Here I am on Sunday afternoon running pasta through the pasta press from which we made several batches of home-made cheese ravioli. Simmering on the stove behind me is a huge pot of home-made pasta sauce. A homemade “scrumptious” apple pie is cooling on a rack on the counter.

The bread oven is baking four loaves of bread, three of which are intended for a few of my “elder buds” who like my home-made bread. Heck, if I am making one loaf, making a few more is very easy and quick to do.

My partner’s “honey-do list” for chores around the house had abated, so I had time to bake and cook, which I love to do. My partner enjoys helping. It was a beautiful day outside; however, I was tired from being out late on Saturday night, and also I was experiencing some side-effects from the regular seasonal flu shot that I got on Saturday. Further, I had developed a rather bad case of “the trots” caused by the ice used for a soft drink served at the bar on Saturday night. Unfortunately, DC water does that to me.

So I chose to stay home and cook on Sunday, rather than get out and ride. I do not like to ride my Harley when I am not feeling well and not at peak performance. I felt divided, as I know the riding season is growing short, and there will not be many days like this when I could enjoy a ride without other obligations hanging over my head. But I just wasn’t feeling strong enough.

Life is short: enjoy your home!

I always take time on September 11 to remember my mother. I know, a lot of people remember this date for another reason, and I’ll get to that in a moment.

September 11 is the date on which my mother died. I blogged about it last year, so I will not repeat myself.

It’s been eleven years since the fateful date of her death. What’s happened since then? My partner and I settled into the house that I built, developed a stable, productive, and deep partnership together, and have led quality lives. We have had many fun and not-so-fun experiences, learned a lot, and each of us changed jobs once — moving on to better things for each of us. We have matured, grown, and have deepening respect for each other, and for others.

My Mom influenced me in many ways. She always told me to keep smiling, and keep plugging away because life is short — you only reap what you sew — so plant your roots deep and care for your family, your neighbors, your friends, and Mother Nature. That we do…. Thanks, Mom, for your continuing inspiration in my life, and for your love that endures beyond your physical presence on this Earth.

The media contrived “9/11” to refer to the U.S. attacks on that date. That media contrivance drives me absolutely bonkers, but the reference isn’t going to go away, no matter how wrong it is. (I remind you, FDR did not refer to “12/7” as a date which will live in infamy.)

Right after the U.S. attacks of September 11, 2001, I spent six months in New York City (on-and-off; not permanently) providing relief and working on a series of special projects. While I had visited NYC several times before that date, the ongoing exposure to the city in that “post-September 11” timeframe taught me many things. It taught me about the endurance and perseverance of humanity, and of New Yorkers. It taught me that people can rise to overcome many challenges. And it taught me that I really don’t like New York City.

My feelings have nothing to do with the people, as it has to do with long-term, ongoing memories that I would rather not think about. I have not returned to New York City since February, 2002, and have no intentions of going back. It just hurts too much. Plus, I am not a city boy. I do not like crowds, noise, late-night activities, and the expense. I am much more relaxed and comfortable in my simple suburban lifestyle, with my partner by my side, and enjoying the view of Maryland’s back roads and nearby areas from the saddle of my Harley. My needs are simple, and I much prefer quiet and peacefulness than noise, dust, dirt, and “busy-ness.” Not for me.

Mind you, nothing is wrong with New York City. Many, many people call it home, and many more visit every year. Great for them. It is a marvelous place. It’s just not for me nor my partner.

Life is short: remember those you love.

Now that my twin brother has returned home (and I sure miss him), it is time to attack the long list of projects to do around the house.

One of the biggest projects for this summer is to control an erosion problem in our side yard. Rainwater coming out of the downspouts had eroded all of the topsoil in the little patch of grass that once was there, and the problem was growing worse.

On Friday morning at the crack of dawn, I rented a “mini-trencher” which is a machine that digs a trench. All well and good. The machine, however, weighed a ton and was quite a struggle to man-handle. In no time, however, a trench of some 12″ (30cm) deep and 100′ (30m) long was dug. My partner helped me get the machine back on my truck and I returned it… all before 9:00am. By then, however, the temperature had already climbed to 90°F (32°C) with 70% relative humidity.

Upon return from HomoDepot, the phone rang. It was AZ! I always enjoy speaking with my best friend. He gave me a good excuse to cool off while catching up.

But the work wouldn’t take care of itself. So I returned to the yard and used a shovel to prepare the trench to accept black plastic pipe that I connected to the downspouts and interconnected together with Y fittings. I had to be careful to avoid cutting underground utility pipes and wires which enter our house, so through what I thought was an ingenious method of using PVC plumber’s piping, I ran the new gutter drainage pipe above ground toward the back yard until I was sure I was clear of any underground natural gas pipe or wires. I then connected it to the black plastic pipe and buried it in the trench.

The underground piping runs to the far back of my property to drain into a stream. The earth covering the pipe will soon sprout new growth in the forest area, and come Autumn, I will sow grass seed in the smaller upper side yard area that should be lawn. (Spring: sod; Fall: seed).

This work took much of the day on Friday, and by 3pm, the temperature had reached 95°F (35°C) and 80% humidity. Yeeccchhhh… I called it “August ugly” though it is typical for this time of year in the DC area. (Wonder why Congress leaves for the whole month? This is why!)

I was just finishing up and smoothing over the dirt when a strong thunderstorm struck. After the storm dissipated, I couldn’t help but go out and check my work. I got my Chippewa Engineer Boots a little muddy (oops), but was assured that the new drainage system worked as intended.

I had been drinking water all day, and sweat like a (insert adjective). I sweat so much that I didn’t have to urinate, despite drinking at least 20 jugs of water (which I had chilled in the fridge the night before.) My partner brought me four clean shirts into which I changed throughout the day.

After completing the work, my partner peeled off my clothes and put them in the wash while I took a nice, cold shower. I felt quite refreshed. I lay down on our couch in the basement while my partner completed his work for the day (he telecommutes on Fridays). Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. I enjoyed an hour’s nap… I’m such a lazy wuss.

My partner gently woke me and I prepared our evening meal — home-made Maryland crab cakes (using crab I picked from my “birthday bushel” that we enjoyed earlier in the week) and a light salad.

After dinner, the muscle soreness began to set in. In fact, all day on Saturday, I kept asking my partner, “did you get the license plate number of the truck that ran over me?” He would just hand me two more Excedrin and tell me, “no pain, no gain!” Such a caring soul he is (LOL!)

Oh well, it’s done, it works, and I am recovering. I am glad to have this major project scratched off that non-ending “honey-do” list!

I wrote a post on this blog on December 24, 2008. Interestingly, it has been viewed more than 40 times in the last week. I do not know why, but for some reason, many visitors from Germany are looking this up.

I read and re-read what I wrote, and you know what? It is all still very true with what is in my heart, and what composes my soul:

• I believe in service to others.
• I believe in caring for my neighbor.
• I believe in doing. Not just sitting and watching, but doing.
• I believe in being patient until things happen, and nudge ’em along when needed.
• I believe that a smile is the best gift to give to others.
• I believe that life is full of surprises and without them, life would be awfully dull.
• I believe in holding friends close, and family closer.
• I believe in my partner, wholeheartedly, without reservation or equivocation.
• I believe that joy comes to those who share joy.
• I believe in Santa. Well, in his magic, his spirit, and his love.
• And yeah, I believe in love. Love is the only thing you get back more of the more you give it away.
• I believe that God loves all of us, including us gay guys as well as the homophobes. God loves all — it is religion that causes separatism and some people to display hatred, which is what God teaches us is a sin.

I believe and I act. How do you display your passions, concerns, and caring?

Life is short: believe in something and show you care.

My partner and I only buy what we have money for, and do not spend what we don’t have. We are loathe to take loans. The only loan we have is a small first mortgage on our primary residence, which will be paid off in a few years. We have no car or motorcycle payments … nada … we believe in paying as we go and saving for long-term goals. We are both products of parents who lived through the Great Depression, and their frugal approach to household finances rubbed off on both of us.

The other day, my partner and I sat down to review our finances. We had been considering having a major renovation of our kitchen done this summer. However, we had to do a major “re-do” of our upstairs hallway and bedroom flooring which became a priority since my partner accidentally ruined the carpet by carrying a leaky bottle of drain cleaner from one end of the house to the other, ruining the carpet unintentionally as he went. (Here is the final outcome of the new hallway and bedroom hardwood flooring).

Meanwhile, we continued with planning to replace kitchen countertops, flooring, and appliances, and had done a fair amount of shopping and price comparisons for this work. The problem is that when I built our house, I built an unusually large chef’s kitchen — it’s 20′ x 30′ (6.1m x 9.1m) — and thus it requires much more flooring and countertops than an average kitchen would.

When we computed what it would cost to have this work done, with and without labor, we realized that we have more saving to do before we can afford what we want. We’re not quite there yet. Sure, we could take out a loan and have it done now, but what we have is still functional, and we can live with it for a year or two more. We may replace the old refrigerator sooner than later as it is about to break down (and we can take advantage of the energy-saving appliance purchase rebates available now), but that’s about it.

Further, I’ve decided that while a new Langlitz motorcycle jacket would be nice, I do not want to shell out US$700 for it. It is too pricey. The motorcycle jackets I wear now suit me fine. They will probably carry me through the rest of the years that I can ride. While I can drool over such a high-quality product, reality dictates that it would be a frivolous expense to buy new leathers when what I currently have serves the purpose.

It is time to reverse three months of negative cash flow and rebuild our reserves. Our joint reserve fund had gotten down to nine months, and we like to keep it at twelve. What I mean by that is that we keep a reserve fund that will keep the bills paid and household running if neither my partner nor I are able to work and experience a disruption in income. The reserve provides a good cushion to absorb unexpected expenses, like replacing the flooring and carpeting on our home’s second floor.

Life is short: save for a rainy day

As I was thinking about ending another full work week with a weekend looming ahead full of honey-do projects at home, a tune began rattling around in my head. Have you had those times when a song you knew before comes back to you, and you can’t get it out of your head?

The tune by Loverboy titled, “Working for the Weekend,” is what I am talking about in this case. I was thinking that the bosses of the world have it all backwards: that weekends should be five days and work weeks should be two (LOL, a long-held fantasy!) with no loss of pay (HA!)….

I keep thinking that I work and work and work and work and work (five days) and then have two days off … only to have more work. In this case, paint the ceiling of our master bedroom, mow the lawn, take care of my aunt, take my old lady “crew” grocery shopping, do some home repairs for some elder buds that I had promised, attend a community event (unveiling of a painting of my mentor), and countless other things that my partner has rattling around in his mind, but surprises me with on weekends….

It’s an age-old problem that working folks face. Work all week and work all weekend. Oh well, such is life and our routine. I will be granted a reprieve next weekend when my twin brother comes home to share our birthday. Can’t wait!

Speaking of weekends and getting older…

A friend offered us two choice seats to see the Beach Boys on Sunday, August 23. They are playing at Wolf Trap, which is a wonderful venue, but far away from us (relatively speaking; it’s in Virginia, which is quite a drive and traffic is awful.) It’s on a Sunday evening, which won’t work for us. We would get home too late, and I just don’t handle “late” (anything after 9pm).

Plus, I got to thinking. Do I really want to see a bunch of old guys trying to sing like they once did in the 60s? Sitting there with people my age, trying to act and feel younger? These types of bands bring back fond memories, and it’s always nice to hear their songs. But I’m not so sure I want to hear them try to hit those notes — especially the falsettos — after reaching “a certain age.” I know I can’t hit those notes any more.

I thanked my friend but declined the offer. My partner sealed the deal by saying that he just didn’t want to go to the performance, and I wasn’t all that excited about it, either.

Here’s a comparison. Posted below are two videos that I found on YouTube. It is of the group LoverBoy singing the song I am writing about, Working for the Weekend. BTW, I read the lyrics and realized that they are empty and vapid. Only the title applies. Nonetheless, the tune is full of energy and keeps your boots tapping on the floor when you hear it.

However, in comparing the version of the tune sung when it was first released in 1981 (first video below) with a later rendition sung 25 years or so later (second video below), I can’t help but think that these guys should just relax and enjoy retirement. At least in the more recent performance, the lead singer didn’t try to wear white boots and orange leather pants!

What do you think? Should “old bands” that us Baby Boomers enjoyed in the 60s, 70s, and 80s, keep performing in 2009? I admire them for their continued energy and perseverance. I am not sure, though, that they can sing very well any more. You be the judge.

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Ooops, this one was removed for content violations by whoever put it up on YouTube.