, she wanted a plumber, the water is everywhere, the Saturn missile, she’ll pay for it, all of it in painstaking detail in two languages.”

“Son, are you sure you know how to do that?”
Yeah pop.

“Well, come and eat.”

“I’ll eat in a second, I just have to finish this.”

“Ok, well I’m eating. This looks good. Leslie! Come eat, this food is amazing!”

“I’ll wait for Jason.”

Baby screams, mom nervous. That damn generator.

After about 30 minutes I’m back up and running with a faucet that works, and stays put.

I bring my mom over and beg her to try it.

“I see it. It’s very nice. You did a good job.”

“Ma, that’s not enough. I need you to use it. I need you to try it out and see that it works. It’s actually better than the other one.”

“No I see it. It’s nice.”

I know that if I don’t win this battle, she may never actually use the faucet again.

She reluctantly turns the water on, just a bit. She presses both buttons and actually says, “Oh, this is nice. It is so much easier than the other!”

FINALLY! Something goes right.

During all of this I hear my dad at the table. “MMMMM….damn son, this is good food! This place is great. MMM….come and eat some of this! WOW.”

Now my mom is starting to relax a bit and she’s going on about how proud she is that I could swap the faucets so quickly and I tell her I learned from the best.

Growing up my mom was the “handyman” of our house. She installed door knobs, and painted, and did plumbing, faucets…she was awesome.

She smiles and begins to use the sink.

YES!!!

By that time dad had finished eating and was ready to tackle Oliver and take him to play. My mom, though still insisting she pay for the faucet, was moving about taking care of this and that.

The missus and I sat down to eat…and yes, the food was damn good.

And the generator continued to serenade us. No quarter asked, no mercy given.

-final laugh, cue credits and theme song, this show was filmed before a live studio audience-