Tragic Feed

I was looking at a news website and thought I read a link "Tragic Feed". I would ask the overused question: "What is wrong with me", but I think everyone would answer. I do wonder what I was thinking; maybe one of the following ideas fit my mood?

1. Tragic Feed: When farmers feed low grade chicken meat to chickens.

2. Tragic Feed: A polite way to say you ate something that gave you the mud butt

3. Tragic Feed: A band name. Maybe for a group of young people who feel suffocated by society at large and struggle internally with their deep thoughts and volatile anger. "Nobody understands my angst!"

It's gotta be the last one. I am sure of it.

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #4

Grandpa Rolf grew up on a farm in Germany during an extremely difficult time in Germany's history. I know he worked hard and sacrificed for his family.

I believe that much of his wisdom stems from his need for something light in his life. He turned to what our family does best: distort the ordinary, mundane and tragic into obscene, funny and/or outrageous images.

So, I picture a young Rolf gathering eggs from the chicken coup one early and cold morning when he created this gem of wisdom that is still preached with reverence in our family.

For any physical ailment, with the exception of a hurt back (I will cover back injuries in an upcoming post), You must liberally apply "Chicken Shit" to the affected area.

According to Gramps, it's an effective treatment for zits, rashes, patchy beard growth, warts, thinning hair, etc...

Another Horrible Husband Moment

Today, I had another horrible husband moment. I tend to have several small moments of being a horrible husband and father each day, but this episode was particularly horrible.

I forgot to take some medicine this morning when I left for work. I had a break in the late morning and drove home to get the medicine because I feel much better if I take it.

When I arrived home, I went to unlock the door and noticed that it was already unlocked. I suspected that Laurie was just in a hurry and forgot to lock the door when she left the house. I entered the house, took my medicine and locked the door as I left.

20 minutes later, I was back at work. Laurie called me from her cell phone. She proceeds to tell me that when she left this morning, the baby was deep asleep. Laurie asked our next-door neighbor, Anita, to listen to the baby monitor. Anita graciously agreed to help. Laurie left the door unlocked so that Anita could periodically check the baby, or go and get her if she woke up. In the meantime, I frantically came home, took my medicine, locked the door and left.

Laurie and I shared a brief moment of panic, followed by a round of the blame game. Her argument “I didn’t know you were going to come home, otherwise I would have told you”. My argument “You know I am forgetful and sometimes need to come home for medicine/food/work ID”. Clearly, my argument was weak. I conceded to Laurie and took the blame. We both imagined that our baby was screaming for someone to rescue her while poor Anita was stuck outside, unable to get the baby.

There is a happy end to this horrible husband moment. Dumb luck, or divine intervention prevented any catastrophe. Anita heard the baby scream shortly after Laurie left and went into our house to get the baby. The baby was safe and happy at Anita’s house when Laurie got home.

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #3

Years ago, my grandpa offered me his finger. He said these magical words that I didn't understand then:

"Sie mal dran, riechts wie marzipan"

After I pulled gramps' finger and witnessed the devastation that only his colon can unleash I promised myself two things:

1. NEVER pull gramps' finger again.

2. Get the translation of his 'pull-my-finger' saying.

I have stuck by my first promise and followed up on my second. The translation is "Pull my finger, it smells like marzipan".

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #2

**Warning! The following post contains a mild swear word and some sexual language.**

The wisdom of Grandpa is meant to deal with all facets of life. Whether you have concerns about the lack of hair on your chest, or your marital relationship, Grandpa has advice to share.

The following nugget is a rough translation of a German saying Grandpa Rolf has shared with many times:

"To hell with love, to hell with marriage, go back to your hand."

Could any single statement reveal the truth so well? Consider the person who is only after a quick thrill. Such a person would not be well suited to a loving, committed relationship. Marriage would be abhorrent to a person who only seeks immediate satisfaction. No, for such a person, the best solution is going 'Hand Solo'. The time and emotional effort involved in love and marriage are contrary to a quick moment of pleasure.

For people who long for more than 1 minute in heaven, the value of finding one person and committing to a marriage is the epitome of true joy. These people know that cultivating a relationship while you are still young is like saving up money in the bank. The time will come bodies can no longer perform the way they used to. When that time comes, committed couples can lean on their solid friendship to support one another and provide companionship.

I am sure this is what Grandpa means when he dispenses this sage piece of truth.

Wisdom from Grandpa Rolf #1

My Grandfather is a great man who often imparts his wisdom to the family. I have been thinking about the various bits of of knowledge and how they speak to me as a person. Grandpa always shares these bits with a hint of mischief in his eye. In his sturdy German-accented English, he relays the wisdom of old Germany. There is no doubt that self improvement and an ultimate sense of self can be attained by following Grandpa Rolf's life lessons. I thought I would share some of his wisdom on my blog, so that anyone that reads can be edified. This is the first installment:

"Eat more eggs [insert food of your choice], it puts hair on your chest"