Tom

When our kids were little we used to play a game with them called "Guess Who." I am not sure exactly how this got started, but I am laying the blame directly at the feet of my most remarkable No. 3 daughter--Sydney. I believe Syd suggested to her siblings that I somehow look like Tom, a character in the game. Personally, I don't see it, but Tom nevertheless stuck visa-vis moi. In an act of disobedience that would place any child's inheritance in jeopardy, one of my children secretly removed Tom from the game and posted him on the fridge, where he hung for many years. Everytime, I removed Tom and threw him in the garbage, he would mysteriously reappear on the fridge. I eventually tired of this game and just played along. I am pretty sure this most dangerous act was to remind everyone in our family what a doofus I am. At least that's how I interpreted this 15 years ago. Actually, it still kind of feels like that.



Regardless, the question remains: Can you look like Tom, and still be uber-cool like me? I have included a survey above and would like your feedback only if your answers are a, b, or c. (In fairness to my children, I used to wear glasses more consistently than I do now.)

Salty's

Now I am not normally one to make a commercial plug for any business, but honestly, Salty's on Alki Beach (West Seattle) has what is probably the most amazing buffet known to man. I'm not going to lie--my first plate was all crab, shrimp and oysters. My 5th and last plate? Just crab of course. The smiles in the pictures below well represent the tale of the tape.




Shea and Chelsea are still smiling. They were in loads of pain three plates later.

Lil D enjoying the brunch and the parade of Nutcrackers.

Sheila and I enjoying a beautiful Holiday Season.

The crab table was temporarily out of crab--my face says it all.

Moments later, our server brought the news that the crab table had been restocked. Again, I think my face says it all. Sheila often reminds me that I am an easy read. I, however, have viewed myself over the years as mysterious and pretty much inscrutable. After seeing these pics, I'm ready to believe her view of me. What do you think?

Do I hear an echo?!

I have heard many middle-aged empty nesters claim that life was never better. I don't see it that way. Sheila and I have been alone for a week now, and I am hearing an echo. It's almost creepy. With kids around, I didn't have to think about what I was going to do--their calendars, events and schedules dictated my every move. I was able to carve out a few minutes for myself doing things I wanted to do. However, my schedule was always set against the backdrop of family events. Now, everything not set in stone by church and office work, is basically all mine. Sounds great? I hate it. I liked being inconvenienced by the kids. We had our children, to have our children. If I hadn't injured my knee, I would at least be working out. Without that outlet, I basically work at the office. Don't get me wrong, there is plenty to do, I just miss the kids and doing what they have scheduled. People have suggested that Sheila and I "borrowed" Peter and Tara last fall to give us time to adjust to this new life. While that's not true, having them around did help with this transition. Bishop Tree consoled me at church yesterday and assured me that in about 6 months time, I would adjust and might even find myself enjoying the empty nest. Hmmmm.... I have my doubts. So please keep me in your earnest prayers over the next 6 months and let's see if I can get through this.

I Deserve a Medical License

Sometimes, you just have to say it. One of my most important mottos in life, has been, "When in doubt, shout it out!" So here it is, "I deserve a medical license." I need a big collective effort from the loyal readers of Darrell's Yakimania to petition the Washington State Medical Association for me to receive a license to practice medicine. Many important people have received honorary degrees from prestigious universities. That doesn't mean squat. Those degrees are worthless--that's why they call them "honorary degrees." What I want is a license--now that's power. Dang it, I deserve it! Let me explain....

Below is a picture of The Big Nasty--aka Colton Guerney. He got off to a slow start this year, but I still have confidence that he will end up on the podium at the State tournament. West Valley has two good 285 lb wrestlers this year, both of whom could place. I included a picture of Colton because, well, he is The Big Nasty, and because I wanted to mention my role as a volunteer assistant coach in the context of this post. It's my job to wrestle the big guys and coach them up. Well, it was my role until Christmas break when I tore my MCL at practice. I won't bore my World Wide Readership with the details of my injury, but suffice it to say that Dillon Foster (a former state placer for WVHS) has gained a little weight since he graduated. The good news is I don't need surgery; the bad news is I can't wrestle for another 3 weeks. I was determined to help Colton get better. Not being able to help is a big disappointment. I have a lot of big events on my outdoor calendar for 2012 so I need to be patient and get this thing healed, so I'm probably not going to live wrestle for the rest of the year.

However, what is of most interest to my World Wide Readership is my impressive medical acumen and spot on analysis concerning my injury. I immediately diagnosed my injury when it occurred. I briefly (and dramatically) whined about the pain, and then turned to "Fatty Foster" and declared,

"You Fatty, you tore my dang MCL! "

"Coach how do you know it was your MCL? You're not a doctor."

"Trust me, I know these things." I added, "Although, I'm pretty sure it's not surgical."

Upon my arrival at home, I declared to my caring and concerned spouse,


"Fatty Foster tore my dang MCL, but don't worry it's not surgical."

Her reply? "What makes you think you actually tore something? You're not a doctor. I swear, you are so dramatic!" (or words to that effect)

"Trust me, I know these things," was all I could muster.


Now somewhere between my competitive wrestling at USU and my 50th birthday, the She-wolf tired of my immature decision (her words, not mine) to keep wrestling for fun. "You're just going to get hurt, and when you do, I will quarter you no sympathy." I have mostly been impervious to big injuries (setting aside the two orthopedic surgeries for torn ligaments in my left shoulder and left thumb). So it was with great humility when I pleaded with her to drive me to the Ortho Clinic to obtain the drugs and crutches I needed. To be certain, I didn't need a diagnosis--I already had that!



The Ortho Clinic scheduled an MRI to confirm my diagnosis as well as a follow up appointment with PA-C Todd Curtis, to confirm my treatment recommendations. In the end, what I needed most from the medical community was drugs. That's almost always what I need from the medical community. Now there might come a day when I need Dr. Brett DeGooyer and PA-C Curtis to actually treat me, but until then, what I really need is a medical license to prescribe myself drugs.

I am not sure how these things are accomplished. It's too late for me to actually attend medical school and sit for medical boards. I don't have time for that. If I could just get the license, my life would be much simpler. One thing is for certain, I could reduce some of the congestion and out-of-control medical costs we all face. In particular, I would save myself a heck-of-a lot of money. If granted, I would be entirely magnanimous about this gesture in that I wouldn't charge anyone for my expertise. So, if you really care about my well-being and want to help resolve this health-care crisis, please do something about it and help me get what I most needed for Christmas--a medical license.