This week our family lost a one of our own. Our two year old cockatiel, Tank, passed away on Tuesday. He had gotten quite ill at the end of last week. My lovely wife was with him at the end he was not alone. And I'm quite sure he knew he was loved. He had just turned two this past March. We found him a nice burial place down by the water for him to take his final rest. We will miss you, Tank.
  
     I don't want to dwell on death. Tank wouldn't want me to to either. Cockatiels tend to be rather positive animals. I think he would be happier knowing that we had moved toward the future.

    Then again it does bring up the usual reflective question that comes when a death occurs. What does it all mean? Are we defined by our careers? Our mistakes? Our accomplishments? Do I win anything if I end up with more cool stuff than someone else? Do we have to be nice to people no matter what? I hope not because sometimes I can be a real prick. Some people are good at playing piano or a sport. Me? I'm good at being an asshole.

   I hope I'm defined by my character. The kind of father I am and hope to be. The kind of husband I am and try to be. Although on that point it's probably best to remember I am a male. So I was born with a genetic disability that causes me to act like a complete moron from time to time. As with all that are afflicted with this condition I am prone to bouts of insensitivity, leaving the toilet seat down while using the toilet, leaving the toilet seat up when I leave the bathroom, and last, but not least, horrifying gas. So as long as thetas taken into account i don't mind being judged as a husband.

   I guess the things that are important in the end are up to each individual. I mean really who am I to judge. But if it comes down to the cool stuff thing then I'll be pissed. I'm putting all my eggs in the character, father, husband basket.

  As a final thought I want to mention G.E. You know, the appliance people. Well they are a huge, like really really huge company. They make billions of dollars in profits every year. As we all know, our country is in the crapper financially. Well the wonderful folks at G.E. managed to shelter themselves from paying taxes through corporate money voodoo. Now that sucks bad enough because I'm sure you like me pay more than plenty in taxes. Check this out. These assholes received a 3.2 billion dollar tax return form our government. Really? 3.2 billion dollars? I'm no financial expert, but if that's the kind of tax refund we're dolling out to major corporations, it's no wonder we're friggin broke. I'd like to see our fine Representatives, senators, corporate big boys and all the other assorted assholes have to budget on any of our salaries. I give em a week til their homeless.

Another Year........

 Tonight's blog is being written with the assistance of Melody......She's a cockatiel. ...and a crappy speller.

It's been quite a week. And, admittedly, that is probably the most cliche way to start writing. I'm sure to plenty of people around the world my week would seem pretty darn boring. I haven't had to survive a tsunami, my government isn't literally fire bombing me, and I'm not a soldier in a war zone. But for an average guy living in a medium sized American town with no threat of any serious harm, it's been quite a week. My employer changed overnight (seriously I left work one day employed by one company showed up the next day, same time same place, employed by a different company). This has been a major pain in the ass.  It's left my family with no insurance for a month. So until the beginning of the May my daughter will be dressing in bubble wrap with a flashing light and siren on her head. One of the Birds is sick. Tank, the older one has an infection that I am completely unable to pronounce so you know its a bad one. He went to the vet yesterday and got some antibiotics and pain killers. And yesterday was my birthday.
      Yesterday was my birthday, there I said it twice. I am now 37. 37 is three less than 40. I know this because my wonderful wife doesn't say my age as 37. She says three years from 40. And hey that's OK because 40 is the new... new what? 20? I don't even know what that means. I'm 37 and I feel 37. This is OK, I can accept that.
      Birthdays are funny things. I've  never been much of a birthday celebrator. It's just always been so uncomfortable to me. The gifts and the song and everyone making a big deal about my ability to survive another year. I don't hate my birthday I just don't like to go overboard for it. Some people really like to go big for their birthdays with the parties and the dinners and the gifts. I suppose for me the things I like most on my birthday are my daughter giving me a hug and saying "Happy Birthday Daddy!" And my wife giving me a kiss and taking time to eat a picnic lunch with me on my lunch break. And tonight we had dinner with my Mom. I can't think of a better way to celebrate. So thank you Daughter Wife and Mom for helping me celebrate another year of survival on this rock. I couldn't have done it with out you.

Blog Number 2

         I sit in my living room surrounded by yarn, toys, birds, and our slightly over weight cat. We actually have two cats but one won't come out of hiding until after the child goes to bed. Our daughter has never actually done anything to this cat, but I respect the caution which this cat exercises. The slightly overweight cat is not one for hiding. Most of the time she can be found laying on the floor on her back with a look of absolute contentment on here face. I envy her.
  The yarn is a product of my wife's rather severe yarn and fiber addiction. If you're not familiar with this affliction it causes the sufferer to buy yarn and fiber uncontrollably. You will most likely know that you live with an addict if your clothes start moving out of the closet to make room for the yarn and fiber. Her ability to make really warm and comfortable winter hats has caused me to become codependent. As a matter of fact She just told me she bought a skein of yarn from Germany. A skein seems to be the yarn addicts version of a dime bag. Not a huge amount but it will get her through. And I will continue to support her habit because I love a nice hat.
    The toys come from our five year old daughter. Over the years I have learned that, for the most part, toys aren't actually for playing with. What happens is the toys are systematically removed from her bedroom. These toys are then placed strategically throughout the house. Usually beginning at the top of the stairs and then along the path leading down, through the living room, and into the kitchen. I find these toys at five in the morning as I try to make my way down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen to make coffee. And yes, I have noticed that the toys are placed on the same path I use to get to the coffee maker. She seems nice and she's pretty small, so I can only assume she isn't trying to cause any serious harm.
       As for the birds, well they probably have a combined weight of ten ounces. Neither of the cats are what you would call "skilled" hunters, so the birds have no idea cats are supposed to eat them. I wouldn't call them dumb exactly. They do seem to lack any form of common sense. And shiny things are as irresistible to them as bacon is to a fat man. ( mmmm bacon!).
    I'm not complaining about any of this. Absolutely not. This is my home and family. I love every minute of it and wouldn't dream of changing a thing. Why would I? I have so much to come home to.